The Shadow of Cincinnatus

by Nuttall, Christopher

  Marius had his doubts. The Outsiders were skilled propagandists. Allied with hackers, who had been abusing Earth’s tired datanet for years, they could get their propaganda into inboxes all over the Solar System. So far, it hadn’t produced any nasty surprises on Earth itself...unless Tully was wrong and there was some propaganda being distributed on Luna. It was unlikely that anyone receiving it would report it, thanks to the Grand Senate. Anyone who had received messages from Admiral Justinian’s faction had been arrested on suspicion of being a spy.

  He pushed the thought aside too, then sighed.

  General Thorne was right. This could not be allowed to spread, not when it might destroy the Federation’s abilities to resupply its forces. Whatever the justice of the demands, there was no way he could honor them. After the war, he promised himself, something would be done. But there was no way they could submit to demands now.

  “They have to be stopped,” he said, softly. “What options do we have?”

  “I have an elite battalion of Special Security Soldiers on their way now,” General Thorne said. “On your command, they will storm the central complex and capture the ringleaders. The remainder will be offered amnesty if they go straight back to work, without delay, while we put the ringleaders on trial.”

  “There is a strong probability of damaging the facility if you attack,” Professor Kratman pointed out. “And what will you do if arresting the ringleaders fails to stop the strikes? Are you going to save the factories by calling in kinetic strikes? Force the workers to work by shooting them?”

  “We cannot grant their demands,” General Thorne said, sharply. “The only alternative is to break the strike before it spreads out of control.”

  “Then do it,” Marius said. “Dismissed.”

  “I think you may come to regret that,” Professor Kratman said, once everyone else had left the room. “You catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”

  “There isn’t time,” Marius reminded him. “What happens if this slows down production or stops it completely?”

  He cursed the Grand Senate, once again, under his breath. The Senators had intended to make sure that their clients got most of the contracts, so there hadn’t been any real competition between the Federation’s industries. And this had ensured there was almost no slack at all, no way to meet unanticipated demands for everything from starships to spare parts. It was difficult to believe that the war might grind to a halt for lack of...the widgets used to channel power through a starship’s datanodes, for example...but it was quite possible. Much of the pre-war stockpiles, such as they were, had been used up in the war against Admiral Justinian and the other warlords.

  And much of it is outdated now anyway, he thought. The Federation had not had time to supply the latest in defensive technology to worlds along the Rim, allowing the Outsiders a string of easy victories We need new material, not the old shit.

  “I have no answer,” Kratman said. “But you may find yourself holding the rock and being battered over the head with it, at the same time.”

  Marius had to smile. “That is an absurd metaphor,” he said. “But I take your point.”

  He shook his head. There was no alternative.

  * * *

  “We’ve just been joined by another factory,” Rawson called. “The Stalker-Lawson Complex just went on strike! So much for the blackout!”

  Lucy smiled, despite her growing fears. The factory’s communications systems were top-of-the-line, but someone had locked them out of the Luna datanet, leaving the factory completely isolated. And some of the workers who had headed to other factories had failed to return. She knew it was a dangerous mission, but not that dangerous. It was quite possible they’d been arrested...

  And Pimlico was gone. By the time they’d checked his office, after moving into the factory compound and sealing the exits, it had been too late to detain him. Lucy had been almost disappointed when she’d seen his quarters; she’d expected vast luxury, but the only luxury Pimlico had allowed himself was a large portrait of a brown-haired teenage girl, wearing a long white dress. Lucy had puzzled over it, wondering if it showed one of Pimlico’s wives or daughters, then decided it didn’t matter. They’d swept the room for any unpleasant surprises, then sealed it. There was no point in leaving it open for just anyone to enter.

  “But Shasta didn’t return,” another man said. “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know,” Rawson answered. “But I do know we won’t win if we give in to our fears.”

  Lucy yawned. It said something about their condition that half of the workers, having dragged mattresses into the factory, had settled down to sleep despite the racket. As important as it was to build barricades, they were just too tired to do anything else. Even with Rawson in command, there wasn’t much to do, just wait and see what happened. There were few weapons in the factory and Rawson had ruled out trying to build any. Not everyone had been happy with his judgement.

  She thought, longingly, of her two sons. Were they still in boarding school? She’d heard stories about how the Grand Senate had treated their own sons and daughters; it was hard to imagine, but would the emperor lash out at her children? Cold fear crept into her heart as she settled down on one of the mattresses, wondering if she’d made their lives a great deal worse...what if they were used as hostages? Or worse?

  There had been no response to their demands, not even when they’d tried to put them out on the datanet. Pimlico had said something, even if it had been a flat refusal. Why hadn’t the government said anything? Rawson had speculated that the lack of response meant the question was being pushed up and up the line until it reached someone willing to make a decision, but he didn’t know for sure. None of them knew for sure and the sheer tedium of not knowing was getting to them. They’d had certainty in the factory; now, they were waiting for...

