Relentless

NINE

As Duellos had guessed, Badaya seemed very pleased to be summoned to a conference featuring himself, Geary, Duellos, and Desjani. “You’re getting Inspire, Duellos? Excellent. Too bad you’ll have to share Inspire with Kila’s remains for a little while longer.”

“I thought we’d dispose of Kila’s remains here,” Geary commented. “Why wait until Atalia?”

Badaya gave Geary a surprised look. “You’re not familiar with fleet regulations regarding the disposition of the bodies of traitors?”

“No. I assumed Kila would have an unceremonious burial in space.”

“She doesn’t deserve an honorable burial,” Desjani interrupted.

“More to the point,” Badaya said, “regulations deny that option for Kila. They state that the remains of traitors are to be disposed of in jump space. No exceptions, no alternatives.”

Geary stared at him, then at Desjani and Duellos, both of whom nodded back solemnly. “I’ll admit I’m surprised. That’s the harshest possible treatment, consigning someone to jump space for eternity. How did a measure that extreme get approved?”

Duellos ran one hand across the table before him, speaking with unusual somberness. “The answer to that lies in some very unpleasant history that you had the good fortune to sleep through, Captain Geary. About fifty years ago, wasn’t it?” Desjani and Badaya nodded. “I’ll spare you the details, but suffice to say that if a harsher punishment had been possible, it would have been approved.”

“Then you’re saying I’m probably the only person in this fleet who’d be surprised to learn about consigning the bodies of traitors to jump space?”

“Most likely.”

Geary sat down, looking at his hands clasped on his knees before him. “I guess this is one of those places where I’m old-fashioned. I fully accept that we have the right to judge people like Kila and impose our punishments upon them, but burying her remains in jump space… isn’t that sort of eternal punishment supposed to be the province of powers greater than us?”

After a moment, Desjani answered. “I’m not an expert at such things, but the burial in jump space is a symbolic gesture by humanity. It’s not the last word because we don’t get the last word. Just because we can’t find something lost in jump space doesn’t mean the living stars can’t do so. If they want her, they’ll get her.”

“You don’t see it as eternal?” Geary asked, genuinely surprised by Desjani’s reasoning but unable to think of an argument against it.

“Nothing humans do is eternal. Nothing we do binds the decisions of powers greater than us. The final judgment always rests with them.” Desjani gestured outward. “I know what fate I think Kila deserves, but in the end it’s not my call, or yours. The gesture of burial in jump space expresses our feelings about her crime, and that is as far as it goes, speaking in terms of eternity.”

“I see.” He thought of the dead on Lorica, sailors struck down without warning by someone they trusted to fight alongside them. He thought of the crews of Dauntless and Illustrious and Furious, all of whom would have died if the first worm planted by Kila hadn’t been discovered. “All right. I understand the appropriateness of the gesture. Kila’s remains will be consigned to jump space on the way to Atalia.”

Duellos made a face. “They’ll be disturbing the sleep in any number of the crew until then, I have no doubt.”

“Are you willing to carry out the punishment, or would you prefer I ask some other captain to volunteer?”

Geary asked Duellos.

He spent a few moments thinking, his eyes turned aside, then nodded. “If not me, then who? I won’t curse her as her body leaves. I’ll regret what she could have been.”

Badaya laughed harshly. “You’re a better man than I am, then. I know courtesy bids us not to speak ill of the dead, but that rule is going to be sorely tried when it comes to Kila.”

This time Geary nodded. “I understand. I’m not exactly thrilled with her myself. Now, what about Caligo? I appreciate you taking him aboard Illustrious. Is he cooperating as he promised?”

The unforgiving humor vanished, Badaya’s face now reflecting distaste. “Cooperating? He’s babbling. In my opinion, Caligo is saying anything he thinks we want to hear, and he’s going to keep talking as long as he thinks it will help keep him alive. The interrogation gear is having a lot of trouble evaluating him because Caligo seems to have the ability to convince himself that whatever he’s saying at the moment is true.”

Duellos shook his head. “Meaning we can’t trust it?”

“No, not in my opinion. There may be truth in his statements, maybe a lot of truth, but we need to double-check everything he’s saying and find out if there’s any proof to support it.”

Geary drummed his fingers on the table. “How long will that take?”

“I don’t know.” Badaya made a motion as if he wanted to slap Caligo right then and there. “But I doubt we can check it all out before we return to Alliance space. I don’t say that lightly. I want the little bastard dead. But if we execute him before we investigate some of his allegations, it could permanently tar individuals who might be innocent. It’s bad enough what he and Kila did. Compounding the damage with injustice would make us their accomplices. In my opinion.”

