The Lost Fleet: Dauntless

by Jack Campbell

  However, the interaction with the personnel on the bridge had reminded Geary of the importance of letting the crew see him. He’d been thinking longingly of holing up in his stateroom again and gnawing on a ration bar, safely hidden from the eyes of both those who worshipped the decks Black Jack Geary trod and those who thought John Geary was an ancient relic totally out of his depth. Instead, he walked to one of the mess areas, joined the line and got a meal, then sat down at a table with several sailors at it.

  They watched him with wide eyes as he took a bite of something tasteless. “How are you folks doing?” Geary asked. Instead of answering, they all looked at each other. Geary glanced at the petty officer sitting next to him and asked the one question he could be sure would get a clear answer. “Where are you from?”

  “Ko-Kosatka, sir.”

  The one thing you could always get sailors to talk about was home. “The same as Captain Desjani?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ve been to Kosatka.” The man’s jaw actually dropped in amazement. “It was a while ago…of course. I liked it. What part of the planet are you from?”

  The man started talking about his home. The others got drawn in, as Geary learned another one of his tablemates was also from Kosatka. As in Geary’s time, each ship seemed to draw much of its crew from one particular planet, with the rest of the sailors from places scattered across the Alliance. The others were from planets Geary had to confess he’d never visited, but just his expressions of interest kept the sailors happy.

  Eventually, one of them asked the question Geary knew would come. “Sir, we’re going to get home again, aren’t we?”

  Geary finished chewing a bite that had suddenly gone dry as well as tasteless. He took a drink, not willing to risk his voice cracking. “I intend bringing this fleet home.”

  Smiles broke out on all sides. Another sailor spoke quickly. “Any idea how long, sir? My family…well…”

  “I understand. I don’t know for certain how long it’ll take. We’re not going straight back.” Smiles faded into stunned silence. “The Syndics would expect that, you see. They’d set another trap.” Geary smiled in what he hoped was a confident way. “Instead, we’re going to bedevil them every light-second of the way home, go places they don’t expect, hit them by surprise.” He’d been thinking how to phrase things right, how to make a desperate retreat sound like a victorious march. “We lost a lot of friends in the Syndic home system. We had to leave in a hurry, as you know. But we’re not going to let that stand. We’re going to jump around, hit the Syndics again and again, and we’re going to make them pay. By the time we get home, the Syndics are going to wish they’d never messed with the Alliance.”

  There were smiles all around the mess area now. Geary stood up, praying to his ancestors to understand why he’d said something he knew misrepresented things, and kept his own smile in place as he left the compartment.

  Apparently, his little speech spread through the ship faster than he could walk. Hardly surprising, since any one of the sailors within earshot could’ve recorded it with their personal comm units, and several undoubtedly had done so. Geary found himself speeding up, trying to get to his stateroom without looking like he was running, trying to get away from all the sailors and officers who believed he’d somehow be able to make true everything he’d said.

  An hour later, he forced himself out of the sanctuary of his stateroom and returned to the bridge. Desjani was still there, studying something on her palm unit. The position of the Syndic pursuit force relative to the Alliance fleet hardly seemed to have altered, though if the Syndics had done something different within less than four hours, the light showing the images of that event wouldn’t have reached Dauntless yet. The Syndic merchant ships bringing the supplies the Alliance fleet had demanded were much closer, though, their paths through space forming wide arcs that were converging steadily on the course of the Alliance ships.

  The merchants had come from the inhabited world, ahead of and beneath the Alliance fleet’s track through space, but because of the Alliance fleet’s velocity, they had been required to aim for a point even farther ahead in order to achieve a rendezvous at matching speeds. During the merchants’ slow journey, the fleet had swung past the orbit of the inhabited world, and now the merchants were coming up from only slightly below, still moving ahead but slower than the fleet, so that their courses were curving gradually up to meet the Alliance ships.

