The Shadow of Cincinnatus Read online

  He paused, then looked around the cabin. It was clear to his gaze that the aliens were humanoid – and, perhaps, not that different from humans. The consoles were in the right positions for humans, rather than one of the child-sized races humanity had effectively enslaved, while the lighting was quite close to human-norm. Indeed, the whole ship smacked of human-alien collaboration. What the hell was it doing here?

  “I’m going to try to get a live feed from the ship’s data recorders,” he said, keying his radio. The Federation insisted on working recorders into every hull, but the aliens might have different ideas. “I want to see where this ship has been.”

  It only took a few minutes to connect the ship to one of his datacores, not entirely to his surprise. Whoever had designed the ship had wanted it to interact with human technology. It suggested that they weren’t dealing with a self-spacefaring race, but one that had managed to get a leg-up from human renegades. Might the Outsiders have given the aliens human technology? And what else might they have built?

  The datacore bleeped an alert, then deactivated itself. Mike scowled, and then checked the readings. It was clear, now, that the ship’s databases had been completely wiped. Even the most thorough sweep of the datacores would reveal nothing. The ship had been abandoned because it was useless, without its computers. But why hadn’t they sought to replace the datacores or simply scuttle her? It was a question he knew he wouldn’t be able to answer.

  But he knew his duty. “Captain, this ship is a combination of human and alien tech,” he reported. “I think that spells trouble.”

  Chapter Seven

  Stuart, Charlie. Descendent of the famous Gregory Stuart, who fled Athens after the end of the Inheritance Wars. Played a crucial role in building up the Outsider Navy for fleet operations in the wake of the Justinian War...

  -The Federation Navy in Retrospect, 4199

  Base One, 4098

  “The report is confirmed?”

  “Yes, sir,” Lieutenant Juneau said. Her pale face looked worried. “The Federation Navy moved to Athena in force – and arrested the governor.”

  General Charlie Stuart looked down at the report, thoughtfully. Governor Barany had been a useful idiot, rather than a conspirator, if only because no one with any sense would trust him any further than strictly necessary. His obsession with making money and his willingness to take bribes from all and sundry had made him useful, his complete lack of concern over what happened to products from his system after they left his jurisdiction had made him an idiot.

  But, for all of his flaws, he had been predictable.

  “Our people have been alerted, I assume?” Stuart asked. “They know to take cover?”

  “The cells didn’t have any contact with the governor,” Juneau said. “He didn’t know they existed. And the handful of sources within the governor’s office have already burned their bridges. They should be safe.”

  “Let us hope so,” Charlie said.

  He shook his head. The timing was suspicious as hell. Did the Federation have an agent or two within the Outsider Federation? Someone who had alerted the new emperor to the threat growing beyond his borders? Or was it a genuine coincidence? Everyone knew that Admiral Drake had wanted to reinforce the borders and hunt down the Outsiders long before the Justinian War had diverted the Federation’s attention. It wasn’t beyond belief that the bastard had decided to settle scores with Governor Barany and reinforce the borders, now that the warlords had been defeated. He certainly would want to do it.

  Juneau passed him a second report. “This is everything we were able to find on Commodore Garibaldi,” she explained. “The intelligence staff warns that there simply isn’t very much, as he’s one of the new officers. He didn’t even exist ten years ago.”

  “He would have been a child,” Charlie grunted. The Federation had once kept promotion glacially slow, ensuring that their admirals turned rusty before leaving the slots open for younger men. Now, advancement was determined by merit rather than connections. “I doubt he has that much experience.”

  “Admiral Drake does, sir,” Juneau reminded him. “And he isn’t the only one with a pre-war combat record.”

  Charlie nodded, then skimmed through the report. Born on an asteroid habitat. Parents killed by raiders when he was a teen. Joined the Federation Navy. Graduated in the wake of the attack on Earth with a First. Assigned to Enterprise. Briefly assumed command of Enterprise. Assigned to another starship, apparently – by then – the protégée of Admiral Drake. Wounded in the final battle of the Justinian War. And then...? Nothing.

  “This is just the bare bones,” he said. “Can’t they find something more useful?”

  “No, sir,” Juneau said. “I don’t think Commodore Garibaldi has had time to rack up anything like Admiral Stevenson’s list of sins.”

  “I suppose not,” Charlie said. Any sane navy would have fired Admiral Stevenson decades ago. He was too old and set in his ways to change – and he had a habit of preying on young officers, male and female alike. Chances were that Admiral Drake would dispose of him when reminded that Stevenson was still alive. “He’s only twenty-nine.”

  “Yes, sir,” Juneau said. “But he has built up quite a bit of experience.”

  “Not in fleet operations,” Charlie said. “But you’re right. We should be careful.”

  He sighed. Taking out Athena was necessary, if only to secure control of the Asimov Points and use them to funnel his warships deeper into Federation Space. Governor Barany had cooperated, unknowingly, by not funding additional defenses for his planet, no doubt afraid of the Grand Senate’s reaction. But the arrival of an entire battle fleet was bad news. Charlie had no doubt that he could secure local superiority, yet it would be costly. And yet, if Commodore Garibaldi managed to retreat, he could harass the Outsiders until reinforcements arrived from the Core. The war might stalemate and eventually be lost.

