Carabali’s voice held a tinge of self-mocking humor this time. “Please pass my respects and thanks to the co-president, sir.”
Geary turned to look at Rione. “Did you hear that?”
Rione inclined her head in acknowledgment. “I’m used to examining the possible meanings of words. There are times even the devious mind of a politician can be useful, aren’t there, Captain Geary?”
“There are indeed,” Geary agreed. He saw Captain Desjani grinning, too, and realized Desjani’s opinion of Rione, or at least her opinion of Rione’s value, had just increased dramatically.
“We have a match on prisoner numbers and Syndic data,” Carabali announced. “My troops are screening the former prisoners now and will begin loading as shuttle areas are reported clear.”
Geary tapped a control, bringing up a projection of the entire surface of Sutrah Five. Target identifications were plastered across the map. Geary zoomed the display in on the biggest cluster, the view automatically changing to actual imagery of the site. The capital of the planet obviously had lost considerable population in recent decades. Most of the industrial sites targeted were cold, shut down long ago. The spaceport was shabby and decrepit. As Geary checked other targets, it became clear why the Syndics had risked a retaliatory bombardment of this planet. The place was what the Syndicate Worlds leaders would no doubt call “excess inventory,” with no industrial, resource, or military value to speak of. Only about a hundred thousand human beings still trying to scratch a living out of the place. “Captain Desjani, do we have target data on Sutrah Four?”
Desjani didn’t quite suppress a fierce grin as she fed the data to Geary. Geary studied it, noting that Sutrah Four seemed to be doing a lot better than its sister world in this system. Okay, we can’t let the Syndics think this is something they can get away with. But I don’t want to slaughter civilians, which may be what the Syndics are hoping for, since that’d be great propaganda. Geary tagged the big spaceports on Sutrah Four, the big military base on that world, the center of the government complex in the capital, and for good measure all of the orbiting facilities. Switching back to the display for Sutrah Five, he tagged the biggest spaceport and the still-working industrial areas.
Then Geary paused, looking at the military base. Zooming in on the image, he saw intelligence assessments scrolling next to it. The convoys of civilians were still heading away, but most of the military seemed to still be at their stations. Where’s those so-called leaders? Pulling the scale out, Geary spotted the targeting information. Optics designed to gain detailed information across billions of kilometers hadn’t had any trouble spotting the entrance to the command bunker where the high command had taken shelter. Geary felt himself smiling grimly as he tagged that location for a kinetic round designed to penetrate deeply on impact.
By the time he was done deciding the fate of two worlds, the first shuttles were lifting off from Sutrah Five, and the Alliance fleet was looping back through the space where the moons of Sutrah Five had once been. Many of the smaller pieces of debris from the destruction had been snagged by the gravity of Sutrah Five and might someday form a tenuous ring around the planet.
“Captain Geary,” Colonel Carabali reported, “all personnel are loaded. The last shuttles should be off the surface by time one six.”
“Understood, Colonel, thank you.” Geary turned and sent the targeting commands to the combat system, which evaluated the targets, the weapons available on every ship, and launch angles before spitting back two seconds later a detailed plan. Geary skimmed it, checking how much his retaliation would draw down the fleet’s supply of kinetic projectiles and seeing that he’d have plenty left, even if Titan and her sisters weren’t able to manufacture new ones. He paused on the estimated ground casualties section. “I need to send a message to every Syndic in the system.”
Desjani nodded, gesturing to the communications officer, who rapidly set up the circuit, then gave her a thumbs-up back. “You’re ready, sir.”
Geary composed himself, checking to make sure the last Alliance shuttles had lifted before transmitting. “People of the Sutrah Star System, this is Captain John Geary, commanding officer of the Alliance fleet transiting your system. You’ve been betrayed by your leaders. Their sneak attacks on this fleet and on the forces liberating Alliance prisoners of war grant us the right to conduct retaliatory bombardments of your worlds.” He paused to let that sink in. “In exchange for the possibility of harming a few of our ships, your leaders placed your homes and your lives in our hands. Fortunately for you, the Alliance fleet does not war on civilians.” Not anymore, anyway. Not while Geary was in command. Hopefully his “old-fashioned” attitudes would someday wear off on the other officers.
