Barbarians at the Gates (37 page)

“But humans have always been willing to follow monarchies in times of hardship,” he added, eyes narrowing. “I wonder if Admiral Justinian intends to declare himself Emperor of Humanity? If so, Hartkopf would have a chance to become Emperor himself, or father the Heir to the Throne. In any case, your reckless disregard of your orders seems to have given us an opportunity. How best, I wonder, to make use of it?”

He looked up suddenly. “The daughter,” he said. “What happened to her?”

Roman had, luckily, prepared for the question. There had been no way to hide the fact that Henrietta had been on the liner, not without arranging for the other prisoners to suffer an unfortunate accident. No one knew, apart from Elf and himself, that she was still alive and on the
Midway
. And, if he wanted to keep her safe, the admiral must never be allowed to find out.

“The pirates captured her,” he said truthfully. There had been no way to hide that either, even though only a couple of pirates had known her identity and they’d both been killed during the brief confrontation, shot down by their own men. “We have been unable to locate her corpse. They may have handed her over to another ship that escaped detection, or they may simply have killed her and pushed the body out of the airlock.”

“Shame,” Admiral Mason commented. “It would have been nice to hand her over to the Senate along with the other prisoners.”

“Sir,” Roman said slowly, “I think we shouldn’t do anything too hastily.”

Admiral Mason lifted a single eyebrow, daring Roman to proceed further. “We’re talking about men from the admiral’s inner circle,” Roman explained. “The level of intelligence they could give us would be very helpful...”

“ONI would get to interrogate them first, before they were handed over for execution,” Admiral Mason pointed out.

“And there is also the possibility of sowing the seeds of suspicion and distrust between the two warlords,” Roman said. He’d thought about little else since they’d started their flight to the Marx System, and then back to The Hive. “What if we attempted to convince Admiral Justinian that the pirates weren’t pirates at all, but Hartkopf’s forces?”

“And why, exactly, should Hartkopf decide to start a war with his fellow warlord?” Admiral Mason sneered. “Where is the logic in that?”

“Hartkopf knows—he must know—that if he allied with Admiral Justinian, he would always be the junior partner.” Roman smiled. “According to the negotiators, Admiral Justinian was prepared to concede autonomy to Hartkopf, but very little else. What if we convinced Justinian that Hartkopf made a deal with the Federation, and arranged for the negotiating team to fall into our hands?”

“A turncoat can never be trusted, for he turned his coat once,” Admiral Mason said thoughtfully. “It isn’t as if your scenario is impossible, I suppose. On the other hand,
captain
, the inhabitants of the Marx System could have told you a few things about relying on too complex a plan. How many things do you think could go wrong?”

Roman nodded towards the holographic display, showing the nearby stars and Asimov Points.

“Sir, with all due respect, if the two warlords join forces, we will be hard pressed to defend the Federation’s flank. The prisoners have confirmed that the treaty has already been drawn up and only awaits a royal marriage to seal it. I respectfully submit that
anything
that has a chance of disrupting that alliance is worth trying. We could hardly be in a worse position.”

“Why is it,” Admiral Mason enquired, “that when a person says ‘with all due respect,’ they mean without any respect at all?” He held up a hand before Roman could try to answer. “Never mind, captain. Very well; I concede your point. Now, how do you intend to turn our two enemies against one another?”

Roman had spent days thinking about the possibilities.

“Sir, Admiral Justinian has the Marx Asimov Point heavily fortified, but they have only a limited mobile component,” he said. “We have the firepower necessary to blow that mobile component to hell and gone.”

“Right,” Admiral Mason agreed. “And assuming that I agreed to take the risk of direct confrontation with his forces—which, may I remind you, we were ordered to avoid if possible—what would it gain us?”

“We use our ECM to pretend to be from Hartkopf’s forces,” Roman said. “We demand a meeting well away from the Asimov Point and wait until the enemy cruisers come into firing range, at which point they’ll open fire. We use the face of one of the prisoners to convince them to come up fat and happy.”

“I doubt they’ll be that willing to take anything on faith,” Admiral Mason said slowly. “Three years of war will have weeded out the incompetents on his side...still, it might work. And dare I assume that you have an operational plan already drawn up?”

“Yes, sir,” Roman said. He accessed his implants and shunted the encrypted file into the admiral’s desktop processor.

“I will review it with my staff and consider it.” Admiral Mason leaned back in his chair, apparently relaxed. “And now that that’s over, perhaps you could give me your verbal impressions of our area of operations.”

“Yes, sir,” Roman said.

He sat back and started to outline his thoughts.
Midway’s
probes had identified several convoy routes through the border space, although there was no way to know if they were serving the warlords or merely civilians trying to survive as the Federation tore itself apart. Roman’s sensor section had identified one patrolling warship as actually belonging to a mercenary company out of Hobson’s Choice, presumably hired to guard the freighters from pirate attacks—or even one or both of the warlords. The fleet would have good pickings, at least until the warlords started patrolling the sector more aggressively.

“Not too bad,” Admiral Mason said after Roman was done. “One other thing, captain?”

Roman looked up.

“What do you intend to do with the pirate prisoners?” the admiral asked casually.

Roman scowled. He hadn’t bothered to check on the prisoners he’d abandoned in the wreck of the
Harmonious Repose
. They had enough supplies to last them for several weeks without rescue, assuming they were careful. He wasn’t going to shed any tears if they killed themselves instead, or if they were just never able to recover them. Besides, there was the issue of just how to deal with them. He’d given the pirates his word.

“I was going to have them interrogated to learn the location of their bases and other information, then transfer them to a penal colony,” he said. “I gave them my word.”

