The Shadow of Cincinnatus (46 page)

But the thought of turning against his mentor was horrific. Admiral Drake had picked him out for rapid advancement, supported his career, even taken advantage of his determination to do the right thing. The thought of betraying the emperor...Roman shook his head, reluctant to take that step. He was no Grand Senate lackey, ready to betray in exchange for a small price; he was a Federation Navy officer, loyal to his superior. And, a day ago, he would have said his superior was deserving of such loyalty.

He looked down at his hands, recalling – to his horror – how the emperor’s hands had twitched and shaken. That was
not
a good sign. He’d seen drug addicts before, on Boskone and several other shore leave hubs, and they’d barely been able to function. It started small, Elf had told him, but the addict rapidly needed more and more drugs just to hit the high. Or, perhaps, to avoid the pain. Indeed, if someone was dependent on painkillers, their body would produce pains to encourage them to take the drugs.

“I don’t know,” Roman said.

The thought was maddening. He knew how to be decisive in combat, when a moment’s hesitation could mean the difference between life and death, but he didn’t know how to turn against his mentor. And how could he? Emperor Marius needed help and support, not a knife in the back. Part of him wanted to call the Marines and have Professor Kratman thrown into the brig. The rest of him feared the professor might have a point.

Kratman rose to his feet. “I suggest you think about it,” he said. “But you should know, from my lectures if nothing else, that there are few easy choices in politics.”

“Fuck off,” Roman said.

Kratman nodded, then stepped through the hatch.

* * *

Dinner with the emperor was far worse than Roman had dared fear. He’d never liked formal dining affairs at the best of times, but some of the officers the emperor had brought with him were worryingly sycophantic. They seemed to have decided that Roman was high in the Emperor’s favor, so they spent far too much of their time kissing his ass. After the third captain had congratulated him on his great victory, in flowery tones that were normally reserved for Officer Readiness Reports, Roman was ready to kill the next one who dared try to flatter him.

No wonder the emperor is having problems
, he thought, as the stewards served the first course.
If he has people flattering him every day, he won’t know what to believe
.

He gripped Elf’s hand under the table, then ate, watching the emperor all the time. There were more worrying signs, now he knew to look for them. The emperor was drinking heavily...and not just expensive wines. Someone – as always – had set up a still on
Thunderbird
and the emperor had been helping himself to their produce. Roman made a mental note to have a word with the ship’s commanding officer, then dismissed the thought as futile. Captain Abrams didn’t look like the sort of man who would dare defy the emperor.

Blake Raistlin had bragged, once, of dinners his family had held for their fellow Grand Senators. Roman had felt sick when he’d explained that half the food was wasted, wondering why
anyone
would indulge themselves so badly. He’d been raised to waste nothing, after all. But now, he thought he understood. It wasn’t about the food, it was a display of status, of demonstrating that they could afford to buy and waste the finest foodstuffs from all over the Federation. The emperor – or his protocol staff – were doing the same.

He felt sick at heart as the fifth course was served. Marius Drake had once eaten the same rations as his men, the same meals in the Wardroom as were served in the Mess. Now, he was stuffing himself with delicacies, along with his subordinates. And drinking so much Roman was mildly surprised he hadn’t fallen face-first into his plate. It wasn’t a good sign either.

By the time the dinner finally came to an end, Roman just wanted to get away.

“Check the shuttle for bugs,” he ordered, once they had disengaged from
Thunderbird
. He’d decided to fly the craft himself, rather than risk having a third pair of ears in the shuttle. Elf had raised her eyebrows when he’d asked her to bring her security kit with her, but she’d done as she was told. “See if we’re safe to talk here.”

“It looks safe,” Elf said, after sweeping the shuttle. “I can set up a jammer too, if you want.”

Roman shrugged. The jammer would probably disrupt the shuttle’s control systems too.

“You saw the emperor,” he said. “What did you make of him?”

“Someone on the edge,” Elf said. “Why?”

