Barbarians at the Gates

Chapter Twenty-One

FNS Magnificent, Boskone System, 4095

It was an older and more confident Roman Garibaldi that strode into Fleet Admiral Marius Drake’s office on the superdreadnaught. He wore a captain’s uniform as if he’d been born to wear it.

Marius accepted the younger man’s salute and returned it before waving Garibaldi to a seat. The newly-minted captain took it without the hesitation he’d shown on their first meeting, three years ago. Marius smiled as he returned to his own seat. It wasn’t the first time he had mentored a promising junior officer, but Garibaldi was something special. Very few people had the combination of skill and luck that Garibaldi displayed in abundance. The Promotion Board clearly agreed. At twenty-five, Garibaldi was the youngest captain in the Federation Navy—and in history.

The thought made Marius smile momentarily as he nodded to his steward, who had prepared cups of coffee for the admiral and his guest. Too many promising young officers had died since Admiral Justinian had started his rebellion, killed in battle or captured by one of a dozen factions that were tearing the Federation apart. Admiral Justinian’s second attempt to punch through the Asimov Point and capture the system had been bad enough, but the revolution on Maskirovka had been bloody and futile…and the other rogues had been worse. Marius knew that he’d been lucky to get even the reinforcements he’d been given, not with too many other flashpoints requiring a permanent Federation Navy presence. The Senate’s growing panic had ensured that large forces were kept on permanent standby around nodal points, limiting the ships that could be deployed on offensive operations. It was total bloody chaos.

“My congratulations on your promotion,” Marius said as they sipped their coffee. “I read the citation. Your little stunt at Terra Nova could have gone spectacularly wrong.”

“Yes, sir,” Garibaldi said. “I believed that the risk was justified.”

Marius had to smile. The younger man was more focused than he’d been as a junior officer. War did that to young officers, those who survived the first few years of their careers.

“So did the Promotion Board and your own captain,” Marius agreed. “I read both his report and the more private message he forwarded to me. You nearly gave him a heart attack.”

He smiled at Garibaldi’s expression. “You deserve command of Midway, certainly,” he added, changing the subject. “Command of the first of a new generation of starships! Not too shabby, not at your age.”

Garibaldi hesitated, and then must have realized that he was being teased.

“Yes, sir,” he said, an unmistakable note of pride in his voice. “I’m very proud of her.”

“I read the readiness reports.” Marius tapped the datapad on the table. “You’re doing very well, certainly better than some believed. I think you have a bright future ahead.”

He shrugged, dryly. “And since you’ve come all the way from Earth, do you have any personal messages for me?”

“There’s a locked information store that I brought over to you from the Senate,” Garibaldi informed him. “And Professor Kratman gave me a datachip that I was to place into your hands alone.” He reached into a sealed pocket, produced the unmarked chip, and passed it over to Marius, who took it gingerly. A secure datachip would be rigged to disintegrate if someone tried to break into the encoded data store. “He sends you his regards.”

“I served with him,” Marius said absently. He placed the datachip in a secure drawer on his desk and closed it with an audible thump. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Thank you, sir,” Garibaldi said, sounding excessively formal. “It is good to see you again too.”

He wasn’t used to the informality of higher-ranking officers, Marius noted, certainly not among those under his command. But he’d learn.

“You may change your mind,” Marius told him, and smiled at his nonplussed expression. “I have a particular task for you and your ship. I’m afraid another tempting opportunity to get yourself killed in the line of duty beckons.”

Garibaldi showed no overt reaction.

“Yes, sir,” he said.

Admiral Drake, according to rumor, had been offered another Star Carrier—perhaps even the Enterprise herself—as a flagship, but had chosen to continue to fly his lights on the Magnificent. Roman had only been onboard her once, when he had been relieved from command of Enterprise and officially promoted for the first time, so he’d never seen the briefing room. It was large enough to hold every captain in the fleet, but only a handful of people were seated at the table today: a brown-skinned woman without any rank tabs, a very dark-skinned man he’d never seen before, a Marine Major General who looked oddly familiar…and Blake Raistlin, who turned towards Roman with a welcoming smile. He wore the tabs of a commander and the white and blue uniform of an admiral’s aide, which struck Roman as odd. The Raistlin he remembered had been determined to win a command.

“My father didn’t like the thought of me risking myself,” Raistlin muttered when Roman asked. “I’m his only heir, you see, and he felt that I shouldn’t be risked on board a smaller ship. I haven’t told him that when the admiral takes us back on the offensive, I’ll be on this superdreadnaught and under fire from enemy ships. It would only upset him.”

“If we could all be seated,” the brown-skinned woman said, “we can begin.”

The room locked and sealed itself as Roman took his seat. Admiral Drake joined them, seated at the head of the table, along with a man Roman recognized; Admiral Mason, who looked as if he hadn’t changed much from the days when he’d flown his flag on Enterprise. Mason gave him a thin nod.

