Barbarians at the Gates

Chapter Eleven

FNS Enterprise/Magnificent, Sol System/In Transit, 4092

There was nothing to see as Enterprise approached the Asimov Point. There was no swirling wormhole of bright light and twisted colors, no sense they were approaching a gravitationally-distorted region of space. The stars seemed motionless, despite the fact that the carrier was travelling at one-tenth of the speed of light.

It was small wonder, Roman thought from a seat at the rear of the bridge, that primitive space travelers had been so reluctant to believe in the Asimov Points. They wanted something more impressive than an invisible hole in space.

He looked around, trying not to gawk like a civilian. Enterprise had no less than three command centers—the main bridge, the flag bridge and the secondary bridge—but the main bridge was impressive. The captain’s chair—almost a throne—dominated the compartment, which was crammed with consoles and occupied by the best crew in the fleet. It was hard to imagine that they would ever meet their match.

“Now hear this,” Commander Duggan said, her words echoing throughout the ship. “All hands prepare for transit. I say again, all hands prepare for transit.”

Roman settled back into his seat and winked at Sultana. For once, neither of the two newcomers had anything to do onboard Enterprise. The captain, for reasons that hadn’t been shared with his junior officers, had decreed that they could watch from the bridge as Enterprise went through the Asimov Point. Granted, doing so was nothing new for either of them, as they’d had to go through at least one Asimov Point to get to Luna Academy in the first place, but it was their first transit as commissioned officers.

“Humanity’s gateway to the stars,” Sultana said, so quietly that only Roman could hear.

Roman nodded. Back during the First Expansion Era, so long ago that far too much had faded into legend, a brilliant researcher into gravitational oddities—Irene Asimov—had theorised that wormhole links ran between objects with vast gravity fields, such as stars. Her research had allowed her to deduce that lines of gravitational force should have endpoints within the Solar System and, eventually, to pinpoint the Dead End. It had taken another year to develop the gravitational pulse generator that allowed a starship to transit through the Asimov Point, but once the first ship had made it through, there was no shortage of resources to pinpoint the Gateway. The Dead End might have been a colossal disappointment, yet the Gateway had given humanity the stars.

“All stations report ready, sir,” Commander Duggan said. She looked over at the captain. “We are ready for transit.”

Roman looked up at the holographic display, shaking his head in awe. The Gateway was surrounded by enough fortresses to give anyone who tried to poke his nose into the Sol System a very bad day. During the First Interstellar War, every Asimov Point humanity had discovered was then heavily fortified—allowing them to be used as choke points to bleed the Snakes white—and the Federation had never relaxed its defense of Earth. Other Asimov Points in the Core Worlds might be unfortified—and barely charted Asimov Points along the Rim might not even be included in the Federation Navy’s database—but Earth itself would be protected. The logic hadn’t changed, even when the stardrive had opened inaccessible territories to human expansion. Asimov Points were still the quickest way to hop from star system to star system.

“Gateway Command confirms that we are clear to pass through the Gateway,” the communications officer, Lieutenant Nicolas, injected. Nicolas had served on one of the fortresses defending Earth before she’d been transferred to Enterprise as part of the Retribution Force. Roman rather liked her, although their paths rarely crossed outside of the mess. “They’re wishing us good luck.”

The captain settled back in his command chair. “Take us into the Gateway,” he ordered. “Spin up the transit drive and jump us out on my command.”

“Aye, captain,” the helmsman said. “We are within the Gateway.”

On the display, Enterprise crawled past the armored fortresses and entered the sphere they guarded. It crossed Roman’s mind—very briefly—that if the fortresses opened fire at effectively point-blank range, there would be nothing left of the massive carrier apart from free-floating atoms in space.

After all, they were currently in what amounted to a civil war. Who could you trust?

But, despite that thought, Roman still felt a thrill of anticipation as the captain issued the order.

“Jump.”

