Barbarians at the Gates

by Nuttall, Christopher

  Marius nodded sourly. “And what if you were?”

  “I don’t think that I will ever be quite that important.” Vaughn frowned and abruptly changed the subject. “You do realize that nothing will ever be the same again?”

  Marius quirked an eyebrow at him.

  “The Federation almost came apart five years ago,” Vaughn explained. “The warlords came close to destroying what little unity we had left. When this war ends—when the last warlord surrenders or is blown away—what will we have then? A weakened Federation, and Outsiders threatening our borders.”

  Marius stared at him. He’d never heard his friend sound so defeatist.

  “What brought this on?”

  “I have a child,” Vaughn admitted.

  Marius gaped. It was news to him.

  “A little girl,” Vaughn told him. “Her mother, when she realized that I would never be around, refused to allow me to spend much time with my daughter. And yet, she still wants to follow her daddy into the Marine Corps. What sort of universe is she going to inherit?”

  “The very best one we can make,” Marius said. He pressed a hand against the transparent covering, staring up at his fleet. “When we crush Justinian, we can force the other warlords to surrender, and then...”

  “We get caught up in a war against the Outsiders,” Vaughn pointed out. “The Senate is deluding itself if it thinks we can avoid it. The Inheritance Wars were bad enough, but this is going to be worse. All those races out there that have no choice but to grow up in a human universe, where we will only let them live if we restructure their society to fit our mold, and prevent them from becoming a threat to us.”

  “I know. But this is the best we can do.” Marius wished he had a better answer, but he didn’t.

  Vaughn nodded impatiently.

  “Still. We’re on the eve of the greatest war in human history, and the Senate is acting like there’s nothing to worry about, not really.”

  Somehow, Marius had to deflect this conversation.

  “We can beat the warlords and we can beat the Outsiders too,” he said with a smile. “Once we start preparing for war...”

  “That’s the question,” Vaughn said. “When are we going to start preparing for war?”

  The hatch opened before Marius could answer. Blake Raistlin popped through the hatch and saluted.

  “Admiral,” he reported, “Midway just transited the Asimov Point from Greenwich. They’re sending a data download now...”

  Marius had to smile. “And the results?”

  Raistlin managed to do a good job of pretending to be innocent.

  “Come on,” Marius insisted. “Reading the data downloads is an easy trick...”

  Raistlin would have flushed if his skin allowed it. “The negotiations failed, admiral,” he admitted. “The governor rejected our demands.”

  “Well,” Marius said after a long moment. “I guess that means we will have to do it the hard way, won’t we?”

  * * *

  Marius disliked face-to-face briefings. The logistics of bringing so many superior officers onto one superdreadnaught—even if protocol was cut to the bare minimum—were nightmarish. Even the Magnificent, lovely lady though she was, didn’t have a compartment large enough for all the officers who believed they should be invited to the briefing as a matter of course. Indeed, coordinating so many starships was a tricky task in itself.

  Part of the six-month delay in bringing war to Admiral Justinian and all of Justinian’s allies had been because Marius had wanted to ensure that his men knew what they were doing. If nothing else, war was a great teacher and many of the incompetents in the Federation Navy had been shuffled somewhere harmless—or had been killed in action.

  He’d solved the problem by inviting his subordinate admiral—and all of his Commissioners, as he couldn’t avoid inviting them—his Marine Generals and a handful of other advisors to the physical meeting, while the remainder of his officers watched through the datanet. It was an innovation that had some of the traditionalists muttering darkly—standard etiquette for holographic presence was that holograms were rarely acknowledged or treated as genuine visitors—but he’d overruled them. It was his fleet. Besides, the old ways hadn’t always worked out perfectly.

  He allowed himself a wink at Tiffany—the mere sight of her hologram warmed his heart—and took his seat at the front of the table.

  “Gentlemen, be seated,” he ordered.

  He allowed his gaze to slip around the table as the assembled officers took their seats. Admiral Mason had returned from The Hive to take command of his starfighter groups, a task that had diverted most of his formidable energy into solving the problems of operating so many starfighters at once. Vaughn, of course, would command the Marine detachment. Vice Admiral Arunika—she’d finally been promoted for good service—controlled ONI’s resources that had been attached to the mission, as well as a handful of covert assets from the Brotherhood. He carefully did not show his genuine opinion of Commissioner Walter Williams—his Political Commissioner—to show on his face. Williams, at least, was smart enough to refrain from outright interference, although it had taken Tiffany to convince him that Marius had access to more of the levers of power than a mere Political Commissioner. The other starship commanders and senior officers weren’t nearly so lucky.

  “As you know by now, the mission to Bester was not successful,” he began. “Governor Hartkopf refused to accept amnesty on our terms and appears to be completely deluded about the relative balance of power between the Federation and his rebels. We may—I say may—have upset the apple cart in his vest-pocket kingdom by broadcasting details of the negotiations to his allies, but we cannot rely on it. That is all the more...inconvenient…as we are required to pass through the Bester System.”

  He waited for that to sink in, then allowed himself a smile. That hadn’t been on the original operations plan.