  A loud explosion echoed through the complex. Lucy jumped to her feet, just in time to see black-clad men storming into the compartment, smashing through the barricades with contemptuous ease. She turned and fled, running through the corridors as she heard the sound of stunners behind her, trying to make her escape before it was too late. But she turned a corner and ran into another group of armed men. One of them knocked her to the ground, then rolled her over, yanked her hands behind her back and cuffed them roughly. Another put a foot on her back and kept her pressed firmly against the floor until she could barely breathe and tears were forming in her eyes.

  “Up, bitch,” one of them snapped. The foot was removed, just in time for one of the men to grab her by the arm and pull her up, then press her against the wall. Strong hands searched her pockets, removing her tools, terminal and the photographs of her family she kept in a small wallet. “You’re under arrest.”

  Lucy opened her mouth. “I...”

  “Quiet,” the man ordered. “Do not say a word until you are spoken to.”

  He pressed her back against the wall, then waited. It felt like hours of fear and shock before he finally took her arm and half-pushed her down the corridor, back towards where they’d planned the strike. A dozen bodies lay on the ground, limp and helpless. She stared at them with growing horror, wondering if they’d all been killed, before she realized they’d merely been stunned. No one in their right mind would use energy or projectile weapons in the factory, not unless they wanted to cause more damage. She caught sight of Rawson lying on the ground and winced, bitterly. He’d broken his nose when he fell, leaving blood staining the floor.

  She was shoved out of the door and into a large armored transport. The other female workers followed her, either cuffed or stunned; the latter were dumped onto the floor of the vehicle before the hatch banged closed, leaving them in darkness. Lucy had to bite her tongue to keep from asking questions, knowing they’d be overhead. It wasn’t easy, particularly when one of the girls started to cry. None of them had ever been arrested before. They hadn’t really thought they would be arrested for striking, let alone so violently. In hindsight, L
ucy wondered why they hadn’t anticipated the possibility.

  The vehicle hummed to life, then shuddered. It was disconcerting as hell to know they were traveling somewhere, either through the underground tubes linking the Luna settlements together or out on the surface, beyond all hope of rescue. She tried to time the journey, but swiftly gave it up as futile. By the time they reached their destination, she knew they would be completely disoriented. And that was probably the point.

  There was a dull thud, then nothing. The hatch opened a moment later, revealing two incredibly ugly women in black uniforms. Lucy couldn’t help thinking of the notorious Blackshirts before she was dragged out of the vehicle, then dumped on the ground. One of the women cut the clothes away from her body, then dragged her into the next room. The door slammed closed behind them, leaving her completely alone with the woman.

  “Get one thing through your head,” the woman snarled, leaning so close to Lucy that she could smell the woman’s breath. “You’re mine now, understand? I can do anything to you and no one will give a shit. Do exactly as you’re told and you’ll have an easier time of it. If you resist, we can do anything to you to break your resistance – anything at all.”

  Lucy staggered backwards. It took her two tries to speak clearly.

  “I have rights,” she said. “I demand...”

  The woman backhanded her, hard enough to send her falling backwards. Her bare ass hit the ground hard enough to hurt, and she tasted blood in her mouth. She spat it out and looked up, helplessly. Even with her hands free, she doubted she could have fought the prison guard on equal terms.

  “You seem to have missed something,” the guard said. “You have been arrested under the terms of the Emergency Powers Act, which forbids strikes, outright sabotage or any other form of activity that hinders the war effort. You have no rights left to you. Your only hope is to cooperate fully and hope it is taken into account when your case is put before a judge.”

  She paused, then snapped on a pair of rubber gloves. “Now,” she added, as Lucy stared at her hands in disbelief. “We will commence the search.”

  “I’m naked,” Lucy pointed out. “What do you expect to find?”

  The guard smirked. “Nothing,” she said. “But I think you will be less uppity when I’m finished.”

  * * *

  “Operation complete, sir,” General Thorne said.

  Marius looked up from the report on shipbuilding programs. It had to be gone through, but it didn’t make for pleasant reading. Admiral Garibaldi was likely to have fewer ships sent to him over the next five months, while the Federation struggled to devise newer designs that might match the Outsiders, one-on-one. Marius hated to admit it, but the Outsiders had definitely benefited the most from the Justinian War. The Federation had been diverted, true, yet it had also learned a great deal about how modern technology worked in combat without paying any of the butcher’s bill for the lessons. Their designs, in greater numbers, might have proved stunningly decisive.

  “Good,” he said. Allowing General Thorne to build a new security force had caused him some sleepless nights at the time, but it had definitely proved its value. Besides, the Marines were overworked and needed at the front. “And the prisoners?”

  “We have fifteen ringleaders in custody,” General Thorne informed him. “The remainder have been interrogated, then released under supervision. They have been warned that they will be expected to give evidence, if necessary. In addition, they have been tagged and will be arrested if they try to leave the settlement.”

  Marius nodded. The Grand Senate’s method for dealing with upper-class criminals had its uses, even if it had primarily been abused before the Grand Senate had been destroyed. But then, the Senators hadn’t wanted to be too harsh to their relatives. It would have caused unacceptable levels of blowback.

  “We can hold the ringleaders for the moment,” General Thorne added. “But word of what they did is already spreading. We may need to give them a trial.”

