Valiant

SIX

Geary walked steadily into the conference room. Although it was actually an average-sized compartment inside Dauntless with an unimpressive table anchored on one side, the conferencing software created the illusion of a room big enough to hold the commanding officer of every ship in the fleet, arrayed down the length of a table virtually expanded to accommodate them all.

Even though that table was now crowded with hundreds of officers, the only other person physically present in the room was Captain Desjani. The others were images, allowing officers to remain on their own ships and attend the meeting at the same time. Aside from the seconds-long delays in reacting that afflicted those officers on the ships farthest away, the images otherwise acted just as if every officer were actually here.

He’d never liked these conferences, and part of the business he had to do today was distasteful enough to make him look forward to this one even less than usual. Deciding to start on a high note, Geary nodded to the assembled officers. “May I open this meeting by congratulating the officers and enlisted personnel of this fleet on a great victory. We’ve not only more than avenged our losses from the last time the fleet was in Lakota Star System, we have in battles from Kaliban to here evened the score for all of the ships lost by this fleet since arriving in the Syndic home system. You have every right to feel proud of these great achievements, purchased by the courage and fighting spirit of everyone in the fleet.”

Smiles appeared nearly everywhere. Geary noticed Captain Casia frowning into the distance and Commander Yin staring nervously at the table’s surface. “Unfortunately,” Geary continued, “not everyone in this fleet can honestly share in that praise. In our last engagement, two ships avoided battle. Or rather, two commanding officers avoided battle.” The atmosphere in the room had suddenly grown extremely tense, the silence so profound it seemed the slightest noise would deafen everyone. Captain Casia’s face had reddened, while that of Commander Yin had paled. No one else was looking at them. Whatever support they had once had was gone.

Geary faced Casia. “Captain Casia, you are hereby relieved of command of Conqueror. Your current executive officer will serve as acting commander. Commander Yin, you are relieved as acting commanding officer of Orion. Orion’s operations officer is appointed acting commanding officer, effective immediately. Both of you are to transfer to Illustrious, where you will be assigned to whichever tasks Captain Badaya finds appropriate.” He’d wondered what best to do with Casia and Yin, who had openly opposed him in meetings like this, and the idea of sticking them on the same ship with Badaya, who was supporting Geary for the wrong reasons had a certain simplicity to it.

Commander Yin’s mouth worked, but no sound came out. Captain Casia, though, stood up and spoke loudly. “You cannot relieve a senior officer without good cause!”

Geary somehow kept his voice level. “Your ship avoided combat. You had orders to protect this fleet’s auxiliaries, and instead you remained too far from them to defend those ships, engaging only those enemy warships that came close enough to you to constitute a threat to your ship. You refused to engage enemy ships when both duty and honor required it.”

“Are you accusing me of cowardice?” Casia almost shouted.

“Yes.”

The single word rang through the room. In a fleet so obsessed with honor, to state such a charge openly was almost unthinkable.

Captain Tulev spoke into the silence that followed Geary’s answer. “I am unhappy to be forced to agree that the records of the engagement fully support Captain Geary’s charge.”

“If so,” Captain Armus noted, leaning forward, his face and voice hard, “and I agree with Captain Tulev that it is so, then simply relieving Captain Casia and Commander Yin of command falls far short of the punishment expected for such acts.”

“Shoot the cowards,” someone muttered.

Noise erupted as everyone began shouting, many seconding the suggestion, others protesting. Geary tapped the control that let him silence everyone, one of the best features of the conferencing software in his opinion, then waited a few moments for attention to return to him. “I am aware that fleet regulations permit me to order death by firing squad on the battlefield for any officer who clearly displays cowardice before the enemy.” He looked to Casia again and was surprised that Casia met his eyes even though fear was apparent on the other officer’s face. He felt a grudging measure of respect for Casia that the man hadn’t collapsed.

“Fleet regulations require a firing squad,” said Captain Kila, the commanding officer of Inspire. Why had she chosen now finally to speak up at a fleet conference?

Whatever the reason, she had challenged him, trying to force Geary to take an action he didn’t want to take. So he shook his head. “That’s incorrect.”

Kila seemed not hostile but puzzled. “The regulation in question is clear and does not allow exception.” Heads nodded around the table. Commander Yin appeared ready to pass out.

Geary shook his head again. “Surely every fleet officer is still familiar with standing fleet regulation thirty-two? ‘In any situation, a fleet commander is expected to exercise independent judgment and take necessary and appropriate action regardless of the letter of preceding regulations, as long as such action does not violate Alliance law or the fleet commander’s oath to defend the Alliance against all enemies foreign and internal.’ ”

“But was that intended to apply in cases like this?” Captain Armus asked.

“I assure you it was.” Geary looked around the table again. “That fleet regulation was adopted about one hundred and ten years ago. I was a lieutenant, and required to attend briefings by the officers who had drawn up the new regulations.”

Captain Kila had been about to speak again but hastily subsided.

To Geary’s surprise, Cresida spoke up. “Sir, I accept that you have the right to deviate from regulations in this case, but I don’t understand why. Why show mercy to officers whose failures contributed to the loss of other ships? If they’d supported Warrior and Majestic, both of those ships might have survived this battle, to say nothing of the cruisers and destroyers lost defending the auxiliaries.”

It was a fair enough question. “To put it bluntly, Captain Cresida, I chose not to order a field execution of those two officers because I wasn’t feeling merciful.”

That brought looks of surprise and bafflement, including from Cresida. “You were not feeling merciful?”