“I agree,” Duellos said. “We don’t always see eye to eye, Captain Badaya, but I believe you’re absolutely right about that.”

“You should order psych evals of Caligo, too,” Desjani insisted. “You can do that, Captain Geary, whether Caligo approves or not.”

Badaya scowled at her. “Are you trying to give Caligo a medical defense against his actions?”

“No,” Desjani replied coldly. “We’ve all seen him. That defense wouldn’t fly. But I think it might be important to try to understand how anyone could go so far off course. Destroying Alliance warships and killing their crews. There are plenty of ambitious officers in the fleet, and some who would do almost anything to earn promotion and authority, but Caligo was willing to do anything. If something in particular led him to make such decisions, something beyond the desire for power, I think it’s worth finding out.”

“Hmmm.” Badaya shrugged as if he found the topic distasteful. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the answer to that is in what Kila offered him. And I’m not just speaking of the power of being her figurehead. There’s plenty of stories about Kila, some of them extremely lurid. More than one man has been led astray from duty and honor by his appetites.” He made an apologetic gesture to Desjani. “Needless to say, no one here would fall into Kila’s category.”

Desjani, her face like stone, acted as if she hadn’t heard a word Badaya said, but her eyes briefly accused Duellos, who gave a contrite look back.

Captain Duellos sighed into the awkward silence. “I wish that the Syndics had spared us the trouble of finding her out. When I think of how many battles Kila survived, and for what? To betray those who guarded her flanks. Now I feel stained by her dishonor, shamed that any officer could do such a thing.”

“Her actions don’t reflect on you,” Geary replied. “Or on anyone but her.”

“So you say, and I appreciate it.” Duellos gazed soberly into the distance. “I need to have a talk with my ancestors.”

“That’s never a bad idea,” Badaya agreed.

Geary gestured toward Desjani and Duellos. “All right. I need to have a private talk with Captain Badaya now. Would you two mind?”

Duellos and Desjani left, both playing their roles well, as if both were part of the sort of conspiracy that Badaya expected.

Geary stood up, feeling a bit nervous. Rione had been right when she accused him of being a lousy liar, but he had to act out this role as well as he could. He walked back and forth for a moment to work out his nerves, then faced Badaya. “Captain, I wanted to talk with you regarding what actions should be taken when the fleet returns to Alliance space.”

“Of course.” Badaya stood up as well, his tension betraying eagerness. “You’re ready to agree? The Alliance needs you.”

Geary didn’t look at him, bowing his head for a moment. “Captain Badaya, I hope you appreciate how very difficult even speaking of such a thing is for me. I come from a time when the idea of the fleet’s acting against the government would have been unthinkable.”

Captain Badaya grimaced, then shook his head, the movement slow and ponderous as if a heavy weight were resting on it. “Don’t think I’ve made the offer lightly, Captain Geary. Not me, and not any other officer. It’s not an easy thing to decide, even for those of us who’ve endured the consequences of our government’s incompetence and corruption.”

“I appreciate that.” Geary sat down again and gestured for Badaya to do the same. “I’m just having trouble grasping why you all came to the decision you reached.”

“Why?” Badaya sat heavily, hunched over a bit and frowning toward his hands where they rested between his knees. “Sometimes the options all seem worse. You know that. We’ve all taken an oath to the Alliance, but what does defending the Alliance mean? Does it mean letting politicians continue to let their greed and ambition destroy the Alliance?”

“There’s more than one way to destroy the Alliance,” Geary stated carefully. Badaya’s answering grin was tight and humorless. “True. You haven’t experienced it, though. Not enough backing when it matters, too much interference in command decisions, waste, profiteering, starving us of what we need to win, then blaming us when it goes to hell.” He looked at Geary, his gaze measuring. “They used you against us, you know. The legend of the great Black Jack Geary, who’d never go against the political leadership, never question their demands however unreasonable, never fail to salute and charge off to die. That’s one of the biggest reasons a lot of us were worried about you.”

He hadn’t seen things in that light before, but it made sense that officers would have distrusted him on those grounds, if they thought he was a puppet of politicians they distrusted in turn. “What made you decide you could trust me? I haven’t spoken against the government.”

“No, but you demonstrated very clearly your loyalty to your fellow officers and the fleet,” Badaya pointed out. “You won battles and kept our losses down. You’re a fighter, and only a blind fool couldn’t see how dedicated you were to those who fought alongside you.” The other captain looked down again, grimacing. “Honor says we should abide by our oath to the Alliance, but what does that mean? Does it mean letting our fellows die?”

“If an officer doesn’t want to execute orders—” Geary began.