  “We are now isolated from the Federation,” he informed them. “The ICN is broken in this sector. I—and I alone—will determine what messages are important enough to be transported to an ICN hub in a destroyer.” His gaze swept the room. “We are under total information blackout. I do not want one word of our plan to leak out, not to Hartkopf and not to Admiral Justinian. If any of you, directly or indirectly, leaks the information to anyone, I will execute you under General Order Fifteen. If any of you wish to protest now, you may do so. It will be noted in my log. Any such protests may even be produced as evidence at my court martial.”

  Marius wanted to smile at their astonished reaction, but he somehow kept his face calm and dispassionate. General Order Fifteen referred to mutiny and granted the fleet’s legitimate CO vast powers to investigate and punish any mutinous crewmen—or officers. It had been forced on the Navy during the early days of the Inheritance Wars. Somehow, it had never been repealed. The powers under General Order Fifteen were so vast that Marius could have had them all shot, and they knew it.

  Of course, by invoking General Order Fifteen, Marius would probably face a court martial afterwards anyway, once the fleet returned to Federation space. But that wouldn’t make any difference to the dead.

  “The Operations Plan we discussed when we were drawing up the orders for the fleet was a sham,” he continued. “I chose to develop it for two reasons: first, because it could easily be adapted to what I actually had in mind, and second, because I knew it would be leaked to Admiral Justinian. The warlord has already shifted his forces back to Jefferson to meet us when we advance from Marx—as planned. Therefore, we are not going to Marx. We’re going to Sphinx, and will advance from there.”

  He watched their faces as they accessed their implants, working through the new concept. Marius had chosen it with extreme care, trusting that Justinian had enough faith in Hartkopf not to realize that there was a gaping hole in his defenses. If Bester fell, if the fleet passed through Hartkopf’s core systems unmolested, they could enter a new chain of Asimov Points that would allow them to enter Just
inian’s forces by the back door. If...

  But it didn’t take too much imagination to realize just how many things could go spectacularly wrong. Fortunately, few officers would raise questions in front of the commissioners.

  “We will proceed at once to Bester,” he informed them. “I believe that our psychological operations will produce fruit. But if they don’t, we will punch our way into the system and then cross to the other Asimov Point. We will not attempt to recapture Bester at present. It would only cost us greatly, for very little in return.”

  He stood up, his gaze sweeping the compartment. “I trust that you all understand exactly why I had to maintain secrecy,” he concluded. “If Justinian gets a hint of our plans before we are in his backyard, we may find ourselves in a position where we are forced to retreat and impale ourselves on Hartkopf’s forces. If we lose here, it will be years before we can rebuild the fleet—and we will all be dead, of course.”

  He let that sink in for a long moment.

  “Do not attempt to leak the plan ahead of time. You have been warned.” He smiled coldly. “Now, are there any questions?”

  There was a long pause. Several officers looked as though they wanted to raise issues, but the commissioners were still there.

  “None, it seems,” he said, answering his own question. “The details of the operation have been forwarded to you. Consider them carefully, then contact me if you feel that we should discuss possibilities. Other than that, gentlemen...good luck to us all.”

  He watched as the holograms popped out of existence. There were some details he’d been careful not to mention. The Brotherhood’s agent in the Bester System, for example, and the “secret package” Captain Garibaldi had delivered while departing the system. But they didn’t need to know all of the details.

  Marius allowed himself an internal sigh as Commissioner Walters came over to him, his grey uniform matching his face. If he’d spent a day on a warship before being appointed as a political commissioner, Marius would have been astonished. The man seemed to have no concept of how a warship functioned. There were some people, even two thousand years after the birth of the Federation, who never really developed their space legs. Marius had been curious as to what Walters had been doing prior to his appointment to his ship, but the files had been carefully sealed. Even his access permissions hadn’t been able to open them.

  “Admiral,” Walters said. His voice was thin, almost reedy. “The orders you presented today were not the ones my...ah...superiors forwarded to me.”

  “Of course not, William,” Marius said. He was damned if he was going to call the little weasel “sir.” “I knew that the original orders would have been intercepted by the enemy.”

  “The Senate is above suspicion,” Walters protested angrily. “Refusing to follow their orders...

  “Are the Senatorial Aides above suspicion?” Marius asked mildly.

  Walters flushed.

  Marius pressed his advantage. “What about their families? Or the industrialists or investors who watch the war carefully? Can you guarantee that the secret wouldn’t have leaked?”

  Walters ignored the questions. “But you’re exceeding your authority by a very long way...”

  “Actually, I’m not,” Marius said pleasantly. He keyed his terminal and brought up the Senate’s instructions. “You will notice, when you read my orders from the Senate, that they include a line about carrying out offensive operations as I see fit. Should you feel that I am still exceeding my orders, you are welcome to drop a line to the Senate about it—after we hit Sphinx and start hammering our way up to Jefferson.”

  He watched the Commissioner’s face; it was obvious that he was trying to do the math.

  “It will be at least three months before you receive a reply,” he said, taking pity on the younger man. “And that assumes that they send one back at once. My backers may refuse to say anything until they learn if the operation has succeeded. You might end up looking like an idiot.”

