Barbarians at the Gates

The Decline and Fall of the Galactic Empire
Book 1

Christopher Nuttall

Barbarians at the Gates
This is a work of fiction. All concepts, characters and events portrayed in this book are used fictitiously and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2014 Christopher G. Nuttall

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, except brief extracts for the purpose of review, without the permission of the publisher and copyright owner.

First Edition, October 2014

Cover art by Malcolm McClinton

Printed in the United States of America.

Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine

Chapter One

The Luna Academy is the sole source of officers for the Federation Navy. Every year, five thousand young men and women enter the academy; five years later, the survivors are allowed to start the long climb towards command. The rewards are great, but so is the pressure. It is no surprise that the Academy rarely graduates more than a thousand new officers every year.
-An Irreverent Guide to the Federation, 4000 A.D.

Luna Academy, Sol System, 4092
“Cadet Garibaldi,” Professor Kratman said, walking through the desks until he was standing right in front of his chosen victim, “I wish you to consider something for the benefit of your fellows. What do the First Battle of Zion, the Battle of Spider Bite and the Battle of Athens all have in common?”
Roman Garibaldi fought hard to keep his expression under control. Professor Kratman wasn’t known for suffering fools gladly and the obvious answer—all three battles had been fought in space—was almost certainly not the right one. But then, there might not be a right answer; Kratman was hardly above throwing an unanswerable question at the class. The professor—his face was badly scarred by radiation burns, leading to much speculation outside class—was waiting patiently. Disappointing him was not an option.
Roman considered it briefly, thinking hard. All three battles had been studied extensively during Second Year, right before the cadets had passed their first tests. The three battles were significant—two had marked the start of a war; the third had effectively ended one—but there were hundreds of other such significant battles in the Federation’s two thousand year history. He ran his hand through his blond hair and smiled as the answer came to him.
“Sir,” he said. “The three battles represent conceptual defeats.”
“Oh?” Professor Kratman said, peering down at him. “And were the defeats imaginary, then? Were the dead bodies floating in space delusions of an oxygen-starved mind?”
Roman shook his head, ignoring the titters from his classmates. If nothing else, Professor Kratman taught cadets how to think on their feet. 
“No, sir,” he said. “The defeats represented a failure of imagination by the losing side. They thought they knew everything and allowed themselves to be surprised by the enemy.”
“Interesting,” Professor Kratman mused. He made a show of stroking his hairless chin. “And would you care to elaborate for the benefit of your fellow cadets?”
“Yes, sir,” Roman agreed. It wasn’t as if he had a choice. Besides, he was uncomfortably aware that he might just be giving the professor rope to hang him, as Kratman was also known for allowing cadets to trip themselves up in the hopes they would learn from the experience. “Prior to the First Battle of Zion, it was commonly believed that aliens would be peaceful, rather than being just as violent as humanity. When the Zion Defense Force encountered alien starships emerging from a previously undiscovered Asimov Point in the Zion System, they allowed themselves to be suckered into a position that allowed the Snakes to obliterate the entire force with ease. The result of this failure was the occupation of Zion and the First Interstellar War, which served as the catalysts for binding the Federation together.”
Of course, he thought as he took a deep breath, the Inheritance Wars are still a sore subject in the Federation. 
“In the Battle of Spider Bite, the...ah, loyalist commander knew that all he was facing were converted freighters and a handful of local defense starships. He charged through the Asimov Point, leading a fleet of battlecruisers and battleships, only to run into an enemy armed with compressed antimatter, a substance that had never before been used in combat. The result was the total obliteration of the Federation force and the Inheritance Wars.
“In the Battle of Athens, the rebel commander knew the loyalist forces would have to come through one of the Asimov Points in the system and had drawn up his forces to contest the gateway, as military doctrine demanded after the discovery of the first Asimov Point. The rebels were taken completely by surprise when the loyalists, using the continuous displacement stardrive, bypassed the Asimov Point network and assaulted their positions from the rear. It was the decisive battle of the Inheritance Wars.”
Roman braced himself. “In all three battles, one side was presented with something completely outside its context,” he concluded. “They suffered from a failure of imagination.”
“An interesting viewpoint,” the Professor said. He looked around the room. “Would any of you care to comment?”
“I would, sir,” Cadet Blake Raistlin said. 
Roman rolled his eyes inwardly. Cadet Raistlin was from one of the wealthiest families on Old Earth, with ties that led all the way up to the Grand Senate, and when they’d first met, Raistlin had tried to put the RockRat in his place. He had been astonished to discover that Roman was not only able, but willing to fight back. 
But Raistlin had gone on. “How could any of the commanders have predicted that they would be faced with a threat outside their ... accepted context?”
Professor Kratman, unlike some of the other academic staff, showed no inclinations to play favorites. “Would you care to elaborate, cadet?”
Raistlin shot Roman a mischievous look. “The defenders of Zion expected to face human enemies, not aliens,” he said. “Compressed antimatter was only a theory, as was the continuous displacement drive. How could they have prepared to face a threat they didn’t even know existed?”
“Interesting point,” Professor Kratman mused. He turned and faced Raistlin. “Do you believe that the universe is fair, cadet?”
“No, sir,” Raistlin said. It was one thing that had been drummed into their heads since they had entered Luna Academy. The universe was not fair. It simply didn’t care about humans—or aliens. “But you cannot blame a commanding officer for doing everything by The Book and then being defeated by something outside of The Book.”
“The Board of Inquiry might disagree with you,” Kratman said dryly, referring to the inquiry held whenever a Federation starship was lost on active duty. “Let us consider the situation, just for a moment. Why did the defenders of Zion believe that aliens would be peaceful and friendly? Answer—the general belief at the time, encouraged by the discovery of Graveyard a few years prior to the First Interstellar War, was that a violent and aggressive race would not make it into space. Their logic was fundamentally flawed as humanity, a violent and aggressive race, had already made it into space. They thought of humans as being somehow...less than aliens. If we made it through the bottleneck and out into space, why couldn’t another violent race? Reasoning from a single example, like Graveyard, produces dubious results, not least because Graveyard might have been the result of an interstellar war.”
Roman shivered. A few years after the discovery of the network of Asimov Points—which allowed instant travel between star systems—human explorers had stumbled across a dead world, destroyed by nuclear war. The level of devastation had been so high that no one knew what the inhabitants had called themselves. Their records had been so badly damaged that no one would ever know what had taken place to cause the war, or why it had been fought to such a dark finish. 
“The Battle of Spider Bite is also indicative of the dangers of stagnated thinking and unchallenged assumptions,” Kratman continued. “The loyalist commander knew that the rebels didn’t have the firepower to take on his entire fleet. It should have occurred to him that they would not have declared independence and started the war without being sure that they had something that could tip the balance in their favor. And they did—compressed antimatter. The resulting disaster could have been avoided, if only by holding a formation that was more than a premature victory parade.
“The Battle of Athens represents a third such example. After fighting the Inheritance Wars for so long, both sides were looking desperately for a silver bullet that would allow them to end the wars without further loss of life. The rebels were experimenting with automated missiles that would allow them to sweep the Asimov Point without risking ships and lives; it was not a great intellectual leap to wonder if the loyalists were doing the same. Indeed, the rebels had their own gravimetric research program that would have led to the stardrive if the Inheritance Wars hadn’t been terminated before they could put it into production. In short, the rebels allowed themselves to be pinned against the Asimov Point by a force that had entered the system from an unsuspected direction, and were obliterated.”
He grinned. “Let us consider another two battles, shall we? Cadet Raistlin: what do the pre-space Battle of Midway and the First Battle of Sapphire have in common?”
Roman had to smile as Raistlin blinked in shock. If the Inheritance Wars were still a sore subject, the far more recent Blue Star War was effectively forbidden territory. Cadets were rarely encouraged to study the war, even in the privacy of Luna Academy, while relatively little material on the war had made it out into the civilian sphere. The bare facts, of course, couldn’t be covered up, but the precise details? The Federation Navy had restricted the data and covered up the reports, if only to spare the embarrassment. He wondered, absently, how the well-connected Raistlin would answer. 
“Sir,” Raistlin said. He had clearly decided to plunge for honesty, rather than dissimulation. “Both battles—both defeats—were the result of massive overconfidence.”
“A very good answer, cadet,” Kratman said sardonically. “An answer that is perfectly accurate, yet devoid of any actual detail. Please, would you elaborate for your fellow cadets?”
“Yes, sir,” Raistlin said. Somehow, he managed to regain his balance. “In the Battle of Midway, the Japanese had an overpowering advantage in almost every important category. They should have brushed their American opponents aside and taken Midway, smashing the remaining American carriers at the same time. Instead, their overall commander divided their force and the Americans caught four of their carriers and sank them. The result was the sudden cessation of the Japanese advance.
“The First Battle of Sapphire, likewise, should have been a Federation victory. The fleet sent to secure the blue giant had enough firepower to take on the entire enemy force and crush it, but the commanding officer chose to break his fleet into three smaller forces and launch a simultaneous assault through two Asimov Points, while the third crossed interstellar space. The result of this...ah, poorly devised plan was the destruction of two of the assault forces, because they couldn’t actually provide mutual support in their advance.”
“And why did that happen, cadet?”
“Because coordinating a battle across interstellar distances is impossible,” Raistlin said. “The three assault forces couldn’t communicate with one another, while their opponents could use the advantage of the interior position to reinforce their defending forces—effectively smashing the attacking forces one by one.”
“In other words, the commanding officer tried to be clever,” Kratman said. He smiled, a rather humorless expression. “Being too clever or too dumb can cost you victory, or worse.”
The Professor walked back to the front of the room and smiled at the cadets, this time with a hint of warmth. “There is actually a second point that both battles have in common. Both have been studied by military strategists—the latter battle with rather less enthusiasm, I should add—and extensively wargamed. Would you like to guess at the results?”
He paused, but no one took the bait. After a long moment, he went on.
“The conclusion, in both battles, was that the side that lost should have won. Overconfidence led to disaster—or, as Admiral Vane put it during the First Interstellar War, war is a democracy. The enemy has a vote.”
He paused. “You have a question, Cadet Goldsmith?”
“Yes, sir,” Cadet Karen Goldsmith said, and nodded. 
Roman listened with interest. She rarely spoke, but when she did, she was always worth listening to. Besides, with long red hair and a remarkable smile, she was easy on the eyes as well. 
“As I understand it,” Goldsmith said, “in both wars it was primarily a matter of production. The resources available to the Americans and to the Federation far outstripped those available to their enemies. Once the victors had mobilized for war, their victory was certain. If that is the case, why were the battles so important?”
“If that is the case, cadet?” Kratman asked dryly. 
Goldsmith flushed, but said nothing. History, Military Strategy and Moral Philosophy was not a class to be unsure of one’s grounds. 
“In one sense, you are quite right,” the Professor said. “The sheer weight of firepower and material available to the victors ensured that they would be victorious. In a different sense, you are wrong; firepower and material alone does not win wars. Wars are fought—and thought—by intelligent beings. You might as well ask why the losers chose to fight at all.”
He smiled. “In war, there are far more factors than just the material and armament. Is one side really committed to the war? If not, will they fight to the finish or will they abandon the war when the cost in men and material grows too high? The Japanese calculated that the Americans lacked the will to continue the war to the bitter end—oh yes, they knew about the disparity in long-term power. But America’s short-term weakness did not lead to long-term weakness or defeat, not least because the Japanese lacked the firepower to capture or destroy America’s industry.
“In the Blue Star War, the shock of the defeat forced the Federation Navy to clean house, while the political leaders who got the Federation into the war found themselves purged or marginalized. The defeat provoked fury among the high and mighty, who put aside their political struggles to unite and see the war through to victory. You may wish to consider what might have happened if the Senate hadn’t been so unified. The Blue Star War might have been abandoned and the Federation’s prestige would have been severely dented.”
Roman considered the scenario as the Professor summed up his final lecture, outlining its relevance to the cadets and the Federation Navy. The reason the Outsiders were pushing so hard along the Rim—where the Federation’s writ barely ran and outlaws and pirates hid themselves from Federation justice—was that the Federation Navy wasn’t showing the will to either protect the human population or hunt down the pirates and the aliens who were supporting them. He recalled, bitterly, how his parents had died. After that, he had thrown himself into his studies and eventually won a coveted scholarship to Luna Academy. And if he earned a First in the exams, he would be on the short list to command his own ship. 
“I was on the Matterhorn,” the Professor concluded. 
Roman blinked in surprise. The Matterhorn was a legend, one of the most famous ships in the fleet. The superdreadnaught had led the assault force into Sapphire and right into the ambush that had shattered the attacking force. The Matterhorn had been the only starship to survive, her CO somehow managing to get his wounded and bleeding starship back through the Asimov Point, losing over two-thirds of his crew in the brief encounter. He found himself looking at Kratman with new respect. All of the Academy’s staff were supposed to have combat experience, but real combat experience was rare in the Federation Navy. The Blue Star War, the last significant conflict, was over sixty years ago.
“It was a nightmare,” Kratman said. “We flew right into a trap and were lucky to survive. Others—people I had known since I was a cadet—didn’t survive. You all have survived five years of the Academy, but your experience of the real universe is limited. And yet, if you pass the final exams, you will be on the track to command and, eventually, the Admiralty. If you survive...”

By long tradition—Luna Academy had been founded in 2161—the cadets were granted a free period after every class. It hadn’t taken long for Roman—and the other survivors of five years of brutal winnowing—to realize that falling for the temptations of Luna City was a good way to lose one’s place in the Academy. The cadets, after their first year, were expected to discipline themselves. Very few wasted their time partying when they had to study.
Roman nodded to Raistlin as the class broke up, some heading for the library and others for the simulators, where they would study the battles the Professor had outlined. A handful, who had been ordered to undergo extra EVA training or additional duties, looked downcast. Raistlin nodded back—despite his origins, he wasn’t actually stupid—and made a show of walking in the opposite direction. Picking fights outside class was another good way to lose one’s place.
“So,” Cadet Sultana Narayanan said, “how much trouble do you think the Professor is going to get into?”
Roman shrugged. “None, I suspect,” he said. The Blue Star War might have been forbidden territory, but studying the war was vital, if only to avoid making the same mistakes again. “I think there are times when he says things just to see how we will react.”
It made, he decided, a certain kind of sense. The cadets who bought the official line hook, line and sinker wouldn’t be showing the mental agility needed to command starships in battle. Besides, they were—or they would be, once they graduated—Federation Navy officers. They needed to think for themselves.
“Or maybe he wanted to tell us something without saying it outright,” he added. “Something we had to pick out for ourselves.”
“Maybe,” Sultana said. It was rare for her to talk to anyone outside classes, but in some ways they were both loners. Sultana had left her homeworld under a cloud and Roman was a RockRat, part of an asteroid-dwelling society that rarely interacted with the rest of humanity. “Do you think that...?”
At that moment, the emergency alarm went off. “ALL CADETS REPORT TO SAFE LOCKS,” the intercom bellowed. “I SAY AGAIN, ALL CADETS REPORT TO SAFE LOCKS! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!”
Roman and Sultana exchanged glances—the emergency alarms were never sounded, outside scheduled drills—and then started to run. A Safe Lock was never far away.

Chapter Two

The Senate, as laid down in the Federation Constitution, is restricted to only one thousand members—not counting the Grand Senators, who hold their positions until resignation or death. It should not be surprising, therefore, that representing the entirety of the Federation becomes a problem, or that there is a growing disconnect between the Senate and those they represent.
-An Irreverent Guide to the Federation, 4000 A.D.