“No.” Geary looked toward Casia and Yin. “Sending these two officers to the arms of their ancestors would end their suffering in this world. As long as they live, they’ll have to face some of the officers and sailors they failed. Officers and sailors who know what they did. Every living moment they’ll have to face those who know they chose cowardice.”

A long silence followed before Tulev spoke again. “Are you certain, Captain Geary, that these two officers will feel that scorn and contempt as harshly as you and I? Will they not simply be grateful that their lives have not been given either in the line of duty or as punishment for their failures? ”

Another fair question. Geary looked again to where Casia was glaring at him, his eyes haunted, and Yin was almost shaking as she avoided everyone else’s eyes. “Do they look grateful, Captain Tulev?”

Armus frowned at the two. “I suggest they be given the right to appeal, Captain Geary. I’d like to hear what they want.”

“That’s a reasonable request, Captain Armus, and in light of your service, I have no trouble granting it.” Armus had been a pain in the butt for Geary more than once, but in battle he’d fought well and with honor. Now Armus responded to Geary’s words with ill-concealed satisfaction as Geary turned to Casia. “Well?” he asked. “What do you feel is an appropriate punishment?”

Casia looked around the table, straightening himself, then back at Geary. “I demand a fleet officer’s death. You call me coward. I see agreement in many of my comrades’ eyes. I’ll prove you all wrong when I face the firing squad.”

Another surprise. Geary examined the other officers, seeing approval on their faces. They wanted this.

He looked down for a moment, wondering why it was so hard to make a decision that regulations, honor, and the fleet’s officers all agreed was right. He had ordered this fleet into action numerous times, sending ships into combat where death was a constant possibility. Twelve sailors had died aboard Dauntless alone in the last battle. By his orders. Yet that was a far different thing than this, deliberately to order an officer to die.

Geary looked up again. Casia was waiting, his eyes pleading now. Let me die with honor.

“Very well.” Geary nodded slowly. “Your request is granted, Captain Casia. I will approve execution by firing squad.”

Casia’s mouth twitched into a ghastly smile. “In Lakota. I want it done before the fleet leaves Lakota.”

“Very well,” Geary repeated. “Colonel Carabali, please canvass your Marines for volunteers for the firing squad.” He took a deep breath, then fixed his gaze on Commander Yin. “Commander, do you also wish to appeal?”

He thought she might break down completely, but Yin suddenly leaped to her feet. “I was following orders!” she shouted.

A moment of baffled silence followed. “Not my orders,” Geary finally stated.

“You are not competent to command this fleet!” Yin answered, her eyes wide. “You’re only a figurehead for those using you against the Alliance! They want to bring you home with all of these victories to your ‘credit’ and install you as a dictator! You and your … your female companion! ”

It had been a little while since the last attack on Co-President Rione, so Geary wasn’t surprised that Yin was dragging her into this. But then he realized that everyone in the conference was either looking at or obviously not looking at Captain Desjani. In turn, Desjani had her eyes fixed on Yin. If Desjani’s eyes had been hell-lance batteries, there would have been nothing left of Commander Yin but drifting ash.

The rumors of his being involved with Desjani clearly hadn’t died. There wasn’t any good way to address those now, however. Geary focused instead on the rest of Yin’s accusation. He’d been assuming that those opposed to his command of the fleet had been motivated primarily by personal ambition or personal dislike or distrust. Instead, if Yin’s words were to be trusted, at least some of them were motivated by fear that Geary or those backing him intended to overthrow the government of the Alliance. Those enemies might be working against him for reasons he could respect.

He was still thinking that through when Captain Duellos spoke sharply. “Commander Yin, whose orders were you following if not Captain Geary’s?”

She wavered, gulped once, then answered unsteadily. “Captain Numos.”

“Captain Numos is under arrest,” Duellos observed. “He is not able to issue orders. You know that.”

“I know that the arrest and all orders pertaining to it were themselves unlawful!”

Commander Neeson of Implacable spoke in a puzzled voice. “Does the charge of cowardice before the enemy stand if Commander Yin claims to have been following orders she believed to be legitimate?”

“She knew they weren’t legitimate,” Captain Badaya of Illustrious argued. “Commander Yin had to know that.”

“But if she’s saying she avoided action for that reason, it’s not the same as cowardice. Or is it?” Neeson appeared frustrated now.

Geary rapped one fist on the table to draw Commander Yin’s attention again. “Commander, I understand you to be claiming that you avoided engaging the enemy in accordance with orders from Captain Numos. Are you denying the charge of cowardice?”

Yin visibly quivered, but choked out one word. “Yes.”

Tulev shook his head. “That still amounts to disobedience of orders in the face of the enemy, which is also a battlefield execution offense.”

Low conversations broke out all along the table, officers debating the issue. Geary thought about it himself for a moment. “Commander Yin, there are issues here that don’t have simple answers. I am hesitant to order the execution of an officer in circumstances under which she may have thought her actions justified.” Everyone was listening intently. “Nonetheless, by your own admission you have violated orders from me, not only on the battlefield but also in conferring with Captain Numos. That alone is more than adequate grounds for relieving you of command. However, I will not unilaterally order the execution of an officer who claims to have believed her behavior was required by duty. You will be held under arrest, Commander Yin, until such time as this fleet returns to Alliance space, there to have proper charges lodged against you in a court-martial in which you can defend your actions and receive such justice as is considered appropriate by the judgment of your peers.”