There was a faint flicker of unease—gone almost as soon as he noticed it—and the displays flickered. And little else. But, despite the lack of drama, they had just hopped thirty light years in a split-second. The scientists swore blind that the transit wasn’t actually instantaneous, but it took less than a picosecond, a time period that no human mind could measure. Roman was almost disappointed. Surely, his first jump as a commissioned officer should be more exciting.

But he knew he should feel fortunate. Only a handful of humans felt anything more than a brief shock when they passed through an Asimov Point, but those who did tended to do poorly in space. And if he’d wanted to stay in one place for the rest of his life, he would have stayed a RockRat.

“Jump complete,” the helmsman said. “Moving to fleet position now, sir.”

“Bring up the main drive and prepare to take us out,” the captain ordered calmly.

Roman sucked in his breath. Enterprise and the remainder of the Retribution Fleet had started their long crawl towards Harmony, a trip that would take more than a month. He looked forward to the journey, but he still felt a strange sense of foreboding. Who knew what was waiting for them out there?

“Madam Exec?” the captain asked, motioning toward Roman and Sultana.

Commander Duggan just shook her head, apparently understanding whatever it was the captain refused to say. “Come on, you two,” she said to Roman and Sultana. “Those tactical simulations won’t beat themselves, you know.”

Roman nodded and stood up, taking one last look at the holographic display. The mighty carrier wasn’t alone. Hundreds of starships followed, flickering through the Asimov Point and into formation. The massed power of the Retribution Force seemed unstoppable. And yet a chill ran down his spine.

“But if you think you’re unstoppable,” Kratman had said, years ago, “you won’t look for your own weaknesses.”

Marius sat in the sealed observation blister, half-wishing he could see outside, even though he knew it would be unpleasant. Stardrive had many advantages, but it was dangerous to look out into space when it was activated. Instead, he looked down at his terminal, yet his thoughts kept wandering. It was hard to concentrate on anything.

For the first one thousand years of interstellar exploration, the human race had been forced to follow the Asimov Points if they wanted to cross interstellar distances in a reasonable amount of time. A star that possessed no Asimov Point—or no Asimov Point that linked into human-settled space—was unreachable, at least by Federation starships. Quite a few political renegades and RockRats had built STL colony ships and set out to found a colony somewhere well out of the Federation’s reach. The discovery of the stardrive—allowing limited FTL travel without an Asimov Point—had placed some long-lost colonies back in contact with the Federation, or created new mysteries where colony ships had simply vanished into the darkness of space. Every space cadet knew the stories—the lost treasure ship of Titan, or the daughters of the King of the Stars—and dreamed about finding them somewhere in the interstellar void. Like most such myths, they were impossible to prove one way or the other.

No one was permitted to use the Observation Blister when the stardrive was activated, moving the fleet through an effectively endless series of tiny gravitational distortions. Marius, like most humans, could not have explained how the drive worked to save his life, but he did know that watching the effects on the starlight could cause sickness, perhaps even madness. Instead, he peered down at the latest report from the training exercises and thought dark thoughts about politically-appointed officers. He’d been given command of the massed firepower of seventy superdreadnaughts, which wasn’t enough to deal with the potential problem.

Admiral Parkinson, to be fair, had agreed to continue with training exercises during the long flight to Harmony. During the first two weeks of transit, Marius had run every simulated drill in the book and several that had never been officially written down. He’d wanted to run some live-fire exercises as well, but Admiral Parkinson had vetoed the idea, citing concerns over cost and delays. But the results hadn’t been encouraging.

The Retribution Force was shaping up, albeit slowly, yet it wasn’t anything close to ready for combat. Given a few more months, he was confident that every unit would do its duty, but for the moment…he scowled and shook his head. He couldn’t make soldiers out of a bunch of ill-trained reservists overnight. Especially considering that quite a few of the officers had been in the Naval Reserve because a superior officer had wanted to put them somewhere harmless.

