Courageous

TWO

Hell-lance batteries hurled their charged-particle spears at the Syndic military base and minor dockyard that had orbited this outlying gas giant in the Baldur System for centuries. Most of the facilities seemed to have been mothballed, probably for decades, and not many Syndic personnel remained as caretakers to manage the few systems remaining operational. Right now those Syndic personnel were fleeing in-system in escape pods, while behind them both active and inactive parts of the base and dockyard were shredded by hell-lance fire at point-blank range.

Geary had decided to spread out among the fleet the fun of annihilating Syndic facilities on their way toward the mining site. In this case, he’d let the Eighth Battleship Division have the honors. Relentless, Reprisal, Superb, and Splendid swung past the Syndic base, their massive firepower ripping apart equipment, stockpiles of supplies and spare parts, and the dockyards, which might still have offered occasional support for those obsolete corvettes.

The next target would be the mining facility they needed to capture intact. Given humanity’s apparently unceasing drive to build and preserve things, Geary couldn’t help ponder the irony that in human wars it always seemed far easier to destroy something than it was to try to take it in one piece.

“Enjoying yourself?”

Geary looked over from the display showing the battleships smashing the Syndic installation and saw that Victoria Rione had entered his stateroom unannounced. She could do that, since he’d set the room’s security features to allow her access, a legacy of the days when she’d been sharing his bed. He had thought about changing the settings again, given Rione’s distance, but had avoided the step.

Now he shrugged in response to her question. “It’s necessary.”

Rione gave him an enigmatic look and sat down opposite him, maintaining the distance she’d kept from Geary since Ilion. “‘Necessary’ is a matter of choice, John Geary. There’s no bright, clear line dividing what must be done from what we choose to do.”

Somehow he thought Rione was referring to something unspoken. Damned if he could figure out what that was, though. “I’m aware of that.”

“I think you usually are,” Rione conceded, an unusual step for her. Then she studied him for a moment before speaking again. “Usually. The commanding officers of the ships belonging to the Callas Republic and the Rift Federation have spoken to me about your latest fleet conference.”

Geary fought down a flash of irritation. “You don’t need to keep reminding me that those ships will follow your recommendations since you’re co-president of the Callas Republic.”

“No,” Rione replied sharply. “I don’t imagine Black Jack enjoys challenges to his authority. I understand you faced some more of that and dealt with them severely.”

“I need to maintain control of this fleet, Madam Co-President! I could’ve reacted much more strongly than I did, and you know it.”

Instead of hurling his anger back at him, Rione grimaced and sat back. “You could’ve. The important thing isn’t that I know that; it’s that you know it. You’re thinking about the things you could do, the things you could get away with, as Black Jack. Isn’t that so?”

Geary hesitated. He didn’t want to admit that, but Rione was the only person he could possibly be open with about it. “Yes. Those options are occurring to me.”

“They didn’t used to, did they?”

“No.”

“How long can you stop him, John Geary? Black Jack gets to do whatever he wants because he’s a legendary hero. Because he’s won dramatic victories in command of this fleet.”

Geary glared at her. “If I don’t win victories, this fleet dies.”

She nodded. “And if you do, your legend grows. Your power grows. Every new victory carries a hazard, because it would be so much easier for Black Jack. He wouldn’t have to convince others to do what he asks; he can just command them and punish those who disagree. He wouldn’t have to worry about rules or honor. He could make his own.”

Geary sank back as well, closing his eyes. “What do you suggest, Madam Co-President?”

“I don’t know. I wish I did. I fear for you. None of us are as much in control of ourselves as we’d like to think we are.” Geary’s eyes flew open, and he stared at her, startled by the admission of weakness. Rione was looking away, her face bleak for a moment; then she gathered her composure around her like a warship reinforcing its shields and gazed back at Geary with a cool expression. “What will you do if the mining facility doesn’t have the materials this fleet needs?”

Geary made an exasperated gesture. “Hit another one. We need that stuff. I hate being slowed down in this system, but we can’t enter jump without restocking the auxiliaries. Even after all of the fuel cells manufactured to date are distributed, the fleet will still average only about seventy percent fuel cell reserves, and that’s way too low for a fleet facing as long a journey home as we do.”

“Is that all that’s bothering you?”

“You mean besides you?” Geary asked bluntly.

She met his eyes steadily. “Yes.”

He’d have better luck interrogating Syndic prisoners than he would getting anything out of Victoria Rione that she didn’t want to reveal. For some reason, Geary felt his mouth curve in an ironic smile. “Yeah, there’s more.” He looked back at the other display he’d been studying when she came in.

“What?” Victoria Rione stood up, walking to sit beside him and lean in slightly to view the same display, her head near his, the soft scent of her conjuring up memories of being enfolded in her arms. It wasn’t a distraction that he particularly welcomed when she had avoided further physical contact for weeks without explanation. Not that she owed him her body, but surely Rione owed him a reason. Except that neither he nor she had given any promises, so it wasn’t like she had broken any. But it still felt like it to him.

Geary frowned, angry at himself and at her. “I’m worried about the condition of my ships.”