No one called out objections. Captain Armus frowned, then nodded unenthusiastically. Commander Yin made to sit down again, but it looked more like she fell into her seat as her legs gave way.

Geary turned back to Captain Casia. “Captain, were your actions in command of Conqueror in the last battle also the result of following orders from someone other than the acting fleet commander?”

Casia hesitated, then shook his head roughly. “No one is responsible for my actions but me.”

Why did Casia have to display admirable behavior now? “All right, then. Colonel Carabali, please instruct your Marines on Conqueror and Orion to take Captain Casia and Commander Yin into custody and prepare them for transfer to Illustrious. Captain Casia, Commander Yin, please leave this conference.”

Casia took a moment to glare around in defiance, then reached for the controls at his location and disappeared. Commander Yin, her hand visibly shaking, followed suit quickly.

After that, discussing movements of the fleet seemed anticlimactic. Geary brought up the star display, a three-dimensional image of nearby space hovering over the table. “We’re going to take advantage of our victory here to continue toward Alliance space. Our next objective will be Branwyn. I don’t expect to encounter any resistance there, but we’ll be prepared for mines at the jump exit and a possible Syndic delaying force.” He pointed onward, to a dim red star a few light-years from Branwyn. “After that, we head for Wendig. That star system is supposed to be totally abandoned. Unless something unexpected happens in Wendig, we’ll then continue on to Cavalos.”

“Why not Sortes?” Captain Armus asked.

Geary indicated the star system in question. “Because it has a Syndic hypernet gate. We’ve inflicted serious losses on the Syndics at Kaliban and since, but we’re low on a lot of supplies and many of our ships have sustained damage. I’d prefer to avoid another major battle until our auxiliaries have had time to manufacture all of the fuel cells, expendable weapons, and replacement parts they can using the raw materials we’ve acquired here, and until our warships have had time to repair as much damage as possible.”

“But we can still try to use that hypernet gate to get home,” Armus argued. Apparently Geary’s earlier praise wasn’t going to incline Armus to accept Geary’s plans quietly.

“I believe, Captain Armus,” Geary stated patiently, “that the Syndics will ensure that they have sufficient means on hand at that hypernet gate to destroy it before we could reach it.”

“It’s worth a try, isn’t it?” No one answered him, causing Armus to frown and look around impatiently. “We easily survived the collapse of the hypernet gate in this star system.”

“We were very, very lucky,” Captain Cresida replied. “Next time, every ship in this fleet might be destroyed.”

Duellos nodded. “Not to mention what the gate collapse did to this star system. I won’t speak for anyone else, but I have enough on my conscience as it is.”

“Will the Syndics follow orders to destroy another gate after what happened here?” Commander Neeson asked.

“I would think that would depend on whether they hear what happened at Lakota,” Duellos speculated. “And whether they believe it. Some surviving Syndic civilian ships are already headed for jump points to spread the news and ask for help, but we have to assume that the Syndic leadership will attempt to downplay the disaster here, censor the news to the maximum extent possible, and to the degree it admits something happened, blame it on our actions.”

“They’ve shown us a weapon,” Captain Kila spoke again. “We can still use it. If we send out detachments to destroy hypernet gates in every Syndic star system with them that we pass near, we can—”

“We can die,” Captain Tulev interrupted. “You saw what happened to the Syndic warships that destroyed the hypernet gate in this star system. How many suicide missions do we launch until we run out of ships?”

“We ask for volunteers,” Kila noted calmly. “This is an unprecedented opportunity to inflict incalculable damage on the Syndicate Worlds.”

“Damage?” Commander Landis of Valiant shook his head. “I want those Syndic bastards to suffer as much as anyone, but wiping out star systems at one blow?”

“You’ve bombarded Syndic worlds,” Captain Armus pointed out.

“Yes, I have,” Landis agreed. “But this was different. I felt sick watching it, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. I’ve fought damned hard for the Alliance. I’ll keep fighting for it as long and as hard as I have to. But I don’t want to see that happen to any more habitable worlds, theirs or ours.”

Kila’s lips bent upward in a brief smile. “That’s all right, Commander. I’m sure we won’t have trouble finding enough volunteers.”

“Even assuming we could find such volunteers,” Geary cut in, “I will not approve or allow suicide missions as long as I command this fleet.”

Commander Vendig of Exemplar spoke quickly. “We could use robotic ships, crewed by artificial intelligence. Pull off the crews, and—”

A chorus of yells drowned out Vendig, one voice rising above the others. “Unleash armed AIs with instructions to wipe out human-occupied star systems? Are you insane?”

Captain Badaya was shaking his head and spoke into the renewed quiet that followed the outburst. “Commander Landis brought up an ugly truth. What happened at Lakota could happen at any Alliance star system with a hypernet gate. If the people of the Alliance see our records of what happened in this star system, they’ll demand that our own hypernet system be shut down. Who wants a bomb that big sitting in their backyard?”

“We can’t just shut the hypernet down,” Captain Cresida interjected. “It’s a finely balanced net of energy. There’s no way just to turn it off.”

“Why the hell did we build it?” someone demanded.

For some reason everyone looked at Geary. He gazed back at them. “Don’t ask me. I wondered the same thing, and I wasn’t around when it was built. But we’re stuck with it, and so are the Syndics.”

“There has to be a solution,” Commander Neeson insisted. “As long as those gates are up, they’re potential weapons. If we could figure out a way to employ them as weapons and hold that threat over them, the Syndics wouldn’t dare—” He paused, looking stricken, and stared around. “They could figure it out, too. The destructive potential of the hypernet gates is vastly greater than any weapons we or the Syndics have been able to employ before. We and the Syndics could literally wipe each other out.”