“He or she can resign,” Badaya finished. “Certainly. Walk away and leave his or her fellows to fight on without them, to fight and die following orders one personally thinks are foolish. Where’s the honor in that? We can’t leave our comrades in arms. Yet we can’t let them keep dying for nothing, and we can’t let the Alliance be destroyed by politicians who care nothing for those who die. You see? It’s a hard road, yet it leads to one option, to honor our oaths to the Alliance and our loyalty to our comrades by backing a leader who will do what’s right.”

Geary shook his own head. “What makes you so certain that I’ll know what’s right?”

“I told you. I’ve watched you. So has everyone else. Why do you think Kila and Caligo shifted from trying to discredit you to trying to kill you? Because they knew that after enough experience with you, this fleet wouldn’t allow you to be deposed.” Badaya laughed. “By my ancestors, if I tried to act against you now, my own crew would revolt. I’m not saying you couldn’t lose the loyalty you’ve acquired, but it would take some serious misjudgments, and as long as you listen to Tanya Desjani, you won’t have to worry about that.”

He hadn’t wanted Tanya brought up again even in passing. Time to get the subject back on track.

“Captain Badaya,” Geary said slowly, “I’ve been seriously considering options once we reach Alliance space, and something disquieting has occurred to me.” Badaya gave him a keen look but remained silent. Geary activated the star display on the table between them, setting it to display a vast reach of the Alliance and Syndic space as well. “It seems so easy, so certain. We return, I assume whatever authority is needed, and the politicians are put in their proper place.” Badaya nodded. “And yet I found that I kept thinking about the attack this fleet launched on the Syndic home star system.”

Badaya frowned this time. “I don’t understand the connection.”

Leaning closer to the star display, Geary indicated the representation of the Syndic home star system.

“Apparently a sure thing, but it was a trap. Why did I keep thinking of that when I thought about our return to Alliance space? I haven’t been sure, but I think I’m beginning to understand what’s bothering me.”

“If you’re thinking they’re similar,” Badaya objected, “they aren’t. This fleet outguns anything in Alliance space by a wide margin. The politicians couldn’t defeat it, even if they were insane enough to order it attacked.”

“It’s not that,” Geary said as he carefully chose his words to match those he’d gone over with Desjani and Duellos. “I think that it’s a question of not playing by the rules our enemies want us to follow.”

Badaya cocked his head, regarding Geary. “Meaning? You’ve been adamant about following rules, about abiding by the policies and beliefs of our ancestors.”

“Yes. Our rules.” Geary walked to the display and pointed randomly at Syndic star systems. “The Syndics want us to play by their rules. Things like bombarding civilians and killing prisoners. Because if we do that, it’s to the Syndic leaders’ advantage. Their own populace won’t revolt against their leaders as long as they’re scared of us.”

Badaya nodded. “I’ve seen the intelligence reports of what we’ve learned from being deep inside Syndic space. By matching Syndic atrocities, we worked against ourselves. I won’t deny that. What does that have to do with our return to Alliance space?”

“I’m wondering if our opponents in Alliance space want me to seize power.”

Badaya leaned back, his eyes narrowing in thought as he gazed at Geary. “Why would they want that?

They don’t even know you are with this fleet yet.”

“They don’t necessarily want me,” Geary explained, “but they must have known about Admiral Bloch and his ambitions.”

“I didn’t know you were aware of Bloch’s goals. You’ve obviously done your homework on this.”

Badaya rubbed his chin, looking away from Geary as he thought. “He thought winning at the Syndic home star system would give him the stature to try to seize power. Whether he could have actually had the backing within the fleet to do that is another question, but it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility. I believe our political leaders are corrupt, but I don’t think all of them are stupid, so some of them must have known of Bloch’s ambitions and the potential for him to achieve them. Yet they let Bloch lead this fleet anyway. I hadn’t put that together before.” He centered his gaze on Geary again. “Why?”

Geary tapped the table lightly to emphasize his words. “I’ve been doing some research. Historically, corruption is a problem in every form of government, but it’s far worse in dictatorships than it is in elected governments. That’s because dictatorships don’t have formal limits on the powers of officials and don’t have a free press or open government that exposes corruption.”

Badaya frowned again. “You wouldn’t be a dictator.”

“I wouldn’t be elected,” Geary pointed out. “No matter my intentions, I’d have to rule as a dictator. Now, what form of government would corrupt politicians favor the most?”

The frown deepened. “They want you to take over so they can operate their corruption freely? Why would they think you or even Admiral Bloch would allow that?”

“Because I’m not a politician.” Geary nodded toward the representation of Alliance space. “Whatever Bloch thought of his political skills, I think he was probably outclassed by those who have politics as a profession. A military officer in power could be manipulated by corrupt politicians, manipulated in ways that would enhance the power and the wealth of those politicians far more than could be managed in an open, democratic system.”

