Relentless

by Jack Campbell

  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 wel
l. 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.