Dreadnaught

There wasn’t much I could do about this kind of thing before. But they need me in command of this fleet. And, by regulations, I have ultimate responsibility for deciding what to do here. I just have to justify my decision.

He carefully composed a text reply. In response to your message (reference a), per fleet regulation 0215 paragraph six alpha, I am required to take into account all potential factors in carrying out orders. The current projected departure date on my assigned mission reflects my assessment of all potential factors, including but not limited to the time necessary to meet essential logistics, readiness, repair, personnel, and planning requirements. Justification for this assessment and delineation of all potential factors is contained herein (attachment b).

He had offered no give on his chosen departure date, though that was slightly hidden in a nicely vague, politely worded, and deceptively brief message containing no real information. The information would be taken care of by the attachment. They want all possible factors? I’ll let them read through everything to see if they can find any grounds for saying my decision isn’t justified.

Geary instructed the fleet database to copy every official file it held on any subject (though he did exempt anything related to the Potemkin fleet simulation) and drop the entire collection into a single folder to attach to his message. The fleet’s massed computing power, every warship linked into a single networked system, chugged away at that one task for several minutes. He hadn’t imagined it was possible for any task to take that long for the fleet’s systems to handle and was wondering if he had somehow managed to crash the network when the result finally flashed onto his screen.

Geary paused then, awed by the sheer magnitude of the resulting attachment to his message. The mass of information was so huge that it would probably give even a black hole indigestion.

That made him wonder what would happen when all of that information got dumped into headquarters databases already renowned for their musty size and scale. Could a large enough mass of information result in a collapse into a virtual black hole of degenerate information from which nothing could escape? If the result meant that headquarters would have trouble sending out more messages, it was certainly worth a try.

He took another look at Celu’s image, thinking of her order to respond quickly, then gave his reply the highest nonemergency priority. You asked for a reply as soon as possible. You’re going to get it.

Could a single courier ship even carry that much data? It would be interesting to find out and interesting to see how long it would tie up headquarters just downloading the attachment. Smiling, Geary tapped the command to send the message, then went back to work.

HE usually only quickly scanned headquarters messages after that, seeing whether they needed a vague reply or could just be ignored or perhaps actually required action. But two weeks into his command, a very odd message came in, one that made him pause and read through it. Identify for transfer on a high-priority basis all fleet personnel, officer and enlisted, with formal or informal expertise on workings of hypernet systems. Personnel so identified are to remain at Varandal until reassigned. Transfer? Yanking experienced crew members off ships about to head out for a perilous mission—Wait a minute. Wait a damned flipping minute.

He didn’t know how many personnel in the fleet qualified as having “formal or informal expertise” when it came to the hypernet, but he knew that one of them was Commander Neeson, commanding officer of the battle cruiser Implacable. He was supposed to identify for transfer a veteran commanding officer two weeks before leaving, then leave that officer behind when the fleet departed? How many other critical personnel would be covered by this latest demand from fleet headquarters?

A quick search of the fleet database popped up a long list of names, almost one hundred men and women, officers and senior enlisted, who had been assigned secondary codes for hypernet-related skills. Aside from Neeson, four others were commanding officers, including Captain Hiyakawa of the battle cruiser Steadfast and the captains of two heavy cruisers. But as far as he could tell from reviewing the skill code criteria, hypernet expertise was an ill-defined area. Checking the primary skill codes of the senior enlisted, which by contrast were well-defined, Geary shook his head in disbelief. I can’t afford to let these people go. Not many of them. Not any of them if I have any say in it. Why the hell does headquarters need them?

He called Commander Neeson, whom he had worked with before on hypernet issues. “Commander, how big an impact would you have on any Alliance research or development or building project concerning the hypernet?”

Three light seconds distant on his ship, Neeson seemed startled by the question. “You mean, me, personally, Admiral? Not much. None, really. I know some things about the hypernet, theory and practice, but nothing compared to real experts. I know of at least a half dozen officers at headquarters who could run rings around me when it comes to hypernet matters. We haven’t talked, but I’ve seen their names on research papers.”

“What about anyone else in the fleet? I understand Captain Hiyakawa has that skill code.”

“I don’t know Captain Hiyakawa well, Admiral,” Neeson replied after the six-second delay caused by outgoing and incoming transmission times. “But we’ve talked a little. He’s about at my level. Sir, the only fleet officer who could have contributed significantly to such an effort was Captain Cresida. Not because of her education on hypernet matters but because she was intuitive and brilliant. I’m just a plodder, and I’m as good as anyone now in this fleet as far as I know.”

“Can you think of any hypernet project in which your experience would make a significant difference?” Geary asked.

“Outside the fleet? No, sir. I could get coffee during meetings, but that’s about it as far as usefulness.”

“Thank you, Commander. I appreciate your assessment.” After the link had ended, Geary sat watching the empty space where the comm window had been. No difference. Not when it came to hypernet skills. But a very big difference if the skills of those fleet personnel in other areas were lost to me now. And fleet headquarters already has people who are far more qualified. And the message from fleet headquarters didn’t even promise me any replacements.

Cresida was the only fleet officer who could have contributed . . . Damn, I miss Jaylen. A fine officer. Brilliant, like Neeson said. But if she was the only one who could be said to have real expertise, according to Commander Neeson, who is perhaps the most capable hypernet knowledgeable person I still have in the fleet, then I believe I am justified in responding appropriately to this message.

Geary tapped the respond command. “In reply to your request, a review and evaluation of fleet personnel turned up none who in my judgment satisfy your needs.”

The worst they could do was question his judgment, and he was getting used to having people do that. Since being awakened from survival sleep, he had seen his judgment questioned more often than since he was an ensign. But all that mattered in the short term was avoiding losing a lot of personnel his ships needed. Maybe whoever at headquarters had generated this odd request would manage to shoot another demand to him before the fleet left in two weeks, but he could stall that one easily with the little time that would be left at that point. In any case, it was better to receive a complaint that he hadn’t offered a good enough reply this time than to transfer all of those men and women before the fleet left Varandal.

At least most of my problems seem to be at headquarters these days instead of being here in the fleet.

Another chime sounded, alerting him to a call. Timbale. That shouldn’t be too bad.

Admiral Timbale’s image appeared, smiling encouragingly. “Good news.”

“I could use some.”

“Your experts are arriving tomorrow.”

Geary waited, then asked. “Experts? On what?”

“Intelligent nonhuman species.”

“We have experts on that? Until we found the enigmas, we didn’t even know any existed, and we just confirmed the existence of the enigmas a few months ago.”

“That’s true,” Timbale admitted. “But science and academia have nonetheless been producing experts on the subject for centuries now. Not too many in recent centuries, I gather. Apparently, the dearth of intelligent nonhuman species actually discovered managed to slow down the production of experts on that topic. But there are some. You’re apparently getting most of the experts on the subject who exist within the Alliance. They are, I am told, thrilled to be coming along.”

Geary felt the old headache making another appearance. “How many?”

“Twenty-one. All civilians. Fourteen of them are full-scale doctors.”

“I’m still waiting to hear the good news. Where am I supposed to put twenty-one civilian experts on nonhuman intelligent species who have never actually heard about or read about or encountered an actual nonhuman intelligent species?”

Timbale made an apologetic gesture. “They are the best humanity has on that topic. If I may make a suggestion, one of the assault transports would be a good place to keep them. You should have plenty of extra staterooms on one of them, and if the professors and doctors get bored, they can study the Marines.”

“That should generate some interesting conclusions,” Geary said. “Thanks for the heads-up. I’ll have General Carabali take our experts in hand and decide which transport to put them on.”

A week later, he looked up in alarm. The knocks on his stateroom hatch were so forceful that they evoked images of grapeshot slamming into a warship’s armor at a velocity of several thousand kilometers a second. Before the tremors from the last of the knocks had subsided, the hatch slammed open, and Tanya Desjani stormed into the stateroom, looking inflamed enough to spit plasma. “What is that woman doing on my ship again?”

SIX

GEARY knew how stunned he looked because that matched how he felt. There was only one woman who could produce a reaction like that in Desjani. “Rione? Victoria Rione?”

Her eyes fixed on him, blazing with anger. “You didn’t know?”

“She’s aboard Dauntless? When? How?”

Still plainly enraged, but mollified by Geary’s surprise at the news, Desjani nodded stiffly. “She came aboard with the routine daily shuttle flight. I didn’t learn that until she came off the shuttle a couple of minutes ago.” Pacing back and forth, Desjani turned a sour look on him. “You’re lucky that you’re such a lousy liar. That made it obvious you hadn’t known she was coming. If you had known and hadn’t told me—”

“Tanya, I’m not that stupid. What the hell is she doing on Dauntless ?”

“Since you can’t tell me, I suppose you’ll have to ask her.”

Wondering what he had done to cause the living stars to call this particular fate down upon him, Geary nodded in what he hoped was a calming gesture. “Where is she?”

“Right now? Knowing that woman, she’s probably on her way to this stateroom.”

On the heels of Desjani’s words, Geary’s hatch alert chimed. Desjani crossed her arms and stood there, plainly not intending to go anywhere. He braced himself, then keyed the hatch open again.

Any lingering hopes that it might be some other Victoria Rione vanished as he saw her standing there, her expression reflecting polite interest. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

Desjani’s face, already reddened, darkened toward an ominous purple, her jaw clenching as well as her left fist so that the ring on one finger stood out clearly. Yet somehow she managed to speak in an almost emotionless voice. “I was not informed that you were coming to visit my ship.”

“It was a last-minute assignment by the government,” Rione said, answering Desjani’s question while somehow making it seem as if she were replying to something Geary had asked.

“Won’t the Callas Republic miss you?” he asked.

“Sadly, no.” The first flickers of real emotion flashed across Rione’s face, there and gone too fast to read. “Special election. You may have heard of them. The voters have judged me too focused on the Alliance and not engaged enough in issues purely of interest to the Callas Republic.”

That took a moment to sink in. “You’re no longer Co-President of the Callas Republic?”

“Not Co-President, and not Senator of the Alliance.” Rione’s voice stayed light, but more emotions flared within her eyes. “Someone judged to be more loyal to the Alliance than to the Callas Republic would be a poor representative on the issue of whether or not the Republic should withdraw from the Alliance now that the war is over, don’t you agree? After all, the Republic only became part of the Alliance in the face of the Syndic threat. Taking advantage of my lack of other responsibilities at the moment, the Alliance government has appointed me to be an emissary of the grand council.”

“Emissary of the grand council?” Geary asked. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Whatever the grand council, and I, wish it to mean.”

She’s enjoying this, Geary realized.

Desjani had clearly come to same conclusion and was struggling to keep her temper in check. “I’m certain that you’ll need to complete your business with the admiral before the shuttle departs, so—”

“I will be staying,” Rione interrupted, speaking again to Geary. “The grand council wishes that I stay on the same ship with the admiral for the duration of its next mission.”

Worrying that Desjani would actually explode on the spot, Geary frowned at Rione. “You’ll leave when we return to Alliance space?”

Did something else show in her then? Something too strong to completely hide but so well concealed that he couldn’t even be certain that he had seen it? “That depends upon my orders from the grand council,” Rione said.

Ancestors preserve us. Stuck on the same ship with Desjani and Rione again. Stuck on the same ship between those two women. “I will send a message—”

“Don’t bother. Really. It would be a waste of time. The grand council wants me here. The other emissary appointed by the grand council will be arriving soon.” Rione finally acknowledged Desjani, turning a frosty smile upon her. “But I have been remiss. Congratulations to you both. How fortunate that everything worked out when the fleet last returned to Varandal.”

Desjani stiffened again, her eyes going to Geary for a moment while he now tried to avoid showing any reaction. If she ever guessed that Rione had played a role in helping him catch up with Desjani that day, there would be hell to pay. And Rione knows that, so why did she hint at it in front of Desjani? What’s going on inside her head this time? “What exactly is your role supposed to be?” Geary demanded.

“Representing the government,” she said, glancing toward Desjani.

Tanya got the message, glowering as she turned to face Geary. “By your leave, sir, I will return to my duties.”

“Thank you, Tanya.” He tried to put extra meaning into the words and perhaps succeeded, because her rage seemed to subside a little.

The hatch had no sooner sealed behind Desjani than Rione flopped down in a chair, her expression suddenly haggard. “I’m truly sorry for the lack of warning about my arrival.”

“You didn’t need to provoke Tanya that way.”

“No, but I’m a bitch, and I have to stay in practice. As for why you got no warning, that wasn’t my doing. The grand council is doing a lot of shooting from the hip these days. My co-emissary should be arriving within the next couple of days.”

“He’d better, because we’re leaving in about a week. Is it anyone I know?” Geary asked, sitting down opposite her.

“I doubt that you know him. Retired General Hyser Charban.” Rione smiled sardonically. “He’s not trying to achieve power by the coup route, but in the old-fashioned way, accumulating favors from powerful politicians before he runs for office on his own.”

“General? A Marine?”

She laughed. “No. Ground forces. I don’t know Charban personally, either. The reports I’ve seen characterize him as a ‘pragmatic dove, sadder and wiser for his experience with the limitations of firepower when it comes to achieving end-goals.’ ” Rione recited the words with an ironic lilt.

“There’s nothing wrong with being aware of the limitations of firepower,” Geary observed.

“Not if that’s what you truly believe.”

“What exactly are you emissaries coming along with the fleet to do?”

She paused, as if deciding what to say. “Our job is to represent the government.”

“That’s what you said before,” Geary pointed out. “It tells me nothing.”

“You’re getting better at this. Let’s put it this way. Since neither Charban nor I holds elective office, we can’t be voted out of power while in the middle of a voyage, something that would cast our legitimacy as representatives in doubt if it did happen.”

“Victoria, tell me why you’re coming with the fleet.”

She looked into a corner, her expression guarded. “Perhaps you should ask me instead what it is the government really wants accomplished on this mission.”

He took his own time answering, making sure he framed the words right. “My understanding is that I’m to learn more about the alien race, especially about their technology and strength, and attempt to establish peaceful relations with them.”

“More or less.” Rione closed her eyes, looking tired again. “What the government really wants is the cheapest, easiest solution to a big, complicated, and possibly very expensive problem. That should mean talking to the aliens and stopping any conflict. But maybe not. The aliens will surely want something in return. They may need to be pressured. It is the task of myself and Charban to make sure you take the path with the least costs and least risks up front.”

Geary blew out a derisive breath. “What about the long-term costs and risks?”

“Long-term problems can be confronted when they get here,” she said, her voice once again betraying no hint of her own feelings, “with more cheap and easy short-term solutions that push the problems further down the road for someone else to handle someday. That’s how politicians think. I thought you knew that by now.”

“You’re a politician.”

“One who got voted out of office.” She smiled without humor. “The government, all of the governments in the Alliance, are in survival mode right now. They’re afraid of you, but they also need you. So you’re being sent off to be heroic, far, far from any opportunities to cause problems.”

“I already knew that. Sort of like when I was dead. The government got the benefit of who they claimed I was but didn’t have to worry about what I’d actually do.”

“Yes, it is sort of the same thing, isn’t it? But you are alive, and capable of doing all sorts of things. General Charban and I are to judiciously guide your choices into directions most beneficial to the government.”

Maybe he had spent too much time around Rione because he immediately caught the significance of her words. “Beneficial to the government. As opposed to beneficial to the Alliance.”

“But aren’t those the same thing?” she replied in a bland voice that confirmed his statement without actually saying so. “Now you know where you stand and where I stand.”

“I know what you say your orders are,” Geary countered.

Another smile, but one that could mean anything. “Yes.”

“Why the hell did you come here, Victoria? You must have known how Tanya would feel.”

“I had my reasons, and I had my orders from the grand council.” Rione made a casting-away gesture with one hand. “Since I was between jobs, I wasn’t in any position to turn down the grand council’s offer.”

“I still can’t believe they really voted you out of office,” he said.

“The gratitude of the people tends not to extend very far.” Bitterness crept into her voice. “I was willing to state unpleasant truths. Unfortunately, I’d been influenced in that regard by a certain relic from an earlier age, a man commonly known by the name ‘Black Jack.’ ” She fixed the cool look on him that he remembered all too well. “My opponent was willing to promise the voters anything they wanted, and promise that they wouldn’t have to sacrifice in any way for it. A majority of the voters thought that was a wonderful idea.”

Geary looked back at her steadily. “So you lost the election because you insisted on being honest.”

“That is ironic, isn’t it?”

“As you once took pains to point out to me, some of the ships in this fleet are from the Callas Republic. Their crews, and the crews of the ships from the Rift Federation, are expecting orders to go home. They haven’t received them yet, and I’ve been trying to decide whether I should leave those ships at Varandal.”

Rione looked away again and shook her head. “They’ll be waiting a long time for such orders. The government of the republic won’t be calling back those ships. Don’t expect me to say that publicly, and don’t expect any official acknowledgment of that policy from either the republic or the federation.”

He thought about the hopeful looks on the faces of those commanding officers, who thought they would soon be returning to their home space. “That makes no sense at all. If they want to loosen ties with the Alliance, why should they leave the bulk of their warships under Alliance control?”

“Because they fear those warships.” Rione turned her head and regarded him with a somber gaze. “The new government strongly suspects that the crews are more loyal to Black Jack Geary than they are to the government of the Callas Republic. They’re probably right.”

His temper flared, all of the anger he had felt during his confrontation with the grand council surging to life again. “Suspicions don’t excuse treating those crews that way after all of their courage and sacrifice! How can they treat their own people like that? If they distrust me, fine! I’m getting used to it. But I will not allow those ships to be exiled from home because of vague concerns about what I might do someday!”

She confronted his anger without flinching, simply gazing back at him, then shook her head slowly. “You’re letting the Alliance do it to their own warships, aren’t you, Admiral?”

“My Alliance ships will be coming home between missions!”

“Of course.” Her tone conveyed no hint of agreement or emotion.

“I’ll send those ships home,” Geary said. “On my own authority. I’ll tell those ships to return to the Callas Republic and—”

“I did bring orders with me, but the orders from the republic are for those ships to remain with the fleet. The orders imply the continued duty here is temporary but don’t actually say so.” Rione’s eyes were fixed on some point in one corner, avoiding his own gaze. “Understand this. You can’t change those orders without overriding political authority, and the new government in the republic has a lot of excellent-sounding reasons for keeping those ships with you.”

“I don’t get it.” The flat anger in Geary’s voice drew her gaze back to him. “Nobody in the government trusts me, but they want all of these warships to remain under my command. The Callas Republic wants to loosen ties with the Alliance, but it also wants the bulk of its warships kept under my control. Are they all insane, or am I?”

She closed her eyes once more for a moment. “You’ll keep the ships. Other admirals would consider that a gift.”

“What’s the catch?”