Badaya sat silent for a long time, then nodded as well. “I see your point. A fleet officer wouldn’t know how to play their games any more than the politicians could command a fleet action. The politicians want a puppet they could pull the strings on and hide behind, just like Kila wanted to use Caligo. Is that what helped you see this? It wouldn’t matter who the officer was who seized power. Hell, the politicians would probably be thrilled that it was you because of what they could get away with by claiming it was what Black Jack wanted.” He nodded again. “Playing by their rules. I see what you mean. They want a fleet officer to try being a politician because they can run rings around us with words that don’t mean what they seem to mean. But what do we do? Just let them keep running the Alliance into the ground?”

“There’s a middle ground.” He didn’t like saying this, let alone admitting it. But what he was about to say was true. “I have the potential to take over. I could really overthrow the government.” The words felt sour in Geary’s mouth as he spoke of something contrary to his oath and his beliefs. “The politicians know that. The decent ones, the ones who can be brought around, will know they have to listen to me.”

Badaya smiled. “They’ll be afraid not to do as you say, afraid enough for you to get things done. And the corrupt ones will cooperate with you because they’ll want to curry your favor for when you do take over.” He held up one hand, palm out, as Geary started to speak. “I understand you don’t want to give them that opportunity. But if they’re anything like we believe, it won’t even occur to them that you could resist the temptation.”

He hadn’t thought of that, but Badaya’s suggestion made sense. Geary nodded. “I remain a threat, someone they have to listen to, yet the strengths of the Alliance government, of our democratic principles and individual rights, also remain intact.”

“Clever.” Badaya’s smile grew. “You outthought them, didn’t you? Just like you’ve outthought the Syndics. I made the same mistake a lot of other people did, assuming that the politicians weren’t just as capable of manipulating us as they were of enriching themselves. Is that why you had that affair with Rione? To learn all you could about them?”

It took Geary a moment to calm himself enough to trust his response. Badaya was honorable enough by today’s standards, and a decent officer, but to call him undiplomatic was an understatement. “I learned a number of important things from Co-President Rione,” he finally said, a true statement Badaya could interpret any way he wanted. “But,” he added while fixing Badaya with a sharp look, “Rione can be trusted.”

“You’d know,” Badaya agreed with an amused expression. “After all, you have seen parts of her none of the rest of us have.” He chuckled at the clumsy joke while Geary hoped he wasn’t flushing with discomfort. “Now, I take it you want your supporters in the fleet to know what you intend?”

“That’s right.” Geary kept his voice level. “It’s important that everyone understand what is going on.” Or rather, what he wanted them to think was going on. I will not dictate to my political leadership. I just pray the military and political superiors I deal with will listen to me or at least not obviously dismiss me. “The last thing we want is for my hand to be forced by officers who think they’re doing me or the Alliance a favor but will actually be playing into the hands of the most corrupt politicians.”

“I think I can guarantee you that won’t happen now.” Badaya smiled admiringly as he stood up. “All of those times you denied wanting enough power to change things you were studying the situation and planning options, weren’t you? I should have guessed. A good commander doesn’t play by the enemy’s rules. I’m going to remember that.”

Geary slumped down after Badaya’s image vanished, rubbing his eyes with one hand and feeling dishonest, manipulative, and even a bit dishonorable. He hadn’t directly lied to Badaya, but he’d certainly misled the man as thoroughly as any politician could have done.

After a while he called Rione to his stateroom. She came in, evaluated his attitude, then smiled approvingly. “You did it. Badaya bought it?”

“Yes. I think so.”

“Good. And you’re unhappy.”

“I don’t like lying to people,” Geary told her coldly. “Maybe that’s why I’m so bad at it. I don’t like knowing I can be good enough at it to deceive even someone like Badaya.”

Rione walked slowly to one side. “Lying? What lie did you tell?”

“You know perfectly well—”

“What I know, Captain Geary, is that what you told Badaya is, as near as we can determine, truthful. Now try to get this through your thick head. Captain Badaya didn’t ‘buy’ anything. Do you believe that a military dictatorship would be a disaster for the Alliance? Yes? Then what did you lie about? I admit comparing it to the Syndic ambush hadn’t occurred to me, but once you and your captain came up with that, I thought it was brilliant.”

He set his jaw and glared at Rione. “Stop calling her that. Nobody owns Desjani, especially not me.”

“Fine, if you care to believe that.” Rione matched his glare. “You need to remember that you’re doing nothing for personal gain. You don’t want wealth or power. So why the hell should you feel guilty about forestalling a military coup against the government of the Alliance?”

