Barbarians at the Gates

Chapter Forty

Sphinx/Hawthorne System, 4097

“Nothing to report?”

“No, captain,” the sensor officer said. “The sensor board is clear.”

Captain Keller nodded impatiently, and then shook his head. Taking his frustration out on his officers was the mark of a poor commander and he liked to think that he was better than that. Still, it had been three months since Percival had been assigned to the system, and being at Sphinx was not the most glorious of postings. The system was at the end of a chain of Asimov Points that led back to Jefferson, and systems like that tended to worry planners.

It was true that the system had little beyond a handful of RockRat colonies and a tiny independent mining operation. It didn’t really need a picket. The Book, however, insisted that there had to be a picket in all systems. Even without the stardrive, it was possible that a barely-surveyed system might hide a second, undetected Asimov Point.

And if that Asimov Point led into enemy space, the strategic situation would turn upside down, instantly.

It had been a long posting, and he was uneasily aware that he was running out of drills for his crew. They all needed some leave, but there was little hope of finding anything worth enjoying in the Sphinx System. Perhaps he should allow a handful of crewmen to take one of the gunboats and go through the Asimov Point to Hawthorne. The Hawthorne System was nearly as poor and deserted, but at least it had an Earth-like planet and the promise of female company.

“Never mind,” he said, settling back down in his command chair. “Perhaps we should run a few tracking exercises, just to make sure that we don’t get bored.”

The blue icon representing the Asimov Point leading to Hawthorne, blinked on and off on the display. The red icon for the cruiser remained firmly in place, glaring down at Roman coldly, as if it was just waiting for him to come closer. The ship’s commander had actually ordered his ship to remain on station within the Asimov Point itself, a gutsy move when an interpenetration event could destroy his ship before his crew even realized that they were dead.

The cruiser—pre-war databases listed her as the Percival—didn’t have her shields and weapons up, ready to hit a target as soon as one showed itself. If she’d detected Midway and the remainder of the squadron, she would either have transited the Asimov Point and escaped, or opened fire. Unless her captain was insanely brave, he reminded himself. It was quite possible that he was quietly tracking them through passive sensors while lining his weapons up on Roman’s ship.

Roman spoke softly, even though sound couldn’t travel through space.

“Report.”

“One Gamma-class light cruiser and two gunboats,” the sensor officer said, equally quietly. “There’s no sign that they have detected our presence.”

“No,” Roman agreed. “Weapons?”

“We can take her out before she even sees us, sir,” the tactical officer assured him. “The gunboats may be a little trickier. One of them is currently looping around, out of range; it may be able to jump back through the Asimov Point before we destroy it.”

“Yeah,” Roman said. The problem with cloaking devices was that they were far from perfect. The longer they floated near their target, the greater the chance of being detected. “Lock weapons on target.”

“Weapons locked, sir,” the tactical officer said.

Roman sat down in the command chair and straightened his tunic. “On my command,” he ordered. “Fire!”

Midway lurched as she flushed her external racks towards the enemy ship. It was overkill, by at least a factor of ten, but they had to take her out with the first shot. If Percival managed to bring up her drive and transit out, the entire chain would be alerted before the Grand Fleet reached its target.

He watched as the cruiser’s point defense started to lash out—barely coordinated and far too little, too late—and then the missiles struck home. Percival vanished in an eye-tearing blast of light, followed rapidly by one of her gunboats. The second twitched and then started to race towards the Asimov Point, just before an antifighter missile launched from Midway killed her.

“Target destroyed, sir,” the tactical officer reported calmly. “She didn’t pass a message through the Asimov Point.”

“Good,” Roman ordered. “Signal Admiral Drake. Inform him that the point is secure.”

“Admiral,” the communications officer said, “Captain Garibaldi is signalling that the point is secure. The picket ship was destroyed before she could get off a message drone.”

Marius smiled. So far, so good. He had no illusions about how far they’d get before Admiral Justinian realized they were on their way, but the longer they could keep him in the dark, the better. If they had to punch their way through a defended Asimov Point, the Grand Fleet would be badly damaged in the struggle.

“Deploy the assault fleet,” he ordered. “Signal Commodore Goldberg that he may begin the assault when ready.”

He leaned back in his chair and relaxed.

“And send an additional signal to Captain Garibaldi,” he added. “Well done.”

“Captain, Admiral Goldberg is preparing to launch his drones.”

Roman nodded. Jumping blind was something that no naval commander would do if it could be avoided.

“Good,” he said. “Prepare for transition.”

