Barbarians at the Gates

by Nuttall, Christopher

  “‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,’” Marius quoted.

  “Precisely,” Kratman agreed. He adopted a lecturing tone. “The problem is—and this affects all governing systems—that as the government grows more powerful, it tends to form an elite—a group of people whose sole concern is remaining in power. Some of the elite genuinely believe in serving the population and work for their betterment, others are in it only for their own power, but all of them work to perpetrate the system. Each of the Senators, Marius, represents over a thousand worlds. If they want to get elected, they have to be part of the elite or be willing to join it. The ones who refuse to join rarely get elected.

  “And the elites,” Kratman continued pedantically, “because their hold on power is secure, end up becoming increasingly disconnected from the realities of life. They don’t understand the basic laws of the universe, let alone the effect they have on others. They don’t care that the out-worlds curse them as rapists who strip their worlds of natural resources and grind them under with oppressive taxes—after all, they’re the elite. Why should they care?”

  Marius sighed, seeing the truth of what the Professor was saying. But before he could get a word in edgewise, Kratman had gone on.

  “While there were three factions in government, the whole structure held together remarkably well—astonishingly well,” Kratman lectured. “But then the Blue Star War was launched, and the early offenses turned into stunning defeats. The Imperialist Faction lost power and collapsed into the morass of the elites. And yet the shock of that was mitigated, because the Imperialists were still part of the elite. The elite couldn’t afford too much public humiliation because it would undermine their ability to remain in control.”

  Marius nodded.

  “You know the problems with maintaining something the size of the Federation,” the Professor added. “The Federation has to give vast latitude to its officers, or else they wouldn’t be able to react in time to stop a small threat from turning into a large one. And yet, some of those officers see the inner corruption of the Federation and start considering declaring independence, or even attempting to make themselves Emperor. I’m honestly surprised that it’s taken this long for one of the admirals to try to strike for the purple.”

  Marius winced. Admiral Justinian had wisely transferred most of his family to Harmony before he’d attempted to overthrow the Federation, but some of them—second- and third-cousins, mostly—had remained on Earth. The Senate had ordered them arrested, tried and sentenced to death, along with a handful of captured traitors who had aided Justinian in crippling Earth’s defenses. Marius had forced himself to watch the executions—they had been broadcast live as a warning to any other would-be traitors—and then he had gone to the head and been savagely sick. He’d seen death before, as he’d ordered pirates thrown out of the airlock into the cold unforgiving vacuum of space, but the executions had been different. They had been nothing more than blood sport, or worse, the Senate lashing out at whoever was unlucky enough to catch its attention. Most of those second- and third-cousins hadn’t even seen Admiral Justinian in years, and obviously had had no idea what Justinian was planning, but that hadn’t saved their lives.

  And when innocence was no defense, what good was the Federation for?

  “And then, you saved their lives,” Kratman said, breaking into Marius’s train of thought.

  Marius snorted. “Shouldn’t they be happy with me?”

  “Yes, of course, but much of the Senate has no grip on reality. You saved their lives, yes, but to most of them, it doesn’t matter because you made yourself popular with the mob. Of course they’re scared of you. They have to use you, but at the same time, they have to worry about what you might do...”

  “I’m not about to make myself emperor,” Marius protested.

  “You’re not one of the elite,” Kratman countered. “That fact alone means they’re probably going to be divided about what to do with you. They may attempt to marry you into the elite—there are quite a few eligible senatorial daughters on Earth—or they may set you up to fail. Your popularity with the mob makes the latter course dangerous, but given time...the mob will lose interest in you. And then you’d better watch your back.”

  Marius took a breath. The years fell away and he remembered the Matterhorn, the day they’d jumped through the Asimov Point and into Sapphire. He remembered how they’d been caught in an ambush at point-blank range, and how the superdreadnaught had been crippled within the first few seconds of the ambush. And he remembered how then-Captain Kratman had somehow steered them back to the Asimov Point…they’d escaped the hellish slaughter, the only starship from the assault force to escape. They’d survived by sheer luck, and the determination of the starship’s captain.

  “You may wish to ask yourself another question,” Kratman said. If he was aware of his former subordinate’s thoughts, he gave no sign. “Who has promoted you to the media?”

  “I don’t know,” Marius admitted. Earth’s media was nominally free of control, but he knew that the Senate controlled many of the foremost media corporations. “Who...?”

  “Good question,” Kratman agreed. “I haven’t the slightest idea. Someone seems to like you. Whoever it is, it’s someone with very good connections in the Federation Navy. You may want to think about what you’ll say when they come to you and ask for something in return.”

  “I didn’t want to be a hero,” Marius protested. “I just did what needed to be done.”

  “I know that, son,” Kratman said with uncommon gentleness. “But most of the people on Earth don’t know you as I do. They have to see it differently…and with all those piranhas among the Senators, you have to know that no one, not even the friendliest Senator, does anything for free.”

  Marius ruminated on this for a minute. “Thanks for talking with me. I’ll keep all this in mind, I promise.”

