The Lost Fleet: Dauntless

by Jack Campbell

  Geary nodded back. “And if they took down their hypernet, the Alliance could shift forces so much faster than the Syndics that we’d be able to concentrate forces again and again, crushing the Syndics piecemeal while they scramble to try to catch us. It’d be a huge advantage on those grounds alone. I can only imagine the economic advantage the Alliance would gain. Why’d they risk giving us one of their keys?”

  Desjani made a face. “From their perspective, the plan probably looked foolproof. Dangle the bait of the Syndic home system, offer us a key there through a supposed traitor, and then trap us so far from home we couldn’t possibly escape.” She grinned. “But they didn’t know we’d have you.”

  Oh, for the living stars’ sake. But as long as she brought it up… “How’d you find me? After all that time? Why didn’t someone find me earlier?” The questions had occurred to him before, of course, but he’d never pursued the answers, not wanting to delve into the events that had separated him from his own time and left him here among these familiar strangers.

  Desjani tapped on the small table between them, bringing up a display of star systems. “Did you know you could do this? Your last battle—Excuse me, what we thought was your last battle, took place here.” She pointed to an unremarkable star. “Grendel.”

  Geary nodded and swung his own finger along a line of stars. “It was part of a standard transit route. That’s why my convoy was heading through the area.”

  “Yes. But it was also close to Syndic space, which is why the convoy had a routine escort. Right?” Geary nodded as Desjani’s hand waved to indicate the stars beyond. “They could jump straight into Grendel’s system. Which they did when they attacked you.” She sat silent for a moment. “Afterward, well, my understanding is the system was swept, but there were Syndic forces jumping in and out constantly, hoping to catch more shipping. Everything had to be done under combat conditions, the accumulated battles left more and more wreckage and flotsam drifting through the system, and eventually Grendel was effectively abandoned except for some automated early-warning systems to let us know if the Syndics were coming through. It just made more sense to jump safely through Beowulf, Caderock, and Rescat than run the gauntlet through Grendel.” Another shrug. “And once the hypernet was set up, nobody even needed to do that.”

  Geary gazed at the display, cold seeming to seep in through the walls around him as he thought of the decades his survival pod had spent tumbling through space in a system empty of everything except the wreckage of war. “But you went through there.”

  “Yes. We needed to jump into a Syndic system where one of their hypernet gates existed, and Grendel offered a perfect jumping off point. Isolated, quiet, empty.” She swung one finger slowly through the representation of the lonely star. “Our sensors are better, more sensitive, than they used to be. They picked up the power being used in your survival pod and the tiny amount of heat that it was generating. It might’ve been power leakage from a Syndic spy drone, so we investigated.” Desjani pursed her lips. “The fleet physicians estimated you had only a few more years of survival time left, at best, before power in the pod was exhausted.”

  The cold bored into him, threatening to freeze his breath in his throat. “I hadn’t heard that.”

  “They’re not supposed to keep anyone alive that long, you know. The only reason it kept going all that time is because you were the only one aboard. If there’d been even just two survivors drawing down power to sustain hibernation…”

  “Lucky me.”

  Desjani had her eyes locked on him again. “Many believe it wasn’t a matter of luck, Captain Geary. An awful lot of things had to work out just right for you to end up alive on this warship just when the Alliance needed you. Just when we needed you.”

  Great. More proof to the believers that I’ve been sent by the living stars to…do what? Are they “only” expecting me to somehow lead this fleet to safety, or is that just the start of their dreams?

  How do I tell them otherwise? And what happens when they learn I’m just a very fallible man upon whom fate played a lot of nasty tricks?

  Geary realized she was watching him with concern. “What? Is something wrong?”

  “No! It’s just…you were silent a long time, not looking at anything. I did get a bit worried.”

  The last batch of meds must’ve started wearing off, or recent events had just overwhelmed even what the meds could do. “I guess I need to rest some.”

