Barbarians at the Gates

Chapter Seven

Luna Academy, Sol System, 4092

Roman couldn’t help feeling nervous as he stepped into the Examination Hall. Ten days had passed since the attack on Earth and slowly—very slowly—information had started to spread through the Academy at the speed of rumor. The cadets knew, now, about Admiral Justinian and looked up his record, along with Admiral Drake and the others involved in the conflict. And he’d tried to talk with Professor Kratman, who had curiously been unavailable to him and every other cadet. All they’d really been told was that they would be told everything about the war after they completed their exams.

But few of the cadets really believed that would happen.

He sighed. If he could just take these exams and be done with them, maybe he’d somehow be able to talk with Professor Kratman before he got shipped out. And that might actually be much more valuable to him than taking these exams… he wondered, again, why they were even bothering with the exams?

Didn’t the Federation know there was a war on?

The Examination Hall was separated from the remainder of Luna Academy by nearly a mile of rock. It had been dug out as part of the early excavations that had eventually become Luna Academy—like most complexes on Luna, the Academy was mostly underground—and then sealed off by displaced rock. The only link between the Examination Hall and the remainder of the Academy was a single tunnel, heavily guarded and secured by the proctors. No one, they’d been warned, would be able to take anything into the Examination Hall, while the Hall itself was sealed by all manner of security devices known to man. Even if an enterprising cadet had found a way to sneak an illicit communications device into the hall, he would have found it useless. Rumor had it that anyone who did manage to cheat successfully would be rewarded by an instant promotion, but the penalties for trying and failing were harsh. Few attempted to beat the system.

“Remove all your clothing,” the head proctor droned dully. “Understand; your person is your sole responsibility. The merest hint of anything suspicious will result in a full and comprehensive search. The discovery of any cheating equipment will result in immediate suspension.”

Roman shrugged and started to disrobe, removing his cadet greys, followed by his regulation-issue underwear. Privacy was never a big concern in a RockRat habitat; besides, any reluctance he’d had about stripping in front of his classmates had been lost in the first two years at the Academy. No one paid undue attention to their fellows, no matter how attractive, as it was completely unprofessional.

Before he forgot, Roman added his terminal to the pile of clothing, which would be sealed away for later collection by the Academy staff. Of course, he still had his communications implant, but that would be useless inside the Examination Hall. It left him feeling oddly naked; on a RockRat habitat, a terminal meant safety, as it alerted the asteroid’s emergency crews if something went badly wrong.

“When you are ready, pass through the security gates,” the proctor continued. “Make certain that you have divested yourself of everything. You must not take anything into the Examination Hall.”

Roman stood up, placed his small pile of clothing in the nearest locker and started to walk towards the gates. He made a final check of his implant, which had downloaded every file he thought might be relevant, before stepping through the gates. The memory implants could store everything a cadet might need to know, although they’d been warned more than once that having information in an implant wasn’t the same as memorizing it, and it wouldn’t necessarily help to have a chunk of information if one didn’t actually comprehend what it meant. Besides, he had a private suspicion that he’d be tested on what information they chose to bring into the Examination Hall as well as their answers to the test questions.

The gate clicked as he stepped through, revealing nothing but a long, barren corridor. A cool breeze struck him in the face as he reached the proctor at the end of the passage.

“Here,” the proctor said in a bored voice, handing him a small bundle of clothing, which would suffice for the Examination Hall. “After you’ve put this on, go to Room 101.”

“Yes, sir,” Roman said. “Thank you.”

He donned the proffered clothing quickly, wincing at the fit—the pants were too tight and the top was nearly falling off. This must be another test in and of itself, as clothing this obnoxious surely must be yet another obstacle to overcome. Living in space could be uncomfortable at best, downright unpleasant at worst. He knew better than to think he’d get a large set of quarters all to himself for several years.

“Remember,” the proctor said. “If you leave the examination room for any reason, you will not be permitted to return.”

Roman nodded, wordlessly.

