Relentless

SIX

The tracks of shuttles and bombardment merged, then diverged, the shuttles clawing for altitude and the rocks hurtling down the final distance to the surface. Geary heard the shuttle pilots yelling over their command circuit. “One of those damned things almost took off my ear!”

“Severe turbulence! Trying to maintain control!”

“We lost the main hatch!” That was shuttle two. “Make sure those Marines are strapped in and their armor is sealed! That’s all that’s going to be between them and vacuum!”

Beneath the fleeing shuttles, the entire central section of the former POW camp blew skyward in a single huge blast as the impacts of all of the bombardment rocks merged. Debris and shrapnel shot upward, chasing after the escaping shuttles as if the planet itself were reaching to grab them and pull the shuttles back to the surface.

Then another explosion burst out of the destruction on one side of the camp, an even more massive blast mushrooming toward the heavens.

“One of the Syndic nukes detonated,” the operations watch reported.

“Come on,” Desjani urged the shuttles in a whisper as they raced upward with shock waves and debris still in hot pursuit.

“We’re hit! Damage to starboard lift unit. Continuing on track, maximum velocity reduced twenty percent.”

“Climbing clear of danger zone.”

“Multiple strikes on our underside. Two penetrations. Shifting to backup on maneuvering controls.”

Geary could never be sure at which moment the crisis passed, the instant in which the three shuttles outran the death of the POW camp and the Syndic commandos within it. But at some point there was no longer any doubt.

“All shuttles clear. Colossus is closing on shuttle two for an emergency docking. Shuttles one and three proceeding as assigned to Spartan and Guardian.”

“Okay,” Desjani said, grinning. “It was my plan.”

“Right,” Geary agreed, almost laughing with relief as he triggered his command circuit. “Relentless and Reprisal, excellent shooting. Every ship performed with distinction, and every Marine and shuttle in this fleet went above and beyond the call of duty. As soon as the final shuttle is recovered, the fleet will proceed toward the jump point for Padronis.” He closed his eyes for a moment after finishing the transmission, breathing heavily. “And I thought fleet actions were tough.”

Far beneath the fleet, the only movements within the remnants of the former POW camp were caused by debris falling back to the surface and the mushroom cloud still rising on one side. Desjani was smiling.

“Those Syndics successfully carried out the suicide part of their mission, anyway.”

Geary thought of what those commandos could have done to his Marines, his shuttles, and the thousands of Alliance prisoners who had been liberated, and nodded in agreement. The next half hour felt like a major anticlimax as the shuttles found their assigned homes on different ships of the fleet. Far beneath the fleet, parts of Heradao’s surface writhed as forces loyal to rebel factions and Syndic central authority clashed, but none of them tried to target the Alliance ships. “Do we need to provide cover for those withdrawing Syndic guards and their families?” Geary asked.

“There’s no sign of pursuit, sir. It’s likely most people on that planet think the guards went up with the camp.”

“Good.” After all the frantic activity, Geary felt fidgety waiting for the time when he could order the fleet into motion. While he waited, a postponed question popped back into his head. He bent a puzzled look at Desjani. “Why the hell do the Marines call their deception devices Persian Donkeys?”

Desjani replied with her own baffled expression. “I’m sure there’s a reason. Lieutenant Casque, you don’t have anything to do at the moment. See if the database can explain it.”

“And who the hell named those things hupnums? It makes them sound cute.”

This time Desjani just spread her hands helplessly. “I’m sure it was a committee. What did they call hupnums in, uh, the past?”

Geary wondered just what phrase Desjani had hastily avoided using to describe his time a century ago.

“They called them PNWs. Portable Nuclear Weapons. Nice and simple.”

“But every nuclear weapon is portable,” Desjani objected. “Some may be carried by very large missiles or ships, but they’re still portable.”

He glared at her. “Did you ever work as an editor at your uncle’s literary agency?”

“A few times. What does that have to with anything?”

“Do you like the term hupnums, Captain Desjani?”

“No! In the fleet we usually call them NAMs.”

“NAMs?” Why couldn’t the future come with a glossary explaining common terms? Though come to think of it, he had heard sailors using the term a few times.

“Yes.” Desjani made an apologetic gesture. “Nuclear-Armed Marines. It’s shorthand among the sailors for something that’s a bad idea.”

Geary fought to keep a straight face. “I guess some things never change. Do you think there was ever a time when Marines and sailors got along?”

“We get along fine if planetary forces try to mess with us,” Desjani pointed out. “And when there’s a mission to carry out.”

“What about in bars?”

“That usually doesn’t go so good. Unless there’s planetary-forces types in the bars, too.”

“Just like in the past,” Geary agreed.

“Captain?” Lieutenant Casque called. “The database says those things are called Persian Donkeys because of some really ancient story. These people called Persians invaded some other place and got trapped by an enemy that was more mobile, so they had to get away at night without the enemy realizing they were going. The Persians had these things called donkeys that the enemy hadn’t seen before, and these donkeys made a lot of noise, so the Persians left all the donkeys behind to fool the enemy into thinking all of the Persians were still there. I guess these donkeys were some kind of primitive deception device.”