That cat was now completely out of the bag. Geary nodded. “That had occurred to me. Who wants to start a war of species extinction? Captain Kila?”

Kila looked steadily back at Geary but said nothing. Captain Tulev pointed one finger toward the star display. “Show us, please, Captain Geary. Play back the recording of what happened after the hypernet gate collapsed.”

He didn’t want to view that again, even in miniature, but Geary brought up the records, setting them to play at a vastly accelerated speed so that the shock wave rolled across the image of Lakota Star System in about thirty seconds.

It was quiet after the recording finished, then Tulev indicated where the images of the ruined star system had played out. “We should send this to the Syndics. They don’t have anything like it because so many of their sensors were destroyed by the energy wave. Send it to the ships leaving this star system for help, and to as many others as we can, and make sure they can send it onward.”

“So they can figure out what the gates can do sooner?” Armus asked sarcastically.

“They don’t need our help to do that,” Cresida answered. “They’ve already got records of what happened at Sancere, and even the dimmest mind can look at the damage to Lakota Three, calculate the amount of energy it took to do that, and work back the planet’s orbit and rotation to confirm that what hit it came from the hypernet gate location. But if we send what we have out now, which we can sanitize of any data about the collapse of the hypernet gate that we want to try to keep from the Syndics, it will prove that we didn’t cause all of that destruction.” She glared around the table. “My reputation, like Commander Landis’s, speaks for itself.

I don’t want to be blamed for what happened here. It’s over the line. I’ll kill as many Syndics as I have to kill to win this war. I don’t want to kill any star systems.”

“Yes,” Tulev agreed. “It’s important the Syndics know we didn’t do this, so there will be no popular demand for retaliation in kind. Also important is the impact it will have on the Syndic population.” He gestured at the star display again. “They’ll see it, all over, no matter how much the Syndic leaders try to suppress it. They’ll see what can happen to a planet with a hypernet gate in the same star system. What do the Syndic leaders say then? If they try to blame us, their people in star systems with hypernet gates will fear we could do the same to their worlds. If those leaders try to claim they can stop us, their people will want to know why they didn’t stop us in Lakota. If they say their people need not fear Alliance attacks of this nature because it was not an Alliance attack that caused it, then their people will demand to know what did cause it.”

Everyone thought about that, and grim smiles started appearing on a lot of faces.

“They’ll be in an impossible position,” Badaya noted approvingly. “That’s a brilliant suggestion, Captain Tulev. It will generate intense public worry all through Syndic space and confront the Syndic leaders with serious problems in how to handle mass fear of the hypernet gates.”

Commander Neeson, looking concerned, shook his head. “But what happens when our people hear about it? We can’t keep that news from crossing the border into Alliance space. We’ll face the same problem.”

“Our leaders need to know this problem exists,” Captain Badaya stated. He gave Geary a meaningful look. As far as Badaya was concerned, Geary should be the only leader of the Alliance, a dictator backed by most of this fleet. Commander Yin hadn’t been totally paranoid in her worries, though Geary himself wanted nothing to do with the idea.

“We need to figure out what to do, too,” Badaya continued, “before the Syndics decide to attack our gates.”

Geary frowned, worried again about what the Alliance’s elected leaders might decide, then saw Captain Cresida nodding.

“I think we can counter this threat,” she stated. “I’ve been thinking. We have two experimental results to draw on now, the only two known cases of collapsing hypernet gates. This fleet has the only full sets of observations from both incidents. With that data, I can refine the targeting algorithm we used at Sancere, make it more reliable and more certain to minimize energy output from a collapsing gate.”

“What good does that do?” Badaya demanded. “We can’t get close enough to a Syndic gate to stop them in time, and we don’t want to destroy our own gates.”

“But if the Syndics tried to destroy one of our gates,” Cresida replied, “and we had attached self-destruct charges to all of the gate tethers, tied into an automated safe-collapse program that would trigger if the gate suffered enough damage—”

The wave of relief was almost palpable. “We could make sure none of our gates destroyed their own star systems!”

“Maybe,” Geary cautioned. “We have no way of knowing how reliable the algorithm is because we only have two gate collapses to draw on for data. If it wasn’t as reliable as we think, we wouldn’t want to find that out the hard way. It’s also going to take time to get such a design finalized, approved, and installed on every hypernet gate within reach of the Syndics.”

Captain Cresida grimaced but nodded. “That’s true, sir.”

“But it’s better than nothing,” Tulev added.

“Much better,” Geary agreed. “Captain Cresida, please continue work on that concept. If we can offer that when we return to Alliance space, it will protect our homes from what happened here.” His eyes went back to the star display, realizing how far they had yet to go. A fleet still low on supplies, still pursued by Syndic forces able to destroy it if the fleet was caught in a bad position, still too deep in enemy territory.

No one else seemed worried about that. No one questioned Geary’s use of “when” they got back instead of “if” they got back. He found himself unnerved by the fear that this fleet (or most of it, at least) would do whatever he asked now, all of them certain that whatever Geary ordered would succeed. That would have been fine if he were some sort of genius, but he’d already made plenty of mistakes. Ancestors, I want their confidence, but I don’t want their faith. Unfortunately, it seemed he would get both whether he liked it or not, and this was coming on top of his distress over ordering Casia’s execution.