The silence dragged on for so long that he had decided she wouldn’t answer, but abruptly Rione did. “Don’t expect to see much support from the Callas Republic for those ships. The crews will be paid, but repairs and operating costs will be dealt with piecemeal, grudgingly, and slowly, and there will be no replacements to keep the crews up to strength.”

It took a moment for that to sink in. “They’ll just be allowed to wither away, then? Until they’re destroyed in action or not worth keeping going and what remains of their crews are sent home, now safely diminished and without warships to threaten anyone.”

Rione didn’t answer at all that time.

“What about the Rift Federation ships and crews?” Geary asked.

“I’m from the Callas Republic—”

“I didn’t ask where you were from. Do you know anything about their government’s intentions for them?”

Anger flared in her own eyes. “I have reasonably reliable reports that the Rift Federation will follow the same policies as the Callas Republic regarding the few ships it has left in this fleet.”

“Damn.” There didn’t seem to be anything else to say. Geary felt pain in one hand and looked down to see that he had clenched one fist so hard it seemed locked into a single ball of muscle and bone. “How can the governments of the republic and the federation explain to their own people why their ships aren’t coming home?”

“First of all, Admiral,” she said, “there aren’t that many ships left. Before you assumed command, many of the republic and federation contingents had already been lost. Some more were lost in subsequent battles. It’s not a matter of bringing home huge numbers of men and women, but rather the survivors. And measured against the populations of their homes, those survivors are very small in number.”

His anger seemed to have burned out, replaced by a dull heat that brought no warmth. “Like the Alliance fleet, before the war. Most people didn’t have anyone closely related to them in the military back then.”

“Yes. So you see the logic. Those two governments will keep the threat of the warships and their crews far from home, and few will complain because few still have a personal stake in their absence. But the presence of those warships with you will serve as a basis for proud declarations of their government’s continued support for the great hero, Black Jack.”

“I’m still being used,” Geary said.

“Yes, you are. What are you going to do about it?”

“I could resign—”

Emotion blazed in her again. “Who else could better keep them alive, Admiral? Resign, and they’ll be in the hands of some fool like Admiral Otropa. Do you want them dead?”

“That’s completely unfair!”

“You still believe in ‘fair’?” Rione asked.

“Oddly enough, yes.” But she had spoken a truth. Their own people are casting them aside. Someone has to look out for them. Until I can think of somebody else, that someone has to be me. “I’ll do my job to the best of my ability.”

“You’ll still follow your orders?” Rione asked, her voice growing softer but more intense.

“Yes.” Geary bared his teeth at her. “As I see them. That means doing everything I legally can for the people under my command.”

“And the aliens?”

“You have your instructions, and I have mine. My orders require me to not only deal with short-term threats and problems, but also to handle them in ways that work in the long term. If the government or its emissaries have any problems with that, they can find someone else to use as their toy soldier.”

Rione slowly smiled though she still looked tired and somehow older. “Everyone underestimates you. Everyone but me.”

“And Tanya.”

“Oh, but she also worships you. That I won’t do.” Rione hauled herself to her feet. “I need some rest. Charban shouldn’t show up before tomorrow at the earliest. You may consider yourself once more politician-free for a while.”

“I’m sure your stateroom is ready.” He eyed her, wondering why he kept getting the impression that Rione was slightly different from when he had last seen her. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” She smiled again, the gesture this time as empty of real feeling as the smile of a Syndic CEO, her eyes betraying nothing.

After she left, he stayed seated for a while, thinking through their conversation. Some of the things she had said, like alluding in front of Tanya to her role in getting him and Desjani together, had been uncharacteristically reckless. But Rione had also given the impression at times of playing a more subtle game than in the past, even when she seemed to be speaking candidly. Why did you really come back to this fleet, Victoria? How much are you an ally of mine, how much are you following the government’s line, and how much are you working to further your own goals, whatever those are?

Under the cover of what you did tell me, how did much did you not tell me?

MUCH later that day, he met Tanya walking through the passageways again. “Did you get a chance to look at those special orders from the grand council?” The orders Rione had brought for him. The orders marked for his eyes only. To hell with that. I want other inputs on this.

Desjani grimaced. “Yes. Painful.”

“Yeah. A lot of ‘do this unless you shouldn’t and don’t do that unless you should’ directives.”

She didn’t answer again for a moment, her eyes fixed straight ahead. “Please understand that my personal feelings aren’t factoring into this. That woman brought special orders for us. What are her orders?”

“I’ve wondered the same thing.”

“They didn’t need her just to be a courier. She’s here for another reason or reasons. Until we find out what those are, please treat her as a potential threat.”

“I will,” Geary said. “I’m already unhappy enough with the orders she let us know about, or at least the part telling us to go to the Dunai Star System. I was planning on jumping to Indras in Syndic space and taking the Syndic hypernet from there all the way to Midway before jumping into alien space. Simple and as fast a journey as we can make it. But instead, the grand council wants the fleet to go via Dunai to pick up the Alliance prisoners at a Syndic POW camp there.” He felt angry and trapped. These orders he couldn’t ignore. “The extra stops and jumps will add three weeks to our journey before we reach Midway.”

“Why Dunai?” Desjani pressed. “What makes the POW camp there more important than all of the other camps still full of Alliance prisoners in Syndic territory?”

“The orders don’t say, and Rione insists that she doesn’t know.”

“Let me put her in an interrogation cell for half an hour—”

Geary made a helpless gesture. “I wish I could, but there are no grounds for treating a civilian and a governmental representative that way. We have to go to Dunai, Tanya.”

“Then why aren’t we going by Dunai on our way home?” she asked. “The supplies we use during that extra travel time may be needed once we’re inside alien space, and it would make a lot more sense to pick up those POWs on our way home than it would to have them aboard our ships when we’re entering alien space.”

“You’re right. But there’s no time to appeal the order, not without delaying our departure for weeks, and how can I do that when the side trip to Dunai is an annoyance but not a critical issue? I can’t refuse that order. It’s operational, it’s fully within the rights of headquarters to mandate that, it’s not unduly dangerous or risky to our knowledge, and it doesn’t significantly compromise our assigned mission. It’s not like the court-martial issue.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tanya, there may be good reasons for us to go to Dunai. You don’t have to like it . . . I don’t like it . . . but please respect that I have to accept the authority of those over me when it is legitimately employed.”

“I do.” She smiled apologetically. “You’re already under plenty of pressure. I know how unhappy the warships from the federation and republic are. Believe me, if anybody but you was commanding this fleet, they’d probably mutiny and sail for home on their own accord. At least you can blame that witch for it since the orders came with her.” Rione’s stock with the fleet, never high, had sunk to lows approaching absolute zero. “Our own crews aren’t thrilled, but they trust you to bring them home.”

“I know.” That pressure never abated, the confidence of these men and women that he would treat their lives as the valuable-beyond-measure things they were. But he knew that he would be ordering those same men and women into situations where they might well die, that some of them would very likely not come home.

“I’m sorry. But there’s something else you need to know about. I’m actually on edge because of another thing. It has nothing to do with politicians. I think. But it’s odd. Dauntless lost another power distribution junction today.”

“You mean it’s too far gone to repair?” he asked, wondering why she was bringing that up. Junctions failed sometimes. The failures were pretty rare, but nothing worked forever.

“It’s completely burned-out. There’s not even anything left worth salvaging.” She stopped walking and turned to face him, her eyes fixed on Geary. “I don’t normally bother you with materiel problems. Keeping Dauntless going is my job, not yours. But Dauntless had three power distribution junctions fail while I was gone. That is, two failed inspection, and a third was so shaky that my executive officer wisely chose to have it powered down as well. Fortunately, Varandal could manufacture replacements, but now we’ve lost another.”

Geary looked away, trying to think. “Four junctions? In a few months? That’s a very high failure rate for a ship that hasn’t suffered battle damage during that period. I can’t recall hearing about anything like that a century ago.”

“Ships were probably built differently a century ago,” Desjani observed, “and didn’t have to deal with the combat these ships have seen. But Dauntless hasn’t had a problem like this in the past. I told my people to find out what was causing these failures, but all the engineers aboard Dauntless and on the auxiliaries can tell me is that the junctions suffered ‘serious component malfunction significantly impacting operating parameters.’ Which is how engineers say ‘it broke.’ ”

“That many equipment failures and no indication why?” He frowned down at the deck, then gestured to her. “Come on. Let’s look into this.” He led the way back to his stateroom, waving Desjani to one chair, then seating himself. Geary called up the fleet database, then narrowed the information display to junction distribution failures within the last several months. A tremendous number of tags related to battle damage popped up, so he narrowed the search to the last two months. “Dauntless isn’t the only ship that has had that problem. Warspite has lost five, Amazon three, Leviathan four . . .” Frowning, he told the system to identify common aspects for the warships with the failures, then stared at the answer. “The oldest ships in the fleet. Including Dauntless.”

“Dauntless was launched nearly three years ago,” Desjani said. “There aren’t a lot of ships that survived that long during the war,” she added proudly.

“Warspite is actually older than three years by a couple of months.” Geary called up his comm screen. “I need to talk to Captain Smythe about this.”

The fleet had gathered its units closer together as the time for departure from Varandal approached, so Tanuki and the other auxiliaries were only a few light seconds distant. Captain Smythe’s image appeared in Geary’s stateroom with only a small delay. Smythe saluted in his usual slightly sloppy fashion, his customary cheerfulness not evident. “Yes, Admiral?”

“We seem to have a problem with power distribution junctions on the older ships,” Geary began.

Smythe sighed heavily. “By older you mean anything over two years since launch, is that right, Admiral?”

“You don’t sound surprised.”

“I’ve been looking into it and reached some unpleasant conclusions this morning after the most recent reports of equipment failures on Dauntless and Warspite came in. I wasn’t quite ready to report to you, but my results are far enough along to brief you now since you’ve asked.” Smythe looked down, his mouth working, then up at Geary again. “Your last ship, sir. Merlon. How long was she designed to remain in commission?”

He had to stop and think about that. It seemed an eternity ago that he had strode the decks of Merlon, even though he had slept frozen in survival sleep through the intervening century between then and now, and his memories were still vivid. “She was about thirty years old when I assumed command. Her planned hull life was one hundred years. That was the working figure for ships of her class. The hull life could be extended if necessary, but it would have required exhaustive overhaul and replacement to keep one of those heavy cruisers going for another several decades beyond the century mark.”

Desjani had a look of total disbelief. “A hundred years? They actually built ships assuming they’d last that long?”

“They did last that long,” Geary said, “until the war started. We’d upgrade systems along the way to keep it all state-of-the-art, of course.”

“Astounding,” Smythe murmured. “I wish I could have seen that ship. The engineering must have been exceptionally high quality.” He shook his head, smiling sadly. “Do you know how long these ships of ours were built to last, sir?”

The memories of Geary’s first impressions had not faded. “Rough edges, sloppy welds. They were built fast. I’ve heard they weren’t expected to last long.”

Smythe nodded. “Expected combat life spans were measured in months. Maybe a couple of years at the outside. Hardly any hulls made it to three years before being destroyed. Five years? Nothing survived that long. Absolutely nothing.” He waved around. “With apologies to her commanding officer and crew, Dauntless is quite an old girl now by the standards she was designed and built to meet.”

Perhaps it was because the idea was still foreign to Geary, but Desjani understood first. “Dauntless wasn’t designed for this long a career. Her systems are wearing out.”

“Exactly,” Smythe agreed. “Dying of old age, to use a living organism’s equivalent. The power distribution junctions failing on Dauntless and the other older ships are sort of canaries in the mine shaft, the first components to begin breaking down because they were never designed to work this long. See here.” A window popped up next to Smythe, and he pointed to some of the information displayed. “The junctions that failed on Dauntless in the last few months were ones that had somehow failed to be damaged or destroyed in battle up until now. They’re original equipment, and they’ve exceeded their planned life spans. It’s the same on the other ships of age in this fleet.”

Geary winced, thinking about the scale of repair work that represented. “We’re going to have replace most of the power distribution systems on the older ships?”

“No, Admiral.” Smythe spread his hands apologetically. “Everything on these ships was built with the expectation that it would only have to last a few years at the most.”

“Ancestors preserve us.”

“I’ve been talking to mine,” Smythe said. “Unfortunately, I doubt that our ancestors will show up to shower us with new equipment and help install it.”

Desjani was watching Smythe with a horrified expression. “If all of the older ships are developing these problems . . .”

“Then every ship in the fleet will develop them within the next few years, yes.” Smythe sighed again. “That’s the bad news.”

“There’s good news?” Geary asked, wondering what this information might do to his plans for departure.

“Relatively good.” Smythe called up another window, pointing to the graphs and curves on it. “First off, the failures won’t all cascade at once. There’ll be a curve, starting out slowly as older ships like Dauntless hit their limits. For some time, if the auxiliaries we have work at it and aren’t diverted by the need to repair battle damage and manufacture weaponry and such, we can not only make new components faster than they fail and replace the old systems with equipment that should last longer, but we can get a little ahead of the game. We’ll still face a serious crunch about a year and a half down the line, of course, when the bulk of the existing fleet starts hitting the two-and-half- and three-year points in their lives.”

Geary studied the data, nodding. “Is that all the good news?”

“Well, the main problems are in systems and sensors. The hulls and structures are fine. They had to be built to certain tolerances and durability in order to withstand combat maneuvering, which also means the hulls and structures are durable enough to last. The government couldn’t cut too many corners there, or the ships would have come apart in action. That means we don’t have to worry about them cracking into pieces purely because of age though I recommend we do step up inspections for weaknesses in the hulls and structures developing as a result of accumulated strain.”

“That seems like a good idea.” Geary used one finger to trace a curve on a graph. “If this holds, in a year and a half, about a third of the ships in the fleet will be as seriously degraded as if they had suffered major battle damage.”

“It could hit one-half,” Smythe cautioned. “I used best estimates, but if contractors and shipyards cut corners, the equipment might not even hold up as long as that. And, of course, if you insist upon fighting battles, that will complicate matters as well because of the need to repair battle damage and manufacture replacements for battle-damaged parts and expended weaponry.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. What about regular overhauls back here in Alliance space? Are those factored in?”

Smythe made a face. “ ‘Overhaul’ these days probably doesn’t mean what you think it does. What it means is making sure all damage is repaired and everything works.”

Geary realized that he was staring at Smythe again. “What about replacing old systems? Upgrades?”

“If it’s not broken going in, it doesn’t get repaired or replaced.” Smythe shrugged. “This way of doing things developed in the course of a very long war in which ship survival times were very short. Why go to the expense of upgrading a ship that would very likely be destroyed within a year and be replaced with a new ship?”

Slumping back, Geary tried to take in the implications. “Things have to change. The system has to start assuming that ships will remain in commission for extended periods, and the overhaul, construction, and repair requirements have to be changed so that they’re based on that.”

“What construction?” Desjani asked. “A few hulls are being finished and everything else shut down.”

Smythe smiled wryly. “Just so. What you say makes sense, Admiral. But it will not only require a change in mind-sets among senior officers and the entire fleet bureaucracy as well as substantial parts of the government, it will also require significant sums of money.”

“They did this on purpose,” Desjani growled. “They knew what was happening, and they still handed this whole mess to Admiral Geary.”

“I don’t think so,” Smythe suggested. “Or perhaps not the full implications. Even we hadn’t realized what was going to happen. In Admiral Geary’s case, it’s because his experience with such things is prewar, and for you, me, and all of the other fleet officers, it’s because we’ve never encountered this problem. If somehow a ship survived past the life of its systems, it would undoubtedly have been so battered by combat as to be good only for scrapping to recover materials.”

Geary looked at the graphs again, trying to sort out what he was feeling at this moment. “But just because we tell the government and fleet headquarters about this doesn’t mean that they’ll fix it. They might just let the fleet shrink rapidly through end-of-hull-life attrition.” Which didn’t mean they would also shrink missions to match fewer ships, naturally. He wondered how long ago it had been that people were first told to do more with less. Probably it had been when some protohumans were without enough stone tools. “Money, you said. How much can we afford to have your auxiliaries do? I know they can manufacture and install what we need, but how much will it cost?”

Smythe smiled like a pirate eyeing a fat prize. “There we have some intriguing possibilities, Admiral. It would depend upon how we charged the work. I have training accounts. This would certainly fall under that. Battle damage must be repaired per fleet regulations and charged back to various headquarters accounts, but evaluating the extent of battle damage that must be repaired is an uncertain art. Sometimes, such damage can’t even be identified until quite a while after a battle, and then it’s a judgment call as to whether the failure was battle-related or not. I’m certainly not going to second-guess assessments that any failures are related to earlier combat engagements. And, of course, if we encounter failures of equipment during operations, then that would fall under operational accounts.”

For the first time during the conversation, Geary felt like smiling back at the engineer. “How much could you soak fleet and government accounts before someone caught on and tried to rein us in?”

“I’d never do anything improper, Admiral,” Smythe said piously, “but my responsibility is to keep this fleet’s ships running well. That will take work. The funding runs through many channels, many departments and organizations, depending on exactly what is done and why. Deciding how and what to charge and where to charge it and how to justify it, well, in the normal run of events that keeps a lot of people busy who should probably be doing other things. Under these particular circumstances, those decisions will require very judicious decision-making. Some of it may be a trifle difficult to sort out on headquarters’ end and inside government departments, especially since rumors are that financial tracking positions are being cut with the war over, but I’m certain that if anyone sees any irregularities in the process or finds a way to total up the sums involved across the board, they will get back to us regarding those matters eventually.”

“Absolutely,” Geary agreed. “You’re already working up a plan?”

“It’s close to completion, but some details still need work, and, as I said, funding considerations will need to be flexible.” Smythe grinned at Desjani. “Have no fear, Captain. Dauntless will have her youthful vigor restored so that you operational types can charge around trying to break her again. Titan has the most experienced crew, so I’ll assign her to get to work on Dauntless right away if that is acceptable, Admiral.”

“Perfectly acceptable.” Geary gestured widely. “What about the fleet’s plans? How does this impact our intended operations?”

“Ideally, we’d stay here and replace everything,” Smythe said, “but somehow I doubt the government would want us doing nothing but boring holes in space around Varandal for the next couple of years. If you’re asking whether this means we can’t head for strange and unknown areas beyond human frontiers, well, I don’t think it will prevent that. Better we go sooner than later, really, while fewer ships are actually suffering failures.”

“Thank you, Captain Smythe.” After the engineer’s image had vanished, Geary looked to Desjani. “It’s bad, but it could be a lot worse.”

“Thank the living stars we’ve got eight auxiliaries now,” she replied. “Did you see the look on Smythe’s face when he talked about gaming the system? This isn’t the first time he’s done that sort of thing.”

“He’s doing it for a really good purpose,” Geary pointed out.

“He’s doing this part of it for a really good purpose,” she countered. “What else is he up to? What’s he already done without being caught? Smythe might have casinos operating on all eight auxiliaries.”

“Who do we know who could watch for that sort of thing?”