  “There’s no reason not to now. It’s three weeks transit time to Corvus in jump space. Plenty of time to recover.” Desjani looked briefly guilty. “The fleet physicians want to see you again as soon as possible. I’m supposed to tell you that.”

  I bet they do. Am I better off avoiding them or seeking them out? “Thanks. And thanks for everything else, Tanya. I’m glad I’m on Dauntless.”

  It was amazing how a smile could transform Captain Desjani’s face. “As am I, Captain Geary.”

  He sat for a few minutes after she’d left, unable to work up the mental or physical energy to do anything else. Three weeks to Corvus. Not so long, but an eternity of time for a fleet of ships whose futures had once seemed confined to the space of a hour.

  The bedding had been changed at some point, saving Geary the dilemma of either asking for help getting new bedding or sleeping in Admiral Bloch’s sheets. He slept for a long time, his sleep restless with vivid dreams that he couldn’t recall at all during brief periods of waking.

  Eventually he got up, unable to sleep through the muffled sounds of the working-day life of the Dauntless that came to him even inside the well-insulated stateroom. Grateful to find himself feeling stronger, he rummaged in compartments, trying to ignore anything that looked like a personal possession of the late Admiral Bloch, and found some unopened ration bars that, for all he could tell, were as chronologically as old as he was.

  It wasn’t like he felt like enjoying food, though, so the ration bars sufficed for a small breakfast.

  Now what? Now he had the luxury of time. The Alliance fleet would be in jump space for weeks. He could actually find out a little bit more about what had happened since he’d entered that survival pod and started his long sleep. From what he’d heard and seen already, much of recent history wouldn’t make pleasant reading, but he had to know it if he wanted to understand these strangers he’d been thrust into commanding.

  As it turned out, the modern version of the Sailor’s Manual contained what appeared to be a decent condensed history of events since his “last stand.”

  Geary skipped hastily over the account of what had once been his final battle. He’d never been comfortable hearing even routine praise for himself, so the idea of reading a worshipful account of his actions made him feel almost ill. Especially when even levelheaded and experienced officers like Captain Desjani seemed to think he’d been sent back by the living stars to somehow save the Alliance.

  But as he started to read past the story of “Black Jack Geary’s Last Stand” he stopped to stare at the date. Almost one hundred years ago. To me, it all happened less than two weeks past. I remember it so clearly. I remember that battle and those people in my crew and getting into that survival pod with my ship being ripped apart around me and Death riding on my shoulder. It was only two weeks ago. To me.

  They’re all dead. The ones who died on my ship and the ones who got away safe. All the same now. And even the children of those who survived are dead, too. All that’s left is me.

  He put his head down and couldn’t think of anything but grief for a long time.

  * * * *

  Eventually, Geary made it through the history, finding it to be a relentlessly positive account of battles lost and won, making even what sounded to Geary like defeats seem like they’d somehow been part of a master plan. But that was an official history for you. What Captain Desjani had told him, of a stalemate lasting for decade after decade, was obvious when he read between the lines. As the history drew close to the present day, it seem
ed to become almost shrill in its patriotic exhortations, a sure sign to Geary’s way of thinking that morale was perceived as shaky.

  The Sailor’s Manual had always been intended to teach the basics, so its contents couldn’t confirm Geary’s belief that the officers and sailors of the Alliance fleet were, on average, young and minimally trained. But as fleet commander he could access any personnel files he wanted, and those he checked at random all told the same story. Most of the personnel in the fleet had painfully little experience. A few had survived through luck or innate skill long enough to really know what they were doing, but they were a small minority. Each of the great victories celebrated in the history Geary had read had obviously taken a serious toll. Even though the official history didn’t admit to any defeats, Geary figured those had cost plenty as well.

