Christopher Nuttall - Barbarians at the Gates

Of course, if he’d folded his cards then, rather than choose to continue the war, he might have reshaped the world in his image.

There was a chime at the hatch. Marius sent a command through his implants; the hatch hissed open, revealing Commander Raistlin. Marius wasn’t too happy with the thought of having a permanent aide, as he’d always been more comfortable with a tactical staff. But Fleet Admirals were always assigned aides. Marius’ case had been unusual, though, as most senior officers above the rank of captain arranged aides for themselves—but he had to admit that Raistlin had thus far been very helpful. If only he didn’t keep updating his superior on matters that were for junior eyes.

“I have the latest reports from Commodore Tsing,” Raistlin said. He was always polite, but his manner conveyed an undertone of informality that reminded Marius of his exalted family. “He says that his squadron should be back in formation in three days at the latest.”

“Good,” Marius said.

Tsing’s squadron—the One Hundred and Twenty-Third Superdreadnaught Squadron—was largely composed of new ships from the Jupiter Yards, but they’d been having teething problems since before they’d arrived and joined his command. Their engineers had reported that someone had skimped on the shielding, requiring several days of difficult and expensive repair. At least they’d managed to move a mobile dock and fabricator into the system—with the Senate complaining hugely about the cost, of course—and they hadn’t had to send the ships back to the nearest Fleet Yard.

“Has there been any update from Commodore Lopez?” Marius asked.

“No, sir,” Raistlin said. “His last update was at 0700. Since then, his squadron has not reported in to the flagship.”

Marius stroked his chin while remembering that Lopez he hadn’t been given orders to report in regularly. “Never mind, then. If there is no other business, I suggest that you hit your rack and get some sleep. We’re going to have a long and busy day tomorrow.”

He smiled while Raistlin saluted and left the cabin, but frowned as soon as Raistlin was gone. The commander’s very presence was odd. He was good enough at his job, but it was clear that he hadn’t wanted the position. And considering his father’s political connections should’ve assured that Raistlin would’ve been able to get him transferred to a better position, it was even odder that Raistlin was here.

Raistlin’s father was a powerful Senator. The Admiralty wouldn’t pick a fight with him over something as minor as his son’s position. A powerful Senator could cause a great deal of harm if he decided to attack the Navy…

He dropped that train of thought, then activated his implants and uploaded a very specific code into the room’s processor. The hatch sealed with an audible clunk, and the monitors were turned off. No one else on the ship, apart from her captain, could deactivate the monitors at will; indeed, few were even aware they existed. It would only have upset the crew if they’d known that everything they did was recorded.

Once he’d performed a quick sweep for bugs, he unlocked the drawer in which he’d put the private datachip with his thumbprint, and then opened and removed both the datachip and a private terminal. Keeping a private system wasn’t exactly against regulations, as it was tricky to enforce, but it would certainly raise eyebrows if anyone knew he had it.

Just as well they don’t, then, he thought.

He inserted the secure chip into the terminal and waited impatiently while the machine checked it, then demanded his ID codes and retinal patterns. Annoyed, Marius supplied them while, wondering what could be worth this level of security. The datachip unlocked, accessed its opening file and displayed it automatically. A holographic image of Professor Kratman appeared in front of him.

“Good morning, Marius,” Kratman said. He looked older than the last time Marius had seen him, although that could just be due to the tiny image. “Or is it evening where you are? I have no way of knowing, of course, but I like to think that it’s morning there, too. You’ll be pleased to hear that the latest crop of Academy graduates is coming along very well, although I may have to cut a few of them for the crime of not thinking about the subject matter. One of my more successful students is carrying this chip.”

Marius frowned. The Professor was rarely so chatty. It had to be bad news.

“Bad news first,” Kratman said, as if echoing Marius’s thoughts. “The expanded training camps for new crewmen aren’t producing anything like enough crew for the new construction. Now that the Naval Reserve has opened up all of their facilities, I fear that we may be looking at a shortfall in the required numbers of new crew. The ones we trained before the war—or should I say wars now, I wonder?—were the ones who actually wanted the positions, and we could weed through them at will. The expanded training camps are actually taking recruits we wouldn’t have taken at all, back in the old days.”

He shrugged. “It isn’t a new problem, son. Earth’s educational establishment has been producing ignorant kids for centuries. Kids who have the drive to learn can access the information they need, but no one kicks them in the ass and tells them to get moving. And most of them opt for easy courses and credentials before leaving school at eighteen and going on the dole and producing a few more stupid kids. Anyone smart enough to actually make something of himself is smart enough to emigrate—and God knows that anyone capable of doing that on Earth will be a success even on a hell-world. Mostly, the ones we have would normally become couch potatoes or gangsters—and die young.

“But this is the raw material we have to work with, so we need to turn them into crewmen. It isn’t an easy task. Nine-tenths of Earth’s population can’t even read! We’ve had to open up remedial training centers for the youngsters, and it really isn’t enough. They don’t understand anything we tell them beyond the very basics, if that. The hell of it is that this will dumb down the entire fleet once they graduate. Honestly, I’d be afraid to sail on a ship maintained by some of the so-called recruits. And believe me, most of the Core Worlds are in the same state. The really smart ones emigrated generations ago.

“Matters aren’t helped by the fact that the Senate has created a whole new series of security agencies,” he added. “One of my contacts warned me that there is a movement afoot to start assigning political officers to your ships—and fortresses, and training centers…basically, they will have vast powers to seek out and destroy anti-Federation elements. You can probably imagine that it won’t be long before their powers really start to expand. You need to be careful of this, Marius. The Senate is scared, and scared people do stupid things.”

He chuckled. “Speaking of the Senate, they’re still trying to find a bride for you. No, I don’t think that you or she will have much choice in the matter. It isn’t common for someone like yourself to marry into the political elite, but I think that some elements are determined to bind you strongly to them. It’s odd, though; I’ve been telling every cadet who will listen that the political elite is barely a tiny fraction of a percentage of the trillions of human beings, yet they still haven’t managed to find you a bride. If I had to guess, I’d say that they are either squabbling over who won’t have to marry you, or they are stalling. Probably the latter—but seriously, I suspect that it won’t be long before they produce someone and tell you to marry her. I’ve attached a list of possible brides, but there are no guarantees. Luckily, you don’t have to love the woman. You don’t even need to have sex with her, not to produce a kid or two. Pretty much all of High Society use artificial wombs these days.