“He’s not the man he used to be,” Roman said. He’d already told her about his meeting with the emperor, then Professor Kratman. The professor himself had not been in evidence at the dinner, somewhat to Roman’s surprise. It might have been a long time since Kratman had served as a commanding officer, but he was still permitted entry to the wardroom. “And I don’t know what to do.”

He sighed. Federation Navy regulations admitted of only one way to remove a commanding officer who was showing signs of instability. The ship’s doctor had to conduct an exam, then – if he or she thought the captain was not in a fit state to command – relieve him of duty, at least until higher authority had a chance to take a look at him. It was rarely used in practice, Roman knew; there had to be very strong reasons for believing the captain unfit, as the Admiralty frowned on anything that weakened the captain’s authority over his ship.

And there were no grounds for removing an admiral – or an emperor – at all.

He considered the problem as he guided the shuttle back to
Valiant
. The standard procedure if there were grounds for concern was to send a message to Earth, detailing the complaint and requesting permission to relieve the commanding officer. Offhand, Roman couldn’t recall if
any
of those complaints had been heeded. The Admiralty might have taken a dim view of subordinates relieving captains, but they positively
hated
the idea of anyone questioning admirals. In this case, the message would go to Emperor Marius or whoever he’d put in command of the Admiralty on Earth. There was no chance he’d receive permission to do anything more than stand in front of a Board of Inquiry.

The only other way to handle the problem was to call a Captain’s Board. If there was no way to contact the Admiralty – which had happened, more than once, during the Inheritance Wars – the senior captains could pass judgement on their superior. But careers had been wrecked through participating in such a meeting, even if the admiral had been cleared. The Admiralty had always taken a dim view of such proceedings, technically legal or not.

Elf nudged him. “I think you’d be better off trying to counsel him,” she said. “This might be a holiday for him.”

“We’re splitting up tomorrow,” Roman reminded her. He wondered, suddenly, if the idea of splitting the fleet had been the emperor’s – or had it come from one of his subordinates? Had someone wanted to minimise Roman’s influence over the emperor? “There won’t be time to talk to him.”

He docked the shuttle at the hatch, then passed through the security scan and walked into the ship. A Midshipman manning the desk jumped, then hastily got to his feet and saluted. Roman concealed his amusement – he’d had boring duties too, when he’d been a midshipman – and returned the salute. The young man’s hand twitched towards his communicator, ready to call the captain and inform him that the admiral had returned, before he caught himself. Roman nodded politely to him, then stepped through the hatch. It was technically against regulations for anyone to report the admiral’s progress, but one sign of a happy ship was officers willing to skirt that regulation for a decent commander.

They said nothing else until they were in his cabin. Elf ran another security sweep as Roman poured them both glasses of water, then swallowed a sober-up pill. The effects, as always, left him feeling a little queasy, but sober. He’d drunk more than he cared to admit at the dinner.

Better to call it a feast
, he thought, morbidly.

“Interesting,” Elf said. “I found two bugs; audio and visual.”

Roman felt cold ice running down the back of his neck. “Where?”

Elf pointed towards the light fitting. “Not a good place to hide them,” she noted, dispassionately. “Anyone with real experience of warships would know better than to put them somewhere they could interfere with the datanodes. And they definitely weren’t there yesterday.”

Roman watched as she removed both of the bugs, then glanced around to see what the bugs would have seen. One of them would have monitored the bed; the other would have monitored his desk, although he rarely worked in the cabin. He felt a sudden flush as he realized the bugs would have recorded their nightly activities, then a wave of anger so strong it shocked him. Who would dare to bug his quarters?

“Amateurs,” Elf said. She dropped the remains of the bugs into a secure box, then stuck it in her uniform jacket. “There’s a reason Marines tend to do surveillance and counter-surveillance duties onboard ship. These bugs would have triggered the alarms as soon as they started to signal, I think. They should have stuck them somewhere else.”

“But who?” Roman asked. “And why?”

“Who? Probably the emperor’s security staff,” Elf said. Only someone who knew her well would have heard the anger in her voice. “And why? They may have wanted to keep an eye on you. I’ll have your office swept too, I think. Routine bug sweeps are part of our work, in any case. Damned fools didn’t even know it.”