She gave him a slow look. “You’re actually upset more about the losses.” Rione’s tone was matter-of-fact. She, along with Captain Desjani and a few others, knew how little Geary was accustomed to the deaths of ships and their crews. A hundred years ago, the loss of a single ship had been a tragedy. In the bloodbaths that battles had degenerated into since then, a single ship was easily lost, only another name to be revived when a replacement ship was rushed into commission. But Geary’s feelings still remained where they had been a century ago for these people, and only several months ago for him, thanks to the survival sleep that had kept him unchanged during that span of time.

“Of course I’m upset about the losses,” Geary stated shortly, trying to rein in his temper.

“That’s to your credit.” Rione sat, her face turned toward the list of ships. “I still fear the day when Black Jack will be comfortable with such losses.”

“Black Jack isn’t running this fleet. I still am.” Geary glared at her, unhappy that the subject had been raised again. “Black Jack isn’t running me. I don’t deny he tempts me. It’d be a lot easier to just believe I’m this godlike hero whose every action is justified because the living stars will it and our ancestors bless it. But that’s total nonsense, and I know it.”

“Good. Then you should also know that our losses would have been far more severe under another commander. Do you need to hear me say that? I haven’t denied your skills at command since Sancere.”

He hadn’t realized it, but that was true. “Thanks. I wish that made a difference.”

“It should, John Geary.”

He shook his head. “Because it could’ve been worse? Fine. I can accept that intellectually, even if I can’t emotionally. But that’s not the point. We can’t sustain these losses.” Geary pointed at the readout of his ships and their status. “Look. Our battle cruisers that survived the Syndic ambush in their home system were reorganized into six divisions. Normally, a division should have six ships. These divisions were only four battle cruisers strong to begin with, and the Seventh Division only had three. Twenty-three battle cruisers survived after the ambush. Of those, we lost Repulse getting out of the Syndic home system.”

Geary had to pause then. Lost. A short, simple word. The epitaph for a ship, her crew, and her commanding officer, a man older than Geary who had been Geary’s grandnephew. He swallowed, knowing Rione was watching, then continued. “Polaris and Vanguard were lost at Vidha, and then Invincible and Terrible at Ilion. Five out of twenty-three, and we’re still a long way from home. That’s not counting significant damage sustained by the ships in Tulev’s Second Battle Cruiser Division at Sancere, some of which still hasn’t been repaired.”

Rione nodded. “I see your concern. Especially where Dauntless is concerned. Getting the Syndic hypernet key this battle cruiser carries back to Alliance space is critical to the Alliance war effort.” She paused. “How many people in this fleet now know that Dauntless carries the key?”

“I don’t know. Probably too many.” A supposed Syndic traitor had provided the key, a means for the Alliance fleet to launch a surprise attack on the Syndic home system and win the war in one stroke. Irresistible bait for the recklessly aggressive leaders of the Alliance fleet. The Syndics had known they’d take the bait and waited in ambush when the Alliance fleet arrived. Disaster was too kind a word, but at least this much of the fleet had escaped to survive this long, and the Syndics had to be terrified that their hypernet key was on one of the remaining Alliance ships. “I’ve wondered why the Syndics killed all the most senior officers in this fleet when they went to negotiate. It would have made more sense to keep a few alive to interrogate.”

“They may have,” Rione noted. “Video can be faked. I’ve no doubt most of those officers we saw being murdered actually did die, leaving you as the senior officer in the fleet, but I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that at least one or two who had supposedly been killed were in fact kept alive for just that purpose.”

Which would mean the Syndics might also know that Dauntless carried the key and needed to be destroyed by them at all costs. “It just keeps getting better,” Geary mumbled sarcastically.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing. Just talking to myself.”

Rione gave him an annoyed look. “We’re supposed to be talking to each other. The battle cruiser losses are worrisome as well as tragic. We’ve lost almost no battleships, though.”

“Yeah.” Geary stared at the names. “Triumph at Vidha, and Arrogant at Kaliban.” Technically Arrogant had been one of three scout battleships with the fleet, something halfway between a heavy cruiser and a battleship, and it had taken some work for him to stop thinking of them as cruisers. Geary wondered what strange bureaucratic impulse had led to their design, since it left them too small to operate as battleships and too large to function as heavy cruisers. “But Warrior, Orion, and Majestic are beat to hell. Getting them back into shape for battle is going to take a long time. If we can do it at all. They may require major shipyard repairs.” He didn’t need to add that the closest major shipyards that could do the job were in Alliance space. The fleet needed every battleship it had to get home safely, but it likely couldn’t get the badly damaged battleships back into full operating condition until they got home safely.

Another nod from Rione. “I understand Warrior took almost as much damage at Vidha as Invincible did. Wouldn’t it be wiser to just abandon and destroy Warrior, as you did Invincible?”

Rione’s spies in the fleet had obviously been keeping her informed. Geary gave another grimace. “Warrior didn’t suffer the propulsion system damage that Invincible did, so Warrior can keep up with the fleet. I won’t abandon Warrior lightly. I can’t explain why, but it hurts morale more to scuttle a ship ourselves than it does to have that ship die in combat. Besides, I’ve been keeping an eye on their repair progress. Warrior’s crew is working their butts off to get their ship back in shape. At this point, if worse came to worst, I’d consider cannibalizing Majestic to help get Warrior and Orion back into shape. Orion is making some progress on repairs, but Majestic is dragging. Neither of them will be fighting in the line of battle for a while. I’ll have to keep all three of those battleships with the auxiliaries, which won’t do their pride any good.”