“Thank you,” Geary stated. “Thank you and all of your crews again for achieving the sort of victory that will be remembered as long as the Alliance endures.” He caught Duellos’s eye, then Badaya’s, sensing that both intended staying after the conference for private talks. Right now he couldn’t handle that and shook his head subtly to each to indicate they’d speak later. “I’ll see you all in Branwyn Star System.”

The images of officers vanished, and the room seemed to shrink with incredible speed. Geary sat down heavily as the last image disappeared, his eyes on the star display, wondering how long he could keep from making a mistake fatal to the entire fleet, wondering if he could really help defuse the hypernet gate bombs that the unknown aliens had succeeded in tricking humans into seeding throughout the regions of space they occupied.

“We’ll make it.”

Geary hadn’t remembered that Desjani was physically present, or realized that she had stayed in the room and was now watching him.

“I know it’s hard, sir. But you’ve brought us this far.” She indicated the display.

“I can’t do miracles,” he noted in a bleak voice.

“If you provide the right leadership, then this fleet will perform the miracles. You saw that here at Lakota.”

He laughed shortly. “I wish I could believe that! But the fleet has certainly done an amazing job. I won’t argue with you there.” The laugh died, and he nodded toward the stars.

“I almost made some lethal mistakes at Lakota the first time around. I can’t afford to make any more, and that’s scary, Tanya.”

“You don’t have to be perfect.”

“Don’t the living stars expect that of me?” Geary asked, hearing his voice get tense.

She frowned. “I’m not wise enough to know what they expect, but I’m smart enough to see that they wouldn’t have chosen a human agent if they wanted perfection. Sir, winning is usually a matter of making one less mistake than the enemy or just getting up one more time than you get knocked down. You’re doing both.”

He gave her an appraising look. “Thank you. I know you’ve told me on a few occasions that you know I’m human, but sometimes I still think you expect me to be some perfect, godlike being.”

Desjani’s frown deepened. “That would be blasphemy, sir. And unfair to you.”

“But you still think I can do it?” It was one thing for Desjani to say that if she believed him perfect, but if she knew he wasn’t perfect and still believed in him, it would mean much more.

“Yes, sir.” She looked down for a moment. “My ancestors tell me to trust you, that we were meant to … to serve together.”

He took a moment to answer, trying to make sure he didn’t say the wrong thing. “I’m glad we’re serving together. You’ve been invaluable.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He didn’t know why, but he suddenly felt the need to bring up something. “Vambrace was destroyed in the battle. I saw Lieutenant Riva made it off. He’s on Inspire right now.”

“I’m sure he’ll be happy there,” Desjani responded, her tone notably cooler. “There are any number of attractive female officers on Inspire, assuming he doesn’t try for an attractive enlisted this time.” She saw his reaction and shrugged with every appearance of uncaring. “Lieutenant Riva burned his bridges with me a decade ago, sir, though I didn’t fully appreciate that until recently. I’d regret the loss of any member of the Alliance fleet, but on a personal level, I really don’t care if I never hear his name again.”

“Sorry,” Geary offered, “for bringing it up, I mean.”

“That’s all right. I’ve learned a lot about men since I was involved with him, a lot about what a man should be.” She looked down and bit her lip. “But we were talking about getting home, about you being able to do that.”

“Yeah.”

She must have heard the lack of enthusiasm in Geary’s voice, and somehow knew what it meant. “It’s still your home, too, sir.”

“Is it?” Geary fell silent again but knew Desjani was waiting for him to say more, as if she knew he had more he should say. “How much has changed in a century? The people I knew are gone. I’ll be greeting their now-elderly children and grandchildren. The buildings I last saw new will be old. Old ones will be torn down, with something else in their place. On this ship I can pretend not much time has passed, but once we get back to Alliance space, then everywhere I look there’ll be reminders that my home is dead and gone.”

Desjani sighed. “You won’t lack for friends.”

“Yes, I will. What I won’t lack for is people wanting to be near Black Jack Geary,” he answered, letting the bitterness he felt at the thought enter his voice. “They won’t be interested in me, just in the great hero they think I am. How can I avoid that? How can I get to know anyone when that will be following me everywhere?”

“It won’t be easy,” Desjani admitted. “But people will get to know you. Just like people in this fleet did. Who you really are besides being a hero, and I see how you react when I say that, but I’m sorry, you are a hero. Everyone in this fleet would be dead or in Syndic labor camps long ago but for you. You have to accept that.”

“I could still screw up so badly that we’ll end up that way anyhow,” Geary noted. “Look, I wish you wouldn’t call me a hero.”

“The fleet knows—”

“Not the fleet. You.”

She stayed silent for a moment, then nodded. “You need to be able to escape that at times. I understand. But I do believe you’ll be happy once we get home. You’ll get to know people. People will get to know you,” Desjani repeated. “Just as some of them know you now.”

“Sure. People in the fleet know me. People I’ll have to leave.” She didn’t answer this time, and Geary looked over to see Desjani staring at the deck, her face rigid with suppressed emotions. For the first time he really thought of leaving her, of not seeing her every day, and felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. Geary wondered how his own expression looked as he realized that. “Tanya—”

“Please don’t. It’ll just make it harder.”

He wasn’t sure what she meant, but in some way knew that she was right. “Okay.”

“You’ll have Co-President Rione,” Desjani added in a rush.

“No. I don’t have her now. Not like that.” He shrugged, hoping he wasn’t sounding callous. “We’re using each other. I need someone who is skeptical of me and willing to speak openly her every doubt to me, and she needs … I’m not sure what she needs.”