It was easy to understand why. Some of them actually made Admiral Parkinson look competent.

He glanced down at the latest report and made a face. There was one advantage of dealing with Admiral Parkinson: the man didn’t have the imagination to be dishonest, or even cook the files in his own favor. And Marius would have bet good money that he’d never heard of a Cover Your Ass code, allowing the files to be quietly reedited after the fact.

The Retribution Fleet had all the supplies it needed, locked up tight so some profiteering quartermaster couldn’t make a profit by selling them on the black market, yet some of the commanders were jerking Marius’s chain. The readiness reports on at least twenty superdreadnaughts would have been grounds for an immediate court martial during his first command. The commodore would have had the malefactors locked up and shipped home before they had known what hit them.

But Marius didn’t have that option. As it was, he’d been forced to pull rank to reshuffle the commands so that each superdreadnaught squadron was led by competent officers.

A quick tap on his terminal brought up the star chart. There was no way to know how Admiral Justinian had placed his ships, but the further the fleet proceeded, the more likely it was that they would run into trouble. In two weeks, they would enter Jefferson and pass through the Harmony Asimov Point. If Justinian didn’t show his hand before then, he would have to show it at Jefferson or fall back on the defensive.

He shook his head. Nothing he knew about the rogue admiral suggested he was a man who would be content to stay on the defensive.

There was no point in hoping that the fleet’s progress was a secret. The Senate had loudly proclaimed the launch of the Retribution Fleet—they’d had no choice, considering the Battle of Earth, much less the executions—and pledged to bring Justinian to justice. Marius knew that a single commercial ship with military-grade sensors could have tracked them as they passed through the Gateway, then made a wide dog-leg around the fleet, passed through the next Asimov Point ahead of the fleet, and then raced home. It would be easy for Justinian to track the fleet and plan his ambush.

But why hadn’t he attacked? In Justinian’s place, Marius would have harried the Retribution Fleet and slowed it down until he was ready to crush it. Standard military doctrine stated that the attacker required a three-to-one advantage for certain victory. Sure, the Retribution Force was more than powerful enough to beat Seventh Fleet in a straight up fight, but then, Justinian would know that, too. He would have something unpleasant up his sleeve.

Marius shook his head and keyed another switch. If nothing else, he would do his duty unless relieved or killed in action.

“Personal to Admiral Parkinson,” he said. “I have reviewed the latest exercise results. While I am happy to see that there has been considerable improvement, I feel that we need to concentrate on…”

Roman’s bottom hit the deck hard enough to sting, even through his protective “exercise suit.” The suit provided very little protection, as he’d felt each one of the blows, and he was starting to wonder if that was deliberate. The Marines seemed to feel that it was their duty to knock the weak-kneed Navy officers into shape, and didn’t mind bruising them along the way. Roman had heard from some of the other lieutenants that the Marines were working off their frustrations on the naval officers. It sounded plausible.

“You’re getting better,” Corporal Elf said. She made a show of wiping nonexistent sweat out of her eyes, then extended a hand to help him to his feet. “You almost had me.”

“Right,” Roman said. “I think with one more near-victory like that, I am ruined.”

Elf giggled. No one would have taken her for a Marine if they’d met her out of uniform. She was short and slight, with short elfin hair and bright blue eyes. The first time they’d met, he’d made the mistake of underestimating her and she’d soundly kicked his ass around the training room. He hadn’t ever been able to beat her yet in a straight fight, even at Circle. While he’d been training at Luna Academy, she’d been at Camp Heinlein on Earth and then Camp Paterson on Mars.

But then, all Marines were required to be deadly in both armed and unarmed combat.

Enterprise carried an entire Marine Regiment, one thousand men in all. Roman had given up asking why the Regiment’s crest—a strange, alien creature that looked like a green pile of poop, with big eyes and two unrealistically huge plasma cannons—was tattooed on every Marine he’d met. Marine Regiments had their own traditions, and they were not for anyone else to know. On the other hand, the Marines were encouraged to work with the Navy crewmen as much as possible, even though one of their roles was internal police force if something got out of hand.