“Because no Alliance officer should have even thought of such a thing!” Geary yelled, the shame and anger bursting from him. “I never should have received such an offer and when I did my immediate refusal should have been the end of it!”

Rione watched him for a moment, then looked away herself, her face shadowed by emotion. “We’re not the people our ancestors were, John Geary. We’ll always let you down when you compare us to those you knew a century ago.”

Her unexpected and very unusual candor extinguished Geary’s rage. “It’s not your fault that you were all born into a war that was already ancient. It’s not your fault that you inherited the pain and distortions caused by decades of war. I can’t pretend that I’m better than you because I was spared that.”

“But you are better than us,” Rione insisted with bitterness in her voice. “You’re what we should have been, what our parents and our grandparents should have held on to, the belief that ideals must be honored. Do you think I can’t see that? If we had done our jobs as the situation demanded of us, then none of this would have happened. And, yes, I very much include the Alliance’s political leadership in that.”

“You inherited the war,” Geary repeated. “I can’t pretend to understand everything that happened in the last century, but there seems plenty of blame to go around and more than a few things that nobody could have helped.”

“I don’t believe in making excuses for failures, Captain Geary. Not mine and not anyone else’s. Just remember that the people you trust approve of what you did just now. If you don’t trust yourself, trust them.” She turned without another word and left.

SIX hours to the jump for Atalia. As much as Geary feared finding the Syndic reserve flotilla there, he also had a growing restlessness, a desire to see this to the end. One way or the other, the Alliance fleet’s long retreat would be over soon.

“Captain Geary.” Colonel Carabali’s expression revealed nothing. “Request permission for a private meeting prior to the jump for Atalia.”

“Of course, Colonel. I have no scheduled commitments for a couple of hours, so we can have that meeting whenever you’re ready.”

“Now would be fine with me, sir.”

“Okay.” Geary authorized Carabali’s image to appear in his stateroom, then waved her virtual presence to a seat. The colonel walked over to it and sat, her back straight, rigidly formal. “What’s this meeting about?”

“Consider it a reconnaissance mission, sir.” Colonel Carabali gave Geary a penetrating look. “What do you intend doing when this fleet reaches Alliance space, Captain Geary? I’ve heard various reports and wish to know the truth for certain.”

The loyalty of the Marines to the Alliance was legendary, but given all of the other changes he’d seen, Geary had been wondering for some time how the Marines now felt about political authorities in the Alliance and how they felt about the offers to Geary to become a dictator when the fleet made it back to Alliance space. But he’d never come up with a way to ask those questions without making it appear that he was sounding out the Marines for support, which was the last thing he wanted. Now Geary sat down opposite the colonel, holding his eyes on hers. “I intend following whatever orders are given to me. I will have suggestions and a proposal for an operation, but I have no way of knowing how those will be taken. Is that what you need to know?”

“For the most part.” Carabali studied Geary for a moment. “I won’t insult your intelligence by pretending both of us don’t know that you’re not just any fleet officer. You can choose to obey whatever orders are given you, but you do have other options.”

“And you want to know if I intend exercising those options?”

Carabali nodded, her face still impassive.

Geary shook his head. “No, Colonel, I do not intend exercising any options that would conflict with my oath to the Alliance. Is that clear enough?”

“From you, yes.” Carabali paused again. “There are some close-hold messages being passed around the fleet that indicate you intend doing more than just following orders.”

“People hear what they want to hear, Colonel. As long as it keeps them from actions that would be harmful to the Alliance, I’m okay with that.”

“‘Harmful to the Alliance’ meaning?” Carabali pressed.

Geary sat back and shook his head. “The Alliance’s greatest strength has never been its star systems or population or fleet. It’s the principles we believe in and practice. I don’t think the Syndics could ever hurt us as badly as we could hurt ourselves. I won’t stage a coup, Colonel, and I’ll do everything I can to keep one from being staged in my name.” He didn’t fear word of that getting back to any of his most misguided supporters. It was what he’d told Badaya, after all.

She studied him, then nodded. “Will you attempt to remain in command of this fleet?”

“Yes.”

“Even though you only took command in the Syndic home star system because you had to do so?”

“Yes.” Geary let a small smile show. “I didn’t know it was that obvious.”

“It wasn’t.” Carabali let her own tiny smile flicker on and off again. “I’m used to trying to figure out what’s beneath the surface of fleet officers. The lives of my Marines often depend on that.” Her expression went wooden once more. “Do you think you can end this war?”

He started to reply, then shot Carabali a questioning look. “You said ‘end,’ not ‘win.’ ”

“I asked the question I meant to ask, sir.”