Desjani spoke in a very low voice. “It seems that you’re giving her what she wants.”

Geary barely managed not to flinch. Desjani had a point. A very good point. Why was he having sex with a woman when he wasn’t even remotely sure of his feelings about her? “Not lately. But maybe that should stop completely.”

“If the fleet needs it—”

“That’s a fine justification for me to use, isn’t it? Just the sort of abuse of power I’m supposed to be avoiding.”

She smiled slightly. “Yes.”

“It’s not like Rione and I get along that well. Especially when—” He broke off, suddenly realizing that he’d been about to say “when she acts jealous of you.”

But Desjani looked even farther away for a moment, as if she’d actually heard those words. “I’ve given her no grounds for that. Nor have you.”

“She seems to think so,” he noted in frustration. “So does most of the fleet, apparently. What the hell are we going to do, Tanya?”

She knew that he wasn’t referring to the Syndics or the fleet this time. Desjani gazed toward a corner of the room for a while before answering in a calm and controlled voice. “We can’t do anything. Sir.”

“No. We can’t.” The carefully emphasized “sir” was meant to remind him of their relative positions. She was his subordinate, he was her commander, and nothing could be done about either of those things. He looked down, trying to understand the feelings inside himself and wishing Desjani hadn’t gotten dragged into the politics surrounding him. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” she replied. “I’m sorry, too.”

It was only after she left that it occurred to him to wonder exactly what she felt sorry for, and only then because he wasn’t entirely sure that he’d meant it the way he’d thought he had.

“Captain Geary, this is Captain Desjani. The accounting of prisoners liberated from Audacious was scrambled by the subsequent engagement and the losses of some of the ships involved in the recovery, but a preliminary list is now available. They’re working on verifying it and hope to have a finalized list before we reach the jump point for Branwyn.”

Geary felt a sense of satisfaction at the news, a reminder that he had succeeded in liberating some of the Alliance sailors captured during the first battles in Lakota Star System, as he reached out and tapped the comm unit in his stateroom. “Thank you, Captain Desjani. You didn’t need to track that for me. You’re not my chief of staff.” He didn’t have a chief of staff, of course. Admiral Bloch’s had died along with Admiral Bloch in the Syndic home system, and Geary hadn’t wanted to pull any officers out of badly needed primary duties on any of his ships. The automated systems available could do most of the work staffs used to do, anyway.

“I’m happy to help however I can, sir.”

Geary smiled and broke the connection, then turned to see Victoria Rione glowering at him. She’d come here to discuss the fleet conference she had observed but not attended, but had been interrupted by Desjani’s call. “Now what?” he asked. “That was good news.”

“Yes,” Rione agreed in an icy voice, “eagerly delivered by your happy little helper.”

He felt heat rising to match her coldness. “Are you talking about Captain Desjani?”

“Who else? Everyone in this fleet knows how she feels about you. You don’t have to flaunt it in front of me.”

“Those are rumors, and you know it! I’ve never seen her act that way, and I don’t act that way with her,” Geary objected. “No one I meet in the passageways of Dauntless gives me looks of disapproval. If the crew of this ship thought Captain Desjani and I were even thinking of that, they’d—”

“No, they wouldn’t!” Rione gave him a look mixing anger and exasperation. “If you and that woman were screwing on the bridge of this ship, the watch-standers would politely look away and joyfully approve that their respected captain and their legendary hero had found happiness together! How can you not know that?”

“That’s ridiculous. They know you and I are together.”

“We may walk together at times, but anyone can see that we’re no more emotionally tied to each other than we were the day you were defrosted from survival sleep!”

He started to object, then thought better of it. Rione was right about that. Even when their bodies were joined, their spirits were separate. Lust and love were two different things. He knew which of those motivated him to desire Victoria Rione, and he couldn’t pretend otherwise. “We’ve still publicly been companions. If I left you for Desjani—”

“They’d applaud! I’m a civilian and a politician! They don’t trust me, they don’t think I’m one of them, and I’m not!”

“That doesn’t mean—”

“Yes, it does! If an election on the matter were held tomorrow in this fleet, the officers and sailors would overwhelmingly vote to shove me into an escape pod and eject it in the direction of the nearest Syndic labor camp, and for her to move into this stateroom to warm your bed and body for the foreseeable future and fleet regulations be damned! She knows that! Why do you think she’s so uncomfortable when the subject is raised?”

“She has every right to feel uncomfortable!” Geary shot back heatedly. “She’s never done anything to justify the impression that she’d want that.”

Rione stared at him for a long moment. “Of course she hasn’t done anything. Neither have you.”

“What? Are you implying something about my feelings for her?”

“No, I’m not implying anything, I’m stating it! It’s clear you prefer her company to mine or anyone else’s. Moreover, she returns the feeling, and you know it!”

“I know nothing of the kind!” Geary roared. “We have to work together! She has a good military mind and good instincts, so of course I want to consult with her! Why the hell are you so jealous of Desjani anyway?”

“Because you like her better than me, you idiot! If not for your honor and her honor, which I will freely admit are impeccable, and both of your refusals to violate regulations because you’re both so damned dedicated to your duties and responsibilities as officers, you and she would be spending every waking moment together! And every sleeping moment, too! And if it came to that, she would feel the kind of bliss she’s previously only gained from destroying Syndic warships! And if you don’t know all of that, then you’re even more oblivious than I thought any human male could ever possibly be!” Rione glared at him as if trying to decide whether to say anything else, then threw up her hands in apparently total frustration and stormed out.

