The Barbarian Bride (The Decline and Fall of the Galactic Empire Book 3)

by Christopher Nuttall

  Marius clutched his chest as the full weight of the message sank in. He’d lost. Even if he stopped the rebels from taking the Gateway, there was no hope of rebuilding Earth’s industry before a rebel admiral punched through the remains of the defenses and secured the system, destroying the Federation once and for all. And then another admiral would boot him out, and then another, and then another...

  He’d lost. Everything he’d done had been for nothing. He’d...

  His vision blurred. Darkness howled at the corner of his mind. He fought to remain conscious, but it was no longer possible...

  * * *

  “Home Fleet is advancing to reinforce the Gateway,” Lieutenant Thompson reported.

  Roman nodded, curtly. Home Fleet had been badly weakened at Tara Prime, but there were still four squadrons of superdreadnaughts and thousands of starfighters. It looked as though Emperor Marius had commandeered every last ship in the system too, bolting weapons onto freighter hulls as if it would turn them into warships. Roman wondered just how enthusiastic the crews were about their missions, then decided it probably didn’t matter. If Emperor Marius was prepared to take Admiral Vincent’s children as hostages, he probably wouldn’t hesitate to do the same to freighter crews.

  The economy is going to be fucked, he thought, numbly. There were freighters... but also ore miners, worker bees and hundreds of other civilian craft. Replacing them all would take years, even with an intact industrial base. He’s throwing everything he has at us, just in the hopes that some of those vessels will take a missile aimed at a superdreadnaught.

  “Start transmitting the surrender demand,” Roman said. “And order all ships to assume attack formation.”

  “Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said.

  * * *

  If there was one advantage to being the Emperor’s most trusted tactical aide when the shit was about to hit the fan, it was the right to keep her sidearm when no one else was allowed such an advantage. Ginny hadn’t let the weapon leave her side since the news from AlphaCent had arrived, despite angry mutterings from the Blackshirts. Who knew what would happen when — if — the superdreadnaught was boarded?

  She gripped the weapon in her sweaty palms as she paused outside the brig, then keyed open the hatch and stepped into the compartment. A Blackshirt was on guard, sitting on a stool and reading a datapad. Ginny lifted her weapon and shot him before he had a chance to register her presence. She watched the body carefully for a long moment — she’d practiced extensively in the shooting range, but she knew she wasn’t a natural — then hurried over to the sealed compartment. The hatch opened at her command, allowing her to step inside. Lady Tiffany was naked, lying on a bed, her hands and feet secured to keep her immobile.

  “Ginny,” Tiffany said. She sounded weak, but at least she was alive. “What’s happening?”

  “I’m getting you out of here,” Ginny said. She was tempted to try to run — the shuttlecraft might be guarded, but stealing a lifeboat wouldn’t be hard — yet she knew she had to try to do something to stop the coming slaughter. “Your husband has snapped completely.”

  Tiffany sat upright the moment Ginny removed the band covering her throat. “Just completely?”

  “The rebels are attacking the Gateway,” Ginny said, ignoring the comment. “And even if we win, we lose.”

  She hoped Tiffany knew what to do, even though she’d been a helpless prisoner for the last two weeks. Because... she didn’t know what to do. Because she knew hardly anyone would listen to her. She was the Emperor’s favorite, after all. She might as well have been the teacher’s pet.

  “Take me to him,” Tiffany said.

  * * *

  “There’s no response to our surrender demand,” Lieutenant Thompson reported. “However, a handful of fortresses have stopped firing on us.”

  Roman frowned. Surrendering... disabled... or playing possum?

  “Keep us well clear of them,” he ordered, flatly. The fleet was already sweeping the remainder of the minefields out of space, while bracing itself to withstand Home Fleet’s final charge. “I take it Home Fleet has not responded?”

  “No, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said.

  “Then inform the fleet,” Roman said. “We will open fire once Home Fleet enters attack range.”

  “Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said.