The drones flickered, vanishing from the display. Roman counted silently down in his mind. The latest model of recon drones took two minutes to recycle their drives—assuming they survived the transit and whatever the enemy threw at them—before jumping back to their masters. In that time, their sensors would scan the surrounding area of space and identify enemy fortresses, minefields and starships. The pre-war reports claimed that there was nothing stronger than a pair of fortresses that dated all the way back to the Inheritance Wars, but ONI hadn’t been able to get a lock on what might have been put in place after the current war began.

The seconds counted down. And then four drones reappeared on the display.

Four out of seventy, Roman noted. The defenders were clearly on the alert.

“Drone data downloading now,” the sensor officer said.

The main display lit up like a Christmas tree. There were five fortresses guarding the Asimov Point, backed up by a squadron of dreadnaughts and a handful of smaller ships. Roman suspected that it was already too late to preserve secrecy, but if they were lucky…

“The Commodore is launching assault drones now,” the tactical officer reported. “The jump countdown has begun.”

A pair of red numbers appeared in the main display. Roman took a breath, knowing that the defenders would be being hammered by the fury of uncontrolled antimatter. Driving into an Asimov Point was a far cry from the stately space battles he’d fought against pirates and enemy warships; indeed, there was a slight chance that Midway would interpenetrate with one of her sisters and both ships would vanish in colossal fireballs. Even in friendly territory, it still struck him as somehow unnatural.

“Ten seconds,” the helmsman said.

Roman waited, knowing that there was no point in issuing further orders.

“Five seconds…three…two…one…”

The universe lurched around Midway as she jumped into the Hawthorne System.

“Bring up the tactical sensors,” Roman snapped. Without sensors, his ship would be blind and helpless. “Locate the enemy ships!”

He’d hoped that one of the antimatter pods would have taken out a fortress, but he hadn’t been so lucky. The defenders would have been surprised when the first recon drones had appeared within the system, yet they hadn’t let their surprise slow down their response. They’d started launching missiles as soon as the first assault units appeared in their sights, trusting in the minefields to slow down the Federation Navy’s starships as they started to deploy.

“Bring up the point defense datanet,” Roman ordered. The admiral would be designating targets for the cruiser’s missiles. “Lock weapons at the admiral’s command…”

“Weapons locked, sir,” the tactical officer said. “We’re targeting the closest fortress…”

Midway shuddered as she unleashed a full barrage at the enemy fortifications, which returned fire savagely. They’d clearly been modified extensively since the start of the war. Moments later, four assault carriers materialized in the system and immediately launched their starfighters, throwing them out of the ships as fast as possible while the carriers added their missile batteries and point defense to the datanet.

Oddly, Roman realized, the enemy didn’t seem to have any starfighters. Perhaps they’d felt that the system was too remote to rate starfighters. They didn’t have unlimited resources, after all.

Midway rang like a bell as the first enemy missile slammed into her shields, followed rapidly by a second missile. Roman cursed as his ship was blown backwards by the force of the explosion, but the shields held long enough for their comrades to take out the following missiles.

A moment later, one of the enemy fortresses, battered beyond endurance, exploded in a colossal fireball, throwing waves of debris across the system. A second fortress went dark, but the remaining two continued to fight, while the enemy dreadnaughts advanced on the Asimov Point. With the minefields taken out, they could sit on the point and hammer anything that materialized in the area before it could orient itself and open fire.

They were too late. The first giant superdreadnaught materialized in front of them, followed by the remainder of its squadron. Orders were exchanged between the admiral and the commodore in command of the squadron and the massive ships belched missiles towards the two remaining fortresses. As a second and third squadron of superdreadnaughts made their appearance, the enemy diverted their fire from the remains of the assault squadron and concentrated on the giants.

“The third fortress has been destroyed,” the tactical officer reported. “The fourth is continuing to fight.”

Roman scowled. Midway was small fry in such a battle, now that five more superdreadnaught squadrons had arrived. The smart thing for the enemy to do would be to signal up the chain, and then try to surrender. Instead, they were fighting grimly, trying to inflict as much damage as they could before they were killed. It didn’t bode well for the future.

Magnificent emerged into a universe of fire and rage. Marius had bare seconds to access the datanet and download the tactical situation report before the first missile slammed into the superdreadnaught’s shields. It chilled him to the bone to realize just how close they had come to total disaster. A few microseconds later, and they would have interpenetrated with an armed antimatter missile.

“The enemy dreadnaughts are starting to break off from the Asimov Point,” Blake Raistlin reported. Marius heard the excitement in his voice and wished, for a moment, that he was young again. “I think they’re preparing to run for their lives, sir.”

“Probably,” Marius agreed. It wasn’t something he could allow to happen, either. Luckily, he had two aces up his sleeves. “Detach the fast superdreadnaughts and order them to run the bastards down before they reach the Asimov Point, and then assign two assault carriers to their support.”

