The Barbarian Bride

The Decline and Fall of the Galactic Empire

Book 3

Christopher Nuttall

The Barbarian Bride

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 © 2016 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, July 2016

Cover art by Malcolm McClinton

Printed in the United States of America.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine

When Rome fell to barbarian invaders, there were less than five hundred qualified Centurions. Not because Rome had fewer people but because it had fewer willing to make the sacrifices. And the last Centurions left their shields in the heather and took a barbarian bride…
—John Ringo, The Last Centurion

Prologue

From: Marius Drake and Roman Garibaldi: Two Lives, Two Loves, One Empire (4502 A.D)

Ah, what is to be said of Marius Drake and Roman Garibaldi that hasn’t been said a thousand times already?
They were the two most famous men of their generation, perhaps the two most famous men since the "Band of Brothers" punched through the Asimov Point and won the final battle of the First Interstellar War. They are the subjects of countless biographies, ranging from works claiming that one was the true hero and the other was the villain to works suggesting they were both deeply corrupt, symptoms of the decline and fall of the Federation. There are works that suggest they were victims, helpless to do anything but play their roles, and works that suggest they were playing a game with each other that cost billions upon billions of innocent lives. And last, but far from least, there are works that suggest the two men were actually lovers and the final war between them was a tragedy on a far greater scale than Romeo and Juliet. 
Indeed, history has truly hidden both men behind a shroud of nonsense.
That said, certain claims can be made with a fair degree of certainty.
The Federation was dying. Its government — the aristocratic and corrupt Grand Senate — was steadily sucking the lifeblood out of the countless innocent worlds in its thrall, destroying the economy that kept the Federation alive. Worse, the military had become deeply divided, with officers building little fiefdoms and patronage networks that were steadily corrupting the once-great Federation Navy. The purges that followed the Blue Star War only made it clear, to the smarter officers, that the only hope of permanent safety was in power. It should not have surprised the Grand Senate when one of them, Admiral Justinian, kicked off a civil war by mounting an attack on Earth.
Admiral Marius Drake rose to prominence during the attack, commanding the defense of Earth. Despite his own shabby treatment by the Grand Senate, Drake remained a noted Federation loyalist, a man who refused to accept the sundering of the Federation or the thought of claiming power for himself. His loyalties were noted; Drake was placed in command, eventually, of the fleet that would seek out and destroy Admiral Justinian’s little empire once and for all. 
Less is known of Roman Garibaldi’s early life; it is known he was the sole survivor of an attack on an asteroid settlement, one who joined the Federation Navy and graduated from the Luna Academy with a First, but much else remains a mystery. It is clear, however, that he briefly took command of Enterprise during the ill-fated Operation Retribution and, in the aftermath, was recognized as an officer of rare promise. Indeed, like so many other youngsters in these troubled times, his rise up the ranks was rapid. War was no respecter of deadwood; hundreds of older officers, men who had gained their postings through patronage and connections rather than merit, had been killed in the early stages of the Justinian War. By the time Admiral Drake led his fleet into Justinian’s home system, Roman Garibaldi had assumed command of a starship.
Unknown to either Drake or Garibaldi, the Grand Senate had come to fear Drake as much as they had feared Admiral Justinian and his fellows. Accordingly, as soon as Drake defeated Admiral Justinian once and for all, they ordered an assassin, attached to Drake’s staff, to kill him. The assassin missed: Drake’s closest friend died saving his life. In his anger and rage, Admiral Drake led his fleet back to Earth, deposed the Grand Senate and took power for himself. After declaring himself Emperor Marius, he killed the final members of the Grand Senate personally. It was an unusual move that underscored just how different the new regime was to be.
It did not bring peace. Unknown to the Federation, a powerful alliance of humans and aliens was lurking just outside the Federation’s borders. The Outsider Federation had taken advantage of the Justinian War to lay its final plans for an offensive that would shatter the Federation, freeing hundreds of thousands of worlds from its grasp. As Roman Garibaldi assumed command of Fifth Fleet, the Outsiders moved, launching an invasion of Federation space.
Already weakened, the Federation reeled under their blows. The economy, pushed to the limits by the Grand Senate, started to collapse, despite everything an increasingly desperate Emperor Marius could do. Political unrest and strikes mushroomed through the Core Worlds, while thousands of out-worlds joined the Outsiders or declared independence. Indeed, given his example, there was no shortage of military personnel wondering if they could take power for themselves. 
Hope shone, it seemed, when Admiral Garibaldi won the Battle of Boston, stopping the Outsider advance dead in its tracks. The Outsiders reeled in shock, contemplating — for the first time — that they might lose the war. Emperor Marius traveled to Boston, where he met Admiral Garibaldi; together, they led an offensive towards Nova Athena, homeworld of one of the Outsider Federation’s known leaders. But there, faced with defiance, Emperor Marius ordered the bombardment of the enemy world, threatening to exterminate uncounted billions of lives. Admiral Garibaldi moved to stop him...
... And the maddened Emperor opened fire on Garibaldi’s ships, then retreated.
The stage was set for the final confrontation between the two greatest men of their generation... and a war that would determine, once and for all, the future of the Federation.

Chapter One

In the end, personal loyalty proved to be more important to the Federation Navy than its ideals or the Federation Constitution. But then, perhaps that was not surprising. The only way to rise in the ranks was through joining a senior officer’s patronage network. Being promoted on merit was a thing of the past.
—The Federation Navy in Retrospect, 4199

Nova Athena, 4101
The universe had turned upside down, once again. 
“The Outsider shuttle is approaching, sir,” Lieutenant Sofia Thompson reported. She looked up from her console in the CIC. “They’ll land in the shuttlebay in five minutes.”
“Have the passengers scanned thoroughly before allowing them to enter the ship,” Admiral Roman Garibaldi ordered, numbly. “Once they’re cleared, bring them to the briefing compartment under guard.”
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said. She frowned. “Sir... they might not like being scanned and searched.”
Roman laughed, harshly. “And I don’t like running the risk of someone bringing an antimatter bomb onto the ship,” he said. “We’re not going to take chances.”
He looked up at the console, watching grimly as the boxy shuttlecraft approached the massive superdreadnaught. No matter what he said, he doubted the Outsiders would try anything so stupid — Valiant was hardly the only superdreadnaught in Fifth Fleet — but he wouldn’t have believed that Emperor Marius would attempt to commit genocide either. A great many certainties had toppled since Admiral Justinian had launched his attack on Earth nine years ago, sparking off a series of increasingly-bitter civil wars. And the Outsiders, his enemies up until an hour ago, had to be almost as confused as he was.
The shuttle vanished from the display as it landed in the shuttlebay. Roman watched through the monitors as armed marines surrounded the craft, then motioned for the occupants to come out with their hands clearly visible. Everyone was jumpy, now that they were caught in the middle of yet another civil war. Roman had made a career out of knowing what to do at the right time, but he honestly wasn’t sure what to do now. He and his fleet were renegades, to all intents and purposes; he wondered, absently, just how many of his crewmen were considering burying a blade in his back. Bringing his head back to Earth would be certain to earn his assassin a rich reward.
Or a date with a firing squad, he thought, mordantly. The Emperor has become increasingly irrational.
He shuddered at the thought. Emperor Marius — Admiral Drake, as he’d been at the time — had seemed a strong leader, the sort of person Roman could follow into the fire without hesitation. Roman had wanted to be like him, even as he’d started to build a legend of his own. And he’d followed Admiral Drake until he’d been promoted and given command of Fifth Fleet. Even then, he’d wanted to make Emperor Marius proud of him. He would have done anything for his mentor...
Except commit genocide, he thought. In hindsight, there had been far too many worrying signs before Professor Kratman came to see him. God alone knew what had happened to the Outsider POWs, but after the Battle of Nova Athena he wouldn’t have bet money on them surviving for long. I couldn’t kill billions of humans on his command.
His intercom buzzed. “Admiral,” Elf said. His Marine CO — and his lover — sounded efficient, as always. “We have two guests: Senator Chang Li, the former Representative from Nova Athena and General Charlie Stuart. The remainder of the crew are the shuttle’s pilots.”
“Have the pilots held for the moment,” Roman ordered. “Is the shuttle itself safe?”
“Yes, Admiral,” Elf said. “There’s nothing more dangerous than a pair of fuel cells and a couple of pistols.”
Roman let out a breath. An antimatter warhead would be shrugged off by the ship’s shields, if it detonated outside the hull, but a bomb that detonated inside the ship would blow them all to atoms. The Outsiders had to know they’d lost the war — or that they had, before Emperor Marius opened fire on their world — and they might have taken advantage of the brief truce to destroy Valiant. What hope did they have, other than the vague prospect of clawing the Federation as they went down?
“Take Chang and the General to the briefing compartment,” he ordered, tiredly. He wanted — needed — a rest, but he knew he wasn’t going to get one. “I’ll join you there in a moment.”
He closed the channel, then looked at the display. Hundreds of icons were scattered around the system; Fifth Fleet, surrounded by a cloud of starfighters, kept its distance from the remaining Outsider ships and planetary defenses. God alone knew what would happen, if some jumpy idiot pushed a firing key. Roman knew, deep inside, that the only real hope for survival was an alliance. But even that wouldn’t be enough to save them, if Emperor Marius acted quickly. Roman knew, all too well, just how easy it would be for the Emperor to snatch the fleet train, then Boston itself. Losing the fleet base would doom his fleet to eventual irrelevance.
Unless the Outsiders can supply us, he thought. But they can barely supply themselves.
“Inform Captain Palter that he has tactical command of the fleet,” he ordered. “He is to hold position and wait for orders, unless we come under attack. If so, he is to break contact as fast as possible and head for the system limits.”
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said.
Roman sighed, then rose and walked through the hatch, passing the armored marine who stood outside. The corridor beyond was deserted, the crew at their combat stations... he wondered, suddenly, just what would happen when the red alert finally came to an end and crewmen started to talk. There would be crewmen, he was sure, who would think nothing of genocide, who would care little for Outsider lives if their deaths ended a pitiless war. And some of them would be loyalists, loyal to Emperor Marius. A handful might even have been covertly inserted onto his crew to watch Roman himself.
His hand dropped to the sidearm at his belt as he walked down the empty corridor, even though he was sure he was alone. The crew was armed; they’d faced enemies intent on actually boarding starships several times in the past. If even a handful thought to mutiny against his authority, either in the Emperor’s name or merely to prevent another round of civil war, there was going to be a bloodbath. He wasn’t even sure he could count on the loyalty of the marines...
Elf will keep them in line, he thought. But where will she stand?
It was a bitter thought. The marines prided themselves on being loyal to the Federation, on standing up for its values even as everyone else abandoned them. He had no reason to doubt Elf’s loyalty to the Federation, but what would she make of it now, after Emperor Marius had tried to commit genocide? It wasn’t as if they’d fired on aliens! 
She’d tell me if she thought I was wrong, he thought. They’d been lovers for almost a decade. I can trust her.
He paused outside the hatch, taking a moment to gather himself, then opened the hatch and stepped into the briefing compartment. Elf stood against the bulkhead, wearing her light combat armor and carrying a plasma rifle in one hand; two other marines, wearing heavier armor, stood against the far wall. Senator Chang Li and General Stuart sat at the table, both looking tired and wary. Roman couldn’t help thinking, as he cast his eyes over Stuart, that the Outsiders preferred far more practical uniforms than the Federation Navy. Stuart’s uniform looked to be almost completely devoid of fancy gold braid.
“Senator, General,” he said. “I am Admiral Garibaldi. Welcome onboard Valiant.”
He studied them both as they rose. Chang Li was shorter than he’d expected, from her file; her long dark hair framed a middle-aged Oriental face. She’d been a Senator on Earth, he recalled; she’d been the sole Senator from the out-worlds before Admiral Justinian had launched his attack on Earth. Roman reminded himself not to underestimate her or her people, even though the Federation Navy had won the engagement. The Outsiders had to have been plotting their campaign long before Admiral Justinian started a civil war.
And the Emperor had some inkling there were unfriendly alien races out beyond the Rim, he thought. It couldn’t have made it any easier to deal with the Outsiders when they finally showed themselves.
General Stuart was a complete unknown, according to the files; indeed, only a handful of data packets from deep-cover agents had provided any information at all. He’d been the enemy commander at Athena and Boston, putting Roman to flight in his first major engagement; the Outsiders, it seemed, hadn’t adopted the Grand Senate’s policy of shooting defeated admirals out of hand. It would give Stuart a chance to learn from the mistakes that had led to defeat at Boston, assuming the war didn’t end quickly. And Stuart looked reassuringly competent. Roman just hoped Stuart was competent enough to make up for his earlier mistakes.
“Admiral,” Chang Li said. “Thank you for receiving us.”
Roman shrugged, not entirely sure what to say. He’d assumed, prior to the battle, that he — or Emperor Marius — would be dictating surrender terms, hopefully ending the Outsider War once and for all. But instead... he was forced into an alliance with his former enemies, now that the Emperor had gone mad. Roman couldn’t help feeling torn between two competing loyalties; Marius Drake, the man who had sponsored him, and the ideals of the Federation, the ideals he’d upheld even as others had abandoned them. 
And the Emperor did try to kill us, he thought, grimly. If it had been just him, he would have taken a starship and fled beyond the Rim, but he knew he wouldn’t be the only target of the Empire’s wrath. We don’t have any choice; we must fight.
“The Emperor has gone mad,” he said, bluntly. He had never been a diplomat. “He was prepared to fire on your homeworld.”
“I know,” Chang Li said. Her voice was oddly accented, something that surprised him. “I thank you for saving my people.”
“At the cost of putting my people into terrible danger,” Roman said. He had no illusions about their chances of success. Even if the Emperor didn’t take and hold Boston, forcing him into a direct offensive though the system’s Asimov Points, they’d have problems battering their way to Earth before the Federation’s superior industry took effect. “The Emperor has to be stopped.”
“We agree,” Chang Li said. She cocked her head, perhaps in recognition of his concerns. “I am prepared to offer your fleet all the support we can provide.”
“That would be useful,” Roman said. “But what can you provide?”
“Relatively little,” General Stuart said. His voice was gruff. “We lost too many ships at Boston, Admiral. I believe that was your work.”
Roman nodded, curtly. He wasn’t about to apologize for winning a battle, even though the consequences had come back to haunt him. He’d baited a trap and the Outsiders had fallen into it, giving him an excellent chance to tear their fleet apart. And he’d weakened them so badly that the counterattack hadn’t met any serious challenge until it had crossed the stardrive limits and attacked Nova Athena itself.
“There’s no point in dredging up the past,” Chang Li said. “We must look to the future.”
“Of course,” Roman said. “What can you offer us?”
“Right now, four battle squadrons and a few hundred smaller ships,” General Stuart told him, shortly. “Our fleet train, thankfully, remains largely intact.”
“Assuming the crews don’t desert when they realize just what they’re facing,” Chang Li added.
“The Federation is unlikely to show any mercy to independent freighters supporting the Outsiders,” Roman pointed out. “Tell them that all will be forgiven if they help us win.”
He sighed, inwardly. In hindsight, the Grand Senate’s policies — their semi-legal monopoly over interstellar shipping within the core worlds — had driven hundreds of thousands of independent shippers out to the Rim. They’d signed up with the Outsiders and started hauling supplies for them, while the Federation Navy was forced to depend on a badly weakened fleet train. The Grand Senate had chosen to concentrate on building warships, rather than the logistics the navy needed to support them. But then, until recently, the Federation Navy had been able to depend on a network of bases throughout explored and settled space.
“And what will happen,” General Stuart asked warily, “if we do win?”
Roman understood, just for a second, the maddening problem facing Emperor Marius. The Federation’s problems were impossibly vast, far too great for a single man to fix. And yet, tearing the Federation apart would be just as bad. Humanity hadn’t survived a number of alien threats by being disunited. 
And, come to think of it, he thought, what do we do about their alien allies?
He cursed under his breath. Humanity had long since abandoned the curse of racism, at least against their fellow humans, but it was a rare human who would agree that aliens should have equal rights. The memories of the First Interstellar War ran deep, even though it had been almost two thousand years ago. Aliens weren’t welcome on human worlds; hell, they were rarely welcome on their own homeworlds. And the Outsiders had managed to drum up at least two alien races that were willing to fight alongside them against the Federation. It would be easy for Emperor Marius to turn the war into a crusade against aliens and their human dupes...
Of course he can, he thought, grimly. The process was already underway by the time we won the Battle of Boston.
“I think we should settle that after the fighting is over,” he said, flatly. He didn’t want to rule, but was there any choice? Sundering the Federation would be disastrous. “The Emperor still has a great many advantages. We may wind up merely prolonging the war.”
“Agreed,” Chang Li said. She shot her comrade an unreadable look. “We can determine how the future will look once we know we will have a future.”
Roman nodded in agreement, then leaned forward. “How quickly can you get your ships here?”
General Stuart looked uncomfortable, sweat prickling on his forehead as his eyes darted around the compartment. It couldn’t be easy, Roman knew, discussing classified information with someone who’d been on the other side until literally two hours ago. Hell, he didn’t find it easy. He just knew there was no choice; his crews would die unless they won the war and saved themselves. It crossed his mind, as he waited for Stuart to answer, that Admiral Drake had faced the same problem after the Grand Senate had tried to kill him.
And they did kill his closest friend, he thought. Emperor Marius had never been quite the same afterwards. Did losing Tobias push him off the deep end?
“We should be able to assemble most of the remaining ships within a month, perhaps less,” Stuart said, carefully. “But that will open up some of the systems we hold to counterattacks.”
“There’s less danger of that than you might think,” Roman assured him. “We massed most of the Federation ships in the sector at Boston for the counteroffensive.”
“Unless the Emperor sends out new orders on the way home,” Stuart pointed out.
Roman shrugged. There were hundreds of stage-one colony worlds along the Rim, dozens of which had changed hands several times since the war began. None of them were useful, save perhaps as a source of untrained manpower; there was little to be gained by wasting time and effort capturing them for the umpteenth time. The Asimov Points, on the other hand, would be useful, but the Emperor didn’t have the mobile forces — yet — to secure them.
He expended too many of the stockpiled fortresses to secure the routes to the core, he thought, darkly. It would be a headache he’d have to deal with, if he lived that long, but for the moment it was a blessing. We were planning to secure the other Asimov Points as we consolidated, after winning at Nova Athena.
“It shouldn’t matter,” he said, out loud. “The key to victory has been what it always has, ever since the First Interstellar War. The capture or destruction of the enemy’s productive capabilities.”
He looked straight at Chang Li. “How much can you produce, and how quickly?”
“Our missiles and ships are better, ton for ton, than their Federation counterparts,” Chang Li assured him. Roman nodded, impatiently. He’d been on the receiving end of Outsider technical ingenuity more than once. “However, we simply cannot match the Federation’s sheer weight of production. I’ll give you the complete figures, if you wish, but... well, we can only produce a tenth of the missiles they can produce in the same time period, even though our facilities are more efficient.”
“Assuming that their production nodes don’t suffer from more disruptions,” Stuart offered, ruefully. “There were a lot of strikes over the last two years.”
“Which were broken,” Chang Li reminded him.
“Even so, the workers weren’t exactly enthusiastic about the whole affair,” Stuart said. “I suspect their production has been quietly nose-diving for months.”
“They’ll do whatever it takes to get it back up again,” Roman said, quietly. “We need to move fast.”
He keyed a switch, displaying a starchart. “I’m going to take Fifth Fleet back to Spinner,” he added, after a moment. “If the Emperor has secured Boston, retaking the system will be an incredibly costly battle. I don’t dare give him the time to dig in.”
“Understood,” Stuart said.
“You two can return to the planet, then organize your ships to meet us at Spinner,” Roman said. “Assuming we can retake Boston, we can push onwards to Earth as quickly as possible, before the Emperor has a chance to rally his defenses.”
Chang Li blinked. “You intend to take the offensive so quickly?”
“There’s no choice,” Roman said. Stuart nodded in agreement. “If we don’t take the offensive now, he’ll take advantage of his production capabilities and crush us like bugs.”