Senate Hall, Earth, Sol System, 4092
“The Senate Committee on Outsider Incursions is now called to order,” the Speaker said. “As per the Senate Security Act of 3702, I declare the room sealed.”
Vice Admiral Marius Drake nodded impatiently. It had been a year since he had been recalled to Earth for “consultations,” and ten years since he had been assigned to the Rim and ordered to hunt down and destroy the Outsiders. But the mission had not been successful, as the Outsiders were good at hiding from the Federation Navy—they’d had plenty of practice—and the Senate hadn’t given him either the authority or resources to provide escorts to protect merchant shipping. 
But as bad as that was, it was nothing compared to the last year’s worth of inactivity on Earth—a complete and utter waste of his time. At first, the Admiralty had refused to admit that there was a problem with the Outsiders. And then everything had got worse once the politicians had become involved.
Politics was at the root of everything, these days.
Marius straightened his dress uniform as the room slowly came to order. At ninety-one years of age, he still looked young and handsome, thanks to the longevity treatments made available to promising young Federation Navy officers. His short, dark hair contrasted oddly with the gold dress uniform, to say nothing of the cape some sadist had designed for the Federation’s naval officers to wear. Marius had no idea who had designed the cape, or why, but the uniform made him feel ridiculous. At least he’d honestly earned the medals on his chest. Perhaps the Senators would look at the medals and realize that he knew what he was talking about, unlike their paid military experts. It was astonishing how experts always provided advice that led directly to whatever their clients wanted to do. 
Of course, that kind of wishful thinking was what had started the Blue Star War in the first place.
The Senate Hall was massive, holding not only the Grand Chamber—where all one thousand Senators and the Grand Senators passed laws that affected the entire Federation—but also hundreds of secure rooms for more private meetings. The chamber the Committee had reserved for its own use was small by the standards of the Grand Chamber, but it was still remarkably luxurious. No expense had been spared, not in the computer systems, nor the paintings that hung on the wall, or even the obsequious servants offering coffee or tea on demand to the Senators. 
Marius had been brought up to believe that using human labor was a sign of decadence. In an age where robots were common, human servants were there merely to illustrate how important their masters considered themselves to be.
He looked up at the Senators and winced inwardly. They didn’t look happy. Grand Senator The Honorable Carlton Brockington, Leader of the Conservative Faction, had somehow secured the chair for his own party. He was older than Marius and he hadn’t aged anything like as well, unless Brockington was for some reason deliberately displaying his age. Fashions, for everything from clothing to faces and bodily shape, changed so rapidly on Earth that Marius, who had spent most of his life in interstellar space, had no hope of following them. 
Grand Senator Alison Wallisch, Leader of the Socialist Faction, sat next to him, her blue eyes flickering from person to person. Her improbably beautiful heart-shaped face, surrounded by a mass of blonde curls, concealed a devious mind and—like all Senators—a certain ruthlessness and willingness to throw a friend out of the airlock if the friend threatened her power. Four of the other Senators were non-factors, brought in to bolster the two main factions, but Senator Chang Li, Representative from Nova Athena, and Grand Senator Rupert McGillivray were different. Despite himself, Marius, who followed politics closely, couldn’t understand why either of them were on this Committee. Chang Li was from the Outer Rim and had no effective power base to speak of. And as for McGillivray...
“Vice Admiral,” Brockington said in a cold, accusatory tone. “You have failed to defeat the Outsiders and restore peace and prosperity to the Rim. And now you come before us and ask for extra resources. Why should we assign additional starships and manpower to your command?”
Marius kept his expression blank, drawing on years of experience since graduating from Luna Academy. “The level of forces assigned to my command, Your Excellency, is insufficient for the task at hand,” he said as calmly as he could. “If you want results, you need to assign me additional ships.”
The senators murmured audibly, possibly talking to their staff members via communications implant. Of course, using such implants in public was impolite, but who would dare tell that to the Senators? Everyone else pretended not to notice, but Marius would remember the slight.
“You have been assigned over three hundred starships,” Brockington said after a long pause. “Why is that insufficient?”
“Your Excellency, my area of responsibility covers over five thousand light years and four hundred inhabited planetary systems,” Marius said. “The odds against me managing to place a single unit in a star system that is about to be attacked by pirates are astronomical. I cannot provide reliable protection for merchant shipping, let alone hunt down the various pirate bases, which are utterly impossible to detect in such a vast area of space. Furthermore, I have been denied the authority to insist on convoys being formed and escorted. Governor Barany has flatly refused my requests to institute even a limited convoy system, which my advisors have estimated would cut our losses by over a third.”
He thought rapidly. Should he bring up the other matter? If ONI was right, Governor Barany was actually taking money from the pirates. And that couldn’t be allowed.
“Worse, there is evidence to suggest that there are at least three unknown alien races in the Beyond, races that are aware of our existence and are actually providing help and support to the pirates. They may well have absorbed human technology, in direct violation of Directive 001. When I brought this to the governor’s attention, he refused to grant permission to launch survey missions, let alone punitive raids against the unknown aliens. Instead, he promised to send the question to the Senate. I received no response by the time I was recalled.”
It took everything he had to keep the anger out of his voice, but he managed it. 
“The pirates have graduated from pest to serious annoyance,” he continued after a beat. “They started by raiding freighters; now, they’re raiding entire planets and carting off vast numbers of humans to use as slaves. We captured a pirate ship three years ago that carried nothing but human females, who were apparently destined for prostitution or slavery. The settlers out there are paying the pirates to leave them alone, giving them money or women in exchange for peace.”
Marius hoped the Senators understood just how wrong that was, but worse was yet to come.
“And that’s not all, as those settlers who refuse to cooperate often die, Your Excellency. This is most likely why pirates have destroyed at least four colonies down to the last man, woman and child.”
There was an uneasy pause, as several of the Senators busied themselves with their terminals rather than look at Marius or their fellows. 
“How many do you believe died in the last ten years?” Senator Chang Li asked. “How many humans have died because we didn’t protect them?”
Marius considered her for a long moment. Back when the Federation was formed, the older planets had insisted they be allowed to represent their daughter colonies in the Senate, something that had dovetailed nicely with the limit on how many Senators could be voted into office. In practice, it ensured that the out-worlds, the ones at most risk from the pirates, had no voice in government. Senator Chang Li was only the third colonist to serve as a Senator, and she was isolated. The Senators had become aristocrats in all but name. 
“The Rim records are of limited value,” Marius admitted. “However, the best estimate I can give you is that over seventy million humans have been killed by the pirates, or carted off to serve as slaves, or have scattered and are hiding from both us and the pirates. The situation is intolerable.”
“It is we who decide what is intolerable,” Grand Senator Alison Wallisch said. Her voice was very cold. “I have here, in my implant, a communication from the governor. He states that Vice Admiral Drake has been unwilling to cooperate with the governor or local governments.” She smiled thinly. “Perhaps you would care to explain why you showed so little respect for properly constituted authority, admiral?”
This time, it was harder to hide the rage. 
“With all due respect, Senator, I discovered very quickly that sharing my operational plans with the governor meant that they were shared with the pirates,” Marius told her. “I told the governor about a planned ambush; the pirates somehow avoided it. I told him that I planned a raid on a pirate base; the base was empty when I got there and rigged to blow with antimatter. I told him to keep the information in confidence and not to share it with anyone, not even his wife, yet somehow the information got out.”
“Governor Barany is a man of the highest reputation,” Alison said. “How dare you accuse him of...supplying information to the pirates?”
“The evidence is in his bank accounts,” Marius said, throwing his last card onto the table. “He has a whole series of payments with no discernible source and...”
“Impossible,” Alison said. She turned to her fellow Senators. “The admiral is attempting to excuse his own failures by blaming the governor! I move that we consider this in closed session.”
There was a brief moment of silent communication. “I disagree,” Chang Li said. Her almond eyes sought out Marius. “We need to send more starships into the sector to protect the population.”
“At a colossal cost,” one of the Conservative Senators pointed out. “Deploying an entire fleet into the Rim would strain our logistics quite badly and—”
“There are human lives at stake,” Marius snapped, unable to control himself any longer. “Right now, billions of human lives are at risk of being kidnapped, killed, or simply wiped from existence. And here you are, worrying about cost!”
There was a long pause. 
“I think, admiral, that you had better withdraw,” Brockington said. “We will inform you of our decision in due course.”
* * *
“The governor is one of her men, of course.”
Marius didn’t turn as the Grand Senator came up behind him. Instead, he stared out of the massive window, looking down towards the towers of Federation City. Centuries ago, the city had been built to serve as a home for the Federation’s Government, back after the First Interstellar War had taught the human race the value of unity. Now, it was just like any other city on Earth: massive towers, teeming slums and a monstrous overpopulation problem. The punishment for any crime, these days, was deportation, yet it was never enough to keep pace with the growing population. Sooner or later, the teeming mass of humanity was going to rise up and drag the entire planet down into a nightmare.
“You spoke truth to power,” Grand Senator Rupert McGillivray said dryly. “What makes you think that that will go unpunished?”
Marius turned. McGillivray was old, perhaps the oldest man in the Federation. His white hair and short, white beard were an affectation—he could have altered it at will—but the slow motion of his walk and the way his body shook told the true story. Traditionally, a Grand Senator who reached such an age—his detractors claimed he was senile—should resign, but McGillivray had held onto his chair. As the last of the Imperialist Faction—the faction that had provoked the Blue Star War—he was effectively impossible to dislodge.
“I like to think that the government would do the right thing,” Marius said honestly. “Didn’t they see the records from hijacked ships and ruined planets?”
“Of course they did,” McGillivray said. “What makes you think they care? Everyone in the Senate is focused on keeping and expanding their power bases. Dead colonials along the Rim don’t vote; wealthy citizens in the Core Worlds do so, frequently. Pleasing them is far more important than trying to stop the pirates.”
He shrugged as he took one of the seats that allowed him to stare out over Federation City. The sun was setting in the distance. 
“Admiral, no one of your high position can afford to be ignorant of politics,” McGillivray said. “I know; you reached your position through merit and you deserve it, but merit alone isn’t enough these days. There’s a total deadlock in the Senate and no one is going to go out on a limb and suggest that sending a few hundred additional units out to the Rim might be a good idea, even with a clear and present threat to the entire Federation.”
Marius nodded dismally. “But they’re playing fast and loose with the security of the entire Federation,” he repeated with emphasis. “How long is it going to be before we face an even greater threat?”
McGillivray smiled. “Are the new aliens a danger to the Federation?”
“I don’t know,” Marius admitted. “The Senate banned us from sending survey missions out to their space; hell, we know very little about them. The real danger is that they will get organized as a unit if we give them time, perhaps allying with the pirates and rebels. They have to know, by now, what life as an alien in the Federation is like.”
The thought was a bitter one. The First Interstellar War had left a legacy of xenophobia running through the Federation. No alien race could be permitted to threaten humanity ever again. Aliens were second-class citizens even on their own homeworlds, denied weapons or access to spaceflight. They were banned from Earth and the Core Worlds, while the out-worlds often used aliens as a source of cheap labor. Marius had no more love for the aliens than the average human, yet even he was prepared to admit that no rational alien race would want to join the Federation. 
Of course, the Blue Star War had made it clear what would happen to any race that refused to cooperate. 
“True,” McGillivray agreed after a pause. He leaned forward, assuming a lecturing pose. “The Conservatives want to keep things as they are, because they’re effectively in charge of half the galaxy. They’re allied with most of the big interstellar corporations because the corporations want to keep the laws and procedures they already have...”
“Keeping them on top,” Marius put in.
“Precisely,” McGillivray said. “The Socialists are trying to challenge this by distributing federal largesse to the population of the Core Worlds, the planets that can make or break Senators. In theory, they can effectively buy votes because they promise to keep the money flowing. In practice, what they’re actually doing is damaging the tax base; the big corporations have the legal framework to escape taxation, or they’re moving operations out to the out-worlds. So the Socialists raise taxes on smaller businesses and individuals, which makes their continued survival impossible, which means they’re actually expanding the pool of needy people who need federal support to survive. Worse, because most of the Core Worlds are actually significant, raising taxes there is politically dangerous, so they start taxing the out-worlds, which causes massive resentment and a black market.
“Back when we had the Imperialist Faction, all three were balanced, but now...” He shook his head. “My family was there when the Constitution was first written,” he said slowly. “And now I may live long enough to see the Federation tear itself apart.”
Marius blinked. “Surely it’s not that serious...”
“Oh, yes it is,” McGillivray insisted. “You remember how reluctant they were to send ships to the Rim? They’ve been cutting the military to the bone in order to fund their pet projects; they’ve been cutting back on everything. The Survey Service has effectively been disbanded. The Asimov Point Monitoring Service has been placed on indefinite hold. They’ve even been skimping on ICN funding for the Rim and...”
Marius held up a hand, as etiquette demanded. A message had just downloaded into his implants. “They want me to head back to the Admiralty,” he said flatly. He would have time to think about McGillivray’s words on the way. “Thank you...”
“Thank you,” McGillivray said. He winked. “It’s astonishing how few people pay attention to me these days.”
* * *
Admiralty House—the headquarters of the Federation Navy—was on the other side of the continent from Federation City. No one knew, now, why it had been built there, but it was tradition and, as such, could not be interfered with by mere mortals. Marius had his own theory; the Snakes, the first alien race humanity had encountered, had bombarded planetary defense centers with abandon, ignoring the danger to civilian populations. Building the HQ so far from the civilian population might just save civilian lives if the enemy took the high orbitals and chose to bombard the planet before invading.
The shuttle raced towards the city at several times the speed of sound. It was a sign of haste that the Admiralty had assigned his transport to the first available craft, rather than wait for an aircar. Someone in the Senate must have lit a fire under someone’s ass. Marius didn’t mind. The shuttle might be disarmed, but it felt more...natural than a luxury aircar. Sitting behind the pilot gave him time to rest. There was no point in trying to think, not after hearing from both the Senate and Grand Senator McGillivray. He’d find out what was waiting for him when he landed. 
He looked up sharply as an alarm shrilled. It was the planetary defense alarm, an alarm that was never used, even in drills. The Solar System wasn’t under attack—was it?
A moment later, the looming shape of Admiralty House—coming into view in the distance—vanished in a flash of blinding light.

Chapter Three

As the homeworld of humanity, Earth is the single most heavily defended world in recorded history. Only a madman would try to breach the defenses and claim Earth for his own—or so we are told. History is all about people doing the unexpected and, one day, Earth’s defenses may be challenged from an unsuspected direction.
-An Irreverent Guide to the Federation, 4000 A.D.

