Barbarians at the Gates (9 page)

This time, there was an outpouring of anger from the Senators and even from the media. Someone in the command room must have neutralized the sound barriers, allowing everyone to be heard. The thunderous response threatened to shake the room to its foundations.

Marius watched as Senators, both Conservative and Socialist, shouted their anger and rage. Admiral Justinian’s allies were in grave danger. Glancing around the Senate Hall, he wondered how many of them were in the room, barely aware of the hammer that was about to fall. The smart ones would have boarded their private starships and fled.

But was it really Justinian?

The evidence suggested as much. Home Fleet, as Drake had expected, hadn’t been able to run down the remainder of the enemy fleet, but they had scored a bit of success when the starfighters had caught an enemy cruiser by taking out its drive units. The Marines had stormed the ship—a freak hit had taken out the self-destruct—and managed to take some of the crew alive. Their interrogation hadn’t been gentle, but it
had
been informative. And it had concluded that Admiral Justinian, Commanding Officer of the Seventh Fleet, was in open rebellion against the Federation.

That
wasn’t good news.

Admiral Justinian was known for being a careful tactician and strategist—and, of course, he’d had the sense to back off when it was clear he was losing. Marius had never met Justinian in person—their paths had never converged—but Justinian had a sound reputation throughout the Navy. And yet he’d risen up against the Federation, against the Grand Senate and the Federation Navy. Why?

I’ll have to find out
, Marius thought, darkly. He could imagine several reasons, from outright lust for power to a genuine belief that a military government was the only answer to the Federation’s problems. And why were his subordinates following him? What had he promised them? The battle for hearts and minds had only just begun.

“We will not allow this rebellion to go unpunished,” the President thundered, once the noise had dimmed to a dull roar. “We will assemble a fleet to hunt down and destroy the treacherous Justinian, along with anyone who knew of his treachery and supported him in it. We will hunt him down like a dog! His allies on Earth, the traitors who aided him to slip his weapons within the walls of our fortress, will be exposed and killed. We will not allow him to scare us into craven surrender.”

Marius wondered just what the President was going on about. No one had yet mentioned surrender, or even compromising with Justinian, but Marius saw several problems with hunting Justinian down and destroying him. Considering Justinian had risked the attack on Earth in the first place, Seventh Fleet must be completely under his control, or he would never have dared mount the attack for fear of being knifed in the back. And that meant that the Federation Navy would have to break Seventh Fleet, which would require an enormous commitment of firepower...and they were assuming Justinian and his men were all they had to fight.

After all, who knew how many
other
admirals were thinking about rebellion? Perhaps Justinian had merely been the first to put theory into action.

“And yet, there is one who must be rewarded,” the President said. A spotlight shone down from high overhead, drawing attention to Marius. “The man who took command during our gravest hour of need, who ensured the decisive defeat of the treacherous Justinian, must be recognized. For his services, Vice Admiral Drake is promoted to admiral”—there was an outburst of cheers—”and has been awarded the Federation Star. And, after he has been feted as he deserves, he will be a very important part of the mission to destroy Justinian once and for all!”

This time, the cheering went on and on. Marius held himself ramrod straight as the President left his box—as tradition demanded—and pinned the medal on Marius’ dress tunic. The Federation Star was the highest award in the Federation Navy, and only the President—advised by the Naval Oversight Committee—could award it to a deserving recipient. The holder of the Federation Star was not only granted an additional pension from the Senate, but he had the right to claim a salute from anyone, regardless of rank, who encountered him while wearing the medal. It almost made up for the contempt he’d endured from the Grand Senate.

And besides, he told himself, with the Federation Star on his breast, who could deny him anything?

* * *

“And so I made the decision to hold back the remainder of Home Fleet,” Drake concluded. Once the President’s speech was over, and the Prime Minister, the Leader of the Opposition and the Leader of the Independent Movement had made their speeches, he’d been summoned to a smaller room, where he’d found himself facing the Naval Oversight Committee. The committee had briefly congratulated him on his victory, then demanded an immediate account of the entire battle from start to finish. “In my considered judgement, there was no point in attempting a chase.”

“And that is precisely the point we wish to discuss,” Senator Alison Wallisch said. Her nasal voice echoed unpleasantly in the smaller chamber. “It seems to us as if you chose to allow the treacherous bastard to escape.”

Marius held onto his anger with an effort. If Alison had worked a day in her life—at least outside the political field, where everyone around her told her what she wanted to hear all the time—he would have been astonished. It had grown increasingly clear from both meetings that she didn’t understand the realities of naval combat. Bringing the remains of the enemy force to battle would have been impossible, as long as the enemy commander chose to refuse to engage.

“The realities of interplanetary warfare made it impossible to intercept his fleet,” he said evenly. There was no point in losing his temper. “Had I ordered Home Fleet to give pursuit, only the smaller units—the starfighters and the cruisers—could have caught up with the enemy.”

“And you could have caught them,” Senator Hammond pointed out.

“I would not have wished to
catch
them with smaller units, sir,” Marius said. “The cruisers are designed for convoy escort duties or fast raids into enemy territory. They are not designed to face superdreadnaughts in open combat. Had I sent them against the superdreadnaughts, they would all have been destroyed,
without
delaying the enemy. The starfighters inflicted some damage, but the enemy force outran Home Fleet’s carriers.”

“This is not a productive line of questioning,” McGillivray said. The Grand Senator winked at Marius before continuing. “The fact of the matter is that Vice Admiral—sorry,
Admiral
—Drake fought a battle for which he was unprepared, and turned a looming disaster into victory—a victory, I might add, that saved all of our lives. Or do you expect that Admiral Justinian would have spared us, once he took the high orbitals and forced Home Fleet to surrender?”