Chapter Two

This tended to ensure that officers stayed with their patrons, even when their patrons threw themselves into rebellion against their superiors — or the Federation itself.
—The Federation Navy in Retrospect, 4199

Von Doom System, 4101
Betrayed.
He’d been betrayed.
Marius Drake, Emperor of the Federation, Chief Naval Officer of the Federation Navy, sat in his darkened cabin, brooding. He’d been betrayed. Roman Garibaldi, his protégé, the young man whose career he’d mentored until Garibaldi had finally reached flag rank, had betrayed him. And, in doing so, had saved the Outsiders from defeat. The chance to burn them out of existence, once and for all, had been lost. Garibaldi had ensured that the war would go on and on...
I thought I could trust him, Drake thought. He’d believed in the younger man’s loyalty to the Federation and Marius personally. God knew Garibaldi had been a mere cadet, if one of considerable promise, before the Justinian War had begun. Lacking connections, he should have put the Federation before political concerns. But instead he’d betrayed the Federation to its enemies. I thought I could trust him!
Raw, bitter anger welled up within Marius’s heart. The Federation’s unity was sacrosanct; human unity was all that stood between the human race and the hundreds of alien threats lurking beyond the Rim. He could not — he would not — tolerate any thought of sundering the Federation, of granting the Outsiders the independence they sought. It would only weaken humanity against the true threats. And indeed, had the Outsiders not made common cause with two alien races? In doing so, they had sold out the rest of the human race. They were beyond redemption!
They have to die, he thought, too tired to sit upright, let alone stand. It was hard, so hard, to muster the energy not to fall back into the darkness. He knew he should eat, get some proper sleep, but his thoughts were too agitated to allow himself to rise. They have to be destroyed before they destroy us.
He cursed under his breath, wrapped in a mixture of hatred and self-loathing. What had he been thinking when he’d made himself Emperor? Surely, he could have done something — anything — else, something that would have spared him the task of grappling with the falling Federation, of trying to save something from the ruins. But it wasn’t in his nature to abandon a task, once started; he knew he had no choice but to keep fighting. The Outsiders had been badly weakened, after all. Even the addition of Fifth Fleet to their forces wouldn’t save them in the long run.
Unless they have more allies out there, he thought. And unless Roman manages to pull off a miracle.
Drake shuddered in anger. Roman Garibaldi had a talent, a positive talent, for finding ways to get into and out of trouble. No doubt his talent would continue to work, even as he switched sides... had he wanted to be Emperor himself? Or had he been a covert Outsider sympathizer all along? He’d certainly raised doubts about taking the POWs back to Earth for interrogation, then public execution. Had he been working for the Outsiders even then?
It didn’t feel right, somehow, but it felt like hours before he reasoned it out. Roman couldn’t have been working for the Outsiders, not before the Battle of Boston. A talented admiral — and Marius knew Roman to be a talented admiral — would not have found it hard to lose the battle, perhaps even by surrendering remarkably easily. No, Roman wasn’t driven by love for the Outsiders, but a desire for power himself. No doubt he was already convincing the Outsiders to support him in his own bid for the throne. 
The nasty part of Marius’s mind contemplated that thought with no little amusement. Marius had thought himself used to command — he’d been commanding starships and fleets for decades — but being Emperor had been very different. The Grand Senate had left the Federation in a terrible mess and, no matter what he tried, the economy continued to collapse. Perhaps, if he’d had time, he could have saved the Federation, but the Outsider War had put a stop to that. The irony was almost amusing. He’d taken power at least in part to stop the Grand Senate from destroying the rest of the Federation, only to have no choice but to use the same policies himself. 
That was why I wanted to end it, he thought, grimly. Destroying Nova Athena and its population would have ended the war. Too many lives had already been lost, sacrifices to the greater good. A victory now would give us a chance to breathe.
He looked up, sharply, as a low chime rang through the cabin. Someone was on the other side of the hatch, someone he didn’t know... the marines wouldn’t let someone hostile into the cabin, would they? He thought not; he trusted the marines, but then he’d trusted Roman Garibaldi too. Tobias, his former Marine CO and closest friend, was dead... who knew which way the marines would jump, when push came to shove? They’d already balked at some of the grisly tasks necessary to get the economy back up and running, including a moderate purge of trouble-makers...
The hatch hissed open. Marius winced, a second later, as the lights brightened. If someone on the ship had decided to switch sides... he relaxed, very slightly, as Commander Ginny Lewis came into view. She already knew there was something wrong with him and hadn’t betrayed him, unlike so many others. But how long would that last?
“Emperor?”
Marius almost smiled at the alarm in her voice. The young redhead had shown rare promise — almost as much as the young Garibaldi — but it wouldn’t save her if she were blamed for his condition. Captain Watson wouldn’t hesitate to turn her into a scapegoat, although it wouldn’t save his hide either. God alone knew what would happen to the Federation once Marius was gone. It wasn’t as if there was a clear successor waiting in the wings. Marius had no children, and his wife, for all of her many talents, lacked the military skills to keep the fleet loyal to her. And the civilian government had been crippled decades before Marius’s birth.
“I’m alive,” Marius croaked. He forced himself to sit upright. If Ginny intended to kill him, he could at least meet it with some dignity. “Commander — status report?”
“You need to eat and drink something, if you won’t let me call the medics,” Ginny said, carefully. “Emperor... sir...”
“Not now,” Marius said, stiffly. He didn’t like anyone seeing him so weak; hell, he hated the thought of taking Ginny into his confidence. But there was no choice. “Status report?”
“We’ve just entered the Von Doom system,” Ginny said. “Captain Watson was wondering how you wished to enter Boston.”
“I’m sure he was,” Marius muttered. 
He cursed under his breath. Captain Watson was a solid man, but completely lacking in imagination or initiative. Even in the midst of a war, with deadwood admirals and captains being killed at an unprecedented rate, his rise had been suspiciously slow. But then, he did need authorization in triplicate to go to the head, let alone take command of his superdreadnaught and set course for the nearest star. And to think he’d thought that a lack of imagination was an asset!
“Tell me,” he said. It was hard to think clearly, but he had no choice. “Have we detected any courier drones racing past us?”
“No, sir,” Ginny said. “Fifth Fleet hasn’t attempted to communicate with Boston.”
“Unless they sent the drones the other way,” Marius commented. There were two possible routes to Boston, after all, and Roman Garibaldi would have no trouble deducing which one Marius had taken. “And we have no way of knowing what we’ll encounter at Boston.”
He closed his eyes as a stab of pain burned through his head. Boston had been the linchpin of the Federation’s defenses in the sector. Fifth Fleet had been based there for much of the war and, by straining the already-tottering logistics network to the limits, the navy had built up a powerful network of fixed fortifications. If his fleet had to punch their way into the system, it was going to cost them dearly. They’d expended most of their assault missiles during the flight to Nova Athena.
And if Roman Garibaldi planned to betray me all along, he thought, whoever he left in command is likely to be ready and waiting for us.
There was no choice, of course. If he wanted to get back to Earth in less than five years, he had to use the Asimov Point network. And if he wanted to do that, he had to enter Boston and hope...
“Inform Captain Watson that we are to enter the system as normal, announcing a victory over the Outsiders,” he said. It was time to gamble. If the system’s defenders had no idea what had happened at Nova Athena, they’d hesitate to open fire on his ships. “I do not believe we will be fired upon. Once we’re in the system, head directly for the next Asimov Point.”
“Aye, sir,” Ginny said. “And the system itself?”
Marius took a moment to think. Boston had to remain in friendly hands, if it were at all possible, but he knew he didn’t have the firepower to impose his will on the system. If the local CO — who would be a Garibaldi loyalist, he was sure — put up a fight, all hell was likely to break loose. He dared not die, not now. The Federation he loved would not survive his death.
“Once we enter the system, detach Commodore Palin with orders to take command of the system’s defenses,” he said, carefully. Commodore Hassan Palin had a working brain, which put him ahead of Captain Watson; he should be smart enough to understand the dangers of trying to switch sides now the battle lines had been redrawn. “He is to send messages through the ICN... no, belay that. I’ll write the messages myself.”
“Yes, sir,” Ginny said. “There are gaps in the ICN, though.”
Marius nodded, impatiently. The Outsiders, damn them to hell, had targeted ICN platforms specifically, making it harder for the Federation to coordinate defensive operations on a galactic scale. They had the same problem, of course, but they’d been on the offensive and their homeworlds were largely unknown. The Federation could capture every world that had willingly joined the Outsiders, once the war had begun, and yet get no closer to final victory.
“The messages can also be relayed on the base’s courier boats,” he said, tartly. He tried to stand, but his body betrayed him and fell back into the chair. “They can take it to worlds and systems outside the network.”
“Yes, sir,” Ginny said. She held out a hand. “Should I help you up?”
“No,” Marius said. He gathered himself and tried to stand again. His legs felt weak, as if he was about to fall over at any second, but somehow he managed to remain balanced. “I’m not a cripple...”
“You should eat, sir,” Ginny said. “How long has it been since you ate or drank anything?”
Marius couldn’t remember. Hell, he wasn’t sure just how long he’d been in the cabin, just how long it had been since they’d blasted away from Nova Athena. The mere thought sent another jolt of pain stabbing though his head. His body had been enhanced thoroughly, first as a naval officer and then as an emperor, but he needed food and rest, perhaps not in that order. Ginny was right; he should go see the medics... yet he was too stubborn. The old distrust of starship doctors, the fear that they would relieve him of duty for not attending his physical exam, rose up in his mind. He knew he didn’t dare show weakness to anyone outside his trusted circle.
And how many of them, his own thoughts mocked him, can you trust?
He shuddered, almost losing his balance as he tottered over to the desk. He’d trusted Blake Raistlin and the young man had nearly killed him, on orders from his familial superiors. And he’d trusted Roman Garibaldi, who’d shared the same graduating class as Blake Raistlin. He made a mental note to check what had happened to the others from that class — given the attrition of two wars, there was a good chance that most of them were dead — and he sat down, feeling his legs buckle underneath him. It was unlikely he could have remained standing for much longer.
“I’ll find some food for you, sir,” Ginny said. “There’s normally something held in stasis...”
“Pass on the orders to Captain Watson first,” Marius ordered. He didn’t need food that quickly — besides, it would be a mistake to let the captain think he was incapable of command. Watson’s subordinates might have their own ideas about the future. “And then go fetch something to eat.”
He watched Ginny go, trying not to notice how her tight trousers showed off her behind. He was married, married to one of the few people he trusted... but could he trust her, really? If Tiffany was planning to betray him, too...
You have to trust someone, his own thoughts reminded him. And Tiffany could have betrayed you to her family years ago, if she’d wanted you dead.
It wasn’t a pleasant thought. Tiffany was only his because her family had pushed her into marrying him, since they believed he needed a link to the Grand Senate. They hadn’t realized that Tiffany and he would wind up in an alliance to survive, or fall in love, that their marriage would become far more than just another marriage of convenience. But now, if Roman Garibaldi had betrayed him, would Tiffany do the same?
I have to get back to Earth, he thought. It’s the only way to win.
Every instinct, honed by decades of fighting the Federation’s wars, told him to take command of Boston, replenish his ships and meet Roman Garibaldi’s offensive when it came. Roman knew the laws of interstellar combat as well as Drake did; Garibaldi would know the only hope for victory was to overrun the Federation before Marius could rebuild the economy and deploy newer and better weapons from the research stations. He had to move quickly if he wanted to survive...
But if he stayed at Boston, he risked losing control of his flank.
He cursed, savagely. His attention was required in too many places, too many for him to handle personally... and yet, he couldn’t delegate responsibility to anyone else. Who could he trust? He’d promoted Roman Garibaldi over the heads of officers with more seniority, more time in grade, because he’d trusted the younger man. Now, Roman had betrayed him and... and there were no others he dared trust. He’d have to double and triple-check his precautions, just to make sure no one else could stick a knife in his back...
It struck him, suddenly, that the Grand Senate must have felt the same way. The thought made him giggle, realizing that matters had come full circle. He was now playing the same role as the Grand Senate, trying to protect the status quo while young and ambitious officers sought to destroy it. And if Roman Garibaldi had his way, Marius would be removed, just like the Grand Senate. 
And Roman might even shoot him in the head — personally.
The hatch hissed open again, revealing a harassed-looking Ginny carrying a tray. “The guards insisted on me tasting everything first,” she said, as she put the tray on the table and removed the cover. Marius’s stomach rumbled as he smelled the food. “Don’t they trust me?”
“They don’t trust anyone,” Marius said, as he picked up the fork. It was unlikely that anyone had managed to slip poison into his food, but too many unlikely things had happened recently. A toxin keyed to Marius personally, thankfully, would be well beyond the reach of most would-be assassins. “But with food like this, I wonder why anyone would bother adding poison.”
He smiled as he took a bite of the food. Naval rations had never been very good, thanks to the Grand Senate ordering foodstuffs from the lowest or most-favored bidder. Indeed, he’d heard of hundreds of crews that had been discontented, before the Justinian War, because their commanding officers had been selling off the rations and, somehow, buying even worse food supplies on the black market. That, at least, had been one thing he’d been able to fix once he’d assumed control of the Federation. Making sure that captains and flag officers had to eat the same food as the lowest of crewmen had probably helped.
But you did host a feast for your officers before you departed Boston, his own thoughts reminded him. Did you make sure the lower decks got the same food then?
“It’s a great improvement,” Ginny said, carefully. “Although I’m not exactly sure what it is.”
“As long as it’s edible and reasonably tasty, it doesn’t matter,” Marius said. He’d spent most of his adult life on one starship or another. Most spacers preferred to draw a veil over precisely where most recycled food came from. “All that matters is that it will help keep you alive.”
“I still think you should go to sickbay, sir,” Ginny said. “You’re not well.”
“I can’t afford to leave my post,” Marius said. He cursed under his breath. Captain Watson could handle a transit through an Asimov Point, but if even a handful of ships tried to bar their path... he doubted the captain could deal with it. “And I have too much work to do.”
He finished his meal, then reached for his console. “Inform me when we are two hours from the Boston Asimov Point,” he ordered. “Until then, I have planning to do.”
“You should sleep,” Ginny said. “Sir...”
Marius felt a hot flash of anger. “I don’t have time,” he snapped. “Dismissed.”
Ginny saluted, then hastily beat a retreat through the hatch. Marius watched her go, then reached into his uniform pocket for the packet of pills. There were dangers in using them too often, he knew all too well, but there was no choice. He needed to stay awake.
Popping a pill into his mouth, he tapped the console and started to work.