Near-Earth Orbit, Sol System, 4092
Although he was on the command deck, Commander Jacob Fallon had been slacking off when the attack began. In theory, he was currently in command of Earth Defense Station Three. The truth was that command networks and override protocols linked all of the defense stations—and automated orbital weapons platforms—into a single, coherent whole. With Commodore Peking on Earth Defense Station One for a conference with Port Admiral Gordon, the commander of Earth’s defense network and the Home Fleet, the crew of EDS3 had been relaxing. Nothing had threatened Earth since the First Interstellar War, centuries ago, and few members of the crew expected anything ever would.
Fallon came to his feet as alarms shrieked, dropping his small—and, technically, illegal—data terminal on the deck as the main display wall lit up with red icons. He’d never seen anything like it outside of drills, and even then the drills hadn’t been too intense; after all, everyone knew that attackers could not reach Earth without fighting their way through half the Federation. There would be plenty of time to reconfigure defenses and reallocate resources to deal with any new threats.
Or so they had believed. 
The main display zeroed in on a single, expanding red icon, flashing to yellow as it faded away. Where EDS1 had been, hanging over Earth like a protective shroud, there was nothing more than an expanding cloud of debris and superheated plasma. A second icon—confirming the detection of a nuclear detonation on Earth’s surface—almost passed unnoticed. 
Jacob was too astonished to speak, even as the alarms yammered and trained personnel struggled to respond to the completely unanticipated situation. What the hell was going on? All drills were scripted and announced in advance. It couldn’t be a drill, but it couldn’t be real...could it?
“Bring the station to red alert,” he ordered his crew. If that wasn’t the most unnecessary order in the history of the Federation Navy, he thought, considering the alert had automatically sounded. “Get me...”
He broke off as new red icons flared into existence. Starfighters! Someone had launched starfighters?
It seemed impossible, but someone had. They were attacking Earth’s network of defensive installations. Jacob just stared, unable to speak or even think. The Earth Defense Stations were not only four times as massive as the largest superdreadnaughts or assault carriers, they carried far more missile launchers, starfighters, and armor, if only because they didn’t need to fill their internal compartments with drive units and emergency supplies. Who would dare attack such massive formations? 
“Launch our starfighters,” he ordered, trying to sound as calm as he possibly could. He fell back on basic tactics, information he’d learned at the academy and then allowed to slip out of his head, because there was nothing else to do. The hostile starfighters had to be hunted down and destroyed before they caused more damage.
Except...where had they come from? No one could have slipped a fleet of assault carriers near Earth without being detected, even if their cloaking systems were superior to those of the Federation Navy. He couldn’t even see who they should be engaging! And he didn’t know who—or what—was in command. The entire datanet seemed to be stuttering...
* * *
Marius held on to his seat for dear life, struggling to comprehend what had just happened as the shuttle tumbled end-over-end. The internal compensations struggled to keep everyone alive as the shuttle was tossed through the air; it felt as if the hand of God had touched the shuttle. 
There was no time for panic. Someone had nuked Navy HQ. There was no other explanation. An antimatter bomb, even an old-style antimatter device, would have wiped out the entire continent and he would be dead. The shuttle he was in would have been swatted like a bug.
He tried to access the emergency channels through his implant as the pilot finally managed to steady the craft, but there was no response. He had no way to tell if the blast was disrupting communications—although that should have been impossible, given the sheer level of redundancy built into Earth’s network—or if someone was deliberately jamming communications.
The shuttle had stabilized, allowing him to look towards Navy HQ. Marius shuddered as an ominous mushroom cloud rose into the air, tinged with flickers of fire and shadow. No one had used a nuclear weapon on Earth’s surface since the Age of Unrest. Only seven nukes had ever been used at all, even during the darkest days of the Third World War. 
But then, by that point the winners had learned how to bombard targets from orbit and obliterate their enemies with nice clean kinetic strikes.
“We’re alive,” the pilot said in relief. “Sir...”
“The system is under attack,” Marius said. “Hold your position while I try to find out who’s in charge.”
He linked his implant into the shuttle’s communications nodes. Much to his relief, that allowed him to slip through the disruption and into the emergency network. It was already overloading because of calls from the surrounding area and would probably collapse. Linking into the military channels was harder—it needed his ID codes to gain access—and it seemed impossible to find a superior officer. 
If Navy HQ had been hit, the enemy—whoever they were—had decapitated the Federation Navy. Home Fleet’s commanding officers would be dead. He knew that, but he still held out hope that someone, anyone, might outrank him and be able to tell him what was going on.
The datanet should have linked him instantly to the senior surviving officer within range. Instead, it took minutes to sort through the conflicting tidal waves of data and finally locate the senior officer. Marius shivered again as he realized that the senior officer in the system—at least the senior officer plugged into the datanet—was a mere commander. 
Dear God, how high had the casualties been? What had happened onboard EDS1 to slaughter the defenders of Earth?
“Sir, EDS1 is gone,” the pilot said, answering his unspoken question. He’d been flicking through what remained of the flight control network. “The station has been completely destroyed.”
Marius cursed. The attack was internal, then; there was no way to smuggle a nuke or an antimatter bomb onto a defense station without help. It had to have been an internal detonation. Nothing else, not even a bombardment with compressed antimatter, would have obliterated the station so quickly. He accessed the network again and swore, angrily. EDS2 had gone silent. The senior officer was still a mere commander.
“This is Vice Admiral Drake,” he said as he linked into the communications network. “Here are my ID codes and command authority. I suggest that you verify them, then open a secure link.”
There was a long pause. 
“Admiral, I’m Commander Jacob Fallon, in command of EDS3,” Commander Fallon said. He sounded as if he were on the verge of coming apart, either through shock or relief. No one had expected an attack on Earth, let alone what had to be an internal rebellion. “Thank God you’re alive!” 
Commander Fallon sounded relieved to discover that someone was senior to him and could therefore take charge. Marius accessed his implants, briefly skimming through Fallon’s file. It was not a distinguished one.
“Just so,” Marius growled. He would have to work with Fallon, no matter his limited experience. “We’re still alive and I, for one, intend to stay that way. You have my command codes. Declare a Case Omega and run through the network, then let me know if there is anyone senior to me...”
“But sir,” Fallon protested. “I don’t have the authority to declare Case Omega.”
“You’re in command of a battlestation,” Marius snapped. “You have the authority! Now, get in touch with the network and find out who’s in charge.”
He disconnected from the network and looked over at the pilot. “Set course for EDS3,” he ordered. Fallon sounded as if he was on the verge of panic, which meant—if nothing else—Marius had to be on the scene to relieve him, if necessary. “Call up a flight of starfighters for escort and get them to fly top cover.”
His implant buzzed as Fallon contacted him. “I ran a Case Omega, sir,” he said. “You’re the senior surviving officer within the Earth-Luna Sphere.”
Marius nodded. The attack had clearly been carefully planned. Had they held off for another few minutes, he would have been in Navy HQ when it was destroyed. But if he’d maintained his original plans, he’d have been there at least ten minutes sooner. Which meant that if Senator McGillivray hadn’t wanted to talk with him, Marius himself would already be dead.
The attackers, whoever they were, had planned to decapitate the defenses and they’d come alarmingly close to success. Their tactics showed a chilling level of ruthlessness. Breaking the taboo on using weapons of mass destruction on inhabited planets showed a single-minded determination to succeed, if only because of what the Federation would do to them if it won the war.
“Right,” he said. “I am assuming command of the defenses of Earth. Give me a situation report, now.”
“Sir, the datanet has been crippled,” Fallon said. “I barely know anything...”
“Then give me what you have,” Marius said patiently, checking the shuttle’s ETA at the station. “What do you know about what’s going on?”
“Ah...EDS1 has been destroyed, sir,” Fallon said. “I have dispatched SAR gunboats and shuttles, but they don’t hold out much hope of finding survivors. EDS2, EDS7 and EDS9 are non-responsive; they’re intact, yet they’re not linked into the command network and are refusing to respond to hails. I don’t know their exact status. And there are dozens of enemy starfighters flying around, engaging the defenses.”
Marius scowled. Starfighters needed a base—either a starship or a station—to operate. Their life support packs wouldn’t last indefinitely, which meant that someone had to have launched them. But from where? 
He glanced at the holographic near-orbit display as the shuttle rose out of the atmosphere and considered it. The starfighters could have come from the silent battlestations, yet if that was the case, there should be more of them. And then the treacherous commanders would have had to convince the fighter jocks to support them, too...no, it wasn’t possible to form a conspiracy of that magnitude without Federation Intelligence or ONI getting wind of it beforehand. 
He looked at the display again, and knew the answer.
“There are too many freighters in orbit—breaking orbit now,” he said slowly. Converting freighters into makeshift carriers was an old trick. And now that the fighting had begun, hundreds of innocent civilian craft were breaking orbit and fleeing, unaware that some of their comrades were actually enemy starships. “Ten gets you twenty that at least one of them is working for the enemy...”
He frowned. “I want a general broadcast,” he ordered. “All civilian ships within the Earth-Luna Sphere are to cancel their drives and prepare to be boarded. Any that refuse to stop will be fired upon and destroyed.”
Fallon sounded shocked. “But, sir...”
Marius ignored the protest and drove onwards. “Have you re-established the command datanet yet?”
“No, sir,” Fallon said. “The coordinating systems were mounted on EDS1, and were destroyed by the blast that took out the station.”
And it never occurred to you to try to work around the problem? Marius thought, wondering what connections Fallon must have such that he had avoided being sent somewhere harmless, perhaps an asteroid mining station.
“I see,” he said as coldly as he could. “Your station may not have been designed to serve as a command station, but the computers will be able to handle it for at least a few hours. And by then, we will either have won or lost the coming battle. Reboot the system and prepare for operations.”
“Sir, the manual clearly states...”
“Fuck the manual,” Marius swore at him. “This is war! Doing what the enemy expects us to do is a certain way to wind up dead, with the enemy laughing at us. Now, forget the manual and reboot the fucking system, right fucking now!”
“Sir, our escort has arrived,” the pilot interrupted. “We should be on the station in ten minutes, unless we hit unexpected trouble.”
Marius nodded absently, thinking hard. He’d warned the Senate about the dangers of largely unknown alien races, but he knew that no alien race could have launched such a devastating and precise attack. The level of access the unknown attackers had demonstrated they had internal help, which meant that whoever was behind the attack was trying for a coup, rather than destruction for the sake of destruction. Destroying Earth would have been easy—a single antimatter bomb would depopulate the planet—but anyone who wanted to replace the Federation with his own rule would need Earth’s legitimacy.
And that suggested there had to be a second level to the plan. Destroying EDS1 and Navy HQ would cause confusion, but the disarray wouldn’t last. Even if Marius hadn’t stepped up to the plate, someone would have taken command sooner or later. There had to be an incoming enemy fleet heading towards Earth, having somehow been smuggled into the system. That, at least, was no longer impossible. The stardrive had seen to that.
“Ah, the network is up and running,” Fallon said. He sounded relieved. Marius wondered how he would cope in a battle where multiple antimatter detonations would disrupt the network effortlessly. Coordinating a fleet in combat wasn’t easy. “The three silent stations are continuing to refuse to respond.”
Treachery or equipment malfunction? Marius thought. There was no way to know for sure.
“Link into Marine HQ at Camp Heinlein,” he ordered. Unless the Marines had been hit as well, Major General Tobias Vaughn would still be alive. And Vaughn, who had once been the senior Marine on Marius’s first command, was one of his closest friends. “Inform the Major General that I want armed Marines in the air and heading for the three stations. Once they board, they are to secure the stations and confirm their status, then prepare to start searching the civilian ships. If they meet with resistance, they are authorized to use deadly force.”
“Yes, sir,” Fallon said. At least he’d learned to take orders without objecting. “Ah, four bulk freighters are continuing to accelerate away from Earth, heading towards the Dead End.”
Marius smiled, feeling the old excitement shimmering through his mind. The Sol System possessed two Asimov Points, but one of them—the Dead End—led only to a single useless star system, without even a handful of asteroids to arouse the interest of the RockRats. The Dead End was defended, of course, yet it was simply not as important as the Gateway, the second Asimov Point within the system. And there was no logical reason for anyone to want to go there, unless they had something illegal in mind. And that, to his mind, effectively confirmed their guilt. Converting a bulk freighter to a starfighter carrier was easy. 
“Order the starfighters to intercept and move up gunboats in support,” Marius ordered calmly. “If the bulk freighters refuse to surrender and hold position, the pilots are authorized to open fire. No further warnings.”
Fallon clearly swallowed an objection. “Yes, sir,” he replied. “I shall pass your orders on to the pilots.”
Marius nodded. In five minutes, he would be aboard the station and ready to take command of defensive operations. But where was the enemy fleet? Their commander would have to strike a balance between secrecy and the need to strike hard before the defenders reorganized. 
How close...?
* * *
“We should do something,” Raistlin protested. “We shouldn’t stay here.”
Roman couldn’t disagree. For cadets, spending any time in the Safe Locks was a foretaste of hell. They were armored rooms, isolated from Luna Academy’s life support system and, in theory, anyone inside could survive a disaster that took out the remainder of the academy. Now, with over seventy cadets from all five years crammed inside this one, tiny room, it felt claustrophobic.
“And what, pray tell, do you think you could do?” Proctor Amanda Wallace demanded. She was tall and, to the cadets, a force of nature. The proctors didn’t teach, not formally; they supervised the cadets and, when necessary, provided discipline. “Do you think we could take Emprise and Enigma out into battle?”
Raistlin flushed red, while a handful of cadets tittered. Emprise and Enigma were the two old starships that had been assigned to the academy for training purposes, but they were far from state-of-the-art. Roman, and every other cadet, even those who had no intention of going into Engineering, had spent months crawling over the two ships, eventually flying them throughout the Solar System. They were in perfect working order, but hopelessly outdated. Any modern warship would scythe them down in seconds.
“There’s nothing we can do,” Amanda said. “We don’t even know what is going on.” 
Roman blinked. His implant hadn’t been able to access any information, but he’d assumed that was because he was just a cadet. But the proctors were clearly just as much in the dark. 
“I suggest that you use your implants and study for your tests,” Amanda continued. “I assure you that if you die you won’t have to sit them.”
Roman snorted at the bad joke and then caught Raistlin’s eye, trying to let the man know Roman agreed with him. All hell was breaking loose out there, and yet here they were, stuck in the Safe Lock and unable to do anything, even run if necessary. Above them on the Luna surface, something was going on. 
Cadets weren’t trained to sit on their hands. So why was it that they hadn’t been ordered to battle stations rather than the Safe Lock? Something wasn’t right here.
He looked away, hoping to conceal his expression from Proctor Amanda. Feeling helpless wasn’t pleasant, but what else could he do? In hopes of distracting himself, he called up the data for the tactical exam and started to run through it. It didn’t work. His thoughts kept returning to the battle above, where the future of the Federation was being decided. 
After all, why else would anyone attack Earth?

Chapter Four

The Federation grants vast authority to its commanding officers, if only because of the time delay in seeking and receiving orders from the Senate. If Case Omega is declared, the senior officer effectively becomes the federal government, with authority to issue orders to all branches of the services without regard for either tradition or formal procedure.
-An Irreverent Guide to the Federation, 4000 A.D.