“They have little ground for pride.” Rione’s voice had gone low and hard. “Running from this fleet, then running and leaving their comrades at Vidha—”

“I know that,” Geary broke in, his own voice rough with anger. “But I can’t write off those ships and crews! I need to rebuild not only the ships but also the crews, and that means they need to believe in themselves, and that means their pride matters.”

Rione sat silent, her face flushed.

“Sorry.”

“I deserved it,” she shot back, her anger seeming directed mostly at herself. “I’m a politician. I should understand the importance of what people believe.” She took a long, deep breath, calming herself. “I’m not oblivious to the pain of losing ships as large as battle cruisers, or any ships at all, but you should take comfort that you’re not losing battleships in equal numbers.”

Geary shook his head. “No. If I keep losing battle cruisers, then the battleships will start taking more losses.”

This time Rione looked puzzled. “Why?”

“Because the battle cruisers do certain jobs,” Geary explained. “They have the firepower of battleships but can accelerate, maneuver, and decelerate like heavy cruisers. They don’t have the shields or armor of battleships because they trade that off in favor of the ability to move faster. That makes battle cruisers very useful for certain tasks requiring speed as well as firepower. But if I lose enough battle cruisers, I’ll have to use battleships for those tasks, and battleships are too sluggish. They’ll get caught by Syndic battle cruisers, and even though one battleship can outfight one battle cruiser, it can’t handle four or more backed up by lighter combatants. Or I can use heavy cruisers and have them take even heavier losses until they’re all gone and I have to fall back on the battleships anyway.”

Rione finally frowned in understanding. “Losses will accelerate if we’re forced to use warships for tasks they’re not designed for.”

“Yeah.” Geary gestured at the display. “And if the major combatants, the battleships and battle cruisers, hold back at all, then the light cruisers and destroyers will get torn to pieces. It all ties together. I can’t get replacements for lost units, so I have to avoid being forced to expend what I’ve got.” He stared at the names of the ships, his mind filled with an image of the remains of the Terrible after it collided with a Syndic battle cruiser at Ilion. Or rather, an image of the flash of light that was all that remained of both ships after they struck each other at a decent fraction of the speed of light. Not just a ship but its entire crew blown to hell in an instant’s time. “Ancestors help me,” he whispered.

Geary felt Rione’s hand rest on his shoulder for a long moment, offering the comfort of a firm grasp, before it was withdrawn again. “I’m sorry.”

“Victoria—”

“No.” She stood up abruptly, her face averted from him. “Victoria isn’t here. Co-President Rione offers her condolences and her support. I’m sorry, Captain Geary.” She rushed out before he could say anything else.

“What have you got?” Geary asked. He was gazing through a one-way screen at the interrogation room where the captain of the Syndic merchant ship they’d destroyed upon arrival in Baldur sat sweating with fear despite the slightly cool temperature of the compartment. Readouts and displays around the screen revealed everything about the Syndic’s physical state and the thought patterns in his brain. If the Syndic lied, it would be immediately obvious on the brain scans, and just being able to confront someone with that often produced results.

The intelligence officer, Lieutenant Iger, made a face. “Not much. The Syndics don’t tell their civilian population any details about military operations or losses.”

“Kind of like the Alliance?” Geary suggested dryly.

“Well, yes, sir,” the lieutenant admitted. “But worse, actually, and the Syndics don’t allow a free press or open discussion, so it’s harder for their citizens to figure out what’s actually going on. About all the merchant crew has been able to tell us is what they’ve been told in Syndic propaganda. Victory is certain, Syndic losses light, and this fleet was totally destroyed.”

“He knows that last certainly isn’t true,” Geary observed. “Where did his ship come from?”

“Tikana. Another system bypassed by the hypernet. His ship did trade runs on the margins, working for a Syndic corporation that lives off the economic scraps bigger corporations don’t bother with.”

“Not a lot of good, recent news or observations, then?”

“No, sir.” Lieutenant Iger gestured toward the figure of the Syndic merchant captain. “Scared to death, but he doesn’t seem able to tell us anything despite that.”

“I take it he hasn’t heard any rumors about this fleet?”

“No, sir,” the intelligence officer repeated. “He’s showing truthfulness when denying hearing anything like that. When we prompt him with names of systems we’ve been in, like Corvus or Sancere, he showed some recognition of the star system name but nothing more.”

Geary spent a moment wondering whether to actually speak with the Syndic, then decided he should. “I’ll go on in. What’s his name?”

“Reynad Ybarra, sir. His home world is Meddak.”

“Thanks.” Geary went through the three hatches leading into the interrogation compartment. Once inside, he saw the Syndic merchant captain staring at him. The Syndic seemed too frightened to move, but even if he had been inclined toward suicidal attacks, it wouldn’t have mattered. The interrogation facility had enough stun weaponry aimed at the prisoner to knock him out before he took a full step toward Geary. “Greetings on behalf of the Alliance, Captain Ybarra,” Geary stated formally.