  “Just watch your back, all right?” Kratman pleaded. “I’ve seen far too many of my old officers and men taken out by Justinian—and his allies—as it is.”

  * * *

  Tired and emotionally drained, Roman Garibaldi staggered out of the Examination Hall hours after he’d entered. It felt as if he’d been in the room for years, as if his personal universe had shrunk down to the examination room and the terminal he’d used to answer the questions. All hope of a First had faded, to be replaced by the desperate hope that he might just have scraped a Third. A Fourth or below usually meant repeating the fifth-year at the Academy, though Roman wasn’t sure if that still applied in wartime. He returned to his room, collapsed into bed and fell asleep.

  Hours later, he awoke, ordered a small meal from the food processor, and then fell back asleep after eating it. He felt at loose ends; now that the exams had been completed, he had to wait until the proctors had completed reviewing their answers. All that mattered was passing the exams.

  He tried to keep the thoughts of war from his mind, but he just couldn’t. Would doing worse on his exams mean he’d be sent immediately to the front? Or would he be kept back as an incompetent?

  The following morning, he was awakened at the usual time and ordered to report to the Assembly Hall. He wasn’t the only one, as he noticed almost all of his fifth-year class had been summoned.

  As he and the others poured into the compartment, he saw holographic test results hovering in front of his eyes. There were no Fourth or Fifth results, he noted at once; the unlucky cadets would probably be spared public humiliation. He scanned the Thirds and saw a couple of familiar names, but his was missing.

  Bracing himself, he scanned the Seconds, yet his own name wasn’t present. Thank goodness!

  Taking a deep breath, he looked at the Firsts and saw, clearly, ROMAN GARIBALDI. He’d done it!

  Friends shook his hand or hugged him, eager to share their congratulations, or demanding to know where he was going. He accessed his implants and searched for his orders. They were waiting for him in the network.

  “Enterp
rise,” he said in delight. The Federation Navy’s latest flagship had been his first choice, although he’d known that even with a First, the odds weren’t high. “I’m going to the Enterprise!”

  “Congratulations,” Cadet Sultana Narayanan said. Her accented voice was amused. “So am I.”

  Roman grabbed her and pulled her into a hug. At least he wouldn’t be completely friendless when he arrived. Between them, he was sure they could learn the carrier’s ways and fit right in. He barely heard the speech from the proctors, warning the non-First cadets that their orders were still being cut and that they’d be informed as soon as possible. He was going to the Enterprise!

  “Come on,” Raistlin said. All differences between them had faded, for Raistlin had made a First, too. “Let’s party!”

  Chapter Eight

  The Federation Navy’s standard doctrine for building and deploying carriers was developed during the First Interstellar War and refined over the following centuries. It should therefore be asked, loudly, why that doctrine was ignored when it came to building the Star Carrier designs.

  -An Irreverent Guide to the Federation, 4000 A.D.

  FNS Enterprise, Sol System, 4092

  “We’re coming up on her now,” the pilot said in a bored tone, sounding as if he’d flown the mission hundreds of times before. “You may wish to come forward and watch as we approach.”

  Roman wondered how the pilot could be bored—wasn’t the Enterprise the most famous ship in the Navy?—but accepted his invitation with alacrity, even though it was against regulations. There should have been a second pilot in the cockpit, but all kinds of safety rules were being violated in the desperate struggle to prepare the Retribution Force for its mission. He settled into the spare seat and watched as the carrier slowly came into view. He’d seen images, of course, long before the war when he’d prepared his request for assignment, but the image didn’t even come close to the reality. A civilian might have regarded the huge carrier as ugly, yet Roman saw the Enterprise as beautiful, form melded with function in a way he found nearly impossible to describe.

  Seen from their approach position, the carrier looked like a flattened cylinder, surrounded by launch and recovery tubes for her ten wings of starfighters. A pair of starfighters swooped down towards the shuttle, passing close enough for him to track them, before wagging their wings and flashing off into the great darkness. If the shuttle’s IFF codes hadn’t checked out, Roman was certain their welcome would be a great deal less friendly. The entire Solar System was still jumpy after the Battle of Earth.

  The shuttle altered course, heading towards one of the rear landing decks; Roman gasped as he took in the mammoth drive units at the rear of the ship. Each of the drives—there were no less than eight placed around the massive cylinder—could provide a realspace velocity of 0.8C, even if the other drive units had been disabled. No other starship in the Federation Navy, even a superdreadnaught, could soak up so much damage and keep going. As the shuttle swept towards the landing deck, he saw the point defense blisters and missile tubes that gave the carrier her offensive and defensive punch. If necessary, Enterprise could go toe-to-toe with a superdreadnaught.