Of course, back then, Mason hadn’t thought much of his flagship’s commander and hadn’t hesitated to make his feelings known. Roman had been told that some officers had opposed his promotion to captain and wondered, absently, if Mason had been one of them. And what, precisely, was he doing at the briefing? The last Roman had heard, he was still in command of the fleet’s starfighter force.

“I am Commodore Arunika, for those of you who don’t know me,” the brown-skinned woman said calmly. “My companion”—she indicated the black man—”is known as Uzi. His real name is highly-classified and he assures me that he has forgotten it himself. His precise role here will be explained in the privacy of this briefing room and may not be discussed outside a secure compartment. Anyone found leaking the data to any unauthorized person will be facing a court martial before they can blink.”

She smiled thinly. “With the admiral’s position, I will review the current situation before going on to outline Operation Kidd,” she said.

Drake nodded.

“Admiral Justinian has been content to play a waiting game since his failure to punch through the Asimov Point a second time and the defeat—the destruction—of the rebellion on Maskirovka,” she told them. “The sudden upsurge of violence and rebellion all across the Federation—and the rise of the new warlords—may have helped encourage him to remain quiet, for now. We do not expect that happy state of affairs to last, nor are we able to go on the offensive. The bottom line is that we believe he is currently building up his forces with the aim of taking advantage of our weakness before we can overcome the other threats and crush him.”

A holographic star chart appeared over the table, a number of stars blinking bright amber.

“Six months ago, Governor Pyotr Eustasovitch Hartkopf abandoned the pretense that he was a loyal and able servant of the Federation,” she continued. “Hartkopf’s name was a byword for corruption and decadence long before Admiral Justinian kicked off the war, but powerful friends in high places prevented him from being recalled to Earth to face an investigation. An investigatory commission was, in fact, being pulled together when Hartkopf, perhaps realizing that time was running out, chose to declare himself a warlord. He subverted or overcame loyal units of the Federation Navy and established himself in full control of the Zathras Sector.

“As you can see from the star chart, this poses us with a series of problems unseen since the Inheritance Wars. Hartkopf’s positions are connected to Federation territory through an outstandingly long chain of Asimov Points and diverting the firepower necessary to crush him would mean leaving other bases and locations uncovered, for months at least. Worse, his territory effectively borders Admiral Justinian’s and it is possible that the two will come to an alliance. While Hartkopf doesn’t possess the level of firepower that Justinian has at his disposal, their alliance would open up new angles of attack for Justinian into Federation territory. Our psych profiles of Justinian do not suggest any great enthusiasm for an alliance with Hartkopf, but we feel that the possibilities would make his doubts moot.”

She tapped her terminal and the star chart focused on a handful of stars along the borderline between the two warlords. “Our intelligence networks were torn apart during the first rebellions, both ONI and Federation Intelligence, but we have been working to pull them back together. That hasn’t been an easy task. The Asimov Point in this system has been blocked and we are therefore forced to fall back on the longer paths into enemy space, making communication difficult. What we have been able to find out, however, is alarming. Hartkopf, who always had links with smuggler bands operating out of places like Hobson’s Choice or Rawls, has been making alliances with pirates, mercenary groups and perhaps even Outsiders. I don’t need to tell you, I suspect, that any such alliance could shift the balance of power quite remarkably.”

Roman considered it, and then nodded. Hartkopf didn’t have the firepower or industrial base to stand up to the Federation Navy, but if he hired mercenaries and made links with Outsiders, he might be able to trade on the advantages he did have to build up a more powerful fleet. And if Admiral Justinian gained unimpeded access to Hartkopf’s space, the Federation’s outer flanks could be exposed. And if the Outsiders got involved…

“Operation Kidd is intended to prevent that possibility from ever coming to pass,” Arunika said, her voice calm and composed. “Like all operations, it has a substantial amount of risk, all the more so because we cannot commit overwhelming forces to the objective. The plus is that if it works, we will accomplish it without a major redeployment of mobile units.”

“ONI has established—don’t ask how—that the two warlords have been working on establishing supply chains running through Marx and The Hive.” She nodded towards the star chart. “Neither system was surveyed properly when they were discovered and—at the time—the fact they were only twenty light years apart passed unnoticed. The Hive may be taboo space, but that doesn’t bother the smugglers—it’s the perfect place to transfer goods and supplies. The ships pop out of the Asimov Point in one system, travel to the other using stardrive, and then re-enter the Asimov Point network. The border between the two warlords isn’t under control, not properly. We believe that it won’t be long before pirates start to infest the region, once they realize that there are opportunities for loot there. We’re going to get there first.