  Captain Desjani shook her head over what she was reading, made some notations, then turned to Geary. “Personnel issues,” she confided to Geary. “I wish someone would figure out how to keep crew members from forming disruptive personal relationships.”

  “My first commanding officer wished the same thing,” Geary responded dryly. “Not about me personally, though.”

  Desjani looked shocked. “Of course not, sir.”

  Geary very briefly considered the idea of jumping Tanya Desjani right there and then in order to convince her that he was in fact human. It had, after all, been more than a century since his last physical encounter with a woman and that was a long dry spell no matter how you counted it. The thought gave him enough perverse amusement to lift his mood a bit. “It could’ve been about me. There was this raven-haired lieutenant who I thought was hotter than a plasma field. Fortunately for good order and discipline, she thought I was a geeky young ensign without many redeeming qualities.”

  Desjani smiled politely, clearly not believing him. “Colonel Carabali asked that you contact her before the Marine shuttles launch. I was just about to have you paged.”

  “Glad to know my timing is good.” Geary called up the Colonel, momentarily surprised to see that Carabali wasn’t in combat gear herself. But then she couldn’t be. Her responsibility is to exercise overall command of the teams going to the ships. She can’t go along with one of them. “Yes, Colonel?”

  “Captain Geary, I wished to know if you had any special instructions for my Marines before their shuttles depart.”

  “I don’t believe so, Colonel. My experience is that Marines know their jobs better than I know their jobs. I assume there’s no need to say I don’t trust the Syndics.”

  Carabali grinned. “My people will be in full combat load-out. Even if those merchant ships are packed full of Syndic assault troops, my Marines will be able to fight their way out.”

  “If that happens, Colonel, I assure you that my warships will make certain none of those merchant ships survives. But hopefully it won’t come to that. I’d like to have those supplies they’re carrying.”

  “Understood, sir.” Carabali glanced to the side. “Ten minutes to shuttle launches. I’ll keep you informed of any developments.”

  “Thank you.” Geary relaxed again, reassured by Carabali’s cool competence. It’s damn good to have the Marines backing you up. He scanned the fleet display, noting which warships were in the best positions to engage the Syndic merchants if necessary. It looks like we’re ready for anything. The thought brought to mind his old executive officer, long dead now even though Geary’s memories of him were only several weeks old. Geary had said the same thing to him once, only to have his XO look worried and comment that it made him wonder what they might’ve overlooked. Well, Patros, you’re safe with your ancestors now, and I’m still wondering what I might’ve overlooked.

  Geary spent the next few minutes trying to fight off the dark mood that remembering his old shipmate had thrown him into. Patros didn’t belong here on the bridge of the Dauntless, but then neither did Geary. Two ghosts. That’s what Patros and I are. What the hell am I still doing here, alive and fighting a war that belongs to our descendants now?

  The Marine shuttles finally began launching on schedule, giving Geary something else to concentrate on, each shuttle being tracked as it arced toward the particular merchant ship that was its target. Geary felt himself tensing as the shuttles, small and swift next to the large, ungainly merchant ships, swooped down toward the merchants

/>   It felt oddly like watching a volley of specters homing on their targets, until the shuttles turned and began braking instead of accelerating to impact, as missiles would have. Geary, sweating for news of the Marines, belatedly remembered the video panel available to him and punched controls until it popped up again. Twenty screens flashed into existence next to Geary’s display, each showing the view from a Marine squad leader.

  This time there wasn’t anything else he should be watching, so Geary watched, fascinated, as the Marines entered the merchant ships, conducted searches and posted guards in important areas like engineering and the bridge. It all went smoothly, with no resistance from the Syndics, who acted stiff and formal but not openly hostile. Unlike the large crews of warships needed to handle the special requirements of combat and combat damage, the merchant ships only had crews of about a dozen each, making it easy for the Marines to keep an eye on them all.