Desjani paused to think. “I don’t know. Roberto Duellos likes to posture as a rogue, but he’s actually as upright as they come. What we need is someone who knows how things in Smythe’s world work so well that he or she could spot a quark out of place or hide a battleship in plain sight if they wanted to. At least a senior enlisted, maybe an officer who’s a former enlisted. I’ll talk to some people and see if they know any candidates.”

After she left, Geary called up data on his eight auxiliaries so he could comfort himself by reviewing their capabilities. Titan, Tanuki, Witch, Jinn, Alchemist, Cyclops, Kupua, and Domovoi. He was extremely lucky to have Kupua and Domovoi, both of them part of the larger Titan class and both of which had been completed just before news of the end of the war triggered an immediate halt to most new construction. Having eight auxiliaries along during the long retreat from the Syndic home star system would have made that voyage a lot easier. Instead, he had been forced to make do with half that number, and lost Goblin along the way. This time out, having eight auxiliaries and fewer warships depending on them for resupply and repair should grant a decent logistics safety margin for getting well into alien territory and out again without anything running short.

Naturally, there was a price to be paid for that logistics safety margin. The massive auxiliaries Titan, Tanuki, Kupua, and Domovoi could charitably be described as sluggish when their raw materials bunkers were fully loaded. Witch, Jinn, Alchemist, and Cyclops were smaller and a bit more maneuverable, but still far from justifying the official designation of Fast Fleet Auxiliaries. When in star systems, the fleet would have to limit its speed to accommodate the slow-moving auxiliaries, and if the fleet did end up fighting again, then protecting the lightly armed auxiliaries would be a major concern.

Barely an hour later, Desjani called him. “We have a shuttle from Tanuki on approach. There’s a visitor for you aboard it.”

Given the ease of virtual visits among ships, an actual physical journey between ships for consultations was a rare thing. However, even the most secure software didn’t ensure no one was eavesdropping on virtual visits, and apparently Captain Smythe thought there were some more things to say that shouldn’t run any risk of being overheard.

But the officer who arrived at Geary’s stateroom twenty minutes later wasn’t Smythe but a lieutenant. A lieutenant with green hair. Not just shades of green within another color but brilliantly green. “Lieutenant Elysia Jamenson, sir. Captain Smythe believed I should meet with you in person to discuss my role in assisting fleet readiness and repair, Admiral.”

He invited the lieutenant to take a seat opposite his own, taking a moment to try to size her up before asking the obvious question. “Just why does Captain Smythe think I need to meet with you in person, Lieutenant Jamenson?”

Sitting with her back straight instead of relaxing, Jamenson replied in a matter-of-fact voice. “Captain Smythe has ordered me to work in direct support of you regarding the fleet’s maintenance requirements, Admiral Geary. I will be responsible for formatting reports, requisitions, and all other supply and logistics issues related to keeping the fleet’s warships at the best possible state of readiness, as well as providing you with status reports on those matters.”

He leaned back, resting his chin on one fist. Jamenson seemed to be in her midtwenties, consistent with her rank but an oddly young age for such a responsibility. “What is it about you that makes Captain Smythe certain that you’re the right person for that job?”

“I confuse things, sir.”

“What?”

“I confuse things.” Jamenson gestured around to encompass the universe with a wave of her hand. “I can take information, data, reports, and requisitions and render them in a form almost impossible to understand.”

Geary barely managed not to laugh. “I’m sorry, but I’ve met any number of people, and any number of lieutenants, who could do the same thing.”

“Yes, Admiral, but you see, I can do it on purpose, and I don’t actually change the information, or do anything wrong with it, or put it into a form that doesn’t meet the requirements of the regulations and other rules. The information is still complete, accurate, and properly rendered. It’s just very, very hard to understand.”

This time Geary did laugh. “So you’ll do that in regard to the work by the auxiliaries to keep our ships going, and, therefore, keep headquarters and the civilian bureaucracy so confused they won’t be aware of how much we’re spending?”

“Those are my marching orders, yes, Admiral.”

No wonder Smythe hadn’t wanted any record of this conversation within the fleet comm systems. “And how am I or anyone else in the fleet supposed to keep track of what’s actually going on?”

Jamenson smiled confidently. “I can also work in reverse, Admiral. As long as the information starts out valid, I can unconfuse it and render it in a form easy to grasp.”

Geary realized that both of his eyebrows had risen as he looked at Jamenson. “That is an extremely impressive set of talents, Lieutenant. Where did you learn how to do that?”

“I came by it naturally, sir. My father says I got it from my mother.”

“I see.”

Jamenson’s voice took on a trace of apology. “I was also ordered by Captain Smythe to inform you that he would take it very badly if you poached me for your staff, Admiral.”

Another laugh. “Captain Smythe, and you, can rest easy on that count. I prefer my staff to have other jobs, so they do what I need them to do without trying to fill spare time finding extra things for themselves or others to do.”

“I’ll inform Captain Smythe of that, sir.”

“Thank you.” Geary paused to look her over again, wondering just what uses Smythe had found for Jamenson’s talents in the past. The ability to confuse the bureaucracy as to your actions could be invaluable. “I’d like to ensure we’re on the same page when it comes to our goals. What do you see as your responsibility?”

“To do all I can to assist in maintaining the fleet at its current state of readiness and in upgrading of existing systems to ensure long-term readiness,” Jamenson recited.

“Perfect. Do you have any questions about what I want?”

She hesitated for the first time, something that reassured Geary. Officers who were too confident could too easily overreach or make mistakes. “My understanding is that you prefer to work within regulations, sir.”

“That’s correct.”

“Are there circumstances,” Jamenson said carefully, “under which you would approve actions contrary to—”

“No.” He smiled encouragingly to take any sting from the blunt reply. “If we need something that bad, I expect people like you and Captain Smythe to figure out how we can get it within regulations. Somehow. Some way. Find a loophole or an interpretation that could be defended as justified.” Memory of the near disaster involving the mass courts-martial for low fuel cell levels crowded in then, making Geary’s smile vanish. “I don’t want anyone making the mistake of thinking that I want them to break regulations. If that’s the only alternative, then I take that responsibility openly. We don’t do something like that under the table even if we can make it hard for anyone to figure out that we did it.”

Lieutenant Jamenson had been listening intently, and nodded. “I understand, Admiral.”

“Good. Anything else?”

“Captain Smythe asked me to invite you to visit Tanuki in person whenever it is convenient, Admiral,” Jamenson said. “I should mention that Tanuki’s wardroom has one of the finest selections of wines, liquors, and other distilled and fermented beverages in human space.”

That helped explain some of what Smythe had been up to. Geary wondered how many VIPs had found their shipments of luxury goods mysteriously shorted as a result of something like “damaged in transit” and how many requisitions from Tanuki for unusual items had gone unremarked because of creative formatting. “Thank you, Lieutenant Jamenson. I don’t know when I can manage a visit to Tanuki in person, but I’ll keep the offer in mind. I look forward to working with you.”

“Most of my visits will be through the fleet virtual-meeting system,” she added, “but Captain Smythe thought it wise that I explain my role in person.”

Desjani had been right. Smythe was clearly an old hand at playing games in which he didn’t want to leave any unnecessary traces inside official records. “Good idea. Lieutenant; there’s one other thing that I have to ask you, given that both you and Captain Smythe understand the need for keeping a low profile.”

“My hair, sir?” Jamenson asked.

“Yes. I’ve seen a few other sailors with green hair but never talked to any of them about it since it was within regulations. But it’s still a bit flamboyant.”

Jamenson smiled ruefully. “It’s my natural color, sir. I’m from Éire.”

“Éire?” The name didn’t ring a bell, so Geary called up a star map. “That’s pretty far distant, one of the star systems colonized directly from Old Earth.”

“Yes, Admiral. The first colonists on Éire had a fondness for such shades of green and may have been a wee bit too free with genetic engineering.” She touched her temple lightly. “It can be reversed, but many of us think that it would be improper to change something that meant much to our ancestors, is mostly harmless to us, and causes no harm to others.”

“Mostly harmless?” he asked, thinking that he had wondered why a fleet officer would choose such a shade.

“I can’t change how others see it, Admiral. But it’s also given me a nickname. I’ve been called Shamrock since before I left Éire.”

“Shamrock? That’s a plant, isn’t?”

“A green plant. It’s everywhere on Éire.” Another rueful smile. “Something else dear to our ancestors, apparently.”

After Lieutenant Jamenson left, Geary walked up to the bridge. With the fleet’s departure looming near, he had grown increasingly restless to be on the move, to be about the purpose for the fleet’s existence, and to get away from further messages from headquarters and the possibility of more order changes from the government.

Desjani was already on the bridge, of course, just finishing running her bridge crew through a training simulation. “Have a nice meeting?” she asked.

“Instructive.”

“Since you’re apparently going to insist upon my asking directly, why did Captain Smythe send a green-haired lieutenant to speak with you in person?”

“Her job is to confuse things.”

Desjani waited a moment to see if Geary would betray signs of joking. “If you wanted a lieutenant who would confuse things, I have at least one on Dauntless who would fill the bill.”

“Noted. I’ll explain her particular skills in that area later on.” The privacy fields about his and Desjani’s seats on the bridge were good, but Geary knew from his own experience as a junior officer that amazing amounts of information could still be gleaned by close-though-covert observation of senior officers as they talked. He settled into his seat, looking about the bridge of Dauntless, having to suppress a sigh of contentment. “You know, after dealing with the grand council and Alliance politics and headquarters, it’s actually going to be something of a relief to be dealing with lying Syndics and homicidal aliens again.”

“Dangers make you yearn for distant home,” Desjani mused, “but when you get home, it can have a way of quickly making you yearn for distant dangers.”

“You really do have a way with words, Captain Desjani. When we were on Kosatka—”

“All four days?”

“—did you get a chance to talk to your uncle the literary agent?”

“Only once.” Her eyes took on a distant look. “He wanted me to write an account of the journey back to Alliance space from the Syndic home star system. I told him it was mostly boring.”

“Except when it was terrifying?”

She grinned. “And I told him I wouldn’t say a word about personal matters. You could see the man’s dreams crumble into dust.”

Geary had to muffle his own laughter. “You crushed the dreams of a literary agent?”

“That almost makes me a writer already, doesn’t it?” Desjani asked.

THE rest of the week passed far too slowly in the sense of wondering what might happen next, and far too quickly in terms of the work remaining to be done. A flood of personnel returning to their ships from leave kept the fleet’s shuttles busy, while Geary’s walks through the passageways of Dauntless involved more and more detours as engineers off Titan blocked movement in a constantly changing dance of barriers while they enthusiastically ripped out components and installed newly constructed replacements that were built to have much longer lives.

Dr. Setin, who announced himself to be in charge of the group of experts (“though not their leader in a strictly hierarchal fashion”), managed to escape from Tsunami, where Carabali had stashed the experts, long enough for a shuttle flight to Dauntless. “An amazing opportunity, Admiral,” he told Geary. “Can you imagine the thrill of actually encountering an intelligence different from our own?”

Thinking back to the battle at Midway, Geary just smiled politely. “Yes.”

“But then you have encountered them! What was it like?”

“Thrilling.”

Dr. Setin had come with authorizations allowing him to see what records existed of the fleet’s contacts with the enigma race, so Geary provided him with the information and sent him back to Tsunami.

The day before they were to leave, Geary took a virtual tour through Orion, wanting to personally size up the state of repairs to the battleship and assess the morale of the crew. He had grown depressingly used to having Orion fail him whenever the ship’s contributions were most needed and, despite Desjani’s faith in Commander Shen, couldn’t help thinking that turning the ship around might be beyond the ability of anything short of divine intervention.

Shen looked as aggravated as usual as he led Geary’s virtual presence through Orion, pointing out items occasionally but mostly letting his crew do the talking. A remarkable number of repairs had been accomplished, but that impressed Geary less than how keen the crew members were to show him what they had done. “All battery members fully certified, all hell-lance projectors at one hundred percent,” one chief announced proudly, as Geary paused to look over his battery.

Peering around with an expression as if he had a blister on one foot, Shen focused on the chief. “Lironi got his qualifications completed?”

The chief indicated one of the sailors standing in ranks nearby. “Yes, sir.”

“About time.” Shen addressed the sailor directly. “You could have done it six months ago and be commanding this battery yourself by now. Next time, don’t let down Orion or yourself.”

“They’re looking good,” Geary told Shen before he departed. “The crew and the ship.”

Shen, frowning as if the statement simply pointed out the obvious, saluted stiffly before Geary broke the connection. Geary stood there in his stateroom for a moment, rubbing his neck and wondering what Orion would do the next time he called upon that ship.

The next day, he and Desjani sat on the bridge of Dauntless as Geary prepared to give the orders for the fleet to leave orbit about Varandal and head for the jump point for Atalia inside Syndicate Worlds’ space. Or rather, inside what had been Syndic space before Syndicate authority began collapsing. Atalia’s current status was ambiguous, which was better than hostile.

As he had been half-fearing, and half-expecting in a resigned way, an urgent transmission came in. “Admiral Timbale?” Geary asked. Timbale had remained supportive and dependable, but at present he had a rigid set to his expression. “I’m hoping you’re just calling to wish us on our way.” That was something Timbale had already done some hours ago, but Geary could always hope.

Timbale’s response was delayed almost half a minute by the current distance to Ambaru station. “Admiral Geary, have you received any orders concerning any of your auxiliaries?”

“My auxiliaries?” Had Smythe’s plan already been compromised? The fleet was literally leaving within the hour. “No.”

“I am in receipt of high-priority orders instructing that I take immediate control of Titan, Tanuki, Kupua, and Domovoi. They’re to be detached from your fleet pending other assignments.”

SEVEN

“WHAT?” He couldn’t believe what he had just heard. Not just half his auxiliary force, but the four big auxiliaries. In terms of capability, taking those four would amount to losing two-thirds of his auxiliary support. “Why?” Could someone have already discovered Captain Smythe’s scheme? But the first requisitions based on those had only been forwarded two days ago, far too short a time for them to have reached headquarters, let alone be analyzed. These orders must have originated roughly a week ago.

“No reason given.” Timbale kept his voice level, but he was clearly upset.

“The other fleets are intended to operate inside Alliance territory. They’d have no conceivable requirement for auxiliary support.”

“I know. I thought at first it might be a cost-cutting measure, a very ill-advised cost-cutting measure, but the orders clearly state the auxiliaries will be sent on new assignments, not decommissioned.”

“I’ll—” What? What could he do? The orders were to Timbale, not Geary. “Those ships aren’t even under your command, Admiral. Why would those orders have been sent to you and not me?” Unless headquarters has figured out that I actually am taking into account all potential factors when I decide how to carry out my orders, and so is trying to end-run me this way because they know I’d find reasons to keep those auxiliaries with me.

Timbale paused, thinking, then nodded. “You’re right. Admiral Geary, it is my professional assessment that these orders were sent in error and cannot be accurate. The ships in question are assigned to you, under your command, so these orders should have gone to you. At the very least, notifying you as part of their current chain of command would be required. Surely, headquarters would not intentionally have failed to inform you on this matter since that would be a violation of operational procedures.” Admiral Timbale was speaking slowly and clearly, ensuring that the record of their conversation would lay out justification for his actions. “Since I also cannot think of any possible reason for detaching these ships from your command at this time, it follows that this message must have been sent in error, perhaps a training or contingency message that was accidentally released for transmission.”

“Surely,” Geary agreed, knowing that both he and Timbale were aware that headquarters had very likely excluded him on purpose. But they had to speak as if innocent of any intent to disregard a valid order. “Higher-priority tasking should have been specifically identified in the orders.”

“Therefore, I cannot execute these orders,” Timbale continued. “Administratively, I’m not sure I have the authority to remove ships from your control, and, operationally, the orders don’t make sense. I will reply to headquarters, expressing my assessment that the orders are erroneous, and requesting clarification. Given the uncertain nature of their validity, I strongly advise that you do not halt ongoing tasking in order to carry out orders not even transmitted to you. I will await confirmation of the validity of the orders before carrying them out.”

Even if Timbale sent that query out immediately, and Geary suspected that Timbale would take a while to actually do that, by the time a courier ship had reached headquarters and a reply had come back, weeks would have passed, and Geary’s fleet would already be well outside Alliance space. But headquarters would still have Timbale within their reach. “Admiral Timbale, I appreciate your willingness to do what seems proper, but I am concerned about possible misinterpretations of your intent to properly carry out your orders.”

“Thank you, Admiral Geary, but I have no alternative. My duty to the Alliance demands that I ensure orders are valid before I carry them out.” Timbale actually seemed very tranquil as he said that. “You know, Admiral, we talked once about the cat in the box, about not knowing whether you’d do the right thing, no matter what, when the time came. I’m happy to inform you that the cat is alive.”

“I’m pleased to hear that. Rest assured that I will take my own steps regarding this matter when I can.”

“Are they trying to outright sabotage you?” Desjani asked in disbelief as Timbale’s image vanished.

“I can’t believe anyone would do that,” Geary said slowly. “There are other explanations.”

“I’d love to hear them.”

“Maybe someone got hints of what Smythe is up to—”

“Not enough time has gone by, Admiral. Try again.”

She would keep him honest no matter how much he wanted to avoid considering some possibilities. “Maybe someone finally ran the numbers,” Geary said, “and realized how much it’s going to cost to keep those four big auxiliaries in commission and figured getting rid of them would save a lot of money. The orders didn’t say that was the intent, but that might have been a deliberate move to avoid letting us know that we’d lose the support of those ships not just temporarily, but permanently.”

“Humph,” Desjani snorted skeptically. “It might save money in one or two places but add a lot of expenses elsewhere. Who would they have to pay to do the jobs that the auxiliaries are doing? Private contractors? Didn’t we hear that the Syndics use that kind of system?”

“Yeah. And their mobile forces hated it.” Geary checked his display. “All ships are reporting readiness for departure. What do you say we get the hell out of here now instead of waiting another half hour?”

“I say that’s an excellent idea, Admiral.”

He sent the orders, watching as nearly three hundred warships, auxiliaries, and assault transports lit off their main drives and began moving into formation for the transit to Atalia. Even though the war with the Syndics had ended, and even though Atalia had declared its independence from the rapidly imploding empire of the Syndicate Worlds, Geary had decided to make jumps in formations suitable for immediate combat just in case unexpected threats materialized.

The growing experience and skill of his crews had led him to choose a formation that involved six subformations. Five of those were built around cores of battleships or battle cruisers, with heavy cruisers, light cruisers, and destroyers arrayed around them. The sixth was made up of the eight auxiliaries, divided into two divisions, and a single division of four assault transports. He had a lot more Marines along than before since no one knew what he might need when dealing with the aliens, but the Marine force commanded by General Carabali only required two transports to carry those Marines not dispersed among the major warships. As a result, Tsunami, Typhoon, Mistral, and Haboob were only half–loaded out with Marines and their equipment, as well as the small contingent of civilian experts on nonhuman intelligent species. The extra capacity to carry people in those four transports would be useful when they picked up the POWs at Dunai, and in case they found any humans alive and captive inside alien space.

