Barbarians at the Gates (28 page)

“I have asked my researchers to draw up an extensive psychological file on Admiral Drake,” Rupert said with a smile. He’d also spoken to Professor Kratman and some of his other allies, although that wasn’t something he was about to mention in this company. “Their conclusions were quite encouraging.”

He had their undivided attention.

“Marius Drake is a believer in the Federation; in duty, honor, loyalty...all the military virtues,” Rupert continued. “His desperation to convince us to release additional units to the Rim didn’t come from an urge to challenge us, or to encourage his own relief, but from a determination to protect the colonies from pirates and Outsiders. Drake may not be loyal to any of us, not personally, but he is loyal to the Federation—and we are the embodiment of the Federation. I believe we can count on him.

“He could have gone rogue along the Rim, or joined Admiral Justinian, or even led his ruined fleet to a different sector and set up as an independent warlord,” he pointed out when they looked unconvinced. “Instead, he chose to make his stand and hold Admiral Justinian. That is not the record of a traitor, but of a very loyal man.”

“We can use him,” Alison agreed.

“The fact remains,” Brockington growled, “that he isn’t one of us. Even if we arrange him a marriage to one of our daughters, he won’t be part of High Society.”

“We could always put in another formal commander and inform him that he is to consider himself subordinate to Admiral Drake, whatever the chain of command might say,” Alison said thoughtfully. “That would save us having to acknowledge that we owe him, at least publicly.”

“I’m afraid that won’t work.” Rupert shook his head. “In fact, it would be asking for trouble.”

“And why would that be the case?” Alison rounded on him.

“Let’s face facts, shall we?” Rupert asked. “The bonds of loyalty that held the Federation Navy together are snapping. Admiral Justinian was merely the first to attempt to seize supreme power for himself. There are at least a dozen other admirals—or Sector Governors—who might launch their own bids for power. They’re currently sitting on the fence, waiting to see what we do.

“Now tell me: how do you think they’d react when we keep replacing the one man who has bought us victories?” He smiled at their disgusted expressions. “We will be telling them that whatever grounds we use for promoting people, they don’t include either loyalty or competence. The ones who don’t have serious political connections will be wondering if they will be made to carry the can for failures or disasters caused by other people. The ones who are ambitious will start thinking how they can accomplish their aims without us, if we don’t help them. We have to send them a message—and that message has to be that we will reward loyalty, and success. Or we may as well decide that we’re going to lose most of the Federation.”

The Socialist and the Conservative looked at each other.

“Very well,” Brockington said, finally. “We will recognize Admiral Drake as he deserves.”

Rupert nodded.

“And we also have to listen to his recommendations. You saw the report he sent back to Earth. We have to honor it as much as possible.”

“He’s asking for huge monetary expenditure at precisely the time we need to reduce spending,” Brockington pointed out. “We cannot afford a new program of military construction.”

“And you think that Admiral Justinian cannot afford it?” Alison demanded. “We increase the taxes on the industrialists—call it an emergency raise in taxation, to be repealed after the war—and use it to fund the program. We’re fighting for them as well as ourselves.”

Rupert smiled as they started arguing again. Brockington was opposed to all increases in taxation on principle, if only because the industrialists provided much of his Faction’s backing. The Socialists, on the other hand, had wanted to hit the industrialists with higher tax rates for centuries. Brockington’s supporters would not be happy, not the least because there was no guarantee that the Socialists wouldn’t insist on keeping the higher tax rates after the war was over. If the Socialists used the wedge they’d been given and forced through
higher
taxes—and penalties, and regulations—they could cripple the economy. Worst of all, they’d be using the money they gained to buy votes by distributing government largesse into the Core Worlds, ensuring that they couldn’t be easily removed from power. The results would not be pleasant.

“With very strict limits,” Brockington said unhappily. “And we end the war as quickly as possible.”

“That may take years,” Rupert said flatly. “Admiral Drake was clear on that. We have to rebuild, train new people and produce an entire new fleet. And then we have to smash our way to Harmony and crush Admiral Justinian in his lair. All of that assumes that Admiral Justinian is the
only
one we have to deal with. If another admiral turns rogue, we could be looking at a nasty civil war that will last for decades.”

“And put far too much military power in the hands of Admiral Drake,” Alison observed. “There should be checks and balances.”

“Interfering with his command could cause a disaster,” Rupert reminded her. It was a point he had to keep repeating. The Senators had been absolute masters of the Federation for so long that they had problems realizing that might have changed. “We either trust him or we don’t. There isn’t a middle ground.”