  “Pass the word to the cells,” he said. The planetary militia hadn’t been a major factor in his planning, if only because it was undermanned, ill-equipped and pervaded with pro-independence sympathies. But the Fleet Marines would be a very different issue. “They’re to prepare, as best as possible, for strikes rather than outright takeovers. We don’t want to get bogged down.”

  He looked up at the display, towards where the First Strike Fleet was slowly assembling into formation. He’d planned for two to three more weeks of exercises before they moved – now, the exercises would have to be repeated, with the newcomers included in the enemy ranks. And then he’d have to try to destroy Fifth Fleet, rather than let it get away from the planet and escape into deep space. It was going to be costly.

  “And have stealth ships moved to the system,” he added. “I want them to shadow the fleet at all times.”

  Juneau gave him a surprised look. “Stealth ships might still be detected, sir,” she said. “And we have a stream of freighters going in and out of the system...”

  “We need precise data,” Charlie said. “And besides, once Federation Intelligence starts going through the records, they’ll shut down most of the shipping lanes. We would be deprived of intelligence when we needed it the most.”

  He gave her a nod, then turned to his console. There was, as always, paperwork to do. They were rebels and they still had to do paperwork. It made him wonder what it would be like if they won, when they won. Would they still have to do paperwork then?

  Less of it, he told himself, firmly. And no government servants telling us what to do.

  * * *

  It had been nearly three years since Uzi and his team of deep-cover agents had set food on Hobson’s Choice, posing as a group of mercenaries in need of a job. They’d been snapped up almost as soon as they showed – and verified – their credentials, which proclaimed them to be a band of mercenaries with extensive combat experience. He had thought, at the time, that they would be taken into service with Admiral Justinian and his rebels, where they would have a chance to undermine the bastards from
within. Instead, they’d found themselves on a ship heading out past the Rim.

  He clicked his cyborg implants unhappily as he surveyed the scene before him. They’d considered, seriously, simply taking over the transport and returning home. Only curiosity had stayed their hand...and they’d discovered, when they reached their destination, the most well-organized rebellion in Federation history. Even the Inheritance Wars, as long and bloody as they’d been, hadn’t been as well-organized as the Outsiders. Uzi had almost had a heart attack when he’d discovered that the Outsiders had superdreadnaughts!

  But it was the aliens who had really shocked him. Two different alien races, both working with humans as equals...it was unbelievable. Didn’t the Outsiders understand the dangers of treating aliens as anything like equal to humans? But it seemed not, even though one of the alien races was dangerously aggressive and the other was utterly inhuman. The Outsiders were treating them as equals, even arming them with human weapons designed for their use...

  He wanted to curse out loud, to scream and shout at them. Aliens could not be trusted! But there was no point. It would have blown his cover for nothing. All he could do was watch, wait, compile his reports and hope there would be a chance to get them back to the Federation. But so far it had proven futile. The Outsiders might not have any qualms about sharing technology with aliens – and some of it was definitely military-grade technology – but they had been quite successful at preventing any of the mercenaries from making contact with anyone else. He’d been told that anyone who wanted to resign would be shipped to an isolated world, where they would be held until the war was won.

  And it might well be won, he thought, as he started to walk back towards the training simulation. The Outsiders had a cause. Worse, they had a unified command system and a network of bases and shipyards that allowed them to pose a significant challenge to the Federation. Worst of all, the Federation was still recovering from the last war. This could bring down the entire Federation and I can do nothing!

  He gritted his teeth as a line of Insects marched past, limbs twitching in uneasy unison. They weren’t human...in his view, insects that large simply shouldn’t exist. It was hard to resist the temptation to activate his weapons implants and start blasting away, chopping through them before they had a chance to resist. But would they resist when they had a hive mind? It was impossible to understand them in human terms. They seemed to be both individuals and something greater. And they were armed to the teeth.

  You’ve seen worse, he told himself. And you’ve done worse.

  It wasn’t reassuring. His career had forced him to train insurgents to commit atrocities, fire on Federation Navy starships, even commit atrocities himself to ensure that his trainees believed that he was on their side. He still had nightmares, sometimes, about the girls he’d burned to death, just to make his credentials very clear. But this was too much. He was assisting aliens in plotting the overthrow of the Federation. The Outsiders might believe that aliens could be trusted, but he knew better. They had their own plans and schemes and none of them included humans, once the war was over.

  He stepped into the training ground, pasting a cold smile on his face. It was frustrating as hell to admit, in the privacy of his own mind, that the Outsider recruits would have done well at Boot Camp. They didn’t have the problems shared by many insurgents, even the simple inability to rape, pillage and burn in the right order; hell, compared to some of the men he’d trained, they were angels. But his last trainees had served a purpose and these...these could not be allowed to live. He could kill them, easily. It would end the threat they posed to the Federation. And yet it would blow his cover for nothing.

  “Attention,” he bellowed.