Lieutenant Yuon gave Casque a pained look. “Donkeys are animals.”

“Oh. Captain, donkeys are—”

“Thank you. I know.” Desjani seemed skeptical as she questioned Lieutenant Casque. “How old is this story? What does ancient mean?”

“Captain, the source is marked as ‘ancient book—Earth’ and that’s as old as it gets. I guess the Marines read about it in that book.”

“Excellent assumption, Lieutenant.” Desjani made a who-knew gesture toward Geary. “There’s your answer, sir. The Marines heard this ancient story. Maybe they study it as the first documented case of deception in warfare. No, that’d be that wooden horse thing I heard about once. Anyway, old story.”

“Even older than I,” Geary replied. “At least I’m pretty sure that must have happened before I joined the fleet.” He’d never expected to be able to joke about how long ago that had been, but in the glow of relief after the ground engagement, such things didn’t seem to hold as much anguish as they once did.

“Sir,” the operations watch called, “all shuttles have been recovered.”

“Excellent.” Geary sent the orders accelerating the Alliance fleet toward a rendezvous with the repaired warships, auxiliaries, and escorts back in the region of the engagement with the Syndic flotilla. Once joined up again, the fleet would head for the jump point for Padronis. “Something just occurred to me. We knew how badly the Syndic fleet has been hurt lately, but how did the rebels in this star system know? They broke their leash almost as soon as we’d destroyed the Syndic flotilla here.”

Rione answered, her voice thoughtful. “There’s bound to have been rumors among the citizens of the Syndicate Worlds, but the only ones who would know the true extent of the fleet’s losses would be senior personnel and CEOs. Which means some of the senior Syndics and CEOs are part of the forces that are trying to overthrow Syndic control of Heradao. The rot is just as bad as we suspected.”

“Then this could be happening in a lot of places as news spreads,” Geary said.

“Perhaps. But the Syndics still have considerable ability to try to retain control of individual star systems. Any collapse of the Syndicate Worlds will take a long time to work its way through all of the star systems.”

“A long time? Too bad,” Desjani murmured as she checked her display. “The shuttles bringing some of the liberated POWs to Dauntless are preparing to off-load.”

Geary came to his feet. “Let’s go welcome them.”

“Yes,” Rione agreed, “if the commanding officer of Dauntless doesn’t object to my presence as well.”

“Of course not, Madam Co-President,” Desjani replied with a professionally detached tone of voice. They arrived at the shuttle dock as the first bird dropped its main hatch, and the former prisoners began walking down the ramp. The liberated prisoners filed off the shuttle, gazing around with expressions of joy and disbelief. In the remnants of their old uniforms and cast-off, badly worn civilian clothes provided by the Syndics, they looked very much like the prisoners who had been liberated way back at Sutrah Star System. The entire scene, the emotions present in everyone, felt like that at Sutrah.

“I guess the thrill of liberating our own prisoners of war never goes away,” Desjani murmured, somehow echoing Geary’s own thoughts.

Just about then a voice called across the shuttle dock. “Vic? Vic Rione?” One of the newly liberated prisoners, tall and thin and wearing commander insignia on an old coat, was staring their way, his eyes widening with disbelief.

Victoria Rione was peering back at the man, her expression puzzled, then she gave a quick intake of breath. Recovering quickly, she called out a reply. “Kai! Kai Fensin!”

Rione stepped forward to meet Fensin as he left the line and walked quickly toward her. Some of the sailor escorts herding the former prisoners along to sick bay made abortive motions to stop Fensin but halted when Desjani made a quick gesture. “Vic?” Fensin asked in a wondering voice as he reached them. “When did you join the fleet? You haven’t aged a day.”

“Vic?” Desjani muttered too low for anyone but Geary to hear.

“Be nice,” he muttered back to her before joining Rione.

Rione was shaking her head and looking embarrassed. “I feel much older, and I haven’t joined the fleet, Kai. May I introduce the fleet commander, Captain Geary?”

“Geary.” Commander Fensin smiled, his expression disbelieving. “They told us on the shuttles who was in command of the fleet. Who else could have brought it here to free us?” Looking suddenly aghast at himself, Fensin straightened to attention. “It’s an honor, sir, a great honor.”

“At ease, Commander,” Geary ordered. “Relax. There’ll be plenty of time for ceremony later.”

“Yes, sir,” Fensin agreed. “I served with another Geary once. Michael Geary. A grandnephew of yours. We were junior officers together on the Vanquish.”

Geary felt his own smile slide away. Fensin caught it, looking anxious now. “I’m sorry. Did he die?”

“He may have,” Geary answered, wondering how his voice sounded. “His ship was destroyed in the Syndic home system, covering this fleet’s withdrawal.”

“He pulled a Geary?” Fensin blurted, invoking the last stand for which Black Jack had become famous.

“Of all people. I mean…” Fensin seemed simply horrified at his own verbal gaffes.

“I understand,” Geary said. “He didn’t think much of Black Jack after having to grow up in his shadow. But he seemed to understand me better at the end, when faced with the same situation.” Time to change the subject to something that would hopefully be more comfortable. “How do you know Co-President Rione?”

“Co-president?” Fensin’s stare shifted to Rione.