Near-Earth Orbit, Sol System, 4092
The last time Marius Drake had set foot in an Earth-class battlestation had been ten years ago. In the interim, he’d forgotten just how depressing they were. It was obvious the former commander of the battlestation—now dead—had made an attempt to decorate the command center in a green and white style as opposed to the usual institutional gray, but it hadn’t helped. It was still depressing, and worse, it contained a number of people who, if they were anything like the hapless Commander Fallon, were completely unready to defend Earth.
That had to change, and fast.
“No, I don’t want a formal greeting party,” Marius said in response to Fallon’s question as he strode off the shuttle into the battlestation. If they weren’t at war, Fallon would have had a point; now it was a waste of time. “Give me a status report, and right now!”
He glared up at the holographic near-orbit display as he took the command chair at the heart of the command center. The command center was massive, large enough to make it difficult for anyone to make himself heard from one end of the compartment to the other, and packed with consoles and officers. At least Fallon had managed to get the crew up and running, but no one seemed to know what they were doing. That did not bode well for Earth unless Marius was able to make them listen.
“The Marines are boarding the silent battlestations now,” Fallon said. “They’re reporting that their command software was contaminated by enemy computer viruses and that the stations are physically intact—and loyal.”
Marius nodded, keeping his face under tight control. In person, Fallon wasn’t remotely impressive; weak chin, weak eyes and a countenance that suggested sheer terror. He would have been handsome—perhaps because he was the product of bioengineering, the nasty part of Marius’s mind suggested—if he had shown the moral character of the average dog. And like a dog, Fallon would undoubtedly have preferred to hide under the bed while others fought the battle for him. 
He had managed to get through the report all right, but there was something still off about the man, something that suggested a simple inability to comprehend what was actually happening. He would have to shape up, Marius decided, and quickly, or else he would be relieved of command. No admiral could have a commander who didn’t know what he was doing at the helm of the defense forces; if he’d been in this position earlier in his career, he would have made damn sure that anyone standing in the line of command knew what the hell they were supposed to do in an emergency.
“And the freighters?” Marius asked.
“The fighters are moving to intercept now,” Fallon’s operations officer confirmed. His nametag read CAFFERY. “The gunboats are moving up in pursuit. So far, there’s been no response from the freighters, but the enemy starfighters are moving away into deep space.”
“Right,” Marius said, thinking hard. Were they heading towards cloaked carriers, or were they trying to mislead the defenders and planning to dog-leg around towards the bulk freighters once they were out of sensor range? If the latter, they were going to be disappointed. Earth’s sensor network was second to none and the fighters would burn through their life support before they could escape its grasp. “And the StarCom?”
Fallon cleared his throat. “It was destroyed with EDS1,” he said carefully. Marius concealed a smile with an effort. Fallon clearly thought his superior had forgotten that little detail. “We don’t have any other link to Titan Base.”
The Inheritance Wars had traumatized the Senate, what with the mutinies that had broken out on many Federation Navy starships, including the ships assigned to Home Fleet. The Senate had responded by forbidding the deployment of Federation Navy starships to the Earth-Luna Sphere—the area of space surrounding Earth and Luna—and insisted that Home Fleet be based at Titan Base, which had been Federation Navy territory since the Last King of Titan had led his people to the stars. It allowed Home Fleet to exercise without public oversight, but it also ensured that there was a time delay before reinforcements could arrive at Earth. And there would be even more of a time delay because the defenders would—in theory—be limited to radio waves or laser beams, both of which travelled at merely the speed of light.
But there was a way around that. 
“Use Case Omega and get in touch with Federation Intelligence,” Drake said. “You’ll find a contact code in the database. They should have their own StarCom.”
Fallon blinked. Marius understood his surprise. StarCom units cost upwards of twice the price of a new superdreadnaught, while they were limited in range and—once operational—alarmingly easy to target. The scientists kept promising they would find a way to reduce the price one day, but so far nothing had materialized. The fact that Federation Intelligence used StarCom units of their own was a closely-guarded secret. Marius had only found out about it because he’d needed to know. 
He hoped that whoever had planned the attack on Earth didn’t know, or his ace in the hole would be no such thing.
“But sir—” Fallon started.
“Trust me,” Marius told him. “Oh, and don’t take no for an answer. Once they admit they have it, tell them that I want to link to Titan Base and open contact with Home Fleet. I want them to prepare to move on my command.”
He swung his chair around and tapped a control, resetting the display until it showed the entire Solar System. The grey sphere of the mass limit surrounding Sol, within which no stardrive could be used, shimmered into view, expanding out from the sun to a line just beyond Jupiter. The planets had their own mass limits, of course, yet Home Fleet could leave Titan Base and enter stardrive far quicker than if they had to depart from Earth. The planners had concluded it would speed up reaction times if there was an incident at any of the stars nearest Sol. Marius suspected they were being overly optimistic. The Blue Star War should have taught them the dangers of trying to coordinate operations over interstellar distances. 
“Launch a shell of recon drones,” he ordered without taking his eyes off the display. “I want a second shell launched ten minutes after the first shell, and then I want recon fighters moved up in random patrol patterns. Someone’s out there, and I mean to find him before he finds us.”
Marius stroked his chin. Someone a very long time ago—probably as far back as the Roman legions—had said that wars were ninety-nine percent boredom and one percent sheer terror. He’d reached the battlestation and the enemy starfighters had been beaten off, but now he had to wait and see what happened. Unless random terror was the objective, there had to be an enemy fleet out there, heading towards Earth. And if they were expecting Home Fleet to sit on the sidelines until the fighting was over, he might have a chance to give them a nasty surprise.
“Sir,” Fallon announced, “Federation Intelligence has confirmed that they have a StarCom in the Earth-Luna Sphere. I don’t think they’re too happy with you.”
“Fuck them,” Marius said. This was no time for games. “Tell them to hold the unit at readiness once they send the first set of orders. We may not have time to power it up again...”
The display flashed a new icon, and then zeroed in on the escaping freighters. The icons representing intact ships had vanished, to be replaced by four expanding spheres of destruction. Marius swallowed a curse as the starfighters broke off, heading back to their parent fortresses, while gunboats closed in to investigate the remains of the freighters. The enemy, knowing they couldn’t escape, had triggered the self-destruct systems—or someone, hiding under cloak, had sent a destruct command to their ships. There was no way to know for sure.
“The fighters didn’t fire, sir,” Fallon said. He sounded as if he was expecting to be blamed for bringing bad news. “The ships just blew up as soon as the fighters came within engagement range.”
“We have a ruthless enemy,” Marius agreed gravely. “Recall one half of the duty fighters”—he trusted the fighter controllers to issue the correct orders—”and give their pilots a chance to rest and rearm.”
The enemy commander was ruthless, he noted in the privacy of his own thoughts. The enemy starfighters were doomed, unless they reached a cloaked carrier. He watched the shell of recon drones spreading outwards and asked himself again, where would he put a force advancing on Earth? How would he position his ships for best advantage? 
He keyed his console and linked into the Marine channel. 
“Toby, I need a report on the silent fortresses as soon as possible.”
“They’re crippled by chaos software,” Vaughn said. His old friend sounded reassuringly competent, as always. “My engineers don’t think there’s anything fundamentally wrong with the hardware, but the main codes have to be purged and then rebooted—and if the chaos software remains in place, we’ll have to strip out the cores and replace them.”
“Purge the systems,” Marius ordered tightly. They needed those fortresses. If the purge failed, they wouldn’t be any worse off. “I’ll assemble a scratch crew and have them sent over to replace the prior crewmen. Once the crew is aboard, you can start shipping the old crew down to Earth. We can’t trust them, not until we find out who uploaded the chaos software in the first place.”
“Understood,” Vaughn replied. Marius knew that he would carry out his orders, or die trying. “Good luck, sir.”
The connection broke. Marius leaned back in his command chair and made a show of looking up at the overhead bulkhead, trying to suggest a sense of unconcern about the whole situation.
“Have coffee and snack packs brought in for the duty staff,” he ordered absently. They would have warning of the enemy’s approach, unless the enemy’s cloaking technology was far superior to the Federation’s—and in that case, the war was lost anyway. “The remainder can get some sleep.”
“Yes, sir,” Fallon said. “Sir...shouldn’t you get some rest, too?”
“Not at the moment,” Marius said. It hadn’t been that long since he’d served on the command deck of a battleship, hunting down pirates. And besides, he didn’t know who he could trust to leave on watch. “It will all be over by the time I need rest.”
He grinned while looking down at the communications display. It was surprising that there were only a handful of demands for information from the Senate, but procedures for dealing with such requests dated all the way back to the First Interstellar War—a time when a direct attack on the Solar System seemed alarmingly likely. The Senate would have to sit in a bunker under Federation City, waiting for news of victory or defeat, while the military fought its battle. His lips twisted into a droll sneer. The Senators were probably cowering, wondering which of their sins had returned to haunt them. After all, what else had the Inheritance Wars been about?
Time ticked by slowly as duty officers were replaced, given short breaks to rest and use the head. Others were assigned to emergency deployments and sent to the three damaged stations, two of which were back in the fight once their computers had been purged. Marius wasn’t inclined to take chances, so he ordered additional security on the datanet—if the chaos software broke into the main computer network, the defense of Earth would fall apart—but he was too grateful for the additional firepower to be too paranoid. After the fighting was over, they’d have to pull the chips and go through the network with a fine-toothed comb. Someone with that level of access almost certainly had had the time to set up a few additional surprises for the defenders...
“Contact,” the sensor officer snapped. New red icons blinked into existence on the display. “Sir, I have multiple contacts, bearing...they’re heading towards Earth!”
“Understood, son,” Drake said with a smile. The sensor officer was so young that Marius wondered if he’d even begun to shave. “Give me a list of contacts, calmly if possible.”
The sensor officer flushed darkly. “At least forty contacts, sir, some definitely superdreadnaught-sized,” he said. “They’re cloaked, so it is impossible to get a proper reading without launching additional probes...”
“And giving away that we’ve seen them,” Marius concluded thoughtfully. He juggled the tactical situation in his head for a long moment. The enemy wasn’t trying to be particularly subtle. He had aimed himself directly at Earth, with the clear intention of breaking through the remaining defenses and taking the planet. “Commander Fallon?”
“Yes, sir,” Fallon said. He’d managed to get a bite to eat and some coffee before returning to the command center. Marius had thought about relieving him, but there was no one to take Fallon’s place. It wasn’t like serving out on the Rim, where Drake had been able to count on multiple trained and experienced officers to fill holes. The most experienced men in the system—apart from himself—were with Home Fleet. “They’re here, sir.”
“Yes,” Marius said. “You are to contact Home Fleet and order them to follow this vector to Earth.” He keyed his console, bringing up one of the contingency plans he’d considered while waiting for the enemy to show his face. It only required a slight adjustment to fit the actual situation, much to his relief. “They are to remain under cloak until they advance upon the enemy.”
He studied the console for another long moment. “I also want Titan Base to prepare to launch a set of decoy drones heading on this course.” The second course was a direct path to Earth, the kind of course a desperate or inexperienced commanding officer might attempt if he believed there was no other option. “They are to launch the drones at the exact time specified unless I countermand the orders personally. Do you understand?”
“Ah...yes, sir,” Fallon said. “I just...why do you want the drones? They’ll see them...”
Marius grinned at him. “Of course they will,” he said. “They know that Home Fleet is somewhere within the system; they must know that, or else they’re incompetents—and nothing they’ve done so far suggests that. And they think they’ve taken out the StarCom, which means we can’t whistle up Home Fleet to reinforce the defenses...”
“But we have a StarCom,” Fallon objected.
“Precisely,” Marius said. “Without a StarCom, we will have to rely on lasers to warn Titan Base. Home Fleet—or, rather, the drones posing as Home Fleet—will make its appearance right where it would be if we truly were dependent on lasers or radio waves. And that will stop them looking for Home Fleet elsewhere...”
He leaned back in his command chair and smiled. “Send the signal, commander,” he ordered. “And then we will see whose battle plan survives contact with the enemy.”
The cluster of red icons representing the enemy starships moved closer, still trying to hide under cloak. Plotting and analysis specialists studied what returns could be gleaned from the recon drones, and concluded that the enemy fleet was actually larger than it had first appeared, with upwards of one hundred and fifty starships approaching Earth. 
Marius ignored the whispered speculation in the background as to who was attacking Earth, but it was becoming an increasingly alarming mystery. Only the Federation Navy, by law, could possess superdreadnaughts, a measure instigated to prevent a system defense force from declaring independence and standing off the massed force of the Navy. That left only three possibilities: Outsiders, an unknown alien species…or a rebellious Federation Navy admiral. 
He scowled. The Outsiders weren’t organized, which suggested that they couldn’t build superdreadnaughts, or crew them even if they did. An unknown alien race...that was possible, but they would have to be insane to attack Earth. The entire Federation would go berserk. The Brotherhood wouldn’t need to drum up anti-alien hysteria after an attack on Earth, even one that had been beaten off by the Federation Navy. And how could aliens have obtained the sort of access required to take out EDS1 and Navy HQ? Along the Rim, the joke was that anything could be had on Earth for a large bribe, but somehow he doubted that anyone on Earth would sell out the entire planet, whatever the size of the bribe. 
That left a rebellious admiral...
“They’re decloaking,” the sensor officer snapped. The red icons rapidly took on shape and form. Marius counted seventy-nine superdreadnaughts, nineteen carriers and one hundred and seventeen smaller ships, including one that persistently refused to be identified. The superdreadnaughts were all Splendid-class, which proved—beyond a doubt—that aliens were not involved. No alien race would have built an exact duplicate of a Federation Navy superdreadnaught. “Sir, I can’t pull any IFF signals off them...”
“Unsurprising,” Marius commented. Now they’d shed their cover, the enemy starships were picking up speed, boring directly towards Earth. “Hail them, Lieutenant Nicholls.”
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Nicholls said. There was a long pause. “They’re not responding...”
On the display, new red icons—starfighters—began to appear. 
“I think they just have,” Marius said. If nothing else, the wait was over. “Commander Fallon?”
“Yes, sir?” Fallon leaned forward. 
“Launch half of the ready starfighters to enhance the Combat Space Patrol,” Marius ordered calmly. “Reload the other half of the ready starfighters for antishipping strikes and prepare to launch as a formation.”
He studied the display again. “If they’re smart, they’ll come boring in and soak up the damage while getting to energy range. If not...well, it will say interesting things about their ultimate aims, won’t it?”
“Admiral, we’re picking up a signal from the enemy fleet,” Lieutenant Nicholls said. “They’re ordering us to surrender, or die.”
“Melodramatic asshole,” Marius said. He grinned as the blue starfighters moved out and into formation. “Send back: Go to hell.”
He keyed his console. “All units, you are authorized to fire at will. I say again, fire at will.”

Chapter Five

Federation Naval doctrine is based around the use of overwhelming force. When the Federation goes to war, it brings the biggest stick of all to the party.
-An Irreverent Guide to the Federation, 4000 A.D.

