The shortest route between two points isn’t always a straight line when considering Asimov Points. A spacer knows that doubling back on his course can sometimes get him to his destination quicker.
In Transit/Earth, 4098
The Prince George-class space yacht had originally been designed for ten passengers and a crew of five. After the Brotherhood had the ship quietly refurbished in a military shipyard, the yacht had the speed of a destroyer and could be operated, if necessary, by a single person. Rupert had kept three of his most trusted retainers on the ship, but he’d dismissed the rest of the crew, even the woman who ran the galley. He’d had to eat packaged meals for the entire trip. After four weeks, even the pleasures of watching entertainment dramas he’d always meant to watch had worn off, and he was cursing his own mistake at not bringing along someone to share his bed.
But there hadn’t been much choice, or much time to arrange the desperate flight to Harmony. He’d hoped that there would be more time, either to send a warning message ahead of the assassination order, or for the Brotherhood to make other preparations on Earth, but they’d underestimated the Senate’s determination to act quickly. The assassination order was now winging its way to Harmony—no, it would have got there by now. And if Admiral Drake had been assassinated, the Brotherhood’s long-term plan would have fallen apart.
Silently, he cursed the two Factions under his breath. Who would have dreamed that Conservatives and Socialists could ever find themselves in agreement, if for radically different reasons? Perhaps the threat of being overthrown had made them panic and react quickly, even though there was no immediate threat.
He brooded on it as the ship went through another Asimov Point—using his Senator’s codes to gain immediate access—and wondered, again, what he would find when he reached Harmony.
They were midway through the Java System when the alert sounded.
“Senator,” Captain Windsor reported, “we are picking up military starships transiting the Asimov Point ahead of us.”
For a long moment, Rupert felt a flash of panic. His worst nightmare was discovering that the Senate had realized that he wasn’t going off on vacation and sent another message ahead of him, ordering his arrest or execution. The Senate would not, normally, have issued a kill-order for a Senator, but these were far from normal times.
His second thought was that Admiral Drake was ahead of him, and was bringing his fleet to Earth. As far as he knew—and he had had access to all of the Federation Navy’s reports—there wasn’t any other large fleet ahead of him. Admiral Drake’s force should have been the only one in the area.
“Hail them,” he ordered. “Transmit my Senate codes, and request permission to dock.”
There was a long pause.
“They’re declining permission,” Windsor reported. “They’re ordering us to vacate this space, or they will open fire.”
Rupert’s lips twitched. After everything, after his escape from Earth, dying at the hands of Admiral Drake would be the final irony.
“Send back another message,” he said. “One word: Arunika.”
There was a second pause.
“They are sending a Marine shuttle to dock with us and pick you up,” Windsor said. “I’m afraid that we cannot evade them, or escape either.”
Rupert bowed his head. At his age, there was no longer any point in fearing death.
“I understand, captain,” he said, “Follow their orders. I suspect that our lives are no longer in our hands.”
The transit from Harmony to Jefferson had been smooth. Marius had had Admiral Justinian’s forts secured by his Marines prior to the assassination attempt, so no one had tried to bar the fleet’s passage through the system. Admiral Justinian hadn’t built any further fortifications until the Asimov Point leading to Boskone, but they had been secured as well. The real danger had come when they’d passed into the Boskone System, yet the Senate hadn’t thought to issue orders barring the Grand Fleet’s passage. Besides, Marius had selected the system’s defenders personally and they had been horrified to learn about the assassination attempt.
He’d continued onward until they reached the Java System. The commander of the system’s defenses had balked until Marius had offered him the flat choice between surrender and being blasted out of the way. With only two fortresses, the commander had swallowed his pride and allowed his fortresses to be secured and occupied. Marius’s fleet hadn’t waited for the operation to be complete before they’d started heading towards the next Asimov Point. And then his sensors had picked up the yacht.