  Marius groaned. “The last time I gave someone a trial, it was a nasty mistake,” he said. “Have them and their families shipped somewhere safe – somewhere they can’t do any harm. And then have a complete blackout placed on the news.”

  “Aye, sir,” General Thorne said. “It will be done.”

  And let us hope, Marius thought, that will be the end of it.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The trap confronting the Federation could be best described as a man caught between two fires. If he jumped one way or the other, the fire would get him; if he stayed where he was, the fires would eventually kill him anyway. In the end, the Federation could no longer maintain the balance.

  -The Federation Navy in Retrospect, 4199

  Boston, 4100

  “Excellent work,” Roman said.

  Captain Palter beamed. “Thank you, sir.”

  Roman smiled – it was obvious that Palter had expected to get in trouble for having his ship damaged - then dismissed him with a wave of his hand. The report was heartening at a time when it was becoming clear that the noose was tightening around Boston and the Outsiders had successfully gained control of three of the seven Asimov Points in the system. They could launch a three-pronged attack at any moment, if they felt inclined to take the risk, or merely launch a massive assault through one of the points. The Blue Star war had exposed the folly of trying to be clever when launching several separate assaults at once.

  And it might be the best thing they could do for us, Roman thought, as he looked up at the display. Red stars surrounded Boston, each one occupied by the enemy. It looked intimidating, even though he knew that most of the occupied systems were irrelevant to the war. We’d have a chance to smash each of their assaults individually.

  He looked up as Midshipwoman Haze entered the compartment. She looked terrifyingly young – part of his mind insisted she was too young to go to the Academy, let alone serve on a starship – but she was enthusiastic and competent. Besides, he could hardly talk about people being promoted young. If it hadn’t been for the war, he’d be lucky to have made commander by now. Indeed, given his lack of political connections, he might well have stayed a lieutenant indefinitely.

  “Admiral,” Haze said, “the other admirals are waiting for you.”

  “Great,” Roman said, without enthusiasm. They’d be complaining about the lack of formalities, he knew. Before the war, it could take hours to welcome one admiral aboard another’s flagship. Now, he’d cut the formalities out completely. “I’m on my way.”

  He took one last look at the display, then turned and walked through the hatch. The flag deck had been expanded to allow for a new briefing room, suitable for senior commanding officers and their staffs. Roman privately disapproved of it – the design came from the Grand Senate – but having some facilities might keep his subordinates happy. They’d be complaining otherwise, he knew, and while Emperor Marius might dismiss their complaints, others might not. He sighed – he’d never realized that being an admiral also meant being a politician – and walked into the briefing compartment. As always, the sheer luxury of the compartment caught him by surprise.

  “Ah, Roman,” Admiral Ness said. He sounded suspiciously jovial as he poured himself a glass of expensive wine. “Glad you could join us.”

  Roman kept his expression blank as he sat down at the head of the table. The briefing compartment was rated secure, ensuring that no one was allowed to enter without his specific permission. He’d heard complaints, the first time, from officers unused to fixing their own coffee, but he’d ignored them. Honestly, it wasn’t as though pouring coffee into a mug was so difficult. Getting out of bed was harder, he’d told himself after the first set of complaints, and the officers did that all the time.

  “Thank you for coming,” he said. “We have much to discuss.”

  He settled back and surveyed the table. Admiral Ellison Ness was older than him, older than Emperor Marius, with a reputation for being reliable, but lazy. It had work
ed out in his favor, Roman had to admit, as he’d survived the Grand Senate’s purges and maintained command of his battle squadron. His weakness, Emperor Marius had said in a private letter, was that he had no initiative at all. He would sooner respond to an enemy attack than mount an offensive of his own. And he was so wedded to the idea of precedence that he was mortally offended by the idea of Roman, who was his junior by a good seven decades, being his superior officer.

  Beside him, General Yaakov looked grim. He had been an Imperial Marine before transferring to Fortress Command, after suffering nerve damage that had been impossible to fix by the time he’d reached medical help. Elf spoke highly of him – and she was a good judge of character – but there was something about him that bothered Roman. Perhaps it was the awareness that there were injuries that couldn’t be healed, even by the Federation. Yaakov’s scarred face was a warning of what could happen to anyone else, if they got unlucky.

  And Admiral Baumann was a total non-entity, her face so bland and colorless that she was almost invisible. She’d spent the Justinian War as a logistics officer, rather than a line officer, and done a good job. But there had been something of a cloud hanging over her after the Grand Fleet had occupied Earth. Roman was surprised she hadn’t been purged, if she’d been untrustworthy; instead, she’d been sent to Boston to handle the logistics. She’d been doing a good job, Roman knew, but he had his doubts. He’d assigned a pair of Marines to keep an eye on her, just in case.

  But Emperor Marius vouched for her, he thought. I should trust his judgement.

  And then there were the commodores...

  It had been a great deal easier when he’d been the only commanding officer in the fleet. Roman sighed, then activated the holographic display. The starchart appeared in front of them, glowing red icons winking into existence, surrounded by tactical notes from recon probes. It wasn’t a reassuring sight.