“I need to be certain of that.” Geary leaned forward slightly, searching her expression but seeing nothing but the professional mask. “There’s a lot I’m still learning about what this war has done, about how the fleet and the Alliance feel about it.”

Carabali raised one hand to her chin and rubbed it for a moment as if contemplating the question. “I’ll fight as long as I have to fight to protect the Alliance. Beyond that… I’m tired of making decisions about who lives and who dies, Captain Geary. A little of that goes a long way.”

“I know. Believe me.”

“Yes, you do, but not in the same manner. The fleet offers certain luxuries that ground fighting doesn’t, and your own personal history is different from ours. You grew up at peace, and you spent your fleet career at peace until Grendel.” Carabali looked away, her eyes seeming to focus on something far away.

“May I tell you some history? There was a lieutenant who’d grown up with the war and joined to follow in the footsteps of her grandmother and her father. On one of her first ground-combat missions she and her Marine platoon were cut off from the rest of their unit. The atmosphere around them was toxic with Syndic defensive chem agents. The power on their battle armor was running low, and if it went too low for life support, the lieutenant and her platoon would die.”

Geary watched the colonel’s face, which still revealed little. “An ugly situation no matter how experienced an officer.”

“Yes. I didn’t mention that the lieutenant’s platoon had captured a breached Syndic bunker along with a number of Syndic self-defense-force personnel. The Syndics all had suits with plenty of power reserves, and the lieutenant’s leading noncommissioned officer informed her that it would be possible to jury-rig a means of draining the Syndic suits to recharge our own power cells.”

The colonel paused again while Geary put himself there and tried not to shudder. “But if the Syndic suits were drained, the prisoners would die.”

“Or they’d have to be killed to keep them from attacking the Marines once they realized they were going to die,” Carabali agreed. “The lieutenant knew there was only one decision possible, but she also knew it would be a decision that would haunt her forever.”

“What did the lieutenant do?”

“The lieutenant hesitated,” Carabali stated in a voice as collected as if she were providing a routine report, “and her leading noncommissioned officer, as ruthless a bastard as any sergeant has ever been, suggested that the lieutenant leave the bunker for a little while to see if she could reestablish communications with the rest of the Alliance forces from the outside. The lieutenant grasped at the suggestion, knowing what she was really agreeing to, and left the bunker, standing outside until the sergeant appeared with enough charged power cells to keep her battle armor going. The entire platoon, it seemed, had enough power to try to regain Alliance lines. The lieutenant led the way, and she and her platoon made it back that evening. No one asked how the platoon’s power supplies had held out so long. The lieutenant received a medal for saving her entire platoon under such difficult circumstances.”

Without even thinking, Geary’s eyes went to the left breast of Carabali’s uniform, searching for the combat-award ribbon that might mark the event.

But the colonel kept speaking, her voice flat. “The lieutenant never wears that medal or its ribbon.”

“Did the lieutenant ever go back into the bunker?”

“The lieutenant didn’t have to. The lieutenant knew what was inside.” Carabali nodded toward the star display. “Somewhere, right now, another Alliance lieutenant is facing that same kind of decision, Captain Geary. Somewhere, a damned Syndic officer is making a similar decision, because it’s the only decision to be made. Too many of those decisions have already been made.”

“I understand.”

“What decision will you make, sir?” Carabali looked back at him. “Can you end this war on acceptable terms?”

“I don’t know.” It was Geary’s turn to point to the stars. “What I propose depends in part on what happens between here and Alliance space, but at this point… Colonel, I’ll have to ask that you not repeat this outside this meeting.”

“Of course, sir.”

“At this point it appears I may have to propose seriously hazarding this fleet again, right after I get it to safety. I’m not sure how that will sit with the leaders of the Alliance, or with the personnel in this fleet for that matter.”

Carabali frowned slightly. “If that proposal were made by another officer, it wouldn’t sit well. But you have built up a tremendous reserve of trust, sir.”

“Even though we’ve lost a lot of ships?”

“Your concept of a lot still differs from that of people who have grown up in this war, sir.” Carabali reached one finger up to touch her rank insignia. “These were my grandmother’s, and then my father’s. Both of them died in combat before they were able personally to hand down these insignia to one of their children. I had hoped to break that family curse, but, Captain Geary,” the colonel stated with her eyes locked on his, “if my death in combat were to ensure my children didn’t have to wear these because the war had ended in a way the people of the Alliance could live with, then I would willingly make that sacrifice. That’s the crux of the matter here, sir. We’ve been willing to die for a long time, but that willingness has been colored by despair that our sacrifices will accomplish little. We trust you to make our deaths count, if it comes to that.”

Geary nodded, feeling a heaviness filling him. “I promise to do my best.”

