“You’re the admiral,” Vaughn reminded him. “If you have doubts about him, act on them; if not…”
“Shit or get off the pot?” Marius guessed.
“Exactly,” agreed Vaughn.
Marius shook his head, studying the display. “I’m giving the Enterprise to Captain Fowler. He’ll be delighted to get out of the line of fire and he can certainly command her long enough to take her back to Earth…”
He snorted. Captain Fowler had somehow been promoted time and time again, mainly for looking like a 3D star, but it hadn’t taken long for Marius to realize that the man had a soft, panicky interior. Fowler had never seen action before, at least not against an equal or superior force, and he’d come close to losing it completely during the Battle of Jefferson. Only the threat of being relieved of command from Commodore Sheridan had kept Fowler and his ship in line. If Fowler had fled, his ship would have been isolated and exposed to enemy fire. Her rapid destruction would have been a certainty.
Perhaps that, too, had kept Captain Fowler in formation.
“He won’t hesitate to stab you in the back,” Vaughn warned. “He’ll whine to the Senate and his backers about how you mistreated him and threatened him with death or worse.”
“Fuck him,” Marius said tartly. “He’s stupid enough to think that command of Enterprise is a reward, even now. He can take the carrier back home, along with my report on his fitness—and Commodore Sheridan’s report. We’ll see what the Admiralty makes of that.”
“Make sure they’re in an unbreakable code,” Vaughn warned. “I’d bet you dinner at the Hotel Splendid that he’ll read them as soon as he’s out of reach, otherwise.”
Marius nodded, then ran his hand through his hair. Legally, he could have relieved Fowler of command and sent him back on a civilian ship to face a court martial, but that would have opened him to attacks from the captain’s backers and family. Sending him back on the Enterprise would reduce the number of attacks, at least until the Admiralty had a chance to decide if he should face a court martial or simply be transferred to an isolated mining station in the middle of nowhere. The Federation Navy had plenty of places to promote incompetent officers into command positions where they could do no harm.
“On a different note, the Governor of Maskirovka requested that you assign a pair of Marine Regiments to support the Planetary Guard,” Vaughn said.
Marius frowned in surprise. The request was probably working its way through his inbox somewhere, but he hadn’t seen it yet. Vaughn would have been copied into any requests for Marine support.
“He didn’t say why,” Vaughn went on, “but Maskirovka does have an intelligent race. Perhaps they’re causing trouble for the settlers.”
“Or perhaps the settlers are thinking about causing trouble themselves,” Marius said. He’d been on the Rim too long to share the unthinking prejudice against aliens held by most of the human race, but when push came to shove it was humanity first, last, and always. “How long has it been since the Inheritance Wars? Long enough for us to forget the carnage?”
“Boskone wasn’t involved in the wars,” Vaughn pointed out. “The chances are good that the governor is just as deeply corrupt as any other politician. His subjects may feel that they have nothing to lose through rebellion, and the settlers may feel like throwing their lot in with Admiral Justinian. How can it get any worse for them?”
“It can always get worse,” Marius said sourly. “Anyway, please go check it out. We can’t advance through the Asimov Point without reinforcements, so if you think it’s necessary, ship in a couple of regiments and deploy them as you see fit.”
“They’ll be pleased,” Vaughn said. “Damage control isn’t what we jarheads signed up to do.”
Marius shrugged. Now that Admiral Justinian’s forces had been beaten back, he’d taken the risk of carrying out more extensive repair work on some of his starships. ECM buoys would create the impression that his fleet was still on alert, watching the Asimov Point carefully. The CSP would keep any intruding recon drones from getting close enough to realize that they were being conned.
But even with the Fleet Train, the repair work was going slowly. Too slowly. He’d sent an urgent request to the Core Worlds for as many mobile repair yards as they could send forward, along with fortress components and additional crew. But he doubted he’d get everything he wanted, or even everything that he absolutely needed. He knew that the Senate would still be reeling from the disaster at Jefferson, and would be looking for someone to blame—him.
But he couldn’t let that affect him, or his decision making, or this war would be over soon—and in a way the Grand Senate assuredly would not like.
“They may need to do more of it,” Marius said after another long pause. “We can’t leave this system without risking overall defeat.”
“So who gets there first with the most wins,” Vaughn said thoughtfully. “In the long run…can Justinian win?”
Marius studied the star chart. “If the other Sector Admirals and governors remain loyal, then no—he can and will be ground into powder once the massed Federation Navy is pointed at him. If not…the Federation could shatter into a myriad of competing powers. In that case, Justinian might win by default.”
“Not a pleasant thought,” Vaughn agreed. “One other point: I would like to deploy Marines to escort the younger officers and crew on Maskirovka. They won’t have any experience of life on a settled world, and may get into real trouble.”
“Babysitting,” Marius said with a nod. “See to it. They won’t like it, but it’s for their own good. I can do without having to search for kidnapped crew—or bailing them out of jail.”
“You could always send in the Marines and break them out of jail,” Vaughn offered.
Marius allowed himself a moment to consider the image before dismissing it with a wave of his hand.
“Come on; it will be fun—and cheap.” Vaughn’s eyes twinkled.
“Be gone, tempter,” Marius said with a laugh. “I have to write the report. If I’m really lucky, it won’t get me summarily demoted when the Senate reads it.”
“They won’t do that, will they?” Vaughn asked. “You got us all out of the trap.”
“Why not?” Marius asked. “Who else do they have to blame?”
Chapter Nineteen
The Human Race’s Burden, according to the Federation, is to civilize every other intelligent race. Toward this end, the human race assumes control of every other intelligent race encountered by the Federation. Despite the propaganda, the overall intent is far more sinister—by making other races dependent upon humanity, any threat they pose is forever removed. Needless to say, this practice causes no end of resentment among the client races…
Maskirovka, Boskone System, 4092
“You see, all the Purples cannot be trusted,” the man announced. Roman hadn’t caught his name when he’d turned up and bought the table of Navy personnel a round of drinks. “We have to keep the boot on their necks for their own good…”
Roman shrugged, doing his best to conceal his disgust. After a day in Maskirovka City—the unimaginatively named capital of Maskirovka—he’d decided to see some local color and head to one of the alien cities on the gas giant’s moon. There had been little to see in Maskirovka City, just another spacer town with bars, brothels and overpriced souvenirs, trying to drive spacers and other visitors deeper into debt. Merchant crewmen were generally paid in a lump sum whenever they reached safe harbor and the planet’s inhabitants were devoted to relieving them of as much money as possible before they left. Not that most of them complained. After months on merchant ships, breathing in each other’s air and getting on each other’s nerves, the chance to get drunk and enjoy some female company had to be very welcome.