“I need you to reorganize the starfighter squadrons,” Marius ordered without preamble once his communications officer had gotten him in touch with Mason. “Consider yourself promoted to Fleet CAG and start work after you have some sleep.”
“Certainly, sir,” Mason said. He sounded groggy.
Marius hated to think what he sounded like, but he doubted that it was reassuring.
“I have one issue to raise,” Mason said. “I should move my flag to Enterprise, yet the ship is currently being commanded by a mere lieutenant…”
“He assumed command under Case Omega,” Marius said sharply. It was very much a tenth-order issue at the moment. Besides, the young lieutenant was either very good, or very lucky. Both were traits worth encouraging. “I will review the matter when I have time. Until then, I expect you to treat him as you would any other captain…”
“But admiral…”
“Those are your orders,” Marius said coldly. “Either follow them, or turn the command over to your successor and consider yourself relieved.”
There was a pause.
“Understood. I will follow my orders,” Mason said. “Over and out.”
Marius rubbed his eyes, issued a few more orders, and then headed for his cabin. Magnificent had a truly magnificent suite fit for any admiral who might be aboard her, yet all he cared about was the bed. There were officers who brought their mistresses aboard—a practice officially disapproved of, although winked at in private—and even installed a private staff of their own. But Marius had never cared for such abuses of authority. Why set a bad example for the rest of the fleet?
He collapsed on the bed without even loosening his shirt or taking off his boots, and went to sleep.
The first ten days of the transit went smoothly, much to Marius’s relief. The fleet’s ships shared engineers and repair crews, swapping out damaged components and repairing the ships as much as possible. Most would need a shipyard before they could be repaired properly, but they’d be able to fight or run if necessary. They wouldn’t be able to fight for long, unfortunately, as they would run out of missiles very quickly. Marius had reluctantly decided to avoid action if possible, at least until they reached Boskone.
He’d checked up on Enterprise from time to time—Mason apparently had supporters in the fleet, who had attempted to bring the matter to Marius’s attention—but everything seemed to be running smoothly. Besides, he didn’t have a suitable commanding officer to put in Garibaldi’s place. Mason himself might have been angling for the command—a poisoned chalice at the moment, although Enterprise would be repaired as soon as she was brought to a shipyard—yet normally he’d be outside the chain of command. Marius could override the regulations in an emergency, though he would have to account for his actions to a Board of Inquiry. The thought made him grimace. No matter what happened, there was going to be a Board of Inquiry and a Senate Commission inquiring into the defeat.
FAS-836393 had no planets, not even a cloud of asteroids or comets. As such, the system was deserted, without even a smuggler or pirate base. Marius didn’t take chances—Admiral Justinian would probably have been able to deduce his destination—and ordered the liberal use of sensor drones to probe the Asimov Point prior to taking the fleet through to Delta Bannerman. The RockRat system—Delta Bannerman possessed no Earth-like worlds but it did have an abundance of asteroid belts, making it an ideal home for the asteroid-dwelling RockRats—was suspiciously quiet as the fleet crossed from one Asimov Point to the other. It was unlikely that Admiral Justinian had been able to subvert them, Marius told himself; it was far more likely that the fiercely independent RockRats had chosen to ignore his fleet. Marius had considered seeking their help to repair his ships, but it would only have given Justinian more time to cut them off even if the RockRats had agreed.
Golden Harbour was friendlier, although there was little they could do to aid his fleet. The twin planets were one of the strangest systems in the Federation, two water worlds orbiting surprisingly close together. The planets had been settled by mermen—humans who had undergone genetic modification to allow them to live and breathe underwater—and there were relatively few baseline humans in the system. Their handful of orbital facilities were barely sufficient to stand off a pirate attack, let alone a rebel fleet. Marius exchanged greetings with the planet’s president, warned him of the danger and wished him luck. There was little else he could do.
“That bastard Parkinson led us into a trap,” he said to Vaughn one evening. “What did the captives have to say for themselves?”
“Admiral Justinian was very keen to capture the Enterprise,” Vaughn told him. “Justinian wanted the carrier intact to serve as his flagship. His Marines didn’t know why.”
“Ego, probably,” Marius said. “Or perhaps he was making a point.”
He closed his eyes. There was no way to avoid the consequences. ONI’s private evaluation of the situation made grim reading. The Federation Navy had somehow devolved into factions over the past few decades, while he’d been out on the Rim chasing pirates. Admiral Justinian might be the first admiral to rebel, declare independence and perhaps attempt to make himself Emperor, but he wouldn’t be the last. ONI suspected that at least a dozen more senior officers were considering rebelling themselves, either to ally with Justinian or betray him down the road—and the defeat at Jefferson would only embolden them. Even if they acted in isolation, without coordinating their forces, Marius’s force would be in real danger.
The thought was bitter, but Marius forced himself to study the situation unflinchingly. He believed in the Federation, in the unity of the human race. Only unity protected humanity from countless alien enemies, or even from its own darker instincts. How many would wage war if the Federation didn’t keep a lid on such conflicts? Too many, he was sure.
And that would tear the Federation apart.
The Inheritance Wars had come close to shattering humanity’s fragile unity. What would Justinian’s War—for want of a better name—do, with the Outsiders poised to take advantage of the Federation’s weaknesses?
He shook his head. Whatever happened, whatever the price, the fundamental unity of the human race had to be protected. The Senate might be corrupt, the Federation might be unwieldy and far too complex and restrictive, but it was all they had.
The alternative was chaos. On a galactic scale.
Roman had never visited Boskone, but he’d heard about the system. Quite apart from the fact that it served as a chokepoint along the Harmony Chain, it was unique in explored space. The system primary had one massive planet, a gas giant that might well have been a star if it had slightly more mass. Instead, it had given birth to a handful of moons, including an inhabitable planet. Life-bearing moons were rare, but Maskirovka was unique. No other moon had developed an intelligent race.
Even so, there was no time for sightseeing. They’d met up with the Fleet Train when they entered the system and started to reload the ships at once, while sending smaller ships back to the Core Worlds to request reinforcements. Roman had expected to be relieved, yet instead he found himself still in command as Enterprise struggled to prepare herself for the coming battle.