Chapter Three

When a senior officer was deserving of such loyalty, it worked in their favor — but, when they weren’t, it only made the problems facing the Federation worse.
—The Federation Navy in Retrospect, 4199

Nova Athena, 4101
“You’re being very quiet,” Roman observed.
“I wish I had something to say,” Elf replied. They stood together in the CIC, looking up at the giant display. Fifth Fleet was reversing course and powering out towards the system limits, where it would slip into stardrive for the short jaunt to the nearest Asimov Point. “I wish I knew which way to jump.”
Roman cocked his head at her. “Could you accept attempted genocide?”
Elf shook her head. “There’s a difference between collateral damage, however unfortunate, and the deliberate slaughter of billions of innocents,” she said, firmly. “But I just worry about the future.”
Roman nodded, curtly. There was no point in trying to hide what they’d done. They’d gone into rebellion against the Federation, against the Emperor... just like Admiral Justinian and the other warlords. And if they didn’t succeed in defeating Emperor Marius, they would be hunted down and killed as the Federation’s vastly-greater war industry swamped them in production. He hadn’t had time to sit down and properly simulate the war, although experience had told him that simulations were rarely useful, but he had a feeling he knew what the predicted outcome would be. The Federation would win the war.
“And then there’s the Outsiders,” Elf said. “Do you really trust them?”
“I trust them to act in their own self-interest,” Roman said. It was easy to blame the Outsiders for kicking the Federation while it was down, but they’d probably suspected they would never have a better chance for outright victory. And they were probably right. “And what happens after the war...”
“You need a plan to determine what will happen afterwards, if we win,” Elf said curtly, as his words tailed off. “You need to decide what you want to happen before someone else decides it for you.”
Roman shook his head, although he knew she was right. He’d been a RockRat, then a Federation Navy officer... he wasn’t a politician or a planetary governor. He’d thought Emperor Marius could handle the task of reforming the Federation, but it had evidently driven the older man mad. There was no way he wanted to spend the rest of his life as emperor, trapped on Earth while trying to fix the damage of centuries of mismanagement and deliberate malice.
“You need to think about these details,” Elf pressed. “The Outsiders will certainly have a plan for the post-war universe.”
Marius had said, back during one of their private meetings, that the Federation’s great strength was its unity. They’d fought the Inheritance Wars to make it clear that the Federation was not going to be sundered. Indeed, even Admiral Justinian had moved to claim the seat of power, rather than separate his sector from the Federation... although, towards the end of the war, he might have had other ideas. But the Outsiders... they wanted to break the Federation up completely, even welcome aliens into the fold. 
And we won’t know if we can trust the aliens, he thought, numbly. We would have another civil war over the issue.
“I can see why the problem drove Emperor Marius mad,” he said, finally. “How are we supposed to handle it ourselves?”
He cursed under his breath as he looked at the starchart, showing the quickest route back to Boston. There were no precautions in place to keep Marius from taking control of the base, then turning its formidable defenses against Fifth Fleet. Roman knew the defenses intimately — he’d designed the defense grid himself — and there was no easy way to push through the Asimov Point. It would be a brutal engagement that would cost him dearly, yet there was little choice. The cold equations that had pushed the Outsiders into attacking Boston, despite knowing they were slamming into the teeth of his defenses, applied to him too. If he wanted to break through into the Core Worlds, he needed Boston...
... And Emperor Marius would know it too.
“We may not survive long enough to discuss the future of the Federation,” he said, turning away from the display. “We can worry about the future after we win the war.”
“A mistake,” Elf said.
Roman nodded, ruefully. “We need to concentrate on winning the war first,” he said. “I can’t get distracted like Admiral Stilicho.”
“I suppose,” Elf said.
She looked doubtful, but he knew she understood. Admiral Stilicho had commanded the Federation Navy’s invasion force during the early stages of the Blue Star War, a war the Federation should have won easily. Indeed, Admiral Stilicho had been so confident of a walkover that he spent more time planning the victory parade on Earth and handing out patronage to his junior officers than preparing for the war. His masterstroke had turned into a military disaster on a scale unseen since the Battle of Spider Bite and, fortunately for him, he hadn’t survived the first engagement. Roman had no intention of repeating the same mistake.
Because Emperor Marius is a skilled officer who beat Admiral Justinian, even when taken by surprise, Roman thought. He won’t hesitate to take advantage of any of my mistakes.
“And that leads to another problem,” he said. “The loyalty of our crews.”
“I’ve stationed marines throughout the decks, ensuring the lockdown stays firmly in place,” Elf assured him. “I doubt anyone can put together a plan to mutiny before we’re halfway to Boston.”
Roman scowled. He hated the thought of enforcing loyalty at gunpoint. It would be easy, too easy, for his crewmen to work at a deliberate pace, even when the ship was under fire. He couldn’t allow it to risk their chances when push came to shove. Emperor Marius already held too many cards for it to be tolerated.
“I need to speak to them,” he said. He keyed a console. “Record.”
“Recording,” the console said.
Roman took a moment to gather his thoughts, then began. “This is Admiral Garibaldi,” he said, carefully. By now, lockdown or no lockdown, word of the brief and savage engagement would have spread through the fleet. There was no point in trying to lie. “Emperor Marius attempted to bombard Nova Athena with antimatter weapons, ensuring the destruction of all life on her surface. When I tried to talk him out of it, he opened fire on Fifth Fleet.”
He scowled at the thought. Three years of warfare against the Outsiders — and their alien allies — had worn down the fleet’s desire to remain true to the Federation’s ideals. It was quite likely that a large percentage of his crew, even a majority, would think that exterminating the entire population of Nova Athena was a good thing, even though it would be a monstrous act. They’d psyched themselves up for a final battle, one that would end the war...
But it wouldn’t. Even if Nova Athena had surrendered, even if Emperor Marius had accepted the surrender without bombarding the planet, the other Outsider worlds and bases were still a complete mystery. The war would have dragged on for years before every last Outsider was hunted down and killed.
“The Emperor has gone mad,” he said, picking his words carefully. “He has already declared us — all of us — outlaws. Our only hope, to save both our lives and something of the Federation, is to overthrow him as quickly as possible. Towards this end, I have forged an alliance with the Outsiders.”
He paused, again. There was no point in trying to hide the truth, but it was chancy. A crewman who would otherwise have supported him might think twice, after learning that he was meant to work with the alien-loving Outsiders. Or someone who had a more personal grudge... the Outsiders had killed hundreds of thousands of naval personnel in their war, all of whom would have left friends and family behind. And, with sidearms issued to all personnel, a bloody mutiny at the worst possible time might end the war.
“I know this won’t be easy to accept,” he added, “but I see no choice. The Emperor has to be stopped.
“Once we return to Boston, those of you who are unwilling to take up arms against the Emperor can make yourselves known to my officers. You will be shipped to Boston itself, to remain out of the fighting until the end of the war. If the Emperor wins, you will be held blameless” — he hoped that was true — “and can resume your duties. And, if we win, nothing more will be said about the matter.”
He took a long breath. “I know this won’t be easy for many of us,” he concluded. “Please make up your mind during the voyage to Boston, then let me know what you want to do.”
“Good enough,” Elf said, as he stopped the recording. “Maybe not the sweetest speech I’ve heard, but one from the heart.”
Roman nodded, curtly. He knew he’d have problems with manpower — far too many officers and crew thought the Emperor was the greatest thing that had ever happened to the Federation Navy — but he wasn’t about to force men to go into battle against their will.
“I’ll transmit it through the fleet,” he said. “Do you foresee any other problems?”
“There will be agents inserted into the fleet,” Elf said. “They’re not likely to bow out and stay on Boston.”
“I know,” Roman said. “Can you ID them?”
“Not easily,” Elf said. “Once, it would have been easy, but now... with so much manpower washing around the Federation...”
Roman winced. Manpower — skilled manpower — had been a major problem for years, thanks to the Grand Senate’s policies on education. Emperor Marius hadn’t even begun to fix the problems with the educational establishment, but at least he’d been able to ensure that skilled engineers and technicians were encouraged to train others in how to maintain starships. Even so, vast numbers of skilled officers had been moved from ship to ship, making it impossible for a counter-intelligence team to look for the signs of an infiltrator. There were just too many officers and men who fit the profile.
“Just keep an eye out for trouble,” he said. He wasn’t too worried about agitators — the chiefs would deal with them — but an operative who kept his head down while plotting trouble was far more dangerous. “And we’ll do what we can to encourage them to switch sides.”
He keyed the console, sending the recording into the communications network, then called Lieutenant Thompson back into the CIC. She looked refreshed — she’d managed to snatch a couple of hours of sleep, something that had eluded both Roman and Elf — and took her place at the console without hesitation. Elf nodded curtly to Roman and strode towards the hatch, which hissed open at her approach. Roman just hoped she found time to have a nap before they reached Boston.
“Admiral,” Lieutenant Thompson said. “I have a full status report from the fleet.”
“Show me,” Roman ordered. “And then reshuffle our damaged ships to the rear.”
The display updated rapidly, showing him the remains of Fifth Fleet. It was an impressive collection of firepower — thanks to modern technology, it was more powerful than the mighty fleet that had been sent off on Operation Retribution — but it had taken a beating, thanks to the Emperor. Only five battle squadrons could claim to be at full readiness, the remainder no longer capable of flank speed or raising shields. Repair crews were already swarming over their hulls, but it would take weeks — at least — to get them ready to go back into the fire.
I don’t want to leave them here, with the Outsiders, he thought. He knew he didn’t dare trust the Outsiders completely, not when they were allied with aliens. We just have to hope we can move them back to Boston... and that we aren’t greeted with a hail of missiles.
“Captain Hammond and Captain Tromie both claim their ships are still capable of combat operations,” Lieutenant Thompson informed him. “However, their engineers disagree.”
“Tell them they’re assigned to protect the cripples,” Roman said, curtly. He didn’t want to send a damaged ship through a potentially-hostile Asimov Point, no matter what the commanding officer thought. “And make sure they can establish a combat datanet with the remaining ships. We need to maximize our advantages.”
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said.
Roman sat back, thinking hard. He didn’t blame the captains for wanting to remain in the fight, even against ships that had been friendly a few hours ago. Far too many decent officers had been cashiered, or had their careers frozen, for not being aggressive enough in the eyes of their superiors. But there was aggression and then there was a foolhardy desire to take a crippled ship into the maelstrom of modern war. It could not be allowed.
He pushed the thought aside as he tapped his console. “Order nineteen courier boats readied for dispatch,” he said. “I’ll be recording a message for them personally, which they are to upload into what remains of the ICN as they pass through the sector.”
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said.
“And make sure their commanders are aware of the importance of avoiding contact with Emperor Marius and his ships,” Roman added. “The last thing they want — or need — is to be caught by the Emperor.”
“Aye, sir,” Thompson said, again.
Roman bent over his console, trying to think how best to compose a message to the other fleet admirals scattered around the Federation. It was unlikely, to say the least, that any of them would declare war on Emperor Marius — he’d put most of them in command personally — but he had to try. Fifth Fleet was the most powerful formation in the Federation Navy — in raw tonnage, she was more powerful than Home Fleet — yet she was grossly outgunned. He hated to think of what it would cost him as he fought his way through one defended Asimov Point after another, bleeding his fleet white as he advanced slowly towards Earth. By the time he reached the Gateway, the Asimov Point that led to Earth, he’d have hardly any ships left.
And some of them may see value in attempting to revolt, he thought, grimly. They may even see what I’m doing as just another revolt.
He scowled at the thought. How trustworthy were the other fleet admirals? He’d only met a couple of them personally... Emperor Marius might have chosen them for loyalty, rather than competence. But then, Marius would have known the dangers of putting incompetents in command positions. He’d been the one who’d had to save the Retribution Fleet after Fleet Admiral Cuthbert Parkinson had led it into a trap. There was a war on, after all. He wouldn’t have repeated the Grand Senate’s mistake.
The Federation is at stake, he told himself. I have to try to make contact, even if it fails.
He tapped out a message on his console, reread it twice, then attached sensor records up to the moment Emperor Marius had swung his ships around and fled the system. There was nothing there, he was sure, that the Emperor wouldn’t already have, once his analysts went to work sifting through the vast fields of data collected by his starships during the battle. He briefly considered attaching a note of his intentions, then dismissed the thought. The courier boats might well be captured en route...
And yet he’ll know what you have in mind, he thought. The laws of interstellar combat leave me with few options and he knows it.
Roman scowled as another thought occurred to him. If they were lucky, the courier boats would beat the Emperor to Boston, even though the Emperor had a head start. And if that happened... he could warn his second, inform Commodore Sonia Yu that the Emperor’s ships had to be stopped. They could win in an instant, if they trapped or killed the Emperor himself. And yet, he knew it would cause a great deal of confusion. Sonia was a skilled logistics officer, but she was no fighter. 
“Record,” he ordered. “Sonia, things have changed.”
He ran through a brief explanation of what had happened, then uploaded it to the courier boats before they made it out of communications range. It was a gamble — Sonia might side with the Emperor, or waffle long enough for the Emperor to take control of the defenses — but it had to be tried. He just had a nasty feeling the courier boat wouldn’t reach Boston in time to make a difference. The pilot wouldn’t be able to take a least time course if he or she encountered the Emperor’s fleet.
“Message sent, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said.
Roman nodded, then forced himself to relax. There were no emergency alerts, nothing to suggest that his crews were on the verge of mutiny... perhaps, just perhaps, he’d managed to sway most of them to his side. Or, perhaps, they were waiting until the fleet was at Boston before deserting him. What would he do, he asked himself silently, if the fleet lost most of its crewmen? The war would come to an end before it had even fairly begun.
He shrugged, looking up at Nova Athena. The planet’s population knew just how close they’d come to total destruction, but would the rest of the Outsiders? How far could he trust them, too? They had to know he was their only hope for winning the war...
We just have to push on and hope, he told himself, firmly. Because if we stop, the Emperor will have his chance to secure his position and win the war.

Chapter Four

This was not, to be fair, a problem faced by the Outsiders. They handled the vast majority of their promotions purely on merit. Accordingly, their starship crews tended to be more efficient than their Federation counterparts.
—The Federation Navy in Retrospect, 4199

