Barbarians at the Gates (48 page)

Hartkopf fixed her with an unwavering glare.

“I want to remain governor of this sector,” he countered. “That’s my price for ending the war.”

“Unacceptable,” Tiffany said flatly. “Understand this, governor: the Federation will
not
permit you to remain in a position of power and influence. We will offer you your life and your fortune. If you choose to refuse our offer, it won’t be repeated.”

His face showed none of his true feelings, but she knew he had to be struggling to make up his mind. If he accepted, the Federation could break the agreement and execute him once the sector was safely in loyalist hands. If he refused, perhaps he could stand off the Federation Navy...and yet, cold logic suggested otherwise. The Federation Navy outmassed his private fleet a thousand to one.

“I have come here to listen to serious offers,” Hartkopf said. “Instead, a mere slip of a girl offers me an insulting deal that will leave me a penniless pauper. I spit on your offer...”

“Think carefully,” Tiffany said sharply. “You can’t stand against the Federation Navy for long...”

“I will ally with Admiral Justinian and bring his fleet into the sector,” Hartkopf said as he stood up. “I suggest that unless you want this ship to be blown to atoms, you should let me return to my ship. Now.”

Tiffany didn’t move.

“Are you rejecting our offer?”

“Yes,” Hartkopf snarled. His voice darkened. “Do you think that I would give up all this just for a life as an internal exile?”

“Just remember, we offered,” Tiffany said sadly. “I trust you’ll understand if I don’t bother to wish you good luck?”

The governor didn’t bother to reply.

* * *

“He rejected the offer?” Roman asked incredulously. As soon as Hartkopf had returned to his ship, the space liner—a twin for the
Harmonious Repose
, an irony that wasn’t lost on Roman—had turned and headed back towards the planet. But he’d still had hopes that Hartkopf might listen. No one had opened fire, after all.

“I’m afraid so,” Lady Tiffany said. “I suggest that we get out of the system before he turns on us.”

Roman nodded, keying his console.

“Elf, launch the special package,” he ordered. The enemy ships were too far away to detect the launch, luckily. “Communications: did you record the meeting?”

“Aye, sir,” the communications officer said. “Plan B?”

“Plan B,” Roman agreed, and smiled. “Launch the drone.”

“Drone away, sir,” the communications officer said. “Direct data link established. If something happens to us, the drone will be updated automatically.”

“Helm, take us back to the Asimov Point,” Roman ordered. “Best possible speed.”

He’d expected Governor Hartkopf to order his defenses to attempt to intercept
Midway
as she headed towards the Asimov Point, but no one attempted to bar their way.
Midway
vanished through the Asimov Point and was gone.

“We’re clear, sir,” the helmsman reported.

Roman grinned. It had been Lady Tiffany who’d suggested a slight alteration to the original plan, one that her husband had enthusiastically endorsed. If Hartkopf refused to negotiate—if he prevented anyone else from learning about the negotiations—the Federation would make sure that the entire
system
learned the truth. The drone would start broadcasting a complete recording of the meeting and the governor’s rejection, right across the entire system. By the time the drone was destroyed—as it would be easy to locate—it would be far too late. And then Governor Hartkopf would discover how his subordinates felt about losing their last chance for safety.

Admiral Drake had even improved the offer carried by the drone. If someone took the governor’s head, the remainder of his subordinates could still claim amnesty.

“We’ve put the cat amongst the pigeons,” he said with a grin. “Helm, take us back to the admiral. Best possible speed.”

It is rare for the Senate to offer command of a sizable force to a single man. The reason for that is quite simple. An admiral has command of a force that will, as a general rule, obey him without question, perhaps following orders that end with a coup and the destruction of the Federation Senate. The more powerful the fleet, the more intrusive Senate interference becomes, something that was not unimportant during the opening battles of the Blue Star War...

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

FNS
Magnificent
, Eddore, Zathras Sector, 4097

From the observation blister, Marius could see his fleet, the greatest force assembled since the Blue Star War. The sight never failed to impress him.

It was surprisingly rare for entire fleets to be visible using the naked eye. Even the closest of formations allowed plenty of room between starships that could be up to six kilometres long, and the only time that starships flew closer together was during reviews. Now, however, the Federation Navy’s Grand Fleet—Marius had suggested the name and the Senate hadn’t demurred—hung in orbit around a red dwarf, running lights illuminating them for all to see.

Two hundred superdreadnaughts provided a solid core of firepower, backed up by nearly a thousand cruisers and destroyers. Ninety fleet carriers, seventy assault carriers and a hundred escort carriers provided over ten
thousand
starfighters to cover the fleet against enemy starfighters and missile fire. Behind the warships, the Fleet Train—two thousand freighters loaded with everything from missiles to crated starfighters—waited, providing all the supplies the fleet could need for a year of campaigning.

Marius wasn’t blind to the level of trust the Senate had placed in him. And he had no intention of losing the campaign. He knew just how weak the Senate was, as a government, but it was better than the alternative. Without a strong central authority, humanity would fall apart into chaos and the aliens would win.

He had no intention of losing. Anything.

He thought of Tiffany and found himself smiling. He’d been doing that a lot since he’d discovered that he and his young wife had so much in common. So far, they’d managed to build a life together, even if it wasn’t exactly what he would have chosen. Tiffany’s pithy observations on the Senate and High Society had helped to shape his own thoughts. He’d once regarded her, to his shame, as an encumbrance, but now...he found himself oddly terrified by the thought of losing her.

And he’d sent her into deadly danger.

“I saw that look,” Vaughn said. His oldest friend smiled at him. “You’re in love.”

“I suppose I am,” Marius admitted. It was odd how easy it was to say. “I wonder if you will be getting married, too.”

“Two years of marriage and he thinks he can tell us all to get married,” Vaughn said dryly. “I’m married to the Corps, as you know very well. And besides, I’m not the latest political sensation, for which we should all be grateful.”

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.”