The Syndic didn’t move or say anything, just stared nervously at Geary.

“How’s the war going?” Geary asked.

This time the Syndic paused, then began reciting something he had obviously heard often enough to commit to memory. “The forces of the Syndicate Worlds continue to go from victory to victory. Our triumph over the Alliance aggressors is ensured.”

Geary sat down opposite the man. “Do you ever wonder why you haven’t won the war yet if your forces have been going from victory to victory for the last century?” The Syndic swallowed but said nothing. “The Alliance wasn’t the aggressor, you know. We were attacked without warning. I know because I was there.” The Syndic’s eyes widened with disbelief tinged with fear. “I’m sure you’ve been told that I’m Captain John Geary.” The fear grew. “Would you like this war to end?” More fear. Not a topic the man was comfortable with. Doubtless even discussing it could get a Syndic citizen accused of treason.

How to get the man to say something? Geary fell back on an old standby. “Do you have a family still at Meddak?”

The Syndic hesitated, as if trying to decide if the question was safe to answer, then nodded.

“Are they okay?”

That finally got something. “My parents only. My sister died when Ikoni was bombarded,” the Syndic choked out. “My brother died five years ago when his ship was destroyed in battle.”

Geary grimaced. A brother and a sister dead in the war. An all-too-common circumstance in a war characterized by bloody battles and bombardments of civilians. “I’m sorry. May they rest in the arms of their ancestors.” The Syndic gazed back in confusion at the courteous offer of sympathy. “I’m going to tell you something, and then we’re probably going to let you and your crew go. I won’t bother saying that what you’ve been told by your leaders is a lie, because the fact that you’re on a ship that was supposedly destroyed should tell you that already. No, I want you to realize that we’d like to end this war, too. There’s been too many deaths, which aren’t accomplishing anything. Your home is safe from the fleet I command. Go to any system we’ve been in since we left the Syndic home system, and you’ll see that only military or military-related targets have been destroyed. The Alliance will keep fighting as long and as hard as we have to in order to ensure the safety of our own homes, but we’ll do so with honor. Tell that to anyone you want.”

Standing up, Geary left the Syndic staring after him. Once back in the observation room, he found the lieutenant eyeing the readouts. “Anything?”

“He doesn’t believe you,” the lieutenant observed.

“No, I didn’t expect him to. Do you think we can get anything useful out of them?”

“No, sir.”

“Then put them back in their escape pod and launch it toward safety.”

“Yes, sir.” Lieutenant Iger hesitated. “Captain Geary, the personnel who went over the escape pod reported that it had a couple of serious system failures due to use of cheap materials and what looks like poor quality control.”

“You check for that?” Geary asked, impressed.

The lieutenant grinned. “Yes, sir. This ship was sort of an economic bottom dweller, but even its physical condition can tell us something about the state of the Syndic economy as a whole.”

Geary nodded. “I don’t recall anything about the Syndic military escape pods we’ve captured having those kind of problems.”

“No,” the lieutenant agreed. “They give the military first pick at everything and priority on everything. Only the leadership gets higher priority when it wants things.”

“I guess that shouldn’t surprise me. Can we fix the broken systems on that merchant ship’s escape pod?”

“Yes, sir, I think so.”

“Then I want that done before the pod is relaunched,” Geary directed. “They’ll know they only made it safely because of our help.”

The intelligence officer saluted, showing off his skill with the gesture of respect that Geary had reintroduced to the fleet. “Aye, aye, sir. But this merchant crew is only a single tiny drop in the Syndic ocean, so even if they feel grateful, it won’t help us.”

“Maybe not.” Geary turned to go, then paused and looked back. “Then again, enough drops add up into waves. Maybe in time we can rock the Syndic leadership’s boat a little. Besides, sometimes our ancestors like to see us doing things for others that we don’t expect to benefit us, don’t you think?”

Geary sat on the bridge of the Dauntless again, watching the images of the Syndic mining facility as his fleet rushed toward it at point zero two light. They’d had to brake down the fleet’s velocity even more to ensure the shuttles would be able to slow to landing speed without overshooting the assault targets. Next to the image of the mining facility, a virtual window revealed Colonel Carabali, her face sober. “The landing force is embarked and ready, sir.”

“Thank you, Colonel.” Geary took a good look at Carabali. “Do you want to go in with them?”

Carabali hesitated, clearly torn by the offer. “I should remain on a ship, coordinating the battle from the landing force control center, Captain Geary.”

Strange, Geary thought. For fleet officers, gaining rank didn’t do much to change the risk of combat. Even the highest admiral in a combat assignment would be facing the same risk from enemy fire as the lowest ranking sailor, because they rode the same ships into battle. But it was different for the Marines. When the landing forces went in, their overall commanders had to have the discipline to avoid diving into personal combat so they could oversee the entire battle. It was odd to realize that in the case of the Marine commanders not rushing into combat required more discipline and, in a way, courage than simply accompanying the landing force would need. Facing death could be easier than watching your troops die while you floated above it all.

But all he said was, “Very well, Colonel. Should I address your people before they go in?”

