Barbarians at the Gates

by Nuttall, Christopher

  And that was the nub of it, Roman thought numbly. Refusing to execute her—or hand her over to Admiral Mason to be executed—would break the Senate’s decree. The Senate would not be charmed with this challenge to their authority. It was true that starship commanders had wide latitude to decide how to interpret regulations, but Senatorial decrees left no room for maneuver. He swallowed, hard. Professor Kratman had warned them that there might be times when they had to choose between following orders blindly or risking court martial, but he’d never considered, even in his worst nightmares...he’d thought about choosing to refuse orders to bombard an inhabited planetary surface, not refusing to execute a slip of a girl. Bombarding an entire planet would be wrong.

  And that was the answer, wasn’t it?

  “Yes,” he said. He closed his eyes for a long moment, thinking hard. “How many people know that we took her alive?”

  “Only you and I,” Elf said. “The others don’t know her identity. Her fellow travelers were separated from her as soon as the pirates figured out who she was.”

  “Good,” Roman said. “We keep her here as a prisoner. No one is to know anything about her.”

  “As a pet?” Elf asked dryly. “What do you intend to do with her in the long run?”

  “I’ll figure something out.” Roman shook his head slowly. At the moment, he didn’t have the slightest idea what, though. Keeping her alive was bad enough, but should he report her death? The admiral would be furious if he knew that Roman had signed a lie into the ship’s log, with good reason. “You never know. Having her alive might come in handy.”

  “We could always sell her back to her father,” Elf said mischievously.

  Roman gaped at her.

  “Just kidding, but you do have to admit that it is an interesting point. What would his father do to get his daughter back?”

  “That’s one question,” Roman agreed. “And here is the other. What was she doing on that ship in the first place?”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  An officer who knowingly lies to a superior officer, for whatever reason, can be court-martialled at the request of the victim. A Board of Inquiry will decide if the incident was justified or not. If not, the ultimate sentence is death.

  -Observations on Federation Navy Regulations, 4056

  FNS Golden Hind/FNS Midway, FAS-48237892, 4095

  “I assume, young man,” Admiral Mason said coldly, “that you have some kind of explanation for this?”

  Roman kept his expression blank. The flight to the rendezvous point had been fraught with tension. A single assault cruiser might slip through an unguarded Asimov Point without anyone detecting its passage, but a star carrier was far larger—and Golden Hind was supported by seventeen older-model starships. The admiral had known the risks of detection and chosen to brave the passage anyway, even though it would put them out of direct contact with the loyalists for several months. He couldn’t blame the admiral for feeling a little concerned. He had overstepped his orders, after all.

  “Yes, sir,” he said carefully. “I have a very good explanation.”

  “Really?” Admiral Mason said. His tone suggested that he didn’t believe a word of it. “Let me see now, shall we? You were ordered to scout out enemy convoy routes and attempt to determine their numbers and strength in our area of operations. You were not ordered to engage their ships, or engage pirate ships. By doing so, you have imperilled the operation’s chances of success. What do you have to say for yourself?”

  Roman bit down on his temper. Shouting at a superior officer wouldn’t help.

  “The civilian ship was attacked by pirates and I chose to rescue her, knowing the risks,” he said. “The pirate ship was nearby and I chose to engage her, capturing the crew and rescuing the hostages.” Including one he wasn’t going to mention to the admiral. “My actions were in line with the Federation Navy’s very reason for being.”

  “An interesting argument,” Admiral Mason said with a sneer. “And do you think that your mentor will accept it?”

  “Yes, sir,” Roman said.

  “Oh,” Admiral Mason said. “I know that captains have wide latitude in carrying out their orders, but very few captains have ever been granted the authority to rewrite their own orders—and I can assure you, Garibaldi, that you are not one of them. Please tell me, exactly, why you feel that this little bout of disobedience will not result in a court martial for gross insubordination in the face of the enemy?”

  Roman gathered himself. “Because, as I stated in my report...”