  The recruits – no, they were soldiers now – lined up in front of him. They’d passed the first stages of training surprisingly well once he’d convinced them to obey orders. The Outsiders prized an independence of mind the Federation preferred not to tolerate. It helped that they had more self-discipline than many Earth-born children. But they’d still needed to be pushed into learning the skills they needed to stay alive.

  And where, he asked himself, are we going? Where will those skills be put to use?

  “Take your suits,” he ordered, without bothering with preamble. They’d learned well enough to be given some consideration. “And prepare to enter the simulator.”

  He’d asked the higher-ups for details of where the Outsiders planned to attack, in the hopes the answer would be revealing. But they’d only noted that the fleet would be hitting a well-developed planet, including Asimov Point fortifications. That only narrowed the list of potential targets down to several hundred, Uzi knew. The only thing that kept Earth off the list was the certain knowledge that it would take years to get the fleet into position to attack Earth without being detected. Admiral Justinian, God damn the man, had taught the Federation Navy to watch its rear.

  The soldiers donned their suits, one by one, then lumbered forward into the training simulator. Uzi monitored their progress as the simulation sprang to life, displaying an average planetary capital, complete with a pair of PDCs in position to engage the soldiers as they fell out of orbit. There were a hundred and one ways he could make the simulation unwinnable, or simply immensely costly, but he held his hand. It would only give them skills they could use in battle, when the shit really hit the fan.

  But where were they going?

  He was still mulling over the problem when the simulation came to an end. The soldiers had done well, taking the capital city in exchange for losing a mere forty of their armoured troopers. They looked pleased with themselves, Uzi noted; he didn’t bother to tell them that he’d slanted the odds in their favor. There would be time enough for harder lessons when they actually hit an inhabited world.

  “Very good,” he said, dismissing them. “Catch some sleep. We will debrief properly in five hours.”

  He watched them go, then stopped as a green figure stepped into the room. Up close, the alien was just human enough to be disconcerting. It was possible, just possible, to imagine a human actually making love...he pushed the thought aside, angrily. What sort of perverted little fucker would want to make love to an alien? The Federation had plenty of girls who would do anything, even for a smelly antisocial basement dweller. There was no need to consider fucking an alien...

  “Your men are brave,” Ground Lord Ma said. “But they are not determined to win.”

  “They are winners,” Uzi said. He’d seen enough of how the Marsha fought to know that the Federation would always have the advantage. Honor in war was all very well, but killing the enemy was much more important. Besides, it wasn’t as if they could win alone, without human help. “And they completed the simulation.”

  “Simulations are not real,” Ma informed him.

  Uzi fought down the temptation to roll his eyes. The Marsha might not understand the gesture, but there was no point in taking chances. They’d probably studied humanity extensively, the sort of study no human would undertake for fear of being accused of having alien sympathies. It could destroy a career if word got out to the wrong person. Besides, what did one really need to know about aliens? They were determined to destroy humanity and that was all. There was no need to know anything else.

  “They are the closest we can get to reality, without actually going to war,” he said, instead of making sarcastic remarks. Rumor had it that the Marsha used live weapons in their drills. So did the Federation, but no one was actually trying to kill trainees. “It helps them learn from their mistakes.”

  “But there is no glory in it,” Ma insisted. “They do not win if they face...holograms.”

  Uzi shrugged. “Some of them were killed in the simulation,” he said. “They will survive –of course – and the next time they won’t make the same mistake.”

  “But they will face no true punishment for failure,” Ma said.

  “They will be laughed at by their comrades,” Uzi said, dryly. From what he’d
heard, the Marsha made Flagellants look calm and reasonable. A training session didn’t give anyone any real lessons until they were bruised and bloody – or dead. He could understand the value of shooting harmless but painful bullets at trainees, but not outright killing them. They would never have a chance to recover from their mistakes. “And they will have to buy the beer.”

  He sighed inwardly as the Ground Lord marched off. On their own, the Marsha would just run up to humanity’s guns and get blasted. They would never have a chance to recover from their mistakes. But allied with the idealistic Outsiders and the cold dispassionate Insects, they would make formidable enemies. And their alliance might prove fatal to the Federation.

  It had been part of his work, he mused as he walked back to his cabin, to infiltrate rebel groups and incite them into uprising, so they could be slaughtered by the Federation. And he knew, because of it, just how strongly the Federation was hated along the Rim...or even in the older colonies. The Federation needed time to breathe, time to rethink itself, time even to reform to allow the people some say in their own future. But the Grand Senate hadn’t offered anything of the sort. And why not? It would have proven fatal.

  It should work if we try to undermine the bastards, he thought. But the Outsiders were far from stupid. Divide and conquer tactics might not work, at least not as well as they had in the past. They knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, just how badly the Federation would react to them, once they launched their invasion. They’d have to hang together or hang separately. And the aliens would know it too. Exterminating humanity would have to come after the war was over and done with. Until then, they would work together.

  He paused outside his cabin, then stepped inside. It was tiny, but he’d had to make do with smaller sleeping spaces in the past. He sat down on the bed, then glanced at his terminal. The first message warned that the fleet would be moving to its target in two to three weeks, something that would be informative if he had the slightest idea of where they actually were, relative to the Federation. As it was, he had no idea which worlds were being considered likely targets.