Carabali hesitated again, this time for a different reason. “They’re about to launch, sir. Any distraction at this time might be unwise.”

Geary almost laughed. A distraction. If only that were the worst problem he could cause. “All right, Colonel. Let me know immediately if you need anything. Otherwise I’ll leave you alone now so you can run your battle.”

“Thank you, sir,” Carabali replied with a grin. She rendered a precise salute to him. The Marines had never abandoned saluting like the rest of the fleet had, naturally, and so hadn’t had to relearn the gesture. “I’ll notify you when we have the facility in hand, Captain Geary.”

The colonel’s image vanished, and Geary leaned back in his command seat with a sigh. There was a sense of helplessness at times like this. Ships had been committed to their courses and speeds, Marines prepared for their assault, and now all he could do was watch it happen and hope nothing went wrong. Commander of a fleet, and I’m still subject to the laws of time and space. I knew a few commanders in my time who thought their rank allowed them to ignore those things, but I imagine those commanders died early on during the war. While I floated in survival sleep and the Alliance turned me into a mythical hero. I wonder which of us was luckier?

“Nothing’s leaving the mining facility,” Captain Desjani noted.

Geary switched his attention back to the display and nodded. “No escape pods, and even that old tug is still just sitting there. Whoever’s there is staying instead of evacuating.”

“They probably fear we’ll blow away anything trying to escape,” Desjani suggested in a way that told Geary such practices had been common before he assumed command.

He refrained from asking what honor there was in shooting defenseless escape pods. Practices that Geary found abhorrent had become commonplace over a century of war, as the Syndics had committed increasingly worse atrocities and the Alliance had responded in kind. Over time a lot had been forgotten by the descendants of the officers and sailors whom Geary had known. Forgotten until the revered Black Jack Geary had awakened and reminded the present of the things the past had believed in. Desjani had been among the first to realize what had been lost in trying to match Syndic inhumanity, so there was no sense in making an issue of it with her again. Instead, Geary nodded once more. “Or maybe when we slowed down they figured out we were coming to take the place instead of just destroying it. But they can’t hope to repel our attack.”

“No,” Desjani agreed. “But they might inflict losses; they might slow us down. Syndic leaders would be willing to trade the workers in a mining facility for that.”

“Yeah.” They’d already seen evidence of that in almost every system they’d passed through. The Syndics had risked entire surplus worlds for the chance to strike blows at the fleeing Alliance fleet. He studied the image of the facility again. “They’ve got maglev rails for moving ore.”

Desjani nodded. “Taking them out from a distance would risk hitting the stockpiles.”

“What are the odds the Syndics could turn them into weapons?”

She shrugged. “They could try. But we’ll see them elevating the tracks to turn the maglevs into weapons aimed at our ships or the shuttles.”

Geary nodded, checking to see that his two surviving scout battleships, Exemplar and Braveheart, were braking to slide into position right over the mining facility, matching their movements precisely to that of the facility so they could fire down at it from very close range using their hell lances. In theory, a small kinetic projectile could be aimed accurately enough from a long distance to take out even a little target in a fixed orbit, but Geary wanted to conserve his supply of what the Marines called “rocks.” Besides, in practice he adhered to the old theories that the closer you were to the target, the better the odds of hitting it square, and that there wasn’t any sense in using too much weapon for the target, so hell lances would work fine.

He’d learned that the new theory, born of a century of war, was to just use a large kinetic projectile and blow apart not only the target but a substantial area around it, which after all belonged to the enemy anyway, even if it did include things like schools, hospitals, and homes. Geary had no intention of ever succumbing to that logic.

Neither scout battleship was firing yet, since neither had targets. But they’d be positioned close overhead when the Marine shuttles came in to land.

“Launching assault force,” a watch-stander reported.

A dozen shuttles separated from their ships, their courses arcing down toward the mining facility.

“Why only a dozen?” Co-President Rione asked from her seat behind Geary. “It’s unlike Colonel Carabali not to employ as much force as possible.”

Did she mean to imply that Geary had limited Carabali’s forces? He turned to look at Rione. “It’s a small facility, Madam Co-President. There’s not enough room to land and employ a larger force.”

Turning back, Geary saw Captain Desjani with a lowered brow in apparent annoyance at Rione’s question. But Desjani kept her voice even as she spoke. “Movement around the maglevs.”

Geary twisted back and focused on the magnetic-levitation rail lines that were used to move ore, containers, and other materials around the facility. The full-spectrum and optical sensors on the Alliance ships were precise enough to track small targets on the other side of a solar system. This close to a target, they could easily count individual grains of dust if required. Human-sized targets were exceptionally easy to see.

Sure enough, a group was clustered around one of the end rails, raising one end toward the shapes of Braveheart and Exemplar above. “Stupid,” Geary couldn’t help muttering.

Desjani nodded. “Exemplar is firing hell lances.”

Fire control systems designed to get hits on targets moving at thousands of kilometers per second during firing opportunities measured in fractions of a second didn’t have much trouble getting a perfect hit on a close target almost at rest relative to the ship. On the visual display, Geary couldn’t see the charged particle beam that tore through the maglev segment, but he did see the results. The segment shattered, the workers around it being blown back by the force of fragments hurled at them, a neat hole punched in the surface of the moon where the hell lance had kept going, barely slowed by the minor obstacles it had hit.

