Barbarians at the Gates (13 page)

“First, we are to track down and capture—or kill—the treacherous Justinian,” Parkinson said. “Second, we are to secure a number of vital points within the Harmony Sector and prepare to return Federation authority to the region. Third, we are to oversee a purge of Justinian’s supporters and ensure that nothing like this can happen again. These matters will be overseen by the Pacification Units that have been attached to the Fleet Train, once Admiral Justinian’s fleet has been forced to surrender or has been destroyed outright.”

This time, Marius could tell that the more experienced officers in the room didn’t like these orders by the set of their shoulders. Pacification Units had only one mission. They crushed all resistance to the Federation’s will, regardless of who was doing the resisting, or why. Pacification Units had ground any spark of independence out of a hundred alien races and worse, had crushed human rebellion on a dozen worlds. Their deployment was a sign that the Senate wasn’t interested in taking any prisoners. He shared another glance with Vaughn, sharing a single thought. The last time they’d encountered Pacification Units, it had been when their CO had vastly exceeded his orders and ended a rebellion by mass slaughter. It said something about the general attitude towards aliens that his actions had earned him a medal and a promotion, rather than a quick court martial and an even quicker firing squad.

“In order to accomplish our objectives, I have determined the most suitable route for us to take to reach Harmony,” Parkinson continued.

He keyed a switch and a holographic star chart appeared over the table. Asimov Points were linked with beams of white light, showing the places where starships could hop from system to system instantaneously, while suspected enemy positions were marked in red. The information, Marius reminded himself, was over five months out of date.

“We will proceed from Earth through the Gateway and then up the Graveyard Chain,” Parkinson droned on. “We’ll hop across to Sparta from Violet Passion, and then proceed through the Archer’s Chain until we reach Jefferson. We will secure the system, then proceed through the Harmony Asimov Point and secure Harmony. If Admiral Justinian wants to fight us, he will no doubt meet us there.”

Marius kept his face inscrutable, but inwardly he was nodding in understanding. The Senate was clearly dictating instructions to their chosen commander, without regard for military logic. The proposed route took over a month longer than the least-time route to Harmony, but it had the advantage that valuable systems could be secured easily. The Jefferson System, in particular, was coveted by many interstellar corporations. The orders to “secure” the system could easily be turned into “occupy.”

“Admiral,” Captain Sanderson said, “it is well known that the Jefferson System is effectively impossible to defend. Why do you want us to attempt to secure it?”

“Those are our orders from the Senate,” Parkinson said. His gaze swept the room. “I have been told—in strictest confidence—that Harmony will be stripped of its position as sector capital, and Jefferson will be promoted to take its place. Our orders are to ensure security on the ground so that the move can be accomplished with the minimum of fuss.”

There was a long pause. Marius said nothing, considering his options.

“I do not expect anyone to attempt to resist us until we reach the Harmony System,” Parkinson went on. “Therefore, I will be dividing the fleet into three components: the vanguard, the main body and the rearguard. The vanguard, under my command in
Enterprise
, will proceed ahead of the main body and show the flag to anyone even considering resistance. We will show them that we are not afraid to operate in their space, and that they can do nothing to stop us.”

Marius frowned. The Fleet Admiral was not supposed to risk himself that way.

“The main body, under Admiral Drake, will serve as the muscle,” Parkinson continued. “In the event they attempt to offer resistance prior to entering the Harmony System, we will reunite the vanguard and the main body and accept battle. Finally, the Fleet Train and a handful of cruiser squadrons will make up the rearguard, escorting our supplies and army divisions for operations against planetary targets. Are there any questions?”

There was a long uneasy pause. Marius finally decided to raise his concerns.

“Admiral,” he said carefully, “I feel that splitting up the fleet risks having one of our sections defeated in detail and destroyed. I do not feel that Admiral Justinian will be standing on the defensive, not after some of his family and supporters were publicly executed. The Book gives him precisely no chance against our sheer weight of firepower, which means that he will be driven to be unconventional. We might jump into the next system to discover that we have flown right into a trap.