She nodded back to him. “Of the Callas Republic. And, uh, member of the Alliance Senate, of course, because of that. I went into politics to serve the Alliance after Paol…” Rione paused, blinking rapidly.

“I’d been told he was dead, but recently learned he was still alive when taken prisoner. Do you know anything?”

Kai Fensin closed his eyes briefly. “I was on the same ship with Vic’s husband,” he explained to Geary.

“Excuse me, I mean, Co-President Rione’s—”

“I’m still Vic to you, Kai. Do you know anything?”

“We were separated soon after being captured,” Fensin stated miserably. “Paol was severely injured. Somebody had told me he’d died on the ship, so I was surprised to see that he was still hanging on. Then the Syndics took the badly wounded away, supposedly for treatment, but…” He grimaced. “You know what happens to prisoners sometimes.”

“They killed him?” Rione asked in a thin voice.

“I don’t know. As my ancestors are my witness, Vic, I don’t know. I’ve never heard anything else about him or the others taken with him.” Fensin shrugged, his expression twisted with regret. “There were some others at the camp from our ship. I don’t think any of them came to Dauntless, but we’ve talked a lot. There’s not all that much to do but talk in the camps when the Syndics aren’t making you dig ditches and break rocks. None of the others could say what had happened to Paol, either. I wish I could give you some last memory, some parting words, but everything was chaos and the Syndics were pulling us apart and he was barely conscious.”

Rione managed a smile. “I know what his words would have been.”

Fensin hesitated, his eyes going from Rione to Geary. “There was a lot of gossip on the shuttle, people trying to catch up. Somebody said something about a politician and the fleet commander.”

“Captain Geary and I had a brief relationship,” Rione said in a steady voice.

“It ended when she learned her husband might still be alive,” Geary added. That wasn’t strictly true, but close enough so that he felt justified in saying it.

Commander Fensin nodded, looking haggard now. “I wouldn’t have blamed Vic, sir. Maybe before I went into that labor camp, back when I thought honor had a few simple rules to it. Now I know what it’s like, thinking you’ll never see someone again because the war has been going on forever and you can see the people dying in the labor camp who’ve been there almost all their lives and figure that will be you someday. There’s a lot of people who were in that camp who found new partners, figuring they’d never again see their old ones. Married people who started caring for someone else, or who looked for someone else to care about them. There’s going to be a lot of pain when they come home, I guess, one way or the other.” He gazed at Rione. “I did it, too.”

Rione gazed back, looking kinder than Geary had thought possible, as if meeting this man from her past had brought her back to a better time for her. “Did she come to this ship with you?”

“She’s dead. Three months ago. The radiation on that world causes problems sometimes, and the Syndics don’t waste money on expensive treatments for prisoners.” Fensin’s eyes appeared haunted now. “May the living stars forgive me, but I can’t stop realizing how much simpler that made things. I don’t know how my wife is now, whether she even knew I was alive, but now I don’t face a choice. I haven’t become a monster, Vic. But I can’t stop that thought from coming.”

“I understand,” Rione replied, reaching for Commander Fensin’s arm. “Let me help you to sick bay for your checkup with the others.” She and Fensin moved off while Geary watched them go. Desjani cleared her throat softly. “There but for the grace of our ancestors,” she murmured.

“Yeah. It’s a hell of a thing.”

“It’s nice to see that she can be human,” Desjani added. “Vic, I mean.”

He turned a slight frown on Desjani. “You know how she’ll react if you call her that.”

“I certainly do,” Desjani replied. “But don’t worry, sir. I’ll save it for the right moment.”

Geary took a few moments of his own to pray that he wouldn’t be too close when that happened. “How many of these liberated prisoners will be able to augment your crew?”

“I don’t know yet, sir. It’s like after we pulled the others off Sutrah. They’ll have to be interviewed and evaluated to see what skills they’ve got and how rusty they are. Then the personnel-management system will help the ships sort out who should go where.”

“Can you—”

“I’ll keep Commander Fensin aboard Dauntless, sir.” Desjani gave him a hard look. “Hopefully that commander will keep the politician occupied and off our backs.”

“You know, you are allowed to do nice things just to be nice even for her.”

“Really?” Desjani, her expression unrevealing, looked toward the liberated prisoners again. “I need to welcome the others to Dauntless, sir.”

“Do you mind if I welcome them to the fleet at the same time?”

“Of course not, sir.” She gave him a rueful look. “I know how little you like their reactions to seeing you.”

“Well, yeah, but it’s still my job to greet them.”

It felt odd, moving among the liberated prisoners, some of them elderly after decades in the Syndic labor camp, to know that all of them were born long after him. He’d gotten over that with the crew of Dauntless, able to forget that their lives had begun many years after his had supposedly ended. But the prisoners brought it home again, that even the oldest of them had come into a universe in which Black Jack Geary was a figure of legend.

But then an enlisted sailor with plenty of years behind her spoke to him. “I knew someone from off the Merlon, sir. When I was just a child.”

Geary felt a curious hollowness inside as he paused to listen. “Off Merlon?”

“Yes, sir. Jasmin Holaran. She was, uh…”

“Assigned to hell-lance battery one alpha.”