Near-Earth Orbit, Sol System, 4092
Lieutenant Jack Peregrine braced himself as his FASF-45 Hawk starfighter rocketed towards the incoming enemy ships—and the wave of starfighters spreading out to intercept the incoming strike. Every fighter jock knew the mantra; blow through the defending pilots, put the missiles on the target, then turn to engage the CSP, covering the second strike as it was launched from the battlestations. His thumb came down on the firing key as his ship entered engagement range and his craft began to spit plasma fire towards the enemy starfighters. Without careful manoeuvring, at this range there was little chance of a hit, but the incoming blasts would make the enemy take evasive action and be unable to coordinate their countermeasures. 
At least, that was what The Book said. 
He smiled tightly. Of course, the enemy would probably have read the same handbook, and should know what he and the others in his squadron were trying to do. It would be interesting to see what they did in response.
“They’re returning fire, skipper,” he said, as new icons flashed into existence on his display. The enemy fighters weren’t just evading, they were returning fire with enthusiasm. A lucky hit took out one of his comrades and another scorched a second starfighter, sending the craft tumbling out of control and the pilot bailing out of her vessel. If she was lucky, a SAR team would recover her after the battle ended; if she were unlucky, she would run out of life support and die far from home. “Here they come...”
A civilian would have seen a disorganized mob of pilots and wondered if the fighter jocks were drunk, mad, or both. Experienced military men knew better. Flying a predictable pattern was asking for disaster, especially considering the enemy had computers that worked just as well as his own, and could plot a craft’s course with ease if it stayed predictable and safe. That was the way to have a plasma bolt or antifighter missile pick the starfighter off before the pilot even knew he was under attack.
The starfighters ducked and weaved as they passed through the enemy’s swarm of fighters—the odds of an accidental collision were extremely low, although it had been known to happen—then the enemy swarm turned and gave chase. Jack grinned as the enemy fleet came into view, wondering if the enemy would screw up their Identify Friend or Foe beacons. Even with the most advanced technology and the best-trained pilots in the galaxy, it wasn’t unknown for friendly point defense to accidentally engage friendly starfighters.
“Form up on me,” he ordered as the strike commander designated targets. An enemy superdreadnaught blinked red in his display; that was his target. The other enemy ships would be ignored for now, although eventually they, too, would have to be dealt with. Jack knew they couldn’t allow the enemy to keep their command datanets, which linked their point defense into a seemingly seamless whole. He noted absently that the enemy’s point defense systems were putting out a staggering amount of firepower. 
Of course, a single superdreadnaught possessed an awesome amount of firepower, while an entire fleet could render itself almost impregnable. But if he thought about that too long, he’d start worrying about his mission—and that would never do.
Jack gritted his teeth as his squadron zoomed into engagement range. None of the pilots, including himself, had seen action outside of simulations, and that lack of experience was going to get far too many of them killed. But he intended to be one of the survivors.
“Go!” he yelled. 
The squadron rotated in place—a tricky maneuver at the best of times—and swooped down on its chosen target. The enemy ships retargeted their fire, sending thousands of plasma bolts and missiles flaring through space, picking off Jack’s fellow pilots one by one. They only had to get lucky once, while the starfighter pilots had to get lucky every time. Sooner or later, Jack knew, luck ran out. The only question was if he would manage to get off his missiles before the enemy got him. 
“Prepare to engage,” he ordered his wingmates. “Fire on my command.”
The enemy fire hadn’t abated. Instead, it grew ever more savage. They knew—they had to know!—what he and the others were doing, all right.
It didn’t take a genius to realize that some overpaid admiral had decided to start a civil war. Jack paid as little attention to politics as he could get away with, but it was clear to him that some of the admirals positioned along the frontiers had been effectively operating as independent warlords for a long time. 
Besides, the superdreadnaught he was closing in on was clearly of Federation design.
The enemy superdreadnaught drew closer, its weapons spitting deadly fire towards Jack and his incoming fighters. It was a monstrous hulk and it seemed unbelievable that it could be brought down by a bunch of swarming gnats, but Jack knew better. Individually, the starfighters were harmless; collectively, they were lethal. The enemy superdreadnaught was putting everything it had into driving off Jack’s fighters before it was too late.
“Fire,” Jack ordered. The fighter shuddered as it unleashed both of its standard missiles. A moment later, his remaining fighters added their own missiles to the barrage. “Scatter and retire; I say again, scatter and retire!”
He smiled as he yanked the fighter through a tight turn and accelerated away from the enemy ship. The Federation’s standard starfighter missiles carried a shield disruptor that allowed them to penetrate the enemy ship’s shields and detonate against the unshielded hull. They seemed the perfect weapon, apart from the minor detail that they had to be launched at close range and most of their weight was drives, which meant they couldn’t carry a heavy warhead. It was a shame that there had been no compressed antimatter on hand, but Federation Navy regulations were clear. Antimatter was not to be carried onboard starships and battlestations without an active state of war, as the risks far outweighed the benefits.
And earlier today, they’d been at peace. Or so everyone had thought, including Jack.
The enemy superdreadnaught flared with light as the missiles that made it through the barrage of point defense struck home. Explosions, each one devastating on a planetary surface, but almost unnoticeable against the vastness of space, billowed against her hull. For a moment, Jack allowed himself to wonder if the enemy ship would survive—superdreadnaughts were armored heavily to protect against just such an attack—before the superdreadnaught fell out of formation and exploded. The sheer fury of the explosion suggested that the ship had been carrying antimatter warheads, as well as the more conventional nuclear warheads.
Why would anyone fight for such people? Jack thought. What does their stupid admiral over there think he’s doing?
His computers shrilled with alarm, too late. An enemy fighter had drawn a bead on him; it was too late to evade. Jack reached for the emergency cord, hoping against hope that somehow he’d be able to eject before the ship was hit… 
Then three plasma bolts slammed into his starfighter. In the instant before his ship blew up, Jack wished the invading admiral and all those who followed him to oblivion.
And then, there was nothing but a ball of radioactive fire where Jack’s ship had been.
* * *
Marius watched as dispassionately as he could as his cadre of starfighters swarmed around the enemy fleet, which had settled into a position that allowed them to exchange missile fire with the defenses of Earth. He had the uneasy sense that the enemy commander had definitely expected Earth’s defenses to be completely uncoordinated, for his tactics would have made perfect sense if he’d expected each battlestation to be thrown back on its own resources. As it was, he was giving the defenders of Earth time to reorganize and cripple his fleet.
And which of the admirals, he asked himself, would rely more in sneak attacks than brute force?
He turned to Fallon, who watched the display in disbelief. The commander was far too young to have seen service in the Blue Star War, but the scale of the engagement could hardly have come as a shock. After all, before the Federation had won the Inheritance Wars, many young men must’ve seen battles that had involved thousands of starships on both sides.
“As you will observe, commander,” Marius said, “you can see certain patterns appearing in the data.” He quirked an eyebrow, inviting Fallon to reply. 
“Ah,” the commander stammered, “you mean their reluctance to risk serious losses?”
“Precisely,” Marius said. He had to smile. An orbital battlestation outgunned a superdreadnaught, but it was hardly as mobile, even with the orbital maneuvering drive units. Dodging incoming enemy fire wasn’t an option. “They could have won by now if they’d flown into orbit and engaged us at close range, yet instead they’re choosing to bombard us at extreme range. Why, I wonder?”
It wasn’t a question, but Fallon tried to answer it anyway. “Because they’re short on material?”
Marius shook his head. “They have to know that Home Fleet is around here somewhere, even if they think that Titan Base is still in blissful ignorance of events on Earth. The only way they’re going to win against Home Fleet is by taking the high orbitals and forcing the Senate to surrender on pain of bombardment. So why aren’t they trying to soak up the damage and punch through?”
He smiled as another enemy superdreadnaught was blown into flaming debris. The victorious starfighters broke off and headed back to the orbital fortresses for rearming before returning to the fray. And there was another interesting question; standard doctrine said that fighter platforms had to be obliterated to force the fighters to fall back, so why weren’t the enemy ships trying to take out the fighter bases?
The answer seemed clear. 
“They’re wondering if they’ve been tricked,” he said finally. 
Fallon frowned in incomprehension. 
“Think about it,” Marius urged him. “Whoever they are, they’ve launched a series of sneak attacks on Earth that should have crippled our defenses. They came very close to crippling us, in fact, yet we’re still fighting. Could it be that whoever is in charge over there is having second thoughts?”
Fallon voiced the obvious objection. 
“Sir,” he said slowly, “the Senate isn’t likely to forgive this attack.”
“No,” Marius agreed. “But if the enemy thinks they’ve been tricked, they might be wondering where the Senate actually is, or what is really going on with Home Fleet...and then they might start thinking about contingency plans for what they need to do if they lose this battle.”
He sat back in the command chair, thinking hard. The tactical section still hadn’t been able to ID the superdreadnaughts, but Marius was mortally certain that he was facing a rogue Federation Navy admiral. And that meant...what? There were a dozen possible candidates for the rogue officer, all of whom were smart enough to know that he or she had crossed the Rubicon. Failure in the environs of Earth would mean certain death once the remainder of the Federation Navy, having mobilized their reserves, came for them. He frowned as another flight of enemy starfighters left their carriers and rocketed down towards the network of orbital battlestations surrounding Earth. The enemy commander had moved from launching a very bold stroke to playing it carefully, but Marius still had no idea who he was facing.
Who among the admirals would be so brazen on the one hand and so overcautious on the other?
Absently, he tapped the command display and checked on Home Fleet. It had been centuries since there had been more than minor piracy in the Sol System, but Home Fleet was responding about as well as could be expected. If Earth held out for another hour, perhaps less, the enemy would find themselves caught between a rock and a very hard place.
“They’re retargeting their fire, sir,” the tactical officer observed. 
“Thank you,” Marius said.
He nodded to himself. The enemy force had enough superdreadnaughts to produce mass fire against a number of different targets at once. The real mystery was why they had waited so long to do it. It suggested a certain inclination to conserve force and weaponry. After all, he reasoned, if they were caught by Home Fleet—having used up all their missiles in the Battle of Earth—the result would be disastrous.
For them, Marius thought. For him, it would be very satisfactory.
“They’re focusing on this station,” the tactical officer added unnecessarily.
“Move our automated platforms to provide additional coverage,” Marius ordered calmly. A steady voice, he’d been told at the Academy, could prevent a commander’s subordinates from panicking. Besides, it wasn’t as if there was anywhere to run. They would either stop enough of the missiles to save EDS3, or die once the missiles knocked down the shields and blew through the heavily-armored hull. “Start updating EDS13 with our datanet coordination systems. Prepare them to take over from us if we lose the communications section.”
“Aye, sir,” the systems operator said.
“Enemy units opening fire,” the tactical officer reported. All of the enemy superdreadnaughts were belching missiles, so many that Marius found himself wondering how they intended to control them all. Even a superdreadnaught only mounted so many fire control links, and they were firing more than any standard superdreadnaught could hope to coordinate at once. He understood a moment later when new emissions signatures appeared among the incoming swarm of missiles: gunboats, each one doubtless carrying fire control software, followed the missiles towards their targets. 
“Order the CSP to take out the gunboats,” Marius ordered, keeping his voice calm. “Redirect everything else to cover both us and the planet.”
Inwardly, he was seething. The enemy commander hadn’t just targeted his station; instead, the enemy commander ran a very dangerous risk of accidentally bombarding Earth in the process. Even without antimatter warheads, a single missile impacting on the surface at a significant percentage of the speed of light would do colossal damage. And, in a very real sense, the rogue admiral was holding the planet hostage. 
Marius knew that taking out the gunboats meant more uncontrolled missiles flying through space, yet there was no other choice. He had to stop this rogue admiral, and stop him right now.
Space became a maelstrom of weapons’ fire and destroyed missiles as the incoming attack came within range. All of the surviving battlestations launched counter-missiles, opening fire with massive primary beams, weapons designed to target enemy superdreadnaughts. Smaller point defense weapons were targeted on the missiles that broke through that line of defense, picking off hundreds more missiles before they had any chance of reaching their targets. Rail guns and pulsars added the final line of defense, detonating missiles just before they reached the station. At such ranges, the antimatter warheads were still dangerous, overloading the sensors and blinding the defenders. 
And, inevitably, some got through.
“Brace for impact,” the tactical officer shouted. His voice was automatically relayed through the entire station. “All hands, brace for impact...”
The entire station shuddered as four missiles slammed into the shields. Compressed antimatter was the most dangerous substance known to man. Huge explosions flared against the shields, burning out several shield generators and allowing the fires to rend the fortress’s hull. Marius hung on for dear life as red icons flared on the display, warning of terrible damage. One red icon caught his eye—the containment systems had failed—and by all rights everyone on the station should be dead right now. Marius wasn’t sure how they’d survived such a terrible hit, to be honest; if they’d been carrying antimatter warheads, the entire station would have been vaporized when the containment systems failed. Unlike a nuclear warhead, antimatter didn’t need a complex triggering mechanism. Simply lowering the containment field sufficed.
“Report,” he barked. Apart from the shockwave, there shouldn’t be any damage to the station’s armoured core. “How badly are we hurt?”
“Major damage to outer sections,” the sensor officer reported. Blood streamed from a cut on his forehead. “We’ve lost most of our weapons, sir, but structural integrity is reasonably stable.”
Marius glanced at the report flashing up in front of him and shook his head. “And the enemy?”
“Shifting their fire to EDS6,” the tactical officer reported. “They must think we’re dead.”
“Or not worth bothering about,” Marius said. Even if the enemy destroyed the station’s weapons, her inner core would survive and would be worth rebuilding, even if they had to reconstruct the remainder of the station later. “Send a general signal to all stations. I want a focus barrage; every station in range is to launch a mass strike against the enemy. We have to show them that we’re not dead yet.”
He scowled as the system display flickered back into existence. The sensors were faithfully reporting the presence of Home Fleet’s drones at the edge of the mass limit; the enemy, of course, would be tracking them already. If they were fooled, they’d either push their advantage against Earth, or break off the engagement. If not...they’d probably break off the engagement. Only a fool would accept battle against a superior force if there was an alternative.
And we have to keep them focused on us, he added, in the privacy of his own thoughts. If they’re focused on us, they’re not thinking about other threats.
“Sir, the enemy ships are adjusting their position,” the sensor officer reported. Marius nodded. It was too soon to tell what they were doing, apart from altering their formation, perhaps to provide additional point defense from the undamaged smaller ships. Or perhaps...
“They’re breaking off,” the tactical officer said in disbelief. Marius ran through the tactical situation in his head and knew the truth. The enemy commander had seen Home Fleet approaching, despite the cloaking devices, and decided to cut and run before he found himself trapped against Earth. “Sir...?”
Fallon turned to look at him. “Admiral Drake, we could launch the starfighters, perhaps give chase...”
Marius considered as Home Fleet decloaked and went to maximum acceleration. The crews would be pushing their ships to the limit, but even so, it wouldn’t suffice to catch the retreating enemy ships. The starfighters could slow the enemy ships down, perhaps cripple a few of them, yet even the fighter jocks couldn’t maintain such a tempo for long. Besides, unless Home Fleet’s carriers got into range, the fighters would wind up operating outside their effective range and end up running out of life support.
But it would drive the enemy away, and give them time. Which wasn’t altogether a bad thing . . . still, he wanted to kill them now, while he still could. Perhaps there was still a way to do that?
“Launch one strike,” he ordered. If they were lucky, they’d cripple a ship the Marines could seize, which would at least tell them who to blame. “Order Home Fleet to screen the departing force, but not to attempt to bring them to battle unless the situation changes.”
He shook his head, dismissing the unspoken concerns. “Launch SAR gunboats and shuttles—call others from Earth or Luna if necessary—and start picking up stranded pilots,” he ordered. “Shift the main defense command function to EDS12, then have the engineering teams start work on the fortress and...”
Marius broke off and laughed at their confused expressions. “All of this is mop-up work,” he explained kindly. “Necessary, yes, and we will do it. But we also need to remember that we’re alive, we intend to stay that way . . . and we beat back the enemy.”
The crew of EDS3 still looked confused.
“We won,” he said. Did they really not understand this? None of them had been tested in combat before, so perhaps they didn’t. But they’d performed well, even Fallon, and Drake would say so in his report. “Enjoy it. We soundly kicked their arse!”

Chapter Six

As the old saying goes; Victory has a thousand fathers, but Defeat is an orphan.
-An Irreverent Guide to the Federation, 4000 A.D.