“We will launch retaliation strikes at targets of our choosing on Sutrah Five and Sutrah Four. A list of targets in or near civilian areas will follow this message so evacuation can proceed before impacts. We aren’t required to provide that list, but our war is with your leaders. Remember that we could’ve wiped all life from this system and been justified by the laws of war. We choose not to do so. The Alliance is not your enemy. Your own leaders are your enemies.
“To the honor of our ancestors,” Geary recited. He’d been told the old form for ending a broadcast of this type was rarely used anymore, but clung to it. He still believed in it, and somehow it helped anchor him in this future in which honor had taken on sometimes alien meanings. “This is Captain John Geary, commanding officer of the Alliance fleet. End transmission.”
Rione spoke from behind him. “Thank you, Captain Geary, for acting to minimize the suffering of the populations of these worlds.”
He looked back at her and nodded. “You’re welcome. But it’s what I would’ve done anyway. It’s what honor demands.”
“The honor of our ancestors,” Rione replied, no trace of irony in her answer.
Captain Desjani stood up. “The shuttles from Dauntless will be docking soon. I should be at the shuttle dock to greet our new arrivals.”
“I should, too,” Geary agreed, standing as well and trying to conceal his reluctance. It really was his duty to greet the newly liberated Alliance personnel, even though he’d much rather have gone to his stateroom to avoid the public spectacle.
“May I accompany you?” Rione asked them both.
“Of course,” Desjani replied, seeming startled by the request. Geary realized she probably had been surprised, since Rione had every right to demand to go along with them and had instead asked permission. He wondered whether the request reflected political calculation to win Desjani over or sincere deference to the captain of a ship. Geary found himself hoping it was the latter.
The three of them walked to the shuttle dock, Geary and Desjani exchanging greetings with every crew member of Dauntless they passed, Geary getting real satisfaction out of the number of personnel who saluted him. His campaign to return saluting as routine seemed to be working.
“Does it please you to be saluted?” Rione asked in a noncommittal voice. “Salutes seem much more common now.”
Geary shook his head. “I don’t need it for my ego, if that’s what you’re asking. It’s what saluting implies, Madam Co-President, a level of discipline that I think benefits this fleet.” He didn’t add outwardly that he thought the fleet desperately needed such discipline if it was to hold together and continue to defeat Syndic attempts to destroy it. The leap from a salute to getting this fleet home safely seemed a huge one, but Geary did believe the connection existed.
It wasn’t until they reached the shuttle dock that Geary realized this was his first visit to it since he’d been summoned to the compartment by the doomed Admiral Bloch as that officer left to negotiate with the Syndics. He’d visited just about every place on the Dauntless, so he must’ve subconsciously avoided this location. Geary tried to remember how he’d felt then, the ice filling him emotionally and mentally, and felt relief that he’d managed to overcome much of that under the pressure of being in comm
and. Or perhaps in spite of the pressure of being in command. But he could stand here now and not be haunted by the ghost of Admiral Bloch pleading for Geary to save what was left of the fleet.
He glanced at Captain Desjani, standing waiting beside him for the shuttles to disembark their passengers. Normally somber with the pressures of command or showing joy only at the destruction of Syndic ships, she looked different now. Anticipation of seeing the liberated prisoners had brought an unusual attitude of simple happiness to her. “Tanya?” Desjani gave him a surprised look. Geary rarely used her first name. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m glad Dauntless is my flagship. She’s a great ship, and you’re a great commanding officer. Your ability and support have meant a great deal to me.”
Desjani actually flushed with embarrassment. “Thank you, Captain Geary. As you know, I’ve been very glad for your presence ever since we found you.”
He nodded with a small, self-mocking smile. Desjani was among those who firmly believed he’d been sent to the fleet by the living stars to save the Alliance in its hour of greatest need. Geary didn’t think he would ever be comfortable with that level of confidence or belief in him. For that matter, he shared Victoria Rione’s fear that if he ever did start to be comfortable with such hero worship, then he’d be well on his way to turning into a greater danger to this fleet than the Syndics.
