Barbarians at the Gates

Chapter One

Luna Academy, Sol System, 4092

“Cadet Garibaldi,” Professor Kratman said, walking through the desks until he was standing right in front of his chosen victim, “I wish you to consider something for the benefit of your fellows. What do the First Battle of Zion, the Battle of Spider Bite and the Battle of Athens all have in common?”

Roman Garibaldi fought hard to keep his expression under control. Professor Kratman wasn’t known for suffering fools gladly and the obvious answer—all three battles had been fought in space—was almost certainly not the right one. But then, there might not be a right answer; Kratman was hardly above throwing an unanswerable question at the class. The professor—his face was badly scarred by radiation burns, leading to much speculation outside class—was waiting patiently. Disappointing him was not an option.

Roman considered it briefly, thinking hard. All three battles had been studied extensively during Second Year, right before the cadets had passed their first tests. The three battles were significant—two had marked the start of a war; the third had effectively ended one—but there were hundreds of other such significant battles in the Federation’s two thousand year history. He ran his hand through his blond hair and smiled as the answer came to him.

“Sir,” he said. “The three battles represent conceptual defeats.”

“Oh?” Professor Kratman said, peering down at him. “And were the defeats imaginary, then? Were the dead bodies floating in space delusions of an oxygen-starved mind?”

Roman shook his head, ignoring the titters from his classmates. If nothing else, Professor Kratman taught cadets how to think on their feet.

“No, sir,” he said. “The defeats represented a failure of imagination by the losing side. They thought they knew everything and allowed themselves to be surprised by the enemy.”

“Interesting,” Professor Kratman mused. He made a show of stroking his hairless chin. “And would you care to elaborate for the benefit of your fellow cadets?”

“Yes, sir,” Roman agreed. It wasn’t as if he had a choice. Besides, he was uncomfortably aware that he might just be giving the professor rope to hang him, as Kratman was also known for allowing cadets to trip themselves up in the hopes they would learn from the experience. “Prior to the First Battle of Zion, it was commonly believed that aliens would be peaceful, rather than being just as violent as humanity. When the Zion Defense Force encountered alien starships emerging from a previously undiscovered Asimov Point in the Zion System, they allowed themselves to be suckered into a position that allowed the Snakes to obliterate the entire force with ease. The result of this failure was the occupation of Zion and the First Interstellar War, which served as the catalysts for binding the Federation together.”

Of course, he thought as he took a deep breath, the Inheritance Wars are still a sore subject in the Federation.

“In the Battle of Spider Bite, the…ah, loyalist commander knew that all he was facing were converted freighters and a handful of local defense starships. He charged through the Asimov Point, leading a fleet of battlecruisers and battleships, only to run into an enemy armed with compressed antimatter, a substance that had never before been used in combat. The result was the total obliteration of the Federation force and the Inheritance Wars.

“In the Battle of Athens, the rebel commander knew the loyalist forces would have to come through one of the Asimov Points in the system and had drawn up his forces to contest the gateway, as military doctrine demanded after the discovery of the first Asimov Point. The rebels were taken completely by surprise when the loyalists, using the continuous displacement stardrive, bypassed the Asimov Point network and assaulted their positions from the rear. It was the decisive battle of the Inheritance Wars.”

Roman braced himself. “In all three battles, one side was presented with something completely outside its context,” he concluded. “They suffered from a failure of imagination.”

“An interesting viewpoint,” the Professor said. He looked around the room. “Would any of you care to comment?”

“I would, sir,” Cadet Blake Raistlin said.

Roman rolled his eyes inwardly. Cadet Raistlin was from one of the wealthiest families on Old Earth, with ties that led all the way up to the Grand Senate, and when they’d first met, Raistlin had tried to put the RockRat in his place. He had been astonished to discover that Roman was not only able, but willing to fight back.

But Raistlin had gone on. “How could any of the commanders have predicted that they would be faced with a threat outside their… accepted context?”

Professor Kratman, unlike some of the other academic staff, showed no inclinations to play favorites. “Would you care to elaborate, cadet?”

Raistlin shot Roman a mischievous look. “The defenders of Zion expected to face human enemies, not aliens,” he said. “Compressed antimatter was only a theory, as was the continuous displacement drive. How could they have prepared to face a threat they didn’t even know existed?”

“Interesting point,” Professor Kratman mused. He turned and faced Raistlin. “Do you believe that the universe is fair, cadet?”

“No, sir,” Raistlin said. It was one thing that had been drummed into their heads since they had entered Luna Academy. The universe was not fair. It simply didn’t care about humans—or aliens. “But you cannot blame a commanding officer for doing everything by The Book and then being defeated by something outside of The Book.”

