Christopher Nuttall - Barbarians at the Gates

Absently picking up a small and valuable statue from the outer room, she checked her uniform for blood and then headed for the airlock. She had only ten minutes before the message started to transmit, and by then she had to be off the station. Or else they might catch her before she could escape.

It would be a shame to die while leaving the station.

This time, Midway wasn’t alone; an entire assault flotilla had escorted her through the Asimov Points, the transits as tight as possible without risking interpenetration. Twelve assault cruisers, nine assault carriers and fifteen destroyers faced nine fortresses and their escorting craft.

“Captain, we have multiple weapons firing,” the sensor officer reported, as Midway flickered into existence in the Asimov Point. “Sir, they’re firing at each other!”

Roman leaned forward in surprise. It was clear that something had happened within the Bester System. The passive sensors were picking up nuclear and antimatter explosions all over the system, while the fortresses were actually being attacked by dreadnaughts that should have been on their side. No one was attempting to engage his ship, which was against all tactical doctrine.

“Report,” he ordered. “Analysis?”

“Civil war, sir,” the tactical officer said. “I can’t pick out sides at this distance…”

Roman nodded slowly. The enemy had given up their best chance to slap his fleet back through the Asimov Point when they’d first arrived. Instead, they were shooting at each other.

“There’s no point,” Roman told him. “Communications, contact the nearest fortresses and ask them to surrender. Promise them the same amnesty as everyone else if they surrender right now.”

“Aye, sir,” the communications officer said. “Transmitting now…sir, should we hold the drones?”

“Hold them on standby,” Roman ordered. “No, belay that. Launch one drone with an update and send it back to the Grand Fleet. Inform them that we are attempting to sort friends from enemies.”

“If we have any friends here,” the tactical officer muttered.

Roman couldn’t disagree. It was clear that something —either the message drone they’d released into the system or the assassination attempt—had sparked off a civil war, but there was no way to know who was on what side. Or even if there were any sides at all.

“There are several different factions,” the tactical officer said. “I suspect some of the ships are even having internal struggles.”

“Good,” Roman said, curtly.

“We’re picking up a laser communication from one of the fortresses,” the communications officer said. “He claims to be a Commodore Lu and wishes to speak to Admiral Drake.”

“Who happens to be on the other side of the Asimov Point,” Roman said dryly. “Patch him through. I will speak to him personally.”

He used his implants to scan Navy records. There was no Commodore Lu listed, but Commander Lu had been in Fortress Command in the Bester System just prior to the Battle of Earth. His service record didn’t look very accomplished, but that might not mean much.

Commodore Lu’s face appeared in front of him. He was a young Oriental officer with a short goatee and a shaven head. He looked desperately worried, as if he knew that whatever happened, his life would never be the same again. He was right; if he surrendered, he would probably end up going into exile rather than being allowed to return to his homeworld. He’d chosen the wrong side in a civil war.

Or the side had been chosen for him. Roman forced himself to remember that.

“Captain,” Lu said flatly. “I would like to surrender. I also request assistance against the reactionaries, if we can agree on suitable terms.”

Roman concealed a smile. The fortresses were being hammered by enemy superdreadnaughts and dreadnaughts. Only their heavy firepower and armor had kept them from being crushed before the Grand Fleet’s scouting elements arrived in the system. Lu didn’t have much to bargain with, and he knew it.

“The terms are simple,” he said. “You will surrender your fortresses and any starships under your command to Federation authority. We will guarantee your lives and personal possessions, providing you behave yourselves. Depending on your conduct, you may be pushed into internal exile or barred from serving in the Federation Navy.”

Lu didn’t look happy.

“Very well,” he said, finally. “Call your ships. Tell them to hurry. We can’t hold out for long.”

“Of course,” Roman said. He signalled for the communications officer to launch another drone. The force of superdreadnaughts attacking the fortresses was impressive, but the Grand Fleet was far more powerful. “Hold on. We’re on our way.”

He watched as the first of the superdreadnaughts appeared in the Asimov Point and linked up with the fortresses. The fortress ECM was sufficient to keep the enemy from realizing that they were being reinforced until it was too late. As the superdreadnaughts advanced, they opened fire on Hartkopf’s ships and drove them away from the Asimov Point, allowing the remainder of the Grand Fleet to enter the system. It took nearly an hour, but the outcome was never in doubt.

“We have one squadron of dreadnaughts fleeing towards the mass limit,” the sensor officer reported. “Another looks as if it is either contemplating a last stand, or maybe it intends to surrender. I think we broke them, sir.”

“Let’s hope so,” Roman said. He looked up at the tactical display. “This is only the first system we have to take before we reach Jefferson.”

Bester/In Transit, 4097

“The system is secure, sir,” Commander Blake Raistlin reported. “The fleeing ships have crossed the mass limit and vanished.”

“Very good,” Marius said. He keyed his intercom, trying to ignore the commissioner sitting next to him. “Toby, launch your Marines and secure those fortresses and the surrendered ships. The prisoners can be moved to Bester until we decide what to do with them.”

“Understood, sir,” Vaughn said. “We’ll get right on it.”

Marius allowed himself a brief smile, and then turned back to the display. Once Bester’s high orbitals were in his hands, the locals—and anyone who still wanted to rebel against the Federation—would have no choice but to surrender…or be stamped flat with precision strikes from orbit. Working out what to do with the warlord-controlled worlds would be up to the Senate—going by the Inheritance Wars, the Senate would probably assign a new governor and bleed the worlds white as punishment for their disobedience—but whatever they decided wouldn’t affect his fleet. The planetary government could take control of the surface or abandon it to chaos. It wasn’t his concern.

Thankfully, the fight had been brief and relatively painless, at least with regards to the Federation forces. None of Commodore Lu’s men had continued the fight once the late and unlamented Governor Hartkopf had met his end. The governor, it seemed, hadn’t convinced his men to be loyal to him, let alone his memory.