“Order the Senator brought onboard,” he ordered as soon as the cryptic second message had arrived. “Once he is aboard, resume course for Earth.”
He’d plotted out the course while preparing to leave Harmony. The shortest way to Earth led to the Gateway, but the Gateway defenders would definitely balk at allowing the fleet into the system without a fight, and the Grand Fleet would be bled white if it tried to break in by force. Admiral Justinian had had the right idea in crossing interstellar space to reach Earth. The key to the Solar System wasn’t Earth itself, but Home Fleet. Admiral Justinian had believed that he could take Earth before Home Fleet could intervene. Marius knew better.
He looked up as the Marines escorted Grand Senator Rupert McGillivray into his quarters. Marius hoped they hadn’t been too rough, although he couldn’t blame them for feeling paranoid due to the assassination attempt. The silver ring on the Senator’s hand caught his attention at once, informing him that the Senator was a member of the Brotherhood. A dark suspicion flared through his mind, which he pushed aside and waved the Senator to a chair.
“Welcome onboard,” he said tartly. “What happened?”
McGillivray made no pretense at being puzzled by the question. “The Senate decided that you were surplus to requirements,” he said flatly. “I came to warn you.”
Marius snorted. “You’re a month too late,” he pointed out. “You should have sent a message.”
“The Senate had locked out all communications to the Grand Fleet,” McGillivray explained. “I had hoped that I would be able to send you a message from Terra Nova, but they’d locked it out by then. I could only hope that you survived the assignation attempt.”
“Right,” Marius said. The Senator’s story was reasonably plausible. “And now that you know that I am still alive—and driving towards Earth—why are you here?”
McGillivray took a breath.
“Can I ask, first, what your intentions are towards Earth?”
Marius studied him for a long moment, reminding himself not to underestimate the Senator. McGillivray was older than Marius, older than Professor Kratman; the last survivor of the Imperialist Faction in the Senate. No one lived so long without gaining a vast amount of experience…and no one would remain in the Senate without knowing precisely where the bodies were buried. Old he might be, but McGillivray had lost none of his intelligence or knowledge.
“I intend to remove the Senate and create a new representative government,” Marius said flatly. There was no harm in the Senator knowing that. “Why are you here?”
“You need to do more than that,” McGillivray said. “You need to declare yourself Emperor.”
“Are you insane?” Marius stared at him.
“No,” McGillivray said. “Are you?”
“I don’t want to be Emperor,” Marius said after a long pause. “Why do you, a Senator, want me to become Emperor?”
“I shall explain,” McGillivray said. “The bonds of loyalty that held the Federation together have been fraying for a long time. The Inheritance Wars inflicted a colossal level of trauma on us, because the Colonial Alliance wanted to be independent of the Federation and that could not be allowed. The Blue Star War damaged the Federation’s sense of unity. And now Admiral Justinian and the other warlords formed their own little kingdoms.”
He shook his head. “Very few people have any loyalty to the Senate. They certainly don’t want to go out and die for the Senate. And who can blame them when it is increasingly obvious that the Senate is a closed world, dominated by a political elite that not only doesn’t care about the people, but is willing to actively harm even those who have worked for them to get what it wants? There is no longer any connection between the ruled and the rulers. We need, somehow, to reawaken the bonds of loyalty.
“We need someone who can serve as the focus of that loyalty. Someone who is respected and—more importantly—trusted by the population. Someone who is canny enough to know what needs to be done, and is willing to cut through the knots that prevent it from being done. How many people do you think have that kind of base to work on? You—just you.”
“You—the Brotherhood—promoted me on Earth,” Marius pointed out dispassionately. “Did you have this outcome in mind from the start?”
“And throughout the Core Worlds,” McGillivray agreed. “We hoped that the rebellious warlords would force the Federation Senate to change or die. They refused to change and, partly because of your heroic efforts, survived the war. If they don’t leave power, soon, they will try to lock down the entire Federation. All the fault lines running through our society will shatter, and the Federation will come apart. The result will be chaos on a galactic scale.”