The subformations were arranged with the largest combatant subformation in the lead, the auxiliaries and transports behind that, and the other four combatant subformations spaced evenly around the support ships, as if the warships formed a huge cup, bottom facing forward, holding the auxiliaries and transports inside. Front and center in the largest subformation was Dauntless, the flagship, literally the moving point around which the rest of the fleet aligned itself.

He felt a sensation of being watched and looked over to see Desjani gazing at him and smiling. “Now what did I do?”

“It’s just so obvious how proud you are of them,” she replied. “When I watched Admiral Bloch, and some other admirals, at times like that I always got the feeling they felt that having lots of ships respond to their orders showed how powerful and special they were. From you, as you watch those ships, I get the feeling that you feel privileged to command them.”

“I am privileged,” he muttered. “Do you know what tomorrow is, Tanya? It will be the one hundred and first anniversary of the day I assumed command of the heavy cruiser Merlon. I found the responsibility of being Merlon’s commanding officer to be very humbling. Now, all of these ships are under my command.”

“They all will be if we can get out of this star system before any more messages come from headquarters.”

At point one light speed, it took almost three days to reach the jump point for Atalia, but the only surprise occurred on the second day, when two civilian ships jumped in from another Alliance star system and began broadcasting messages, which finally reached the fleet’s ships hours later.

“Do not export human aggression!”

“Exploration not conquest!”

“Keep our taxes and our soldiers at home!”

“I don’t disagree with the sentiments,” Geary commented. “Except for the fact that they seem to think we’re the ones picking a fight with the aliens.”

Desjani, uncharacteristically, didn’t reply for a moment, but finally shrugged. “It was a long war. You know how we all felt. Most of us kept fighting because we didn’t see any good alternatives. I lost a lot of friends, so I understand why some people wanted other decent choices. But wanting it didn’t make it so. It still doesn’t.”

He nodded slowly to her. “True. Right now I’d love some good alternatives to going across half of human space, then jumping into alien territory armed to the teeth. But from what we know, none of those alternatives would be better than what we’re doing.”

She smiled wryly. “I wonder what they’d do if they actually encountered the aliens they’re worried about us attacking.”

“Our job is to make sure they don’t, or if they do, that the aliens are willing to talk and coexist.”

This time Desjani laughed briefly. “Which means if we succeed at what we want to do, then those protestors will probably never realize what we did.”

“Somebody asked me why I still believed in ‘fair,’ ” Geary commented. “When I think of things like you just pointed out, I have to admit that’s a good question. As a matter of fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever actually seen ‘fair.’ ”

“Just because you’ve never seen something doesn’t mean it’s not real.”

He was still contemplating that statement when the communications watch made a report. “They’re broadcasting their junk on every channel, Captain, official and unofficial. Apparently that’s become standard protest tactics.”

Desjani shook her head. “Idiots. They’re blocking emergency coordination frequencies. The people in this star system won’t be sympathetic to their messages anyway, but that move will ensure any possible agreement is swamped by irritation. I hope Varandal’s defense forces can catch those fools.”

One of the watch-standers grinned. “Those ships couldn’t outrun specters, Captain.”

Instead of smiling in return, Desjani gave him a flat look. “We don’t fire on peaceful protestors, Lieutenant. If those people transmitted on authorized frequencies only, then they’d be allowed to as long as they wanted. We’re the Alliance, not the Syndics.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the lieutenant said, reddening slightly in embarrassment. “I wasn’t serious.”

“Understood. But people controlling the amount of firepower that we do have to be careful of the jokes we tell.”

Geary nodded to Desjani, then checked his own comms. “Most of my channels are still clear.”

“Admiral, that’s because our transmitters are powerful enough to punch through the interference from distant ships,” the comm watch explained.

“Good. I guess we just ignore those guys, then. They’re not our problem, and they’re not telling us anything we haven’t already thought about.”

A couple of destroyers assigned to Varandal’s defenses were still chasing the protestors the next day, when the fleet reached the jump point for Atalia. Geary took a deep breath, wondering if jumps would ever feel routine again or if he would always be haunted with worry about what might await at the exit for another star. “All ships, jump at time one zero.”

On the outside views, the endless stars and the black night between them vanished, replaced by the gray nothingness of jump space. As if greeting the fleet’s arrival, one of the strange lights that came and went in jump space grew in brilliance somewhere directly before them, near or far impossible to tell since there was no means of determining the distance to it, though it somehow felt close. The light glowed briefly, then faded out to be lost amid the drab gray.

It took Geary a moment to realize that while he had been watching the light, everyone else on the bridge had been watching him. The moment they realized he might be aware of that, they all busied themselves at their jobs. All except Desjani, who glowered around the bridge menacingly before giving him a rueful look. “They still wonder if you were in those lights for the century you were gone.”

“If I had been, wouldn’t I know something about them?” he snapped in reply, irritated. “I told you that I wasn’t there.”

“You told me that you couldn’t remember being there.”

He could stay angry to no purpose, because there wasn’t any proof either way, and there couldn’t ever be, or he could accept that the question was going to dog him for probably the rest of his life. “I guess there are some things I’ll never be able to get away from.”

She nodded. “Not totally. But once we get into Syndic territory, everybody will have other things to occupy their minds.”

ATALIA hadn’t changed much in the few months since they had last passed through the star system. Even though new buildings were no longer being turned into craters by Alliance bombardment almost as soon as something important could be built, and even though the Alliance and the Syndicate Worlds would no longer be using the star system as an occasional battleground, there was a tremendous amount of damage to clean up, and Atalia wasn’t a wealthy star system. Even if it once had been prosperous, the frequent fighting within it would have reduced it to poverty over the century of war.

One difference was that an Alliance courier ship hung near the jump point, ready to tell the Alliance if anyone attacked Atalia. Thus far, that was the sum total of the Alliance’s commitment to the defense of Atalia.

Desjani sat with her chin resting in one hand as she looked at her display. “It doesn’t seem right to be here and not be blowing up things.”

“There’s not much worth blowing up.” Geary shook his head as he looked at his own display. “The war did a number on this star system.”

“Actually, it got off fairly easy.” Her voice had suddenly become tense. “Compared to others.”

“I know.” Sore subject. Too many star systems had been battered into far worse condition. Too many of those star systems had belonged to the Alliance. He had avoided any information on how many billions had died during the war on both sides, not being willing to face that. But Tanya, like the others in the fleet, had grown up with such awful statistics, had seen them continue to rise year by year. Time to talk about something else. “They’ve got a HuK now.”

“I noticed.” One Syndic Hunter-Killer, a warship slightly smaller than an Alliance destroyer, orbited in the inner system. Even if it hadn’t been almost six light hours distant, the single small warship posed no conceivable threat to the Alliance fleet. “I wonder if it’s here by orders of the Syndic government or if it’s declared allegiance to Atalia?”

“I’ll let our emissaries worry about that,” Geary said.

“Good idea! Maybe we could leave one of them here.” Desjani glanced back to the empty observer’s seat. “I suppose I should be grateful that they’re not hovering on the bridge constantly. That general likes to walk around trying to ingratiate himself with the crew—”

“He’s practicing to be a politician.”

“—but I haven’t seen the other one at all.”

Geary nodded, thinking that was one more thing about Rione that had changed. “She was always very careful and calculating before, trying to keep on top of everything. Now, she sits in her stateroom.”

“I’m not complaining,” Desjani said. “I hope that you’re not worried about her.”

“Tanya, she brought new orders for us. As you already pointed out, we don’t know what orders she might have been given.” He hunched forward, clasping his hands tightly together as he remembered his conversation with Rione. “When I talked to her right after she came aboard, I got the feeling that she wanted to see how far she could lean over the edge of a cliff without falling off. There was a heedless quality, a sense that she’ll jump off that cliff just to see how it feels on the way down.”

“Normally,” Desjani murmured, “I’d just wish that she’d jump. But if she has other orders from the government that we don’t know about . . .”

“Orders that may account for the changes I’ve noticed in her.”

“Something she knows?” Desjani asked. “You never could trust her. I hope you understand that now. Maybe it’s something she did. There have to be a thousand skeletons in her closet. Or maybe it’s something she has to do. Though I find it hard to believe that her conscience is bothering her.”

Geary made an exasperated gesture. “If it’s something purely personal, then that’s unfortunate for her but unlikely to impact us. But she is an emissary for the government.”

“Wouldn’t that general . . . what’s his name?”

“Charban.”

“Yeah. Him. Wouldn’t he also know if it involved some orders for the emissaries?” Desjani paused, her expression hardening. “Unless he’s a throwaway. A dupe to give cover for her. He’s a retired general. What if he’s being used?”

Too many questions and, as usual, not nearly enough answers.

EVEN though Atalia was an easy destination from Varandal, there weren’t many good options from Atalia, one of the things that had kept the star system from being battered even worse during the war. One option was Padronis, a white dwarf star that had never had much human presence, even the small orbital station once maintained by the Syndics having been abandoned decades ago. The other choice, Kalixa, had once been a good option itself, a fine star system with a large population and a gate in the Syndicate Worlds’ hypernet system. But that gate had collapsed and annihilated the human presence in Kalixa, apparently on orders from the same alien species Geary’s fleet was en route to investigate. Now the only signs that humans had ever been there were shattered ruins on the wreck of what had once been a habitable world.

But from Kalixa, the fleet could jump to Indras, where a Syndic hypernet gate should still be intact. The Alliance had already used that gate once, in the final campaign against the Syndics.

Geary stood before the conference table, once more viewing the images of the fleet’s captains sitting around it. This time, the fleet being in a much more compact formation, only the most distant ships would have any noticeable time lag. He gestured to the star display. “We’ll have to go through Kalixa again.”

Most of the officers listening displayed distaste or unhappiness at the idea of revisiting that star, where the dead emptiness somehow emphasized the millions of lives that had been destroyed there. But they knew as well as he did that the only efficient path for the fleet led through Kalixa.

“Then back to Indras,” Geary continued. “My initial plans had been to take the Syndic hypernet from Indras directly to Midway, keeping travel time to a minimum. However, we’ll be going via Dunai, which means taking the Syndic hypernet to Hasadan, making a short jump to Dunai, then jumping back to Hasadan to reenter the hypernet for the transit to Midway.” Laying it out that way only emphasized what a pain in the neck this diversion was. “Dunai has a Syndic labor camp still holding an estimated six hundred Alliance prisoners of war. We’re going to lift them out of there.”

“On the way out?” Captain Vitali asked. “But if we waited until the way back, they’d be in Syndic custody for months longer, wouldn’t they?”

“Exactly,” Geary agreed. If Vitali’s suggestion hadn’t been so convenient, Geary would have been seriously irritated. It had taken him hours to come up with that same explanation for the diversion since parts of the fleet didn’t believe he could be ordered to Dunai by the government; but Vitali had thought of the same rationale in two seconds. “If we still have extra passenger capacity on the way back, we’ll pick up more prisoners in another star system.” That wasn’t in his orders, but it wasn’t forbidden by his orders, either. “We don’t anticipate any trouble at Dunai.”

Tulev tightened his lips slightly before speaking. “If the Syndics intend to drag their feet on any aspect of the peace treaty, Dunai will tell us.”

“Does the treaty allow us to go anywhere we want in Syndic space without their approval?” one of the heavy cruiser commanders asked. Noticing the expressions on the other captains at his question, he hastily added, “Not that I care whether they approve or not.”

“Yes, it does allow us to enter and leave Syndic territory,” Geary said. “When the treaty was being hastily negotiated with the new Syndic government, the newly in charge CEOs desperately wanted the Alliance fleet to go to Midway to defend it against the aliens, so our ability to go through Syndic territory was part of that agreement. I’m sure the Syndics intended that as a one-time deal, but our negotiators worded that part of the treaty so it’s actually open-ended.”

“Sometimes even our politicians come in handy,” Duellos remarked.

“I suppose they have to get something right every once in a while,” Badaya replied.

“The key,” Geary said, “is that the treaty allows our movement through Syndic space as long as we’re going to and from Midway Star System. Which we are, despite the detour to Dunai. I’m mentioning this because future missions may also require visits to Midway, not because we want to go there but because it will meet the legal requirements of the peace treaty.”

Commander Neeson chuckled. “That’ll probably come as a surprise to the Syndics at Midway.”

“I imagine that it will.”

When the others had left, Duellos remained seated, his eyes on Geary. “How are you bearing up?”

“I’ve been worse,” Geary replied, sitting down. “How about you?”

Duellos grinned. “Only one thing has been bothering me lately. Curiosity. I’d like to know how your brief visit to Kosatka went.”

“My honeymoon, you mean?”

“Yes. When I’ve asked Tanya, all she does is mumble a lot.”

Geary paused, bringing up the memories. “We both figured that as soon as the passenger ship we were on exited the hypernet gate at Kosatka, the crew and passengers would be fighting to see who could alert the media first that we were aboard. Or, to be accurate, that I was aboard. Just in case they weren’t doing that, a couple of hours after our ship arrived, a fast fleet courier popped out the gate and started broadcasting orders for me to return to Varandal, which even the dullest mind could take as a hint that I was at Kosatka.”

“I assume it also broadcast your promotion back to admiral?”

“Yeah, that, too. Too late to stop us from marrying. Tanya had admiral’s insignia with her, naturally, and immediately pinned it on me, all the while grumbling about how only a total idiot would have given up the rank of fleet admiral. Anyway, the local government and defense forces and media were all reacting about as calmly as you can imagine, which meant not calmly at all. Tanya was determined that she would tell her parents about our marriage before anyone else could. She knew plenty of people in Kosatka, and one of them had access to a shuttle, so the shuttle came winging in and plucked us off the passenger ship while it was still a half hour out from the main orbital spaceport, where everybody was waiting for us. Then the shuttle dove for the planet in a hot, steep reentry while various government, military, and media shuttles chased after.”

Duellos grinned. “You were probably missing the relative peace and quiet of a battle by then.”

“It got worse. We made a secondary landing field without getting overtaken, one the media hadn’t yet staked out, and another of Tanya’s old friends was there with a private vehicle, so we got bundled into that and tore off into the city while Tanya’s friend demonstrated combat driving skills to get around traffic. We made it to the high-rise where Tanya’s parents lived, and it was one of those secured-access places, so we jumped out of the car, ran up to the access panel, and Tanya pounded on it, yelling, ‘They changed the access code! Mom, Dad, let us in!’ ”

“I’ve seen movies like this,” Duellos said.

“And we can hear sirens all over the place, getting closer, and Tanya’s wondering if her mother and father were working extra shifts and not home yet, but finally her mother answers, and says, ‘What are you doing back on Kosatka? Who’s “us”? Who’s that with you?’ and Tanya says, ‘My husband.’ ” Geary returned Duellos’s grin. “For what seemed forever, her mother didn’t say anything, then she looks at Tanya, and says, ‘I thought you were married to that ship of yours,’ and Tanya gets all upset, and says, ‘Her name is Dauntless, Mother, not “that ship.” Now let us in!’

“We got inside and up to the floor where her parents lived, and her mother opens the door, looks at me, sort of freezes when she recognizes me, then finally looks back at Tanya and says in this real quiet voice, ‘You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?’ Tanya says, ‘No,’ and her mother says, ‘Were you hoping for a stroke or a heart attack?’ ”

Duellos nodded thoughtfully. “I see where Tanya gets some of it from.”

“Naturally, her mother was horrified that we’d gotten married on the ship, saying that the whole planet would have wanted to see the ceremony, and it would have been the biggest thing on Kosatka since the royal wedding one hundred and ten years ago, and Tanya demands to know if her mother wants Tanya to have a stroke, and to try to calm everyone down, I mention that I was at that royal wedding over a century ago, and that didn’t exactly work as far as making me seem like just some average sailor who married her daughter.

“By that time, everybody has tracked us down to that building thanks to the city security-camera system, and we’re pretty much besieged in there. Tanya’s father got escorted through, wondering what the hell is going on, and we try to talk and get to know each other while every dignitary on Kosatka tries to crowd into the place. The local military had to establish a fortified perimeter with portable high blast barriers, because by then the word was spreading and the crowds were . . .” Geary’s smiled faded. “Ancestors help me, Roberto, the crowds. Everywhere I went, and on all the media channels, the crowds.”

“Chanting ‘Black Jack,’ no doubt.”

“Yeah. I don’t think before then it had really hit home to me just how dangerous I really was to the government. To the Alliance. Nobody should be that popular, have that much adulation, and especially not me.”

Duellos nodded, his own grin much smaller. “You’re lucky you didn’t see what was happening on my home world. I had people wanting to see me, to touch me, because I’d worked with you. The living stars alone know what sort of thing Jane Geary encountered when she went back to your home world, Glenlyon, for a short visit.”

“She did?” Was that what had caused the changes in Jane Geary? “Has she talked to you about that?”

“No.” Duellos gave him a quizzical look. “She hasn’t spoken to you of it, either? But her behavior in command does seem to have altered a bit since then.”

“Yes.” Maybe knowing that, he could finally get Jane to admit to whatever had caused her to act differently. “So . . . the crowds. Everywhere. Tanya could tell how those crowds are bothering me, and she wasn’t exactly thrilled that the times she got mentioned it was usually as ‘Black Jack’s new wife’ rather than Captain Tanya Desjani. We had to attend a number of official functions so the local authorities wouldn’t feel snubbed, but after a few days, I was happy to have the excuse of my orders to have to leave the planet.”

“You would think,” Duellos said, “that your obvious discomfort with the adulation would have reassured the government.”

Geary shrugged in reply. “Maybe the government is afraid I’ll get used to it.”

THE distance between the jump point from Varandal to the jump point for Kalixa was four light hours, which meant a forty-hour transit at the fleet’s velocity. With the primary inhabited world at Atalia orbiting on the far side of its star, the authorities there didn’t even know the Alliance fleet had arrived until more than five hours later. As a courtesy, Geary had sent a brief message to them saying that the fleet was simply passing through en route to business elsewhere. Their reply to his message took another five hours to reach Geary.

He listened, feeling growing discomfort, as the new rulers of Atalia fell over themselves offering greetings to the fleet in general and to Admiral Geary in particular. It was glaringly obvious that they feared him, they needed him, they wanted the protection of the fleet he commanded against their former Syndicate masters, and the barely concealed pleas from them left Geary unhappy. I’m not the master of this fleet. Ultimate authority rests with my government. Don’t they understand that? I can’t do what they want, what they need. The Alliance has a courier ship here, and, while that in itself offers no defense capability, it is a symbol of the Alliance’s interest here. Or at least the Alliance’s interest in knowing what happens here. That might not be much of a deterrent, but it’s something.

