Christopher Nuttall - Barbarians at the Gates

Still chuckling, he turned back to his console and started to update the operations chart. The fleet needed to move within a day so they’d be in position to support Midway if Admiral Justinian turned nasty, and there was too much work to do.

He almost missed Tiffany’s entry into the room; only the smell of her perfume alerted him to her presence. He turned to greet her, but she ran into his arms before he’d gotten out a single syllable. Then, she kissed him…his arms went reflexively around her, and for a time, nothing else mattered. Finally they broke for air.

“Do you think Admiral Justinian will surrender?” she wondered. “I mean…he doesn’t have any chance of victory, does he?”

“I don’t think so,” Marius said, answering the second question first. “Actually, the worst thing he could do from my perspective is to flee into interstellar space and head to the Rim. We’d never be sure we’d got him. And if he stumbled across an Outsider world and offered to share technology, he could create a whole new threat to the Federation.”

The reports he’d seen from ONI tended to confirm his pessimistic feelings about the Outsiders. Something was clearly up beyond the Rim, something that threatened the entire Federation. And here they were, wrapped up in a squalid little civil war.

“Marius, what are you thinking?” his wife asked.

“If he doesn’t surrender, we can take out Harmony and then spend a year mopping up,” he said slowly. “And if he does , the war is over and all we have to do is deal with the minor warlords.”

“Yeah,” Tiffany said. Her voice sharpened, a legacy of her time in High Society. “Tell me something.”

“Sure,” Marius replied.

“You’re saying that Admiral Justinian has lost the war. But does he know that?”

“He should,” Marius said. “No professional admiral worth his salt could still believe that he had any chance at ultimate victory in his position.”

Admiral Justinian had spent the trip from Lombardi to Harmony considering the virtues of suicide. He’d expected to die in battle, not to have his closest ally stun him and dump him into a shuttle so he could escape, even though it had saved his life. It had taken a day to get rid of the headache that had burned through his skull, and another day to overcome the depression that followed. Afterward, he’d been able to make some plans, although the truth was that he had no idea what to do. Harmony was strongly held, but most of his fleet had been crushed. He doubted the Federation would give him time to rebuild.

With no other choice, he plunged himself into issuing orders as soon as the Apollo returned to normal space, just outside the Harmony mass limit. As the battlecruiser plunged farther into the system, he was gratified to see his subordinates working on defense and repairing the damaged ships. Best of all, Harmony operated a large starfighter plant and could turn out new starfighters and gunboats on very short notice. Training up the pilots was harder—especially as the training course would have to be updated to account for the damned antifighter cruisers—but if he had a few weeks, he’d be able to give a good account of himself.

He was still contemplating it when a courier boat transited the Jefferson Asimov Point and transmitted an urgent message for him personally. As soon as he saw the recording, he called a meeting of his subordinates.

“These recordings were taken by a scout ship I dispatched to Bester,” he said before displaying them on the main screen. Some of his subordinates had been quietly muttering about making contact with the Federation—with or without their command—and seeing if they could cut a deal. “The news is not good.”

His subordinates watched the dispatch in silence. They saw how the Federation Navy had secured Bester and then departed up the Asimov Chain to Sphinx, followed by the Internal Security operations on the planet’s surface. The bloody massacre of the surrendered personnel and the brutal crushing of the early uprisings against Federation control played out in front of them, a mocking reminder that they’d be fools to trust any promise made by the Senate.

He knew Caitlin hadn’t known about it when she’d surrendered. She might be dead now.

“Some of you have been considering that it might be best to try to negotiate with the Federation,” he said flatly.

No one bothered to dispute it.

“As you can see, the Federation took the surrenders, promised good treatment…and then slaughtered the surrendered personnel in cold blood. That was no accident, my friends; that was cold-blooded murder. The Federation killed men it had promised to spare, along with their families and children!”

He looked around the compartment, his eyes moving from face to face.

“That is the fate that is in store for us when they arrive,” he pointed out. “If we surrender, they will kill us and our families once we are helpless. That’s why I will not surrender to the Federation Navy, not now, not ever. And if any of you want to surrender, you can move to Jefferson and wait for them to capture you.”

No one said anything at all.

Admiral Justinian took a deep breath.

“We may not be able to stop them from killing us,” he concluded, “but by God, we can make them hurt !”

Harmony System, 4097

“Crossing the mass limit now, sir,” the helmsman said.

“Transmit our IFF codes and the admiral’s message,” Roman ordered. “Notify me the moment he replies.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” the communications officer said.

Roman felt exposed as Midway flew deeper into the Harmony System, even though he knew the remainder of the Grand Fleet would be coming in behind him. Still, if Admiral Justinian decided to fight to the last, Midway would be almost completely on her own.

Four hours ticked by as they advanced into the system.

Roman ordered the launch of stealth recon drones, which would allow them to develop an outline of the system. What they picked up wasn’t encouraging. As the Sector Capital, Harmony had been heavily industrialized before the war, but Admiral Justinian’s men had clearly been busy. Harmony’s current level of industry now ranked with Kennedy or Roosevelt; given a few more years it might match Earth. Worse yet, the planet itself was heavily defended. That wasn’t a surprise, but Roman had still been hoping for a bit less in the way of fortifications.

Roman knew it would be difficult for the Grand Fleet to take the system by force.

“Captain, I am picking up a message,” the communications officer said, finally. “They’re welcoming us to the system and requesting that we rendezvous with their fleet so the admiral’s representatives can be transferred to meet with the admiral.”

Roman nodded slowly. There was no hope of a two-way conversation at this distance and no real hope of convincing Admiral Justinian to board his ship instead. He consoled himself by thinking, At least Admiral Drake’s wife isn’t in danger this time.

Besides, even if it was a trap, it would only close around Midway . The remainder of the Grand Fleet was too far out of range.

“Transmit back an acknowledgement,” he said. The feeling of being exposed was growing stronger. The IFF signal they were pulsing out would allow them to be tracked by passive sensors alone, which meant that anyone lying in wait would be able to target his ship without any betraying emissions. “Inform them that we will rendezvous with their fleet in—” he checked his console “—two hours and thirty minutes.”