Barbarians at the Gates

Chapter Thirty-Five

Bester, Zathras System, 4097

“Jump!”

Roman braced himself as space twisted around Midway. Despite all the promises, despite the underhanded diplomatic discussions between the loyalists and Governor Hartkopf, Roman had little faith in the man’s promises. Worse, Midway was alone, though an assault force was waiting to cover her withdrawal in the Vane System; the enemy fortresses guarding the Asimov Point could have blown her into dust before the drive recycled and she slipped back through the Asimov Point.

“Report,” he barked. “Tactical?”

“Nine fortresses on active duty, scanning us,” the tactical officer reported. He sounded tense, yet reassured. “They’re not locking weapons on us, or shooting.”

Roman allowed himself a tight smile. Midway was alarmingly close to the fortresses, so close that weapons lock would hardly be required to target and destroy them. But the fortresses could have tracked Midway with passive sensors alone, targeting her without revealing their intent until it was far too late.

The tactical display in front of him updated rapidly, revealing mine layers covering the Asimov Point itself and the fortresses—and a large battle squadron within easy reach of the gateway. The governor wasn’t taking chances with his safety.

“Transmit our IFF codes,” he ordered. If the governor had treachery in mind…he’d pay for it, eventually, but that would be small comfort to Roman’s crew. “Let them know who we are.”

Roman would have refused this mission if he’d been able to think of a better way to deliver a personal emissary to the rogue governor. But Admiral Drake had ordered it personally, which made Roman feel a little better. Besides, he didn’t want to let the admiral down.

He looked up at the admiral’s personal representative, his wife, Lady Tiffany. She looked calm and composed, although Roman knew it was at least partly an act. Her hands, clasped in front of her, betrayed her nervousness. It would be her first real diplomatic mission.

And if the governor planned treachery, she was walking right into his hands.

He couldn’t blame Hartkopf for wanting to keep the whole meeting under the tightest of wraps, but still…he had agreed to allow Midway to enter his capital system without opposition. Roman had agreed to refrain from active scanning, yet both sides knew that passive sensors could pick up a hell of a lot of information.

“They’re responding, captain,” the communications officer said. “They’re giving us a path to follow through the mines.” He paused. “Apparently, if we deviate from it, we will be destroyed.”

“No sense of humor, then,” Roman commented drolly. “Helm, follow their course and try not to bump into one of the mines.”

His crew laughed.

It didn’t help their captain, who sat back and watched as the system display rapidly updated, with the battle computers adding their own tags to further complicate the display. Multiple spacecraft—they looked like asteroid miners—plied courses between the asteroid belts and Bester, the primary planet in the system, with several large energy signatures orbiting the planet. And that didn’t count the dozens of warships, apparently waiting for an enemy to appear in the system, either.

It struck Roman that the governor had given up on any chance of securing additional territory for himself, a direct result of their operations near The Hive and Marx. A set of raids had kept Hartkopf and Admiral Justinian sniping at one another long enough to allow Admiral Drake the chance to build up the firepower to take them both out.

Bester was unusual in the Federation as the planet had actually been terraformed by the first settlers. It wasn’t common to terraform a planet when there were so many inhabitable worlds in the galaxy, but Bester had possessed five gas giants and enough asteroid belts to create a powerful industrial node. The first settlers had started the terraforming project, only to go bankrupt when the galactic economy went through a major crisis in the run-up to the Inheritance Wars. Afterwards, the banks were reluctant to invest in the system and while Governor Hartkopf’s predecessors had completed the terraforming project, they’d been unable to spark further economic growth.

Governor Hartkopf, ironically, might have been the first to succeed, if only because he was trying to produce a whole new war fleet. Given time, he could have built really scary defenses and a superdreadnaught fleet capable of taking on the Federation Navy.

Roman kept his expression blank, but he couldn’t help feeling some satisfaction. The warlord’s time had run out. Either he came to an agreement with the Federation, or he died when the Federation Navy forced its way through the defense and occupied Bester’s orbitals. He doubted that any of the governor’s allies would hesitate to kill their leader when the Federation Navy had them at gunpoint.

He glanced down at his console, and then up at Lady Tiffany.

“They’re coming to meet us in a space liner, My Lady,” he said, scanning the encoded message. “Do you want them to come onboard this ship?”

“If you don’t mind,” Tiffany said. “We may as well make it clear that we are talking from a position of strength.”

She was sharp. Roman had to give her that.

Rumor had it that she and the admiral were besotted with one another. Roman hoped that was the case. When Midway had heard the news, her senior officers had lifted a loyal glass of brandy and then returned to planning their next operation, a ceremony repeated across the fleet.

Roman kept his own counsel on the issue, but he knew that the governor didn’t have to travel in a superdreadnaught to make his point. Hartkopf had enough firepower to prevent Midway from escaping intact and to bleed the Federation Navy when it came looking for revenge. It said something about the governor’s willingness to meet with them that he’d actually come into interplanetary space.

Roman suspected that the governor was desperate to avoid admitting that he was meeting with the Federation. Or, perhaps, he was reluctant to allow Roman to bring his ship closer to Bester and the defenses he would have built as a matter of course.

The communications officer looked up.

“Captain, they’re demanding that Lady Tiffany goes to meet with them on their ship,” he reported. “They sound pretty insistent, sir.”