“You always have, sir. And if you hold to your promise not to violate your oath to the Alliance, the Marines in this fleet will do their best by you as well.”

This time Geary frowned, thinking through the words. “That’s an uncharacteristically ambiguous statement, Colonel.”

“Then I’ll state clearly that if you give orders to act against the Alliance government, I and my officers will do all we can to ensure the Marines do not obey such orders.”

“That won’t be a problem because I won’t give such orders.”

“Then we understand each other.” Carabali looked away for a moment, her eyes hooded in thought. “But if we receive orders to arrest you… that’s when it gets hard. It should be simple. Obey lawful orders. But it won’t be if you haven’t violated your own oath. A long time ago a wise man said that everything in war is simple, but all of the simple things are complicated. Like this. Is it lawful to arrest an officer, one with an unblemished record, because of what he might do? Military and civilian lawyers could argue that point for a long time. As you said, the Alliance is about the principles we hold dear, and one of those has always been the rights of our people.”

“That’s true, Colonel.” Geary stood up. “I swear that I will do everything I can to avoid such a conflict between orders and principles. We’re on the same side and, frankly, I like it that way.”

“Me, too, sir.” Carabali rose as well. “You’re not bad for a space squid.”

“Thank you, Colonel. You’re not half-bad yourself.” Carabali flicked another smile, then came to attention and saluted. As she moved to break the connection, Geary spoke again. “Colonel. There’s no other decision that lieutenant could have made.”

Carabali nodded back to him. “The lieutenant has always known that, sir, but she’s also always hated the decision she had to make. By your leave, sir.” The Marine colonel saluted again, then her image vanished.

Geary sat down again slowly. He felt like he was juggling a hundred balls at once, and if he dropped one then the Alliance would shatter.

He went up to the bridge an hour before the jump for Atalia. The Alliance fleet was arranged into a battle formation consisting of a main body and a supporting formation to either side, ready in case the Syndic reserve flotilla was waiting to fight right outside the jump exit. Geary reviewed the fleet, reviewed its logistics status, wincing at the low levels of fuel cells and expendable weaponry, then called his ship captains. “Be ready for anything when we leave jump. If the Syndics are right there within range, all ships are to engage targets of opportunity with every available weapon. More likely they’ll be at least a short distance from the jump point, and we’ll be able to maneuver into a favorable position before attacking. We’ll see you at Atalia, and after that Varandal.”

“Fifteen minutes to jump,” the operations watch reported.

Rione came out of the observer’s seat and leaned on the back of Geary’s seat. “Should I bother asking why a fleet in this condition is planning on attacking at Atalia rather than running for the jump exit for Varandal?”

“Because the Syndics will surely be prepared for our trying to run past them,” Geary replied. “Make no mistake, if the opportunity permits I’m going to head for that jump point. But I don’t expect the Syndics to give us a free shot at it.”

“They won’t stop us,” Desjani stated calmly.

Rione eyed her for a moment before answering. “I believe you.” Then she returned to her seat while Desjani frowned, clearly trying to find some hidden meaning in the response and failing. Geary watched the seconds count down as the fleet approached the jump point, then he sent the order.

“All ships, jump for Atalia.”

In three and three-quarter days, they’d find out what waited for them at the last Syndic star system they had to cross on the way home.

JUMP space had plenty of negatives. There was the itching sensation, which grew worse the longer you were in jump space, a feeling most people described as feeling like your own skin didn’t fit right anymore. There was the growing sense of unseen presences lurking just out of sight. Always, no matter how short the journey, there was the endless gray nothing, a universe lit by no stars. There were the strange lights of jump space, which flared according to no known pattern and for no known reason. With no way having been discovered to explore jump space, the lights remained a mystery. Looking at them now, Geary couldn’t forget that legend held that his spirit had been one of those lights during all the long years his body rested frozen in survival sleep. However, jump space did have the singular virtue of being bland and unsurprising. Isolated within the strange confines of jump space, ships could barely communicate by the simplest of messages, and nothing could be seen of the normal universe. Compared to the sometimes unceasing events of normal space, Geary found himself at times treasuring the relative peace that isolation offered. But no one could stay in jump space forever. Sooner or later, the real universe would have to be faced.

“We’ll be arriving in Atalia in two hours.” Desjani stood before him in his stateroom, the star display between them. “It’ll be a tough fight.”

“I just hope that reserve flotilla is smaller than Lieutenant Iger estimated and that they’re not lined up in front of the jump exit to hit us all at once with everything they’ve got.” Geary stood up and activated the display, calling up an image of how his ships would look if anyone could actually see them all in jump space. Ranks of capital ships, flocks of cruisers and destroyers, the bulks of the surviving auxiliaries nestled near the center.