“Yes, sir!” The woman beamed. “She’d retired in my neighborhood. We’d go listen to her tell stories. She always told us you were everything the legends said, sir.”

“Did she?” He could recall Holaran’s face, remember having to discipline the young sailor after a rowdy time on planetary leave, see the promotion ceremony in which she’d advanced in rate, and another moment when he’d praised the hell-lance battery of which Holaran was a part for racking up a great score in fleet readiness testing. She’d been a capable sailor and occasional hell-raiser, no more and no less, the sort of so-called “average” performer who got the job done and kept ships going on a day-to-day basis.

Battery one alpha had been knocked out fairly early in the fight against the Syndics, but Geary hadn’t had a chance during the battle to learn which of that battery’s crew had lived through the loss of their weapons. Holaran had survived, then, and made it off Merlon. Served through the subsequent years of war and survived that, too, where so many others hadn’t. Retired back to her home world, to tell stories about him to curious children. And died of old age while he still drifted in survival sleep.

“Sir.” Desjani was standing next to him, her face calm but her eyes worried. “Is everything all right, sir?”

Wondering how long he’d been standing there without speaking, Geary still took another moment to answer as feelings rushed through him. “Yes. Thank you, Captain Desjani.” He focused back on the former prisoner. “And thank you for telling me about Jasmin Holaran. She was a fine sailor.”

“She told us you saved her life, sir. Her and a lot of others,” the older woman added anxiously. “Thank the living stars for Geary, she’d say. If not for his sacrifice, I would have died at Grendel and missed so much. Her husband was dead by then, of course, and her own children in the fleet.”

“Her husband?” He was certain Holaran hadn’t been married while on Merlon. Because of what he’d done, she’d lived, had a long life, a husband, and children.

“Sir?” Desjani again, her voice a little more urgent.

Apparently he’d been standing silently again as he thought about everything. “It’s all right.” He took a deep breath, feeling the lifting of a burden he hadn’t been aware of carrying. “I made a difference,” he murmured too low for anyone but Desjani to hear.

“Of course you did.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Geary assured the former prisoner. “To meet someone who knew one of my old crew.” He meant it, he realized with surprise. A moment he had dreaded had brought him release from some of the pain he carried because of the past he’d lost. “I’ll never forget them, and now you’ve reconnected me to one of them.”

The woman beamed with pleasure. “It’s the least I can do, sir.”

“It’s a very big thing,” he corrected the former prisoner. “To me. My thanks.” Geary nodded to Desjani.

“It’s all right,” he repeated to her.

“It is, isn’t it?” Desjani smiled. “Liberating POW camps seems to raise a lot of ghosts, doesn’t it?”

“Raise them and maybe bring us all some peace when we look them in the eye.” With some more words of gratitude to the older woman, he moved on to speak to others, a warmth having replaced the hollowness he’d felt for a moment.

The warmth didn’t last too long. He and Desjani were leaving the shuttle dock when an urgent call came down.

“Captain Geary?” the operations watch called, her image small on his comm pad. “There seems to be some problem with the former prisoners of war.”

So much for moments of relaxation. “What is it?”

“The most senior officers from the camp are demanding to be brought to Dauntless and kept in protective custody.” From what he could make out of the lieutenant’s expression, even she didn’t believe what she was saying.

Geary just looked at his comm pad for a moment. “They’re asking me to arrest them?”

“Yes, sir. Would you like to speak to them, sir?”

Not particularly. But he tapped the nearest large comm panel on the bulkhead and gestured to Desjani.

“Listen in on this, please.”

The panel lit up with a much bigger image. He saw two women and a man, one of the women and the man wearing fleet captain insignia on the worn civilian clothing the Syndics had provided and the other woman bearing a Marine colonel’s rank. All three of them looked elderly, leaving Geary wondering how long they’d been prisoners. “I’m Captain Geary. What can I do for you?”

They took a moment to reply, a moment spent staring at him in the way Geary had come to expect but never expected to like. Finally, the female captain spoke. “We request that we be placed in protective custody as soon as possible, Captain Geary.”

“Why? We just liberated you from one prison. Why do you want to go into cells on fleet ships?”

“We have enemies among the former prisoners,” the male captain stated. “We were in charge of the prisoners because of our rank and seniority. Some of the former prisoners disagreed with the decisions we’ve made over the last few decades.”

Geary glanced over at Desjani, who was frowning at the three officers. “I’m Captain Desjani, commanding officer of Dauntless. Which decisions generated such problems that you want to be transferred to custody on my ship?”

The prisoners looked at each other before replying, then the female colonel answered. “Command decisions. We were forced to take into account the consequences of every decision and every action by the prisoners.”

Even Geary could tell that they were avoiding giving specifics. Desjani leaned close to him. “Do as they want. Arrest them. We want these three under our control while we find out what’s going on.”

Geary nodded to her, but making the gesture seemed to be aimed at the three former prisoners. “Very well. We need to look into this, but until then I’ll grant your request.” He checked the data next to their images. “All three of you are on Leviathan? I’ll order Captain Tulev to confine you to quarters.”

“Sir, we’d be more comfortable under your direct control.”