Roman nodded. The Outsiders had shown themselves to be quite inventive when it came to sneaking bugs onto starships. A handful of subverted officers had done more damage than a thousand long-range sensor probes. But they’d all been caught, in the end; he’d just kept the sweeps going as a matter of routine. Emperor Marius would have known it, too. Oddly, it was the one hopeful sign. Whoever had placed the bugs hadn’t discussed it with the emperor first.

“Bastards,” he snarled. He had hoped to spend the night in bed with her. Instead, they would have to talk and plan instead of sleeping together. “What the hell do we do now?”

“You try to talk to the emperor,” Elf said. She paused. “It’s all you can do, for the moment.”

“Very well,” Roman said. Kratman had been right. Some of the emperor’s subordinates were acting without his permission, but using his authority. God alone knew where it would end. “But I don’t know what else to do.”

“Consider the worst case first,” Elf advised. She tapped the bed, firmly. “But do it tomorrow morning. You’re in no fit state to think and plan now.”

The only way to make a complex plan work is to break it down to as many simple pieces as possible
.

-The Federation Navy in Retrospect, 4199

Spinner/Nova Athena, 4101

“Captain,” Lieutenant Regis said. “I’m picking up activity near the Asimov Point.”

Captain Teresa Robbins nodded, unsurprised. The Asimov Point led directly into the Boston System, where the ill-fated offensive had met its doom. She’d expected to see the Federation Navy sooner or later; indeed, she was surprised it had taken so long.

“Move us away,” she ordered. “Send an emergency signal to the platforms, then start downloading data into the drones. We may need to launch them soon.”

“Aye, Captain,” Regis said.

Teresa smiled, then turned her attention to the display. There was nothing unconventional about the assault on the Asimov Point; the Federation Navy had deployed the standard assault package of missile pods, small craft and gunboats, sweeping their way ruthlessly through the layers of mines placed around the Asimov Point. Hundreds of missiles died, but none of the smaller craft were harmed. Teresa cursed under her breath, yet she’d known – without fixed or mobile defenses – it was only a matter of time before the Asimov Point fell to an unimaginative attack.

Pity we didn’t have time to set up fortresses of our own
, she thought. There had been plans to convert asteroids into fortresses, but the need to keep moving had put all such plans on the backburner.
We might have been able to give them a very nasty surprise before they won
.

The last of the mines flashed and died, leaving space clear. Moments later, the first flight of heavy cruisers appeared, sensors probing local space for possible threats. Teresa wished, bitterly, that she’d
had
something that could be used against them, but there was nothing. Instead, all she could do was watch as the heavy cruisers moved off the point, only to be followed by what looked like an endless tidal wave of superdreadnaughts and smaller ships. There was enough firepower entering the system, she saw, to crush almost any system between them and her homeworld. For the first time, she began to consider the possibility of defeat.

“Keep moving us back,” she ordered, as the Federation ships spread out. “And then send a signal to the platforms. The enemy is on its way.”

* * *

“Local space is clear, Admiral,” Lieutenant Thompson reported. “The enemy didn’t bother to try to cover the mines.”

Pity
, Roman thought, although he wasn’t surprised. Given the disparity in firepower, any attempt to cover the mines could only have one outcome – and the Outsiders knew it as well as himself.
They’d save their strength for the final battle
.

“Raise the emperor,” he ordered. It felt strange to hold tactical command, but know there was a superior officer in a nearby ship. He wasn’t even sure why Emperor Marius had allowed him to retain command, unless it was a gesture of favor. “Inform him that we are ready to proceed with phase two.”

He took a moment to survey the display. The Spinner System had been classed as useless until two new Asimov Points had been discovered, both leading further into the Rim. There were no gas giants and only one reasonably-sized world, a rocky planet that bore more resemblance to Mars than Earth. It was inhabited by a religious sect that wanted to keep itself to itself and took no interest in the affairs of the Federation. Given how useless their homeworld was, the Grand Senate hadn’t bothered to press the issue. Roman found it hard to blame them.