  He wondered how officers like Captains Numos and Faresa had stayed alive while so many others had died. Granted he’d only seen them briefly, but he hadn’t gained the impression that either of them were especially skilled. He suspected they were like some officers he’d once known, the ones who somehow managed to always let someone else take the risks, who worked hard at maintaining their image while avoiding actions that might hazard them or their image. But he had no proof of that, so for the time being at least all he could do was watch Numos and Faresa in the hope of either confirming or refuting his suspicions.

  Having stalled as long as he could, Geary steeled himself and called up the record of Commander Michael Geary. As he’d guessed, and as had been apparent from the way he’d fought his ship, his grandnephew had been one of the experienced and skilled survivors. Not because he’d held back in action, either. Michael Geary had indeed spent a lifetime trying to live up to the heroic standards of Black Jack Geary. He’d finally achieved that goal by dying in battle.

  A lot of amateurs and a few survivors. No, they were all survivors, of a war that’d kept going for a long, long time, with occasional cease-fires that had apparently only been agreed to so that both sides could rearm after particularly heavy losses.

  I need to talk to these people. Geary stared at the door to his stateroom, grateful for the protection it offered but also knowing he couldn’t keep hiding here. I have to get to know them, see how well they can still hold up under pressure. Based on the people I’ve met so far, they’ll keep trying for a while because of their irrational faith in me, but what happens after I’ve made enough mistakes, after I’ve made it clear that I’m not the mythical Black Jack Geary but really just Commander John Geary, promoted to Captain after his “death” and not sure what the hell to do or how to get them home safe? What then?

  The only way to learn the answer to that question was to get out past that stateroom door.

  For the next several days, Geary devoted perhaps half his time to studying and the other half to walking through the Dauntless. He’d set an informal goal of trying to walk to every compartment in the ship, if for no other reason than he knew letting the crew see him would be important for their morale. He also desperately wanted them to see him as human, before he proved his fallibility again, but he wasn’t sure he was making much progress on that account.

  On one such walk, he stopped by the compartment containing Dauntless’s null-field projector. The null-field’s crew stood around, smiling, as Geary stared at the massive, squat device. Something about the size and shape of the weapon made him think of a mythical giant troll, resting on its haunches as it waited patiently for a victim to come close enough. Geary did his best to hide his misgivings and smiled back at the crew. “The weapon’s ready to employ?”

  “Yes, sir!” The crew chief, who looked so young Geary wondered if he’d been shaving for very long, laid a possessive hand on the monster. “It’s in perfect condition. We run checks every day, just like the manuals say, and if anything looks even a little off, we make sure it’s fixed.”

  Another of the null-field’s crew spoke up, her proud tone matching that of the crew chief. “We’ll be ready, Captain. Any Syndic warship that gets within range is gonna get fogged real good.”

  It took Geary a moment to realize that “fogged” must refer to what would be left after a null-field shot reduced anything, and anyone, within its target area into subatomic particles. Somehow, he nodded and smiled in response to the boast. Gunners loved their guns. They always had and probably always would. That’s why they were gunners. And his ancestors knew the fleet needed good gunners. “The next time we get up close with the Syndics, we’ll see if we can give you that shot.” The crew grinned and pumped their fists into the air. I don’t have the heart to tell them that Dauntless can’t be risked if I can help it. But there’s all too great a chance we might end up getting close to Syndic warships whether I like it or not before this is all over.

  The hell-lance battery crews weren’t quite as enthusiastic, but then unlike the null-fields, their personal toys weren’t brand-new weapons that they’d gotten to be the first to play with. Geary easily recognized the hell-lance projectors, even though these bulked three times the size of the ones he’d known.

  A veteran Chief Petty Officer at a hell-lance battery patted one of the weapons. “I bet you wish you’d had one of these girls along on your last battle, eh, Captain?”

  Geary managed that polite smile again. “It would’ve come in very handy.”

  “Not that you needed one, sir,” the chief added hastily. “That battle of yours…everyone knows about it. This stuff today is great, but they don’t make ships or sailors like that anymore.”