After several hours of postponing a reply, he sent another message, telling the rulers of Atalia that his fleet was proceeding on a mission elsewhere, and that their requests for further assistance would be passed to the Alliance government. Next time I guess I should let the emissaries talk to the Syndics, or used-to-be Syndics.

Aside from some wishes for a safe journey and swift return sent in answer to Geary’s last message, nothing else of note happened for the rest of the transit. The jump for Kalixa brought a different kind of dread, a reluctance to view that ruined star system again. He wondered if it would be easier to see it the second time.

It wasn’t.

The exit from jump at Kalixa still felt curiously abrupt, as if the impact of the hypernet gate’s collapse there had strained even the structure of space itself. A few moments’ observation confirmed that the star’s intensity continued to fluctuate rapidly. The storms had subsided a bit in the thin atmosphere, which was all the formerly inhabited world had left, but that just made it easier to see the lifeless and almost waterless landscape. Men and women on the bridge of Dauntless muttered prayers to themselves as they gazed on the destruction, and Geary believed crews were doing the same on every ship in the fleet.

He ramped the fleet up to point two light speed through Kalixa, cutting the amount of time spent there in half. It cost in fuel cell usage, but the benefit to morale was worth it.

Indras hadn’t offered any problems the last time the fleet had been through there, and as long as its hypernet gate was still in existence, the fleet wouldn’t linger at that star. “Do you think we should try out one of the copies of the Syndic hypernet key?” The original key aboard Dauntless had been painstakingly reproduced, but only a few copies were still available when the fleet had left. One had been installed on Warspite and the second on Leviathan.

Desjani shrugged. “If you want. The copies should work fine. But I’d advise against it.”

“Because?”

“The Syndics should be able to tell which ship used a key at the gate. They already know about the key on Dauntless. Keeping them in the dark about which other ships now have keys might be a good idea.”

He nodded in agreement. There might formally be peace at present, but trust would be a very long time in coming.

INDRAS and Hasadan had once been military objectives, enemy star systems to be attacked. Now they were simply waypoints, occupied by former enemies who could only watch the Alliance warships passing through their star systems. The hypernet transit from Indras to Hasadan was . . . boring, Geary decided. Jump space felt like a place even though it was a place with nothing there but the mysterious lights, which gave it a sense of being occupied by something unknown and perhaps unknowable to humans. A place humans didn’t belong, and felt increasingly uncomfortable being in the longer they were in jump space.

But for a ship conducting a hypernet transit, there was only an absence of everything, the feeling that the ship was nowhere, something Captain Cresida had once painstakingly tried to explain to him might be literally true. Our best theory is that as far as the outside universe is concerned, ships inside a hypernet have been transformed into probability waves that don’t really occupy any point. They really were nowhere.

And nowhere didn’t have a lot to recommend it, aside from the fact that it got you somewhere else very, very quickly compared even to jump space. “I wonder how jump space feels to the aliens?” Geary wondered out loud. “Does hypernet travel feel like being nowhere to them?”

Desjani, walking beside him down one of the passageways of Dauntless, frowned. “That’s an interesting question. How does nothing feel? Maybe you should pass that on to our experts, so they’ll have something to do.”

Fortunately, once the fleet popped out of the hypernet gate at Hasadan, it was only a short jump to Dunai.

Dunai was a decent star system from a human perspective but had little to distinguish it, which was probably why it hadn’t earned a hypernet gate of its own. Three inner planets, the second one orbiting about nine light minutes from its star in the sweet spot where worlds habitable for humans could usually be found. Much farther out, three gas giants orbited, and on the fringes of the star system, a pair of frozen minor planets orbited around each other as they also whirled about their star more than four and a half light hours distant.

The habitable world looked to be comfortable, resources in the solar system more than adequate, a decent amount of civilian space traffic could be seen moving between planets and orbital installations with raw materials, manufactured goods, foodstuffs, and passengers, and the total population was well into the hundreds of millions. A good star system from a human perspective but not a remarkable one.

“It doesn’t look bad at all from here,” Desjani commented, as the fleet’s sensors analyzed the second planet from the star Dunai. “Usually, the Syndics seem to place their labor camps on less desirable worlds.”

“That’s been our experience,” Geary agreed, studying his own display. A variety of climates, some nicely temperate, plenty of water, an atmosphere close to the habitable standard, and lots of well-maintained towns and cities balanced by some areas left wild. “It’s nice.”

“Too nice,” she muttered.

“Sir?” A virtual window had popped open near Geary, from which his intelligence officer, Lieutenant Iger, gazed out. “We’ve confirmed the existence of the prison camp and fixed its location.” A glowing dot appeared on the map floating to the other side of Geary.

Geary knew he was frowning from the way Iger’s expression grew uncertain. “That’s good work, but isn’t the location here a bit surprising? This seems to be a pleasant world, and that’s a decent spot on that planet instead of the camp’s being set somewhere with harsh conditions.”

“Yes, sir, but I think these images we got of the camp help explain that.” Another window, this one revealing a collection of buildings seen from overhead. Very high overhead, of course, since the fleet’s optical sensors had spotted them from many millions of kilometers distant.

He frowned more deeply, staring at what seemed to be well-maintained structures that, from their arrangement, were probably barracks-type buildings. The three fences enclosing the entire place inside multiple layers of security had only a few guard towers, and only about ten meters of dead ground inside them. Most of the area inside the camp appeared to be covered with grass instead of pavement or crushed rock, but there were a number of shade trees as well. Good roads led into the camp to large parking areas. “It looks like the prisoners get moved from the camp fairly frequently.”

“Daily is our guess,” Iger explained. “You notice the camp is not far from a large city. We’re estimating from the arrangement of the camp and some of the Syndic messages and transmissions we’re picking up that the Alliance prisoners have been used as laborers. That’s not unusual for the Syndics, but we’re more used to seeing our prisoners of war having been forcibly employed in mining or agriculture, well away from cities.”

Geary sat back, drumming his fingers on the armrest of his seat. “You don’t think they’ve been employed in hard labor?”

“They could be, sir. Roadwork, for example. But it could also have been easier labor, such as cleaning buildings. Once we get the former prisoners aboard and can debrief them, we’ll know exactly how they’ve been mistreated.”

The use of the term “mistreated” came automatically to Iger, and Geary knew from the labor camps they had already encountered that it was very likely accurate. Still, this labor camp looked much nicer than the bleak prison complexes the fleet had seen in the past. Definitely a prison camp, but not a hellish one. “Let me know if you find anything else.”

As the window containing Iger closed, Desjani leaned back with a sigh. “Nothing much to worry about here. No warships except a couple of Nickel corvettes in that dockyard orbiting the second planet.”

Geary tapped on the symbols for the corvettes, reading details of what the fleet’s sensors had seen. “Our systems estimate the corvettes have been gutted but not for scrapping. There are indications they’re being refitted with new systems.”

“Maybe they’ve got a Captain Smythe here.”

“Partially completed warships hulls,” Geary mused, pointing to a couple of other orbital shipyards. “Three Hunter-Killer-size warships there and one light cruiser–size hull at that other one. They’re not close to completion.”

“Somebody seems to be building themselves a little fleet,” Desjani commented. “Those HuK hulls vary from Syndic standards. Maybe they’re not being built under contract for the central government.”

That was interesting. “Is the local CEO getting ready to defend this star system or preparing to lean on other star systems? Maybe just extortion backed by firepower, maybe outright expansion of control.”

“Is whatever Syndics do to each other our problem?” Desjani asked.

“No. Not this kind of thing, anyway. If we came across an attack under way, we could intervene, though I have no idea if we’d want to, and our orders are extremely vague on what to do in those circumstances.”

“Those ships under construction are easy targets,” she commented. “It would probably be an act of great charity for surrounding star systems if we blew those hulls into tiny fragments.”

He gave her a lopsided smile. “As impressed as I am by your newfound humanitarian impulses, we are at peace with the Syndics now. That means we need a really good reason to blow up something.”

“Well, if you want to get technical about it.” Desjani shook her head. “But, seriously, won’t this be a problem at some point? As long as we’re transiting Syndic space, that is, which as far as I know may happen a lot, and as long as Syndic government control continues to collapse, which as far as I know is going to keep on getting worse, then sooner or later we’re going to come across some shooting going on when we reach a star system. What if it’s one Syndic star system attacking another? The defenders will ask for our help. What do we say? And what if the attackers belong to the Syndic government, and they’re bombarding their own people to reestablish control over that star system? Are we just supposed to sail on through and pretend nothing’s happening?”

He sat back, drumming his fingers on one armrest as he thought. “Our orders dance around that question. They can be interpreted to allow us to act, or to require us to act, or to restrain us from acting, or to outright prohibit us from acting.”

“Meaning that neither the government nor headquarters knew what to do so they left you to deal with the hard choices. I am shocked. Shocked.”

Geary nodded. “With all the focus on the aliens, and my plans to transit Syndic space as quickly as possible, which would hopefully avoid those situations, I haven’t tried to really analyze that problem. Our actions are going to be heavily dependent on the exact circumstances. Maybe our emissaries have some instructions about that particular question that they haven’t shared with us yet.”

“Were they going to tell us before or after we open fire?” Desjani wondered.

“I’ll ask. After we take care of business here.” Geary tapped an internal comm control, bringing up windows showing Rione and Charban. “Madam Emissary, General Charban, please contact the senior Syndic CEO in this star system and make whatever arrangements are necessary for our pickup of the Alliance POWs here. We’ll use our own shuttles to lift them off the planet. We won’t need any Syndic assets or assistance beyond making the former prisoners available and providing any relevant records on them.”

“We’re on it, Admiral,” Charban announced as if he were still on active duty and working with Geary on a military operation. “The peace treaty obligates them to turn over the prisoners without hindrance, so there shouldn’t be any trouble.”

Rione simply inclined her head toward him in wordless acceptance of the task, her eyes hooded.

“Thank you,” Geary said. “Let me know if any problems do develop.”

“Admiral,” the maneuvering watch called, “if you intend maintaining point one light speed, systems recommend the fleet come starboard one five degrees and down zero four degrees for an intercept with the second planet.”

Geary checked the system recommendation himself, seeing the long, smooth curve of the fleet’s projected path arcing through the star system. They were intercepting a moving object, the inhabited planet, so the actual path they would have to take was much longer than a simple straight-line distance. “A bit less than six light hours to where we’ll intercept the planet in its orbit.”

“Yes, sir. Two days, eleven hours’ travel time at point one light speed.”

“All right.” He called the fleet. “All units, come starboard one five degrees and down zero degrees at time two one. Maintain current formation and current velocity.”

Two and a half days’ travel time to the planet, maybe half a day around the planet while the fleet picked up the prisoners, then another two and half days back out to the jump point. Allow some time for unexpected delays. Call it six days. The government and headquarters didn’t want me to delay another two weeks, but their little rescue mission here has delayed our transit to alien space by about a week. Add in the transit times through Hasadan and the jump times to get to Dunai and back, and it totals a lot more than two weeks. At least we’re doing some good by picking up those prisoners.

The images of the two emissaries were wearing poker faces when they called Geary back. It had been ten hours since the fleet arrived in Dunai, with forty hours’ travel time left to get to the primary planet. “You asked us to call you if any problems developed,” Rione said, displaying some of her old fire.

“What problems do we have?”

“Perhaps,” Charban suggested, “you should view the reply we received from the Syndic CEO in charge of this star system. Dunai is still nominally loyal to the Syndicate Worlds, by the way.”

Another window popped open in front of Geary, and a moment later, the image of the Syndic CEO appeared, looking disturbingly like almost every other Syndic CEO he had ever seen. The CEOs weren’t actually cloned, and they had the usual physical variations between different men and women, but every one of them wore suits that seemed cut identically from the same material, all wore similar perfectly cut hair, and all of them had the same range of practiced and meaningless expressions. It was as if a wide variety of persons had been forced into molds that eliminated most of their individuality.

The Syndic CEO flashed the standard and obviously insincere CEO smile that must require considerable practice to master. “We are happy to deal with Alliance forces operating under the treaty approved by the Syndicate Worlds. Since the prisoners have constituted a significant burden to our world, one we have gladly shouldered to ensure the prisoners had access to adequate housing, food, and medical care, we trust that the Alliance is prepared to compensate us for those expenses incurred by Dunai. We’re certain that the Alliance will not shirk its own obligations. Once we’ve agreed on the sum for compensation, we’ll discuss arrangements for the turnover. I’ve attached our accounting and a preliminary figure for payment as a starting point in our negotiations.”

The window faded away, and Geary looked back at Rione. “How much?”

She named a figure that made him stare in disbelief. “It’s a common Syndic negotiating tactic to open with something too one-sided to be acceptable, then bargain for a lesser deal,” Rione explained, as Charban listened silently. “He doesn’t expect us to agree to that, but he does think we’ll settle on some lower figure.”

“He’s thinking wrong. Even if this fleet had access to funds like that, I wouldn’t agree to such a thing.”

“Then we will inform the CEO of that,” Rione said, “and tell him there will be no negotiations for payment. However, he is very likely to continue to insist upon it since he holds the prisoners on his world.”

“Despite what the treaty says.”

“Yes.”

“In that case,” Geary said, “you might remind him that I hold an entire fleet of warships in this star system.”

Charban frowned slightly. “We need to be careful about implying a willingness to use force.”

“I’m sure that two emissaries of the grand council of the Alliance are able to imply not only carefully and but also ably.”

That made Charban’s frown take on a puzzled aspect, as if he wasn’t certain whether to be upset at Geary’s statement, but Rione smiled sardonically. “We’ll see what we can do, Admiral,” she said.

Desjani waited to comment until the images of Charban and Rione disappeared, then a grunt of disbelief escaped her. “That CEO is shaking us down. The arrogant little bastard actually expects us to pay him for letting us have our people.” She turned a pleading look on Geary. “Now can we blow up something? Just to show him we mean business?”

“Sorry,” he told her. “Not yet.”

“Peace sucks,” Desjani grumbled.

But her suggestion had gotten him thinking. “Which doesn’t mean we can’t demonstrate how we might blow up something, or a lot of somethings, if he keeps trying to impede our pickup of those personnel.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Maybe a warning shot?”

Geary paused. “More like a demonstration shot, hitting some worthless real estate.”

“We need to hit something they care about.”

“We can’t,” he insisted. “Not without a lot more provocation. I’ll have our emissaries inform that Syndic CEO that we’re conducting a weapons test and see if that helps get our point across.”

“A weapons test. Aimed at nothing. But at least those two emissaries will be doing something to earn their keep,” Desjani said in a voice just loud enough for him to hear, looking seriously irritated as she kept a fixed stare on her display.

She needed to be mollified, and there was one thing almost guaranteed to make Tanya Desjani happy. “Why don’t you pick out a target? I’ll let you know when to launch the rock.”

“Just one rock?”

He sighed. “All right. Two rocks.”

“Three.”

“Okay, three. But make sure your targets are nowhere near any Syndics.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tanya . . .”

“All right! But I’ll pick spots where plenty of Syndics can watch the fireworks and worry about our next volley coming down on them!”

EIGHT

ANOTHER twelve hours had passed. One of the moons orbiting a gas giant planet had three more craters, and Rione had a glint of anger in her eyes. “We have another reply from the Syndic CEO.”

“And?”

“I can let you watch if you have the stomach for it. But to sum up a long message, the CEO says he has regrets but is unable to comply with our requests until we have made mutually acceptable arrangements for compensation.” Rione’s lips moved in a humorless smile. “It appears that our weapons test wasn’t persuasive enough.”

Geary closed his eyes, slowly counting to ten inside, then opened them again. “Doesn’t that make him in violation of the treaty?”

She glowered though not at him. “Probably.”

“Probably? What the hell does it take to violate the treaty?”

“I don’t know! But whether this level of dispute is the sort of a matter that qualifies as a treaty violation is something that lawyers could dispute indefinitely.”

Geary wondered just how stubborn and angry he looked because he knew that was how he felt. “We don’t have an indefinite period of time, and I’m damned if I’m going to leave the fates of those prisoners up to the arguments of lawyers.”

He had forgotten that Desjani was still linked in until she spoke in a deceptively mild voice. “We may not have lots of time or lots of lawyers, but we’ve got a lot more rocks.”

Instead of rejecting or ignoring Desjani’s words with disdain, Rione paused, her own expression still irate but also thoughtful. “Another demonstration might be a good idea, not because I think it will directly budge this CEO but because we need to find another way to put pressure on him. We need a demonstration that emphasizes to the population just how much their leader’s behavior is endangering them, so that the people of Dunai will insist upon an end to actions that are provoking us.”

Desjani, looking inspired, held up one finger, looking at Geary rather than Rione. “Hold that.” She turned to address the combat systems watch-stander. “Lieutenant, you’ve heard of skip-shots with rocks?”

“Yes, Captain. When some error or unexpected factor causes a kinetic projectile to skip through the upper atmosphere of a planet instead of diving down at its target.”

“Right. Find out if we can do that on purpose, ensuring that the rock either burns up without hitting the surface or bounces back into space after a few skips. We want a deliberate miss that burns through atmosphere.”

“A light show?” Geary asked Desjani, smiling.

“A big light show,” she replied. “Let me use more than three rocks this time, and we can light up the sky on that CEO’s planet.”

As usual, Rione didn’t address Desjani directly, instead speaking just to Geary. “An excellent idea. Accompany that show with a message broadcast to the system populace, a message from you, Admiral. I think the pressure those things generate on the CEO may produce the results we want.”

“If it doesn’t,” Geary said, “I’ll drop a rock on his head and let the lawyers argue about whether that’s a violation of the treaty.”

That earned him a wry smile from Rione. “I was hoping you’d be a moderating influence on your captain, but it appears that, instead, she is influencing you.”

As Rione’s image vanished, Geary looked over to see Desjani beaming. “You know,” Desjani confided, “that’s the first thing that woman has ever said that I can honestly say I was happy to hear.”

He didn’t answer, wondering why something about what Rione had just said felt important. His thoughts wandered for a moment, recalling his first meetings with Desjani, his impressions of her, his shock at the things she once accepted as a natural part of Alliance military operations . . . “That’s it.”

Desjani gave him a questioning look, and he recognized that she had fallen silent when she realized he was lost in thought. She did that automatically these days, giving him time to work out things inside, and he rarely noticed it. “I assume you’re talking about something more important than my opinion of a politician,” Desjani said.

“Thanks for giving me time to think. You always do that, and it helps a lot. No. I’m talking about a politician’s opinion of me.” Geary pointed at his display, where the primary inhabited world glowed. “That Syndic CEO. He knows he’s dealing with me. Not any other fleet officer. Me.”

Her eyes lit with understanding. “The man who doesn’t bombard planets indiscriminately. Who follows the old concepts of honor. We know that word of your policies got around Syndic space pretty quickly.”

“Yes. Mostly to our benefit during the war. But now this CEO thinks he can play games with us because I’ll be restrained and civilized.” Geary turned a grim look on her. “I wonder if his attitude would change if he had to deal with another Alliance fleet officer?”