Nova Athena, 4101
“I think I hate you,” Chang Li said.
She glared at General Stuart, who seemed unimpressed as she stepped into his stateroom, the hatch hissing closed behind her. Maybe it was a minor matter, given how sure they’d been that they were about to die, but she was still annoyed. He had defied her direct orders and, even though he’d been trying to save her life, there still had to be a reckoning.
“You had me kidnapped,” she snapped. “And then the shuttle’s power failed, midway through the flight. If the battle had gone differently...”
“I believed you would have died if you’d remained on Nova Athena,” General Stuart said, calmly. “Your death would certainly have upset the fragile coalition —”
“The Outsider Federation is bigger than one woman,” Li insisted. “My death would not have made a difference.”
Carefully, she placed firm controls on her temper. She didn’t like the thought of dying, even in a good cause, but she’d accepted it. Running from danger was bad enough; leaving hundreds of millions of others trapped on the planet’s surface was worse. She might have been the sole survivor of her homeworld, if the Federation had bombarded the planet’s surface. She’d certainly have been the only person to escape the battle.
“I believe your death would have been catastrophic,” General Stuart said. His voice gentled, slightly. “We lack the long history of the Federation, Li. Our defeat at Boston was bad enough to rattle everyone’s cage. We could easily have fragmented after losing you and your homeworld.”
Li scowled. He had a point, but she didn’t want to admit it. She certainly didn’t want to admit that the only reason she would have survived was because her orders had been disobeyed. And yet, she had to admit it had worked out in their favor. She’d been in space, close enough to link up with General Stuart and travel with him to Valiant. They now had hope when, only a few hours ago, they’d had none. 
And yet, they also had one hell of a mess.
But at least we have hope, she reminded herself. I should cling to that.
She sighed inwardly, forcing herself to think. She’d been stunned throughout her stay on the shuttle, but she’d reviewed the files once she’d been awakened. The Federation Navy, on the direct command of their Emperor, had been poised to fire antimatter warheads at her homeworld. She’d have lost her entire family in a handful of seconds. And the only thing that had saved her homeworld from complete destruction had been a mutiny in the enemy’s ranks. Or something. 
She honestly wasn’t entirely sure what had happened. And she didn’t really want to look a gift horse in the mouth.
“Very well,” she said. “Do you think we can trust Admiral Garibaldi?”
“I’ve never met him before this moment, not face-to-face,” General Stuart said. “I thought you were supposed to be the one who was good at reading people.”
Li said nothing, merely raising her eyebrows.
“I think he’s young and earnest,” General Stuart said, after a moment. “And I think he was honestly shocked after the Emperor tried to commit genocide. But he could be very good at masking his thoughts and feelings. Don’t forget, he was a serving officer during the days of the Grand Senate. He wouldn’t have risen in the ranks without the ability to dissemble.”
“Maybe,” Li said. 
She scowled. There was frustratingly little in the files her intelligence staff had collected on Roman Garibaldi — and almost none of it had been gleaned from any method more complex than reading the Federation’s press releases. Ensign Roman Garibaldi had assumed command of Enterprise during Operation Retribution, suggesting either heavy casualties or very powerful connections. But his name didn’t suggest any strong ties to the Grand Senate; indeed, the only patron he had was Marius Drake.
Command of a cruiser at a surprisingly young age, she thought, mentally reviewing what she’d read. No doubt patronage had played a role, but Marius Drake wasn’t — hadn’t been — the type of man to value loyalty over competence. And then a commodore, commander of an entire fleet, and then an admiral. And he tricked us at Boston and kicked our asses right across the system.
“He is competent,” General Stuart said. “But politically... I don’t know what he is.”
Li shook her head. “Can he win the war?”
“With our support, perhaps,” General Stuart said. “Without it, probably not. And then... I don’t know what he’d want to do with the Federation.”
“True,” Li agreed.
She’d hoped, once upon a time, that the Federation could be reformed, that a modicum of justice and fairness could be restored to the system. But she’d found herself blocked at every turn, even when she’d beaten the Grand Senators at their own game and managed to get herself elected to the Grand Senate. She’d thought she’d won a great prize, yet it hadn’t taken her long to sort out just how badly the entire system was rigged. The collected voting power of the out-worlds was of no consequence, compared to the might of the core. And even the destruction of the Grand Senate hadn’t been enough to save the system.
The irony was chilling. She might not have met Roman Garibaldi before the Battle of Nova Athena, but she had met Marius Drake. He’d struck her as a grim bulldog, determined to burn his way through everything standing in his path, yet destruction was no way to reform the Federation. If the reports she’d read were correct, Drake — Emperor Marius — had become the monster he’d sought to kill. He’d found himself forced to destroy the Federation in order to save it.
And after we win the war, she asked herself, what then?
The Outsider Federation had settled on a federal structure for the post-Federation universe, an attempt to keep both human unity and grant hundreds of thousands of worlds autonomy, preventing them from becoming the victims of the federal government. But she knew, all too well, that not every Outsider supported the plan. They hated and feared Earth; they wanted, deep in their hearts, to burn the entire edifice to the ground. And there were times, far too many times, when she found herself agreeing with them. Earth was so far beyond salvation that destroying it was the only option.
But now, with the addition of Roman Garibaldi to their ranks, who knew where he would stand?
“I have a suggestion,” General Stuart said. “We need time — months, at least — to repair our damaged ships and bring the next generation of superdreadnaughts online. Admiral Garibaldi can use that time to secure Boston, hopefully securing his fleet train and the immense stockpile of supplies in the fleet base. It would also get him control of a number of pathways deeper into the Federation.”
Li nodded impatiently. Boston’s importance was no great surprise to her. They’d discussed the system’s role in the enemy’s defenses, back when she’d authorized the attack on Boston that had ended so badly. If Admiral Garibaldi failed to secure the system, all hope of an offensive deeper into enemy space would be lost.
“We provide him with what limited support we can, while waiting for the remainder of our fleet to come back online,” General Stuart added. “If his forces get worn down to a nub... that will make it easier, in the aftermath of the war, for us to determine the future of the Federation.”
“You mean, use his forces to soak up enemy fire,” Li said, flatly. “And turn him into a martyr, if necessary.”
“Yes,” General Stuart said. “He may be too dangerous to be allowed to live.”
Li felt her eyes narrow. She could see the cold-hearted logic of it. The Outsider Navy had been badly weakened after the Battle of Boston and, even with their technical advantages, the Federation Navy would still outgun them rather badly. And even if they won the war, they might just be trading one emperor for another. Worse, a potential Emperor Roman would know the Outsiders far better than Emperor Marius could ever hope to do. He would have had plenty of opportunity to locate every last production node, then send ships out to destroy them. Allowing Garibaldi to weaken himself battering against the enemy’s defenses might work in her favor.
But it was dishonorable.
She had no illusions of just how much Garibaldi had sacrificed, just to save her homeworld from genocide. He ran the risk of being knifed in the back by his own crew — or, perhaps, of being hunted down and shot like a dog. It was no favor, to such a man, to abandon him to the whims of his enemies. Or to use him, praise him, and discard him. She couldn’t allow it to stand.
And he will see what we are doing, too, she thought, bitterly. Nothing could be more certain to harden his heart against us.
“No,” she said. “We will treat him as a full ally, with all the rights and duties that that implies.”
General Stuart frowned. “The risks...”
Li cut him off. “If we lose the war, perhaps because we withheld reinforcements that might have swung the tide of battle in our favor, there will be no point in worrying about the future,” she said, firmly. “And if he believes we are deliberately sending him and his men out to die... well, he might have a very strong incentive to switch sides once again or declare himself an emperor in his own right. I don’t think he’s one of the bad guys.”
“He took our fleet on and beat it,” General Stuart said.
He took your fleet on, Li thought. General Stuart had been in command of the forces that had attacked Boston, only to be lured into an ambush and driven away from the system. It had to sting, losing a battle to a younger man... but then, the Outsiders had had almost no experience of full-scale fleet battles before the war, at least outside simulations. Are you arguing to expend Garibaldi because he’s dangerous or because of your injured pride?
“That doesn’t make him a bad guy,” she said, instead. “Besides, if we refuse to accept him, don’t we have to throw out all the former Federation Navy personnel who’ve joined our ranks?”
“That’s different,” General Stuart said.
Li met his eyes. “How?”
General Stuart took a long breath. “We recruited hundreds of thousands of former naval personnel — and mercenaries — before the war began,” he said. “In all such cases, the personnel were scattered amongst the fleet and, when they were being offered posts in sensitive locations, tested thoroughly for disloyalty or hidden programming. Their ability to cause problems was minimized. The handful of spies or deep-cover personalities we did find were unable to take any information back to their masters before they were... dealt with.”
He paused, significantly. “In this case, we have over a hundred thousand naval personnel, spread out over two hundred warships,” he added. “More, in fact, if Admiral Garibaldi convinces Boston to join us without a fight. They are, if you will pardon the expression, an indigestible bulk; they have a fleet, they are loyal to Admiral Garibaldi rather than the cause and, if push comes to shove, I imagine they will follow him, rather than us.
“In short, Admiral Garibaldi will be in a very good position to betray us and do some very real damage.”
“You don’t know that will happen,” Li pointed out.
“No, I don’t,” General Stuart agreed. He met her eyes evenly. “But it is my duty to make you aware of the dangers. There may come a time when you wish you expended his ships rather than have them hurling missiles at you.”
“Yes, there may,” Li said. “But we will not deliberately set out to betray him.”
She pressed her fingertips together as she turned to look up at the display. The Federation Navy’s Office of Naval Intelligence — or whatever had replaced it, given how badly ONI had dropped the ball — would have sold its collective soul for a chance to inspect the display, knowing it showed a network of bases and settlements that were unknown to the Federation. If there had been more time, perhaps five or ten years, she was sure the Outsiders would have won the war easily. Their weapons research was easily two or three years ahead of the best the Federation could offer...
But it was not to be, she thought. Emperor Marius had already been planning survey missions deep beyond the Rim by the time the war had begun. And now, we have to depend on someone who risked everything to save my homeworld.
“He is not to learn of the bases,” she said, making a swift decision. “The information must not reach the Federation.”
“Understood,” General Stuart said. 
“But otherwise, we will support him to the hilt,” she added. “I’ll discuss the future of the Federation with him, after he secures Boston.”
General Stuart frowned. “You intend to stay on the front lines?”
“It’s not quite the front lines,” Li corrected him. “But if we lose, we may as well start packing our bags and heading further into the Beyond.”
“Very well,” General Stuart said. “I must insist, though, on you having bodyguards with you at all times. You cannot, you must not, be risked.”
Li snorted, then nodded reluctantly. 
“Very well,” she said. “I suppose those men you sent to kidnap me would be good for the job, wouldn’t they?”
“We’ll see,” General Stuart said. “Mercenaries are not always reliable.”

“Well,” Sanderson said, “I think we’re probably going to be sent to the ice mines somewhere.”
“Shut up,” Lieutenant Caleb Roebuck muttered. “I thought she was going to have us all executed at once.”
Uzi kept his amusement and frustration to himself as he studied the updates from the planetary defense network. His plan with the shuttle had been perfect, completely perfect; he’d kill the two Outsiders and signal for help, ensuring that the Federation Navy took Chang Li into custody before she recovered from the stun bolt...
... and then it had failed, simply because he hadn’t even begun to consider that Admiral Garibaldi would switch sides. He’d ruined everything.
For the first time in a long career, Uzi found himself seriously considering abandoning his mission and just retreating into the shadows. It would hardly be impossible to steal a courier boat or find passage on a freighter, even though it meant admitting defeat. Admiral Garibaldi had seen him, back when he’d been inserted on Hobson’s Choice; he’d know Uzi by sight if they encountered one another again. And even if he didn’t, it wouldn’t be long before someone started asking questions about the shuttle’s power failure. That would be more than enough to reveal the presence of an infiltrator.
And yet, he was a loyalist. The Federation needed him. He didn’t want to just back out and escape when he still had a job to do.
“Uzi?” Roebuck asked. “What do you think they’ll do?”
Uzi glanced at the younger man. He’d practically been mentoring the Outsider, teaching him how to be a more effective commanding officer, all the while measuring Caleb Roebuck’s back for the knife. Roebuck had promise, he acknowledged inwardly; he wouldn’t have been too out of place in the Federation Marines, even if it was as just another stupid greenie lieutenant who had to be mentored before he got a bunch of men killed. And Roebuck was smart enough to ask for advice...
“We were ordered to stun the Senator and take her to the shuttle,” he said, simply. It had definitely been the oddest set of orders he’d been given, up to and including the orders to sneak into a planetary rebel’s office and kill his cats. “They can’t hold us accountable for what we were ordered to do.”
“She’s the boss,” Sanderson said, mournfully. “She can order us killed on the spot.”
“I don’t think she will,” Uzi said, as reassuringly as he could. In the Federation, during the days of the Grand Senate, being worried about getting the blame for following orders wouldn’t have been too bad a reaction. If a senior officer had made a mistake, his first instinct would be to search for a scapegoat. “She might be angry, but she’ll be angry with the person who issued the orders, not with us.”
“I hope you’re right,” Roebuck said. “But what do we do now?”
“We wait and see what our orders are,” Uzi said. They’d docked the shuttle on the space station, then been herded into a private compartment and told to wait. “I don’t know about the pair of you, but I could do with a nap.”
“Yeah,” Sanderson agreed, morosely. “And I bet the Senator thinks we should be taking a permanent nap.”
“I can stun you, if you’d like,” Uzi offered, only half in jest. Stunning them both would at least allow him to think in peace. He needed to do something about that shuttle before a technician took a close look at the drive failure. “You’d be sure of a good sleep.”
“And a banging headache the morning afterwards,” Sanderson said. “I’ll sleep the natural way.”
“Look on the bright side,” Uzi called, as Sanderson rose to his feet and headed for the bedroom. “You’ll have one hell of a story to tell the girls on Nova Athena.”
Sanderson gave him a one-fingered gesture and stepped through the hatch. Uzi smirked, then returned to his silent contemplations as Roebuck also headed for bed. 
What the hell should he do now?

Chapter Five

This was not their only advantage. Indeed, thanks to a far superior educational model, the average Outsider crew might have two or three times the efficiency of its Federation counterpart.
—The Federation Navy in Retrospect, 4199

