Christopher Nuttall - Barbarians at the Gates

Justinian had always been ambitious and watching the slow collapse of the Federation had turned his thoughts to how an intelligent and well-positioned person could take advantage of the chaos. He had seen the vast powers and responsibilities granted to Sector Commanders and, by the time he’d been promoted to commodore, he’d already been well on the way to building up a network of supporters and allies. The Senate was corrupt, the president was a non-entity and the Federation Navy was slowly coming apart at the seams. It had been easy to find supporters—and some backers who were prepared to forward money and political support. When he’d been appointed as Harmony’s Sector Commander, it had been the perfect opportunity to turn his plans into reality.

If he’d had another five years, as he’d planned, his fleet would have had no difficulty in occupying Earth, convincing the Senate to surrender and overawing the other admirals. As it was, he’d received word that the Senate was on the verge of recalling him to Earth, convincing him that he’d better move now or abandon years of careful planning. The strike against Earth had been chancy—even though early reports suggested that the first stages of the operation had succeeded better than he’d had a right to expect—and, like all smart commanders, he’d had a contingency plan. The moment he’d heard that Admiral Parkinson was being put in command of the Retribution Force, he’d placed his own plans into operation. Sitting and waiting for the enemy to come to him was galling, especially as he’d been known as a commander who always took the offensive, but it would be worth it.

Otherwise, he would die with his fleet.

He smiled. In days of yore, emperors—and would-be emperors—had led their forces from the front. The Senate, of course, never left Earth. He knew who he preferred to be in command, the man who took the same risks as his crewmen. And he knew that his crews responded to that.

He’d had years to build up a whole secret source of manpower for his fleet and they were his loyalists. The Federation Navy had no idea just how badly it was outmatched. And if the new weapons worked as advertised…

“Admiral, the enemy is sending recon drones through the Asimov Point,” Captain Caitlin Bowery reported. Tall, dark and strikingly pretty, Caitlin served as his Flag Captain. She had been his subordinate on his first command, and he had kept her with him as he had risen to admiral. His wife didn’t like it, but if she wanted to be empress—and social queen on Earth—she would have to live with it. “They’re ready to advance.”

Justinian nodded. It would have been unwise to expect Parkinson to charge into the system without bothering to check it out first. Even he could see that the Asimov Point was the perfect spot for an ambush. The unimaginative clod would do what The Book ordered and probe the system first, and then—if there was an enemy fleet drawn up to meet him—bombard the Asimov Point with antimatter missiles until the enemy fleet was forced back from the maelstrom.

“Good,” he said. Perversely, it would be some hours before the two fleets came to battle, even under the worst-case scenario. “Bring the fleet to condition two, but keep us under cloak. We don’t want to risk discovery before it is too late for them to escape.”

Roman’s heart was beating so loudly as the Enterprise jumped into the Jefferson System that he was surprised no one else could hear it. He’d braced himself for the possibility of an enemy ambush, but nothing appeared to challenge their presence. He swallowed hard, cursing his dry throat, even as his mind mulled over the tactical situation. Doctrine said, quite clearly, that allowing an enemy unchallenged access into your system—and time to deploy and prepare for action—was equivalent to accepting eventual defeat.

“Launch ready fighters,” the captain’s voice ordered. “Prepare the remaining squadrons for immediate launch.”

Roman did nothing. The command wasn’t addressed to him and, in any case, he was locked out of the command systems unless something happened to the main bridge. He would be a helpless spectator in the coming battle.

Instead, he watched the system display.

The Jefferson System was unusual in several ways. It was a nexus of Asimov Points, with no less than nine Asimov Points orbiting the local star. That wasn’t uncommon in and of itself, but as a general rule, the nexuses tended to orbit massive stars—like the blue giant Sapphire. Jefferson’s primary, on the other hand, was a fairly common G2 star like Sol, with an inhabitable planet and several gas giants and asteroid belts for mining. The colonization rights had been snapped up by the Williamson Corporation, who had formed a development corporation and settled a colony on the inhabitable world. Oddly, the planet’s settlers had paid off their debts fairly quickly and couldn’t be legally sodomized by the Senate-supported interstellar corporations. With access to so many Asimov Points—and the legal right to collect tolls on interstellar shipping—the system had a bright future ahead of it. He scowled. It was easy to see why some Senators were salivating at the chance to place their own people in control of the system. Jefferson had played no part in the Inheritance Wars, but if the system was legally declared in rebellion against the Federation, all local authority could be disbanded and the planet placed into the hands of a Federation Governor. The locals would have no say in the eventual disposition of their system.

Enterprise slowly moved away from the Asimov Point, her escorts spread out around her. Even though everything seemed fine, Roman felt the tension level on the auxiliary bridge as it rose—apparently no one trusted what was going on, if he was any judge—and fought hard to stay calm. The unknown, the tutors had warned him, was more terrifying than any known threat, but he hadn’t believed them until now. Somehow, staring at a display that showed absolutely nothing, apart from friendly units and the system’s planetary bodies, really bothered him.

The enemy had to be out there somewhere. So where was he?

He thought briefly of Elf—felt a sudden stab of regret that he hadn’t mustered the courage to ask her out—and then focused on his display. Behind Enterprise and the first part of the fleet, the heavy superdreadnaughts were flickering into the system, one by one. No one took chances with superdreadnaughts, as it took two years to build a superdreadnaught, even in the Jovian Yards, and it would take almost an hour to get them through into the system.

But where was the enemy?

Marius was having similar thoughts as Magnificent emerged into the Jefferson System. His first inclination had been to assume that the enemy was lying doggo under a cloaking field, perhaps waiting for the superdreadnaughts to arrive before opening fire. If he’d been in command, he would have launched a squadron of light cruisers and destroyers into Jefferson first and had them survey the Asimov Point before he risked the flagship and her escorts. Admiral Parkinson, however, had refused to listen to him—and Marius had to admit that he might have been right.

Except…why would anyone abandon their best chance to give the Retribution Force a bloody nose?

He called up the system display and scowled. Every five minutes, a new superdreadnaught emerged through the Asimov Point and fell into formation. The Federation’s position was growing stronger—even with Enterprise and her escorts already heading towards the Harmony Asimov Point—all the time, which was convenient, but suspicious. One thing he’d learned on his very first cruise under then-Captain Kratman had been that any plan that seemed to be working perfectly was just about to fail spectacularly. That was why the very emptiness of the space seemed to be mocking him.