  Walters allowed that to slip past him. “Admiral, I must insist...”

  “If you want to allow this opportunity to slip past us, you are free to do so,” Marius said. “You would, of course, have to explain it to the Senate—after all, you will have prolonged the war. I’m not going to call the operation off, William. If you want to cancel it, you can cancel it on your own authority.”

  He had to smile as Walters wilted in front of him. The Commissioner had to know that Marius had powerful allies—and his wife had powerful relations. If he could talk Marius out of launching the operation, it wouldn’t rebound on him, but Marius wasn’t going to give him the easy option.

  Besides, if Walters wanted to protect his skin so much, he shouldn’t have accepted transfer to a warship going into harm’s way.

  “I will make an official protest,” Walters said as he stood up. His voice sharpened, although it still had the same unpleasant twang. “I believe that you have exceeded your authority, and that will be reflected in my official report to the Senate.”

  Marius watched him storm out of the compartment, passing Tiffany as she walked into the room. His wife wasn’t smiling.

  “You should arrange an accident for him,” she said flatly.

  Marius gave her a surprised look. He’d known that Tiffany had a ruthless side, but he hadn’t known that she was that ruthless.

  “He’s a small man,” she explained. “And if there’s one thing a small man can’t abide, it’s something that makes him look small. He’s too much of a coward to strike at you directly, but I’d bet anything you care to put forward that his dispatch back home will accuse you of everything from fornicating in public to high treason.”

  “Fornicating in public and high treason,” Marius repeated. He allowed himself a slight grin, cracking a weak joke. “How will I ever get a job with a record like that?”

  “I’m serious,” Tiffany said. She walked over to him and placed his hand on his shoulder. “You have to do something about him.”

  He relaxed into her touch, wondering how he’d lived without a partner for so long.

  “And the next one will probably be worse,” he predicted dryly. “But if the offensive fails, there is a good chance that we will all die, so his report will go nowhere. If we succeed, he’ll look like a moron.”

  Tiffany snorted. “Do you think that that will stop him?”

  “Not really, no,” Marius admitted.

  He pushed the issue of Walters aside and smiled at her. “In two hours, the fleet will depart and head through the Asimov Point toward Bester. Do you think we can find something to do to pass the time?”

  She pretended to consider it.

  “I suppose.” Tiffany leaned down to kiss him deeply. Her hands reached down and stroked his chest. “I’m sure we can think of something.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The Federation has complete freedom of the press, at least in theory. Ironically, it is the one promise that the Senate has never been able to subvert completely, although they have tried hard over the years. The sheer complexity of planetary datanets makes it very hard for the Senate—or a local government—to prevent the spread of information. This does not stop them from trying, of course.

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

  Bester, Zathras System, 4097

  “Two kilometers to target...”

  Alicia allowed herself a faint smile as she drifted towards the massive fortress. It said something about Governor Hartkopf’s fear of his own people that he chose a mammoth orbital fortress as his command post. The fortress was armed to the teeth, with more weapons and defenses than the average superdreadnaught, yet it made him vulnerable. And never more so than now. Alicia’s secondary processor had been scanning news reports from the planet below, and it was clear that the governor was hanging on by the skin of his teeth. It wouldn’t be long before someone overthrew him, providing they managed to gain access to his fortress. The man’s paranoia was quite unbelievable, but
not necessarily misplaced.

  The average defense system was designed to track fast incoming targets, like missiles. They weren’t designed to track a single person in a tiny, completely silent combat suit. Alicia had been drifting in for four days, relying on her suit and augmentations to keep her on course while she allowed her mind to slip into a trance. Even a hardened vacuum-jockey would have hesitated to undertake such a mission, but Alicia had been enhanced far beyond the standard—or even legal—conventions. She didn’t have to worry about the sensory deprivation the average person would suffer after four days in a suit. It was, in a way, just another day at the office.

  She kept a careful eye on her passive sensors. She had to be as careful as she could, considering the fortress looming directly in front of her, filling the sky. It was just possible that a man as paranoid as Hartkopf would have taken a few additional precautions, perhaps adding additional sensor networks or even having some men in suits patrolling the hull. That would have been taking paranoia a step too far, she thought to herself, and most security personnel would have objected strongly.

  On the other hand, if she did pass through the sensor nets undetected, manned patrols were the only thing that would have a prayer of intercepting her short of her target.

  No security guards appeared to stop her as she drifted the final few meters to the fortress’s hull. Her imagination filled in the clang as she touched down on the surface, even though she knew that no one would hear any sound of her presence. She checked around her automatically, activating the weapons built into her combat suit, before relaxing. No one was moving anywhere near her. The entire hull was abandoned.

  Alicia grinned. She loved missions when she appeared right out of the target’s blind spot.

  She walked toward the nearest airlock. It wouldn’t be long before she was safety inside the fortress. Then the real work could begin.

  ONI hadn’t been able to provide her with any plans for the fortress, as it had been built after Hartkopf had declared independence from the Federation, but Alicia was used to going in blind. Indeed, the better the intelligence, the greater the complacency—and the chance for something to go spectacularly wrong.