“The Board of Inquiry might disagree with you,” Kratman said dryly, referring to the inquiry held whenever a Federation starship was lost on active duty. “Let us consider the situation, just for a moment. Why did the defenders of Zion believe that aliens would be peaceful and friendly? Answer—the general belief at the time, encouraged by the discovery of Graveyard a few years prior to the First Interstellar War, was that a violent and aggressive race would not make it into space. Their logic was fundamentally flawed as humanity, a violent and aggressive race, had already made it into space. They thought of humans as being somehow…less than aliens. If we made it through the bottleneck and out into space, why couldn’t another violent race? Reasoning from a single example, like Graveyard, produces dubious results, not least because Graveyard might have been the result of an interstellar war.”

Roman shivered. A few years after the discovery of the network of Asimov Points—which allowed instant travel between star systems—human explorers had stumbled across a dead world, destroyed by nuclear war. The level of devastation had been so high that no one knew what the inhabitants had called themselves. Their records had been so badly damaged that no one would ever know what had taken place to cause the war, or why it had been fought to such a dark finish.

“The Battle of Spider Bite is also indicative of the dangers of stagnated thinking and unchallenged assumptions,” Kratman continued. “The loyalist commander knew that the rebels didn’t have the firepower to take on his entire fleet. It should have occurred to him that they would not have declared independence and started the war without being sure that they had something that could tip the balance in their favor. And they did—compressed antimatter. The resulting disaster could have been avoided, if only by holding a formation that was more than a premature victory parade.

“The Battle of Athens represents a third such example. After fighting the Inheritance Wars for so long, both sides were looking desperately for a silver bullet that would allow them to end the wars without further loss of life. The rebels were experimenting with automated missiles that would allow them to sweep the Asimov Point without risking ships and lives; it was not a great intellectual leap to wonder if the loyalists were doing the same. Indeed, the rebels had their own gravimetric research program that would have led to the stardrive if the Inheritance Wars hadn’t been terminated before they could put it into production. In short, the rebels allowed themselves to be pinned against the Asimov Point by a force that had entered the system from an unsuspected direction, and were obliterated.”

He grinned. “Let us consider another two battles, shall we? Cadet Raistlin: what do the pre-space Battle of Midway and the First Battle of Sapphire have in common?”

Roman had to smile as Raistlin blinked in shock. If the Inheritance Wars were still a sore subject, the far more recent Blue Star War was effectively forbidden territory. Cadets were rarely encouraged to study the war, even in the privacy of Luna Academy, while relatively little material on the war had made it out into the civilian sphere. The bare facts, of course, couldn’t be covered up, but the precise details? The Federation Navy had restricted the data and covered up the reports, if only to spare the embarrassment. He wondered, absently, how the well-connected Raistlin would answer.

“Sir,” Raistlin said. He had clearly decided to plunge for honesty, rather than dissimulation. “Both battles—both defeats—were the result of massive overconfidence.”

“A very good answer, cadet,” Kratman said sardonically. “An answer that is perfectly accurate, yet devoid of any actual detail. Please, would you elaborate for your fellow cadets?”

“Yes, sir,” Raistlin said. Somehow, he managed to regain his balance. “In the Battle of Midway, the Japanese had an overpowering advantage in almost every important category. They should have brushed their American opponents aside and taken Midway, smashing the remaining American carriers at the same time. Instead, their overall commander divided their force and the Americans caught four of their carriers and sank them. The result was the sudden cessation of the Japanese advance.

“The First Battle of Sapphire, likewise, should have been a Federation victory. The fleet sent to secure the blue giant had enough firepower to take on the entire enemy force and crush it, but the commanding officer chose to break his fleet into three smaller forces and launch a simultaneous assault through two Asimov Points, while the third crossed interstellar space. The result of this…ah, poorly devised plan was the destruction of two of the assault forces, because they couldn’t actually provide mutual support in their advance.”

“And why did that happen, cadet?”

“Because coordinating a battle across interstellar distances is impossible,” Raistlin said. “The three assault forces couldn’t communicate with one another, while their opponents could use the advantage of the interior position to reinforce their defending forces—effectively smashing the attacking forces one by one.”

“In other words, the commanding officer tried to be clever,” Kratman said. He smiled, a rather humorless expression. “Being too clever or too dumb can cost you victory, or worse.”

The Professor walked back to the front of the room and smiled at the cadets, this time with a hint of warmth. “There is actually a second point that both battles have in common. Both have been studied by military strategists—the latter battle with rather less enthusiasm, I should add—and extensively wargamed. Would you like to guess at the results?”

He paused, but no one took the bait. After a long moment, he went on.

“The conclusion, in both battles, was that the side that lost should have won. Overconfidence led to disaster—or, as Admiral Vane put it during the First Interstellar War, war is a democracy. The enemy has a vote.”

He paused. “You have a question, Cadet Goldsmith?”

“Yes, sir,” Cadet Karen Goldsmith said, and nodded.

Roman listened with interest. She rarely spoke, but when she did, she was always worth listening to. Besides, with long red hair and a remarkable smile, she was easy on the eyes as well.