His fleet. He shouldn’t think that, but he did. He’d brought it this far, and the living stars willing, he’d take it all the way home. But what would happen then?

“What are you thinking?” Desjani asked.

“I’m wishing I didn’t have to do what I know I have to do.”

“Turn over command of the fleet at Varandal? I don’t think that’s going to happen, sir.”

“I’m just a captain. A very, very, very senior captain, but just a captain.”

“You’re Captain Geary. The Captain Geary. That’s different.”

He exhaled slowly. “But if I do retain command of the fleet…”

Desjani raised a questioning eyebrow. “You’ve figured out what to do next?”

“I’ve been thinking. There’s only one thing we can do next if we make it home. If we give the Syndics enough time, they’ll recover from the blows we’ve dealt them. We destroyed the Syndic shipyards at Sancere, but those were far from the only shipyards the Syndics have turning out warships. Every day brings them closer to replacing their losses. That means we’ll have to hit them again as soon as possible, when they’re off-balance, hit them as hard as we can.” He grimaced. “Their leaders, I mean. The foundation of their power, the fleet that allowed them to attack us and coerce their own people, will hopefully be gone for a while after Atalia. We can’t defeat the Syndics star system by star system because there’s just too damn many star systems, but there’ll never be a better time to lop off the heads of the Syndicate Worlds.”

Desjani smiled grimly. “We have to go back?” She reached over and tapped the controls, the images of the fleet’s ships being replaced with a representation of the stars in a very large area of space. One of those stars, distant from Varandal, glowed brighter than the others, highlighted by the display. “Back to the Syndic home star system. But this time it’ll be different.”

“Yeah. Once the fleet is resupplied, and we’ve replaced what losses we can.” He shrugged. “That’s what I’ll recommend. Even though it’s the last thing I want to do.”

She gave him a look that for an instant told him that Tanya knew full well what he wanted but that neither of them could follow that road yet. Then it was gone, and Captain Desjani was nodding to him. “Then we can deal with the aliens.”

“Then we can try to figure out how to deal with them. If they haven’t directly attacked us already. If we make it home. If I remain in command of the fleet. There’s a lot of uncertainties. It’s kind of crazy, isn’t it? We’ve narrowly escaped destruction time after time getting out of the trap the Syndics laid for this fleet, but I’m going to suggest we go back there.”

Desjani smiled again. “If your craziness is caused by something infectious, I hope you bite every admiral we encounter.”

He couldn’t help a laugh. “We’re getting a bit ahead of things. We’re still one jump and a Syndic reserve flotilla away from Alliance space.”

“Then, Captain Geary, let’s get ready to kick some Syndic butt so we can make that jump.”

“Sounds like a good idea, Captain Desjani. Let’s get up to the bridge.”

Two hours later he waited as the seconds ticked down toward the moment when the Alliance fleet would leave jump space. Waited to find out if his worst fears would come true, if volleys of missiles and grapeshot would slam into the Alliance fleet almost as soon as it appeared at Atalia. If that happened, a smaller-scale version of the ambush in the Syndic home system that had led to his gaining command of what was left of the Alliance fleet, he’d be lucky to get through the first moments with half of his ships still in one piece.

“Stand by for exit from jump space,” the operations watch-stander called.

“Weapons ready,” Desjani ordered. “Set them to fire on auto the instant they identify targets within their engagement envelopes.”

The same orders were being given on every ship in the fleet. Geary sat, tense, wondering if the next few seconds would hurl the Alliance fleet into its most desperate fight since they had left the Syndic home star system.

“Exiting jump space in five, four, three, two, one. Exiting now.” The stars reappeared. Dauntless yawed down and over as the fleet’s warships began a preplanned evasive maneuver. It took a moment for Geary to get his mind around what he was seeing as the fleet’s sensors rapidly updated the display before him.

The first thing that registered clearly was that no weapons were firing. Then he saw that there were no Syndic warships near the jump exit. He breathed a prayer of thanks, then pulled out the scale on his display to see where the enemy was within the star system.

Being a border system, Atalia had been the scene of many clashes between the Syndicate Worlds and the Alliance. Most of the wreckage from those clashes had been allowed to extend slowly through the empty spaces of the star system. The remains of Syndic and Alliance warships had been accumulating in this star system for almost a hundred years.

But scattered along a ragged arc stretching between the seventh planet of the Atalia Star System and the jump point for Varandal lay spreading fields of debris that were still fairly compact, some flocks of escape pods, and a small number of damaged Syndic warships. “The aftermath of a battle?” Geary asked.

“One that’s still going on,” Desjani corrected.