Spinner/Boston, 4101
There was no way in hell, Marius had already decided, that he was going to miss watching from the CIC as his battle squadrons readied themselves to return to Boston. Commander Lewis had objected, of course, but he’d ignored her. If they were about to run into a blocking force, if they had to fight their way through, he was damned if he was lying in his cabin while Captain Watson directed the battle.
If only because we’d lose, he thought, as the final status reports flashed up in front of his display. The fleet’s engineers had done what they could to repair the damage his starships had taken, but they were still critically short in a number of areas. In hindsight, firing off so many missiles might have been a mistake. Punching our way into the system would be tricky even if we had a full weapons load.
“Send the drones through the Asimov Point,” he ordered. Commodore Yu hadn’t left anything on station on the near side of the point, as far as his sensors could tell, although that meant nothing. A cloaked starship could have noted his arrival in the system and jumped back through to Boston to prepare a hot reception. “And stand by to send the first ships through.”
“Aye, sir,” Ginny said. She peered down at her console. “Drones launching... now.”
She paused. “Sir, a courier boat has just come into sensor range, heading towards the Asimov Point,” she added. “Its IFF marks it as being attached to Fifth Fleet.”
Too late, Marius thought, vindictively. Unless, of course, another courier boat traveled the other chain of Asimov Points...
He pushed the thought aside, sharply. “Order her to shut down her drives and prepare to be boarded,” he said. There was no time for wool-gathering. “If she refuses to answer our hails, fire on her the moment she enters weapons range.”
“Aye, sir,” Ginny said.
Marius nodded to himself as the new icon flashed towards them. Courier boats were the fastest things in space, but their crews were still largely dependent on the Asimov Point to get from place to place. The courier boat Roman Garibaldi had dispatched could either surrender or reverse course and try to run back to Nova Athena, he thought; there was no way it could get through the Asimov Point without entering his engagement envelope. And a courier boat was practically defenseless.
“She’s altering course,” Ginny snapped. “Sir, Captain Angstrom is requesting permission to give chase.”
“Denied,” Marius said. The courier boat wasn’t a problem, as long as she didn’t have a chance to pop through the Asimov Point before it was too late. “Order Angstrom and his ships to hold position on this side of the point. If the courier boat returns, they are to blow her to atoms.”
He turned his attention back to the display as Ginny started to issue orders to the fleet. The drones had returned, telling him things he didn’t want to know about the brooding fortresses on the far side, but they did seem to be on standby, rather than ready to repel an offensive through the Asimov Point. No doubt, in the wake of the crushing defeat the Outsiders had suffered the last time they’d tried to punch their way into the system, the crews were taking the opportunity to do some maintenance while the threat of attack was very low. Unless it was all a trick...
No, he told himself, firmly. We have to go through the Asimov Point.
Ginny turned to look at him. “Your orders, sir?”
“Send the first elements through the Asimov Point as planned,” he ordered. It was a gamble, one hell of a gamble, but there was no choice. The only alternative was skulking around the Rim until they were finally run down and destroyed, if their ships lasted so long. “And ready the remaining assault pods for deployment.”
He tensed, despite himself, as the first starships approached the point and vanished. If the defenders did intend an ambush, they’d spring it... now. And his ships didn’t carry anything like enough assault pods to force their way into the system. His mind raced, considering hundreds of desperate attack plans, before the next set of drones popped back into existence on the near side of the point. The first starships had entered the system without trouble.
“Take the rest of the fleet through,” he ordered, curtly. “And stand by all weapons and defensive systems.”
His stomach gave a twinge of unease, just one, as the superdreadnaught passed through the Asimov Point and entered Boston. Hundreds of new icons flared to life on the display; twenty-one heavy fortresses, thirty-seven support cruisers, hundreds of starfighters and thousands of mines and automated weapons platforms. If Commodore Yu had wanted to block his path, he knew, she might well have succeeded. But his fleet was already through the Asimov Point and heading out of her engagement range...
“Picking up a signal from the command fortress, sir,” Ginny said. “They’re asking what happened at Nova Athena.”
Then Roman didn’t manage to get a message back in time, Marius thought. He felt a wave of relief, followed by a flicker of the old confidence. Sloppy work, young man.
He smirked to himself as he leaned forward. If Commodore Yu didn’t know what had happened, the prospect of violent resistance was minimal. But it would still be unwise to push her too far, particularly if she was loyal to Roman Garibaldi instead of the Federation Navy or Marius himself. He cursed the Grand Senate under his breath — they’d done so much to wear down the navy’s loyalty to the Federation — and keyed his console.
“Commodore Yu, this is Emperor Marius,” he said. He’d spent a great deal of time trying to decide what lie to tell her, knowing that his words would be spread across the Federation and — perhaps — used against him. “The fleet successfully secured Nova Athena. Admiral Garibaldi is currently preparing an offensive deeper into enemy space.”
He paused. “I’m detaching an officer to assume command of the system,” he added, “but the remainder of this fleet needs to return to Earth immediately. Dispatch every fleet replenishment unit you have to rendezvous with my battle squadrons prior to our transit through the Asimov Point. We’ll replenish while in transit.”
Tapping the console again, he sent the message to Boston. Commodore Yu was a logistics officer, according to her file; she wouldn’t be in command of any of the fortresses, regardless of tradition. And, hopefully, she’d send the replenishment ships without question. The thought of depriving Roman Garibaldi of the logistics he’d need to push onwards to Earth amused him, particularly as Roman wouldn’t be able to punish Commodore Yu for her actions without undermining his own position. She’d merely followed legitimate orders from her superior officer.
He leaned back in his chair, studying the system display. Roman and his officers had done a good job, he had to admit. Boston had always been in a good position for industrial development — there were no less than five Asimov Points in the system, three of them leading into new Asimov Point chains — but Roman had built the system up into a formidable fortress during the war. Hell, it looked as though the local industrial base was more efficient than the Core Worlds, although that shouldn’t have been a surprise. The planet’s inhabitants had no doubt their system was on the front lines of a war.
I should take them all back to Earth with me, he thought, sourly. They’d actually do good work, unlike the whining bastards on Luna.
It was tempting, very tempting, to try to just take control of the system himself and make a stand. Roman Garibaldi couldn’t be any better prepared for an Asimov Point assault than his own ships, even if he drew supplies from the Outsiders. They’d blown through their own supply of assault pods, he was sure, during their ill-fated attack on the system. But far too many officers and crew on the base would owe their careers to Roman Garibaldi. Their loyalties would be in doubt at the worst possible time.
Commodore Palin may not be able to hold the system, he told himself. Even though we sent him additional troopers, he’ll be trying to keep thousands of men under control while fighting off an Asimov Point attack
“Sir, we picked up an acknowledgement from Commodore Yu,” Ginny said. “She’s dispatching the replenishment units now, sir, and she’s requesting permission to dispatch additional supplies to Admiral Garibaldi.”
Marius smiled, rather coldly. It was a reasonable request, given what Commodore Yu knew, but not one he was inclined to grant. The only problem was that refusing permission, for whatever reason, might arouse her suspicions. As far as she knew, Roman Garibaldi was holding an enemy system after a battle that would have cost his ships hundreds of missiles...
“Tell her that Commodore Palin will handle such matters,” he said. Once Palin was in command of the Asimov Point, he could tell Yu the truth and force her to decide who she was going to support. “And add a private note. I want Professor Kratman found and returned to the fleet.”
Oddly, the thought cost him a twinge of pain. Captain Kratman had been his first commanding officer, back when the Matterhorn had led the charge that had sparked off the Blue Star War; Minister Kratman had been one of his first appointments to his cabinet. But there were too many unanswered questions about the Professor and the Brotherhood he served. Who knew what he’d said to Roman Garibaldi, back when Marius had brought him to the system...
And he taught Blake Raistlin, too, Marius thought. The Brotherhood had played a role in promoting him, back when the Grand Senate was still in power, but it had been surprisingly quiet since he’d become Emperor. And, in Marius’s experience, silence meant that someone was plotting something. How many other young men were seduced into serving the Brotherhood?
He scowled down at his hands as his fleet crawled across the system, a handful of new icons on the display showing the replenishment ships as they left the planet and headed towards the Asimov Point. Every Federation officer knew to develop a healthy dose of paranoia concerning their superiors — even paranoids had enemies; they knew their superiors wouldn’t hesitate to use them as scapegoats if necessary — and watch them carefully. And yet, he hadn’t thought Professor Kratman needed watching. He’d been one of the few superior officers Marius had genuinely trusted...
But I was an Ensign, he reminded himself. The idea of the captain bothering to actually notice me was absurd.
The thought made him smile. Very — very — few ensigns wanted to attract the captain’s attention. They certainly didn’t share downtime with their commanding officer. But he’d trusted Captain Kratman, even after he’d taken up a teaching post at the academy. And yet, now, who knew what he’d been doing? Two members of his class had betrayed Marius’s trust and turned on him.
“Sir,” Ginny said, nervously. “Professor Kratman is nowhere to be found.”
Marius blinked. They’d left the professor on Boston, hadn’t they? Had he somehow sneaked onboard Valiant, with or without her commander’s permission? Or had he taken a transport back into the Core Worlds? It was far from impossible, even though he would have needed permission from Commodore Yu to depart. A Brotherhood member in the right place and Commodore Yu wouldn’t have known anything about it. Or he might simply have gone underground. Boston was large enough for a careful man to hide indefinitely.
“Order her to put out an alert for him,” he said. There wasn’t any time to take the planet and organize a search, not when there was no certainty Professor Kratman was still on the surface instead of heading away from the system. “When he’s found, he is to be held in stasis and shipped back to Earth immediately.”
“Aye, sir,” Ginny said.
Marius scowled, making a mental note to have the remainder of the Brotherhood hunted down and arrested. He knew at least two others, back on Earth, and neither of them would be able to go on the run without surrendering their influence. Once they were caught, they could be interrogated, revealing the names of their comrades. Or, if they were treated to keep them from spilling the beans, they could become ONI’s test subjects in its endless attempts to break the conditioning and discover the truth.
He put the matter aside for the moment and turned his attention to the replenishment units, drawing closer to his ships. They’d have to accompany his ships through the Asimov Point — he hoped the crews would be loyal — and on the way to Earth. If they thought better of it, he wouldn’t hesitate to have the marines invade the ships and take control. There was just too much at stake for half-measures.
“Commander,” he said. “Have you readied the secure datapack?”
“Yes, sir,” Ginny said. “It’s ready for dispatch.”
“Order the base to launch four courier boats,” Marius said. “Once they’re nearly at the Asimov Point, send them the datapack on tight-beam and tell the crews to take it straight to Earth, priority-one. Make sure they have the right codes to get through all the defenses and chokepoints without being halted.”
“Aye, sir,” Ginny said.
Marius looked up at the display, silently calculating travel times. It would take at least three months for his fleet to return to Earth, three months during which time anything could happen. But if he sent a warning on ahead, via a courier boat, Tiffany would be alerted within two months, perhaps less if they redlined their drives. He briefly considered boarding a courier boat himself — he’d endured worse, as a young ensign — before dismissing the thought. There were too many opportunists who wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of his weakness, if he turned up in a courier boat rather than a superdreadnaught. And then there would be another civil war...
And then the Outsiders will just walk in and take over, he thought, darkly. How could so many people be so stupid?
But he already knew the answer. People, particularly politicians, were stupid. They were so fixated on their own power, so insulated from the consequences of their decisions, that they put their own advantage ahead of the good of the Federation. He might have been able to nip the Outsiders in the bud, he was sure, if the Grand Senate had given him the firepower he needed and the authority to use it. Instead, they’d ignored a festering problem along the Rim until Admiral Justinian had forced them to fight for survival. And even then, they’d still put their own advantage first. They could have crushed Admiral Justinian like a bug if they hadn’t put a political admiral in command of the fleet.
He felt his head start to pound and rubbed it, silently grateful that there was only one other person in the CIC to see his weakness. It wasn’t something he could allow, during a major battle, but for the moment it would have to do. Thankfully, they should have more than enough warning if Commodore Yu decided to turn on them or reject Commodore Palin’s authority. But even then...
The hours crawled by, far too slowly, as they approached the Asimov Point. There was no further update from the planet, no assurance that Professor Kratman had been captured or his departure confirmed... Marius fretted over it, despite his best efforts. His old commanding officer was a sneaky devil. Who knew what he was doing? And who knew what he’d said to Roman Garibaldi, the night before the fleet had left Boston? Marius’s intelligence officers hadn’t been able to slip bugs into Roman’s superdreadnaught.
Because I trusted him, Marius thought, bitterly. I trusted him enough not to insist.
“Sir,” Ginny said, breaking into his thoughts. “We’re cleared to pass through the Asimov Point. The replenishment ships have fallen into formation, as per instructions.”
“Good,” Marius said. Unless, of course, the fortresses surrounding the Asimov Point — weaker here, as there was no real threat of attack from the far side — intended to fire on the ships when they entered point-blank range. “Take us through as planned.”
He looked up at the system display, silently calculating the odds. Commodore Palin would try to hold the system, he was sure, but would it be enough to stop the system’s former master? His crews might turn on him when they realized just who was attacking. But there was no choice. He had to let Commodore Palin do his job and pray it was enough. He braced himself as the ship entered the Asimov Point, gritting his teeth as he felt the gut-wrenching unease as they passed through the tear in space and time.
“Transit complete, sir,” Ginny said. There was nothing on the far side, save for a roving picket of gunboats. “The replenishment ships are asking for orders.”
“Continue on course towards Earth,” Marius ordered. “We’ll replenish along the way, as planned.”
He couldn’t help a sigh of relief as he rose. They’d made it through the bottleneck and, hopefully, delayed Roman Garibaldi. Even if he retook the system without a fight, he’d still have problems replacing the replenishment ships. It would take him months, probably, to adapt older freighters to do the job...
... And, in that time, Marius knew he would have plenty of time to prepare his own forces for the final battle. 

Chapter Six

Unsurprisingly, questions regarding loyalty tended to dominate the Federation Navy’s concerns during the last years of the civil wars.
—The Federation Navy in Retrospect, 4199

Spinner/Boston, 4101
“I just picked up a message from the courier boat,” Lieutenant Thompson said. “The Emperor’s fleet passed through two days ago, sir, and detailed a squadron of destroyers to cover the Asimov Point. There was no way to slip a message through to Boston.”
Roman cursed under his breath. Emperor Marius must have redlined his drives as soon as he entered the Asimov Point chain leading to Boston. Given how badly damaged some of the refugee ships had been, it was a considerable risk. Roman had hoped the courier boat would beat Marius Drake to Boston, but evidently it was not to be. And that meant... what? Who was in command of Boston? Commodore Yu, Emperor Marius... or someone else? If the latter, it would definitely be one of the Emperor’s loyalists. Somehow, Roman doubted he would be willing to let himself be talked out of making a stand.
He studied the tactical display for a long moment, thinking hard. It wouldn’t be impossible to sneak up on the destroyers, if they were just sitting atop the Asimov Point, but he rather doubted it would work. Almost all commanding officers had actual experience, these days; he had a feeling the enemy commander would have detailed half his squadron to run patrols while the other half stood ready to jump back to Boston. Hell, it was quite possible that a cloaked ship had observed their arrival at Spinner and a warning was already flickering back to Boston. It was what he would have done.
“Take us directly to the Asimov Point,” he ordered. There was no point in playing games, not when the enemy commander had to know where he was going. “Launch a shell of sensor drones and hold them in position around our formation, watching for cloaked ships. I don’t want to be caught by surprise.”
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said.
Roman settled back in his chair as the fleet began the slow crawl towards the Asimov Point, contemplating his options. There were just too many unknowns for him to come up with any real plan, which meant he would probably have to improvise when they jumped into Boston and discovered what was lying in wait. All he could do was prepare for everything he could, up to and including a full-scale assault on the Asimov Point, even though it would be terrifyingly expensive. His fleet had expended most of its assault pods during the advance on Nova Athena. 
And why not? he thought, bitterly. We weren’t expecting to continue the advance beyond there, were we?
Pushing the thought aside, he reached for the latest set of reports from the engineers and quickly skimmed through them. Most of his starships were combat-ready, but there were limits to what the engineers could do without a proper yard and some downtime. Roman hoped Emperor Marius hadn’t tried to destroy the facilities at Boston, although he knew it was a strong possibility. But then, the yards were necessary to rebuild the Federation as well as supporting the war effort. It was just possible that the Emperor had left them alone.
“Admiral, long-range sensors are picking up seven destroyers orbiting the Asimov Point,” Lieutenant Thompson said. “I can’t get a positive ID on them at this distance.”
Seven destroyers, Roman thought. A standard destroyer squadron had nine ships. Had two of them cloaked to keep an eye on his fleet? Or had they jumped back through the Asimov Point to alert the defenders? Or had they been destroyed during the engagement, leaving the squadron understrength? And presumably not starships attached to Boston’s local defenses.
“Keep us on course,” he ordered. “Inform me the moment you get a positive ID.”
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said. She paused. “One of the destroyers just jumped into the Asimov Point and vanished.”
“Understood,” Roman said. It was possible that someone was planning a clever ambush, but they’d stripped Boston clean of assault pods prior to departure. “Prepare to transmit the pre-recorded message as soon as we enter our long-range missile envelope.”
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said.
Roman forced himself to relax. It was vanishingly unlikely that seven destroyers — six now — would put up a fight, not against the immensity of his fleet. They’d be incredibly lucky to score a single hit before they were blown to atoms. But if the ships were commanded by loyalists, they’d do anything for their Emperor. Roman himself would have done anything for Emperor Marius, once upon a time. Now...
The man you knew is gone, he told himself, sternly. And in his place, there’s a monster.
“Sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said. “We’re entering missile range.”
“Transmit the message,” Roman ordered. “And then prep the courier drones for launch.”
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said.
Roman glanced at the fleet’s status display and braced himself. Fifth Fleet had been through hell under his command, building up a level of experience and esprit de corps that few other Federation formations could claim, but it had never really anticipated having to turn on the admiral who’d led the Federation Navy to victory over Admiral Justinian. Roman couldn’t help but think that they’d lost something of their innocence, even though he knew that the prospects for civil war had been looming before Admiral Justinian had attacked Earth. His crews had signed up to keep humanity safe, not fight wars against their fellow humans...
“The destroyers have jumped back through the Asimov Point,” Lieutenant Thompson reported. “They made no attempt to reply.”
Loyalists, then, Roman thought. He wouldn’t have deigned to reply, if he’d still been a loyalist himself. And that means we may have to fight our way into the system.
“Launch the drones,” he ordered. “And then take us straight towards the Asimov Point. It’s time to jump into the fire.”
And hope to hell we don’t get burned, he thought, grimly. Because even a successful assault on the system will cost us dearly.
* * *
Commodore Hassan Palin had the uneasy feeling he’d been staked out, like a goat, to lure a tiger into a trap. He and a handful of his men, scattered through the vast fortress, were the only men truly loyal to the Emperor in the system. Boston belonged to Admiral Garibaldi, he’d discovered in the two days he’d spent as system commander, and even though Garibaldi had been declared a traitor many were still loyal to him. He was grimly aware that stationing armored troopers throughout the station might be the only thing that was preventing a mutiny and keeping him alive.
I wish there was time to bring more crews up from the Core Worlds, he thought, although he knew reinforcements weren’t going to arrive before it was too late. Even if the Federation hadn’t concentrated on building starships and training their crews, there were just too many other demands on Fortress Command’s tiny reserve of trained manpower. And additional warships to ensure the system remains loyal.
Hassan sighed to himself as he sat back in his command chair in the CIC, watching the destroyers as they snapped back into existence. He’d done everything he could to ensure the defenders remained loyal — and that any who remained disloyal had no chance to interfere — but he knew it wasn’t good enough. The prospect of having a knife slipped into his back by one of his officers was all too real. Hell, it had been hard enough to disarm the majority of the crew before they did something stupid. Fortresses had been boarded before, during the war, and unarmed crewmen were just lambs to the slaughter. But again, there had been no choice.
“Commodore, the remaining destroyers have transited,” Lieutenant Commander Rollins said, quietly. She was young, so young he thought she should still be at the academy, but it wasn’t uncommon for talented youngsters to rise rapidly in the ranks these days. And her tone was barely on the right side of insubordination. “Fifth Fleet is approaching the Asimov Point.”
“Bring the defenders to red alert, stand by to engage,” Hassan ordered. If they triggered off the first shots, the crews would likely find themselves fighting desperately to save their lives, even if they were on Garibaldi’s side. “Slave the command datanet to this fortress and override commands from the other fortresses.”
“Aye, sir,” Rollins said. Her back was stiff, her tone resentful. “Command datanet engaged.”
Hassan glowered at her back. He could have her taken out and shot, yet that would almost certainly spark a mutiny. Unarmed the crews might be — although he suspected the sweep hadn’t found all the weapons — but they weren’t helpless. All he could do was hope to push them into the fight before they found a way to overthrow him.
He blinked in surprise as the first courier drones popped into existence, transmitting their message as soon as their systems recovered from the brief transit. A moment later, he realized what the enemy commander had in mind. He was deliberately signaling his loyalists, inviting them — begging them — to take a stand against the Emperor. It could not be tolerated.
“Order the CSP to take those drones out,” he snapped. There was no point in wasting single-shot automated weapons platforms on the drones. “Now!”
“Aye, sir,” Rollins said. Her hand danced over her console. “CSP has been informed...”
She broke off as red icons flickered onto the display, each one representing an enemy superdreadnaught. For a moment, Hassan could only stare in disbelief. Admiral Garibaldi was sending the superdreadnaughts through the Asimov Point too quickly, running the risk of two or more of his ships colliding or interpenetrating. He had to be out of his mind... even if the fortress crews refused to engage his ships, the automated weapons systems would have no such hesitation.
He keyed his console, ordering the automated systems and minefields to engage. Let Admiral Garibaldi get slapped back, let him come in shooting. Hassan’s crews would have no choice, but to fight to save their lives. He smiled, darkly, as the enemy superdreadnaughts began to vanish, their shields still too weak to save them from the bombardment. And yet, more and more of them were appearing... he might just win the new civil war in one fell swoop.
“Order the fortresses to open fire,” he ordered. The inner minefields had been almost completely expended, while the automated weapons platforms were recharging. And yet, the enemy were still sending superdreadnaughts though the Asimov Point. “Take them out...”
It struck him a second later, as yet another superdreadnaught blinked into existence. If he went by sensor records alone, his forces had killed over fifty superdreadnaughts, a loss rate that no sane commander could afford. And yet, he knew Admiral Garibaldi didn’t have more than seven squadrons of superdreadnaughts, assuming his engineering crews had worked miracles. Admiral Garibaldi had just thrown away over a hundred thousand lives...
... Or had he?
The Outsiders had produced a fleet, he suspected, that was nothing more than ECM drones... and Admiral Garibaldi had allied with the Outsiders. He checked the sensor readings himself, looking for the by-products of destroyed ships. There was nothing, nothing at all. It was possible, he supposed, that antimatter warheads simply hadn’t left very much for his sensors to detect, but there should have been some debris. They’d been conned.
He swore, savagely. Admiral Garibaldi had pulled a fast one...
... And now, his only reliable defense systems had been completely wasted.
* * *
“The drones have reported back, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said. “They’ve cleared the enemy minefields and automated defenses.”
Roman nodded, grimly. Using the ECM drones had been yet another gamble, but one he’d been fairly sure would work. The prospect of blowing apart a stream of superdreadnaughts, one by one, had been simply too great a chance to miss. And besides, only an idiot would risk allowing a superdreadnaught to start opening fire at what was, effectively, point-blank range. The enemy commander, whoever he was, had done everything by the book — and still been thoroughly screwed.
“The fortresses,” he said. “Have they opened fire?”
“Their fire is slack, apparently,” Lieutenant Thompson said. “But they may just have been relying on the automated weapons and the CSP.”
“All right,” Roman said. “Send in the first wave, Lieutenant.”
He took a breath. If the fortresses had decided to oppose him, most — perhaps all — of the first wave of actual starships were doomed, even if they were escorted by yet more ECM drones to soak up enemy fire. He’d briefed the crews carefully, warning them not to target any fortresses that didn’t fire on them first, but he knew it was asking for trouble. At point-blank range, a fortress could switch from friendly to unfriendly in a split second and the first his crews would know of it would be when the missiles started slamming into their shields. And the fortresses fired heavier missiles than anything smaller than a superdreadnaught...
Please, God, he thought, with a grim earnestness he hadn’t felt since he’d been a very small child. Please let this work.
* * *
“Another wave of starships has arrived,” Rollins said. “A number of superdreadnaughts, but also cruisers and destroyers.”
Hassan sucked in his breath. He was almost sure the superdreadnaughts were nothing more than sensor ghosts — according to the sensors, they’d destroyed Fifth Fleet’s entire superdreadnaught strength twice over — but if he was wrong...
“Target the cruisers and destroyers,” he ordered. They, too, might be there to do little more than soak up his fire, but he couldn’t afford to ignore them. “External racks only; I say again, external racks only.”
“Aye, sir,” Rollins said. “Firing now...”
There was a long pause. Only five fortresses opened fire.
Hassan came to his feet. “Report,” he snapped. He had an awful feeling that he already knew. “What happened?”
“The remaining fortresses have isolated themselves from the command network,” Rollins said. There was an edge of amusement in her voice as she glanced up at him. “They did not receive the command to fire.”
Or they chose to ignore it, Hassan thought. By isolating themselves from the datanet, the mutineers had crippled his defense plan. The chances of victory had gone downhill and crashed into rubble. The bastards...
He unsnapped his holster and drew his sidearm, pointing it straight at Rollins’s head. Her face paled, noticeably, as he made a show of clicking off the safety. She would have spent time in the shooting range, of course — naval regulations demanded that crewmen know how to clean and fire their weapons — but she probably wouldn’t have actually seen a weapon used in combat, let alone have one pointed right at her. Chances were, she still thought of warfare as something nicely bloodless. The blood and guts of an infantry battlefield would chill her to the bone.
“Target the treacherous fortresses,” he ordered. There was no hope of stopping Admiral Garibaldi now, nor was there any real chance of escape. All he could really do was claw the enemy good and proper before he was killed. “Target them or I’ll blow your head off, right here and now.”
Rollins stared at him, her mouth moving soundlessly. Hassan felt an odd flush of exhilaration, mixed with a strange horror that chilled him to the bone. What sort of monster had he become? What sort of monsters had they all become? He’d been in the navy for twenty years and he had never had to threaten one of his crewmembers with death before, even during the early stages of the Justinian War. But now, he saw no choice.
“Do it,” he hissed, willing her to believe. He was ready to kill her, if necessary. “Do...”
The power failed. Hassan watched in horror as the displays faded to darkness, the emergency lights coming on barely in time to keep the compartment from plunging into darkness. He clutched his pistol tightly as the artificial gravity failed, unsure what to do now that the entire battle had been lost. His troopers had clearly failed to prevent sabotage on a terrifying scale.
“It’s over, sir,” Rollins said. There was a hint of panic in her voice. Her face was pale as she clung to her seat, using one hand to strap herself down. Normally, few bothered to strap themselves into their chairs, no matter what regulations said. Now, with gravity gone, the logic behind the regs made sense. “Give up. I’m sure the Admiral won’t treat you badly.”
Hassan glared at her, but he knew she was right. Without main power, the fortress was a sitting duck. Even if reinforcements were dispatched from Boston, or the other Asimov Points, there was no hope of them arriving in time to save the day. All he could do was stand down and hope Admiral Garibaldi wasn’t feeling merciless. There was nothing to be gained by trying to fight any longer.
“Very well,” he said, snapping his pistol’s safety catch back on. The shock of the motion sent him drifting upwards. “I hope you have a way to contact him, though. How is he going to know we’ve surrendered?”
He felt a flicker of pride as he bounced off the overhead and pushed himself back to the deck. It had been years since he’d had to work in a null-gee environment. Gravity was often the last thing to fail, along with the internal compensators; normally, the ship taking such a beating meant certain destruction. But now... he just hoped the mutineers did have a way to raise Admiral Garibaldi. The shields were down, the point defense was offline... a handful of antimatter warheads would be more than enough to blow the station into atoms, armor or no armor.
“We do,” Rollins assured him. She watched him take a firm hold of the command chair, then produced a small marine-issue communicator from her belt. The mutiny had clearly been planned in advance. “And I’m sure he will be very relieved to hear from us.”
Hassan snorted. He didn’t know what Admiral Garibaldi might think, but he knew precisely what Marius Drake would think. There was no room for failures in his universe...
... And if Hassan fell into the Emperor’s hands, his life would be worth less than nothing.