Then another segment of the maglev line shattered, then another. Geary cursed and hit his communications controls. “Exemplar, Braveheart, this is Captain Geary. Fire only on identified threats.”

“Sir, they’re using those maglevs for weapons,” Exemplar protested.

Before replying, Geary checked to ensure the bombardment had stopped. To his relief, it had. “They tried, and you did a great job taking them out. But our own engineers might need the rest of that line.” He paused. “Good job. Excellent accuracy on your weapons.”

“Thank you, sir. Understood. Exemplar will fire on threat activity.”

Fair enough. Geary checked his fleet status for information on Exemplar’s commanding officer. Commander Vendig. Very good marks. Recommended for command of a battle cruiser. Why not a battleship? Geary frowned as he put together for the first time that every one of his best commanders was a battle cruiser captain. Conversely, many of his problem officers were battleship captains, including the most serious pains like Captains Faresa and Numos and new problems like Captain Casia. I hadn’t realized that, hadn’t seen the pattern, and whatever it is may be obvious to officers in the current fleet. There weren’t that many battleships in my time, and they were then seen as the command that every good officer aimed for. Something happened in the last century that seems to have changed that. I’d better find out what.

The shuttles were approaching the mining facility now, swooping in like birds of prey heading for their targets, their engines firing hard to match velocity with the mining facility as fast as possible. Geary kept switching his gaze from the overall fleet display showing the entire light-seconds-wide span of the Alliance formation, to the close-in display showing the area around the mining facility, to the tactical view the Marines would use. Symbols representing enemy forces were popping up on the tactical display now, here and gone as individual defenders were spotted dodging among the mining equipment and facilities.

Geary tagged one of the threat symbols, and a frozen image flashed into existence along with helpful explanatory text. Damn near idiot-proof, Geary thought, admiring the simplicity of the system, then frowned as more windows popped into existence, multiplying too fast to follow their information as they provided exhaustive details on estimated enemy weaponry, endurance time, power usage and power systems, defensive armor, and dozens of other pieces of trivia that a fleet commander had no real need for. Somebody had set the default for all this junk to flood his display, though. But then there’s always plenty of idiots to figure out how to screw it up anyway.

Geary cursed as he painstakingly closed window after window of meticulous data until he could actually view the image and a few essential pieces of information. He studied the picture, seeing a glimpse of someone in what appeared to be a survival suit, not battle armor. The text confirmed that, noting that the individual’s appearance matched that of someone wearing an obsolete version of the standard Syndic survival suit. The weapon being carried by the defender was some sort of pulse rifle with too little power to seriously threaten Marines in battle armor, the text told Geary, and was probably intended for internal security. Internal security? At that small a facility? Oh. They’d need people to keep the Syndic citizens on this installation in line. With those maglev rails it wouldn’t be smart to let any rebels get their hands on a facility that could launch rocks at the inhabited planet in this system.

He checked the other threat symbols and confirmed they were all the same. “No actual soldiers. Internal security forces and occupants of the mining facility handed weapons and sent out to fight. What the hell is the sense of that?”

Desjani frowned over the same image projected before her seat. “All they can hope to do is slow us down. Unless the Syndic commanders in this system are completely delusional, that has to be their intended mission.”

Slow us down. Geary checked the tactical display again, wondering what ought to be there but wasn’t. Then he realized. “They’re not sabotaging anything. Why hasn’t stuff been blown? We’re not even seeing equipment shutdowns that would accompany wiping their operating systems.”

“A trap?” Desjani wondered.

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” Geary tapped his screen for Colonel Carabali. “Colonel, this is looking like a trap.”

Carabali nodded, looking harassed. “Yes, sir. It bears all the signs of that. My assault forces have been ordered to search for any and every thing that might blow up in our faces. There should be lots of small-scale demolitions on hand, but my experts say a mining facility like this shouldn’t have the means to generate a huge explosion, especially not in the limited warning time they had to work with.”

“That doesn’t seem to be reassuring you, Colonel.”

She gave Geary a quick, humorless smile. “No, sir. By your leave, sir, I’d like to get back to overseeing the assault.”

“By all means, Colonel. My apologies.” Geary tried to relax, annoyed with himself for violating one of his own rules by bothering an officer who was trying to carry out the orders that Geary had given her.

“Admiral Bloch always kept the Marine commander on his screen,” Desjani noted in a low voice. “The admiral liked to offer comments and suggestions, and of course wanted any questions answered right away.”

“You’re kidding.”

Desjani shook her head.

Geary laughed shortly. “At least I’m not that bad.”

“I just thought you should know that Colonel Carabali probably isn’t all that upset with the way you deal with command, sir.”

Of course, as far as Captain Desjani was concerned, Geary could do no wrong. But he still shuddered at the idea of working for a commander who kept him on-screen during an operation, demanding attention that was needed for the battle.

Speaking of which, the shuttles were sliding into landings, bay doors opening and Marines in battle armor tumbling out as the shuttles kept moving so that the ground troops were spread out instead of being clumped together into a mass target. Twelve shuttles deposited twelve lines of Marines, then accelerated upward again. “Nice job on the delivery,” Geary observed. “Were the flight paths automated?”