Earth-Luna Sphere, Sol System, 4092
“Now hear this,” the intercom blared. “The emergency is now over; I say again, the emergency is now over. Luna Academy will stand down from alert status.”
Roman looked up as the airlock clicked open, allowing them to leave the Safe Lock. For the first hour of the emergency—whatever it was—he’d tried to review his class notes, but afterwards he’d just tried to sleep. There came a time, always, when further cramming was not only useless, but actually harmful. The cadets didn’t need to memorize information—not with the memory implants provided by Luna Academy—and cramming was a sign of panic.
A message flickered into his implant, and he read it, quickly. All fifth-year cadets were to report at once to the Assembly Hall. The polite wording of the message didn’t quite disguise the fact that it was an order in all but name. No cadet with an inch of common sense would disregard the message, or choose to ignore it. 
Besides, Roman could count the number of emergency drills—let alone emergencies—that had taken place at Luna Academy on the fingers of one hand. What could they want with him and the other cadets now? Could things have gone so badly that they were needed?
No, that couldn’t be it. The proctors probably just wanted to debrief the cadets before they returned to their studies...no, there were no longer any studies. Professor Kratman’s class had been the last prior to their exams. 
He felt a familiar quiver in his chest as he contemplated the coming ordeal. Passing their exams would be difficult enough, but he’d sworn to himself that he would try for a First—a First, a perfect score on the exams and simulations that made up the final tests -- as it would set him on the path for rapid promotion. All Luna Academy graduates were commissioned as lieutenants once they graduated from the Academy, but there was no guarantee the Navy would send them anywhere exciting. A First would give him a certain degree of choice when it came to his initial posting.
Or would they be sent out into service—out to war—without taking the exams? The thought was attractive—and terrifying. What if they were going straight to war?
He was still mulling it over when he walked into the Assembly Hall. Years ago when he’d been a first-year cadet, he had spent hours here learning how to fit into the Navy. And, after he and Raistlin had gone at each other, they had both been disciplined in the Assembly Hall. It was astonishing how much humiliation could be crammed into simply having their misdeeds read in public, before being assigned to scrub toilets with toothbrushes. Now, the only time they saw the Assembly Hall was when they were mustered for inspection or when they listened to a guest lecturer. Some of the talks were interesting, touching on matters that were rarely covered at the Academy, while some were boring and tedious. 
As he looked around, he realized that the hall hadn’t been so crowded in years. Every fourth- and fifth-year cadet had been summoned. He caught sight of a few of his classmates and headed over to join them. 
“Attention on deck!”
Roman stiffened automatically as the proctor called them to attention. A moment later, he caught sight of Commandant Leon Singh as the commander emerged from the side of the room and moved briskly to the stage. He had never seen the Commandant socially—cadets usually only saw the Commandant if they were about to be expelled from the Academy—and there were no shortages of rumors flying around about him, much less the small knife he wore at his belt. Singh apparently had special dispensation to wear the knife and turban along with his small, neatly-trimmed beard. Like most of the staff, Singh’s file was closed to the prying eyes of students.
“At ease,” the Commandant said flatly. His Federation Standard was neat and precise, but there was a hint of another accent behind his words. “For those of you who haven’t figured it out”—his tone made it clear that he hoped that no cadet that stupid had survived the brutal winnowing of the Academy to date—”the Solar System was attacked. As yet, we do not know by whom, or why. We do know that you—the fifth-years, at least—will be graduating as soon as possible and will be going to war.”
Roman swallowed. Death was a RockRat’s constant companion, one that could strike at any moment. The fragile environments RockRats created in asteroids could be destroyed easily, through carelessness, while it was also easy for enemy ships to blow them apart. He’d known from his earliest days that a single mistake could kill him and his family, yet...he’d never truly faced the prospect of his own mortality. Now...he was going to war?
The prospect left him feeling unprepared, unready. It was tempting to believe that the war would be over before the exams were completed—providing they were even going to hold the exams at all, of course—and he officially graduated, but he knew that that was folly. Whatever had attacked the Federation, whoever they were, probably wasn’t willing to give up that easily.
Suddenly, his worries over whether he would take a First or not seemed trivial.
“Barring unforeseen circumstances, exams will be held as planned, a week from today,” the Commandant continued. 
Roman and the other cadets remained silent, but he could tell that a few of them were excited, perhaps hoping they’d not have to sit exams after all. Luna Academy’s exams were brutal. 
“I suggest that you all familiarize yourself with the rules and regulations for the exams—don’t just load them into your implant—and follow them to the letter,” Commandant Singh continued. “Ignorance will not be considered an acceptable excuse. Those of you who do have acceptable excuses must have them on file for the Academy Committee in three days. I shouldn’t have to tell you that failing to register any special excuse on time will result in it being disallowed.”
His gaze swept over the assembled cadets. “These exams will determine your future as officers in the Federation Navy. The culmination of five years of work and study is about to begin. Are there any questions?”
A fourth-year Roman barely knew stuck up his hand. “Sir,” he said, when the Commandant acknowledged him, “why are we holding the exams at all under these circumstances?”
A low rustle ran around the chamber, but the Commandant seemed unbothered by the question.
“You are too inexperienced to be called up at once, ideally,” he said, simply. “Besides, we need to show that this attack will not force us to panic and change our schedules.”
Roman wasn’t sure he believed the answer, but he held his tongue.
“Good luck,” the Commandant said. “You are free to approach your tutors should you require help, but don’t waste their time. Dismissed!”
The cadets saluted and headed for the doors. Roman joined them, heading towards Professor Kratman’s study. The professor was the only person he knew who’d fought a battle and survived. And he might know just what had actually happened during the battle over Earth...
* * *
In Admiral Marius Drake’s opinion, the Grand Senate Hall was nothing less than a testament to the wealth and power of the Federation. One thousand boxes, each holding a single Senator, were assembled in the massive room, allowing the President to see and recognize anyone who wanted to speak. The boxes were decorated with the red and gold of the Federation’s emblem and the flags of the planets they represented, allowing each Senator to be instantly recognizable. The media, which was ensconced today in the Stranger’s Gallery, far above the Senators, would be able to record everything. Only Earth and Luna could watch live as the Senators pontificated for the benefit of their voters, but no Senator could resist the thought of such a large audience.
Marius sighed. There was far too much work to be done in orbit, but the Grand Senate had insisted he attend the speech—and assigned him to a seat just underneath the President’s box. It was a position of honor, he’d been told, and yet he would have preferred more time to rebuild Earth’s tattered defenses. Who knew when the next attack would begin?
He stood as President David Yang entered to the strains of the Federation’s anthem. The President, elected by Federation-wide popular vote, had almost no power, but he was the public face of the Federation. Yang—a tall, handsome man with short dark hair and faintly Oriental features—had been elected two years ago, and was midway through his current term. If Yang knew that he was nothing more than a figurehead, it wasn’t apparent on his face. But as Marius knew full well, in times of crisis the Head of State had to appear to be in control. The reality of the situation was nowhere near as important, under the circumstances.
“Be seated,” the President said, his words echoing around the chamber. The original designers had ensured that everyone could hear everything said inside the chamber. “A grave crisis is upon us.”
There was a long pause. 
“Less than a day ago, the planet Earth was attacked,” Yang informed the Senators. “An atomic weapon was deployed on the surface of Earth, destroying Navy Headquarters and almost decapitating the system defense force. At the same time, a second weapon was used to destroy an orbital fortress, crippling our orbital defenses. After that, an enemy fleet entered the system; not from beyond the Rim, not from an alien species intent on overthrowing our rightful dominance of the galaxy, but from one of our own admirals!”
The crowd remained silent, which was puzzling. Normally, political speeches and press conferences were loud affairs, with questions being shouted from all directions. But now the room was silent. 
Then the President leaned forward, his eyes glittering ominously. 
 “It is my sad duty to report to the Senate—and the Federation at large—that Admiral Justinian has risen in revolt against us,” Yang continued. “Worse yet, his ships came within a hair’s breadth of occupying Earth!”
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.”

Chapter Seven

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. 
“When you are ready, pass through the security gates,” the proctor continued. “Make certain that you have divested yourself of everything. You must not take anything into the Examination Hall.”
Roman stood up, placed his small pile of clothing in the nearest locker and started to walk towards the gates. He made a final check of his implant, which had downloaded every file he thought might be relevant, before stepping through the gates. The memory implants could store everything a cadet might need to know, although they’d been warned more than once that having information in an implant wasn’t the same as memorizing it, and it wouldn’t necessarily help to have a chunk of information if one didn’t actually comprehend what it meant. Besides, he had a private suspicion that he’d be tested on what information they chose to bring into the Examination Hall as well as their answers to the test questions. 
The gate clicked as he stepped through, revealing nothing but a long, barren corridor. A cool breeze struck him in the face as he reached the proctor at the end of the passage.
“Here,” the proctor said in a bored voice, handing him a small bundle of clothing, which would suffice for the Examination Hall. “After you’ve put this on, go to Room 101.”
“Yes, sir,” Roman said. “Thank you.”
He donned the proffered clothing quickly, wincing at the fit—the pants were too tight and the top was nearly falling off. This must be another test in and of itself, as clothing this obnoxious surely must be yet another obstacle to overcome. Living in space could be uncomfortable at best, downright unpleasant at worst. He knew better than to think he’d get a large set of quarters all to himself for several years.
“Remember,” the proctor said. “If you leave the examination room for any reason, you will not be permitted to return.”
Roman nodded, wordlessly.
The briefing notes echoed through his head as he walked towards Room 101. The private—and very small—rooms were supposed to keep cadets from cheating, at least as a group. He’d been told that the small room he’d be assigned to would provide him with absolute silence and enough food and water to refresh himself, if necessary. But he still wasn’t sure if the exams were strictly necessary. He really didn’t know what to expect.
He braced himself as he reached Room 101 and pressed his palm against the scanner. The door clicked open and he stepped inside, taking in the familiar computer terminal—separate from the Academy datanet—and the small food processor in one corner. The room even had a working fresher. He took a deep breath, walked over to the terminal and sat down. The timer on the display counted down the seconds to when the exam would begin. It seemed deliberately designed to torment the eager young cadets.
Roman felt his heart begin to race and concentrated on calming himself, swallowing deeply. Some parts of the exam would be relatively simple—military law hadn’t changed since the Inheritance Wars, although the interpretation was often arguable—and other parts would be complex, challenging him to think fast while under pressure, if these were anything like the exams he’d taken in previous years. He checked the timer again and stood up, fetching a glass of water from the food processor and placing it next to the terminal. The timer was nearly at zero.
“Attention,” a dispassionate voice boomed. “The exam is about to begin. Take your places and prepare for the first section. Cadets who believe they require assistance are reminded that summoning assistance unnecessarily will count against them.”
The terminal flashed once and the exam opened. He checked the first section and confirmed his name, ID code and class, and then opened up the exam proper. It was divided into sections, some with no specified time limit, others with a very limited period before the terminal locked down. There were no second chances with some of the sections, while he could go back to review others until the end of the exam.
Taking a deep breath, he opened the first section and plunged right in.
* * *
“I haven’t seen you for a long time,” Professor Kratman said. “I understand that you’re quite the hero of the hour.”
Marius nodded, holding up one hand in salute. Technically, he outranked an Academy Professor, but Kratman had been his commanding officer during the Blue Star War and it was impossible to break the old habit. Besides, he was a guest at Luna Academy; his decision to drop in had been made on the spur of the moment.
“It seems that the Senate doesn’t understand that,” Marius said. He’d tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but he couldn’t do it. The Senate had him jumping through all sorts of obnoxious hoops, just because they could, and he’d had to hold his temper again and again and again. Even at nearly ninety years of age, his patience only held so much. “What do you think I did wrong?”
The Professor eyed him in surprise. “Why, nothing, admiral.” He laughed wryly. “You need to step outside the Federation Navy every once in a while. This sort of behavior isn’t at all surprising from the Senate. You haven’t been paying attention to the local media, have you?”
“No,” Marius said. In his experience, reporters were idiots, spies, or merely out to make a fast credit without caring about the consequences. He had never forgiven one particular news outlet along the Rim for reporting details about captured pirates that had made it impossible to bring them to trial. “Why should I care what they have to say?”
Kratman fixed him with an unrelenting stare. “You should know that war is birthed in politics,” he said sharply. “Especially this war. Why don’t you access the daily brief and check?”
Marius hesitated, and then complied, accessing his implant and using it to pull the latest round-up of news from Earth. There was, as always, a deluge of largely useless information, mainly revolving around what the most famous people in High Society were doing—or who they were screwing. He pushed that aside and concentrated on military news, searching for his name. There were over seven thousand hits in the previous twenty-four hours alone. It seemed as if the entire planet was talking about him.
The stories were nearly universally praiseworthy; they discussed his quick thinking, and his actions during the Battle of Earth. There were interviews with survivors of the battle, all of whom credited him with saving Earth, and live footage from the battle itself. The entire planet had seen a fortress explode in orbit and had known, for the first time in centuries, real physical danger. And he was the man who’d saved them.
“You’re famous,” Kratman said mildly. “Why do you think the Senate took fright?”
“I don’t understand,” Marius admitted. “Why did they take fright?”
“The Core Worlds are the only ones where public opinion must be taken seriously,” Kratman reminded him gently. “Earth’s population can make or break Senators—and don’t they just know it! Why do you think they’ve never risked cutting the dole money handed out to the permanently unemployed, or the free food handed out to the starving, or the free access to the datanet and other public services? Earth’s massive population of teeming sheep would never allow it. How many Senators would lose their seats, no matter how hard they tried to rig the elections?” He grinned. 
“And you saved the entire planetary population,” he added. “Now, you’re their hero, the man who can do no wrong.”
“Right,” Marius said. He checked his appointments calendar with a frown. There had been literally thousands of requests for interviews, all of which had been refused by his staff. He’d simply never checked up on it before. “Why does that scare the Senate?”
“Think about it,” the Professor said. “The Federation was designed to do the impossible—to provide interstellar government for the thousands of planets settled by humanity. The founding worlds were reluctant to create an overbearing political entity, so they attempted to hamstring the Federation by limiting the scope of its powers. But, as such entities tend to do, the Federation grew more powerful anyway, while the politicians became one great inbred family. The Inheritance Wars only enhanced that trend because the Federation won, and there seemed to be no reason to question the political situation.”
“‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,’” Marius quoted.
“Precisely,” Kratman agreed. He adopted a lecturing tone. “The problem is—and this affects all governing systems—that as the government grows more powerful, it tends to form an elite—a group of people whose sole concern is remaining in power. Some of the elite genuinely believe in serving the population and work for their betterment, others are in it only for their own power, but all of them work to perpetrate the system. Each of the Senators, Marius, represents over a thousand worlds. If they want to get elected, they have to be part of the elite or be willing to join it. The ones who refuse to join rarely get elected.
“And the elites,” Kratman continued pedantically, “because their hold on power is secure, end up becoming increasingly disconnected from the realities of life. They don’t understand the basic laws of the universe, let alone the effect they have on others. They don’t care that the out-worlds curse them as rapists who strip their worlds of natural resources and grind them under with oppressive taxes—after all, they’re the elite. Why should they care?”
Marius sighed, seeing the truth of what the Professor was saying. But before he could get a word in edgewise, Kratman had gone on. 
“While there were three factions in government, the whole structure held together remarkably well—astonishingly well,” Kratman lectured. “But then the Blue Star War was launched, and the early offenses turned into stunning defeats. The Imperialist Faction lost power and collapsed into the morass of the elites. And yet the shock of that was mitigated, because the Imperialists were still part of the elite. The elite couldn’t afford too much public humiliation because it would undermine their ability to remain in control.”
Marius nodded.
“You know the problems with maintaining something the size of the Federation,” the Professor added. “The Federation has to give vast latitude to its officers, or else they wouldn’t be able to react in time to stop a small threat from turning into a large one. And yet, some of those officers see the inner corruption of the Federation and start considering declaring independence, or even attempting to make themselves Emperor. I’m honestly surprised that it’s taken this long for one of the admirals to try to strike for the purple.”
Marius winced. Admiral Justinian had wisely transferred most of his family to Harmony before he’d attempted to overthrow the Federation, but some of them—second- and third-cousins, mostly—had remained on Earth. The Senate had ordered them arrested, tried and sentenced to death, along with a handful of captured traitors who had aided Justinian in crippling Earth’s defenses. Marius had forced himself to watch the executions—they had been broadcast live as a warning to any other would-be traitors—and then he had gone to the head and been savagely sick. He’d seen death before, as he’d ordered pirates thrown out of the airlock into the cold unforgiving vacuum of space, but the executions had been different. They had been nothing more than blood sport, or worse, the Senate lashing out at whoever was unlucky enough to catch its attention. Most of those second- and third-cousins hadn’t even seen Admiral Justinian in years, and obviously had had no idea what Justinian was planning, but that hadn’t saved their lives.
And when innocence was no defense, what good was the Federation for?
“And then, you saved their lives,” Kratman said, breaking into Marius’s train of thought. 
Marius snorted. “Shouldn’t they be happy with me?”
“Yes, of course, but much of the Senate has no grip on reality. You saved their lives, yes, but to most of them, it doesn’t matter because you made yourself popular with the mob. Of course they’re scared of you. They have to use you, but at the same time, they have to worry about what you might do...”
“I’m not about to make myself emperor,” Marius protested.
“You’re not one of the elite,” Kratman countered. “That fact alone means they’re probably going to be divided about what to do with you. They may attempt to marry you into the elite—there are quite a few eligible senatorial daughters on Earth—or they may set you up to fail. Your popularity with the mob makes the latter course dangerous, but given time...the mob will lose interest in you. And then you’d better watch your back.”
Marius took a breath. The years fell away and he remembered the Matterhorn, the day they’d jumped through the Asimov Point and into Sapphire. He remembered how they’d been caught in an ambush at point-blank range, and how the superdreadnaught had been crippled within the first few seconds of the ambush. And he remembered how then-Captain Kratman had somehow steered them back to the Asimov Point…they’d escaped the hellish slaughter, the only starship from the assault force to escape. They’d survived by sheer luck, and the determination of the starship’s captain.
“You may wish to ask yourself another question,” Kratman said. If he was aware of his former subordinate’s thoughts, he gave no sign. “Who has promoted you to the media?”
“I don’t know,” Marius admitted. Earth’s media was nominally free of control, but he knew that the Senate controlled many of the foremost media corporations. “Who...?”
“Good question,” Kratman agreed. “I haven’t the slightest idea. Someone seems to like you. Whoever it is, it’s someone with very good connections in the Federation Navy. You may want to think about what you’ll say when they come to you and ask for something in return.”
“I didn’t want to be a hero,” Marius protested. “I just did what needed to be done.”
“I know that, son,” Kratman said with uncommon gentleness. “But most of the people on Earth don’t know you as I do. They have to see it differently…and with all those piranhas among the Senators, you have to know that no one, not even the friendliest Senator, does anything for free.”
Marius ruminated on this for a minute. “Thanks for talking with me. I’ll keep all this in mind, I promise.”
“Just watch your back, all right?” Kratman pleaded. “I’ve seen far too many of my old officers and men taken out by Justinian—and his allies—as it is.”
* * *
Tired and emotionally drained, Roman Garibaldi staggered out of the Examination Hall hours after he’d entered. It felt as if he’d been in the room for years, as if his personal universe had shrunk down to the examination room and the terminal he’d used to answer the questions. All hope of a First had faded, to be replaced by the desperate hope that he might just have scraped a Third. A Fourth or below usually meant repeating the fifth-year at the Academy, though Roman wasn’t sure if that still applied in wartime. He returned to his room, collapsed into bed and fell asleep. 
Hours later, he awoke, ordered a small meal from the food processor, and then fell back asleep after eating it. He felt at loose ends; now that the exams had been completed, he had to wait until the proctors had completed reviewing their answers. All that mattered was passing the exams.
He tried to keep the thoughts of war from his mind, but he just couldn’t. Would doing worse on his exams mean he’d be sent immediately to the front? Or would he be kept back as an incompetent?
The following morning, he was awakened at the usual time and ordered to report to the Assembly Hall. He wasn’t the only one, as he noticed almost all of his fifth-year class had been summoned.
As he and the others poured into the compartment, he saw holographic test results hovering in front of his eyes. There were no Fourth or Fifth results, he noted at once; the unlucky cadets would probably be spared public humiliation. He scanned the Thirds and saw a couple of familiar names, but his was missing. 
Bracing himself, he scanned the Seconds, yet his own name wasn’t present. Thank goodness!
Taking a deep breath, he looked at the Firsts and saw, clearly, ROMAN GARIBALDI. He’d done it! 
Friends shook his hand or hugged him, eager to share their congratulations, or demanding to know where he was going. He accessed his implants and searched for his orders. They were waiting for him in the network.
“Enterprise,” he said in delight. The Federation Navy’s latest flagship had been his first choice, although he’d known that even with a First, the odds weren’t high. “I’m going to the Enterprise!”
“Congratulations,” Cadet Sultana Narayanan said. Her accented voice was amused. “So am I.”
Roman grabbed her and pulled her into a hug. At least he wouldn’t be completely friendless when he arrived. Between them, he was sure they could learn the carrier’s ways and fit right in. He barely heard the speech from the proctors, warning the non-First cadets that their orders were still being cut and that they’d be informed as soon as possible. He was going to the Enterprise!
“Come on,” Raistlin said. All differences between them had faded, for Raistlin had made a First, too. “Let’s party!”

