Christopher Nuttall - Barbarians at the Gates

“Personal to Admiral Parkinson,” he said. “I have reviewed the latest exercise results. While I am happy to see that there has been considerable improvement, I feel that we need to concentrate on…”

Roman’s bottom hit the deck hard enough to sting, even through his protective “exercise suit.” The suit provided very little protection, as he’d felt each one of the blows, and he was starting to wonder if that was deliberate. The Marines seemed to feel that it was their duty to knock the weak-kneed Navy officers into shape, and didn’t mind bruising them along the way. Roman had heard from some of the other lieutenants that the Marines were working off their frustrations on the naval officers. It sounded plausible.

“You’re getting better,” Corporal Elf said. She made a show of wiping nonexistent sweat out of her eyes, then extended a hand to help him to his feet. “You almost had me.”

“Right,” Roman said. “I think with one more near-victory like that, I am ruined.”

Elf giggled. No one would have taken her for a Marine if they’d met her out of uniform. She was short and slight, with short elfin hair and bright blue eyes. The first time they’d met, he’d made the mistake of underestimating her and she’d soundly kicked his ass around the training room. He hadn’t ever been able to beat her yet in a straight fight, even at Circle. While he’d been training at Luna Academy, she’d been at Camp Heinlein on Earth and then Camp Paterson on Mars.

But then, all Marines were required to be deadly in both armed and unarmed combat.

Enterprise carried an entire Marine Regiment, one thousand men in all. Roman had given up asking why the Regiment’s crest—a strange, alien creature that looked like a green pile of poop, with big eyes and two unrealistically huge plasma cannons—was tattooed on every Marine he’d met. Marine Regiments had their own traditions, and they were not for anyone else to know. On the other hand, the Marines were encouraged to work with the Navy crewmen as much as possible, even though one of their roles was internal police force if something got out of hand.

“You are definitely getting better,” Elf confirmed, suddenly serious. “But you need a few more hours of practice.”

She winked at him, which he didn’t understand. Was she interested in him? He had no idea, but it wasn’t the first time they’d met in the training room. So why did it keep coming up?

The thought was both exciting and terrifying. The Federation Navy forbade relationships between crewmen in the same chain of command, but winked at relationships outside such bounds. It was one reason why Marines and Navy crewmen tended to spend more time together than an outside observer might expect. The Marines labored under even stricter rules on fraternization amongst themselves, but seemed to have no real issues with Naval officers as almost all of them were outside their chains of command.

He shook his head and snorted as he headed for the showers. It was tempting to ask if she would like to spend time with him while they were both off-duty, but he didn’t quite dare. What if he was wrong and she took offense?

Besides, he knew she was holding back in the training room. She could probably kick his ass with both hands tied behind her back.

Elf followed him into the showers, disrobed and stood under the hot water. Roman swallowed hard and looked away, soaping down as rapidly as possible. Elf seemed unaware of his near-panic, or perhaps she knew perfectly well. They made idle conversation about the mission as they showered, Elf bumping him gently from time to time. He couldn’t tell if she was coming on to him, or merely playing with his mind.

“It reminds me of the engagement in the Ob’enn System,” Elf commented as she dried herself. “We were surrounded by the rebels and cut off from any support—we knew that we were going to die. So the captain gets a squad of us up and tells us to act really dumb. We go out on patrol as if the enemy is millions of miles away and we’re having a picnic. We make ourselves really obvious targets.”

Roman frowned, keeping his eyes off her. “And they jumped you?”

“You’d think so,” Elf agreed. “But no, they left us alone and even pulled back! Someone on the other side was too smart for his own good and decided that the reason we were prancing around like a pack of planetary militia was that we had really strong forces in reserve waiting to hit them when they attacked us. I couldn’t believe it.”

“I see,” Roman said. He reached for his shipsuit and pulled it on, checking his internal chronometer as he dressed. He had twenty minutes before he was due to report for his next assignment, more training exercises. The pace hadn’t slacked off, even though they were now only a few days away from the Jefferson System. “And you think that that’s what Admiral Justinian has in mind?”

“I’m no expert on space warfare, but the principles are the same.” Elf shrugged at him. “He’s giving up territory to us without a fight. Why would he do that, but to gain time to prepare a counter-stroke?”

Roman thought about it from that angle. “It makes sense,” he agreed. “Have you asked the major about it?” Roman had been astonished by how informal the Marines were, compared to the Federation Navy. There seemed to be very little awareness of rank among them.

“The major has tried to convince the captain,” Elf said. “He says that the captain is convinced, but apparently the admiral is enjoying his victory march.”

Roman flushed. Speaking disrespectfully of a superior officer was a military offense.

Elf nodded in understanding.

“Or,” she added, “as our Regimental motto has it, sometimes you have fun, and sometimes the fun has you.”

Five days later, Roman took his seat on the secondary bridge as the fleet came to a halt near the Jefferson Asimov Point. Nothing barred their way into Jefferson, not even a customs station. The thought made him smile. RockRats loathed customs officers, but no customs officer would try to halt the fleet to demand payment. The very thought was absurd.

“Now hear this,” the captain’s voice said throughout the ship. “Set condition one throughout the ship; I say again, set condition one throughout the ship. This is not a drill.”

Roman braced himself. Jefferson was the last place Admiral Justinian could intercept the fleet, short of Harmony itself. It seemed impossible that he would allow them to occupy the system without a fight.

On his display, the first recon probes reached the Asimov Point… and vanished.

Jefferson System, 4092

Admiral Justinian still remembered the day when he had realized—for the first time—just how rotten and decayed the Federation had become. He’d been promoted to captain only six months before Pinafore —his first command—had been assigned to a rebellious system and ordered to keep the peace. It hadn’t taken long for him to realize that there was little hope of preventing an insurgency that would either wreck the planet or force the Federation to land ground troops to suppress it. The local governor, the nominee of the interstellar corporation that had acquired the rights to develop and exploit the planet, treated the settlers worse than slaves. He’d casually broken some of the most sacred laws on the books and no one had bothered to do anything about it. The settlers had eventually been put down—in every sense of the word—by orbital bombardment.