Christopher Nuttall - Barbarians at the Gates

“Helm, take the fleet to Earth,” he ordered. There was no point in dawdling any longer. “Best possible speed.”

“Aye, sir,” the helmsman said.

Marius looked up at the display. Earth was surrounded by civilian starships, each one trying to flee before the warships arrived at Earth. Marius shrugged, ignoring them. They didn’t matter. All that mattered was capturing the Senate and ending the struggle before it could begin.

“Home Fleet is in a state of mutiny,” the dispatcher reported. He sounded hysterical. “Admiral Featherstone is dead!”

“What do we do?” Alison demanded. “What do we do?”

Carlton was having similar thoughts. If Home Fleet could be subverted, so could Earth’s defenses. Even if they remained loyal—and that couldn’t be guaranteed, even with the presence of Internal Security troopers on each platform—the Grand Fleet could break through the defenses and bombard Earth into submission. Hastily, he reviewed his emergency plans and realized that there wasn’t time to activate them before the Grand Fleet reached orbit. They had placed far too much faith in Admiral Featherstone…

“I need to think,” he snapped, with a glare that cut Alison off before she could continue to bleat like a scared lamb. “I think we need to surrender now, while we still have something to bargain with.”

Alison stared at him, her eyes going wide. “But he’ll kill us!”

“He’s a man of honor,” Carlton said sharply. “The point is, we have something to bargain with now, our control over Earth’s defenses. That allows us to ask for better terms than we might expect if he breaks through the defenses, or if they go over to him.”

“We could run,” Alison protested.

Carlton snorted.

“Where would we go? We can’t get to the spacecraft in time to get off-planet, while anywhere we would want to live on Earth would be easy for him to find. Do you want to flee into the slums and pretend that we were never Senators…?”

“No,” Alison hissed. “Very well; you talk to the bastard. Tell him that we will surrender on terms.”

Marius kept his expression blank as Grand Senator Brockington made his plea for terms. He’d anticipated that the Senate would fold, once they saw what happened to Home Fleet, and he’d had time to consider what he’d offer them. He’d come up with some very generous terms, but he doubted that the Senate would see it that way.

“Here are my terms,” he said. “You will order the defenses of Earth to stand down and prepare to be boarded. You will order the ground-side police force to remain at their posts until they are relieved. You will surrender yourselves to my Marines—every Senator on Earth, your families and anyone who wants to go with you—and prepare to be transported to exile. If you refuse these terms, there will be no further negotiation.”

There was a long pause as the message winged its way to Earth.

Eventually, a reply came flying back. As he’d expected, the Senate had accepted his terms. Marius figured they intended to return one day and resume their positions of power, but it wasn’t going to happen. They’d be sent to a comfortable world—Manchu or Paradise, perhaps—where they would live out the rest of their lives without contact with the Federation. That would put an end to them and their meddling.

He leaned back in his command chair. “Well,” he said to no one in particular. “We just took over the Federation. What do we do now?”

No one, not even Garibaldi, tried to frame a reply.

Earth (Sol) System, 4098

“I’m going to give you Valiant ,” Admiral Drake said a day after the Grand Fleet had captured Earth. Roman had been half-convinced that the admiral had forgotten him in the whirlwind of securing Earth’s vital locations and transporting the Senators and their families to temporary accommodation. “Technically, you’re too young to serve as a commodore, but I think I’m going to have to give you a temporary promotion anyway.”

Admiral Drake tapped the display, which focused in on the Rim. “There are too many worrying reports coming from this Sector,” he said. “You’ll see the intelligence reports; if they’re accurate, we might have at least two hostile races in the Beyond. Your task would be to defeat the pirates in the sector and survey the stars beyond the Rim.”

“Yes, sir,” Roman said. He didn’t want to be promoted out of a command chair, even for a short while, but he suspected he didn’t have very much choice in the matter. If nothing else, there would definitely be room for independent action. The Rim was just too large to be patrolled by a task force operating as a single unit. “I won’t let you down.”

“I’m promoting your girlfriend to Major and assigning her command of a Marine Regiment,” Admiral Drake added. “I dare say you’ll find something to talk about on the trip to the Rim.”

“Thank you, sir,” Roman said, blushing. He hadn’t wanted to admit that he was worried about losing her comforting presence on his ship—and in his bed, of course. “I think she’ll enjoy the chance to stretch herself a little farther.”

“Just remember, you’re not out there to invade a whole alien empire by yourself,” Admiral Drake cautioned. “We may have to extend the Rim out to enclose their space—and bring them under our control—but we need to put our own house in order first. The remaining warlords need to be mopped up and crushed; the Survey Service needs to be restarted…there’s too many things we need to do. And we need to secure the space lines so that regular shipping can restart. There are too many pirate ships operating out there because of the war.”

He shook his head. “Be careful out there, Roman,” he said, clapping Roman on the shoulder. “I don’t want to lose any more good people out along the Rim.”

“Thank you, sir,” Roman said. “I won’t let you down.”

“Tell me something,” Marius said, once they were in a secure compartment. “Was this what the Brotherhood had in mind all along?”

Professor Kratman shrugged.

“Not in particular,” he said. “We believed that something would have to happen in order to force the Senate to reform before the entire Federation shattered. You becoming emperor…”

Marius scowled. It hadn’t taken more than a few hours before High Society—what was left of it—had started clamoring to recognize the emperor. He’d promised himself that there would be a brief and formal coronation, but High Society seemed to think that it needed a grand event with a golden crown. It was galling, in a way; he’d taken supreme power, and he was as much a prisoner as most of the Senate.

“Still, you have to be careful,” his former commander warned. “If you move too quickly, you run the risk of causing an economic disaster. The industrialist strangleholds will have to be broken carefully, or they might destroy the economy out of spite.”

“And even threats won’t deter them,” Marius sighed. He looked up. “I’m appointing you to my cabinet, by the way.”

Professor Kratman blinked. “Why?”

“I want you where I can see you,” Marius said firmly. “I think the Brotherhood has spent too long in the shadows. It’s time to come out into the light.

“And besides,” he added, “I trust you.”

“I don’t think…”

“We’ll discuss it later,” Marius said. He tapped the pistol he wore at his belt. Vaughn’s old pistol, as ready for use as it had been the day it was produced. “I have one piece of unfinished business left to complete.”