“Furthermore,” he continued, before Parkinson could say a word, “the course you have suggested has a number of disadvantages. The enemy will be able to operate with the advantage of internal lines of communication and rotate forces to meet us at will, either outside Jefferson or within the Jefferson System proper. We are short on supplies and...”

“We will be drawing supplies from the fleet supply deports as we pass,” Parkinson said sharply. “They are still in our hands.”

“With all due respect,” Marius said, “how do we
know
that they are still in our hands?”

He kept his expression blank, even though some of the junior officers now looked uneasy. There was—inevitably—a major time lag between sending a message from Earth and receiving it at the other side of the Federation, let alone receiving a reply. Even using the Asimov Point network and StarCom units—where they were emplaced—didn’t allow a message to reach the Rim in less than six months. By now, Admiral Justinian’s forces could have taken the two sectors closest to Harmony, and the Retribution Force wouldn’t know a thing about it until they blundered into an ambush.

“They have confirmed that they are still loyal,” Parkinson said shortly. He turned back to the star chart. “Addressing the issue of local governments, we will remove them...”

* * *

“Perhaps you could spare me a few minutes,” one of the younger officers said as the meeting broke up. “I believe that we need to talk.”

Marius stared down at her in surprise. She wore the uniform of a Commodore, yet her white non-dress uniform showed no golden stars representing ships under her command. He hadn’t paid attention to her at the meeting, but he studied her now, uneasily aware that she was studying him in return. She was short, with light brown skin and long dark hair that hung in a ponytail. A single red dot on her forehead marked her as coming from one of the orthodox Hindu worlds, even though the Federation Navy frowned upon displays of religious enthusiasm. He couldn’t help but notice that she was remarkably pretty.

“Commodore Arunika,” she said, as she held out a dark hand for him to shake. “Office of Naval Intelligence.”

Marius nodded, bending over to kiss the air above her hand. The silver ring she wore on her finger caught his eye and he stared at it. He’d never seen one before, but there was no mistaking the silver band with the Star of David ingrained in the metal. Arunika led him through a pair of compartments and into a more private briefing room. He didn’t protest at how she’d taken charge. The silver ring marked her as a member of the Brotherhood.

“You raised some important concerns, admiral,” Arunika said as soon as the airlock had hissed closed and she’d carried out a brief check for bugs. “ONI has been crunching the numbers ever since we identified the person behind the attack on Earth. I’m afraid that our conclusions have been...ignored.”

Marius’s eyes narrowed. The Office of Naval Intelligence had been heavily politicized in the years before the Blue Star War. Eventually, they’d overstepped themselves and provided inaccurate and incomplete data to the Senate, data that the Imperialist Faction had used to argue its case for war. After the first defeats, the Senate had been looking for scapegoats, and ONI had found itself purged. The officers who had doctored the data—or simply refused to read what was clearly there—had been dismissed from the service, and ONI had been stripped of most of its responsibilities. Federation Intelligence, the civilian intelligence-gathering organization, had stepped up to fill the hole.

“I see,” he said. Parkinson wouldn’t have paid any attention to ONI without direct orders in triplicate from his political masters. “And what did you conclude?”

His implants reported that hers were requesting permission to transmit a file. He authorized it automatically and accepted the file, noting the level of security precautions buried in the document. If someone else had tried to accept it, the file would have destroyed itself and vanished.

“That’s everything we have,” Arunika said. “To summarize: Admiral Justinian has spent the last ten years—at least—preparing his rebellion. Most of the Federation Navy officers assigned to the sector served under him before, or are dangerously ambitious and intelligent. If that wasn’t enough, the admiral has also been requesting an alarmingly large supply of spare parts from Earth—and setting up shipyards and industrial nodes in the sector. Depending on the assumptions we feed into our computers, Admiral Justinian may have a far larger fleet than we know, with a support network second only to the Federation Navy.”