He let his expression harden. “Captain Tulev is a reliable and trustworthy officer of the fleet. You couldn’t be in better hands.”

The three former prisoners exchanged glances. “We need guards, Captain Geary.”

Stranger and stranger. “Captain Tulev will be told to place Marine guards outside your quarters. Is there anything else you can tell me?”

The female captain hesitated. “We’re preparing a full, official report of our actions.”

“Thank you. I look forward to seeing it. Geary, out.” He broke the connection, then called Tulev.

“Captain, there’s something weird going on.”

Tulev listened, his face betraying no emotion. “I will have the sentries placed. Captain Geary, I’ve already been questioned by some of the other liberated prisoners, demanding to know where those three senior officers are located.”

“Demanding?”

“Yes. I’ve already chosen to keep those three isolated while trying to discover the reasons for the hostility I’ve seen toward them.”

Desjani broke in again. “Have any of those demanding to know where the senior former prisoners are located expressed any specific grounds for their questions?”

“No. They’re concealing their motives from me. All of them are officers, though. But I will find out what is behind all of this. Now, if you will excuse me, I must get the Marine guards in place.”

After Tulev had broken his connection, Geary looked toward Desjani. “Any ideas what might be behind this?”

Desjani made a face. “A few. They seem to be afraid for their lives, which implies something far more serious than disagreements over the wisdom of decisions.”

“Then why aren’t the other prisoners telling us what happened instead of hiding their problems with those three? They were all down in that camp together. Why wouldn’t the other prisoners have been able—”

Geary stopped and called Colonel Carabali. “Colonel, did you meet the three senior Alliance officers at that POW camp?”

Carabali, who looked drained from the recent action, her battle fatigues streaked with sweat and creased where the battle armor had pressed against them, straightened herself as she answered. “Two captains and a colonel? Yes. They came out to meet us as we landed. I think they evac’d on the first shuttle up. I don’t recall seeing them after that. Some of the other former POWs were looking for them.” Carabali paused. “I did see their quarters. Separate from the rest. It looked like a bunker. A Syndic guard post in front of it, though abandoned when we touched down. Odd. But I really didn’t have the opportunity to deal with those things on the surface, sir.”

“Understood, Colonel. Thank you.” Geary bent his head, trying to think. “How do we get answers, Tanya? Before something happens?”

She’d been concentrating, and now smiled briefly. “Perhaps you and I should have a private talk with Commander Fensin.”

“Fensin?” He remembered the look and the bearing of that officer. Eager, professional, and a tendency to speak his thoughts impulsively. “That might work if we have Rione along to help soften him up.”

“Must we? Oh, you’re probably right. She’s a lever we can use if he tries to clam up.”

“You sound like you already know what’s going on,” Geary suggested.

“No, sir. I fear I know what’s going on, and if Commander Fensin hesitates to speak, I may be able to prod him into admitting it.” She tapped her comm pad. “Bridge, locate Co-President Rione and Commander Fensin. They should be together, probably in sick bay for his medical screen. Captain Geary and I need to see them in the fleet conference room immediately.”

The watch-stander who answered spoke cautiously. “We’re supposed to order Co-President Rione to the conference room, Captain?”

Desjani gave Geary a sour look as she replied. “No. Inform her that Captain Geary urgently requests her presence there along with Commander Fensin. That should satisfy diplomatic niceties.”

COMMANDER Fensin was smiling as he took a seat in the conference room while Desjani sealed the hatch. Rione sat beside him, impassive but watching Desjani in particular very closely. Geary didn’t waste time. “Commander Fensin, what’s the story with the three senior Alliance officers among the prisoners?”

The smile vanished, and a variety of emotions rippled across Fensin’s face before he managed to control himself. “Story?”

“We know there are problems. Why would they be afraid of the other former prisoners?”

“I’m not certain I understand.”

Desjani spoke. “Perhaps this word will be easy to understand. ‘Treason’?”

Fensin stopped moving. After a moment, his eyes went to Desjani. “How’d you find out?”

“I’m the commanding officer of a battle cruiser,” she replied. “What exactly did they do?”

“I took an oath—”

“You took an earlier oath to the Alliance, Commander,” Desjani said. “As your superior officer, I want a full report.”

She’d taken control of the interrogation, Geary realized, but Desjani was getting answers, so he didn’t protest.

Rione did. “I would like an explanation for this. Commander Fensin has not even been given the opportunity to complete his medical screening yet.”

Geary replied. “I believe you’ll get your explanation when Commander Fensin answers Captain Desjani.”

Fensin had been staring at Desjani and now slumped back, rubbing his face with both hands. “I never liked it anyway. If we somehow ever get out, everybody stay quiet until we get them. As if we were a criminal mob rather than members of the Alliance military. But as the years went by one by one endlessly, it seemed to make sense. We’d never be rescued, never be freed. We’d have to do what needed to be done if justice was ever to be served. And the rules didn’t change when we were rescued. We’d agreed to do it when we could.”

Rione reached and grasped Fensin’s other hand. “What happened?”

“What didn’t.” Fensin stared toward the far bulkhead, his eyes looking into the past. “They betrayed us, Vic. Those three.”