“You are definitely getting better,” Elf confirmed, suddenly serious. “But you need a few more hours of practice.”

She winked at him, which he didn’t understand. Was she interested in him? He had no idea, but it wasn’t the first time they’d met in the training room. So why did it keep coming up?

The thought was both exciting and terrifying. The Federation Navy forbade relationships between crewmen in the same chain of command, but winked at relationships outside such bounds. It was one reason why Marines and Navy crewmen tended to spend more time together than an outside observer might expect. The Marines labored under even stricter rules on fraternization amongst themselves, but seemed to have no real issues with Naval officers as almost all of them were outside their chains of command.

He shook his head and snorted as he headed for the showers. It was tempting to ask if she would like to spend time with him while they were both off-duty, but he didn’t quite dare. What if he was wrong and she took offense?

Besides, he knew she was holding back in the training room. She could probably kick his ass with both hands tied behind her back.

Elf followed him into the showers, disrobed and stood under the hot water. Roman swallowed hard and looked away, soaping down as rapidly as possible. Elf seemed unaware of his near-panic, or perhaps she knew perfectly well. They made idle conversation about the mission as they showered, Elf bumping him gently from time to time. He couldn’t tell if she was coming on to him, or merely playing with his mind.

“It reminds me of the engagement in the Ob’enn System,” Elf commented as she dried herself. “We were surrounded by the rebels and cut off from any support—we knew that we were going to die. So the captain gets a squad of us up and tells us to act really dumb. We go out on patrol as if the enemy is millions of miles away and we’re having a picnic. We make ourselves really obvious targets.”

Roman frowned, keeping his eyes off her. “And they jumped you?”

“You’d think so,” Elf agreed. “But no, they left us alone and even pulled back! Someone on the other side was too smart for his own good and decided that the reason we were prancing around like a pack of planetary militia was that we had really strong forces in reserve waiting to hit them when they attacked us. I couldn’t believe it.”

“I see,” Roman said. He reached for his shipsuit and pulled it on, checking his internal chronometer as he dressed. He had twenty minutes before he was due to report for his next assignment, more training exercises. The pace hadn’t slacked off, even though they were now only a few days away from the Jefferson System. “And you think that that’s what Admiral Justinian has in mind?”

“I’m no expert on space warfare, but the principles are the same.” Elf shrugged at him. “He’s giving up territory to us without a fight. Why would he do that, but to gain time to prepare a counter-stroke?”

Roman thought about it from that angle. “It makes sense,” he agreed. “Have you asked the major about it?” Roman had been astonished by how informal the Marines were, compared to the Federation Navy. There seemed to be very little awareness of rank among them.

“The major has tried to convince the captain,” Elf said. “He says that the captain is convinced, but apparently the admiral is enjoying his victory march.”

Roman flushed. Speaking disrespectfully of a superior officer was a military offense.

Elf nodded in understanding.

“Or,” she added, “as our Regimental motto has it, sometimes you have fun, and sometimes the fun has you.”

Five days later, Roman took his seat on the secondary bridge as the fleet came to a halt near the Jefferson Asimov Point. Nothing barred their way into Jefferson, not even a customs station. The thought made him smile. RockRats loathed customs officers, but no customs officer would try to halt the fleet to demand payment. The very thought was absurd.

“Now hear this,” the captain’s voice said throughout the ship. “Set condition one throughout the ship; I say again, set condition one throughout the ship. This is not a drill.”

Roman braced himself. Jefferson was the last place Admiral Justinian could intercept the fleet, short of Harmony itself. It seemed impossible that he would allow them to occupy the system without a fight.

On his display, the first recon probes reached the Asimov Point… and vanished.