Chapter Seven

And the wave of mutinies that ran through the Federation Navy, as the ties that bound crewmen to the Federation finally snapped, did a thorough job of ripping the fleet’s unity apart.
—The Federation Navy in Retrospect, 4199

Boston, 4101
“The fortresses have been secured,” Elf reported, through the intercom. “We’ve taken seventy-five prisoners, all troopers and officers off-loaded from the 345th Battlecruiser Squadron. Commodore Palin has surrendered himself into our hands.”
“Have them moved to the superdreadnaughts and held for the moment,” Roman ordered. Thankfully, the fortress crews had mutinied. If they hadn’t, he knew things would have been a great deal harder. “Ask Palin if he’s willing to broadcast a stand-down signal to the rest of the system.”
“Palin has refused to talk,” Elf said. “But Lieutenant Rollins, one of the ringleaders of the mutiny, insists that the loyalists didn’t try to dominate the planet. They just didn’t have the manpower.”
“Understood,” Roman said. He was surprised the Emperor hadn’t tried to make a stand, although if he had the war would have ended very quickly. Or would he have been better at appealing to the loyalty of Roman’s crews? “What happened to the Emperor himself?”
“Left the system two days ago,” Elf said. “He took the replenishment ships with him.”
Roman swore. Emperor Marius hadn’t missed a trick. He’d taken the ships Roman needed to give pursuit. His ships would need to be repaired and replenished at Boston, rather than on the way to a final confrontation. The Emperor had won himself far too much time.
“Understood,” he said, again. “Have Lieutenant Rollins shipped over to Valiant, then see to it that the fortresses are secured. We may need to relocate them to the other Asimov Points.”
He closed the connection, then looked at Lieutenant Thompson. “Send the pre-planned signal to Boston and the other Asimov Point defenders,” he said. “And to the 345th Battlecruiser Squadron, too. Tell them to decide which side they’re on.”
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said.
Roman nodded. The 345th Battlecruiser Squadron would probably refuse to join him, but her new commander wouldn’t be able to run the gauntlet of the fortresses to pass through one of the other Asimov Points. Her only real hope of survival would be to head out beyond the system limits and drop into stardrive, rendering herself largely irrelevant for the foreseeable future. Unless, of course, her CO decided it would be better if he skulked around the edge of the system and awaited a chance to do the rebels some real harm. It would be a major headache for Roman if the enemy commander ever got the chance.
But, for the moment, a single squadron of battlecruisers was a very minor problem.
“Set course for Boston,” he ordered. “Best possible speed.”
He sucked in his breath sharply, cursing — not for the first time — the speed of light delay. At best, assuming she responded at once, it would be at least four hours before he received a reply from Commodore Yu. There was no way to be sure what he would encounter on the planet, no way to be certain that the Emperor’s goons hadn’t already started to prepare a trap... hell, there was no way to be sure that Yu hadn’t started to prepare a trap herself. Roman had been too young to be implicated in any of the Grand Senate’s witch-hunts, after Admiral Justinian had betrayed the Federation, but he thought he understood how they’d felt. It was impossible to know just who to trust.
Fighting the Outsiders was a great deal easier, he thought, as he forced himself to relax and study the display. Thankfully, it didn’t look as though the Emperor had bombarded the planet or its industries before fleeing through the Asimov Point... although trying would probably have doomed his entire fleet. Back then, we knew who was on what side.
“The 345th Battlecruiser Squadron has refused to respond to hails,” Lieutenant Thompson informed him. “They’re altering course and heading out of the system. The remainder of the system defense force has signaled that it wishes to join us.”
“Tell them to rendezvous with us at Boston,” Roman said. It didn’t look as though the Emperor had had time to turn a few of his officers, but it was impossible — again — to be entirely sure. Civil wars were nightmares. “And inform me if there’s a response from Commodore Yu.”
It took nearly four hours for a response to arrive. “Admiral Garibaldi, Commodore Palin informed me that you had turned traitor,” Commodore Yu’s recorded message said. “I did not believe him, but I was in no place to intervene in his plans to meet you when you returned to the system. I’m very relieved that you have successfully entered the system and wish to inform you that Boston is firmly under control. The repair yards remain intact and will be ready to work on your ships as soon as you arrive.”
Roman relaxed, slightly. It could still be a trick.
“Record,” he ordered. “Commodore Yu, this is Admiral Garibaldi. Thank you for your welcome to the system. We should enter orbit in” — he glanced at the console — “five hours from this message. Please have a full report ready for me when I arrive.”
He sent the message, then checked the datapacket Yu had sent along with the recorded message. There had been a handful of slow-downs on the planet’s surface, but other than that there had been almost no activity at all. The Emperor, it seemed, hadn’t bothered to land troops, although he’d had no reason to expect trouble. Boston knew it was on the front lines of a war.
And now it’s on the front lines of another war, he thought, as he looked up at the planet’s icon on the display. Who knows which way the planet’s population will jump?
* * *
“It’s good to see you again, Admiral,” Commodore Sonia Yu said, once she’d been welcomed onboard Valiant and shown into Roman’s quarters. “I must confess that the Emperor tricked me.”
“It’s understandable,” Roman assured her, as she took the seat he indicated. He poured them both a mug of coffee, then sat down facing her. “I suspect I would have done the same myself.”
It was hard to be so generous, but he had to admit that Commodore Yu had had no reason to suspect trouble, let alone refuse orders from her lawful superior. Losing the replenishment ships was a major headache, but one he’d have to cope with. She might expect to be relieved of her post, if not taken out and shot, but he was certainly not going to have her executed for a simple mistake. It would set a very bad precedent.
Commodore Yu relaxed, slightly. “I’m sorry, sir,” she said. “I didn’t expect to have to... to decide which side to support.”
“Nor did I,” Roman said. He looked up, meeting her eyes. “And are you sure you want to stay on my side? You could go into an internment camp on Boston, if you wish.”
“I want to stay with you, sir,” Commodore Yu said.
Roman wished, suddenly, that he could read minds. Did Commodore Yu feel loyalty to him and his fleet? Did she feel that genocide was beyond the pale? Did she think him the certain victor of the coming war? Or did she merely want to keep her power and position? It was the one question he knew he couldn’t ask.
“Very well,” he said. There hadn’t been any resistance on Boston when his fleet had arrived and the marines secured the orbital defenses, then the shipyards. “Give me a status report, please.”
“The Emperor took the replenishment ships, but he made no attempt to capture or destroy our shipyards and our vast stockpiles of spare parts,” Commodore Yu said. There was a hint of pride in her voice. She’d battled logistics problems on a scale unseen since the Inheritance Wars and done a very good job. “Our manpower levels remain untouched. I believe that repairing the majority of your ships will take no more than a month.”
She paused. “The bad news is that we stripped ourselves clean of assault pods and other such weapons, sir,” she added. “Replenishing them may take more than a couple of months, at best.”
Roman cursed the irony under his breath. He’d signed off on transferring all of the assault pods to the fleet, knowing they’d be necessary for the advance on Nova Athena. For once, they would have the Outsiders in a place where they would have to fight or give ground, allowing him to bring the sheer mass of Fifth Fleet to bear against them. But, given everything that had happened since, it had been a terrible mistake. Two months... what could the Emperor do in two months? His imagination provided too many answers.
And if it’s longer than two months, we may have some real problems, he thought. Our logistics are going to be fragile for a very long time to come.
“Then get started on replenishing the assault pods,” he ordered. It was annoying, but there was no point crying over spilt milk. “What about the picket forces?”
“None have been informed of the... changing situation,” Commodore Yu told him. “The 432nd Heavy Cruiser Squadron passed through two weeks ago for replenishment and then headed back to her patrol grounds.”
Roman shook his head in tired disbelief. Thanks to the crazed laws of interstellar war, forces nominally under his command might be attacking the Outsiders for weeks to come, even though he’d come to an agreement with the Outsiders. He hoped they’d be understanding, when the reports finally came in; they’d understand, wouldn’t they, that he couldn’t call his ships back at once?
“Send a handful of courier boats to alert them and order an immediate return to Boston,” he ordered. The Outsiders would have the same problem, but almost all of the systems that had changed hands in the last few years were useless, at least in the short term. They certainly couldn’t give their holder a new fleet of starships. “Tell them to avoid contact with the Outsiders as much as possible and, if they do get detected, break contact if they can.”
He winced at his own words. Cruiser commanders were taught to be aggressive, all the more so in the midst of a war. None of them would appreciate being told to avoid contact with the enemy, particularly when they’d been given orders to press their advantage where possible, but they’d obey. He hoped. It would be hard for many of them to accept an alliance with the Outsiders, yet it would be harder if there were a string of incidents that looked like mutual treachery and backstabbing...
“Yes, sir,” Commodore Yu said. She took a breath. “The majority of the fleet train remains intact, sir, but we are still quite short on freighters. Supplying the offensive pushed us to our limits.”
“We should be able to get more freighters from the Outsiders,” Roman said. He didn’t know if he could trust them completely, but he saw no other choice. “They won’t be configured for naval service, though.”
“We have workarounds in place, already,” Commodore Yu assured him. “I’ve been pressing captured freighters into service for years.”
Roman nodded, and turned to look at the strategic display. It was at least two months out of date — more, perhaps, given that Earth had been several months out of date when the information had been compiled — but it told a grim story. Emperor Marius, falling back towards Earth, could gather a formidable mobile force to challenge Roman, while using fixed defenses to slow his advance. There was no way to circumvent them either, no matter what Roman did. He’d committed himself to at least four assaults through Asimov Points he knew to be heavily defended.
Unless...
He studied the display for a long moment, thinking hard. There was a way to avoid contact with those defended Asimov Points, but it would be risky. Risky as hell. He’d have to fight his way across half the Federation, just to find a place where he could cross interstellar space and attack Earth through the Dead End, Earth’s second Asimov Point. It was tempting, but the more he looked at it, the more he saw the weaknesses. His fleet would be running short on supplies by the time it finally reached its destination, while the Emperor would have plenty of time to prepare his defenses and cut Roman off at the knees. No, the only true hope of victory was to complete those assaults as fast as possible.
“Admiral?”
He blinked, remembering Commodore Yu. “Yes?”
“There’s one other detail that should be brought to your attention,” Commodore Yu said, carefully. “Before he left, the Emperor issued a search warrant for Professor Kratman, an APB demanding his arrest and extradition to Earth under federal law.”
Roman stared at her. “Professor Kratman?”
“He vanished — or, at least, there’s no trace of him on the planet’s surface from a point two weeks after the fleet’s departure,” Commodore Yu said. “The planetary police have been attempting to locate him, as per request, but without success. He’s dropped out of sight completely.”
“Then he took a ship out of the system,” Roman said.
“I don’t think so,” Commodore Yu said. “We did check, but there’s no trace of Professor Kratman passing through any of the orbital chokepoints before boarding an interstellar ship and departing the system. A smuggler might be better at getting him off the planet without passing through any of the chokepoints, yet it would have to be an incredibly brave smuggler...”
“True,” Roman agreed. Boston hadn’t quite entered lockdown, but all ships arriving and departing the planet had been carefully scrutinized. Quite a number had been caught with military-grade sensor suites they shouldn’t have had, unless they were spies. “You think he’s still here?”
“I believe so,” Commodore Yu said. “This isn’t an uninhabitable world, sir. A careful person could live off the grid, without being detected, for quite some time. There’s been a black market in everything from living goods to luxury items ever since the war began. I believe, sir, that farmers have been producing more foodstuffs than they’ve bothered to report and selling the surplus on the black market.”
Which is why I never liked living on a planetary surface, Roman thought. It’s so... disorganized.
He leaned forward. “Did the Emperor say why he wanted the Professor caught?”
“No, sir,” Commodore Yu said. “A federal warrant doesn’t need a reason.”
Roman nodded, thoughtfully. Professor Kratman had visited him, shortly before the fleet had departed Boston, warning Roman that the Emperor was no longer stable. And he’d been right, tragically right. The signs had been there for all to see, if they dared look.
“Put out a statement, inviting the professor to turn himself in,” he ordered, finally. The Emperor might have been acting out of vindictiveness — he had shot the remaining Grand Senators personally — but somehow Roman doubted it. Hadn’t Marius Drake once served under Captain Kratman? “And if he does, have him shipped to Valiant.”
Commodore Yu frowned. “Is that wise?”
“I think I’d like to know what the Emperor thinks he’s done,” Roman said. “And besides, he was a minister in the Emperor’s government. He probably knows a great deal we should know.”
“Aye, sir,” Commodore Yu said. “If he turns himself in, I’ll have him shipped back to you.”
Roman dismissed her, and turned back to the display. He’d have to send a courier boat back to Nova Athena, asking the Outsiders to bring their ships and supplies forward as quickly as possible, then send another group of courier boats to the other admirals. If they turned on the Emperor, it would shorten the war... he refused to think about the deaths it would cause, if the civil war expanded. There was no choice. 
And put a set of pickets through each of the Asimov Points, he thought, tapping orders into the console. The enemy might just try to counterattack while we’re desperately preparing an offensive of our own.
He sat down, hastily reviewing Emperor Marius’s possible options. Any normal admiral would launch a counterattack as soon as possible, just to keep Roman from getting too comfortable, let alone launching a further attack. It was what he’d done, back when the Outsiders had announced their existence by attacking Athena. But Emperor Marius would have to worry about securing his rear, something Roman hadn’t needed to consider. He might just keep going until he had his fleet safely back at Earth.
But he can send other squadrons to counterattack, or harass my supply lines, Roman reminded himself. It was a fairly standard tactic. The Emperor wouldn’t need any real imagination to think of it. I need to worry about my rear now.
The hatch chimed. He keyed a switch, opening it. Elf stepped inside, looking tired.
Roman smiled, rising. “Welcome back to Boston.”
“It seems to be fairly stable,” Elf said, as she gave him a tight hug. “But there could easily be underground cells just waiting for the order to cause trouble.”
“I know,” Roman said. He’d ordered stay-behind cells to be formed, just in case Boston fell to the Outsiders. The irony of having one of those cells carry out an underground war against him was chilling, but he had to admit it could happen. “I have every confidence in your ability to secure the fleet.”
“I just wish it wasn’t another civil war,” Elf said. “It’s impossible to judge just where everyone’s loyalties lie.”
Roman opened his mouth to answer, but the intercom buzzed. “Admiral, this is Lieutenant Thompson,” a voice said. “We’ve just received a message from the planet. Professor Kratman has been located and is currently en route to the ship.”
Elf blinked. “That quick?”
“He just walked in and announced himself,” Lieutenant Thompson said. “Admiral?”
“Inform me when he arrives,” Roman said. He closed the channel, then looked at Elf and smiled. “Answers, finally.”
“Yes,” Elf agreed. “Now tell me, do you know the questions?”
“I hope so,” Roman said.