“How?” Geary demanded.

“There was a plan. Hijack one of the Syndic supply shuttles but keep it quiet. Get to the spaceport and grab a ship. Only twenty prisoners might make it out, but they could have taken a lot of information back to Alliance space. Who was in the camp, what we knew of the situation behind the border in Syndic space, that kind of thing.” Fensin shook his head. “Crazy, I guess. Only one chance in a million it might work. But against a lifetime as a prisoner of war, some people thought those odds were good enough. The three senior officers in the camp told us not to, but we pointed out the fleet’s standing orders for prisoners to resist where feasible. So they told the Syndics. The only way to stop the plan, they said. Because the retaliation against the remaining prisoners would be too severe, they said. Because they’d agreed to keep us in line for the Syndics in exchange for certain privileges for us. Privileges! Enough food, some medical care, the sort of things the Syndics were obligated by simple humanity to provide anyway.”

Fensin closed his eyes. “When the Syndics found out about the plan, they ran us through interrogations until they’d identified ten of the prisoners who were going to hijack the shuttle. Then they shot them.”

“Was this an isolated incident?” Geary asked. “Or a pattern of behavior?”

“A pattern, sir. I could talk all day. They did what the Syndics wanted and told us it was for us. Keep quiet, behave, and it would benefit us. Resist, and we’d get hammered by the Syndics.”

Desjani looked like she wanted to spit. “Those three focused on one aspect of their mission, the welfare of their fellow prisoners. They forgot every other aspect of their responsibilities.”

Fensin nodded. “That’s right, Captain. Sometimes I could almost understand. Among them they’d been prisoners of war for a combined total of more than a century.”

“A century isn’t long enough to forget important things,” Desjani replied, looking at Geary. He rapped the table to draw Fensin’s attention, uncomfortable with Desjani’s observation despite (or perhaps because of) the truth in it. “What’s the objective of this conspiracy of silence? Why not tell us immediately what those three did?”

“We wanted to kill them ourselves,” Fensin answered in a matter-of-fact way. “We held emergency courts-martial, in secret of necessity, and reached verdicts of treason in all three cases. The penalty for treason in wartime is death. We wanted to make sure those sentences were carried out before any of those three managed to lawyer their way into being formally charged and tried on lesser offenses. And, in truth, we wanted revenge for ourselves, for those who died.” He looked around at the others. “You can’t know how it feels. I… Do we have access to imagery of the camp? Before you pulled us out?”

“Certainly.” Desjani entered some commands. Above the table appeared an overhead view of the POW camp on Heradao as it had looked before being smashed to bits during the fight to liberate the prisoners. Commander Fensin, working the controls with the clumsiness of someone who’d not been allowed to use the like for years, zoomed the image in on one side of the camp. As the picture zoomed closer, Geary could see a large open field, and that the field was partially filled with neat rows of markers. “A cemetery.”

“Yes,” Fensin agreed. “That POW camp had been in existence for about eighty years. A generation of prisoners had aged and died there. There weren’t a lot of real elderly because of the harsh conditions and the limitations on medical care.” His eyes rested on the imagery of the grave markers. “All of the rest of us believed that eventually we’d end up in that field as well. There weren’t any prisoner exchanges, and why should we expect the war to ever end? After five or ten or twenty years, even the strongest beliefs faded into resignation. We’d never see our families again, we’d never go home again. All we had left was each other, and what dignity we could retain as members of the Alliance military.”

He focused on Rione, as if she were the one he most wanted to convince. “They betrayed that. They betrayed us. Those things were all we had left, and they betrayed those things. Of course we wanted to kill them.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, then Desjani gestured toward the image still hovering before them.

“Did the Marines get records of those graves while they were on the ground? The names of those who rest there?”

“I doubt it.” Fensin tapped his head with one finger. “They didn’t have to. Every one of us had names to remember. I was one of those who had to remember all of the dead whose last names began with F. The list of the honored dead is in our memories. We couldn’t take them home because they’ve already gone to join their ancestors, but we will take their names to their families.”

For a moment Geary imagined that he could see them, the prisoners going painstakingly over the names of those who had died, checking their lists against each other, committing the names to the only form of record they had. Year by year, as the lists grew longer, never knowing if anyone in the Alliance would ever hear those lists, but keeping them in their memories just the same. It was all too easy to sense how the prisoners had felt in that POW camp, which they had every reason to believe would be their jail until they died. All too easy to understand their need for such rituals and their sense of betrayal. “All right.”

Geary looked a question a Rione.

She looked down, then nodded. “I believe him.”

“So do I,” Desjani added without hesitation.

Geary tapped the comm controls. “Captain Tulev, get those three senior former prisoners onto a shuttle with Marine guards. Take them to…” He pondered his options. He needed a ship without former POWs from Heradao on board, but every warship had those.

Every warship.

“Titan. Take them to Titan with orders that they be confined under guard until further notice. All three are under arrest.”

Tulev nodded as if unsurprised. “The charges? We are obligated to provide them to those under arrest.”