  There had always been an Enterprise in the Federation Navy, even before there had been a Federation Navy. USS Enterprise had served as the flagship of the multinational task force that had stopped the Snakes at the Battle of Century, back during the First Interstellar War. She’d been lost the following year at the Second Battle of Ramadan, but by then she’d created a legend. FNS Enterprise, the first starship built specifically for the Federation Navy, had led the fleet that liberated Zion and gone on to serve in all of the remaining battles of the First Interstellar War. Since then, the name had been passed down the ages, even during the Inheritance Wars. The war that had threatened to tear the Federation asunder had seen the odd spectacle of ships called Enterprise fighting on both sides of the war. And there were those who believed that the First Battle of Sapphire would have gone the other way if the last carrier to bear the name had taken part in the fighting.

  The shuttle passed through the force field around the carrier and set down on the landing deck. Roman didn’t have to be told to grab his holdall; he did so and headed over to the hatch, ready to disembark just as soon as it hissed open. The carrier’s internal atmosphere struck him the moment he stepped out of the shuttle with Sultana Narayanan hot on his heels. The Enterprise was clearly a ship that was frantically preparing for war. A handful of shuttles were scattered on the deck, while a pair of starfighters were being disassembled by the landing deck crew.

  He felt the thrumming of the carrier’s drives echoing through the deck as he hastened to the secondary hatch. They’d been warned not to remain on the landing deck for any longer than strictly necessary, and with all the activity he’d seen thus far, he could easily see why.

  Once the airlock cycled, he saw an older woman wearing a commander’s uniform waiting for him. His implant had been loaded with a complete crew manifest for Enterprise, but he would have recognized Commander Rosemary Duggan without it. She was a tall woman with short, dark hair and a grim, bulldog expression. She wore her uniform as if it were a weapon with which to beat her foes to death whenever her captain might command. As the XO of the Enterprise, she was God, as far as her subordinates were concerned.

  “Lieutenant Garibaldi reporting for duty, commander,” Roman said. Sultana echoed him a moment later. “Permission to come aboard?”

  “Permission granted,” Commander Duggan said. She had a sharp voice, biting off her words as if each cost her a credit. “Welcome aboard.”

  Roman saluted the flag, then the starship’s crest of arms and finally the commander herself. Commander Duggan returned the salute slowly—he just knew that her eyes were crawling over them, looking for some flaw in their bearing—before nodding. He had the impression that they’d just passed a test of some kind.

  “You both earned Firsts at the Academy, so I assume that you have the ability to follow orders,” she said. “I want you to understand something. You do not have the experience that comes with your ranks, not yet. We will be working on giving you that experience as rapidly as possible, both in manning your stations and in working with the enlisted crew. You will be at the bottom of the totem pole until you convince me that you can handle the responsibility. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, commander,” they said together.

  “Good,” Commander Duggan said. “Enterprise is the finest ship in Home Fleet, but we’re being detached for the Retribution Force. That means I am going to work you to death over the next few weeks. We’ve had to assign half our enlisted men to other ships to make up for shortfalls in personnel, so we’re drawing on newcomers from the Naval Reserve. The captain”—her tone sharpened—”understands that mistakes will happen in such an environment. But our tolerance of mistakes will fall sharply as we shake down and prepare for operations. By the time we depart the Solar System, we will have a working ship. And I will not hesitate to put you off the ship if you fail to measure up.”

  She smiled, a most unpleasant expression. “Do either of you want to leave the ship now and save me the trouble of filling out the paperwork to have you reassigned?”

  “No, commander,” Roman said.

  “Oh, what a pity,” Duggan said as soon as Sultana had echoed him. Her voice hardened. “Put your holdalls in your cabin, then report to me in Compartment 667-565 in ten minutes. Consider finding it your first test. Try not to be late.” She turned and marched down the corridor, leaving them alone again.

  Roman and Sultana exchanged a glance, and then both of them started trying to find Officer Country. It would have taken hours if he’d had to search, but a simple query from his implant to the ship’s computer provided helpful directions.

  Once they got there, Roman found out that despite the starship’s colossal size, the cabin was small, barely large enough for both of them. It contained a small fresher and an even smaller food processor
. He’d expected as much, though. Junior officers weren’t given large cabins until they were promoted several grades...he shook his head. This wasn’t how he’d expected to spend his first day on the Enterprise.

  “So,” he said, once he had carefully stowed his holdall under the bunk, “where should we find her?”

  A quick check revealed that the compartment number Commander Duggan had given them was useless. It didn’t match any real compartment number in the entire ship. Roman stared at it, feeling panic start to bubble up within his mind. How could he hope to rise to high rank if he couldn’t solve a simple puzzle? It seemed impossible to link the number she’d given them to anywhere on the ship...

  It was Sultana who figured out the answer. “Computer,” she ordered, “locate Commander Duggan.”

  Roman had to laugh as the ship’s computers helpfully provided the answer. Commander Duggan was waiting for them somewhere within the ship’s interior. They followed the directions through a maze of passages and internal tubes—passing hundreds of workers from the nearby Baxter Shipyard—and finally reached a compartment deep within the starship’s innards. Duggan looked up at them as they crawled out of the tube and smiled.

  “You took your own, sweet time,” she said. “How long did it take you to realize that the reference was bunk?”

  “When we compared it to the ship’s plans,” Roman admitted. “The numbering system was completely different.”