The briefing notes echoed through his head as he walked towards Room 101. The private—and very small—rooms were supposed to keep cadets from cheating, at least as a group. He’d been told that the small room he’d be assigned to would provide him with absolute silence and enough food and water to refresh himself, if necessary. But he still wasn’t sure if the exams were strictly necessary. He really didn’t know what to expect.

He braced himself as he reached Room 101 and pressed his palm against the scanner. The door clicked open and he stepped inside, taking in the familiar computer terminal—separate from the Academy datanet—and the small food processor in one corner. The room even had a working fresher. He took a deep breath, walked over to the terminal and sat down. The timer on the display counted down the seconds to when the exam would begin. It seemed deliberately designed to torment the eager young cadets.

Roman felt his heart begin to race and concentrated on calming himself, swallowing deeply. Some parts of the exam would be relatively simple—military law hadn’t changed since the Inheritance Wars, although the interpretation was often arguable—and other parts would be complex, challenging him to think fast while under pressure, if these were anything like the exams he’d taken in previous years. He checked the timer again and stood up, fetching a glass of water from the food processor and placing it next to the terminal. The timer was nearly at zero.

“Attention,” a dispassionate voice boomed. “The exam is about to begin. Take your places and prepare for the first section. Cadets who believe they require assistance are reminded that summoning assistance unnecessarily will count against them.”

The terminal flashed once and the exam opened. He checked the first section and confirmed his name, ID code and class, and then opened up the exam proper. It was divided into sections, some with no specified time limit, others with a very limited period before the terminal locked down. There were no second chances with some of the sections, while he could go back to review others until the end of the exam.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the first section and plunged right in.

“I haven’t seen you for a long time,” Professor Kratman said. “I understand that you’re quite the hero of the hour.”

Marius nodded, holding up one hand in salute. Technically, he outranked an Academy Professor, but Kratman had been his commanding officer during the Blue Star War and it was impossible to break the old habit. Besides, he was a guest at Luna Academy; his decision to drop in had been made on the spur of the moment.

“It seems that the Senate doesn’t understand that,” Marius said. He’d tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but he couldn’t do it. The Senate had him jumping through all sorts of obnoxious hoops, just because they could, and he’d had to hold his temper again and again and again. Even at nearly ninety years of age, his patience only held so much. “What do you think I did wrong?”

The Professor eyed him in surprise. “Why, nothing, admiral.” He laughed wryly. “You need to step outside the Federation Navy every once in a while. This sort of behavior isn’t at all surprising from the Senate. You haven’t been paying attention to the local media, have you?”

“No,” Marius said. In his experience, reporters were idiots, spies, or merely out to make a fast credit without caring about the consequences. He had never forgiven one particular news outlet along the Rim for reporting details about captured pirates that had made it impossible to bring them to trial. “Why should I care what they have to say?”

Kratman fixed him with an unrelenting stare. “You should know that war is birthed in politics,” he said sharply. “Especially this war. Why don’t you access the daily brief and check?”

Marius hesitated, and then complied, accessing his implant and using it to pull the latest round-up of news from Earth. There was, as always, a deluge of largely useless information, mainly revolving around what the most famous people in High Society were doing—or who they were screwing. He pushed that aside and concentrated on military news, searching for his name. There were over seven thousand hits in the previous twenty-four hours alone. It seemed as if the entire planet was talking about him.

The stories were nearly universally praiseworthy; they discussed his quick thinking, and his actions during the Battle of Earth. There were interviews with survivors of the battle, all of whom credited him with saving Earth, and live footage from the battle itself. The entire planet had seen a fortress explode in orbit and had known, for the first time in centuries, real physical danger. And he was the man who’d saved them.

“You’re famous,” Kratman said mildly. “Why do you think the Senate took fright?”

“I don’t understand,” Marius admitted. “Why did they take fright?”

“The Core Worlds are the only ones where public opinion must be taken seriously,” Kratman reminded him gently. “Earth’s population can make or break Senators—and don’t they just know it! Why do you think they’ve never risked cutting the dole money handed out to the permanently unemployed, or the free food handed out to the starving, or the free access to the datanet and other public services? Earth’s massive population of teeming sheep would never allow it. How many Senators would lose their seats, no matter how hard they tried to rig the elections?” He grinned.