“I bet they are,” Roman said. He exchanged a long look with Tiffany, then looked back at the communications officer. “Inform them that they will be meeting with us on my ship. If they refuse, we’ll turn around and head back through the Asimov Point.”

There was a long pause.

“The governor has conceded the point,” the communications officer said. “He says that he’ll be on board in an hour.”

Roman allowed himself a relieved smile. He hadn’t decided if he’d been bluffing.

“Probably getting his finest uniform on,” Tiffany commented, and a wry chuckle ran around the bridge. “Is he bringing an escort?” Tiffany asked.

“I’d be surprised if he didn’t insist on one,” Roman said. “We may as well honor him as much as possible. It will be the last time.”

He smiled. Elf had already deployed her Marines to cover the negotiating team. If the governor believed he could bring a hijacking team onboard Midway, he was in for a very nasty surprise.

He settled back in his chair and concentrated on looking calm. Inwardly, he felt like panicking. Far too much could go wrong…and, of course, the admiral’s wife was on his ship. If the governor decided to launch a suicide attack…

He pushed the thought aside and focused on his duty. Soon enough, time would tell.

Tiffany rose to her feet as Governor Hartkopf was shown into the briefing room. His team had been quietly dissuaded from coming any further, something that had been absurdly easy as it had been obvious that most of his team were enhanced bodyguards with implanted weapons and other augmentations. It seemed that the governor didn’t trust his subordinates to handle the negotiations, although Tiffany could hardly blame him for that. Treachery was an easy habit to grow into and a hard one to abandon.

Governor Hartkopf was immensely fat, a sign of a complete lack of concern about what anyone else thought of him, particularly when he could have used nanites to remove most of the fat. His face was chubby, with three chins and an expression that suggested he’d been swallowing laxatives and needed to go to the head desperately. The oily hair that hung over his forehead was cut in the formal style of the Edo Monarchy, a mocking reminder of his claims to supreme power. And he was known for corruption on a scale that would have daunted the Senate; his vast personal wealth, amassed without a shred of concern for legality, could have purchased a star system or two.

She took his hand and shook it, keeping her expression under control with the ease of long practice. The governor, she reminded herself, had no known military skill, but he was a skilled political operator. He’d certainly managed to parlay a temporary advantage into a small empire, even if it was about to come crashing down into the dust. It would be a terminal mistake to underestimate him.

“Governor,” she said, ignoring the way his eyes lingered on her. If half of the reports were true, the destruction of his government would be warmly welcomed by the populations under his control. “Thank you for coming.”

“It is always a pleasure to meet such a charming young lady,” Hartkopf said. Even his voice was oily. “I am…gratified that my concerns were recognized.”

Tiffany allowed herself a neutral smile. Hartkopf had insisted, not unreasonably, that a person from High Society speak for the Federation. He wouldn’t have accepted her husband, but his wife was a different matter…unless, of course, it was a trap.

Tiffany pushed that thought aside as hard as she could. The governor wouldn’t benefit from killing her, not in the long run, and her value as a hostage was limited. Her father had enough children not to worry about losing one.

“With your permission, governor, I will get right to the point,” Tiffany said. She settled back in her chair. “You committed treason against the Federation when you believed that the Federation didn’t have long to live. You have discovered that the Federation is more resilient than you realized and your empire, carved out of Federation space, may not have long to live. Furthermore, you are facing Admiral Justinian’s forces as well and he is unlikely to allow you to live. You did kill his daughter, after all.”

Governor Hartkopf’s face purpled.

“I did not kill his daughter. I wanted to make an alliance with Justinian!”

Oddly, Tiffany believed him. It was hard to see how he profited from a war on two fronts. Plus, she’d read the reports from Admiral Mason’s task force, and it had been impossible to overcome the suspicion that more had happened than anyone had committed to a datachip.

“Regardless, you are caught between two fires.” She settled her elbows on the table, striving for a nonchalance she did not feel. “I’m here to offer you a way out of your dilemma.”

“So I was led to understand,” Hartkopf agreed. “And what, precisely, does the Federation have to offer me? They’ve been executing people like me, in case you haven’t noticed.”

The fear in his eyes convinced her that her husband had been right. Hartkopf would happily switch sides again if he was given assurances of amnesty.

But even if he refused, it was likely that one of his subordinates would stick a knife in Hartkopf’s back if they were given the same sort of assurances. She knew that the Senate’s decree that had ordered their deaths was a mistake. It forced Hartkopf and others like him to fight to the last, in the desperate hope that they might pull something from the disaster.

“Here are our terms,” Tiffany said. She’d been given some room to negotiate, but not much. The Senate’s desire for revenge, pure and simple, had limited their options. “You will stand down your forces and surrender your planet. Your personal safety and that of your family, friends and chief subordinates will be guaranteed. You will no longer be governor of this sector”—she saw his face darken for a second and wondered if that would be a deal-breaker—”but you will be allowed to retire, unmolested, to one of the isolated pleasure worlds. Your subordinates who wish to join you will, of course, be allowed to do so.”

His sneer showed her just what he thought of his subordinates.

“You will have your life and your fortune, which will be included in the amnesty,” Tiffany concluded. “If you refuse our terms, there won’t be a second chance. We’ll come through the Asimov Point, destroy your defenses and take you by force. And, if we take you alive, you will suffer the full weight of the penalties for treason against the Federation.”

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.”