“Aye, sir,” Raistlin said.

Marius sat back as another missile rocked the superdreadnaught. It was impossible to tell if the enemy had realized that Magnificent was the command vessel, or if it were simple bad luck. No, it had to be the latter; if he’d been able to identify the enemy flagship, he would have engaged her with every missile and beam at his command.

The one remaining enemy fortress was fighting hard, but her shields kept failing and missiles were slamming against her bare hull. She couldn’t last much longer…

The display blinked and cleared, with the icon of the fortress replaced by an expanding icon signifying a cloud of debris. The fortress had oddly refused all offers to accept surrender. Marius doubted that anyone on the fortress had been on the proscribed lists…and even if they had been, they’d only go into exile. He’d shown the universe how merciful the Federation could be at Bester.

He allowed himself to relax as the battle started to draw down to a close. The remaining enemy dreadnaughts were trying to escape now, but they wouldn’t be able to reach the other Asimov Point before they were run down and destroyed. If they kept trying to flee, his starfighters would hammer them into submission; if they tried to fight, his superdreadnaughts would destroy them. He hoped they’d have the sense to surrender before it was too late. There was no point in slaughtering people for nothing.

“Detach a destroyer squadron and a Marine Transport,” he ordered. “I want them to occupy the Hawthorne Orbitals and secure the planet. Inform the planetary government”—such as it was, assuming Admiral Justinian hadn’t replaced the pre-war government with his own men—”that we do not intend to harm them provided they behave themselves. Once the war is over, normal trade can resume.”

“Aye, sir,” Raistlin said. “Sir, the enemy dreadnaughts are surrendering.”

“Good,” Marius said with a nod. “Order the superdreadnaughts to launch Marine parties to secure the ships, then continue on to the Asimov Point. They are to demand the surrender of any further fortifications and secure the Asimov Point itself.”

He turned back to the display and studied it. There hadn’t been any pre-war fortifications on the other Asimov Point, but Admiral Justinian might have changed that during his time as the undisputed emperor of this sector. The Asimov Points toward the Rim were sometimes quite heavily fortified, but sometimes were rarely guarded at all. Hell, they might not even have been charted properly!

It was one of the reasons why the Outsiders were so dangerous. The Federation made navigational data free for all, but the Outsiders had never shared any of their data with the Federation. And with the Survey Service practically moribund, there was little hope of updating charts, let alone placing navigational buoys near new Asimov Points.

As soon as the battle ended, Marius ordered his ships to rearm from the fleet train before resuming the advance. He’d lost twenty-seven ships in the battle and seventeen more had been damaged, some quite seriously. The mobile repair yards would do what they could before the damaged ships started to limp home (or, if the ship was too badly damaged, hid in the captured system until the end of the war). He was gratified—and somewhat amused—to discover that Captain Garibaldi’s luck hadn’t deserted him. Midway had been hit hard, but her shields had held and she’d barely been scratched.

“Sir, Mohammad and Argus report that they’re ready to rejoin their squadrons,” Raistlin said as the hours wore on. “Harrington’s captain insists that his ship is also battle-ready, but the yard dogs disagree; they want more time.”

“They always want more time,” Marius commented. “Inform Captain Weber that if he trusts his ship is in fighting trim, he may rejoin the squadron. If not, assign him to Commodore Seiko’s command and Harrington can add her fire to her squadron.”

He smiled at the thought. Commodore Seiko commanded the covering force that would escort any damaged warships back to safe harbor. It wasn’t regarded as a prestigious position, but it was a vitally important role. She’d find a superdreadnaught, even a damaged one, very helpful. If nothing else, Harrington could tow some of the cripples home.

“Aye, sir,” Raistlin said.

“As soon as we are ready, the Grand Fleet is to advance,” Marius ordered. They’d be advancing blind, again, and this time the enemy would have to know they were coming. If the fortresses hadn’t screamed for help and fired off message drones, he’d be astonished. “We’re going to take them at a run.”

He ran through it again in his head. Assuming that a message had been sent as soon as the recon drones had transited the Asimov Point, it would be nearly two days before Admiral Justinian heard about the advance. If Marius made the further assumption that Admiral Justinian would react at once, it would mean roughly two weeks—perhaps twenty days—before Justinian got a blocking force into position. It would be longer if Justinian had kept most of his fleet facing Boskone or defending Marx, but Marius didn’t dare count on it. The further he got up the chain towards Jefferson, the better.

And what if there was something he’d missed?

He shook his head slowly. His doubts—and doubts were a natural part of such an ambitious operation—weren’t important. All that mattered now was speed—and victory.