“And you saved the entire planetary population,” he added. “Now, you’re their hero, the man who can do no wrong.”

“Right,” Marius said. He checked his appointments calendar with a frown. There had been literally thousands of requests for interviews, all of which had been refused by his staff. He’d simply never checked up on it before. “Why does that scare the Senate?”

“Think about it,” the Professor said. “The Federation was designed to do the impossible—to provide interstellar government for the thousands of planets settled by humanity. The founding worlds were reluctant to create an overbearing political entity, so they attempted to hamstring the Federation by limiting the scope of its powers. But, as such entities tend to do, the Federation grew more powerful anyway, while the politicians became one great inbred family. The Inheritance Wars only enhanced that trend because the Federation won, and there seemed to be no reason to question the political situation.”

“‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,’” Marius quoted.

“Precisely,” Kratman agreed. He adopted a lecturing tone. “The problem is—and this affects all governing systems—that as the government grows more powerful, it tends to form an elite—a group of people whose sole concern is remaining in power. Some of the elite genuinely believe in serving the population and work for their betterment, others are in it only for their own power, but all of them work to perpetrate the system. Each of the Senators, Marius, represents over a thousand worlds. If they want to get elected, they have to be part of the elite or be willing to join it. The ones who refuse to join rarely get elected.

“And the elites,” Kratman continued pedantically, “because their hold on power is secure, end up becoming increasingly disconnected from the realities of life. They don’t understand the basic laws of the universe, let alone the effect they have on others. They don’t care that the out-worlds curse them as rapists who strip their worlds of natural resources and grind them under with oppressive taxes—after all, they’re the elite. Why should they care?”

Marius sighed, seeing the truth of what the Professor was saying. But before he could get a word in edgewise, Kratman had gone on.

“While there were three factions in government, the whole structure held together remarkably well—astonishingly well,” Kratman lectured. “But then the Blue Star War was launched, and the early offenses turned into stunning defeats. The Imperialist Faction lost power and collapsed into the morass of the elites. And yet the shock of that was mitigated, because the Imperialists were still part of the elite. The elite couldn’t afford too much public humiliation because it would undermine their ability to remain in control.”

Marius nodded.

“You know the problems with maintaining something the size of the Federation,” the Professor added. “The Federation has to give vast latitude to its officers, or else they wouldn’t be able to react in time to stop a small threat from turning into a large one. And yet, some of those officers see the inner corruption of the Federation and start considering declaring independence, or even attempting to make themselves Emperor. I’m honestly surprised that it’s taken this long for one of the admirals to try to strike for the purple.”

Marius winced. Admiral Justinian had wisely transferred most of his family to Harmony before he’d attempted to overthrow the Federation, but some of them—second- and third-cousins, mostly—had remained on Earth. The Senate had ordered them arrested, tried and sentenced to death, along with a handful of captured traitors who had aided Justinian in crippling Earth’s defenses. Marius had forced himself to watch the executions—they had been broadcast live as a warning to any other would-be traitors—and then he had gone to the head and been savagely sick. He’d seen death before, as he’d ordered pirates thrown out of the airlock into the cold unforgiving vacuum of space, but the executions had been different. They had been nothing more than blood sport, or worse, the Senate lashing out at whoever was unlucky enough to catch its attention. Most of those second- and third-cousins hadn’t even seen Admiral Justinian in years, and obviously had had no idea what Justinian was planning, but that hadn’t saved their lives.

And when innocence was no defense, what good was the Federation for?

“And then, you saved their lives,” Kratman said, breaking into Marius’s train of thought.

Marius snorted. “Shouldn’t they be happy with me?”

“Yes, of course, but much of the Senate has no grip on reality. You saved their lives, yes, but to most of them, it doesn’t matter because you made yourself popular with the mob. Of course they’re scared of you. They have to use you, but at the same time, they have to worry about what you might do…”

“I’m not about to make myself emperor,” Marius protested.