Chapter Eight

Once scattered, the Federation Navy lost all contact with its long history, its long traditions and, eventually, its reason for existence.
—The Federation Navy in Retrospect, 4199

Boston, 4101
Roman had first met Professor Kratman when he’d been a young cadet, struggling to earn high marks through nothing more than sheer merit. The Professor had never been dull; he’d opened their minds, taught them to think and, sometimes harshly, rebuked them for parroting what they learned in books and files. Roman had respected him deeply, even though he hadn’t always liked him. But the man before him now was a shadow of the professor Roman remembered. He looked thinner and paler, his white hair reduced to a faint wisp covering his head. Being on the run for several weeks had evidently not agreed with him.
“I can have food and drink brought in, if you wish,” he said, as the Professor took a seat in Roman’s quarters. He keyed his terminal, sending the food order. “What happened to you?”
“Suspected it would be better to absent myself for a while,” Kratman said. His voice, too, was raspier than Roman remembered. “Marius, I fear, was starting to suspect me. I’d acted too openly against him.”
Elf leaned forward from where she sat on the sofa. “In doing what?”
“Talking to you, for a start,” Kratman said. “The Emperor’s paranoia was growing stronger, much stronger. I believe it wouldn’t have been long before I was removed, on one pretext or another.”
He met Roman’s eyes, a hint of the old fire sparkling to life. “What happened at Nova Athena?”
“The Emperor attempted to commit genocide,” Roman said, bluntly. He ran through a brief explanation, ending with the return to Boston. “Why? Why did this happen?”
“I believe I explained the problem to you, the last time we met,” Kratman said. “The task of running a military is very different from the task of running an entire government, even without the stress of a major war. Marius Drake, sole ruler of the Federation, was cracking under the pressure. I suspected trouble a long time before I obtained proof that he was growing dangerously addicted to drugs and alcohol.”
Elf snorted. “What was he meant to do?”
“Not get addicted, for one,” Kratman said, shortly. “He knew the dangers; he was one of the smartest young officers I ever met...”
“And you helped put him in power,” Elf said.
“I wish I’d had a better solution,” Kratman admitted. “A period of military rule — ten years, as he promised us — seemed the ideal solution. We could streamline the regulations, pare the bureaucracy down to the bone and end the many — many — injustices perpetrated in the name of the Federation. We could loosen the bonds on our industries, making them more competitive and, at the same time, expand our industrial base. The conditions that allowed for the rise of the Grand Senate would take longer to re-emerge, I hoped.
“Instead, we had a major war to fight,” he added. “And the Emperor was utterly unwilling to compromise with the Outsiders. Instead of recovering, our industry has started to collapse; instead of growing, our economy has continued to decay. And the bureaucracy, the bane of billions upon billions of people, has actually managed to grow.”
“The Outsiders appeared at a very bad time,” Roman observed.
“Yes,” Kratman said, flatly. “They did.”
The hatch opened, revealing a pair of stewards carrying trays. Roman watched as they put the food on the table and retreated, then motioned to Kratman to eat. The Professor tucked in with considerable enthusiasm, suggesting he’d been going hungry for the last couple of weeks. Whatever he said, Roman doubted that dropping off the grid had been easy, even on a heavily-populated world like Boston. The war economy kept much of the planet under tight control. He nibbled companionably and waited, as patiently as he could, for Kratman to finish.
“Marius Drake is not a man accustomed to failure or frustration,” Kratman said, when he’d eaten half of the reconstituted scrambled eggs and bacon. “Indeed, I believe trouble was brewing, deep within his mind, as Operation Retribution set off on its ill-fated voyage. The... agreement... he reached with the Grand Senate may have helped, a little, but their attempt to kill Marius pushed him over the edge. Now, he is forced to come to terms with the limits of absolute power at the same time as he has to fight a major war. He simply can’t get blood from a stone.”
“It doesn’t matter how many orders he issues,” Elf said, quietly. “All that matters is how many of them can be obeyed.”
“Correct,” Kratman said. “He’s been taking drugs and drinking too much, sleeping too little and eating a very poor diet...
“And he’s been lashing out at people he sees as potential threats to his plans, apparently unable to see how his actions are counter-productive. The strikers, for example, were pushed to strike because their working conditions were intolerable. Marius, in crushing the strikes and making examples of the ringleaders, has only made matters worse for the economy. The workers may not be on strike, but they sure as hell aren’t working very hard.”
He shook his head. “And his new security apparatus is out of control,” he added. “I don’t know just how much Marius knows about what they’re doing, but they’ve been arresting journalists, commentators and generally casting a long shadow over public debate. Fear is spreading, Roman, and it’s destroying us.”
Elf shot Roman a sharp look. “Wasn’t that true of the Grand Senate?”
“The Grand Senate, for all of its flaws, enjoyed a certain legitimacy,” Kratman said. He shrugged. “If only because it remained in power for so long, no one could remember anything else. And, until the Imperialist Faction self-destructed, it did manage to do a fairly decent job of running the Federation.”
“There are many who would disagree with that,” Elf pointed out.
“Yes, there are,” Kratman agreed. “No system of government is perfect, Major. There has never been a time in human history where there weren’t discontented people of one stripe or another, people who had grudges against the system or merely thought they were the ones who should be in charge.”
“A fairly common delusion,” Elf noted.
Kratman nodded as he took another bite of his food. “Most of the problems facing the Grand Senate — and Marius Drake — came from the simple fact that the Federation is really too colossal to be micromanaged effectively. Marius, I suspect, really should have understood that from the start.”
“Because micromanaging a military operation across thousands of light years is simply impossible,” Roman said. He’d studied the problem at the academy a long time before he had to face it for himself. “By the time messages reach Earth and return with new orders, the situation has moved on.”
“Correct,” Kratman said. He tapped the table, meaningfully. “Lacking legitimacy, Marius needs to secure his power through other means. And those methods, Roman, are alienating the Core Worlds from him.”
“But if he didn’t,” Roman said, “he couldn’t fight the war.”
“I know,” Kratman agreed. “The timing was unfortunate. And now Marius Drake is going mad.”
“You could have stopped him,” Roman said. “You could have tried to warn him...”
“He didn’t listen to me,” Kratman said. “By the time I realized there was a major problem, Roman, he’d already concluded I wasn’t saying anything he wanted to hear.”
He shook his head. “It isn’t that he doesn’t understand the problems,” he added, after a moment. “It’s that he sees defeating the Outsiders as the ultimate priority, with everything else second to that goal. His loyalty to the Federation, the same loyalty that kept him from becoming a warlord in his own right, drives him forward on a single-minded crusade to restore the Federation’s unity. And anyone who stands in his way is, by definition, a traitor to the Federation.”
“And you can do anything to traitors,” Elf said.
“Exactly,” Kratman said. “I don’t think it will be long, Roman, before Marius starts using the military to force reform. And the results are likely to be disastrous. Earth, for example, requires patient handling, not dictatorship. Or, for that matter, being cut off from all government support and told to actually earn itself a living.”
Roman leaned forward. “Very well,” he said, tartly. “We’ve agreed the Emperor is a madman. We have to overthrow him before it’s too late.”
“Removing him from power isn’t the only issue,” Kratman said. “The question is what comes next? What do we put in his place?”
“There is Lady Tiffany,” Elf offered. “She’s the Empress, to all intents and purposes.”
Kratman shook his head. “She has no authority, no influence, that doesn’t come from Marius Drake,” he said. “She certainly doesn’t command any fleets in her own right. The best she can hope for is to be ignored by those who do.”
Roman nodded, reluctantly. After Admiral Justinian and Marius Drake, the only people with power were the ones who controlled military formations. Even if Lady Tiffany hadn’t been the last surviving member of the Grand Families — at least, the last one on Earth — she wouldn’t have any power herself. If something happened to her husband, she’d fall with him.
He sighed. No wonder Marius Drake had started to slide down the slippery slope.
“Shouldn’t we win the war first?” He asked. “This might all become academic if we wind up facing a firing squad.”
“Marius did not have a plan of transition,” Kratman said, frankly. “To my certain knowledge, Roman, he was making it up as he went along. He couldn’t have planned for the Outsiders, I know, but still... he had little more than good intentions. And the pathway to hell is paved with good intentions.”
“I don’t want to take power for myself,” Roman insisted.
“You may not have a choice,” Elf said. She gave him a sharp look. “Without a strong central authority, the Federation will not survive.”
Kratman looked up. “Should the Federation survive?”
Roman blinked in shock. He’d never been wedded to the concept of the Federation, not like Marius Drake, but he’d served it all his adult life. The idea of simply allowing the Federation to disintegrate into chaos was horrific. Billions upon billions of lives would be lost, through everything from starvation to military action, as galactic civilization crumbled into dust. The Outsiders would not hesitate to take advantage of the chaos, nor would rogue warlords intent on building up empires of their own. One colossal state would be replaced by dozens of others.
“At least, should it survive in its current form?” Kratman added. “The system the founders created was tailor-made for abuse. On one hand, the out-worlds had very little influence in federal policy; on the other hand, there were so many voters in the core that their votes were concentrated in a small number of hands. The rise of the Grand Senate, an aristocracy in all but name, was inevitable.
“Marius tried to reform the system from within and failed. The effort of trying drove him mad. You may need to replace the system with something else, something more durable, something that learns from the mistakes of the past.”
“And something that pushes the Core Worlds to become more than just parasites on the rest of the Federation,” Elf added. “A system that rewards actual work.”
Roman held up a hand. “Right now, I have to concentrate on preparing the fleet for our push towards the Core Worlds,” he said. “Professor, the Outsiders should be arriving within three weeks to a month, now we’ve secured the system. I want you to sit down with them and sort out an effective plan of transition, one that takes us to a successor state that will salvage human unity without creating another nightmare.”
“It might take longer than you think to hammer out something that will be moderately acceptable to everyone,” Kratman warned. “There are far too many issues that need to be addressed. For a start, Roman, what do we do about aliens?”
“Tricky one,” Elf said. She sounded darkly amused. “Keep them in bondage, risk uprisings and interstellar wars; let them have their freedom, risk having the Emperor declare a crusade against the alien-lovers. What do you think, Professor, that the Brotherhood will think of that?”
Kratman sighed. “The truth, Major, is that the Brotherhood may well be a spent force,” he said. “Our ability to influence events has been weakening over the last five years.”
Roman blinked. “I thought the Brotherhood was all-powerful?”
“Smoke and mirrors,” Kratman admitted. “Oh, we were in position to shape public opinion, even to influence decisions made at the very heart of the federal government. We had people emplaced in the bureaucracy, the media, the military... but our ability to take direct action was always very limited. It was better, we felt, to gently shape public discourse rather than put a dam in its path. And, as long as no one started a purge, we were able to punch well above our actual weight.”
“Because no one had any real idea of your true strengths and weaknesses,” Elf said. “They allowed themselves to be intimidated by you.”
“Yes,” Kratman said. “And, to be fair, they found us useful. We played a vital role in ensuring that aliens remained firmly under control.
“Now, though, the ruler of Earth is a man who won’t be intimidated, a man who pays no attention to public opinion or our spokesmen. I suspect, when he finally returns home, that the Emperor will take strong action against us. He knows we’re no longer on his side.”
“Brilliant,” Roman said, sarcastically.
He looked down at the table, fighting to keep the disbelief off his face. The Brotherhood had cast a long shadow over humanity ever since the First Interstellar War, when the newborn Federation Navy had discovered just what the Snakes did to their human prisoners. An anger had been awakened, matched with a steely determination to ensure that no alien race was ever in a position to threaten humanity ever again. And the Brotherhood, a secretive organization to push for human supremacy, had been born. 
And yet, it had all been a bluff?
“For the moment, then, we will leave the alien problem off the table,” Roman said. He rubbed his forehead, wondering if Marius Drake had felt the same way when he’d contemplated the problem of reforming the Federation. “We...”
“The Outsiders have alien allies,” Kratman reminded him. “They’re unlikely to tolerate a continuation of the old policy.”
“You mean crushing all threats, keeping the aliens firmly under control and dropping KEWs at the slightest hint of trouble,” Elf said, flatly. “And exploiting alien labour on their own homeworlds.”
“Yes,” Kratman agreed.
Roman cursed under his breath. The problem hadn’t changed. If they supported alien freedom, even aliens confined to their homeworlds, they’d be handing Emperor Marius a guaranteed propaganda coup. There was nothing — nothing — that galvanised the great mass of public opinion in the Federation more than the prospect of aliens being granted even limited independence. The Brotherhood had played a major role in keeping public opinion firmly turned against the aliens.
And yet, not granting aliens rights and freedoms would alienate the Outsiders. Even if the human Outsiders accepted it, their alien allies would not. And then the civil war would only become worse.
Elf cleared her throat. “What does it actually matter?”
Kratman tossed her a sharp look. “What do you mean?”
“If some of the reports I’ve heard through the grapevine are accurate, the industrial workforce is having major problems keeping up with the Emperor’s demands,” Elf said. “You suggested as much yourself. So they get convinced we’re going to free the aliens, with scenes out of a bad low-budget movie... so what? Even if he were assured of total support, could the Emperor translate it into something effective?”
Roman had to smile. Elf was right. Public opinion, outside of the workforce, mattered very little. What were they going to do? Hold protests against alien rights? And even if the workforce suddenly became far more motivated, it wouldn’t slow the steady decline of the Federation’s industry. Hell, it might make it a great deal worse.
“It might also motivate his military personnel,” Kratman said. “How often do they watch those low-budget movies?”
“It may not matter,” Roman said. “The Emperor... the Emperor can be very inspiring, when he chooses to be.”
He looked back at the table. “We’ll agree to withdraw troops and fortifications from alien homeworlds, granting them independence,” he said. “Alien worlds that exist beyond the Rim will be left alone, provided they leave us alone; if they don’t leave us alone, we’ll smash their militaries and confine them to their homeworlds. And if they want to trade with us... maybe we’ll let them.”
“That won’t go down well with everyone,” Kratman warned.
Roman shrugged. “In my entire career, Professor, I’ve only ever seen a handful of living aliens, all from the same race,” he said. “How often does the average citizen see an alien? I don’t think there are any real aliens in any of those stupid movies.”
“There aren’t,” Kratman confirmed.
Roman looked at him, sharply. “Work out the basics for a post-victory Federation,” he said, “and have them ready to present to the Outsiders. I imagine they’ll want to haggle for hours over the details...”
“Days,” Kratman said. “If not months.”
“But if we lose, it won’t matter in the slightest,” Roman said. “And you’d better make it clear to them that Nova Athena was a human world... and the Emperor was willing to fire on it anyway. I rather doubt he’d hesitate to scorch an alien world clean of life.”
“It has been done before,” Kratman said. He rose, then hesitated. “I assume I have a cabin?”
“You’ll have plenty of space to work,” Roman assured him. He keyed his terminal, calling a steward. “The steward will show you to your cabin. I’d suggest a shower and sleep before you actually do anything.”
Kratman smiled. “In the words of a very old philosopher, Roman, when you get to my age, ‘look as good, you will not.’”
Elf smiled. “How did you survive so long on Boston without being caught?”
“Big world,” Kratman said. “And there’s always an underground, if you know where to look and have the money to convince them you’re worth helping.”
He shrugged, then followed the steward out of the compartment.
“It’s not going to end,” Roman said. “Is it?”
“Probably not,” Elf said. She leaned forward and patted his knee. “Nothing ever ends. All you can do is try your best.”
“I know,” Roman said. He sighed, wishing he had time to take her to bed. “And now I have to get my ships ready before the Outsiders arrive.”
“Or before the Emperor counterattacks,” Elf added. “That would put the cat amongst the mice.”