  * * *

  Tiffany could feel her heartbeat racing as she stumbled through the maze of corridors, silently grateful that she’d had a chance to snatch a pair of trousers and a jacket even if they had come from a dead man. She had no doubt he would have killed Ginny and herself, if given the chance; General Thorne might well have issued orders to make sure Tiffany was never allowed to talk to her husband one final time. Who knew? Maybe she’d succeed in convincing him that Thorne was a snake in the grass.

  “I didn’t call another aide,” Ginny said, as they approached the tactical compartment. “He should be alone.”

  There was no one on duty outside the hatch, somewhat to Tiffany’s surprise. But then, her husband’s paranoia had just been growing stronger and stronger. He’d probably decided to ensure that the entire crew, save for combat-essential personnel, were kept in their quarters, where they couldn’t harm anyone. The fact that they couldn’t escape, either, wouldn’t bother him.

  The hatch hissed open, revealing a darkened compartment, illuminated only by a giant tactical display. Ginny muttered a curse under her breath as she glanced at the display, then started to look around. Tiffany sucked in her breath as she saw her husband, lying on the deck; Ginny hurried to the tactical console while Tiffany stepped over to kneel down beside Marius. He was still alive, somehow, but his face was flushed and his breathing was erratic.

  “The fleet is requesting orders,” Ginny said. “There’s no one who can take the Emperor’s place.”

  Tiffany looked up. “There’s no second-in-command?”

  “None was appointed,” Ginny confirmed. “We’re currently closing in on the main body of the rebel fleet. In two minutes, perhaps less, we’ll be in firing range. And the winner will be the person who has one or two ships left.”

  Tiffany took a breath. “Can you issue orders?”

  “Yes,” Ginny said. “They’d think they’d come straight from the emperor.”

  “Then tell the fleet to stand down and surrender,” Tiffany said. She cradled her husband’s head in her arms. It would be easy to let him die, but she found herself unable to just walk away. “And then call the medics.”

  This could be a mistake, her thoughts warned her. She’d never anticipated Roman Garibaldi turning on her husband, although she had to admit she understood why he’d switched sides and dedicated himself to overthrowing Marius. The Outsiders may want revenge for everything the Grand Senate did to them.

  But at least the war will be over, she told herself. And there are no other aristocrats left on the Sol System.

  “The rebels have accepted our surrender,” Ginny said. “They’re insisting that we cut all drives and lower our shields in preparation to be boarded.”

  “Do it,” Tiffany ordered. “Where are those medics?”

  “On their way,” Ginny said.

  Tiffany nodded. She just hoped they arrived in time.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  What did Marius Drake and Roman Garibaldi say to one another, when they met for the final time? No one knows... but generations of historians, writers and politicians have speculated endlessly.

  —The Federation Navy in Retrospect, 4199

  Earth, 4102

  “You do realize this could be a trap?”

  Roman nodded, shortly. Elf was right; it could be a trap. Lady Tiffany inviting — practically begging — him to meet her husband one final time, before his death, hadn’t been on the list of things he’d anticipated. And the confusion gripping the system would make it easy for someone to carry out an assassination, if that was what they wanted to do. Home Fleet was barely under control, the remaining fo
rtresses still menaced passage through the Gateway...

  ... And Earth, Mars and Luna were consumed with civil war.

  And we now know that five admirals and over a hundred major systems have declared independence, he thought, darkly. We can’t stay here indefinitely or we’ll be cut off from Boston and the Rim.

  “Yeah, I know,” he said, as the shuttle made its slow way towards Enterprise. “But I have to see him. I have to know.”

  Elf gave him a sharp look. “Know what?”

  “I wish I knew,” Roman admitted. What could he expect from Marius Drake? And why did he expect anything? He’d respected the man, even seen him as a father-figure, but those feelings were long gone. Marius Drake had attempted to commit genocide months before he’d slaughtered billions on Tara Prime. “I just think I want closure.”

  “Hah,” Elf said. She settled back into her seat, crossing her arms under her breasts. “You just want everything neatly wrapped up with a bow.”