“One who’s a bit less civilized?” she asked.

“Tanya, I don’t mean—”

“I know exactly what you mean, and it’s all right, because I think you nailed what’s going on here.” Desjani frowned at him. “I can be very intimidating, but—”

“I think the next message to that CEO needs to go out from the officer who has been delegated to deal with the POW issue, and you—”

“But are you sure it should be me?” she asked, her voice sharpening. “I can’t always be your first choice for assignments.”

“Good point.” Even though Tanya was very well qualified for the job, they couldn’t afford to have others think that she was receiving special treatment. He paused to think. “Tulev.”

“Excellent,” Desjani approved. “If the Syndic files on Alliance personnel are any good at all, they’ll have Tulev listed as a survivor of Elyzia. That Syndic CEO will know he’s dealing with a man whose home world was bombarded into an uninhabitable ruin by the Syndics.”

“I’ll call Tulev. You set up the light show. Between his message and your rocks, I think that CEO will rethink his attitude.”

THE Alliance fleet was only thirty light minutes from the second planet when the light show began.

“What do you think?” Desjani asked a bit smugly.

“I don’t know what effect it’s having on the Syndics, but it’s certainly impressing me,” Geary replied. On a part of his display that had been set to show only visual light, the globe of the second planet hung like a marble mottled with white and blue on about a third of the face showing, the rest nightside dark spangled with lights from Syndic cities and towns. But those lights had been eclipsed by fiery streaks of brilliance slashing through the dark and on into the dayside, still so bright that they shone clearly against even the sunlit part of the planet.

Tulev’s message would have reached that planet about half an hour before the aimed-to-miss barrage of kinetic projectiles. Tulev, his customary impassiveness even more evident, so that he seemed as emotionless as stone, had spoken in flat tones that somehow carried more menace than any anger or threatening voice would have. “Your leader is playing with your lives in an attempt to extort money from this fleet. I have been assigned the task of ensuring that all Alliance prisoners in this star system are liberated and taken aboard this fleet. I will carry out my orders by any means necessary and will not tolerate any delays or attempts to impose barriers. You have three hours to inform us of your readiness to peacefully transfer all Alliance prisoners to our custody without any preconditions or hindrances. If this deadline is not met, I will take necessary action. To the honor of our ancestors. Captain Tulev, out.”

The fleet was already a lot closer to the planet, so the answer only took an hour. Geary was still on the bridge of Dauntless when both emissaries called.

“He’s still holding out.”

Geary took a moment before replying to Rione, making sure he had heard right. “The Syndic CEO for this star system is still trying to extort ransom from us?” For some reason, he felt a need to spell it out, so there would be no possible misinterpretation.

“Yes. He’s actually quite defiant about it.” Next to Rione’s image, another window opened.

In the recording of the transmission, the Syndic CEO now displayed an expression Geary had begun thinking of as Intimidating Frown since he had seen exactly the same look on numerous CEOs. “We expected better of Admiral Geary than transparent attempts to strike fear in the innocent populace of our world. These are not the negotiating tactics of civilized people, and surely the living stars look upon these actions with disfavor.”

The CEO’s expression changed a bit, settling into what Geary thought of as Angry Frown. “We are not afraid of asserting our rights under the treaty by which the long and terrible war was finally brought to an end by the efforts of all our peoples. If necessary, we are prepared to defend ourselves by all available means. It is my responsibility to prevent any attacks or hostile landings upon our peaceful world.”

Desjani made a gagging sound.

Now the CEO adopted the Sad But Reasonable expression. “It would be unfortunate for anyone to be harmed because of a refusal to discuss realistic compensation. Money is not more important than lives. I await word of your willingness to turn aside from force and embrace negotiation to find a mutually agreeable solution to our disagreements.”

As the CEO’s image blanked, Geary stared at where it had been, not trusting himself to speak for a moment.

“Okay,” Desjani said in a calm voice, “now I only need one rock. And the coordinates of that scum’s location.”

“He’s not showing any signs of bending.” General Charban stated the obvious. “We need more leverage. Something to convince him that we do mean business. Another, bigger, demonstration perhaps.”

Desjani, unseen by Charban, rolled her eyes, but her voice was loud enough for the emissaries to easily hear. “They’re still gaming us because those Syndics think the humanitarian and honorable Black Jack won’t blow them to hell. They’ll keep stalling, keep demanding, because no matter what we do they’ll convince themselves that it’s a bluff.”

Geary nodded, finally able to speak coolly. “I think you’re absolutely right. And if the CEO here thinks that, then there must be CEOs all over Syndic space who believe the same thing, that my desire to avoid civilian casualties and indiscriminate bombardments means I’m soft.”

“And,” Desjani continued, “that means if this one gets away with it, we’ll face similar ransom demands in every star system that holds Alliance prisoners.”

He took another glance at the emissaries. Charban was scowling and shaking his head, but Rione simply sat looking back at Geary, not giving any sign of agreement or disapproval. “We only have five hours left before we reach orbit about that planet,” Geary said. “We have already made our position clear, a position fully in keeping with the peace treaty. In my opinion, we now have no alternative except to show these Syndics, and everyone else who will hear about this, what happens in response to such tactics. They need to know that my being an honorable man does not mean that I am an easy mark or that extortion is a viable tactic against the Alliance.”

“What do you intend?” Rione asked. “We are at peace with these people.”

“A peace that obligates them to do certain things they refuse to do. That CEO stated that military force will be used to prevent us from pulling out our people.”

“Yes, he did,” Rione agreed, causing Charban’s scowl to shift from Geary to her.

“Therefore, I intend to go in there with the amount of force necessary to conduct a safe extraction of our Alliance personnel. That means knocking down any defenses that might imperil the landing force or the ships in orbit, isolating the camp from ground force reinforcements, and dealing with any attempts to attack or otherwise interfere with our operation.”

To one side, Desjani mouthed a silent and gleeful, Yes!

Charban, though, shook his head. “It’s too early to embark on such a drastic course of action. The legal ramifications—”

Thoroughly fed up at the moment with politicians of all types, Geary interrupted. “That may be your opinion, General, but I am in command of this fleet, and you are not.”

The general reddened slightly, looking to Rione. “We cannot approve of this action.”

Rione, though, stayed silent again and gave Charban no more sign of support or agreement than she had Geary.

Geary moved his hand toward the control that would end the conversation. “Unless either of you has the authority to relieve me of command,” he told the emissaries, “I intend taking this action whether you approve or not. Thank you for your input.” He tapped the control, and the images of both emissaries disappeared.

Desjani, her eyes shining, actually grabbed his arm and turned him to face her. She leaned in close to speak in barely a murmur despite the privacy fields, which should have kept anyone nearby from overhearing normal conversation. “The perfect decision and perfect treatment of those politicians. By the living stars, I love you, Admiral.”

“That’s not a very professional thing to say, Tanya,” he reminded her in the same low tones.

“To hell with that. Let’s kick some Syndic butt, darling.”

THE hastily convened fleet conference had no doubt raised some eyebrows, but as Geary laid out his decision, any signs of concern faded into smiles of approval. No one in the fleet would object to hammering Syndics, peace treaty or no. Which was why Geary took pains to pound home his restrictions. “We have to limit our actions to those justified by the treaty. The Syndics in this star system are in violation of that treaty and have threatened military action to prevent us from exercising our rights under that treaty, giving us the authority to free our personnel by whatever force is necessary. We will not exceed the requirements of necessary force. General Carabali.”

She nodded to Geary, all professional composure.

“The fleet’s targeting systems will draw up a list of bombardment targets in order to establish a safe transit corridor for your landing force. I want you and your shuttle commanders to review that list and ensure that it provides the required margin of safety.”

Another nod. “What will be the rules of engagement for my Marines?” Carabali asked.

“Your landing will be preceded by broadcasts telling the Syndics that no one who avoids engaging our forces will be targeted, but that anyone or anything who fires on or locks targeting on or points weapons toward or advances toward our forces will be neutralized using all necessary means.”

Carabali actually smiled thinly. “That should provide adequate guidance for my Marines.”

General Charban spoke up, his attitude now that of a comrade among his peers. “It is critically important that our Marines follow those rules of engagement and exercise a high degree of restraint in their actions.”

“That is understood,” Carabali replied politely.

“And in any event,” Duellos commented, “Marines are renowned for their restraint.”

A low wave of laughter rolled around the table. Carabali nodded to Duellos, her smile still in place, but Charban’s own belated smile seemed a bit strained.

“We are going to tear up a decent-size area going in,” Tulev commented. “That is not only required for the safety of our forces but should also serve as an object lesson to CEOs in other Syndic star systems that they cannot demand ransom for our personnel without paying a large price.”

“Exactly,” Geary said. “An important secondary objective of this operation is to drive home to anyone holding Alliance prisoners of war that those prisoners cannot be employed as bargaining chips. If someone does try that, they’re going to end up losing a lot more than they can hope to gain. We don’t want to face this nonsense in any other star systems. Now, there’s no threat from warships, so all we have to worry about are defenses on the planetary surface and in fixed orbits. Don’t underestimate the threat from those weapons. A particle beam powered by planetary-based sources can be powerful enough to blow right through the shields and armor on even a battleship. All ships are to conduct random evasive movements within their assigned positions. Any questions?”

“We can’t take out the warships under construction in this star system?” Commander Neeson asked.

“No. They pose no possible threat to us or to the operation. Destroying them would unquestionably fall outside the bounds of what we’re allowed to do to enforce our rights under the peace treaty.” Geary looked around the table. “We’re doing this right. Not because of what the Syndics might say about our actions but because this fleet does things right. Let it be clearly understood that there will be no ‘accidental’ firing of any weapons at anything other than approved targets. No ‘unexplained events’ in fire-control systems, and no ‘glitches’ in launch mechanisms.”

Some of his officers tried to look innocent, some feigned shock at the suggestion, and a few openly grinned. But he thought they would all abide by his clear instructions. “Are there any more questions? We don’t have much time to get this operation under way, so if you see any roadblocks, let me know as soon as possible so we can keep things moving.”

There weren’t, though after he ended the conference, Jane Geary gave him a long look before her image vanished. He hadn’t expected many questions, not from this fleet. The hard questions would have come if he had chosen not to employ force under these circumstances.

The vast majority of the captains departed in a flurry of disappearing images, both political emissaries going as well, until only Captains Badaya and Duellos remained with Geary and Desjani.

Badaya beamed approval at Geary. “I could tell how little those politicians liked your decision. This operation will help keep the Syndics in line, but it’s also worthwhile as a reminder to them of who’s in charge.”

“Hopefully,” Geary agreed, projecting general agreement with Badaya but keeping his own words as vague as possible. Such political behavior irked him, but given Badaya’s potential as a loose cannon, he had no alternative.

With another broad smile and a wink at Desjani, Badaya saluted and also vanished.

Looking annoyed, Desjani glared at Duellos. “I hope you’re not also going to imply anything.”

“Me? Imply anything?” Duellos raised one eyebrow at Desjani. “I just want to know how you did it.”

She gave him a guiltless look in return. “I had nothing to do with it. The admiral reached the appropriate conclusions on his own.”

“Completely on his own?”

“Yes,” Desjani replied. “Mostly.”

“Mostly?” Duellos nodded and spread his hands. “I’m not thirsty for blood, Admiral, but I do think you reached the right conclusions, mostly completely on your own, about the required course of action.”

“I take advice from all quarters,” Geary replied. “But since I value your experience and judgment, I particularly appreciate your agreement.”

Duellos stood and made a mock bow toward him. “We are wasting time here,” Duellos said. “A distraction and a diversion. Why did the government insist upon it when learning more about the aliens seems a far more urgent priority?”

“If you figure that one out, be sure to let me know.”

Duellos made a move as if to leave, then paused. “How ironic. We spent long months getting home, trying to guess the motivations and thinking of the alien race we suspected existed. Now we’re devoting our time to trying to guess the motivations and thinking of our government. That reminds me, you are going to keep a close eye on the Marines, aren’t you? Those rules of engagement could too easily be interpreted as a license to kill anything that strikes them as hostile.”

“Carabali can be trusted to keep them in line, but I’ll make doubly sure she knows that we need to be able to justify every use of firepower.”

“That’s probably wise, as was your admonition to my fellow commanders.” Duellos seemed to be looking at something distant for a moment. “A lifetime of shooting at anything Syndic is not easily overcome,” he added, his voice shading into sadness.

After Duellos had left, Geary spent a while just looking at the space vacated by Duellos’s image. A distraction. Yes. And Duellos just pointed out how big a distraction it could be even once we’re done with liberating those prisoners. “Tanya, make sure I stay focused on the aliens once we’re out of this star system.”

She gave him a puzzled look. “You’re worried about that?”

“I don’t know what’s in that prison, or rather who’s in that prison camp, but we can’t afford for me to be dealing with issues from that when I need to be thinking about what’s ahead. If something we find there is a major distraction, help me keep my focus.”

“I wish you’d mentioned that before Roberto Duellos left. Your head is so hard sometimes that I might have to borrow a brick from him.”

A number of Syndic satellites once orbiting the planet, satellites that had been part of the command and control for Syndic defenses or held sensors employed by the defense forces, were now dead objects tumbling into catastrophic reentries of the atmosphere. Four orbiting platforms that had held missiles were also gone.

As the fleet itself swung into orbit about Dunai’s primary world, Geary took one more look at Rione, who continued to reveal no sign of what she thought about his course of action. “Still nothing from the Syndic CEO?”

“No. Just a litany of complaints about your ‘unprovoked’ destruction of some of their satellites.”

He called up a comm window to his left. “General Carabali, how’s it look?”

Carabali, her eyes on another part of her own display so that she was looking to one side of Geary, gave him a respectful nod. “It’s a fine day for a nonpermissive personnel extraction operation, Admiral.”

“They’re still prepared to resist?” Geary asked her.

“Ground forces are dispersed in combat formations around the prison camp,” Carabali replied. A window popped up for Geary, zooming down to the area around the main prison camp. “But we haven’t seen any attempt to bring the prisoners out of their barracks and make them human shields. The Syndics have grounded all of their aircraft, but there are numerous artillery and missile assets within range of the prison camp.”

“Do you think they’ll fight?”

“I think, Admiral, that they’re still expecting you to hold back at the last moment. That would explain why they’re not using the prisoners as outright hostages, which could really piss us off. If that’s the case, they may fold when we come in. But they could also have orders to resist to the best of their ability if we actually start sending Marines down.”

Geary pressed one hand against his forehead, thinking. “Madam Emissary, I would appreciate your assessment of what that CEO is thinking right now.”

He wondered for a moment if she would reply, but finally Rione began speaking. “He has staked his authority and judgment on the idea that you would give in. Your refusal to give in and his continued insistence on his chosen course of action have increasingly backed him into a corner. If he now offers no resistance when you strike, it will make him look very weak and very foolish. If he fights, it will make him look foolish in his judgments, but not weak. A leader thought to be foolish might survive, especially if he is seen as willing to fight to the end, but a leader believed to be weak and foolish has the chance of a snowball in hell. That is what I would assume he is thinking.”

Desjani frowned, glanced back toward Rione, then shrugged in an annoyed manner. “I agree,” she whispered to Geary.

“Then I’ve only got one option.” He activated the bombardment command, the clock on the time-to-launch running steadily down toward zero, then tapped approve and confirmed the order. A few minutes later the countdown spiraled to zero, and warships began spitting out kinetic bombardment rounds.

The barrage came down through the planet’s atmosphere like a fall of deadly hail, each solid piece of metal dropping at tremendous speed, gaining energy as it plummeted to the surface, until at impact, that energy was released in a burst of destruction. The people on Dunai could see the rounds coming, could determine their targets pretty closely, but had no means of stopping the projectiles and, with the fleet’s warships in high orbit, had only minutes in which to react. Personnel could be seen fleeing targeted facilities and fortifications in vehicles and on foot. Other vehicles with the military units near the prison camp frantically tried to scoot out of danger.

The bombardment had been timed for every round to hit home as close to simultaneously as possible in order to enhance the psychological impact of the blows. There wasn’t any need to enhance the physical impact as the kinetic projectiles struck their targets. Weapon sites became craters, buildings holding sensors or command and control facilities were blown apart, and roads and bridges disappeared where the rounds hit. In a wide area along the path down which the shuttles would bring the Alliance Marines, and in an extended perimeter outside the prison camp itself, organized planetary defenses ceased to exist within less than a minute.

“Launch the recovery force,” Geary ordered.

Shuttles dropped from all four assault transports and from several battleships and battle cruisers as well. Carabali had decided on overwhelming force within the prison camp, and Geary hadn’t hesitated to approve that choice, memories of the fight on Heradao still far too vivid.

As the Alliance shuttles penetrated the atmosphere and dove for the prison camp, Geary noticed that Desjani was watching them with a bleak expression. “Are you all right?”

“Just remembering.” She said nothing else, and he left it at that, knowing that Desjani was not yet ready, perhaps never would be ready, to share some of the memories that haunted her.

The Syndic defenses seemed to be in total confusion as a result of the bombardment. Aside from disrupted ground forces milling about outside the prison camp, nothing else had gone active. “Twenty-five minutes to first shuttle landings,” Carabali reported to Geary. She was on one of those shuttles but would be among the last to land. “No resistance noted.”

“We have missile launches from the surface,” the combat systems watch announced at the same time alerts blared on Geary’s display. “Medium-range ballistic missiles from an installation to the northwest of the camp, and low-level cruise missiles from some place to the east.”

It took three taps of commands to get recommendations from the combat systems. “Fearless, Resolution, and Redoubtable, make sure those ballistic missiles are stopped. Leviathan and Dragon, eliminate the launch site with kinetic bombardment.”

But the cruise missiles were another matter. Their flight path was taking them at low altitude over a sprawling metropolis with extended suburbs. Hitting them from high up without also striking the civilians below would not be easy. “Colossus and Encroach, destroy the cruise missile launch sites now but wait to engage the cruise missiles until they clear those suburbs, then take them out.”

“Those suburbs come close to the prison camp,” Desjani pointed out. “You didn’t give them much of a window for engaging those cruise missiles.”

“We can’t just punch hell lances through civilian dwellings.”

“They’re forcing you to make that choice!” Desjani insisted, as hell lances from Fearless, Resolution, and Redoubtable tore apart the ballistic missiles at the peak of their trajectories, and the rocks from Leviathan and Dragon headed downward for the place that had launched the missiles. It might be a case of slamming the barn door after the horses escaped, but that particular barn wouldn’t be letting any more horses go after it was turned into a field of craters.

“I know, but—” Geary broke off speaking as something caught his eye on the display. “What’s Dreadnaught doing?” The battleship was veering downward, leaving high orbit to skim the upper reaches of atmosphere. He hit the comm control viciously. “Dreadnaught. What are you doing?”