“Treason and dereliction of duty in the face of the enemy. They told me they were preparing a report on their actions. Make sure they have the means to produce that report. I want to see it.” That wasn’t strictly true. The last thing he wanted to do was read through that document if what Commander Fensin had said was accurate. But he had an obligation to see what the three officers said in their own defense. Once Tulev had signed off, Geary faced Fensin again. “Thank you, Commander. I think I can promise you that if what you told us is confirmed by your fellow former prisoners, then formal courts-martial back in Alliance territory will reach the same conclusions you did.”

“Do we have to wait?” Fensin asked with shocking calmness. “You could order them shot right now.”

“That’s not how I do business, Commander. If your statements are true, those three will condemn themselves with their own report, then no one will doubt the necessity of carrying out justice.”

“But Captain Gazin is so old,” Fensin argued. “She may not live until we reach Alliance space, and she’d escape the fate she deserves.”

Desjani answered him in her command voice. “If she dies, then the living stars will render judgment and justice, Commander. No one can escape that. You’re an officer in the Alliance fleet, Commander Fensin. You held to that as a prisoner. Don’t forget it now that you’re back with us.”

Rione’s expression hardened, but Fensin just stared at Desjani again for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, Captain. Forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Desjani assured him. “You’ve been through hell, and you did your duty by telling us the truth. Continue to do your duty, Commander. You were always part of the fleet, but now you are with it once more.”

“Yes, Captain,” Fensin repeated, sitting straighter.

Rione looked to Geary. “If there’s nothing else, I’d like to spend some time with Commander Fensin, then get his medical screening accomplished.”

“Of course.” Geary and Desjani stood together and left. He looked back as the hatch closed and saw Rione still holding Fensin’s hand, no words passing between them. “Damn,” he muttered to Desjani.

“Damn,” she agreed. “Are you sure we shouldn’t shoot them now?”

So Desjani had been tempted, too, but hadn’t argued with him in front of the others to avoid appearing to undermine his own position. “Sure? No. But it has to be done right. There can’t be any perception of mob justice. Good job getting Fensin to talk. How did you know to prod Fensin with a question about treason?”

She made a face. “Some of the conversations I had with Lieutenant Riva. He talked a few times about things like that. I didn’t really understand before, but I remembered how he’d get very angry when talking about anyone who he thought had been too compliant with the Syndics. Something about this made me recall that.” Desjani looked down the passageway, and added something in a bland voice. “It’s not like I think of Riva. Not at all, usually.”

“I see.” To Geary’s surprise, he realized he had felt a twinge of jealousy. He had to change the subject.

“I wonder if I might not have ended up going down that same misguided road that those three did if I’d been captured.”

Desjani frowned at him. “No. You wouldn’t have. You care about the personnel under your command, but you also know the risks they have to run. You’ve always been able to balance those things.”

“I care about them enough to send them to their deaths,” Geary replied, hearing some bitterness creep into his tone.

“That’s exactly right. Too much callousness, and their lives are wasted. Too much concern, and they die anyway, with no result. I don’t pretend to understand why things are that way, but you know they are.”

“Yeah.” He felt the momentary depression lifting and smiled at her. “Thanks for being here, Tanya.”

“It’s not like I could be anywhere else.” Desjani smiled back, then her face went formal, and she saluted.

“I need to see to my ship, sir.”

“By all means.” He returned the salute, then watched her walk away.

She had a ship to see to and he had to call Titan and let Commander Lommand know that a particularly unwelcome cargo would be arriving on his ship soon. The burdens of command varied, but burdens they always were.

BY the next morning he felt better. The third planet of Heradao was comfortably distant, the fleet had finished joining up with the units left behind in the area of the space battle, and the entire Alliance force was headed for the jump point for Padronis. Even the old Syndic ration bar he chose for breakfast didn’t seem to taste as bad as usual.

At about that point, the comm unit in his stateroom buzzed. “Sir, you have an urgent request for communications from Commander Vigory.”

“Commander Vigory?” Geary tried to match the name to a ship or a face, failed, and checked the fleet database. Another former POW from Heradao. No wonder his name hadn’t been familiar. Vigory was on Spartan, and according to the summary in the database, he’d had a fairly routine career before being captured by the Syndics. “All right. Put him through.”

Thin and intense, Commander Vigory resembled other Alliance personnel liberated from Heradao.

“Captain Geary,” he began in a stiff voice, “I wished to pay a call and render proper respects to the fleet commander.”

“Thank you, Commander.”

“I also wished to inform you that I am still awaiting a command assignment.”

Still awaiting? Geary’s eyes went to the time. It had been less than a day since the fleet left orbit about Heradao’s third planet. Then his mind fastened on the rest of Vigory’s statement. “Command assignment?”

“Yes, sir.” Vigory’s eyes were demanding as he gazed at Geary. “A review of fleet records indicates numerous ships in this fleet suitable for an officer of my rank and seniority are currently commanded by officers junior to me.”

“You expect me to relieve some existing commanding officer so that you can have his or her ship?”

The question seemed to startle Commander Vigory. “Of course, sir.”

Geary fought down an impulse to cut off Vigory at the knees and tried to speak in a reasonable but firm tone. “How would you feel if you lost your command under those circumstances, Commander?”