  Roman wanted to deny it, but he had a feeling she was right. He scowled inwardly, then peered out of the portal as the superdreadnaught came into view. Seeing the superdreadnaught gave him an odd pang, if only because he still had no idea what had happened to the original Enterprise. The giant supercarrier had been his first command, although not one he’d been expected to hold for long. He’d only become her commander because everyone above him in the chain of command had been killed.

  I could check the records when we reach Earth, if there’s anything left by then, he thought, wryly. Or simply chalk it up as a permanently unsolved mystery.

  He braced himself as the shuttle docked, a dull thud echoing through the tiny craft as she matched gravity fields with the superdreadnaught. There was a platoon of marines already onboard, carrying an antimatter mine just in case the crew intended to do something stupid, but it didn’t make him feel safe.

  Elf was right. If Marius Drake intended to launch an ambush, out of hatred or rage or a bitter determination to see the galaxy burn, the marines were unlikely to be able to help. They’d all die together.

  But I have to know, he thought, as the hatch hissed open. He rose, allowing Elf to lead the way through the hatch. Even if it kills me, I have to know.

  A young redheaded woman wearing a commander’s uniform met him as he stepped out of the hatch. “Admiral Garibaldi, I am Commander Ginny Lewis,” she said. “The Emperor is currently held in a private compartment. He has expressed a wish to speak with you.”

  “Understood,” Roman said. Marius Drake was no longer emperor, but there was no point in arguing over titles with a junior officer. “Please take us to him.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ginny said. She turned to lead the way up the corridor. “The doctors say he doesn’t have long to live, no matter what they do. Please don’t push him too hard.”

  Roman heard Elf snort rudely, behind him, as they made their way through a set of sealed hatches. The entire ship was in lockdown and would remain so until the Blackshirts had been disarmed and the crew marched off to an internment camp, if they didn’t volunteer to join his fleet. God alone knew what would happen afterwards, Roman thought. Reports of increasing frightfulness had been filtering in through AlphaCent as word of the battle and its outcome spread. To all intents and purposes, the once-mighty Federation no longer existed.

  He closed his eyes for a long moment, wondering just what shape the post-Federation galaxy would take. The Core Worlds could no longer compete on even terms, but they still had a great deal of industry, even though Marius Drake had worked it half to death. He suspected that hundreds of warlords would fight to take control of the infrastructure, or head out to the Rim where there was a chance to build something new. The old economy was doomed. It would take decades, perhaps centuries, before interstellar trade returned to its pre-war heights.

  “I’ll wait outside,” Elf said, as they entered the outer compartment. Lady Tiffany sat there, her face pale and wan. She looked up and gave Roman an unreadable smile, then returned to her thoughts. “You can go in whenever you’re ready.”

  Roman nodded, slowly. He knew himself to be brave — he’d led assaults through Asimov Points and defied senior officers — but the thought of stepping through the hatch and meeting Marius Drake for the final time was terrifying. His mentor, his friend... his enemy... what could they say to one another before death separated them once and for all? And yet, he knew, all too well, that if he backed out now he’d wonder, for the rest of his life, what would have happened if he had taken the risk. Gritting his teeth, he stepped up to the hatch. It hissed open and he walked through.

  The light was dim, inside. A handful of medical displays glowed on the far bulkhead, but Roman only had eyes for the bed in the center of the compartment. Marius Drake was there, a handful of tubes running down from high overhead and into his body. Roman frowned, wondering, just for a second, if he’d stepped into the wrong compartment. The profile was correct, but the face was flushed and bloated. He stepped closer, trying to see what had happened to the man he’d respected and admired... but that man was gone.

  Marius Drake opened his mouth. “Roman,” he rasped. He sounded as if he had to remember how to speak. “You came.”

  “Yes, sir,” Roman said. “I came.”

  “You betrayed me,” Marius Drake said. There was no anger in his voice, just a simple statement of fact. “You turned on me.”

  “You would have killed billions of people,” Roman said. He felt a stab of guilt, mixed with anger. “You did kill billions of people.”