As if reading Geary’s thoughts, Co-President Rione spoke politely. “We are indeed fortunate to have Captain Geary in command.”
The shuttles from Dauntless swung into the docking bay like huge, ungainly living creatures. No wonder current fleet slang for the shuttles was “birds.” The outer hangar doors sealed, the inner doors opened, and after a moment the ramps of the shuttles dropped.
The Marines assigned to Dauntless disembarked first, moving quickly to take up formation and present arms in a sign of respect. Then the group of newly liberated prisoners who had been designated for Dauntless began leaving the shuttles, looking around as if uncertain this was really happening, as if they expected to wake up any moment and find themselves still doomed to lifelong imprisonment on a miserable Syndic world far from any possible hope of rescue. All of them were thin, only a few still wore intact uniforms, most having to make do with what looked like cast-off civilian clothing.
Captain Desjani was speaking into her portable communications unit. “All hands on Dauntless, the Alliance personnel we liberated will need uniforms. I encourage everyone to contribute whatever they can spare.” She looked at Geary. “We’ll get them properly outfitted, sir.”
“I’m sure they’ll appreciate that,” Geary agreed, imagining that the exact same arrangement was playing out through the entire fleet right now.
Geary heard a gasp of surprise from Captain Desjani as the former prisoners filed past. “Casell?”
A man with tarnished lieutenant’s bars pinned to a ragged jacket turned at the name, his eyes fixing on Desjani. “Tanya?” A moment later the two were embracing. “I can’t believe it! The fleet shows up here, and you’re with it!”
“I thought you’d died at Quintarra,” Desjani exclaimed. To Geary’s shock, the iron-willed captain of the Dauntless seemed to be blinking away tears.
“No,” Casell denied. “Half the crew survived, but we all got picked up by the Syndics.” His eyes finally focused on Desjani’s uniform, his jaw fell, and he stepped back. “Captain? You’re a captain?”
Desjani grinned. “There were a lot of battle promotions. This is my ship.” She turned to Geary. “Sir, this is an old friend of mine, Lieutenant Casell Riva.”
Geary smiled in greeting, extending his hand. After all the too-youthful senior officers Geary had seen, the fruit of hideous losses in battle after battle that had forced the fleet to promote quickly, it was odd to meet an older junior officer. But there were no promotions in labor camps. “It’s a pleasure, Lieutenant. Good to have you aboard. I’m Captain John Geary, fleet commander.”
Lieutenant Riva, still surprised by the realization of his old friend’s current rank, automatically shook Geary’s hand for a moment before Geary’s words apparently penetrated. “D-did you say Captain John Geary, sir?”
Desjani smiled proudly, her face glowing. “Captain John ‘Black Jack’ Geary. He’s alive, Casell. He’s our commander. He’s bringing this fleet home.”
Riva’s face took on the look Geary had come to dread, a mixture of awe, disbelief, and wonder. “Of course,” Riva breathed. “One of the Marines said Captain Geary had brought the fleet here, and we thought he was speaking symbolically. But it’s true.” His face flared with enthusiasm. “The Syndics are doomed. Tanya—I mean, Captain Desjani, do you know who was senior officer in the camp? Captain Falco.”
Desjani stared at her old friend. “Fighting Falco? He’s alive, too?”
“Yes! And with him and Black Jack—” Lieutenant Riva gulped. “I mean, Captain Geary, this fleet will be unbeatable!”
Geary nodded, keeping his polite smile fixed. From what he’d seen of the fleet he’d inherited, any officer with the nickname “Fighting” probably represented everything Geary had been trying to change. But maybe not. He couldn’t prejudge a man obviously held in high regard.
A tall, thin man paused dramatically at the top of a shuttle ramp, surveying the scene, then came marching over, his expression demanding. He wore fleet captain’s insignia pinned to the collar of a coat that was in pretty good shape compared to what the other prisoners were wearing. People turned to watch, something about the man’s presence exerting a pull on attention like a magnet attracting iron. Geary couldn’t help thinking of Rione’s disdain for “heroes” who led fleets to their doom. This man could do that, Geary thought.