“That scarcely matters, sir. This is a question of honor and proper deference to my rank and position. I have no doubt that any ship in this fleet would benefit from my experience and ability to command.”

No, Vigory probably had never had a doubt in his life, Geary thought as he looked at the man. According to the records available, Vigory had been taken prisoner about five years ago, meaning that he was a product of a fleet in which individual honor meant everything and ships fought without regard for sound tactics. Maybe he was a decent officer despite that, but at this point, retraining a ship’s commanding officer would be just one more thing to worry about, besides being grossly unfair to some other officer. “Commander, I’ll lay this out as clearly as I can. Every commanding officer in this fleet has fought for me all the way from the Syndic home star system, rendering brave and honorable service in numerous engagements with the enemy.” That was an exaggeration in a few cases, but Vigory didn’t seem the sort to grasp distinctions. “I will not relieve any of my current commanding officers without cause based on their performance. This fleet is returning to Alliance space, and once there you can request a command assignment on a new-construction warship or a warship whose commanding officer is rotating to a new assignment.”

Vigory seemed to have trouble understanding. “Sir, I expect very quickly to receive a command assignment in this fleet suitable to my rank and seniority.”

“Then I regret to inform you that your expectations are misplaced.” Geary tried not to get angry but could hear his voice getting sharper. “You will serve as needed by the Alliance, just like every officer in this fleet.”

“But… I…”

“Thank you, Commander Vigory. I appreciate your willingness to serve as your duty to the Alliance requires.”

The conversation over, Geary leaned back and covered his eyes with one hand. A moment later the alert on the hatch to his stateroom chimed. Great. This morning is going downhill fast. He authorized entry, sitting up straighter as Victoria Rione entered. “Captain Geary.”

“Madam Co-President.” They’d had plenty of physical intimacies in this very room, but that was over and done, and neither would presume on their earlier relationship.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Rione continued.

“I was just trying to remember why I wanted to rescue the Alliance POWs on Heradao,” Geary confessed.

She flicked a smile at him. “Because you have an annoying habit of insisting on doing what’s right even when common sense might dictate acting otherwise.”

“Thank you. I think. What brings you here?”

“The Alliance POWs liberated from Heradao.”

Geary didn’t quite stifle a groan. “Now what?”

“This may be good news, or perhaps useful.” Rione inclined her head toward another part of the ship.

“Sometime after you left us yesterday, Commander Fensin confessed to me that the best thing he could have been told was what your captain said to him, reminding him of his responsibilities as an officer of the Alliance and ordering him to live up to those responsibilities.” She paused before continuing. “From what Kai Fensin said, he and the other POWs on Heradao long lacked a firm hand they respected to give them purpose. He thought all of them would benefit from treatment such as your captain gave him.”

Geary refrained from pointing out that his “captain” had a name, and that Desjani wasn’t “his” in any case. “That makes a great deal of sense. They’re not used to having senior officers they respect or to whose orders they’d listen.”

“Kai suggested you might want to inform others in the fleet of this, so they’d be able to treat the other former prisoners accordingly. In that respect, they’re not like the ones we liberated from Sutrah.”

“Thank you,” Geary repeated. “I think he’s right.”

“Yes, and so was your captain. My instincts to protect Commander Fensin were wrong.”

“Don’t beat yourself up about that. Desjani and Fensin are both fleet.” Rione just nodded silently. “How are you doing?”

She gave him a searching glance. “Why do you ask?”

“You seem to have been very happy to find Commander Fensin.”

Rione’s eyes flashed. “If you’re implying—”

“No!” Geary raised both palms in apology. “That’s not what I meant. It just seems that meeting him was a good thing for you.”

She subsided as quickly as her anger had flared. “Yes. He reminds me of many things. Of the life I once had.”

“I could tell.” It was best not to tell Rione that Desjani had been able to see it as well.

“Could you?” Rione bent her head for a moment. “I sometimes wonder what will happen if my husband lives and we are united again. In the years since he left, I have changed in many ways, become harder and stronger and… not the woman he left.”

“I saw that woman. When you were with Kai Fensin.”

“You did?” Rione sighed. “Maybe there’s hope for me, then. Maybe she’s not dead after all.”

“She’s not, Victoria.”

Rione raised her gaze and looked at him with a twisted smile. “That’s one of the few circumstances under which you can still call me that, John Geary. Thank you. I’ve said what I needed to say.” She walked to the hatch but paused in it before leaving, her back to him. “Please thank your captain on my behalf for her words to Commander Fensin. I’m grateful.” Then she was gone and the hatch was sliding shut. He drafted up a message telling the fleet’s ship captains to be firm with the former POWs from Heradao and to get them assigned duties as soon as possible. After sending it, Geary settled back and stared at the star display again.

Roughly two more days until the fleet reached the jump point for Padronis. That star should be quiet, with no known Syndic presence. For that matter, Atalia, the next and last Syndic star system they had to transit, should be quiet, too, despite its human population. If Alliance intelligence was anywhere near right then the Syndics had used up everything they had. No significant number of warships could be available to contest the rest of the fleet’s journey home.

Could he finally relax?

Five minutes later, Lieutenant Iger called from the intelligence section with a very urgent summons.