  “I am asking you, captain,” Admiral Mason said. “I want to hear the answer from your own mouth.”

  “The pirates didn’t board, storm and loot any old commercial ship,” Roman said. “They boarded a White Swan-class liner with a very strange passenger manifest. The passengers we were able to identify, sir, were all from Admiral Justinian’s government. We took the liberty of carrying out preliminary interrogations, and they sang like canaries under truth drugs.”

  “My,” Admiral Mason said drolly. “And you feel that this stroke of luck makes up for disobeying orders?”

  “Yes, sir,” Roman said. “If I had chosen to ignore the wrecked ship, or blown the pirate craft into atoms, we wouldn’t have had such an intelligence windfall drop into our laps.”

  “True,” Admiral Mason agreed. He leaned forward, his dark eyes fixed on Roman’s face. “I think you’d better tell me what you found.”

  Roman kept his face impassive. Had the admiral not read his report, or was he intent on giving Roman enough rope to hang himself with? Or was he just testing how his youngest captain handled himself under pressure?

  “Admiral Justinian and Governor Hartkopf—he now styles himself Governor-General Hartkopf—are on the verge of concluding an alliance,” Roman said. That, at least, hadn’t been hard to discover. “The liner we discovered, the one that was attacked and pillaged by the pirates, was carrying the negotiating team to discuss the final terms of the treaty. It was also carrying”—and here he knew he was venturing into dangerous waters—”the admiral’s daughter. She was to be given to Hartkopf in marriage.”

  Admiral Mason stroked his chin, thoughtfully. “Curious,” he said finally. “I was under the impression that Hartkopf was already married.”

  “I looked it up,” Roman said. “His wife was on the list of proscribed personages after the governor abandoned his claims of loyalty to the Federation. She may already be dead, executed by the Senate. In any case, they were not on speaking terms, and she was on Earth with her lover when her husband declared independence.”

  He smiled inwardly at the admiral’s expression. It had been Blake Raistlin who’d introduced him to the underground news-sheets that followed Earth’s political elite and their children, turning their doings into entertainment for the rest of the Federation. Roman was hardly a prude—RockRats were rarely prudes—but some of their activities shocked even him. Mistress Hartkopf had not only cheated on her husband, she’d blatantly flaunted her many affairs all over Earth when the war began. Roman could easily understand how the Governor-General might prefer a nubile teenage girl as a wife...and if his own wife was dead, so much the better. High Society tended to frown on bigamy, much to his surprise. It wasn’t as if it frowned on many other deviant behaviors.

  “It makes sense,” Admiral Mason said slowly. He sounded as if having a tooth pulled out would be preferable to agreeing with Roman. “Admiral Justinian doesn’t have much to offer that would actually prove his sincerity, but his daughter...yes, that makes sense. She’d be a hostage for her father’s good behavior as well as an incentive for Hartkopf to cooperate. And besides, it isn’t like he has much else in the way of legitimacy...”

  “Sir?” Roman blinked.

  “The Federation Senate is the elected government of the Federation,” Admiral Mason said. “That very fact alone gives it legitimacy in the eyes of trillions of human beings, even those who hate and fear the Federation’s power. Admiral Justin
ian, on the other hand, is a usurper. He has to rely on force and persuasion, threats and blandishments, to encourage people to cooperate with him.”

  “But humans have always been willing to follow monarchies in times of hardship,” he added, eyes narrowing. “I wonder if Admiral Justinian intends to declare himself Emperor of Humanity? If so, Hartkopf would have a chance to become Emperor himself, or father the Heir to the Throne. In any case, your reckless disregard of your orders seems to have given us an opportunity. How best, I wonder, to make use of it?”

  He looked up suddenly. “The daughter,” he said. “What happened to her?”

  Roman had, luckily, prepared for the question. There had been no way to hide the fact that Henrietta had been on the liner, not without arranging for the other prisoners to suffer an unfortunate accident. No one knew, apart from Elf and himself, that she was still alive and on the Midway. And, if he wanted to keep her safe, the admiral must never be allowed to find out.