The man halted before Geary and gave him a confident, comradely smile. “I need to see the fleet commander.”
Geary couldn’t help noticing that the statement hadn’t been a request. “I’m the fleet commander.”
“A captain!” The man looked around, frowning, as if searching for a concealed admiral. “You must have suffered some serious losses.”
“I’m afraid we did,” Geary agreed.
The man sighed and looked regretful in a way that somehow implied that if he had been in command that wouldn’t have happened. He was, Geary realized, a master at projecting unspoken things that those around would believe had actually been said. “Very well. No rest for the weary, eh?” he asked Geary with another look that implied shared understanding. “But duty is a harsh mistress that cannot be ignored by those with honor. I’ll be assuming command, then.”
Geary managed to keep his reaction limited to raised eyebrows. “Excuse me?”
The man whom Geary assumed had to be Fighting Falco gave him a look that combined surprise at the question with reassurance. “I think I’m safe in concluding that I’m the senior officer present now by virtue of date of rank. That makes it my duty and responsibility to assume command.”
Geary nodded in a way that he hoped acknowledged the man’s words without conveying agreement. “The situation may not be what you think it is, Captain…?” he asked, even though he’d already guessed.
That earned him a full-scale frown. A shot aimed at the man’s ego apparently had no trouble penetrating the shields of companionable authority he liked to carry. “You should recognize me.”
Lieutenant Riva, apparently oblivious to the tension, spoke proudly. “This is Captain Falco, sir.”
“Captain Francesco Falco,” the man advised. “I assume you recognize the name?”
“Actually I heard it for the first time a few moments ago.” Geary didn’t know why he had said that, but the renewed frown his words conjured on Falco’s face was worth any fallout from it. “Pleased to meet you,” Geary added, trying to keep his tone neutral.
“From your age,” Falco stated, his expression stern now, “it’s obvious that I’m senior in date of rank.” He had clearly decided to set Geary straight on who was in charge. “Now, if you’ll show me to my stateroom,
I’m sure there’s a lot to do. Set up a fleet conference as soon as possible.” He waited, frowning a third time as Geary stared back with no apparent emotion and no sign of moving. Geary had the clear impression that Falco wasn’t used to having to repeat orders. “Who are you, Captain?”
Desjani, who from her attitude had noticed the tension, spoke carefully. “Captain Falco, this is Captain Geary.”
“Geary? Some relation to the hero, I suppose.” Falco had a chiding expression now, like a father dealing with a recalcitrant child. “We all remain in debt to the example given us by Black Jack Geary, but that doesn’t mean—”
“No,” Geary interrupted. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken.” Falco frowned deeper this time. He seemed to frown a lot, at least whenever things weren’t happening exactly as he wished, and didn’t seem used to being interrupted, either. “I’m not related. My name is John Geary.”
Falco’s expression shifted, locking back into the mode of a comrade who happened to be in charge. His eyes went to Desjani, who nodded. “Captain Geary did not die at Grendel a century ago,” she advised as if she were reciting a report. “This fleet found his survival pod on the verge of failing, and managed to revive him.”
“Black Jack Geary?” Falco seemed rattled by the information, his carefully tailored expression falling apart into confusion.
Geary nodded. “My date of rank is, in fact, a bit earlier than yours,” Geary advised Falco dryly. “Nearly a century earlier, in fact. I thank you for your willingness to serve as the Alliance requires.” That was a stock phrase from Geary’s time, usually heard just before a particularly unpleasant assignment was handed out. Now it seemed a good way to rebuff Falco in a manner that appeared respectful. “As senior officer present, and as the officer assigned command by Admiral Bloch prior to his death, I will remain in command of this fleet.” Part of him was shocked. How many times had Geary wished he could pass command of this fleet to someone else? But not to this man. It wasn’t just because Falco had challenged his authority, Geary assured himself. Falco felt like someone who devoted more time to how he appeared to be doing than to actually doing well.
Lost Fleet 2 - Fearless Page 5