“And with the Outsiders moving in, the Federation will be vulnerable,” Marius said. He couldn’t deny the Senator’s logic, yet…he didn’t want to be emperor. Perhaps he could hold the position for ten years, and then put it down. “I think…”
“Consider Earth,” McGillivray said, interrupting him. “Why is the population so high? Answer: the Senate feeds the population, allowing Earth to survive with a much greater population than any other planet. What can we do about this? Answer: we can put contraceptives in the state-supplied foods, cutting the birth rate. Why aren’t we doing this? Because the program is blocked in the Senate every time it is suggested.”
Marius had been listening patiently. Now he leaned forward.
“How do they benefit from keeping the birth rate high?”
“They can skim money off the programs to take care of the kids,” McGillivray explained.
He took a breath. “The Conservative Faction wants things to remain exactly as they are,” he said. “They won’t support change for that reason alone. The Socialists believe that they have a duty to help and support people—whether the people actually want it or not—and insist on providing free food and other social programs to the poor. Both factions will block any attempt to actually deal with the problem—and both factions are unwilling to admit that the problem is likely to explode, sooner rather than later.
“We need an emperor to cut through the Gordian knot before the entire Federation comes apart,” he concluded. “Whatever support we can give you—or I, as a Grand Senator, can give you—is yours. All you have to do is declare yourself emperor and take Earth. The Federation will give you a chance.”
“And what if my decision to declare myself emperor isn’t accepted?” Marius frowned.
“Then we’re no worse off than before,” McGillivray pointed out. “The political lassitude that allows the Senate to rule without challenge—to push through useless or actively harmful programs—will work in your favor. You will have a chance, admiral, and I believe that you will succeed.”
“If we win,” Marius pointed out. “We’re not going to challenge the Gateway, Senator, but we will have to face Home Fleet. Or has the Brotherhood subverted the fleet?”
“No,” McGillivray admitted. “We have some people with the fleet, but not enough to subvert it.”
Marius wasn’t surprised. If the Brotherhood had managed to subvert Home Fleet, they wouldn’t have needed Marius and the Grand Fleet. It wasn’t good news, however; Home Fleet didn’t have the experience of the Grand Fleet, but it possessed nearly as much firepower and, if combined with Earth’s orbital defenses, would be a very tough customer.
Marius nodded.
“I understand,” he said. He looked into the Senator’s eyes. “I have to consult with my wife and…advisors. The Marines will escort you to a cabin; I suggest you stay there, at least for the time. Feelings are running high at the moment.”
“I think it’s a good idea,” Tiffany said, once Marius had outlined the gist of McGillivray’s explanation. “You’d make a good emperor.”
“I don’t want the job,” Marius protested. His dead arm felt heavy as he sat down on the sofa beside his wife. Doctor Yu had told him that his vat-grown arm wasn’t ready for grafting yet and he had no choice but to endure. “It’s a trap.”
“I think that not wanting the job is the first qualification for the job,” Tiffany countered. “And for that matter, I don’t want to be an empress, either. But what does that have to do with anything?” She turned to look up at him. “High Society would accept an emperor, even though they wouldn’t accept an admiral. It also neatly separates your rule from military rule, as an emperor wouldn’t be a direct military ruler. He’d be commander-in-chief, yet a civilian…”
Marius scowled. “Only for ten years,” he said firmly. “We take power, fix the problems on Earth and the Core Worlds, make sure that all worlds are represented in the Senate, and then we resign.”
“You’d have a hell of a time as an ex-Emperor,” Tiffany pointed out. “Where would you go?”
“I’d have the Survey Service reactivated,” Marius said. “I’d write myself a commission as my last official act and go beyond the Rim.”
“I hope it’s that easy,” Tiffany said. She smiled sadly.
Marius smiled back.