  “I needed to preserve the Federation,” Marius Drake said. “The Outsiders would have destroyed it, given a chance.”

  “Perhaps they would have,” Roman conceded. “But they didn’t slaughter billions of humans.”

  “The aliens will, given half a chance,” Marius Drake rasped. “Humanity is strong because humanity is united.”

  “And what did that unity get us?” Roman asked. “A Grand Senate so deeply corrupt that it was sucking the lifeblood out of the galaxy, a military where ambitious officers were plotting coups, a thousand colonies with desperate natives plotting hopeless rebellions against the Federation, because the alternative was to wind up dead. And now the Federation is coming apart at the seams!”

  “You mustn’t let it come apart,” Marius Drake whispered. “I took care of the Grand Senate for you, Roman. You must deal with the other threats. Human unity must be preserved.”

  “It can’t be preserved,” Roman said. “Who trusts us any longer?”

  “You can make them trust you,” Marius Drake urged. His breathing grew louder as he tried to sit upright. “The war is over now. You can rebuild in peace.”

  He sagged back on the bed. “Would have won, if the Outsiders hadn’t appeared,” he said. “We could have saved the Federation, we could have rebuilt the economy. But they came and the war swallowed up all my work.”

  “I know,” Roman said, gently. “But the war is over now.”

  “Don’t let everything go to waste,” Marius Drake pleaded. “Please!”

  Roman looked down at him for a long moment, unable to untangle his feelings. Marius Drake had been his mentor, his friend, and yet he’d also been a monster who’d killed billions and slaughtered the Grand Senate personally, a man who’d triggered uprisings, civil wars and breakaways that had ripped the Federation he loved apart. Roman had no illusions about the difficulty of the task facing anyone who wanted to rebuild the Federation. The once-proud Federation Navy had been shattered, while Fortress Command and various system defense forces had declared independence. Putting it back together would require a war on the same scale as the Inheritance War, with far fewer resources at his command.

  And what would it do to him, if he tried?

  Marius Drake had started with good intentions. Everyone knew that, even his enemies. He’d killed the Grand Senate and started to work to restore freedom and rebuild the economy, only to be confronted with a war crisis that had destroyed all of his work.
And the stresses of fighting the war had driven him mad. The decision to destroy Nova Athena, Roman suspected, had been impelled by a desire to just put an end to the war.

  “I won’t,” he said. The lessons of the war — the endless conflicts from Admiral Justinian to the Outsiders and Roman himself — wouldn’t go to waste. “Marius...”

  “I used to think I could do everything without resorting to brute force,” Marius said. He sounded distant, as if he no longer knew where he was. “And now... look what’s become of us.”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Roman said. He’d hoped for answers, but he knew — now — he’d never get them. Or perhaps he had. The Federation was Marius Drake’s religion, after all; he’d been quite happy to do anything in her name. “I wish...”

  “Don’t wish,” Marius said, sternly. Just for a second, he sounded like his old self. “Do your duty. Tobias died doing his duty.”

  And what, Roman asked himself, would Tobias think of you now?

  He sighed, inwardly. He’d never believed in life after death — religion had never really been a big part of his life, before or after the attack that had left him the sole survivor of his asteroid settlement. Asteroid dwellers rarely believed in any form of life after death; indeed, he’d been astonished when he discovered just how many of his comrades at the academy prayed heavily before taking their exams.

  Life was neither fair nor unfair, he’d thought; it simply was. And what you got in life depended on what you made of it.

  But if Marius did believe in an afterlife, who knew who he’d meet? His friend, the man who’d died saving his life, or the billions who’d died on Tara Prime?

  “I couldn’t allow you to kill billions of people,” he said. “It would have been horrific.”

  Marius, absurdly, smiled. “I always liked your idealism,” he said. “Mine was lost along the Rim, Roman, lost when I had to struggle to keep the pirates from tearing the colonies apart. I could have saved millions of lives if I’d had the resources to patrol the sector properly. I could have done so much.”