Chapter Eight

The Federation Navy’s standard doctrine for building and deploying carriers was developed during the First Interstellar War and refined over the following centuries. It should therefore be asked, loudly, why that doctrine was ignored when it came to building the Star Carrier designs.
-An Irreverent Guide to the Federation, 4000 A.D.

FNS Enterprise, Sol System, 4092
“We’re coming up on her now,” the pilot said in a bored tone, sounding as if he’d flown the mission hundreds of times before. “You may wish to come forward and watch as we approach.”
Roman wondered how the pilot could be bored—wasn’t the Enterprise the most famous ship in the Navy?—but accepted his invitation with alacrity, even though it was against regulations. There should have been a second pilot in the cockpit, but all kinds of safety rules were being violated in the desperate struggle to prepare the Retribution Force for its mission. He settled into the spare seat and watched as the carrier slowly came into view. He’d seen images, of course, long before the war when he’d prepared his request for assignment, but the image didn’t even come close to the reality. A civilian might have regarded the huge carrier as ugly, yet Roman saw the Enterprise as beautiful, form melded with function in a way he found nearly impossible to describe.
Seen from their approach position, the carrier looked like a flattened cylinder, surrounded by launch and recovery tubes for her ten wings of starfighters. A pair of starfighters swooped down towards the shuttle, passing close enough for him to track them, before wagging their wings and flashing off into the great darkness. If the shuttle’s IFF codes hadn’t checked out, Roman was certain their welcome would be a great deal less friendly. The entire Solar System was still jumpy after the Battle of Earth. 
The shuttle altered course, heading towards one of the rear landing decks; Roman gasped as he took in the mammoth drive units at the rear of the ship. Each of the drives—there were no less than eight placed around the massive cylinder—could provide a realspace velocity of 0.8C, even if the other drive units had been disabled. No other starship in the Federation Navy, even a superdreadnaught, could soak up so much damage and keep going. As the shuttle swept towards the landing deck, he saw the point defense blisters and missile tubes that gave the carrier her offensive and defensive punch. If necessary, Enterprise could go toe-to-toe with a superdreadnaught.
There had always been an Enterprise in the Federation Navy, even before there had been a Federation Navy. USS Enterprise had served as the flagship of the multinational task force that had stopped the Snakes at the Battle of Century, back during the First Interstellar War. She’d been lost the following year at the Second Battle of Ramadan, but by then she’d created a legend. FNS Enterprise, the first starship built specifically for the Federation Navy, had led the fleet that liberated Zion and gone on to serve in all of the remaining battles of the First Interstellar War. Since then, the name had been passed down the ages, even during the Inheritance Wars. The war that had threatened to tear the Federation asunder had seen the odd spectacle of ships called Enterprise fighting on both sides of the war. And there were those who believed that the First Battle of Sapphire would have gone the other way if the last carrier to bear the name had taken part in the fighting.
The shuttle passed through the force field around the carrier and set down on the landing deck. Roman didn’t have to be told to grab his holdall; he did so and headed over to the hatch, ready to disembark just as soon as it hissed open. The carrier’s internal atmosphere struck him the moment he stepped out of the shuttle with Sultana Narayanan hot on his heels. The Enterprise was clearly a ship that was frantically preparing for war. A handful of shuttles were scattered on the deck, while a pair of starfighters were being disassembled by the landing deck crew. 
He felt the thrumming of the carrier’s drives echoing through the deck as he hastened to the secondary hatch. They’d been warned not to remain on the landing deck for any longer than strictly necessary, and with all the activity he’d seen thus far, he could easily see why.
Once the airlock cycled, he saw an older woman wearing a commander’s uniform waiting for him. His implant had been loaded with a complete crew manifest for Enterprise, but he would have recognized Commander Rosemary Duggan without it. She was a tall woman with short, dark hair and a grim, bulldog expression. She wore her uniform as if it were a weapon with which to beat her foes to death whenever her captain might command. As the XO of the Enterprise, she was God, as far as her subordinates were concerned.
“Lieutenant Garibaldi reporting for duty, commander,” Roman said. Sultana echoed him a moment later. “Permission to come aboard?”
“Permission granted,” Commander Duggan said. She had a sharp voice, biting off her words as if each cost her a credit. “Welcome aboard.”
Roman saluted the flag, then the starship’s crest of arms and finally the commander herself. Commander Duggan returned the salute slowly—he just knew that her eyes were crawling over them, looking for some flaw in their bearing—before nodding. He had the impression that they’d just passed a test of some kind.
“You both earned Firsts at the Academy, so I assume that you have the ability to follow orders,” she said. “I want you to understand something. You do not have the experience that comes with your ranks, not yet. We will be working on giving you that experience as rapidly as possible, both in manning your stations and in working with the enlisted crew. You will be at the bottom of the totem pole until you convince me that you can handle the responsibility. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, commander,” they said together.
“Good,” Commander Duggan said. “Enterprise is the finest ship in Home Fleet, but we’re being detached for the Retribution Force. That means I am going to work you to death over the next few weeks. We’ve had to assign half our enlisted men to other ships to make up for shortfalls in personnel, so we’re drawing on newcomers from the Naval Reserve. The captain”—her tone sharpened—”understands that mistakes will happen in such an environment. But our tolerance of mistakes will fall sharply as we shake down and prepare for operations. By the time we depart the Solar System, we will have a working ship. And I will not hesitate to put you off the ship if you fail to measure up.”
She smiled, a most unpleasant expression. “Do either of you want to leave the ship now and save me the trouble of filling out the paperwork to have you reassigned?”
“No, commander,” Roman said.
“Oh, what a pity,” Duggan said as soon as Sultana had echoed him. Her voice hardened. “Put your holdalls in your cabin, then report to me in Compartment 667-565 in ten minutes. Consider finding it your first test. Try not to be late.” She turned and marched down the corridor, leaving them alone again. 
Roman and Sultana exchanged a glance, and then both of them started trying to find Officer Country. It would have taken hours if he’d had to search, but a simple query from his implant to the ship’s computer provided helpful directions. 
Once they got there, Roman found out that despite the starship’s colossal size, the cabin was small, barely large enough for both of them. It contained a small fresher and an even smaller food processor. He’d expected as much, though. Junior officers weren’t given large cabins until they were promoted several grades...he shook his head. This wasn’t how he’d expected to spend his first day on the Enterprise.
“So,” he said, once he had carefully stowed his holdall under the bunk, “where should we find her?”
A quick check revealed that the compartment number Commander Duggan had given them was useless. It didn’t match any real compartment number in the entire ship. Roman stared at it, feeling panic start to bubble up within his mind. How could he hope to rise to high rank if he couldn’t solve a simple puzzle? It seemed impossible to link the number she’d given them to anywhere on the ship...
It was Sultana who figured out the answer. “Computer,” she ordered, “locate Commander Duggan.”
Roman had to laugh as the ship’s computers helpfully provided the answer. Commander Duggan was waiting for them somewhere within the ship’s interior. They followed the directions through a maze of passages and internal tubes—passing hundreds of workers from the nearby Baxter Shipyard—and finally reached a compartment deep within the starship’s innards. Duggan looked up at them as they crawled out of the tube and smiled.
“You took your own, sweet time,” she said. “How long did it take you to realize that the reference was bunk?”
“When we compared it to the ship’s plans,” Roman admitted. “The numbering system was completely different.”
“A word to the wise,” Duggan said. “The ship’s official plans and the reality are somewhat different. The interior of the ship isn’t detailed on any database outside the ship and Navy HQ. Why do you think that is, I wonder?”
Sultana crinkled her forehead, perhaps guessing. “To prevent spies from learning how to navigate through the ship?”
“Nothing so elaborate,” Rosemary said. She looked totally at ease as she spoke, even though the noise of the drives was growing louder. “When they were building the ship, they discovered that some of the planned design was...imperfect. Enterprise was the first of her class, and there are always teething problems. In the end, they redesigned the affected sections and altered the interior to allow them to complete the ship.”
She paused. “It may interest you to know that the original design, if it had been built as ordered, would have suffered a catastrophic internal failure if they had ever brought the drives up to full power. Many of the bulkheads would have collapsed.”
Thank goodness for engineers, Roman thought. He leaned forward. “Commander ... why didn’t they fix the problems right away?”
“Enterprise was the largest ship in the Federation Navy when she was built,” Duggan said, sounding as if she was picking her words with great care. “Computer simulations only go so far when so many delicate compartments are involved. See what I mean about the importance of experience? An experienced engineer discovered the problem and reported it before they actually tried to install the internal systems. Now...”
Her expression turned savage, just for a second. “I have tasks for you,” she said, her implant dumping files into their implants. “All you have to do is follow the instructions—separately—and then report back to me. Good luck.”
Roman watched as Duggan scrambled up a ladder to an internal tube and wiggled through it, then he turned to look at Sultana, who looked as stunned as he felt. He opened the files Commander Duggan had sent to him and frowned. None of the tasks seemed complicated, which meant there was probably a sting in the tail for the unwary and inexperienced young officer. Some of the tasks promised to be boring—he had to check the filed FNRS-47 plans against the reality—and others made no sense at all, at least at first.
“I’ll catch up with you later,” he promised. “Good luck.”
“You too,” Sultana said.
Roman turned back to the internal tube. According to the plans loaded in his implant—the same plans he’d been warned couldn’t be trusted—the first place he had to check was only two decks down from his current position. 
Over the course of an hour, he realized what the commander was trying to teach him. He didn’t know his way around the ship, not instinctively, and relying on his implants was asking for trouble. He got lost twice before he stopped listening to his implant and started to go by the markings on the bulkheads. Slowly, he realized just how the carrier’s open areas went together. It wouldn’t be long, he hoped, before he figured out the logic of the internal tubes as well. 
The FNRS-47 files were particularly confusing. At the Academy, he’d been told that keeping up with the FNRS-47 files was important. Regulations clearly stated that there had to be an individual FNRS-47 form for each replaced component on the ship that accounted for its removal from stores, installation in the required unit and then removal and disposal once it had started to wear out. The Federation Navy designed components to be as durable as possible, but there was a strict pattern of replacement for every compartment in the starship, to the point where cadets had joked that ships were effectively rebuilt over the course of the year. 
But in this case, it hadn’t taken him long to realize that Enterprise’s files were hopelessly out of date. Puzzled, he made a note of the discrepancies and went on to the next section. 
The commander had ordered him to introduce himself to the fighter jocks, so he found his way down to Fighter Country and checked in with the CAG, the Controller Air Group. The CAG seemed underwhelmed to meet him, and only reluctantly organized a meet and greet. Roman was reminded, yet again, of his own inexperience. Many of the fighter pilots he met had fought in the Battle of Earth, and had been transferred to Enterprise only two or three days ago. The others had seen action out on the frontier. He could just tell, somehow, that they weren’t too impressed with him. The Marines weren’t much better, even though they seemed a hair friendlier.
“I trust we’ll be seeing more of you,” Major Shaklee said with a grin. The short, stocky Marine winked at him. “Young officers are encouraged to spend time in the gym, brushing up on their training with us. I’m sure you’ll enjoy your time down there.”
Roman felt like frowning, but he hoped the Marine hadn’t realized it. RockRats kept themselves healthy, but they didn’t go in for physical sports and rarely contributed athletes to the Federation Games. Luna Academy had insisted that all cadets learn to spar and encouraged them to develop skills in the martial arts, yet he’d never had the time to really work on it. The Marines, on the other hand, would ensure that he did more than the regulation workouts each day. And encouraged generally meant ordered.
He was thoughtful when he reported back to Officer Country and discovered that Sultana had completed her share of the tasks before him. It shouldn’t have been a surprise—she had always had more patience for detail work than him—but it still rankled, somehow. It was surprising when Commander Duggan cut off their attempt to report to her and focused, instead, on something different.
“You did all the tasks,” she said flatly. “Why did I give you those specific tasks?”
“You wanted us to get used to the ship,” Sultana hazarded.
“Could be,” Commander Duggan said absently. “What do you think, Lieutenant Garibaldi?”
Roman hesitated, and then took the plunge. “You wanted us to know the ship and its personnel,” he said finally. “I don’t just mean finding our way around, I meant actually knowing them...”
“Close enough,” Commander Duggan agreed. “You have to learn to understand that the crew—all the separate crews that make up a carrier’s personnel—are human. There are young officers who fail to realize that enlisted personnel are mortal, too.” She shook her head. “You are expected to spend some of your off-duty hours—which will be few and far between for the first few weeks—socializing with your fellow officers. Marine and Navy alike.”
She grinned, a completely different expression than her smile from before as it completely lit up her face. “And as for the forms?”
“There isn’t time to fill them in,” Sultana told the commander. 
Roman lifted an eyebrow. 
“I checked with the engineering officers,” she told him. “They don’t have time to do all the paperwork.”
“And that is the second lesson,” Commander Duggan added. “There are tasks on this ship that are genuinely important, and tasks that regulations claim are important. When we’re in the middle of a desperate refit and working up period, we don’t have time to worry about the paperwork, not with the level of redundancy built into the ship. We will catch up on all of that while we’re in transit, by which time we should be functioning as an intact unit.”
Her gaze softened. “You’ll meet your fellow lieutenants in the Officer’s Mess in”—she made a show of checking her wristcom—”forty minutes. I suggest that you each have a quick session in the fresher, and then study their files. After that, we can make some proper assignments for you. You’ll both eventually end up in the tactical section—you’re command track—but for the moment we need you elsewhere.”
Roman nodded. “Commander, if I may ask, where are we going?”
“Nothing has been said officially,” Commander Duggan said, “but I suspect from the scuttlebutt flying around the fleet that we’re on our way to Harmony to make Admiral Justinian see reason. I just hope we get worked up by the time the hammer comes down on him. I’d hate to miss the show because we couldn’t get there in time. And believe me, the captain will really hate it.”
“Yes, commander,” Roman said. It would be nice to believe that Admiral Justinian would surrender without further ado, but he’d seen the executions at the Academy of Justinian’s distant relatives. They’d all been made to watch. Somehow, after seeing that, Roman was sure the admiral would refuse to surrender. “We won’t let you down.”
“See that you don’t,” Commander Duggan said. “Enterprise is the finest ship in the fleet, and we mean to keep it that way.”