“We have to win the coming battle,” he reminded her. “Let’s not count our crowns until they’re on our heads, shall we?”
Grand Admiral Featherstone’s voice was very calm. Too calm.
“He’s on his way here.”
Grand Senator The Honorable Carlton Brockington prided himself on remaining calm and collected under pressure, even during Admiral Justinian’s attack on Earth. It was, he felt, the very essence of the Conservative Faction. If they refused to panic and considered everything carefully, they could decide how to act—or if they should act at all. Even so, he felt a tremor of panic run through his mind.
“Who’s on his way here?” Grand Senator Alison Wallisch asked Featherstone impatiently. He had been a bipartisan appointment, a man who had never commanded a starship, let alone an entire battle fleet; he’d been appointed because he didn’t have a single disloyal bone in his body. “Who?”
“Admiral Drake, My Lady,” Featherstone said. His hands nervously rubbed together as he spoke. “I received a transmission from the fortresses covering Gotham. Starships positively identified as belonging to the Grand Fleet transited into the system and boarded the fortresses. The last transmission stated that Marine boarding parties were securing the fortresses and that resistance was futile. Admiral Drake forced them to surrender without firing a shot.”
Calm, Carlton told himself. “They didn’t even try to engage him?”
“The Grand Fleet possesses enough firepower to punch through anywhere short of the Gateway,” Featherstone explained. “The fortress commander decided not to sacrifice his men in a futile attempt to delay him.”
“But…but this is disastrous,” Alison said. Her eyes were wide with panic. “What does he want?”
“We tried to kill him,” Carlton reminded her dryly. “What do you think he wants?”
Featherstone looked blank. “I believe that he will be here within two weeks, perhaps less,” he said. “It depends on the course he takes to reach Earth and if he intends to try to punch through the Gateway. I think…”
“You have to stop him,” Alison snarled. Her voice was breaking in fear. “The entire Federation is at stake, admiral! We have to stop him!”
“We could try to negotiate,” Featherstone said seriously. “Or…”
“There’s no point in trying to talk to the bastard,” Alison hissed. “He’s going to kill us all unless we kill him first!”
Carlton tapped the table and Alison, wonder of wonders, fell silent.
“Admiral, can Home Fleet stop the Grand Fleet?”
Featherstone might not have been a military expert, but he knew the right answer.
“Absolutely, sir,” he said. “Combined with the defenses around the Gateway, there will be more than enough firepower to stop him dead in his tracks.”
“Excellent,” Carlton said. He looked over at Alison. “We can stop one last rebellious admiral, and then we will have won the war.”
“And what if he wins the battle?” Alison didn’t look convinced.
“We’ll have to try to bargain with him.” Carlton shrugged. “Admiral Drake is an honorable man. It should be possible to come to some…arrangement with him.”
Two hours later, Carlton started to wonder if he’d been wrong. Somehow—and there was no way to know how—the news had leaked to the media despite his order of a complete media blackout. The news was spreading fast; the Senate had ordered the murder of the admiral—a popular hero—and the admiral was on his way for revenge.
The rumors were spreading even faster, ranging from the believable to the absurd. The admiral was dead and his wife was leading the fleet for revenge. The admiral had somehow come back to life and was a zombie, out for revenge. Aliens had invaded the Federation after the admiral’s death and the Senate was fleeing…there was no rhyme or reason to the rumors, but they were spreading right over the planet.
The riots started soon afterward.
The Senate Hall was heavily defended, of course, but the same couldn’t be said for most of Earth’s infrastructure. It wasn’t easy to maintain at the best of times; with an endless series of riots tearing it apart, entire city blocks lost light and heat and power. The police—backed up by the Federation Army and Internal Security troopers—found themselves under siege in their own bases.
When the riots were only a few hours old, the death toll had already passed two million people. How long would it be, Carlton asked himself, before the mob marched on the mansions that housed the political elite?
If we can only beat the admiral, he thought, we could still win…