The obvious reply came to Geary right after the hatch shut. Maybe I like her better because she doesn’t yell at me as much as you do! But there wasn’t much sense in wasting the comeback by saying it to an empty room, and there was no way he was going to chase her down the passageway to deliver it, and in any event he didn’t think he’d believe the retort nearly so wise once his own anger had cooled.

Besides, he knew a totally honest answer would be different. I like Desjani because she understands me. Even though she thinks I’m some great hero on a great mission, she seems to know who I really am, too. And because we work so well together, like we just instinctively know what the other needs. We like the same things, we can talk, I can relax with her in ways I can’t with anyone else. Which made Desjani a great captain for his flagship, a great companion to discuss things with, a great person to be around, a great—Damn.

Rione’s right.

He sat there a while, trying to figure out what to do. In a way, though, he and Desjani had already discussed it. They couldn’t, and wouldn’t, do anything that wasn’t appropriate for a commander and one of his subordinate officers. That didn’t mean they couldn’t have a close working relationship, and indeed, recent events had emphasized how important her assistance was to him during critical situations. But he’d have to make sure not to push beyond that, not to seem to pressure her in any way that wasn’t professional. She hadn’t invited his feelings for her, and he had no right to even state them to her.

Never mind Rione’s angry accusation that Desjani had feelings for him. He couldn’t assume that was true and certainly couldn’t act as if it was true. It would be better for all concerned if it wasn’t true.

Geary finally recalled what had started his (latest) argument with Rione, and called up the preliminary listing of Alliance personnel who had been liberated from Audacious. The list was gratifyingly long, though he didn’t want to compare it to a list of the total crews of all of the Alliance ships that had been lost in this star system. For that matter, he didn’t want to linger on the knowledge that those liberated prisoners would be needed to make up combat losses on his surviving ships. Most of the former prisoners were enlisted personnel, of course, with a decent number of junior officers among them. Only one officer above the rank of lieutenant was listed. Geary’s gaze lingered on Commander Savos’s name for a few moments, then he noted that Savos was currently aboard the battle cruiser Implacable and called that ship. “If Commander Savos is up for it, I’d like to speak with him.”

Ten minutes later, Implacable reported that Savos was standing by for his interview. Geary stood up, made sure his uniform looked decent, then told Implacable to activate the link.

The image of Commander Savos, former commanding officer of the light cruiser Spur, which had been destroyed during the Alliance fleet’s first visit to Lakota Star System, looked like hell. His uniform appeared new, obviously provided by someone on Implacable to replace the one Savos had worn while abandoning his ship, then being captured and imprisoned, but the rest of the man reflected what he’d been through in recent weeks. Commander Savos appeared slightly gaunt, his face lined with the strain of his time as a prisoner. One side of his head was covered by a flex-patch, and his eye on that side bore the remnants of a nasty bruise. Commander Savos nonetheless tried to stand at attention and salute. Geary returned the salute quickly, feeling guilty for having summoned the man and wondering why no one had bothered telling him that Commander Savos wasn’t in good shape. “At ease, Commander. Sit down. Are they taking good care of you on Implacable?”

Savos sat down carefully, keeping himself slightly stiff as if trying to sit at attention, then nodded. “Yes, sir. Implacable’s been wonderful for all of us, sir. Excellent treatment, though the captured Syndic food leaves a bit to be desired.”

“You don’t have to tell me that. I’m already starting to miss Danaka Yoruk bars, and I never thought that would be possible.” Geary paused. “How are you doing?”

“Happier than I imagined I could be a couple of days ago, sir,” Savos stated with a grin that quickly faded. “The Syndics didn’t feed us enough and worked us hard at times. We’ll be okay now, though.”

“You’re the senior surviving officer among the liberated prisoners.”

“Among those on Audacious, yes, sir,” Savos confirmed. “I heard some things that make me think one or more captains may have been captured but taken to Syndic warships for interrogation.” The commander paused, looking distressed. Geary knew what he was thinking, the same pain that troubled Geary at the very real possibility that some of the Syndic warships they’d destroyed had held Alliance prisoners of war. There had been no way to know and no way to save them, but the thought would still disturb Geary whenever he thought about the battles here.

Savos began speaking again. “After I had to order Spur abandoned, I’m afraid I was knocked out for a while when the ship suffered some more hits. My crew helped get me off in one of the escape pods, but it took me a few days to get thinking again. That may be why I was left on Audacious instead of being taken for interrogation like other senior officers.”

“What do our medics say about your concussion?”

“Nothing they can’t fix, sir.” Savos gave a smile that was almost a grimace and raised one hand toward the bandage on the side of his head. “If it hadn’t been treated, I’d have developed serious problems down the road, but I’m told everything should be fine now.”

“Good. I’m sorry about Spur.”

Savos looked distressed again before answering. “She wasn’t the only ship lost, sir.”

“No. But she also didn’t go without making the enemy pay. Your ship fought well.” He knew that was what any good commanding officer would want to hear. “The battle with the Syndic pursuit force scrambled up the released prisoners with crew members from other ships we just lost. We’re getting the liberated prisoners sorted out, and once we have a list of those from Spur, I’ll make sure you get a copy.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“We’ll probably distribute them around the fleet on ships that need replacements for battle casualties,” Geary told him. “Let me know if there are any you’d like to be on the same ship with.”