“Right,” Brockington said. “We trust him—and we take a few precautions. My cousin’s youngest son is going to be promoted; right, we will promote him to commander and assign him as Admiral Drake’s aide. A Fleet Admiral needs an aide and that aide has to be well-connected himself, so he won’t be able to argue. And when the time comes that Admiral Drake is no longer needed...”

He allowed his voice to trail off suggestively.

No one bothered to argue.

* * *

The banquet following the second round of meetings—when the decisions taken by the leaders were hammered out into formal proposals that would be presented to the Senate—was as elegant as Rupert could make it. His servants served a luxurious meal coupled with the finest wines from across the Federation. He allowed himself a second glass of Brigadoon Whiskey as he contemplated his success. The other two didn’t realize it, as their Factions were currently occupied in sorting out the contracts for the new wave of military construction, all of which promised vast opportunities to skim from the government funds in all manner of barely-legal ways, but he’d gotten everything he wanted.

He turned back to the table and smiled as the desserts were finally served. His maids, like the maids in all of the other mansions, wore skimpy uniforms and bracelets that marked their status as brain-burned criminals. The brain-burned—a punishment reserved only for the very worst of criminals—had no rights, but using them as personal servants was illegal. Not that it really mattered; for High Society, laws were something that happened to other people. The brain-burned made ideal servants. as they did what they were told, without question, and never betrayed their masters.

It would have really upset his visitors, particularly the half-drunk youngster who was playing with one of his maids, to know that they weren’t brain-burned at all. It was astonishing what someone would say in front of someone they
knew
couldn’t understand them. The level of intelligence Rupert gathered was remarkable.

The maid put a plate of cheese and biscuits in front of him and he ate it slowly, considering his next move. So far, everything was going entirely to plan. All of the variables had been successfully predicted and countered. So far, he reminded himself; ultimate success was not guaranteed. Nothing was
ever
guaranteed in life.

Still, the Brotherhood
would
be pleased.

Interlude One

From:
The Chaos Years
(5023)

As we have seen in preceding chapters, unnoticed by most of its citizens, the Federation’s moral authority was declining rapidly in the period following the Blue Star War. The social glue that held the Federation together was crumbling, creating an unrecognized state where corruption and ambition went hand-in-hand to shake the Federation to its foundations. Admiral Justinian was merely the first admiral to turn into an independent warlord; the Federation’s failure to crush him quickly meant that others would be tempted to try their luck. The Senate—nervous about its grip on power—only made matters worse. Admirals and governors who might have sat on the fence saw the Senate’s desperate attempts to shore up its power as a threat, one that might consume even the loyal.

So it was that the three years following the Battle of Boskone—and the stalemate between the loyalists and Admiral Justinian that resulted—saw the Federation stumble from crisis to crisis. No less than seven Sector Governors and nine admirals declared independence, or attempted to turn their sectors into autonomous regions within the Federation. Two went rogue and turned their fleets into pirate forces, or headed out beyond the Rim to set up pocket kingdoms of their own. The chaos kept spreading. No one was safe.

It was Admiral Lafarge who has been commonly credited with posing the worst threat to the Core Worlds. Lafarge, commander of a sector far too close to the Core Worlds for comfort, risked a drive on Earth, convinced that the Senate intended to recall and murder him. (No amount of historical research has provided convincing evidence that this belief was actually well-founded.) His incursion, destroyed by Home Fleet in the brief and bitter Battle of Terra Nova, only provided the impetus to the Senate to proceed with its plans for internal security—even at the cost of alienating other potential allies.

An outsider, looking at the Federation from a mythical objective vantage point, would have wondered if the edifice was going to collapse within years, perhaps months. Rogue and rebel admirals, Outsider raids and even rebellions on hundreds of human and alien worlds threatened its integrity. Had the Federation’s many enemies succeeded in working together, its defeat and dismemberment would have been a certainty.

And so it was that Admiral Drake, now promoted to Fleet Admiral, set plans in motion to keep its enemies off-balance and suspicious of one another. It was the only hope of savaging something of the Federation from disaster.

Assault cruisers were designed to serve in a variety of roles, from intelligence gathering to commerce raiding and other roles. Although the class was originally designed in the years following the Blue Star War, the first examples only entered regular service during the Chaos War, after the Battle of Terra Nova
.

-
Jane’s All The Universe’s Starships,
4160 A.D.

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.”