Chapter Nine

The problem with not having fought a major war for decades is that it is difficult to tell an experienced commanding officer from an inexperienced officer. The Federation Navy has thus developed an alarming habit of promoting officers for political rather than professional credentials.
-An Irreverent Guide to the Federation, 4000 A.D.

FNS Enterprise, Sol System, 4092
“Attention on deck!”
Marius stood with the other officers as Fleet Admiral Cuthbert Parkinson entered the Enterprise’s briefing room. There had been no other choice for the flagship, not after Enterprise had been assigned to the Retribution Force, which worried Marius more than he cared to admit. The star carriers were, in some ways, a revolutionary design, but they had their weaknesses, weaknesses that would be as apparent to Admiral Justinian as they were to Marius Drake.
“Please be seated,” Parkinson said once he had taken his place at the head of the table. “We have a great deal to cover, and very little time.”
Fleet Admiral Parkinson was taller than Marius had expected from his file, although it was quite possible that he’d had his body altered to conform with the latest fashion. His short, dark hair topped a clear face and dark brown eyes, which contrasted oddly with the white dress uniform he wore. Marius hoped that he’d come directly from Earth and hadn’t had time to change. An admiral who attended a meeting of his subordinates in full dress uniform wasn’t a good sign. 
Marius had asked Kratman about the Fleet Admiral, as his former CO had known Parkinson once. The Professor had told him that Parkinson was competent, nothing more. Parkinson could follow orders to the letter, but he didn’t have the initiative to take advantage of opportunities as they arose. His career would have stalled out, barring political interference of course, if there had been any justice in the universe.
Marius had spent ten years along the Rim and had been insulated, to some degree, from the political storms of Earth. But because of what Kratman had told him, Marius had taken the time to carry out a thorough study of Earth’s media while waiting for his new commander to take command of the Retribution Force. There seemed to be three separate story lines running through the media. One: Admiral Drake was the hero who saved Earth. Two: Admiral Drake had taken command illegally, preventing Admiral Parkinson from assuming his rightful place. Three: Admiral Drake’s illegal decision to assume command had resulted in Admiral Justinian’s force escaping certain destruction. The reports that upheld the third line had produced hundreds of pretty diagrams that bore no relationship to reality; all professed to prove that Justinian’s fleet could have been intercepted and destroyed, if the proper man had been in command. 
It wouldn’t have impressed any halfway competent fleet officer, Marius knew. But civilians wouldn’t know what to believe.
Kratman had been right. Again. Marius tried not to grind his teeth in despair.
Behind Parkinson, Captain Timothy Oriole followed him into the briefing room, even though Enterprise was his ship. At least Oriole was a known factor, a solidly competent man with a splendid record of courage and loyalty. The Federation Navy would hardly have given its flagship to an incompetent, even though Oriole had probably been bored floating in orbit around Titan Base. His dark skin showed no trace of awareness that he was the junior officer in the compartment, although as the admiral’s flag captain—his tactical alter ego—he had more authority than was commonly realized. And besides, he had given up command of a cruiser squadron to command the Enterprise. There could be no questioning his capabilities, or his political contacts. He had the support of some very powerful people.
“It’s good to see you all together for the first time,” Parkinson said. His voice—and face—was stilted and formal. “I believe that we have set records in reactivating starships and personnel from the Naval Reserve in preparation for our departure to Harmony. I know that there have been some …issues—” he gave them all a droll smile, apparently begging for forgiveness, “—but we have managed to overcome them. We shall depart for Harmony within the week.”
Marius kept his face expressionless with some help from his implants. Parkinson was understating the case, for the plans to reactivate and crew the starships stored in the Naval Reserve had floundered, and badly. Home Fleet had a shortage of experienced officers and men to serve as reactivation cadre, and they’d had to raid every command within ten Asimov Points of Earth for manpower. There were hundreds of thousands of crewmen who had never served together before being called to serve in the Retribution Fleet, and there had already been several nasty incidents. Marius was confident that all would all be resolved in time, but it would require a far longer outfitting and working up period than his superiors had accepted. As it was, they were going to have to continue their training exercises while in transit.
“I have been in close communication with the War Cabinet,” Parkinson continued, “and we finally have our mission objectives. They are fairly simple in concept, and I am sure that we will have few problems carrying them out.”
Marius’s eyes narrowed. He’d thought that they already had their mission objectives: track down and destroy Admiral Justinian. He shared a glance with Major General Tobias Vaughn—at least the War Cabinet had confirmed him as the Marine CO for the Retribution Force—and realized that his friend was just as surprised. It wouldn’t be the first time that orders had been changed alarmingly close to the departure date, yet it still was odd. The entire planet wanted the rogue’s blood.
“First, we are to track down and capture—or kill—the treacherous Justinian,” Parkinson said. “Second, we are to secure a number of vital points within the Harmony Sector and prepare to return Federation authority to the region. Third, we are to oversee a purge of Justinian’s supporters and ensure that nothing like this can happen again. These matters will be overseen by the Pacification Units that have been attached to the Fleet Train, once Admiral Justinian’s fleet has been forced to surrender or has been destroyed outright.”
This time, Marius could tell that the more experienced officers in the room didn’t like these orders by the set of their shoulders. Pacification Units had only one mission. They crushed all resistance to the Federation’s will, regardless of who was doing the resisting, or why. Pacification Units had ground any spark of independence out of a hundred alien races and worse, had crushed human rebellion on a dozen worlds. Their deployment was a sign that the Senate wasn’t interested in taking any prisoners. He shared another glance with Vaughn, sharing a single thought. The last time they’d encountered Pacification Units, it had been when their CO had vastly exceeded his orders and ended a rebellion by mass slaughter. It said something about the general attitude towards aliens that his actions had earned him a medal and a promotion, rather than a quick court martial and an even quicker firing squad.
“In order to accomplish our objectives, I have determined the most suitable route for us to take to reach Harmony,” Parkinson continued. 
He keyed a switch and a holographic star chart appeared over the table. Asimov Points were linked with beams of white light, showing the places where starships could hop from system to system instantaneously, while suspected enemy positions were marked in red. The information, Marius reminded himself, was over five months out of date. 
“We will proceed from Earth through the Gateway and then up the Graveyard Chain,” Parkinson droned on. “We’ll hop across to Sparta from Violet Passion, and then proceed through the Archer’s Chain until we reach Jefferson. We will secure the system, then proceed through the Harmony Asimov Point and secure Harmony. If Admiral Justinian wants to fight us, he will no doubt meet us there.”
Marius kept his face inscrutable, but inwardly he was nodding in understanding. The Senate was clearly dictating instructions to their chosen commander, without regard for military logic. The proposed route took over a month longer than the least-time route to Harmony, but it had the advantage that valuable systems could be secured easily. The Jefferson System, in particular, was coveted by many interstellar corporations. The orders to “secure” the system could easily be turned into “occupy.”
“Admiral,” Captain Sanderson said, “it is well known that the Jefferson System is effectively impossible to defend. Why do you want us to attempt to secure it?”
“Those are our orders from the Senate,” Parkinson said. His gaze swept the room. “I have been told—in strictest confidence—that Harmony will be stripped of its position as sector capital, and Jefferson will be promoted to take its place. Our orders are to ensure security on the ground so that the move can be accomplished with the minimum of fuss.”
There was a long pause. Marius said nothing, considering his options. 
“I do not expect anyone to attempt to resist us until we reach the Harmony System,” Parkinson went on. “Therefore, I will be dividing the fleet into three components: the vanguard, the main body and the rearguard. The vanguard, under my command in Enterprise, will proceed ahead of the main body and show the flag to anyone even considering resistance. We will show them that we are not afraid to operate in their space, and that they can do nothing to stop us.”
Marius frowned. The Fleet Admiral was not supposed to risk himself that way.
“The main body, under Admiral Drake, will serve as the muscle,” Parkinson continued. “In the event they attempt to offer resistance prior to entering the Harmony System, we will reunite the vanguard and the main body and accept battle. Finally, the Fleet Train and a handful of cruiser squadrons will make up the rearguard, escorting our supplies and army divisions for operations against planetary targets. Are there any questions?”
There was a long uneasy pause. Marius finally decided to raise his concerns.
“Admiral,” he said carefully, “I feel that splitting up the fleet risks having one of our sections defeated in detail and destroyed. I do not feel that Admiral Justinian will be standing on the defensive, not after some of his family and supporters were publicly executed. The Book gives him precisely no chance against our sheer weight of firepower, which means that he will be driven to be unconventional. We might jump into the next system to discover that we have flown right into a trap.
“Furthermore,” he continued, before Parkinson could say a word, “the course you have suggested has a number of disadvantages. The enemy will be able to operate with the advantage of internal lines of communication and rotate forces to meet us at will, either outside Jefferson or within the Jefferson System proper. We are short on supplies and...”
“We will be drawing supplies from the fleet supply deports as we pass,” Parkinson said sharply. “They are still in our hands.”
“With all due respect,” Marius said, “how do we know that they are still in our hands?”
He kept his expression blank, even though some of the junior officers now looked uneasy. There was—inevitably—a major time lag between sending a message from Earth and receiving it at the other side of the Federation, let alone receiving a reply. Even using the Asimov Point network and StarCom units—where they were emplaced—didn’t allow a message to reach the Rim in less than six months. By now, Admiral Justinian’s forces could have taken the two sectors closest to Harmony, and the Retribution Force wouldn’t know a thing about it until they blundered into an ambush.
“They have confirmed that they are still loyal,” Parkinson said shortly. He turned back to the star chart. “Addressing the issue of local governments, we will remove them...”
* * *
“Perhaps you could spare me a few minutes,” one of the younger officers said as the meeting broke up. “I believe that we need to talk.”
Marius stared down at her in surprise. She wore the uniform of a Commodore, yet her white non-dress uniform showed no golden stars representing ships under her command. He hadn’t paid attention to her at the meeting, but he studied her now, uneasily aware that she was studying him in return. She was short, with light brown skin and long dark hair that hung in a ponytail. A single red dot on her forehead marked her as coming from one of the orthodox Hindu worlds, even though the Federation Navy frowned upon displays of religious enthusiasm. He couldn’t help but notice that she was remarkably pretty.
“Commodore Arunika,” she said, as she held out a dark hand for him to shake. “Office of Naval Intelligence.”
Marius nodded, bending over to kiss the air above her hand. The silver ring she wore on her finger caught his eye and he stared at it. He’d never seen one before, but there was no mistaking the silver band with the Star of David ingrained in the metal. Arunika led him through a pair of compartments and into a more private briefing room. He didn’t protest at how she’d taken charge. The silver ring marked her as a member of the Brotherhood.
“You raised some important concerns, admiral,” Arunika said as soon as the airlock had hissed closed and she’d carried out a brief check for bugs. “ONI has been crunching the numbers ever since we identified the person behind the attack on Earth. I’m afraid that our conclusions have been...ignored.”
Marius’s eyes narrowed. The Office of Naval Intelligence had been heavily politicized in the years before the Blue Star War. Eventually, they’d overstepped themselves and provided inaccurate and incomplete data to the Senate, data that the Imperialist Faction had used to argue its case for war. After the first defeats, the Senate had been looking for scapegoats, and ONI had found itself purged. The officers who had doctored the data—or simply refused to read what was clearly there—had been dismissed from the service, and ONI had been stripped of most of its responsibilities. Federation Intelligence, the civilian intelligence-gathering organization, had stepped up to fill the hole.
“I see,” he said. Parkinson wouldn’t have paid any attention to ONI without direct orders in triplicate from his political masters. “And what did you conclude?”
His implants reported that hers were requesting permission to transmit a file. He authorized it automatically and accepted the file, noting the level of security precautions buried in the document. If someone else had tried to accept it, the file would have destroyed itself and vanished.
“That’s everything we have,” Arunika said. “To summarize: Admiral Justinian has spent the last ten years—at least—preparing his rebellion. Most of the Federation Navy officers assigned to the sector served under him before, or are dangerously ambitious and intelligent. If that wasn’t enough, the admiral has also been requesting an alarmingly large supply of spare parts from Earth—and setting up shipyards and industrial nodes in the sector. Depending on the assumptions we feed into our computers, Admiral Justinian may have a far larger fleet than we know, with a support network second only to the Federation Navy.”
Marius frowned. “And if he had a larger fleet, why not use it against Earth?”
“We don’t know,” Arunika said. “It may interest you to know that two of three Federation Intelligence supervisors in the sector have met untimely ends. The first apparently went big game hunting on Ripley, and was killed by one of the more unpleasant creatures on the planet. The second was fond of patronizing the more...extreme whorehouses on Harmony and, eventually, he died in one of them. You don’t want to know how. The third’s reports showed no sign of concern but since the attack on Earth, he hasn’t responded to attempts to contact him.”
Marius saw the implications at once. “He’s been turned,” he said flatly.
“Almost certainly,” Arunika agreed. “How confident are you that Admiral Parkinson can lead the Retribution Force to victory?”
Marius didn’t bother to answer. Openly criticizing a senior officer was a severe breach of military etiquette, regardless of his personal feelings. There were times when it could be done legally, but not when talking to an ONI spook, even if she was pretty. And besides, she could probably read the answer in his face. He wasn’t very confident at all.
“I suggest that you watch your back,” she said seriously. “And if you need help, perhaps we can be of service.”
She held up her hand, drawing his attention to the ring. “We are interested in you, admiral,” she said. “Perhaps we can help one another.”
“And what, precisely, is the Brotherhood’s interest in this?” Marius scowled.
“The Brotherhood is interested in keeping the Federation stable and strong,” Arunika said. Her eyes lit up with the light of the true fanatic. “If Justinian succeeds in overthrowing the government, or even in declaring independence and making it stick, the result is likely to be chaos. The Brotherhood does not approve of chaos.”
“I wouldn’t have thought that you would have approved of civil war, either,” Marius countered. The Brotherhood...? The last thing he needed was another player with uncertain motives, particularly one with a long and secretive history. He wasn’t blind to the implications of Arunika wearing the ring openly. It was a show of influence and power. “Why are you offering to help me?”
“Because we need to solve this problem as soon as possible,” Arunika said. “There are other admirals who may be considering becoming warlords and attempting to seize power. If Justinian is crushed quickly, they may be deterred from attempting to plunge the Federation even further into a Civil War. We can do a great deal for you, admiral.”
“Of course you can,” Marius agreed. No two rumors about the Brotherhood agreed, but there was a general consensus that the Brotherhood was rich, powerful, and utterly ruthless in accomplishing its objectives. It had certainly made no secret of those. “But what do you want in exchange?”

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