Chapter Nine

The Outsiders, by contrast, remained a reasonably united force even after the defeat at Boston and the near-defeat at Nova Athena.
—The Federation Navy in Retrospect, 4199

Boston, 4101
Chang Li vaguely remembered passing through Boston, back when she’d left Earth after Admiral Justinian had started a civil war. She hadn’t stayed long, unsure of just which way the system’s commanding officer was planning to jump. He’d stayed loyal in the end, she recalled, but she’d had some nasty moments before she finally returned home. The Grand Senate, having granted itself colossal powers to ensure the security of the Federation, might well have sought to arrest her on trumped-up charges.
Now, she couldn’t help feeling oddly conflicted as the superdreadnaught Freedom transited through the Asimov Point and entered the Boston System. She had returned, but as a diplomatic envoy rather than a conqueror. And, no matter how she looked at it, there was no way to avoid the fact that she would have to convince the system’s population to join her, rather than taking their hatred of the Federation for granted. Boston had not only survived two rounds of war, it had prospered... and it was loyal to Admiral Garibaldi. If it hadn’t been, the war might have come within shouting distance of being lost.
“Fifth Fleet is currently holding position midway between Boston and Asimov Point One,” General Stuart said, as he stood beside her in the CIC. “It isn’t a bad choice, really. Gives Garibaldi a mix of possible options if the Feds show themselves.”
Li nodded and turned her attention back to the display. Boston was heavily industrialized, far more than ninety percent of the other systems along the Rim; it would have been a valuable prize, if her forces had taken it and its industry intact. Dozens of ore miners made their way through the asteroid belt, transporting raw materials to the industrial nodes orbiting Boston itself, while countless freighters headed to and from the Asimov Points or out into interstellar space. Throughout the system, powerful fortifications orbited the planet and guarded the Asimov Points. It was impossible to escape the impression that Admiral Garibaldi had an invulnerable fortress, if he chose to use it.
And yet, she knew that was an illusion. Given sufficient firepower, any system could be taken, either through direct assault or a careful campaign of isolation before dispatching a fleet across interstellar space to finish the job. The fortresses that dominated the display could be left to die, once they were cut off from their supply lines, while the planet itself was an immoveable target. If the Emperor had been willing to bombard Nova Athena, she asked herself, was there anything stopping him from targeting Boston? A single antimatter bomb would be more than enough to lay waste to the entire planet.
And I wonder, she thought, just how many of the people on the planet understand the risk?
“We’ve picked up a communication from the command fortress,” General Stuart said. “They want us to join the main body of the fleet for discussions.”
Li nodded. “Take us there,” she said. She wished, despite herself, that she knew more about Admiral Garibaldi. What would he want from the Outsiders — and what would he see as the ideal post-war universe? “I’ll be in my cabin. Please inform me when we reach shuttlecraft range.”
“Of course, Senator,” General Stuart said. He paused. “They are also asking for us to share classified information on our ships, so they can be slotted into their command network. The risks are quite high.”
“I know,” Li said. She looked back at the display, then shook her head. If Admiral Garibaldi had intended a trap, he’d have opened fire on her ships as they transited the Asimov Point and entered the system, one by one. “But the risks have to be borne.”
She nodded again, then strode through the hatch and down the corridor to her cabin. It was smaller, by far, than the stateroom she’d been allocated on the liner she’d taken to Earth, decades ago, but she didn’t mind. Her importance wasn’t measured by the size of her quarters or the quality of her food. She closed the hatch behind her, checked the timer and lay down on the bed. There should be more than enough time for a quick nap before she needed to board the shuttlecraft.
Her lips curved into a smile. General Stuart would have been surprised, she was sure, to know she was napping, but she’d reached a point where constant revision was more likely to harm than help. There was nothing to be gained by going over the talking points, again and again; it would just drive her mad when she needed to relax and center herself for the coming discussions. She closed her eyes and started to take deep breaths. All she could do now was wait and sleep.
* * *
“Welcome back, Senator,” Admiral Garibaldi said, as she and General Stuart were shown into his cabin. “I’m glad you could make it.”
“Thank you, Admiral,” Li said. Admiral Garibaldi wasn’t alone: he was flanked by the young female marine she recalled from their first meeting and an older man who looked to be in his late seventies, although that could be an illusion. A person with access to rejuvenation treatments might remain the same physical age even as they entered their third century. “I’m very relieved that you managed to secure the system.”
“So am I,” Admiral Garibaldi said. “And that most of my crews remained loyal.”
“I wanted to ask about that.” Li said. “Have you had any trouble?”
“A couple of thousand officers and men were shipped to internment camps on Boston,” Garibaldi said, as he motioned for them to sit down. “Most of them were reluctant to fight against the Emperor, either because they were loyal to him or felt that another round of civil war would shatter the Federation. They will, of course, remain unharmed.”
General Stuart leaned forward. “Can you be sure there are no sleeper agents still present on your ships?”
“No,” Admiral Garibaldi said, bluntly. He didn’t seem annoyed by the question, but Li would have been surprised if he wasn’t. “There’s no way to be sure of anything.”
Li winced. Spies were bad enough, but programmed sleeper agents were far worse. They could fool lie detectors because they didn’t know they were sleeper agents; they knew themselves to be loyal. And yet, they might be pushed into taking action by commands they didn’t know had been inserted into their brains, if the alternate personality didn’t simply wash the original personality aside.
“We don’t have time to brain-scan everyone who might have been turned into a sleeper agent,” Admiral Garibaldi said, flatly. “All we can do is take precautions and hope.”
He shook his head. “But that’s not what we’re here to discuss,” he said. “First, we need to decide on a plan of campaign; second, we need to discuss the future of the post-war universe.”
“That is correct,” Li agreed. “I was under the impression, however, that you wanted to win the war before haggling over the peace.”
“Professor Kratman insisted that I should have a plan for managing the transition,” Admiral Garibaldi said. He nodded to the older man. “You’ll be negotiating with him, later. For the moment...”
He keyed a switch. A starchart sprang to life, displaying the shortest route from Boston to Earth. Li, somewhat to her surprise, had no difficulty in understanding it, although — in hindsight — she knew she shouldn’t have been surprised. The Outsider Navy had largely copied the Federation Navy’s protocols, just to make life easier for experienced officers who joined the cause. Or, for that matter, to command captured warships.
“There are thirteen Asimov Points between Boston and Earth,” Garibaldi said, “and two interstellar gulfs that will have to be crossed in FTL. Assuming we don’t have to do any actual fighting, it would take around three months to reach the Gateway and enter the Sol System. As it happens, there are formidable defenses emplaced at Ruthven, Marble, Tara Prime and the Gateway itself. The latter two, in particular, are formidable indeed.”
Li frowned. “None of the other Asimov Points are defended?”
“There were a handful of minefields and automated weapons platforms, as of the last set of updates,” Garibaldi said. “However, the defended Asimov Points are chokepoints; we have to go through them or spend years trying to reach our destination via stardrive. There are alternatives — we can go through a different Asimov Point at Astrid and enter Tara Prime through the New London Asimov Point — but we’d still have to tangle with formidable fixed defenses.”
He sucked in a breath. “Making matters more complicated, Senator, is the simple fact that the Tara Sector is controlled by Admiral Theodore Vincent,” he added. “I don’t know him, but he wouldn’t have been left in command of the sector if he hadn’t been regarded as both competent and loyal. I’m hoping he will switch sides, which will make getting through the Tara Prime chokepoint a great deal easier, but there’s no guarantee of anything. He might stay with the Emperor or he may declare independence as a rogue warlord.”
“I assume he has a file,” Li said, after a moment’s thought. She hadn’t met Admiral Vincent either. “Does it say anything useful?”
“Very little,” Professor Kratman said. “He left the Luna Academy ten years before the Justinian War and cut his way to a captaincy, purely on merit. His career stalled afterwards as he had no powerful connections; he only became a commodore after his superior officers were killed during the war. Marius must have known him, I suspect; Tara Prime is not exactly a place to park someone you don’t trust. But there’s no hint of where they actually met.”
Li’s eyes narrowed. “They didn’t serve together?”
“Captain Vincent’s ship was assigned to Operation Retribution and fought in the Battle of Boskone,” Admiral Garibaldi said, quietly. “They may have met in the aftermath, Senator. I certainly met the Admiral after Boskone. But they didn’t serve together after that, as far as we can tell.”
“Which means that the Emperor either made a snap judgement,” the female marine said, “or they worked together on something that wasn’t included in the files.”
“There’s no way to know,” Admiral Garibaldi said. “I’ve sent messages to Vincent, but he hasn’t had time to reply. We’re proceeding on the assumption he’s going to be hostile until proven otherwise.”
He tapped the display. “I intend to leave Boston and proceed to Ruthven within two weeks — ideally, as soon as we have the latest sets of assault pods loaded onto the ships,” he said, curtly. “The fleet train will have to work hard, unfortunately, as we will be forcing the Emperor’s ships to fall back on his own supply bases. Worse, we will have to proceed from Ruthven to Marble as soon as possible, forcing us into another engagement with a heavily-defended system.”
“Attacking Marble should be easier,” General Stuart pointed out. “You’d be attacking the defenses from the rear, instead of punching through an Asimov Point.”
“There are fortresses on both sides of the Asimov Point,” Admiral Garibaldi said. “I imagine one group of fortresses will rush to battlestations as the second group holds out as long as it can. I’m not sure what the planners were thinking...”
He shook his head. “We must assume that the Emperor has also detached forces to harass our supply shipments,” he added. “Convoying enough assault points to Maben to prepare for an attack on Tara Prime will be difficult, all the more so as Tara Prime would be a very good place for the Emperor to make a stand.”
“You mean it’s just like Boston,” General Stuart said. “Only you are faced with the task of taking the system, rather than defending it.”
“I’m afraid so,” Admiral Garibaldi said. “If you have any wonder weapons that can blow a fortress into atoms with a single hit... now would be an excellent time to produce them.”
“We don’t,” General Stuart said. “The Marsha have been quite happy to fly suicide missions, piloting cutters crammed with antimatter, but I suspect the Feds will be ready for such tricks.”
“I know,” Admiral Garibaldi agreed. “You used them on me.”
He took a moment to gather himself, then leaned forward. “I don’t think I need to tell you just how important it is that we preserve as much as possible of our mobile fighting power,” he warned. “Home Fleet is still the single most powerful fleet element in the entire Federation, Senator, and it is backed up by the immense fortifications surrounding the Gateway and Earth itself. We could punch our way through to Sol and still lose the war.”
“There is an alternative,” General Stuart suggested. “Once we secure Tara Prime, we could launch raids through the Core Worlds, devastating their industrial base. The Emperor’s ships would eventually grind to a halt through lack of maintenance and supplies.”
“We could try,” Admiral Garibaldi said, “but we’d have to tangle with dozens of other fixed defenses, wearing down our fleet too.”
He looked directly at Li. “How many additional ships can you supply?”
Li nodded to General Stuart, who cleared his throat. “Though the magic of actually streamlining the whole process, Admiral, it takes us around six months to turn out a whole new superdreadnaught. Add another month or two to work the ship up... overall, give us a few years and we can replace all of our superdreadnaught losses. Smaller ships take less time, as you might expect; we’ve managed to get destroyer build times down to a month, assuming all the parts are on hand.
“Crewing is, of course, a weakness,” he added. “Our training programs are far superior to the Federation’s” — Li winced, inwardly, at the gloating note in his voice — “but our manpower base is nowhere near as extensive. However, we are recruiting more crew from the stage-one and two colony worlds that have joined our union. I suspect we will be churning out double or triple the amount of trained manpower within the next two years.”
He paused, dramatically. “Right now, we have the battle squadrons we brought with us and several hundred smaller ships,” he concluded. “Give us a couple of years and we will have a far superior fighting force.”
“Except the Federation can still out-produce you,” Admiral Garibaldi said, carefully. “It may take them a full year, perhaps longer, to build a superdreadnaught, but they can lay down five or six times as many ships as you can.”
“It depends,” General Stuart admitted. “Our industrial base is weaker, but our manpower is far superior and we are willing to use considerably more automation in the construction yards. And one of our superdreadnaughts is worth two or three of yours... sorry, of theirs.”
“General,” Li said.
General Stuart had the grace to look abashed. “We are working on expanding our industrial base too,” he said. “Our projections show many different results, of course, but we believe that if the war lasts another five years, we should gain a decisive advantage. However, the Federation may solve some of its own problems in the same time. If they manage to improve their educational base by a mere twenty percent, they — not us — will gain a decisive advantage. We can’t risk giving them time to steady themselves and start work on improving their own systems.”
“Which would give the Emperor more time to consolidate his power and plot a counteroffensive,” Admiral Garibaldi said. “Marius Drake is not an idiot, General. He understands his military weaknesses very well.”
He nodded to the display. “Are you willing to commit your forces to this operational plan?”
“I see no alternative,” General Stuart said. “Leaving him in control of the Core Worlds will, at the very least, prolong the war.”
“Agreed,” Li said. She shuddered at the thought. The wars — the Justinian War, the Outsider War — had killed millions, perhaps billions, of humans. Merely trying to force their way into Boston had cost the Outsiders over a hundred thousand lives... and at least fifty thousand on the other side. “We have to end this war as soon as possible.”
“We’ll test your datalinks against ours,” Admiral Garibaldi said. He looked at General Stuart. “Will you serve as second-in-command of the fleet?”
“If you’ll have me,” General Stuart said. His lips quirked in wry amusement. “I lost the last two battles I fought.”
“You fought well,” Admiral Garibaldi said. “And your trick with the ECM was very well timed.”
“Yeah,” General Stuart said. “It drove the Emperor mad.”
“We’ll move to the ops room and discuss our options,” Admiral Garibaldi said. “Professor Kratman and the Senator can discuss the post-war universe. Assuming, of course, that we win the war. We could still lose.”
He opened the hatch and led General Stuart out of the compartment, followed by the female marine. Li watched him go, feeling an odd flicker of respect. Admiral Garibaldi hadn’t needed to invite General Stuart to serve as his second, even though Stuart commanded a sizable fleet in his own right. It was a diplomatic gesture that, she hoped, would go some distance towards integrating the two fleets.
And we’re going to need it, she thought. She’d seen the projections too, noting just how many people were going to die even if the war stayed relatively clean. If the Emperor started bombarding planets at random, and he’d already tried to cross the line once, billions of innocent civilians would be added to the death toll. This war isn’t for the future, not any longer. It’s for survival.
“Senator,” Professor Kratman said. “I’ve taken the liberty of preparing a set of proposals for our discussions.”
Li nodded and dragged her attention back to the here and now. “I look forward to them,” she said. “And I have some proposals of my own.”

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