  “The pirates captured her,” he said truthfully. There had been no way to hide that either, even though only a couple of pirates had known her identity and they’d both been killed during the brief confrontation, shot down by their own men. “We have been unable to locate her corpse. They may have handed her over to another ship that escaped detection, or they may simply have killed her and pushed the body out of the airlock.”

  “Shame,” Admiral Mason commented. “It would have been nice to hand her over to the Senate along with the other prisoners.”

  “Sir,” Roman said slowly, “I think we shouldn’t do anything too hastily.”

  Admiral Mason lifted a single eyebrow, daring Roman to proceed further. “We’re talking about men from the admiral’s inner circle,” Roman explained. “The level of intelligence they could give us would be very helpful...”

  “ONI would get to interrogate them first, before they were handed over for execution,” Admiral Mason pointed out.

  “And there is also the possibility of sowing the seeds of suspicion and distrust between the two warlords,” Roman said. He’d thought about little else since they’d started their flight to the Marx System, and then back to The Hive. “What if we attempted to convince Admiral Justinian that the pirates weren’t pirates at all, but Hartkopf’s forces?”

  “And why, exactly, should Hartkopf decide to start a war with his fellow warlord?” Admiral Mason sneered. “Where is the logic in that?”

  “Hartkopf knows—he must know—that if he allied with Admiral Justinian, he would always be the junior partner.” Roman smiled. “According to the negotiators, Admiral Justinian was prepared to concede autonomy to Hartkopf, but very little else. What if we convinced Justinian that Hartkopf made a deal with the Federation, and arranged for the negotiating team to fall into our hands?”

  “A turncoat can never be trusted, for he turned his coat once,” Admiral Mason said thoughtfully. “It isn’t as if your scenario is impossible, I suppose. On the other hand, captain, the inhabitants of the Marx System could have told you a few things about relying on too complex a plan. How many things do you think could go wrong?”

  Roman nodded towards the holographic display, showing the nearby stars and Asimov Points.

  “Sir, with all due respect, if the two warlords join forces, we will be hard pressed to defend the Federation’s flank. The prisoners have confirmed that the treaty has already been drawn up and only awaits a royal marriage to seal it. I respectfully submit that anything that has a chance of disrupting that alliance is worth trying. We could hardly be in a worse position.”

  “Why is it,” Admiral Mason enquired, “that when a person says ‘with all due respect,’ they mean without any respect at all?” He held up a hand before Roman could try to answer. “Never mind, captain. Very well; I concede your point. Now, how do you intend to turn our two enemies against one another?”

  Roman had spent days thinking about the possibilities.

  “Sir, Admiral Justinian has the Marx Asimov Point heavily fortified, but they have only a limited mobile component,” he said. “We have the firepower necessary to blow that mobile component to hell and gone.”

  “Right,” Admiral Mason agreed. “And assuming that I agreed to take the risk of direct confrontation with his forces—which, may I remind you, we were ordered to avoid if possible—what would it gain us?”

  “We use our ECM to pretend to be from Hartkopf’s forces,” Roman said. “We demand a meeting well away from the Asimov Point and wait until the enemy cruisers come into firing range, at which point they’ll open fire. We use the face of one of the prisoners to convince them to come up fat and happy.”

  “I doubt they’ll be that willing to take anything on faith,” Admiral Mason said slowly. “Three years of war will have weeded out the incompetents on his side...still, it might work. And dare I assume that you have an operational plan already drawn up?”

  “Yes, sir,” Roman said. He accessed his implants and shunted the encrypted file into the admiral’s desktop processor.

  “I will review it with my staff and consider it.” Admiral Mason leaned back in his chair, apparently relaxed. “And now that that’s over, perhaps you could give me your verbal impressions of our area of operations.”

  “Yes, sir,” Roman said.