Desjani frowned, gestured to a watch-stander, then waited for the reply. “No, sir. The shuttle pilots prefer to use personal control. The Marines have a deal with them. As long as the shuttle pilots do a good job, the Marines let them fly their birds.”

“That’s a reasonable arrangement. And if any pilot screws up, then the Marines require them to use automated controls on the next drop?”

“Uh, yes, sir,” the watch-stander confirmed. “After any Marines who survived the failed drop catch the pilot and beat the hell out of him or her. Not that they’ve ever been caught doing that, sir.”

“Of course not,” Geary agreed, suppressing a smile. The lines of Marines were moving into the mining facility, dodging from cover to cover, moving in sections to provide covering fire for each other.

Not that the precautions seemed needed. Geary watched the display with growing uneasiness as clusters of enemy symbols fell back faster than the Marines were advancing. Leading elements of the defenders were already vanishing into some of the mine shafts littering the surface of the moon. “What the hell?”

A moment later, Colonel Carabali called him. “Captain Geary, the defenders aren’t really trying to hold. They’re falling back fast into some of the mine shafts.”

“I just noticed that. Any guesses as to why they’re not fighting?”

“Sir, I’d guess they want to evacuate the installation before something happens. We’d already speculated that this looked like a trap.”

The defenders are getting out of a blast zone? “What do you recommend, Colonel?”

“Sir, as much as I hate to do so, I think we need to pull back until we scan this rock atom by atom and find out what the Syndics have planted.”

Geary hesitated. How could they delay as long as that would require? And it would mean slowing down the main fleet even more, costing more fuel reserves. But he couldn’t send Marines farther into what was increasingly looking like a death trap. “Colonel—”

A sharp voice sounded behind Geary. “It’s a bluff.” He turned to see Co-President Rione leaning forward in her observer’s seat, her expression demanding. “Don’t any of you gamble? The Syndics have created a situation that looks like a trap. Yet they haven’t actually demonstrated any ability to blow up the entire facility, and in fact have left it intact behind them. If we run, they’ve saved their mining facility and we haven’t gotten whatever we wanted. If we slow down and take our time, it causes further delay in this star system. Either way, the Syndics come out ahead.”

Colonel Carabali appeared uncertain. “Co-President Rione’s assessment does sound logical, but—”

“Colonel,” Rione demanded, “do the Syndics routinely display high regard for the well-being of low-level personnel such as these miners?”

“No, Madam Co-President. They don’t.”

“Then why were the mine workers not ordered to die delaying your actual occupation of the facility, thereby also drawing more Marines into the supposed trap? Why were they withdrawn into the mine shafts where they cannot hinder us and in fact are now sitting ducks if we choose to fire weapons down into the shafts?”

Captain Desjani spoke in carefully controlled tones. “With all due respect, you’re not down there with the Marines, Madam Co-President.”

Rione’s eyes narrowed as she gazed at Desjani. “Lest you think I’m making this call lightly, I’ll point out that some of the Marines participating in this assault are from the Callas Republic. I would not place them in extra peril if I believed it existed.”

Carabali frowned. So did Desjani. Both looked at Geary. Yeah, okay, Rione believes in what she’s saying, but can I go with her belief? She’s not military, after all. She’s also not in command, which is why everybody is looking at me. It’s my call. I want to believe that Rione is right because if she is, it will make things happen the way I want them to. Am I too eager to believe she’s right because of that? What if she’s wrong? What if this isn’t a bluff?

We lose a bunch of Marines and everything we came to this facility for.

But why would the Syndics suddenly display such high regard for the welfare of low-level workers and then order them into a hopeless position?

I have to make this decision. If I’m wrong, I could see a lot of Marines die. Or if I’m wrong the other way, I could see this fleet needlessly delayed even further while the Syndics gather forces in surrounding star systems.

Ancestors, please give me a sign.

If they did, Geary couldn’t see or feel it. He glanced at Desjani and saw her utter confidence that he would reach the right decision. Whatever that was. Rione was eyeing Geary, her expression stern, almost challenging him to believe her. Colonel Carabali simply waited, her feelings unreadable behind a professionally emotionless mask. The longer Geary waited, the more likely the decision would be taken out of his hands by developing events. He had a duty to those Marines, a responsibility to make a call, to make it clear who was accountable if the worst happened. Odd, it was usually Rione warning him about the worst that could happen…That was usually the case. Rione the politician never liked having any part of the fleet running risks. Yet here she was urging a course of action that had his Marine commander and one of Geary’s hardest-charging ship captains recommending caution. Either Rione had gone crazy, or his ancestors had sent a sign. Through her.

Geary breathed a quick prayer. “I think Co-President Rione is right. Keep the Marines in there and occupy the entire facility.”

Carabali, her face rigid, saluted. “Yes, sir.” Her screen blanked as she passed on the orders.

Geary looked down, hoping he hadn’t let a sense of urgency override his own common sense. When he looked up, the tactical display showed Marines swarming deeper into the installation, segment after segment of the Syndic facility glowing green to show it had been cleared and occupied.

Nothing had blown up yet.