“As I understand it,” Goldsmith said, “in both wars it was primarily a matter of production. The resources available to the Americans and to the Federation far outstripped those available to their enemies. Once the victors had mobilized for war, their victory was certain. If that is the case, why were the battles so important?”

“If that is the case, cadet?” Kratman asked dryly.

Goldsmith flushed, but said nothing. History, Military Strategy and Moral Philosophy was not a class to be unsure of one’s grounds.

“In one sense, you are quite right,” the Professor said. “The sheer weight of firepower and material available to the victors ensured that they would be victorious. In a different sense, you are wrong; firepower and material alone does not win wars. Wars are fought—and thought—by intelligent beings. You might as well ask why the losers chose to fight at all.”

He smiled. “In war, there are far more factors than just the material and armament. Is one side really committed to the war? If not, will they fight to the finish or will they abandon the war when the cost in men and material grows too high? The Japanese calculated that the Americans lacked the will to continue the war to the bitter end—oh yes, they knew about the disparity in long-term power. But America’s short-term weakness did not lead to long-term weakness or defeat, not least because the Japanese lacked the firepower to capture or destroy America’s industry.

“In the Blue Star War, the shock of the defeat forced the Federation Navy to clean house, while the political leaders who got the Federation into the war found themselves purged or marginalized. The defeat provoked fury among the high and mighty, who put aside their political struggles to unite and see the war through to victory. You may wish to consider what might have happened if the Senate hadn’t been so unified. The Blue Star War might have been abandoned and the Federation’s prestige would have been severely dented.”

Roman considered the scenario as the Professor summed up his final lecture, outlining its relevance to the cadets and the Federation Navy. The reason the Outsiders were pushing so hard along the Rim—where the Federation’s writ barely ran and outlaws and pirates hid themselves from Federation justice—was that the Federation Navy wasn’t showing the will to either protect the human population or hunt down the pirates and the aliens who were supporting them. He recalled, bitterly, how his parents had died. After that, he had thrown himself into his studies and eventually won a coveted scholarship to Luna Academy. And if he earned a First in the exams, he would be on the short list to command his own ship.

“I was on the Matterhorn,” the Professor concluded.

Roman blinked in surprise. The Matterhorn was a legend, one of the most famous ships in the fleet. The superdreadnaught had led the assault force into Sapphire and right into the ambush that had shattered the attacking force. The Matterhorn had been the only starship to survive, her CO somehow managing to get his wounded and bleeding starship back through the Asimov Point, losing over two-thirds of his crew in the brief encounter. He found himself looking at Kratman with new respect. All of the Academy’s staff were supposed to have combat experience, but real combat experience was rare in the Federation Navy. The Blue Star War, the last significant conflict, was over sixty years ago.

“It was a nightmare,” Kratman said. “We flew right into a trap and were lucky to survive. Others—people I had known since I was a cadet—didn’t survive. You all have survived five years of the Academy, but your experience of the real universe is limited. And yet, if you pass the final exams, you will be on the track to command and, eventually, the Admiralty. If you survive…”

By long tradition—Luna Academy had been founded in 2161—the cadets were granted a free period after every class. It hadn’t taken long for Roman—and the other survivors of five years of brutal winnowing—to realize that falling for the temptations of Luna City was a good way to lose one’s place in the Academy. The cadets, after their first year, were expected to discipline themselves. Very few wasted their time partying when they had to study.

Roman nodded to Raistlin as the class broke up, some heading for the library and others for the simulators, where they would study the battles the Professor had outlined. A handful, who had been ordered to undergo extra EVA training or additional duties, looked downcast. Raistlin nodded back—despite his origins, he wasn’t actually stupid—and made a show of walking in the opposite direction. Picking fights outside class was another good way to lose one’s place.

“So,” Cadet Sultana Narayanan said, “how much trouble do you think the Professor is going to get into?”

Roman shrugged. “None, I suspect,” he said. The Blue Star War might have been forbidden territory, but studying the war was vital, if only to avoid making the same mistakes again. “I think there are times when he says things just to see how we will react.”

It made, he decided, a certain kind of sense. The cadets who bought the official line hook, line and sinker wouldn’t be showing the mental agility needed to command starships in battle. Besides, they were—or they would be, once they graduated—Federation Navy officers. They needed to think for themselves.

“Or maybe he wanted to tell us something without saying it outright,” he added. “Something we had to pick out for ourselves.”

“Maybe,” Sultana said. It was rare for her to talk to anyone outside classes, but in some ways they were both loners. Sultana had left her homeworld under a cloud and Roman was a RockRat, part of an asteroid-dwelling society that rarely interacted with the rest of humanity. “Do you think that…?”

At that moment, the emergency alarm went off. “ALL CADETS REPORT TO SAFE LOCKS,” the intercom bellowed. “I SAY AGAIN, ALL CADETS REPORT TO SAFE LOCKS! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!”

Roman and Sultana exchanged glances—the emergency alarms were never sounded, outside scheduled drills—and then started to run. A Safe Lock was never far away.