Barbarians at the Gates (51 page)

Thankfully, the fight had been brief and relatively painless, at least with regards to the Federation forces. None of Commodore Lu’s men had continued the fight once the late and unlamented Governor Hartkopf had met his end. The governor, it seemed, hadn’t convinced his men to be loyal to him, let alone his memory.

“Contact Admiral Hoskins and order him to bring his ships into the system,” he ordered as the fortresses were secured. “Once the Fleet Train is in the system, I want him to start rearming the ships at once.”

“Aye, sir,” Raistlin said.

“Detach the
Queen Elizabeth
and her squadron and order them to secure the third Asimov Point in this system,” Marius added. The fast superdreadnaughts—built to his personal specifications, including a reworked drive that gave them a combat speed nearly ten percent above average—would be able to beat any starship that left Bester and attempted to race to the Asimov Point. “Once there, they are to launch recon drones into the next system and confirm that it is clear of enemy starships.”

He tapped his console, scanning the squadrons that formed the Grand Fleet. “And then detach the
Midway
and her fellow assault cruisers and order them to scout towards Sphinx,” he concluded. “I want to make sure that our path is clear all the way.”

“Aye, sir,” Raistlin said, sounding stunned by the barrage of orders.

Marius suspected that Raistlin wasn’t entirely happy serving as an aide, not when he should be able to command a ship of his own, yet that was all to the good. He’d seen too many officers who became comfortable as uniformed bureaucrats. But Raistlin, at least, still wanted ship command.

“
Midway
and her escorts took part in the battle, sir,” Raistlin reported. “They fired off their external racks.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Marius said shortly. “We can rearm them before we launch the offensive.”

Speed was of the essence now, speed and stealth. Admiral Justinian might well be keeping an eye on his fellow warlord. With some good luck, word of the governor’s death might have already left the system before the Grand Fleet arrived. He wondered briefly what might happen on the other worlds that had been part of the warlord’s little kingdom, before dismissing the issue. They could be mopped up later, once the other warlord had been crushed.

He watched as the Marines occupied the high orbitals and secured the surrendered starships. In a bad entertainment vid the Marines would have been able to turn the surrendered ships into usable starships instantly, but it was never that easy in real life. The tugs would tow the starships back to the nearest shipyard, where trained yard dogs would survey the ships and decide if they should be scrapped or refitted to meet Federation Navy standards. If they were scrapped, Marius hoped they’d be broken up this time. He’d seen far too many ex-Navy ships that had become pirate vessels.

“Detail a squadron of destroyers and a gunboat carrier to remain in the system,” he ordered. “Detach one of the Internal Security divisions and assign it to maintaining control in orbit. The remainder of the system will have to wait.”

“That is unacceptable,” Walters said. “Powerful interests, admiral; powerful interests want this entire system secured as soon as possible.”

Marius resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. He’d been surprised when the political commissioner had insisted on joining him on the flag bridge when the fleet made transit into danger, and even more surprised when the commissioner had kept his mouth shut during the fighting.

Before Walters could say anything further, Marius cut him off with a short, sharp gesture.

“You know full well that they shouldn’t have expected anything. They shouldn’t even know about it yet—unless you told them?”

“No, admiral,” Walters assured him quickly. “I just feel that those interests would be pleased if we were to secure the system and hand it over to them...”

Marius clapped him on the shoulder, affecting a false bonhomie.

“Let’s wait for the chicken to lay eggs before we scramble and eat them, shall we?” He grinned. “I’d hate to lose the system again because we didn’t defeat the real enemy.”

“And using the Internal Security troopers to hold the planet...”

“It’s what they are there for,” Marius reminded him, with the private thought that it would get them out of his hair. “No doubt their commander is fully aware of the political requirements, but I am sure that you will wish to speak to him personally before we depart this system.”

“Thank you, admiral,” Walters said. He turned and started towards the hatch. “I assume that I will have access to a private communications link?”

“Of course,” Marius said. Walters would have a chance to put the interests of his masters first, just as he wanted. “Good luck.”

He turned back to his console as Walters left the compartment and allowed himself a satisfied smile. The reloading was going quickly; soon, he’d be able to send most of his fleet through the Asimov Point and into the Wanaka System. From there, they would cross the system and hop into the Farnham System. And from there, they would cross the interstellar void and reach Sphinx.

If everything went according to plan, Admiral Justinian was in for a very nasty surprise.

“Angle the decoy squadrons over to the Tranter System,” he ordered as he returned to contemplating the strategic display. “We don’t want to disappoint Admiral Justinian when he starts looking for us, do we?”

* * *

Forty years into the Inheritance Wars, a madman called Wanaka had created a new religion in Earth’s teeming undercity. His faith, which promised earthly salvation to the believers, had claimed that once Wanaka and his closest companions took control of Earth, there would be a new paradise for the oppressed masses. Whatever his grip on reality, Wanaka had been a gifted speaker and within ten years had raised an army that attempted to seize the mega-cities that made up most of Earth’s population centers. It hadn’t lasted, not least because his divinely-inspired plans hadn’t taken into account little things like the orbital fortresses, or the fact that the Senate—already fighting one war for survival—wouldn’t be inclined to handle the uprising with kid gloves. What
had
been planned as an easy takeover was mercilessly crushed and scattered by the Federation’s security forces. Wanaka himself had been captured, along with most of his followers.

Realizing that creating a legend might lead to more instability, the Federation had offered Wanaka and his followers a deal. The Federation would transport him and his followers to a new world, where they would be free to live as they chose. The world the Federation had picked for them had been chosen with malice aforethought; Wanaka had no gas giant, few natural resources and plenty of vegetation that was completely incompatible with human biochemistry. It said something about the determination of the man’s followers that they’d tamed the world at all, although they had very little intercourse with the rest of the Federation.

