Christopher Nuttall - Barbarians at the Gates

“Furthermore,” he continued, before Parkinson could say a word, “the course you have suggested has a number of disadvantages. The enemy will be able to operate with the advantage of internal lines of communication and rotate forces to meet us at will, either outside Jefferson or within the Jefferson System proper. We are short on supplies and…”

“We will be drawing supplies from the fleet supply deports as we pass,” Parkinson said sharply. “They are still in our hands.”

“With all due respect,” Marius said, “how do we know that they are still in our hands?”

He kept his expression blank, even though some of the junior officers now looked uneasy. There was—inevitably—a major time lag between sending a message from Earth and receiving it at the other side of the Federation, let alone receiving a reply. Even using the Asimov Point network and StarCom units—where they were emplaced—didn’t allow a message to reach the Rim in less than six months. By now, Admiral Justinian’s forces could have taken the two sectors closest to Harmony, and the Retribution Force wouldn’t know a thing about it until they blundered into an ambush.

“They have confirmed that they are still loyal,” Parkinson said shortly. He turned back to the star chart. “Addressing the issue of local governments, we will remove them…”

“Perhaps you could spare me a few minutes,” one of the younger officers said as the meeting broke up. “I believe that we need to talk.”

Marius stared down at her in surprise. She wore the uniform of a Commodore, yet her white non-dress uniform showed no golden stars representing ships under her command. He hadn’t paid attention to her at the meeting, but he studied her now, uneasily aware that she was studying him in return. She was short, with light brown skin and long dark hair that hung in a ponytail. A single red dot on her forehead marked her as coming from one of the orthodox Hindu worlds, even though the Federation Navy frowned upon displays of religious enthusiasm. He couldn’t help but notice that she was remarkably pretty.

“Commodore Arunika,” she said, as she held out a dark hand for him to shake. “Office of Naval Intelligence.”

Marius nodded, bending over to kiss the air above her hand. The silver ring she wore on her finger caught his eye and he stared at it. He’d never seen one before, but there was no mistaking the silver band with the Star of David ingrained in the metal. Arunika led him through a pair of compartments and into a more private briefing room. He didn’t protest at how she’d taken charge. The silver ring marked her as a member of the Brotherhood.

“You raised some important concerns, admiral,” Arunika said as soon as the airlock had hissed closed and she’d carried out a brief check for bugs. “ONI has been crunching the numbers ever since we identified the person behind the attack on Earth. I’m afraid that our conclusions have been…ignored.”

Marius’s eyes narrowed. The Office of Naval Intelligence had been heavily politicized in the years before the Blue Star War. Eventually, they’d overstepped themselves and provided inaccurate and incomplete data to the Senate, data that the Imperialist Faction had used to argue its case for war. After the first defeats, the Senate had been looking for scapegoats, and ONI had found itself purged. The officers who had doctored the data—or simply refused to read what was clearly there—had been dismissed from the service, and ONI had been stripped of most of its responsibilities. Federation Intelligence, the civilian intelligence-gathering organization, had stepped up to fill the hole.

“I see,” he said. Parkinson wouldn’t have paid any attention to ONI without direct orders in triplicate from his political masters. “And what did you conclude?”

His implants reported that hers were requesting permission to transmit a file. He authorized it automatically and accepted the file, noting the level of security precautions buried in the document. If someone else had tried to accept it, the file would have destroyed itself and vanished.

“That’s everything we have,” Arunika said. “To summarize: Admiral Justinian has spent the last ten years—at least—preparing his rebellion. Most of the Federation Navy officers assigned to the sector served under him before, or are dangerously ambitious and intelligent. If that wasn’t enough, the admiral has also been requesting an alarmingly large supply of spare parts from Earth—and setting up shipyards and industrial nodes in the sector. Depending on the assumptions we feed into our computers, Admiral Justinian may have a far larger fleet than we know, with a support network second only to the Federation Navy.”

Marius frowned. “And if he had a larger fleet, why not use it against Earth?”

“We don’t know,” Arunika said. “It may interest you to know that two of three Federation Intelligence supervisors in the sector have met untimely ends. The first apparently went big game hunting on Ripley, and was killed by one of the more unpleasant creatures on the planet. The second was fond of patronizing the more…extreme whorehouses on Harmony and, eventually, he died in one of them. You don’t want to know how. The third’s reports showed no sign of concern but since the attack on Earth, he hasn’t responded to attempts to contact him.”

Marius saw the implications at once. “He’s been turned,” he said flatly.

“Almost certainly,” Arunika agreed. “How confident are you that Admiral Parkinson can lead the Retribution Force to victory?”

Marius didn’t bother to answer. Openly criticizing a senior officer was a severe breach of military etiquette, regardless of his personal feelings. There were times when it could be done legally, but not when talking to an ONI spook, even if she was pretty. And besides, she could probably read the answer in his face. He wasn’t very confident at all.

“I suggest that you watch your back,” she said seriously. “And if you need help, perhaps we can be of service.”

She held up her hand, drawing his attention to the ring. “We are interested in you, admiral,” she said. “Perhaps we can help one another.”

“And what, precisely, is the Brotherhood’s interest in this?” Marius scowled.

“The Brotherhood is interested in keeping the Federation stable and strong,” Arunika said. Her eyes lit up with the light of the true fanatic. “If Justinian succeeds in overthrowing the government, or even in declaring independence and making it stick, the result is likely to be chaos. The Brotherhood does not approve of chaos.”

“I wouldn’t have thought that you would have approved of civil war, either,” Marius countered. The Brotherhood…? The last thing he needed was another player with uncertain motives, particularly one with a long and secretive history. He wasn’t blind to the implications of Arunika wearing the ring openly. It was a show of influence and power. “Why are you offering to help me?”

“Because we need to solve this problem as soon as possible,” Arunika said. “There are other admirals who may be considering becoming warlords and attempting to seize power. If Justinian is crushed quickly, they may be deterred from attempting to plunge the Federation even further into a Civil War. We can do a great deal for you, admiral.”

“Of course you can,” Marius agreed. No two rumors about the Brotherhood agreed, but there was a general consensus that the Brotherhood was rich, powerful, and utterly ruthless in accomplishing its objectives. It had certainly made no secret of those . “But what do you want in exchange?”