He gave in to temptation and called up a view from one of the Marine junior officers. Now he had a window floating before him showing the view from that officer’s helmet. This part of the facility was open to the surface, so the Marines were moving through an area with no atmosphere. An occasional light illuminated part of the equipment the Marines were moving past, the sharp-edged beams centered on whatever needed to be lit, since the light didn’t spread at all without any air to do the job. The shadows were just as sharp-edged and as black as the lit areas were bright.

There was always something spooky about abandoned places, a sense that the former occupants hadn’t really left and were somewhere just out of sight, watching these intruders come into their world. Because so little changed in abandoned facilities on airless worlds, a place deserted moments before could feel just as haunted as one left empty centuries ago. Had someone else walked here an hour ago, or yesterday, or a hundred years in the past? Even though he’d seen the defenders moving through these areas a short time before, the mining facility felt like that, empty and silent on the outside, even though inside the buried buildings equipment still functioned.

An airtight hatch loomed before the Marine officer. Geary watched as two enlisted Marines attached physical taps to the air lock locking mechanism and overrode the coded entry system. Weapons leveled at the hatch as it began to swing open, one Marine near the hatch tossing a small object in through the growing gap and then huddling back as the magnetic pulse charge detonated inside the lock to fry the circuits on nearby weapons, enemy survival suits, and detonators for booby traps.

Then the Marines were inside, moving through empty passageways, kicking in or blowing open doors, searching for anything out of place, anything that even looked like a bomb.

Geary rapped his forehead in exasperation as he realized he’d forgotten something that could really help, then slapped his communications circuit. “Captain Tyrosian. Your ships are now being given access to the views from the Marine landing force occupying the mining facility. I assume the engineers on the auxiliaries know the sort of equipment we’re dealing with and will be able to identify anything that doesn’t belong. Get some of them watching the Marines as fast as possible.”

Tyrosian’s reply took a bit longer than it should since the auxiliaries were now in the center of the Alliance formation. “Sir,” she replied hesitantly, “my personnel don’t usually play any direct role in operations.”

Fighting down an urge to yell, Geary spoke firmly. “They are this time. I want qualified people observing those feeds as quickly as you can get them on there, and I want to know immediately if they see anything they regard as suspicious.”

Before Tyrosian’s reply could come in, Geary saw another window pop up with Colonel Carabali in it. “Someone’s sending my assault force’s feeds to the engineers on the auxiliaries,” she reported, frowning.

“That someone is me, Colonel.”

“I must protest, sir. They’re noncombatant support personnel without a need for direct real-time access to my assault force.”

Geary tried not to let aggravation show. “They won’t do any harm.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Carabali stated stiffly, “engineers are capable of wreaking total havoc in the real world if not closely supervised, and I do not have the luxury of the time to be able to so supervise them.”

On the heels of Carabali’s words, Captain Tyrosian’s reply came in on her window. “Captain Geary, we don’t have a list of specifications as to what we’re supposed to look for.”

His earlier tension replaced by a growing headache, Geary spoke through gritted teeth. “Wait, Colonel. Captain, your engineers are supposed to look for anything that shouldn’t be in a mining facility.” Tyrosian nodded, but her eyes remained puzzled. “Bombs. Booby traps. Things that will blow up.”

Tyrosian’s puzzlement increased. “A lot of equipment will suffer catastrophic failure if improperly—”

“Captain Geary,” Colonel Carabali declared, both her face and voice rigid with disapproval, “I advise against this in the strongest possible—”

“My people need to talk directly to the Marine officers in the facility about what they’re seeing,” Tyrosian suggested hesitantly. “Without detailed guidance—”

“All right!” Geary interrupted both of them. Bad idea. I can tell them to just go ahead and do it, or just cancel the whole thing. I’m mad enough to say, “Just do it,” which tells me I probably shouldn’t. Serves me right for trying to improvise something between two such different mind-sets. “Cancel my previous direction. The feed from the assault force will be available to the engineers but on a receive-only basis. If they see anything they regard as suspicious, you are to contact me without delay, Captain Tyrosian. Colonel Carabali, please continue your assault, and my apologies for the distraction.”

Both officers looked startled by Geary’s orders, as if they’d expected a different outcome; then Carabali saluted hastily just before her window blanked out again. Tyrosian nodded. “Yes, sir. The, uh, shuttles with the engineering exploitation team and equipment have launched.”

“Good. Make sure everyone on those shuttles understands that they are under the control of the Marine assault force commander.”

Geary slumped back as the other comm window closed, rubbing his forehead to help with what was now a raging headache. Desjani, who couldn’t have heard Geary’s private communications with the other officers, gave him a sympathetic look. “Engineers?”

“And Marines,” Geary replied sourly. “Why does it sometimes seem I have to spend more time fighting my own officers than I do fighting the enemy?” His gaze went back to the display showing the assault on the mining facility. The Marines continued to penetrate the objective, occupying almost the entire facility now and posting forces to guard the mine shafts where the Syndic defenders had withdrawn. Arcing down from above came the shuttles carrying the engineering exploitation teams, preparing to drop their skilled personnel directly onto the facility’s main landing pad.

If something was going to explode, it would probably happen any moment now.