Roman and Elf stood together in the observation blister, looking down at the world as it receded.
Midway
and her consorts had made one pass, confirmed that the world had hardly any high technology, and then headed for the Asimov Point. Making the entire journey under cloak would drain the ship’s power, but Admiral Drake had specifically ordered it. The sector had never been surveyed properly; for all the admiral knew, there might well be an undetected Asimov Point out there leading to the heart of Admiral Justinian’s territory.

Roman suspected that the Federation wouldn’t bother trying to extract punitive damages from Wanaka. What did a planet of religious fanatics have to offer the Federation?

“You do realize that you’re going to have to tell your guest something,” Elf pointed out. “We’re on our way to kick Justinian’s head in.”

“I know,” Roman said. Truthfully, he had no idea
what
to tell Henrietta. He’d kept her on the ship for two years, without hope of freedom. Elf had suggested giving her a new identity and dumping her on a newly-colonized world—where she would have a chance to build a new life for herself—but if he put her down somewhere, she might have betrayed them, willingly or otherwise. If the Marines hadn’t been loyal to Elf—and if the commissioner hadn’t been an idiot, and if they hadn’t managed to avoid a detachment of Internal Security troops—keeping her presence a secret would have been impossible. “What do you think we should tell her?”

Elf shrugged, crossing her arms under her breasts. “If Justinian accepts the offer of amnesty, there is no reason why she couldn’t be included in it.”

Roman swallowed a curse.

“But if so, she might betray us,” he pointed out.

“You’re quite the white knight,” Elf mocked lightly. She uncrossed her arms and pressed her fingers against the transparent bulkhead. “You have two choices: you can kill her, dump her body into space and swear blind that you never saw her...or you keep her alive and accept the risk of betrayal. And if you don’t want to murder a young girl who didn’t ask to be born to the galaxy’s worst traitor since the Convention of Arbroath, you
have
to accept the risks.”

“I know,” Roman said and nodded. He sighed heavily. “I’ll talk to her.”

“There is another option,” Elf offered. “You could dump her on Wanaka. No one from the Federation can be bothered visiting the planet; it isn’t as if they run the handful of newcomers through DNA scans to check their identity. She could make a good living for herself on the planet’s surface.”

“I doubt it,” Roman said. Wanaka was hardly a testament to female equality. Life on the planet’s surface was nasty, brutish and short. There was no modern medical care, save for medical packages imported by smugglers and reserved for high-ranking personages. “I’ll ask her anyway, and see what she says.”

“Better decide quickly,” Elf said as Roman turned to go. “I think that time is running out for all of us.”

* * *

It had taken some creative modification of bulkheads—and not a little barefaced lying—to create a compartment in which Henrietta could hide. Luckily,
Midway
and her sisters had been built to allow a considerable degree of internal reconfiguration without actually threatening the starship’s structural integrity. The young prisoner—if she was a prisoner; Roman was never actually sure in his own mind—had a bunk, a living room, a food processor and a bathroom. Indeed, she had better quarters than some of his junior officers.

She had had to live in them for the last two years.

She was lying on the bed when Roman entered through the sealed airlock in Marine Country. Few crewmen entered Marine Country willingly, at least without permission, and the hatchway was carefully sealed. An inspection would probably reveal her presence, but Roman had, so far, managed to avoid it. Besides, he’d reconfigured the interior quite a bit, remembering what happened to the
Enterprise
. The reconfigured command stations had saved the ship from capture and conversion into Admiral Justinian’s flagship.

“Good afternoon,” Roman said, taking a seat near to her bunk.

Henrietta didn’t look up from the terminal she was spooling through, studying history and politics. Roman had found her hundreds of books to read that he’d stored within the terminal, as she couldn’t be allowed access to the starship’s computer network.

When she didn’t respond, he added, “We need to talk.”

Henrietta had lost weight during her captivity and dark bags surrounded her eyes. Elf had told him that even though Henrietta was well-treated, it was impossible to avoid the fact that she was a captive. Being trapped in the small compartment would slowly drive her mad. Roman had felt more than a little guilty when Elf had pointed that out, even though if he’d handed Henrietta over to his superiors, she would have been executed along with most of the captured personnel, as the Senate hadn’t been feeling merciful. Once ONI had drained those prisoners of everything they knew, they’d been formally executed by firing squad.

“Sure,” she said after a long beat. “What can I do for you?”

“We’re on a mission,” Roman told her flatly. “We’re heading right towards your father’s homeworld. Once we get there...”

“You’re going to kill him,” Henrietta said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“I don’t know.” Roman took a breath. “The Senate has agreed to provide Admiral Justinian—your father—and his supporters with a limited form of amnesty. If they surrender without ado, they will be sent into exile rather than being killed outright. I believe that will apply to you as well. I can slip you into the transport so you would go into exile with your father.”

“The Senate never keeps its word.” Henrietta snorted. “Why should I trust them?”

“You do have a choice,” Roman pointed out. “You can stay with us, at least until your father surrenders, or we can dump you on the planet below. It’s called Wanaka. The Senate wouldn’t find you there, even if they had a reason to go looking.”

Henrietta’s face took on the vagueness of someone consulting her implants. Even without access to the computers, she would still have a basic planetary database.

“A barbaric place,” she said finally. “I’ll take my chances with you.”

“I had to offer.” Roman stood up. “I’ll chat with you again as soon as I can.”