  Geary had seen the interiors of Syndic merchant ships before, during the period before the war when his ship had been ordered to conduct inspections of ships passing through Alliance space. He recognized some of the features on the Syndic merchants here, causing him to wonder if the ships themselves were that old or if the design features had been retained for so long. He guessed either possibility could be true in a system bypassed by the hypernet.

  One by one, the Marine squad leaders reported in, declaring the merchant ships to be to the best of their knowledge unarmed and proceeding peacefully to the rendezvous. But Geary noticed that the Marines watching the Syndic crews didn’t relax, remaining on full combat footing. Once again, he had a moment of empathy, wondering how it felt to the merchant sailors to have the armored figures of Marines looming nearby, alien visitors to the familiar compartments of their ships. As long as they don’t try anything, they’ll be safe. They should know that, after the way we handled the prisoners at the base. That should keep anyone from doing anything foolish.

  The merchant ships crawled closer to the Alliance fleet, Geary watching the streaming images of the Syndic merchant crews as seen by the Marines on one side, while on the other his display showed the twenty Syndic merchant ships proceeding at what felt like a leisurely pace toward their rendezvous with the Alliance auxiliaries.

  Nothing seemed to be wrong. Nothing at all. What could I be overlooking? Geary searched his brain for anything, but he kept coming up empty. Maybe for once we did cover everything.

  “Captain Geary, this is Colonel Carabali.”

  A new window had appeared, showing Carabali’s face. She didn’t look happy. “Sir, there’s something about this I don’t like.”

  And maybe we didn’t. Geary glanced toward Captain Desjani and gestured for her attention. “The Colonel’s unhappy about something.”

  Desjani frowned and keyed into the conversation.

  “Go ahead, Colonel,” Geary ordered.

  Carabali pointed at something Geary couldn’t see. “Are you watching the video from the Syndic ships, sir?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does anything seem odd about their crews to you, sir? As a fleet officer, sir?”

  Geary frowned, too, and studied the pictures more closely. There was something odd about them, now that Carabali had drawn his attention to it. “Are the senior merchant officers all supposed to be on their bridges?”

  “Yes, sir, they are.”

  Desjani made a brief noise. “The Syndics seem to grow their senior merchant officers very young, don’t they?”

  Carabali nodded. “Yes. Exactly. I assume the Syndics called for volunteers to crew these ships, but as far as I can tell from visual examination, there’s not a man or woman aboard those ships older than their twenties.”

  “Interesting batch of volunteers,” Geary said slowly. Most of the merchant captains I knew wouldn’t have left their ships to someone else, even for a run like this.”

  “I’ve questioned my Marines. They indicate there was a definite lack of familiarity with the ships by many of these so-called crew members. They thought that was due to volunteers being assigned to the ships from the pool of available merchant sailors, but I’m not so sure that’s the reason.”

  Geary thought about that and didn’t like it. Merchant ships tended to have older officers, people who’d learned their jobs and worked their way up through long years of experience. It was a very different kind of professionalism than the fleet officer kind, but strong enough in its own way. He took another look at the alleged merchant crews. “Young and physically fit, too, aren’t they?”

  “Look at their eyes, sir. Look at the way they carry themselves,” Carabali urged.

  “Damn.” Geary exchanged a glance with Desjani. “Those aren’t merchant sailors. They look like soldiers.”

  “I’d stake my career on them being military,” Carabali agreed. “And not just any military. They’re trying to slouch around and act like civilians, but they don’t really know how to relax like that anymore. They’ve been too highly trained. They look to me like the sort of people you find in shock troops.”

  “Shock troops.” Geary inhaled slowly. “The sort of troops you send on desperate missions.”

  “Or one-way missions. Yes, sir.”

  Desjani looked ready to order mass murder, and for once Geary didn’t blame her. “Alright, Colonel. What do you think they’re planning? Some sort of attack?”

  Carabali chewed her lower lip. “Not a conventional assault. They’re too few, they’re not in armor, and they can’t have weapons easily accessible because we’d have found them. If there were sailors guarding them, they might still be able to overwhelm the guards, but not with my Marines on watch in full combat gear.”