“So you did,” Admiral Mason agreed. He leaned forward coldly. “Regulations are clear on this point,
captain
. Pirates captured in the act are to be executed once interrogated—no exceptions.”

“Yes, sir,” Roman said. “On the other hand, if I’d tried to storm the pirate vessel—or put a missile into her hull—there would have been a bloodbath. And we would have been denied the intelligence windfall I collected from the pirate ship. And we wouldn’t have recovered the pirate ship. I think we could probably put that to use, sir.”

“I’m sure.” Admiral Mason sneered again. “You seem to have a knack of falling headfirst into a bucket of shit and coming out covered in diamonds. It won’t last, and the first time your luck fails you will be the day your universe collapses.
Don’t
disobey orders again, or even your mentor won’t be able to stop you being busted down to Ensign and assigned to an isolated mining colony so far from Earth that they think FTL travel is a joke.”

“Yes, sir,” Roman said.

“Now get back to your ship,” Admiral Mason ordered. “I’ll read your plan and inform you of my decision.”

* * *

It wasn’t common for starships—even the superdreadnaughts and carriers—to have more than a handful of cells in the brig. If the starship did need, for whatever reason, to restrain more than a handful of prisoners, it was easy to seal off a section and use it as a makeshift jail. Without power tools or weapons, the prisoners couldn’t hope to escape. Roman had turned one of
Midway’s
holds into a prison for most of the prisoners—and they had complained non-stop about the accommodation, even though they weren’t in danger of being tortured and raped—but he’d kept Henrietta separate. He’d have to transfer the other prisoners to
Golden Hind
and they couldn’t be allowed to learn that she was still alive.

Midway’s
brig consisted of two sections. A Marine guard stood outside one section, under strict orders not to enter the brig or allow anyone else to enter without Roman’s permission. Inside, there was a force field hemming the prisoner into a small cell, allowing visitors a chance to speak to the prisoner in private. Unlike a civilian jail cell, every moment in the brig was recorded by hidden sensors, but Roman had used his command authority to deactivate them. There would be no record of this prisoner.

Henrietta was lying on the bunk when he walked through the hatch and stopped outside the force field. She looked as if she had been sleeping, but her eyes were hollow when she pulled herself upright and stared at him. Elf had checked her thoroughly and reported that she was in good health, yet it would have surprised Roman if she wasn’t a little traumatized. Her life had turned upside down several times since the war began. And she knew that if a senior officer learned of her presence on the ship, she’d be executed. She was completely at his mercy and she knew it.

“Thank you for coming,” she said. Her voice was soft and weak, vulnerable. “I was running out of books.”

Roman nodded. A prisoner, even a crewman placed in the brig for a brief spell, could not be allowed to access the ship’s computers, even the recreational files open to all. In earlier days, he’d been told, computer-skilled personnel had hacked into the security systems and made their escape. That was supposed to be impossible now, but the regulation still remained in force.

“Tell me something,” he said suddenly. “Did your father give you a choice when he sent you to marry Hartkopf?”

“What do you think?” She sneered. “My father is ambitious, and my mother is as bad as he is, if not worse. Girls are pawns to them, to be sold on the marriage market in order to improve their social position. I was told that I was going to marry him, and nothing I said changed their minds. Do you think I wanted to marry a man who’s over ninety years old?”

“I don’t know if you’re any better off here.” Roman shrugged. “I may have to quietly ship you elsewhere before the shit hits the fan.”

“It’s better than waiting for an old bastard to deflower me, just because Daddy wants access to his starships,” she said. “You need to watch my father. He will do anything to satisfy his ambitions.”

“I see,” Roman said. He wished for a trained interrogator, but that wasn’t a possibility. “And what does your father actually want from all this?”

“Empire, of course,” Henrietta said. “He wants to be Lord and Master of All.”

Her face twitched. “Compared to that,” she added, “what is the happiness of a single daughter? He has four more.”

Humans have saddled themselves with many strange ideas about how best to govern humanity. Some believe in the value of monarchy, others in the voice of the people and still others in communism or fascism. The Federation wisely allowed the settlement of worlds that attempted to follow a designed governing system, rather than one that evolved by chance. Not all of the experiments, it should be noted, worked...

...The Federation, in fact, rarely interferes in a planet’s internal affairs, as long as they follow the Federation Protocols…

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

Marx System, 4095

“Commodore?”

Commodore Joseph Truing turned to face the young officer and—barely—refrained from rolling his eyes. Joseph was over a hundred years old, thanks to anti-aging treatments he’d accepted when he’d joined the Federation Navy, and Lieutenant Harwich looked as if he’d barely started to shave. He was eager enough, anyway, even if he did have a habit of reporting every random flicker on the detectors as an incoming enemy attack. It was hard to believe, Joseph thought to himself from time to time, that
he
had ever been that young.

“Yes, lieutenant? What have you detected this time?”

Admiral Justinian’s military machine was, somewhat to his regret, less formal than the Federation Navy. Proper military discipline would come in time, Joseph was sure, but until then he’d just have to suffer. He didn’t regret signing up with the admiral when his recruiters had found him on the colony he’d chosen as a retirement home, yet there were times when he wondered if Justinian’s grand plan to reshape the Federation would succeed. The news from the war front, heavily censored through it was, was not good. The war had stalemated.

The youngster managed to look offended, even though he was also keen to show off. “We picked up a signal from a starship that just entered the system...ah, entered the system some hours ago,” he reported. “The Governor-General is requesting a meeting between his ships and our squadron for transfer of classified material. There is also an ID header from Secretary Festal directing us to comply with the request.”