Marius frowned. “And if he had a larger fleet, why not use it against Earth?”

“We don’t know,” Arunika said. “It may interest you to know that two of three Federation Intelligence supervisors in the sector have met untimely ends. The first apparently went big game hunting on Ripley, and was killed by one of the more unpleasant creatures on the planet. The second was fond of patronizing the more...extreme whorehouses on Harmony and, eventually, he died in one of them. You don’t want to know how. The third’s reports showed no sign of concern but since the attack on Earth, he hasn’t responded to attempts to contact him.”

Marius saw the implications at once. “He’s been turned,” he said flatly.

“Almost certainly,” Arunika agreed. “How confident are you that Admiral Parkinson can lead the Retribution Force to victory?”

Marius didn’t bother to answer. Openly criticizing a senior officer was a severe breach of military etiquette, regardless of his personal feelings. There were times when it could be done legally, but not when talking to an ONI spook, even if she was pretty. And besides, she could probably read the answer in his face. He wasn’t very confident at all.

“I suggest that you watch your back,” she said seriously. “And if you need help, perhaps we can be of service.”

She held up her hand, drawing his attention to the ring. “We are interested in you, admiral,” she said. “Perhaps we can help one another.”

“And what, precisely, is the Brotherhood’s interest in this?” Marius scowled.

“The Brotherhood is interested in keeping the Federation stable and strong,” Arunika said. Her eyes lit up with the light of the true fanatic. “If Justinian succeeds in overthrowing the government, or even in declaring independence and making it stick, the result is likely to be chaos. The Brotherhood does not approve of chaos.”

“I wouldn’t have thought that you would have approved of civil war, either,” Marius countered. The Brotherhood...? The last thing he needed was another player with uncertain motives, particularly one with a long and secretive history. He wasn’t blind to the implications of Arunika wearing the ring openly. It was a show of influence and power. “Why are you offering to help me?”

“Because we need to solve this problem as soon as possible,” Arunika said. “There are other admirals who may be considering becoming warlords and attempting to seize power. If Justinian is crushed quickly, they may be deterred from attempting to plunge the Federation even further into a Civil War. We can do a great deal for you, admiral.”

“Of course you can,” Marius agreed. No two rumors about the Brotherhood agreed, but there was a general consensus that the Brotherhood was rich, powerful, and utterly ruthless in accomplishing its objectives. It had certainly made no secret of
those
. “But what do you want in exchange?”

The moment when a fleet departs is a moment of pomp and splendor. Many great speeches are made by political leaders. Behind them, however, is a hidden truth. Assembling a worthy fleet is growing harder and harder in these dark economic times.

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

FNS
Enterprise/Magnificent
, Sol System, 4092

“I’m afraid the main bridge is out,” Commander Duggan said calmly, “and we’re all dead.”

Roman grimaced. Today’s simulation had started with the reserve tactical crew—including him—sitting and waiting for something to happen. In a real battle, he’d been told, it was unlikely that they’d have anything important to do, but the simulation was much more exciting. A freak hit on the ship’s hull with a bomb-pumped laser had just taken out the bridge, and command and control functions had been transferred to the secondary bridge. His console had lit up with new icons, flaring towards the carrier...which was suddenly dependent on the secondary crew to spearhead her defense. No human mind could keep up with the speed of space combat—computers had to control the actual firing sequence—but human minds had to set the computers’ priorities.

His hands flew over the console as his training asserted itself, even as part of his mind complained that the simulation wasn’t particularly realistic.
Enterprise
was what the Federation Navy called a High Value Unit—wags complained that it really meant High Value
Target
—and she never operated alone. A small fleet of cruisers and destroyers escorted her everywhere, even when she went in for refit. The simulation, however, had
Enterprise
off all alone, surrounded by incoming enemy missiles. The engineering crew were already laboring to replace burned-out components and restore the lost shields, but until then a lucky missile could slip through one of the gaps in the shielding and impact against the hull.