Commander Savos nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

Geary regarded the officer for a moment. Savos had impressed him, and he needed a new commanding officer for Orion. Could Savos handle it? Going from a light cruiser to a battleship might be too big a step, especially if Savos was suffering aftereffects from combat injuries. It would be best not to push him. He’d see what shape Savos was in when the fleet reached Branwyn and make a decision then. “I know intelligence is debriefing all of the liberated prisoners, but is there anything you think I ought to know right away?”

Savos pondered that for a moment. “We heard very little. They’d haul us out in small bunches and put us into working parties, but otherwise we were kept in our compartments. There is one thing you probably ought to know.”

“What’s that?”

“We didn’t know what was going on yesterday, but the Syndics knew I was the senior officer among the prisoners on Audacious. A bunch of their Mobile Assault Forces guys hauled me outside the compartment, stuck their weapons in my face, and asked me if you were really in command of the fleet and whether it was true that you’d forbidden the killing of Syndic prisoners.” Savos shrugged. “I didn’t know why they were asking, but I told them the truth, yes and yes. I told them that you’d insisted on following the old rules of war and that all of us were following those orders. I said you always did what you promised. Then one of them said something like ‘screw our orders,’ they shoved me back into the compartment, and that’s all I knew until the Marines broke the hatch open. Our Syndic guards must have bolted for their escape pods right after they talked to me.”

Geary wondered what the “orders” had been. Shut off life support to the prisoner compartments? Set Audacious’s power core to overload? Apparently his threat, backed by his record, had worked in this case. “Thank you, Commander. Get yourself some rest. You’ve earned it. I’ll talk to you again at Branwyn.”

“Yes, sir.” Savos made a gesture toward the controls at his location, then paused. “They’re scared, sir. They’re scared of this fleet. They’re scared of you. I could feel it.”

“Huh.” How did he respond properly to that? He’d never led by fear, though it was one thing for your own personnel to be afraid of you and another for the enemy to fear you. Still, it wasn’t how he saw himself. “Well, they ought to be scared of everyone in this fleet, Commander Savos, because I couldn’t have done a single blessed thing without every man and woman on every ship in this fleet.” Savos looked grateful, as if, Geary thought, he couldn’t have been expected to state the obvious. Then Commander Savos’s image disappeared, leaving Geary alone once more.

“The shuttle carrying Captain Casia and Commander Yin to Illustrious is on its way,” Desjani reported, as if transporting one senior officer to meet a firing squad and a second to be imprisoned were the most routine event in the fleet.

“They’re both on one shuttle?”

Desjani’s image on his stateroom communications display nodded. “Conqueror and Orion are still close to each other, so there wasn’t any sense wasting fuel with two shuttle flights. The bird should be at Illustrious in twenty-five minutes.”

Which would leave about four and a half days before the fleet jumped to Branwyn. Plenty of time for the firing squad to do its work at Lakota just as Geary had promised Casia, but somehow the time available still felt rushed.

It felt wrong to sit in his stateroom, working or not, while that shuttle was en route to Illustrious with its small cargo of prisoners and Marine guards. Geary made his way up to the bridge and sat down near Desjani, noting that the shuttle was now twenty minutes from Illustrious. He wondered if Colonel Carabali had managed to find enough volunteers for Captain Casia’s firing squad yet but decided he wasn’t ready to ask. He didn’t want to think about it at all, but couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Ten minutes later an alert pulsed.

“Accident on shuttle flight Omicron Five One,” a watch-stander called out.

Geary was still focusing on his display when Desjani gasped in recognition. “That’s the bird with Casia and Yin on it.”

He stared at the display with a sick feeling. “The bird that had them on it.” Images and text presented the same picture, that the shuttle had blown up. “It’s gone?”

Desjani was scowling now, tapping controls. “Shuttle accidents are uncommon but not impossible. But that level of failure—our systems say it must have been the shuttle’s fuel cell suffering a catastrophic containment failure. What the hell could’ve caused that?”

“Destroyer Rapier is closest to the accident site,” the operations watch called out. “She’s requesting permission to proceed to the area in search of survivors and to collect physical evidence.”

He should have already thought of the need to send a ship to do that. “Tell Rapier that permission is granted,” Geary stated, still trying to grasp what had happened.

Desjani shook her head, looking angry. “Chances of survivors are nil, but maybe Rapier can find something in the wreckage that will help explain what happened.”

Rapier was still on her way to the field of debris that had been shuttle flight Omicron Five One when Rione came quickly onto the bridge, then bent down close to Geary to speak in the barest whisper. “A very unusual accident, and two officers who might have named names are now dead.”

He stared at her. “You think—?”

“Casia might have made a final statement when he faced the firing squad. Yin might have crumbled or revealed something if we decided to interrogate her. What do you think?”

He didn’t want to accept the idea, but the coincidence of a deadly accident on that particular shuttle flight made Rione’s suggestion too convincing to ignore. Someone had escalated their efforts against Geary into the realm of deadly force. He hadn’t really believed Rione’s warning before. Now there seemed little doubt. Whoever they were, they were willing to kill Alliance personnel in the name of contesting Geary’s command of the fleet. Though if what had turned out to be Commander Yin’s final statement was to be believed, they also wanted to prevent him from becoming a dictator if the fleet made it home, and, like Rione, were willing to kill to keep that from happening. Unlike Rione, they had not merely threatened such actions but carried them out, and, unlike her, they had struck not directly at Geary but at other officers in the fleet.

Which meant they were doubtless willing and able to commit more such attacks. The only questions were where, when, and how.