“Operation Kidd has three objectives,” she added. “The first is to scout the area and draw up a rough outline of their operations within the border systems. We have some idea, but our data is very limited and often quite out of date. The second is to establish a secret operations base within the sector, one that can support a small squadron of light units. The third is twofold: first, to raid their ships and damage their supply lines, and second, to make each of them think that the other is responsible for the raids. Hartkopf’s reputation goes ahead of him and he’s precisely the kind of person who assumes that others have the same low motives as himself.”

“Let’s you and him fight,” the Marine Major General said.

“Precisely,” Arunika said. She paused. “Does anyone have any questions?”

“Yes,” Roman said. It had occurred to him the moment she’d mentioned raiding their ships. “It strikes me, commodore, that they will think the only people who actually benefit from the raids are us, the Federation itself. They may not be fooled by us, whatever IFF signals we use…”

“That actually works in our favor,” Arunika assured him. “If they don’t realize what we’re doing, that’s great—they will break off relations and perhaps even go to war, which will give us the chance to crush the winner when he finally emerges. If they do realize the truth, they will have to divert scarce ships and resources to protect their convoys, a task that will require capital ships rather than light units. We win either way.”

“I have a different question,” the Marine said. “What are we going to do about Hobson’s Choice?”

“For the moment, nothing,” Admiral Drake said before Arunika could speak. “I know; we need to do something about them, even if it involves flying a battle squadron into their system to convince them to see reason. For the moment, however, the Senate has vetoed all operations against the world. They feel that it would set an uncomfortable precedent.”

Roman frowned and accessed his implants. Hobson’s Choice was barely rated as habitable and had only been settled because the founder had discovered the planet, claimed it and then realized that no colony developers were willing to buy the rights to settle there, on the grounds that hardly any colonists would willingly choose to emigrate. Even the Involuntary Settlement Department—which ran the hell-worlds the Federation used as a dumping ground for serious criminals—hadn’t been interested. The founder had bought some tools, convinced a few of his friends to help out and established a small settlement. He’d styled himself a King and written a very loose body of laws; three hundred years later, the independent world had a thriving and thoroughly illegal economy as a base for smugglers, mercenary outfits and probably pirates. It was not, technically, a Federation member world, but that wouldn’t protect it if the Federation Navy decided to come knocking.

The Senate’s reluctance to move against the planet was odd. Perhaps some of the Senators had hidden interests on the world?

Admiral Drake cleared his throat. “We will proceed as follows,” he said. “Captain Garibaldi will take his ship into the sector and start scouting. Admiral Mason and Task Force Kidd will follow him within a week and base themselves at FAS-382674, at least until they can locate a proper location for a base. Once the shipping routes have been charted, the Task Force will commence operations against their shipping.”

Roman kept his face blank by force of will. Serving under Mason’s command was not his idea of fun. He wouldn’t put it past Mason to insist on flying his flag on the Midway…no, he couldn’t, not if the Midway was intended to precede the main body of the fleet. If the truth were to be told, he wasn’t entirely happy with orders to play pirate, even though he saw the underlying logic. Turning two of the Federation’s enemies against each other would save lives in the long run, even if it meant going near The Hive. Mason would probably insist on using The Hive as a base of operations, the bastard. He wouldn’t be gripped with the almost supernatural fear that pervaded the Federation. The Hivers were dead and gone, but the trauma they’d caused would never be forgotten.

“I have a question,” Mason said flatly. He sounded as if he’d just bitten into a very rotten fruit. “You are talking about operating on the end of very long supply lines. How long do you expect us to keep even a relatively small task force up and running before we have to withdraw from the region?”

“For the first part, we will be sending a large Fleet Train with you,” Arunika said. “For the second part, you will have to purchase supplies from Hobson’s Choice. They will be happy to sell anything to you; they never have problems supplying Outsiders, or rebels, or even aliens. Uzi and his team will handle that part of the operation.”

Roman frowned. Mason was right; he might be an asshole, but no one could call him incompetent. Relying on Hobson’s Choice as a source for supplies struck him as absurd, even though the files backed Arunika up. The planet’s natives would be happy to sell anything to everyone. There was no law or order, apart from a loose agreement not to fight in orbit around the planet.

He turned to look at Uzi and started in surprise as he saw the man’s eyes. Uzi was enhanced, almost a cyborg. Fully-enhanced humans were rare, even on the most advanced Federation worlds; the RockRats were the only culture to embrace enhancement on a regular basis. Apart from The Hive…

“There is no reason to fear,” Uzi said. He had a gravelly voice that reminded Roman of the first Instructor-NCO he’d encountered at Luna Academy. It was easy to see some of the enhancements flexing under his skin as he spoke. “We have operated in that region before. Obtaining the supplies you require will not be difficult.”

“I don’t have to remind you,” Admiral Drake said softly, “that preventing the two warlords from linking up is a priority. If all of the warlords, or even most of them, learn to work together, the Federation is doomed. Consider that while you’re preparing for this mission.”