  He sat back and started to outline his thoughts. Midway’s probes had identified several convoy routes through the border space, although there was no way to know if they were serving the warlords or merely civilians trying to survive as the Federation tore itself apart. Roman’s sensor section had identified one patrolling warship as actually belonging to a mercenary company out of Hobson’s Choice, presumably hired to guard the freighters from pirate attacks—or even one or both of the warlords. The fleet would have good pickings, at least until the warlords started patrolling the sector more aggressively.

  “Not too bad,” Admiral Mason said after Roman was done. “One other thing, captain?”

  Roman looked up.

  “What do you intend to do with the pirate prisoners?” the admiral asked casually.

  Roman scowled. He hadn’t bothered to check on the prisoners he’d abandoned in the wreck of the Harmonious Repose. They had enough supplies to last them for several weeks without rescue, assuming they were careful. He wasn’t going to shed any tears if they killed themselves instead, or if they were just never able to recover them. Besides, there was the issue of just how to deal with them. He’d given the pirates his word.

  “I was going to have them interrogated to learn the location of their bases and other information, then transfer them to a penal colony,” he said. “I gave them my word.”

  “So you did,” Admiral Mason agreed. He leaned forward coldly. “Regulations are clear on this point, captain. Pirates captured in the act are to be executed once interrogated—no exceptions.”

  “Yes, sir,” Roman said. “On the other hand, if I’d tried to storm the pirate vessel—or put a missile into her hull—there would have been a bloodbath. And we would have been denied the intelligence windfall I collected from the pirate ship. And we wouldn’t have recovered the pirate ship. I think we could probably put that to use, sir.”

  “I’m sure.” Admiral Mason sneered again. “You seem to have a knack of falling headfirst into a bucket of shit and coming out covered in diamonds. It won’t last, and the first time your luck fails you will be the day your universe collapses. Don’t disobey orders again, or even your mentor won’t be able to stop you being busted down to Ensign and assigned to an isolated mining colony so far from Earth that they think FTL travel is a joke.”

  “Yes, sir,” Roman said.

  “Now get back to your ship,” Admiral Mason ordered. “I’ll read your plan and inform you of my decision.”

  * * *

  It wasn’t common for starships—even the superdreadnaughts and carriers—to have more than a handful of cells in the brig. If the starship did need, for whatever reason, to restrain more than a handful of prisoners, it was easy
to seal off a section and use it as a makeshift jail. Without power tools or weapons, the prisoners couldn’t hope to escape. Roman had turned one of Midway’s holds into a prison for most of the prisoners—and they had complained non-stop about the accommodation, even though they weren’t in danger of being tortured and raped—but he’d kept Henrietta separate. He’d have to transfer the other prisoners to Golden Hind and they couldn’t be allowed to learn that she was still alive.

  Midway’s brig consisted of two sections. A Marine guard stood outside one section, under strict orders not to enter the brig or allow anyone else to enter without Roman’s permission. Inside, there was a force field hemming the prisoner into a small cell, allowing visitors a chance to speak to the prisoner in private. Unlike a civilian jail cell, every moment in the brig was recorded by hidden sensors, but Roman had used his command authority to deactivate them. There would be no record of this prisoner.

  Henrietta was lying on the bunk when he walked through the hatch and stopped outside the force field. She looked as if she had been sleeping, but her eyes were hollow when she pulled herself upright and stared at him. Elf had checked her thoroughly and reported that she was in good health, yet it would have surprised Roman if she wasn’t a little traumatized. Her life had turned upside down several times since the war began. And she knew that if a senior officer learned of her presence on the ship, she’d be executed. She was completely at his mercy and she knew it.

  “Thank you for coming,” she said. Her voice was soft and weak, vulnerable. “I was running out of books.”

  Roman nodded. A prisoner, even a crewman placed in the brig for a brief spell, could not be allowed to access the ship’s computers, even the recreational files open to all. In earlier days, he’d been told, computer-skilled personnel had hacked into the security systems and made their escape. That was supposed to be impossible now, but the regulation still remained in force.

  “Tell me something,” he said suddenly. “Did your father give you a choice when he sent you to marry Hartkopf?”