  Geary knew the truth of the statement, but he knew another truth as well. He looked at the dull surface of the hell-lance for a moment, then shook his head. “You’re wrong, Chief.” Then he cocked one eyebrow at the others present. “One of the advantages of being fleet commander is that I get to tell a chief he’s wrong.” They all laughed, then stopped when Geary spoke again, his voice measured. “They still make great ships and great sailors. You all saw Repulse.” His voice caught on the last word, but that was okay because he saw the sailors’ reactions and knew they understood and felt the same way. “We’ll get the damage to our ships repaired, we’ll restock our expendable weapons, and the next time we meet the Syndic fleet, we’ll make them pay a hundred times over for Repulse.”

  They cheered. He felt like a fraud, mouthing words he didn’t really believe. But they had to believe in themselves, and mistaken or not, they believed in him.

  As he turned to go, the chief yelled over the cheers. “We’ll make you proud you commanded us, Black Jack!”

  Ancestors help me. But Geary turned and spoke as the crowd fell silent to listen. “I’m already proud to command you.”

  And they cheered again, but that was okay, because what he’d said this time was completely true.

  He had to be escorted by Captain Desjani when he went to see the hypernet key in its secured area. About half as large as a cargo container, the device took up most of the space in the compartment where it rested. Geary walked around the outside, seeing the power cables snaking into it and the control lines weaving in and out. He looked at it for a long time, wondering at how something so ordinary in appearance could be so important.

  * * * *

  “Captain Geary.” The only good thing about Co-President Victoria Rione’s expression was that it was marginally less cold than her tone of voice.

  “Madam Co-President.” Geary stepped back to allow her into his stateroom. He’d been trying to wean himself off the meds and hadn’t taken any today, which had left him feeling even worse than usual and in no mood for a visitor. But given her authority over some of the ships in the fleet, he couldn’t send Rione away. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

  Apparently, he didn’t quite manage to keep the irony out of his voice, because Rione’s expression dropped a few more degrees toward absolute zero. But she walked into the stateroom, waited while Geary closed the door, then eyed him silently.

  If she’s trying to unnerve me,
she’s doing a good job. Geary tried not to let Rione anger him, since he had a feeling that Rione used such emotions to trick her opponents into saying and doing things they’d probably regret. “Would you like to sit down?”

  “No.” She turned and walked the three steps that took her to the far bulkhead, apparently absorbed in studying the picture there. It was a legacy of Admiral Bloch, of course, a stunning starscape that was just the sort of thing you’d expect to find in a naval officer’s stateroom. Rione spent perhaps a minute looking at the picture, then turned toward Geary again. “Do you like starscapes, Captain Geary?”

  Small talk. He hadn’t expected that, and it made him warier than ever. “Not particularly.”

  “You can change it. You can put any picture from the ship’s graphic library on here.”

  “I know.” He refused to add that he hadn’t been able to bring himself to wipe out the picture because it represented a legacy of Admiral Bloch’s former presence here.

  Rione eyed him for several seconds longer before speaking again. “What are your intentions, Captain Geary?”

  My intentions are purely honorable, ma’am. The incongruous thought arose totally unbidden, causing Geary to pretend to cough so he wouldn’t laugh instead. “Excuse me. Madam Co-President, as we discussed earlier, I intend to try to get this fleet back to Alliance space.”

  “Don’t evade the question, Captain. We’re en route to the Corvus System. I want to know what you intend doing next.”

  If I knew for sure, I’d tell you. But perhaps Rione’s visit wasn’t such a bad thing after all. She was apparently one of the few people on this ship who didn’t worship the space he sailed through, she’d already made it clear she wouldn’t hesitate to express her opinions, and as far as he could tell from their earlier conversation she had a good head on her shoulders. Granted, she also didn’t try to hide her dislike of him, but unlike the hostility he’d seen from people like Captains Numos and Faresa, at least the Republic Co-President ’s disdain seemed tempered by some degree of common sense. “I’d like to discuss that with you.”