Jane Geary seemed preoccupied as she answered, her attention focused to one side. “Dreadnaught is engaging threats against the landing force and the prisoners, Admiral.”

The only threats Dreadnaught was moving to engage were the cruise missiles. “Colossus and Encroach are assigned those targets, Dreadnaught. Return to station now.”

“If we missed hitting any planet-based particle beams, Dreadnaught could get speared by one in that low an orbit,” Desjani said.

“I know!” Dreadnaught hadn’t altered her vector. “Captain Geary, get back into higher orbit and return your ship to her assigned station now.”

Jane Geary’s expression didn’t alter, intense concentration visible there, and she didn’t answer immediately.

“Dreadnaught is firing hell lances,” the combat systems watch reported.

There were ten cruise missiles. Dreadnaught fired ten hell-lance shots. Geary, his display cranked to high magnification, watched as each particle beam ripped through a cruise missile as the missile crossed open areas like streets or narrow strips of woodland.

“Targets destroyed,” Jane Geary reported. “No collateral damage. Dreadnaught is returning to station.”

“Very well.” That was all he trusted himself to say as Jane Geary’s image vanished.

Desjani cleared her throat. “You’ll have to decide whether to give her a medal or relieve her of command.”

“Tanya, damn it to hell, I don’t need—”

“And in this fleet,” she continued, “you know which action will be regarded as justified.”

“She went against my explicit orders—”

“She got the job done.” Desjani gestured toward the planet. “And she did it aggressively and with style. Think before you act on this one. Sir.”

He took a deep breath, then nodded. “All right.” What the hell is Jane thinking? She’s thinking that she’s Black Jack, that she has to be him. And, dammit, she did a good job just like Tanya said. But what will happen next time she disregards orders to demonstrate her status as a “real” Geary? Maybe disaster, like the sort of brainless courage that cost us Paladin at Lakota. But I have to deal with that later. Focus. I’ve got Marines about to land. Is anyone else acting up?

Invincible stood out on the display, not for what it was doing, but for what the battle cruiser wasn’t doing. Every other warship was making small changes in its orbit at random intervals to throw off targeting by surface-based weapons. But Invincible sailed along without any variations in her orbit, locked into the exact center spot of her assigned position in the formation. “Invincible, begin evasive maneuvers as previously instructed.”

Captain Vente, who had never spoken up at fleet conferences, sounded peevish now. “No specific maneuvering orders were issued.”

“Random, Captain Vente. Make random changes in your ship’s movement,” Geary ordered.

“What kind of random changes?”

Desjani gestured to attract Geary’s attention. “Combat maneuvering subroutine 47A.”

“Execute combat maneuvering subroutine 47A,” Geary repeated to Vente.

“Oh. Very well.”

Orion. What was Orion up to? If any ship was going to have problems doing what it was told . . .

But Orion was in position, jinking randomly in her orbit, all systems reporting combat readiness.

The first shuttles were dropping fast to the surface inside the prison camp, their ramps out so that the moment the shuttle touched, Marines in full combat armor were rolling out and dashing for cover. Close-in weapons on the shuttles still coming down lashed at guard towers and other defensive positions, ensuring that any prison guards still at their posts stayed under cover. Within moments, the first wave was down, the shuttles lifting again for safety while the Marines headed for their objectives, and the second wave came in behind them.

The buildings there were more like multistory dormitories than the low, warehouse-type structures Geary had seen at previous Syndic labor camps. Rows of small windows looked down on the courtyards where the shuttles were dropping Marines, but no fire came from any of the windows.

Geary took a long look at his display. Dreadnaught was almost back on station, and everyone else seemed to be behaving themselves. The annihilation of the launch sites appeared to have discouraged any more attacks on the prison camp area, with even Syndic ground forces lying low. Their leader may be stupid, but they aren’t. None of them want to face this fleet’s firepower just to salvage their leader’s pride.

He called up windows for the Marine unit leaders, momentarily surprised by the number that appeared. He had more than twice as many Marines as had previously been with the fleet, meaning twice as many unit leaders. He touched one face, the subdisplay showing activity in the prison camp immediately highlighting that officer’s position near the shuttles. Trying again, Geary got a lieutenant who was leading a platoon inside one of the buildings, and called up another window offering a view from that Marine’s combat armor.

A moment’s disorientation vanished as Geary’s mind made sense of the images, seeing a darkened hallway lined with doors. The Marines moved quickly, weapons ready, all the way to the end of the hallway, then, at the lieutenant’s command, one of them reached for a locked door and twisted the lock with the enhanced strength of the combat armor. With a squeal of protesting metal, the lock snapped, and the door swung open.

Two men in faded Alliance ground forces uniforms stood within, not moving, their hands out. They had enough sense not to do anything while nervous Marines had weapons trained on them. “Where are the guards?” the lieutenant asked them.

“Even floors, guard stations at the end,” one of the prisoners immediately replied. “Normally three guards.”

“Got it. Stay put until the follow-on forces come through.” The lieutenant sent her men up the stairs at the end of the hall, the combat armor allowing them to leap several stars at a time until they crashed through the doors onto the next floor.

The guard station was deserted, its alarm panel blinking frantic and futile warnings. “Guard stations in this building are abandoned,” the lieutenant reported. “Roger,” Geary heard her captain reply, his voice sharp. “Make sure you check every one. Combat engineers are coming through to disable alarm panels and ensure they aren’t linked to any dead-man traps. Make sure your Marines don’t touch them.”

“Understood.” A moment later, the lieutenant roared at some of her own Marines. “Orvis! Rendillon! Don’t touch those damned buttons!”

Geary closed the window, feeling guilty at concentrating on a single, small piece of the picture when the entire fleet was his responsibility. “Why is it that whenever sailors or Marines see a button, they want to push it?”

“Did you ever wonder what they did before humans invented buttons to push?” Desjani asked. “There must have been something they weren’t supposed to do.”

“No resistance,” Carabali reported. “The guards are hunkered down in their barracks and surrendered to the first Marines to breach the doors.”

That was going well, anyway. “Any problems?”

“Not yet. Seventy-five percent of the prison camp is now secured. Estimated time to completely secured is five minutes.”

“Thank you.” Things were going far too well, but he couldn’t spot any problems hiding, ready to pounce. He tried to relax while staying alert and shifting his attention between different displays, watching his ships jink and dodge slightly at random intervals to confuse any attempt to target them from the planet’s surface, watching the green “cleared” areas on the prison camp display grow to cover the entire area, waiting as the Marines ensured that no booby traps were active before they began breaking open doors wholesale and herding newly liberated prisoners into courtyards where shuttles waited.

Another window popped open next to Geary. “We’re getting identifications on the prisoners, Admiral,” Lieutenant Iger said. “It looks like this was a VIP labor camp.”

“A what?”

“VIPs, sir. Every other prisoner ID we’re getting is for an admiral or general. The lower-ranking officers among them, and by ‘lower-ranking’ I mean usually fleet captains and colonels, all seem to be men and women who were highly decorated and influential before being captured. Now we know where the general officers have been, why the prison camps we’ve liberated prior to this had captains and colonels as the senior officers. There are a few civilians so far, but even those are high-ranking officials or political leaders who were nabbed in raids or assaults on Alliance worlds. No enlisted personnel at all.”

“Highly decorated and influential,” Geary repeated, something telling him that those words were critically important.

“Yes, sir. Like, um, Captain Falco.”

Captain Falco. A single individual who had triggered mutiny against Geary and caused the loss of several ships. And this Syndic labor camp was full of individuals with similar backgrounds. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

“Is there anything else, sir?”

“No. Thank you.” He had to think about this. Were these individuals still valuable to the Alliance? To the government? But if they followed the molds that Geary had seen thus far, they would be thorns in the government’s side. “Wait. Lieutenant, I’d like you to go through their records. From before they were captured. What I’d like to know is whether any of these VIPs had some special knowledge, skills, or political relationships that would still be important for their rapid return to the Alliance.” Phrase it that way, so it didn’t sound like he was trying to discover the government’s reason for sending him here.

“Yes, sir.”

“What did he say?” Desjani asked, as Geary ended the call. The concern in her voice told him that his expression was giving away too much.

“Let’s talk later.” Right now he had to do something else. Was it better to have the VIPs underfoot on Dauntless, or stashed somewhere where he wouldn’t have to fend them off? I can more easily transfer them to other ships, if I want to, if they’re first warehoused somewhere. He quickly called Carabali. “General, change of plans. I’d like all of the liberated prisoners delivered to Typhoon and Mistral. The assault transports are better suited to rapid screening and medical exams.”

The Marine commander paused, then nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll direct the shuttles to head for Typhoon and Mistral. Are both of those ships aware of the change in plans?”

Carabali could be very diplomatic for a Marine. “I’m notifying them once I finish speaking with you.”

“Very well, Admiral. I should inform you that the first shuttle has already launched with orders to proceed to Dauntless. Should I divert it as well?”

Damn. An obvious change in destination for that shuttle at this point would raise too many questions. “No. We’ll take them aboard here.”

Back to Desjani. “Dauntless will only get one shuttle. The others are going to Typhoon and Mistral.”

She eyed him curiously. “All right. We were planning on processing more than that, but it’s your fleet. Do Typhoon and Mistral know—”

“I’m calling them now!”

“Excuse me,” Desjani muttered just loud enough for him to hear, then raised her voice. “Lieutenant Mori, we’re only getting one shuttle. Inform everyone on the intake teams.”

Finishing informing the commanding officers of Typhoon and Mistral of the change, and wincing inside as he knew how much of a last-minute scramble those orders would cause on those ships, Geary turned to a stony-faced Desjani. “Sorry. It’s because they’re VIPs.”

“Who are VIPs?”

“The prisoners.”

“All of them?”

“Damn near.”

After a moment, Desjani asked another question. “Military VIPs?”

“Yeah. Like Falco.”

“What the hell?”

“My feelings exactly.”

With no opposition, the Marines on the ground were moving very quickly. “There were fewer than three hundred prisoners in this camp,” Carabali reported. “Most of the cells were unoccupied. We have all of the POWs in hand and are loading the last ones into shuttles now. I’ve already started lifting Marines out, too. Estimate fifteen minutes until the last Alliance personnel are off the surface.”

“Excellent.” It all went like clockwork, even as he waited for something to go wrong, some unexpected factor to suddenly throw a wrench into the smoothly working operation. But the last Marines dodged into the last shuttles, the last ramps rose, and the last shuttles leaped into the air, leaving ranks of disarmed Syndic prison guards standing around apparently uncertain of what to do next.

“Shuttle on final,” the maneuvering watch reported. “Estimated time to dock five minutes.”

“How long until the last shuttles are recovered?” Geary asked.

“Forty minutes, sir.”

Every Syndic on the planet seemed to have gone to cover. Nothing was moving in the sky or on the roads or in open country. “Looks like the Syndics here finally figured out what a bad idea it was to mess with this fleet,” Desjani commented, drawing grins from her watch-standers.

Geary stood up. “I’m going down to greet that shuttle, Captain Desjani. I’ll be back here within half an hour. I need to see some of these VIPs and talk to them.” Maybe then I can get some clue as to the reason we were sent here.

Desjani just nodded, her eyes on her display, her brow furrowed in thought.

He walked briskly, trying not to reveal any disquiet to the crew members he passed, who all seemed cheerful as a result of the one-sided fight and victory, word of which was already flashing through the fleet. Inside the shuttle dock, Geary paused to take in the sailors forming up to serve as a combined honor guard and intake force to get the newly liberated prisoners evaluated, assigned quarters, and given necessary treatment.

“We meet again,” Rione murmured as she came up beside him.

“What brings an emissary down here?” Geary asked.

“I may not be a senator anymore, but I still have an obligation to pay respects on behalf of the government to those who have been imprisoned.”

And you’re probably hoping to find someone who knows something about your husband. But he didn’t say that out loud, knowing that in her place, he would have done the same.

The shuttle swung in, easily visible behind the shield keeping atmosphere in this part of the dock, then came to a gentle landing as the outer doors sealed and the shield dropped. Geary waited as the ramp extended and the shuttle’s hatch opened, watching the men and women who came down the ramp. Despite their VIP status, they resembled the other prisoners of war liberated by the fleet in the last several months. A mix of ages, some of them captured so long ago they were now elderly. Threadbare uniforms mixed with articles of castoff Syndic clothing. Thin from hard work and just enough food. And looks of mingled disbelief and joy as if they feared this was a dream from which they would soon awake.

The only difference was the amount of rank present. As far as Geary could tell, there were only a few commanders or majors among them, everyone else being at least colonels or captains, and almost half wearing the tarnished insignia of admirals and generals. Iger hadn’t been exaggerating in the least.

He was gazing at the prisoners, searching for Captain Michael Geary even though he knew the odds of his great-nephew being alive and being here were very small, when a noise from Rione caught his attention. A wordless gasp, it somehow carried across the dock. Several of the former prisoners heard and turned to look, one man among them stumbling to a halt, then running toward her. “Vic! By the living stars, is it really you?”

Geary took a step away as they embraced, feeling embarrassed to be witnessing such raw emotion, actual tears flowing from Rione as she held him.

He started to look aside, then focused back on Rione’s face. Amid the wonder and happiness, did he also see horror? How could that be?

But then she noticed him and averted her own face for a moment. When he saw it again, Rione had only the natural emotions from such a reunion visible.

She broke the embrace, turning toward Geary, reestablishing the iron control Rione usually displayed. “Admiral, may I present Commander Paol Benan, my husband.”

Geary waited for a salute, which didn’t come, and he belatedly realized that, of course, these officers had been imprisoned when he had reintroduced saluting to the fleet.

Benan grinned broadly. “It’s really you. Well, damn, of course it is. The Marines told us Black Jack was in command. Who else could have brought the fleet this deep into Syndic space? You must have them on the run. We can beat them now, crush them so they never again pose a threat to the Alliance! Now that we’re off that planet, you can hit it with everything you’ve got!”

It took both Rione and Geary a moment to realize what he meant, that the Syndic authorities here had cruelly withheld news of the end of the war. “Paol,” she said, “the war is over. We already won.”

“What?” Benan looked completely lost for a moment. “When? How?”

“Admiral Geary. He wiped out the Syndic fleet and forced them to agree to peace.”

“Peace.” Benan said the word as if he had heard it for the very first time in his life and had no idea of its meaning. “That’s . . . but you attacked the planet. The Marines assaulted the camp.”

“The Syndic CEO here balked at his obligations under the peace agreement,” Geary explained. “We took necessary actions to liberate you and your fellow prisoners.”

“Yes.” Benan still seemed uncertain. “We can help with some targeting for your follow-up bombardments. There are some buried installations, well concealed, that we know the locations of.”

“There will be no more bombardment of that planet, Commander.”

“But . . . the manufacturing centers . . . population centers—”

Geary heard his voice hardening. “This fleet no longer wars on civilians, Commander. We attack military targets only, and those attacks now will come only as necessary to ensure that the Syndics abide by the peace treaty.”

Benan simply looked at Geary as if he had heard words in an unknown language.

Taking his arm in a gentle grasp, Rione spoke for them both. “My husband needs to be checked in and receive his medical evaluation, Admiral. I will have an opportunity to bring him up to date while that is under way. I hope you will forgive us now.”

“Of course.” He felt ashamed for his anger of a moment earlier. Benan and the others liberated with him were still stressed by the long captivity and bewildered by recent events. They needed to know how things had changed, that the fleet had returned to the honorable practices of their ancestors.

Gazing back at the other liberated prisoners, Geary saw an admiral and a general looking his way. Time to reposition before I get pinned down. “I need to return to the bridge,” he said to no one in particular in a voice loud enough to carry. He offered the prisoners a quick wave and smile, then dashed off before they could leave the line.

He made it there only twenty minutes after leaving, finding everything still going well. Of course, he could have directed the operation from anywhere within Dauntless, but humans had long since learned that leaders needed to be seen and needed to issue orders from professionally appropriate locations. Geary had discovered that the old (and apparently true) story of the admiral who had issued orders during a battle from the comfort of his stateroom while drinking beer was still well-known.

Carabali’s shuttle was the last to dock on Tsunami. “All shuttles recovered, all Marines accounted for, all prisoners located and liberated,” she reported to Geary. “No damage to shuttles, personnel casualties limited to several sprains incurred during the landings.”

“Outstanding job, General.” Geary let out a long breath that felt like he had been holding it for hours. “All units, execute Formation November at time four zero.”

Forming into five rectangles, broad sides facing forward, the largest rectangle in the middle itself centered on Dauntless, the Alliance fleet accelerated away from the Syndic planet, heading for the jump point that would take it back to Hasadan. But this time, from Hasadan the fleet would take the Syndic hypernet to Midway. He stood again, stretching out the accumulated tension. “I think I’ll take a break in my stateroom, Captain Desjani.”

“Get something to eat, too,” she said.

Resisting the urge to say, “Yes, ma’am,” and salute her in front of the bridge crew, Geary headed for his stateroom by way of a mess compartment to pick up a battle ration. It wasn’t the best food, and arguments within the fleet debated whether battle rations qualified as food at all using most definitions of that word, but the rations filled you up and met minimum daily nutrition requirements.

He was almost to his stateroom when Desjani came quickly toward him down the passageway, her expression stiff. She gestured wordlessly toward Geary’s stateroom, letting him enter and following closely behind. Once inside she closed the door with great care, then turned to him, her face a mask of barely contained fury, all the more fearsome for the coldness of the fire in her eyes. “Request permission to speak freely, sir.”

“You never require permission to do that,” he replied, keeping his own voice low and steady.

“I have been informed of the identity of one of the liberated prisoners. Her husband.”

“That’s right.” He wondered if her anger was directed at him for not telling her, but it seemed aimed elsewhere.

“What an amazing coincidence. She came aboard with new orders, diverting this fleet from its planned course and its planned mission in order to come to the prisoner-of-war camp in this star system, a camp that just happened to have her husband among its number.” Desjani’s words came out clipped, hard as a barrage of grapeshot. “We came here on her personal errand.”

“That’s possible, but—”

“Possible? She jerked around this fleet for her own personal purposes—”

“Tanya, hear me out!” He waited as she took a deep breath, the heat in her eyes subsiding to a controlled blaze. “I’ve had time to think about this. First, my impression was that she was shocked to see her husband. But she’s very good at concealing her real feelings, so that’s far from definitive.”

“She’s—”

“I’m more worried about dealing with all of the other VIPs.”

Desjani took a long, slow breath, still furious but keeping the feelings on a shorter leash. “Like Falco.”

“Multiplied a hundred times.”

Her eyes narrowed as the fires in them became a white-hot, focused torch. “Why? She didn’t like Falco. Neither did the government. Why unleash dozens more like him?”

“I don’t know.” He sat down, one hand to his forehead, trying to blank out anger and frustration. The battle ration sat untouched, his appetite fled for the moment. “All I know for certain is that they’re here, and we’re taking them into alien space with us.”