  “That’s what I’d think. Then what? We’ve confirmed there’s no weapons on those merchant ships.”

  Desjani jerked as if struck by a thought, then leaned toward Geary and spoke in a low but urgent voice. “They have a weapon, sir. Their power cores.”

  Geary blinked, trying to digest the information and seeing Carabali pale slightly as she heard Desjani’s statement. “Their power cores. Do you think they mean to overload their power cores when they get close to our ships?”

  Carabali nodded vigorously. “Captain Desjani is right, sir. I’m sure of it. Look at the eyes of those Syndics, sir. They’re on a suicide mission.”

  “I concur,” Desjani stated. “We all agree those aren’t merchant crews. They’re combat troops, and they have only one weapon available to them on those ships.”

  Well, damn. Geary fought down an urge to curse loud and long. “Agreed. How can they overload their power cores while the Marines are watching?”

  Desjani spoke again. “They’d have to have some sort of remote trigger rigged.” Carabali nodded. “It could be anywhere and look like anything.” Another nod.

  “So should we take the crews down? Get them off the ships?”

  Carabali shook her head this time. “If we start trying to herd them off the ships, they’ll probably trigger the overloads right away. Your big ships might be safe enough, but we’d lose every Marine and all the boarding shuttles.”

  “What about killing them?” Desjani asked calmly.

  Geary considered the question, and he considered what those Syndics were planning. “Yes. How good an option is that?”

  Carabali grimaced. “Chancey, sir. We might be able to take them all down fast enough, but if they’ve got triggers tied to dead-man switches it’d just doom my Marines anyway.”

  “Dead-man switches? Couldn’t we see—?”

  Geary stopped speaking as Carabali shook her head again. “No, sir,” the Marine stated. “The switches could be implanted and linked to their nervous systems or their hearts. If the Syndics died and their hearts or nervous systems shut down, it could well trigger the overloads.”

  “I see.” That’s an advance over what was available in my time, though I wouldn’t call it an improvement.

  Carabali’s face brightened. “But there’s another option. My Marines h
ave a riot control load-out because we expected to be dealing with civilians.”

  “Meaning?” Geary pressed.

  “Among other things, they have CRX gas dispensers. It’s riot suppression gas, not riot dispersal, so it’s odorless, colorless, and a tiny amount inhaled knocks someone out cold in a moment.”

  “You’re suggesting we knock them out.”

  “Yes, sir. They’ll be unconscious before they know we’re acting.”

  “And you’re certain this CRX won’t cause some physical reaction that might trigger a dead-man switch?”

  “Fairly certain. I can check with my medical personnel.”

  “Do so, please.” Geary waited, trying not to let his impatience show, while the seconds crawled by until Carabali’s image focused back on Geary.

  “Medical staff says the CRX will be safe.”

  “Will be safe or probably will be safe?” Geary pressed.

  Carabali grinned. “I asked them if they’d stake their lives on that assessment, and none of them hesitated.”

  “They’re Marines,” Desjani noted dryly.

  “Not the medical staff,” Carabali reminded her. “They’re all seconded to the Marines from the fleet, so even though associating with the Marines so closely causes a bit of us to rub off on them, they’re still not part of the same mind-set.”

  The brief exchange brought a grin to Geary’s face. “Alright, then. We’ve established that the medical staff aren’t quite as willing to die in the line of duty as the average Marine. So we can assume we can take down those alleged merchant sailors safely.”

  “That doesn’t mean there still won’t be a threat,” Desjani interjected. “The ships could be rigged in a dozen ways to automatically overload their cores when they get near our big ships. A few smart proximity fuses hidden on the hulls would do the trick, and there’s no way to guarantee we’d find them all in the time we’ve got.” Desjani paused. “Merchant ships don’t carry all the equipment that warships do, but they still have lots of different systems. There’s no telling what else might’ve been rigged to set off the power cores.”