“I quite agree,” Brockington said. The Leader of the Conservative Faction leaned forward. “Our current priority is defeating Justinian before his example leads others to rebel. A mighty force must be assembled to crush the viper in his den. Admiral, how do you advise we proceed?”

Marius frowned inwardly. Something was going on, something moving just beyond his awareness. The political waters were murky and there were sharks somewhere within the deeps. He pushed the lingering concern aside and concentrated on answering the question. Besides, under Case Omega, he was the senior surviving officer in the system.

“I have not yet had time to conduct more than a brief examination of the possibilities,” he said.
That
was an exaggeration, for there had been no time to conduct
any
planning. He was making it up as he went along. “Admiral Justinian may be safely assumed to have the remainder of Seventh Fleet and the system defense forces in his sector. He may have allies from the other fleets, or links with Outsiders and rebel factions. Therefore, I believe that we should activate the Naval Reserve and use it to reinforce Home Fleet, which will allow us to dispatch a force superior to Seventh Fleet and occupy his shipyards and industrial nodes. This may bring him to battle, if he is prepared to offer it.”

It was basic military strategy, a mixture of generalities and very few specifics. Even so, he knew it should impress them, while the remainder of the planning could be done at Luna HQ. He’d already given orders for the back-up facilities—shut down for funding concerns—to be reactivated and staffed as soon as possible.

He looked up and wanted to scowl, but kept his expression carefully blank. It was obvious that the Senators were exchanging messages through their implants again.

“We thank you for your suggestions,” Alison said slowly. “We will put them into effect as soon as possible. There is, however, another pressing concern. You usurped command under Case Omega.”

Marius stared at her. That was a problem? “Senator, I...”

“Admiral Cuthbert Parkinson was the superior officer in the Sol System,” Alison said with cold dispassion. Marius did a brief search through his implants. Admiral Parkinson’s military career had been undistinguished, with nothing to explain his rapid promotion—nothing in the files, at least. And if he had been senior officer after Navy HQ was destroyed, why hadn’t he identified himself? “You took his rightful command.”

“Admiral Parkinson failed to identify himself to the command network,” Marius said as calmly as he could. Reading between the lines, Parkinson’s file fairly screamed
political appointee
. “I was unaware that he was alive. Time was short, and I had to take command as no one else appeared to be interested in doing so.”

“And we forgive that transgression,” Alison said. She smiled sweetly. “However, as senior officer, Admiral Parkinson will command the Retribution Force. You will serve as his subordinate.”

“Yes, Senator,” Marius said tightly. It took everything he had to keep his voice level. He couldn’t resist a sardonic comment. “I understand and I will obey.”

The fifth-year exams at Luna Academy are the toughest exams in the Federation. They determine the future of the young officers who survive five years at the Academy. Naturally, cheating is strongly discouraged and heavily punished on the rare occasions it is detected. But the Federation Navy, it seems, has a use for a cheat who somehow manages to circumvent the heavy security surrounding the Examination Hall.

-
An Irreverent Guide to the Federation,
4000 A.D.

Luna Academy, Sol System, 4092

Roman couldn’t help feeling nervous as he stepped into the Examination Hall. Ten days had passed since the attack on Earth and slowly—very slowly—information had started to spread through the Academy at the speed of rumor. The cadets knew, now, about Admiral Justinian and looked up his record, along with Admiral Drake and the others involved in the conflict. And he’d tried to talk with Professor Kratman, who had curiously been unavailable to him and every other cadet. All they’d really been told was that they would be told everything about the war after they completed their exams.

But few of the cadets really believed that would happen.

He sighed. If he could just take these exams and be done with them, maybe he’d somehow be able to talk with Professor Kratman before he got shipped out. And that might actually be much more valuable to him than taking these exams ... he wondered, again, why they were even bothering with the exams?

Didn’t the Federation know there was a war on?

The Examination Hall was separated from the remainder of Luna Academy by nearly a mile of rock. It had been dug out as part of the early excavations that had eventually become Luna Academy—like most complexes on Luna, the Academy was mostly underground—and then sealed off by displaced rock. The only link between the Examination Hall and the remainder of the Academy was a single tunnel, heavily guarded and secured by the proctors. No one, they’d been warned, would be able to take anything into the Examination Hall, while the Hall itself was sealed by all manner of security devices known to man. Even if an enterprising cadet had found a way to sneak an illicit communications device into the hall, he would have found it useless. Rumor had it that anyone who
did
manage to cheat successfully would be rewarded by an instant promotion, but the penalties for trying and failing were harsh. Few attempted to beat the system.

“Remove all your clothing,” the head proctor droned dully. “Understand; your person is your sole responsibility. The merest hint of anything suspicious will result in a full and comprehensive search. The discovery of any cheating equipment will result in immediate suspension.”

Roman shrugged and started to disrobe, removing his cadet greys, followed by his regulation-issue underwear. Privacy was never a big concern in a RockRat habitat; besides, any reluctance he’d had about stripping in front of his classmates had been lost in the first two years at the Academy. No one paid undue attention to their fellows, no matter how attractive, as it was completely unprofessional.

Before he forgot, Roman added his terminal to the pile of clothing, which would be sealed away for later collection by the Academy staff. Of course, he still had his communications implant, but that would be useless inside the Examination Hall. It left him feeling oddly naked; on a RockRat habitat, a terminal meant safety, as it alerted the asteroid’s emergency crews if something went badly wrong.