“Hundreds of loose cannons.” Now Desjani seemed baffled. “What possible advantage does that give anyone?”

“I think Rione knows why we were sent here to get them.”

“Her secret orders. But why wouldn’t the government want those Falco-wannabes left in Syndic hands as long as possible? Why make them a priority for release?”

“I don’t know.” Geary let his eyes rest on the star display floating above the table, which he had left centered on Dunai Star System. “Even if Rione knew that her husband was at Dunai, why would the government have agreed to let her divert this fleet for a personal matter? She’s not that powerful. She’s been voted out of office. And what possible reason would the government have for agreeing if it had any idea that all of those other senior officers were there?”

“It must have been a price,” Desjani insisted. “Something she demanded in exchange for agreeing to go on this mission and carry out whatever orders she has.” Desjani seemed ready to order Rione’s arrest.

“She’s still a legal, authorized representative of the government, Tanya. Even if the government agreed to order us to this star system to satisfy Rione’s personal agenda, it’s within the rights of the government to do that.”

Desjani sat down, too, glaring at him. “Are you sure you don’t want to be dictator?”

“Yes.” That brought up another thought, though. “We know the government fears this fleet. They fear what I might do with it. But now they’ve ensured that lots of other senior officers who might back a coup are also present with the fleet. It’s either irrational or so brilliantly Byzantine it only seems to make no sense at all.”

“What if those secret orders jeopardize the safety of this fleet?”

“We don’t know that—”

“We don’t know anything.” Desjani jumped up, walked to the hatch, and yanked it open. “It’s like dealing with the aliens.”

“SOME amount of disorientation is normal in cases like this,” the fleet’s senior medical officer explained to Geary. “But the readjustment difficulties are higher than usual for these individuals. It was a good idea to place many of them on Mistral, where I could conduct personal examinations.”

Geary smiled and nodded as if he had indeed thought about that on the spur of the moment.

“Call me old-fashioned,” the doctor continued, “but I think even the best virtual-meeting software misses things. Tiny things, but important in evaluating an individual.”

“Can you summarize your impressions?” Geary asked.

“I already did.” The physician hesitated. “I could go into a little more detail, I suppose. As I said, some disorientation is normal. They’ve been in a Syndic labor camp for years at least and, in many cases, decades. They are accustomed to being confined to certain areas, to being subject to arbitrary rules, to having their actions controlled by authorities whose judgment can’t be questioned.”

That sounds a lot like just being in the military, Geary thought.

“But in addition to that, there’s the fact that basic certainties are different. The war is over. That’s a major alteration in what they considered a fixed reality, and unlike those of us who were free to see events unfold recently, it is hitting them all at once. They have been told an intelligent species of aliens exists beyond human space, something totally unexpected. Then there’s you, yourself, that Black Jack, against all rational odds, did indeed return from the dead (figuratively speaking naturally) and achieve the seemingly impossible. To these former prisoners, it’s as if they have suddenly found themselves in a fantasy world rather than the universe they occupied before being captured.”

The fleet physician looked down, sighing once, before focusing back on Geary. “There’s one other factor unique to these prisoners. As you may have already been informed, many are fairly senior officers. Before being captured, they were used to either being in charge or being highly influential. Many of them believed that they would play an exceptional, personal role in the war because of their own abilities, that they were fated to do great things. There’s a medical term for this set of beliefs.”

Geary fought down his own sigh. “Geary Syndrome.”

“Yes! You’ve heard of it?” the doctor said in surprised tones, as if amazed that a nonphysician would have such knowledge.

“It’s been brought to my attention.”

“Then I’m sure you understand that they find it hard to deal with a situation where they lack authority in this fleet despite their rank and seniority. Many of them believed that somehow, despite being imprisoned, they would still save the Alliance and defeat the Syndics. Such beliefs helped sustain them. But you already won the war, leaving them without any clear sense of their own destinies.”

He didn’t need any further explanations to see how much trouble all of those disorientations could add up to. “I’m going to speak with them as a group. It’s already set up for ten minutes from now.”

“They’ll expect one-on-one meetings with you. I’ve already heard scores of slight variations on ‘I’m certain that I’ll be assuming an appropriate command position very quickly.’ More than one expect to assume command of this fleet.”

“I understand, but I don’t have time for individual meetings before we jump for Hasadan.” The inability to communicate between ships in jump space except in very brief forms was usually a hindrance, but in this situation, it was a blessing.

“Your meeting should be most interesting,” the doctor remarked. “May I sit in?”

“Certainly.” You’ll get to watch the original Geary talking to lots of Geary Syndrome sufferers. That ought to inspire a nice paper for your medical colleagues. “Just do so using the blind participant setting so no one else knows you’re watching and listening.”

A few minutes later, the conference room grew rapidly in size as the virtual presence of more than two hundred former prisoners flooded in, even those on Dauntless using the software since the actual size of the conference room was too small to accommodate all of them. Geary had intended to speak with them alone; but as he waited, the virtual presences of General Carabali, Captain Tulev, Rione, and General Charban appeared. “Captain Desjani indicated you wished me to attend,” Carabali explained, to which the other three nodded in agreement.

All right, Tanya. Maybe it’ll be good to have that backup. On a sudden suspicion, he checked the software and saw that Desjani herself was also monitoring the meeting in blind mode.

Geary swept his eyes around the table, already knowing that none of the freed prisoners was Michael Geary but unable to keep from looking for him one more time.

He stood up to speak, only to have one of the admirals shoot to his own feet. “It is necessary to discuss command issues as soon as—”

Geary had been through variations on this before, during the long retreat from the Syndic home star system. He already had the right control ready and silenced audio from that officer. “I am Admiral Geary,” he began, as if no one else had already spoken. “I am in command of this fleet.”

Rione made a small gesture, as if unable to stop herself, and Geary paused in reaction, only then realizing the pause gave his statement more force. Is she helping?

Geary went on, welcoming the freed prisoners and explaining the mission. “Unfortunately, even though you all deserve to be returned to Alliance space as soon as possible, we are deep within Syndic space. I can’t detach any of the assault transports to take you back, not unless I escort it with a strong force of warships, and given our lack of knowledge about the threats we will face inside alien space, I don’t feel comfortable diminishing my force at this point.

“Also, unfortunately, it’s impossible for me to speak individually with each of you. We’ll be jumping back to Hasadan soon, then using the Syndic hypernet system to proceed to Midway, so there will be little opportunity to communicate between ships.”

Finally, the question he didn’t want to ask. “Are there any questions?”

More than two hundred men and women started talking at once. The software automatically blocked all of their audio, highlighting each individual so Geary could choose who would be heard. “One at a time, please,” he said, more loudly than necessary since he didn’t actually have to shout everyone down. Resigning himself to the inevitable, he indicated the admiral who had first tried to speak. “You have a question?”

Standing up again, his face set, the officer looked around the table as he spoke rather than aiming his words at Geary. “Fleet procedures need to be followed regardless of circumstances. We are combat commanders, highly skilled and respected. Our first order of business must be to establish an agreed-upon fleet commander—”

This time the admiral was interrupted by another former prisoner, also an admiral, who pointed toward Geary. “Chelak, use your head for something besides making noise. That’s Black Jack. He’s our equal in rank, he’s in command, and every sailor and officer I’ve talked to in this fleet supports him.”

“My date of rank is much earlier than his! I earned respect for that, as did you all!” Chelak insisted.

“He’s earned some respect, too,” a female general replied. “I’m still trying to catch up on things that have happened since I was captured, but it’s obvious that none of us has enough of a grasp on the current situation to supplant someone who does.”

“That doesn’t mean we ignore honor and tradition,” a female admiral shot back.

“We’re supposed to give lessons in honor and tradition to Black Jack?”

“We don’t know that he’s really—”

“Read up on the last several months,” the second male admiral suggested.

A hundred officers started talking this time.

General Carabali stood, drawing their attention. “The fleet’s Marines will follow the orders of Admiral Geary.” She sat down again, the flat statement seeming to echo amid the sudden silence.

“Some of you may know me,” General Charban suggested. “I can assure you that the government and headquarters placed Admiral Geary firmly in command.”

“As if we care for what either one does,” someone called out.

Another outburst, hundreds of voices being shut off so that images of high-ranking officers yelled silently at each other.

Tulev looked at Geary, speaking on a private circuit. “This is unmanageable. You could spend weeks speaking with them and get nowhere.”

Carabali nodded. “Too many alphas in one fleet. You’d be best off packing them all on Haboob and disabling all the comm systems.”

“Seconded,” Desjani’s voice sounded in his ear.

Geary looked at Charban and Rione. “What are the government’s wishes?”

She looked back at him. “I have no instructions for disposition of freed prisoners.”

Charban spread his hands. “I have none, either.”

Geary switched to a private circuit with just those two on it with him. “The government ordered us to liberate this bunch. I was ordered to bring the fleet here. Why? What do they want with them? Why did we need to pick them up before proceeding into alien space?”

“I have no instructions,” Rione repeated, her expression unyielding.

That did it. “Then I consider this a matter that must be dealt with using my authority. Neither of you is an elected official. Under Alliance law, outside of Alliance territory, a fleet commander has authority over civilians who work for the government or anyone contracted to the government. You and General Charban are hereby assigned to act as primary liaisons with the freed prisoners. You two are their first points of contact, and you two will attempt to resolve any and all issues concerning them. I will be informed of any actions posing a threat to the fleet or violating regulations or Alliance law. Otherwise, the government wanted them, so the government can have them.”

He looked down the table again as Charban stared at Geary, aghast, and Rione reddened slightly but otherwise remained impassive. Keying his override, Geary spoke to all of the prisoners. “Thank you for your sacrifices and service to the Alliance. Governmental emissaries Rione and Charban will now be your primary points of contact on all matters. I look forward to your safe return to Alliance space.” By the living stars, do I look forward to that. “Thank you. To the honor of our ancestors.”

Cutting himself, Carabali, and Tulev out of the conference, so their presences disappeared as far as everyone else was concerned, Geary left the compartment.

He spent a while roaming the passageways, not wanting to be alone with his thoughts in his stateroom and too restless to sit anywhere. Stopping to talk with some sailors as they worked was comfortingly familiar, as if the century he had lost had never been. The equipment might be different, but sailors were always sailors.

Tanya ran him down at one point, walking beside him silently for a while before speaking. “Giving them to the emissaries was brilliant, but it’s not really a solution, you know.”

“I know. Some of them could still make major trouble.”

“Your grip on the fleet is much, much stronger than it was when Falco made his moves. Plus, you’ve been formally appointed to command instead of being an acting commander. And as far as we know, none of the current ship captains are working against you.”

“As far as we know,” Geary agreed.

He had no chance to say more as Rione appeared, coming down the same passageway with a clear intent to intercept them.

Rione came right up to them and stopped in their path. “Admiral, I need to speak with you.”

“You and General Charban can sort out how to—”

“It’s not about that.” She took a deep breath, seeming to fumble for words for a moment, something unusual enough that Desjani’s frown took on a different cast. “My—Commander Benan. He has been told . . . about events concerning you and me . . . in the past.”

From somewhere in Geary’s mind one question arose. “Are you in danger?”

“No! Not me.”

“Not you.” That left one other person.

But Rione shook her head. “I don’t think he would—”

Hearing a sudden hiss of breath from Desjani, Geary looked up to see Commander Benan walking steadily toward him.

NINE

DESJANI took a step forward, putting herself between Benan and both Geary and Rione. “Is there a problem, Commander?”

“I must speak with . . . the admiral.” Paol Benan’s face was deathly pale, his voice rough. “There is a matter of honor between us. I must—”

Desjani broke in, her voice sharp, at command tone and volume. “Commander Benan, are you aware of fleet regulations?”

Those fevered eyes turned on her. “I do not need to be lectured on regulations by—”

“Then you know what will happen if you continue on your current course,” Desjani said, her tone growing colder. “I will not have such a breach of discipline aboard my ship.”

“Aboard your ship? After what you and he did? You disgraced your position and should have been relieved of command and called to account for—” Other members of the crew had halted to watch the scene, and now a low growl arose from them, menacing enough to draw Paol Benan’s attention and choke off his words.

A chief petty officer stepped forward, speaking in a firm voice. “Sir, if there had been any grounds to question the honor of our captain, we would have been aware of it. She and the admiral never violated their duties or responsibilities.”

“Their honor is not stained,” an ensign added.

Whatever Benan might have replied was cut off by Victoria Rione, who pushed past Desjani to stare at him, then in a low, furious voice spoke to her husband. “We will talk. In private. Now.”

A flush spread across Benan’s pallor. “Anything you have to say—”

“If you still care about me at all, you will not proclaim in public anything regarding my honor or my actions,” Rione said in a voice that seemed to physically force Benan back.

That got through to him. Benan swallowed, then nodded, suddenly subdued. “I’m . . . I’m sorry, Vic.”

“Come with me. Please.” Rione faced not Geary, but Desjani. “If you will excuse us, Captain. My . . . thanks,” she got out in a strangled voice, then spun and led her husband away.

Desjani watched them go, then focused on her crew members, who were standing about, uncertain. “Thank you.”

They nodded or saluted or smiled and moved on as Desjani beckoned to Geary. “Let’s keep moving. That was close.”

“What was close? What was Benan doing that you interrupted?”

She stopped in midstep to stare at him. “You really don’t know what he was doing?” Desjani asked. “He was about to challenge you to an honor duel.”

Geary wasn’t sure that he had heard right. “A what?”

“An honor duel. To the death, usually.” They reached her stateroom, and she gestured him inside. “Hopefully, you can spend five minutes in here without anyone assuming we’re acting like rabbits in heat.” Desjani flopped down on a chair in an attitude very different from her usual rigid posture, her face troubled. “Honor duels started, I don’t know, thirty years ago maybe. Fleet officers calling each other out on matters of honor. We couldn’t beat the enemy so we started eating ourselves alive.” Her gaze locked on his eyes. “Matters of honor, like accusations of unfaithfulness.”

“That happened in the fleet?” Geary demanded.

“You know what we’re like even now! Honor is all that matters, displays of courage are all that matter.” Desjani made a disgusted face. “Challenged officers couldn’t back down without being accused of cowardice. We didn’t have enough officers as it was, and those we did have were killing each other in a frenzy of misguided zeal. Finally, fleet stepped in with very harsh regulations mandating serious penalties for anyone making a challenge. It took a little while to stick, and more than a few firing squads; but by the time I entered the fleet, honor duels were just stories told by the few who were still alive from those days. But the regulations are still on the books. We had to memorize them in officer training. If that idiot had finished stating his challenge to you, I would have been forced to have him arrested and locked in the brig, pending court-martial upon our return.” She gave him a speculative look. “Unless you decided on a summary execution in the field, which is permitted under the regulations.”

Geary looked around. He couldn’t remember ever being in her stateroom before. Choosing a seat, he sat down facing her. “That’s not funny.”

“I didn’t think it was. He almost challenged me as well, or didn’t you notice?”

He stared at her. “That bit when he began to say something about how you should have been relieved of command?”

“Yeah. That bit,” Desjani spat out.

“Your crew defended your honor,” Geary pointed out.

“That’s because they don’t know how dishonorable my feelings were,” she said, bitterness growing in her words. “You could have had me for the asking. You knew it then, and if you’re honest with yourself, you’ll admit to that. Don’t pretend I’m this model of honor when I would have done anything you asked of me even though you were my superior officer.”

“You didn’t—Tanya, you believed I had a vital mission to carry out. Even our harshest critics could never point to anything you did—”

“I am my harshest critic, Admiral Geary!” She glowered at him. “Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

“I suppose I should have.”

Desjani stared into one corner of the room for a while, then shook her head. “I could have been her. You know I had relationships before you. It’s possible that one of them could have resulted in marriage, and at least one of the officers I could have married was captured by the Syndics. I could have spent years and years burnishing the memory of him and of our relationship, then found out when he was liberated just how much difference there was between those dreams and the reality of who he had been and who he now was. And be forced to explain and live with whatever I’d done while he was captive for what we all thought would be the rest of his life.”

He lowered his head, seeing the emotions in her and not wanting to see them. “You wouldn’t have—”

“I could have. You know that. Don’t patronize me. Only chance kept me from living what she’s stuck with right now.”

He looked up, fixing a baffled gaze on her. “That’s why you stepped between her and Benan? You wanted to protect her because you feel sorry for her?”

“I am the commanding officer of this ship! I will not tolerate breaches of discipline!” Desjani glared at him again. “That is why I intervened. Because it was my responsibility. Understand?”

He eyed her, knowing that this was a subject that Desjani would never discuss without holding a lot back. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Dammit, Jack! Stop pushing me!”

He had never liked the Black Jack nickname, had been horrified to discover that the Alliance government had made it part of him while building him up as the greatest hero the Alliance had ever known, but Desjani had taken to on rare occasions calling him just Jack as a personal nickname, and he had found he liked that. But for her to say it now spoke to how upset she was. “All right. I really am sorry. How long are you going to beat yourself up about your feelings that developed when I was your superior officer?”

She flipped one hand toward him. “The rest of this life. Part of the next one, probably. I’m sure by the life after that I’ll have plenty of other sins to occupy my sense of guilt.”

“So what do I do if Commander Benan tries to challenge me again?”

“I’d have the bastard shot, but that’s just me.” She frowned down at the deck. “Sorry. I know you’re asking for advice. Assuming that the harpy he’s married to hasn’t already gelded him over this, you should just shut him up. Put a fist in his gut if you have to. Keep him from finishing his challenge. Otherwise, you’ll face some ugly choices.”

“All right.” He stood up, knowing that eyes outside would be on her closed door. “Thank you again for ensuring that no incidents occurred on your ship.”

She gave him a suspicious look. “You’re welcome.”

He started to go, then paused, looking at a plaque on the bulkhead next to the entrance where Desjani would see it whenever she left her stateroom. Names were listed there, alongside dates and different stars. The long list had obviously been added to over the years. The earliest names were those of junior officers, the ranks increasing in the later years. “Who are these people?”

“Friends.”

He spotted the last name on the list. “Captain Jaylen Cresida.”

“Absent friends,” Desjani said.

He looked back at her. She had her eyes on the plaque, avoiding meeting his. “May the living stars shine on their memory,” Geary said, then left, closing the hatch gently behind him.

A very restless night, which finally found him walking the passageways again. That required some good acting, to be seen roaming the passageways in the middle of the night yet not appear nervous or worried to the crew members who worked that shift. What the hell am I going to do about Jane Geary? Tanya’s right. As much as I’ve managed to make this fleet more professional, the fact is they still place a priority on the attack, on being bold, getting to the enemy fast and fighting it out. And while Jane disobeyed orders, she did so for a daring attack that took out an enemy threat. In terms of getting the job done and protecting our troops on the ground while also minimizing the chances of Syndic civilian casualties, she did everything right.