“You’re not one of the elite,” Kratman countered. “That fact alone means they’re probably going to be divided about what to do with you. They may attempt to marry you into the elite—there are quite a few eligible senatorial daughters on Earth—or they may set you up to fail. Your popularity with the mob makes the latter course dangerous, but given time…the mob will lose interest in you. And then you’d better watch your back.”

Marius took a breath. The years fell away and he remembered the Matterhorn, the day they’d jumped through the Asimov Point and into Sapphire. He remembered how they’d been caught in an ambush at point-blank range, and how the superdreadnaught had been crippled within the first few seconds of the ambush. And he remembered how then-Captain Kratman had somehow steered them back to the Asimov Point…they’d escaped the hellish slaughter, the only starship from the assault force to escape. They’d survived by sheer luck, and the determination of the starship’s captain.

“You may wish to ask yourself another question,” Kratman said. If he was aware of his former subordinate’s thoughts, he gave no sign. “Who has promoted you to the media?”

“I don’t know,” Marius admitted. Earth’s media was nominally free of control, but he knew that the Senate controlled many of the foremost media corporations. “Who…?”

“Good question,” Kratman agreed. “I haven’t the slightest idea. Someone seems to like you. Whoever it is, it’s someone with very good connections in the Federation Navy. You may want to think about what you’ll say when they come to you and ask for something in return.”

“I didn’t want to be a hero,” Marius protested. “I just did what needed to be done.”

“I know that, son,” Kratman said with uncommon gentleness. “But most of the people on Earth don’t know you as I do. They have to see it differently…and with all those piranhas among the Senators, you have to know that no one, not even the friendliest Senator, does anything for free.”

Marius ruminated on this for a minute. “Thanks for talking with me. I’ll keep all this in mind, I promise.”

“Just watch your back, all right?” Kratman pleaded. “I’ve seen far too many of my old officers and men taken out by Justinian—and his allies—as it is.”

Tired and emotionally drained, Roman Garibaldi staggered out of the Examination Hall hours after he’d entered. It felt as if he’d been in the room for years, as if his personal universe had shrunk down to the examination room and the terminal he’d used to answer the questions. All hope of a First had faded, to be replaced by the desperate hope that he might just have scraped a Third. A Fourth or below usually meant repeating the fifth-year at the Academy, though Roman wasn’t sure if that still applied in wartime. He returned to his room, collapsed into bed and fell asleep.

Hours later, he awoke, ordered a small meal from the food processor, and then fell back asleep after eating it. He felt at loose ends; now that the exams had been completed, he had to wait until the proctors had completed reviewing their answers. All that mattered was passing the exams.

He tried to keep the thoughts of war from his mind, but he just couldn’t. Would doing worse on his exams mean he’d be sent immediately to the front? Or would he be kept back as an incompetent?

The following morning, he was awakened at the usual time and ordered to report to the Assembly Hall. He wasn’t the only one, as he noticed almost all of his fifth-year class had been summoned.

As he and the others poured into the compartment, he saw holographic test results hovering in front of his eyes. There were no Fourth or Fifth results, he noted at once; the unlucky cadets would probably be spared public humiliation. He scanned the Thirds and saw a couple of familiar names, but his was missing.

Bracing himself, he scanned the Seconds, yet his own name wasn’t present. Thank goodness!

Taking a deep breath, he looked at the Firsts and saw, clearly, ROMAN GARIBALDI. He’d done it!

Friends shook his hand or hugged him, eager to share their congratulations, or demanding to know where he was going. He accessed his implants and searched for his orders. They were waiting for him in the network.

“Enterprise,” he said in delight. The Federation Navy’s latest flagship had been his first choice, although he’d known that even with a First, the odds weren’t high. “I’m going to the Enterprise!”

“Congratulations,” Cadet Sultana Narayanan said. Her accented voice was amused. “So am I.”

Roman grabbed her and pulled her into a hug. At least he wouldn’t be completely friendless when he arrived. Between them, he was sure they could learn the carrier’s ways and fit right in. He barely heard the speech from the proctors, warning the non-First cadets that their orders were still being cut and that they’d be informed as soon as possible. He was going to the Enterprise!

“Come on,” Raistlin said. All differences between them had faded, for Raistlin had made a First, too. “Let’s party!”