The images of the new Adroit-class battle cruisers held his gaze for a moment, and he had to avoid frowning at his display in displeasure. There was no telling what anyone watching him might think the frown was about, and he knew from long experience that everyone watched the most senior officers to judge their current attitudes and emotions. It was one of the first survival tactics any reasonably smart junior officer learned.
But he wasn’t unhappy at anyone in the fleet or the actions of any of the warships. His displeasure sprang from having used the fleet’s software to conduct a virtual tour of Adroit herself several hours ago. Geary had long ago resigned himself to the fact that the warships in this future weren’t finely honed structures built to endure for decades. Instead, they were all built quickly, with few frills and many a rough edge. A century of war had resulted in warships whose short expected life span didn’t justify craftsmanship.
But the Adroit class had taken that to a new and lower level, worse than he had realized just from reviewing the official statistics about the new battle cruisers. As Geary’s avatar had toured the ship, he had been forced to ever greater efforts to avoid revealing how appalled he was by construction shortcuts and design compromises that had saved time and money at the cost of creating significant weaknesses in the Adroit and her sister ships. He could tell from Captain Kattnig’s explanations and occasional apologies about equipment that Adroit’s commanding officer was well aware of her shortcomings, and any veterans among her crew surely knew as well. But it would have served no purpose for him to emphasize and openly fixate on the design problems. Geary had been on the receiving end of that before, stuck with equipment he knew wasn’t all it should be, then forced to endure failing grades and harsh criticisms aimed at him and his personnel from inspection teams that seemed to think crews were supposed to miraculously overcome the accumulated failures of the design, procurement, and testing processes.
So he took care to hide his reaction because Adroit’s crew could too easily have assumed that his disapproval was about them. Nothing could have been further from the truth than that. The crew was eager to prove themselves, disappointed at having missed the desperate voyage home that the rest of the fleet had endured, determined to shine in the eyes of Black Jack Geary. Captain Kattnig knew Captain Tulev. “We were enlisted men serving together on the Determined, and both received our field commissions after a battle at Hattera.” Kattnig’s eyes had gone wistful for a moment. “That was a lot of ships, a lot of battles ago. Tulev and I are still here, though.”
“I’m glad to have both of you under my command,” Geary replied. “I understand Adroit was only commissioned two months ago.”
“About that, yes, sir. But we’re ready,” Kattnig insisted. “We can keep up with the fleet.”
“I’ve no doubt of it.” Geary had spoken clearly enough for nearby crew members to hear. “Adroit feels like a veteran ship. I know you’ll fight well.”
Captain Kattnig nodded, his expression tense. “We will, sir. None of us could be with you on the long return to Alliance space, and we all regret that.”
The absurdity of regretting missing out on the desperate retreat made Geary smile, but he managed to make the smile an understanding one. He didn’t have any trouble grasping why people wanted to be with their comrades at such times. “We could have used you, but you’re with us now.”
“I understand Captain Tulev did well,” Kattnig added in a lower voice. “He excelled.”
“He did. Captain Tulev is both reliable and capable. I was very glad to have him along.”
“That’s good to hear. Captain Tulev and I were commissioned together.”
“Yes, so you told me.”
“Did I? My apologies, Admiral.” Captain Kattnig glanced around, as if studying his own ship. “They say you’ll end the war. This may be the last campaign.”
“If the living stars grant us that blessing, this will be the last campaign of the war,” Geary agreed.
“Yes. A good thing.” Kattnig sounded slightly uncertain, though. “I couldn’t be with the fleet, you know. My last ship, Paragon, had been badly damaged in the fighting at Valdisia, so we were undergoing major repairs at T’shima.”
“I see.”
“Then Paragon was rushed into action to defend the Alliance when the fleet was … unable to be accounted for. We were so badly shot up defending Beowulf that the ship was written off.”
“It must have been a valiant action,” Geary said, wondering why Kattnig seemed to be trying to justify his absence from the fleet when it first attacked the Syndic home star system.
“It was, sir. It was.” Kattnig’s voice sank to a whisper, his eyes staring into the distance, then he focused back on Geary. “I demanded another ship. To … to be with the fleet this time.”
Geary spoke quietly and firmly. “The defense of the Alliance while the fleet was gone was a critical task. Otherwise, we would have returned to find ruin and defeat. You performed well.”
“Thank you, sir. You will see how well my ship can perform,” Kattnig promised.
Geary had done what he could to keep morale on Adroit high, but his inspection had provided too many proofs that her crew could fight better than the ship they had been given. Necessary redundancies in critical systems had been reduced past the safe minimums, weapons capabilities were hindered by cost-cutting in the lines supplying power to the hell lances and in the missile magazines, which carried fewer specters than even their limited size could have managed if properly laid out. Sensors lacked redundancies and capabilities as well, the Adroit class having been designed to be dependent on the sensors being employed by other ships. All well and good in a fleet engagement, but an Adroit-class ship on her own would be significantly handicapped by that feature. He couldn’t even send an Adroit out in company with only escorts, since the capabilities of cruisers and destroyers couldn’t completely compensate for the shortfalls of the sensors on the new battle cruisers.
The design of the Adroit-class warships had once again driven home to him just how bad things were, just how much the economies and industrial base of the combatants had been strained by a century of warfare beyond even the abilities of interstellar civilizations to sustain. If he didn’t succeed in bringing an end to this war, everything would continue to deteriorate, an accelerating spiral toward collapse, as if the war were a black hole sucking in humanity and everything humanity had created among the stars. He could now understand the desperation that had led Desjani to demand his promise to stick to the mission she believed he had been assigned by the living stars themselves. He could understand the hope with which people looked to him. He wondered how much all of them understood the strain their hopes put on him.
Desjani did. He felt certain of that. She understood well enough that she had as much as offered to surrender her honor to him if he asked that of her, if Geary said he needed that. His reaction to that offer, a refusal to do such a thing to her, had given him the strength to keep going. Humanity’s civilizations might be crumbling, but as long as people like Desjani kept fighting and believing, there was hope the fall could be arrested.
So Geary sat in the fleet command seat on Dauntless’s bridge as the fleet’s warships settled into their assigned positions, then the entire fleet began accelerating toward the jump point for the Syndic-controlled star system of Atalia, hundreds of warships moving as one.
He became aware that Desjani was watching him, unaware of his own inner thoughts. At least, he hoped she was unaware of them. At times, Desjani had shown an unsettling ability to seem to be reading his mind. “What?”
“They’re a fine sight, aren’t they, sir?” she asked. “I never saw them maneuver like this. We were always slop-pier before. What counted was getting to grips with the enemy, not looking good in formation. We didn’t realize that there was a connection between those two things.”
“They look very good. They are very good. But they won’t all be coming home,” Geary noted in a quiet voice.
“No. It’s been a century since they all came home, Fleet Admiral Geary. Perhaps you’ll finally change that.”
“If I do, I won’t have done it alone, Captain Desjani.”
The fleet headed out, every eye in Varandal Star System on its progress.
“Our first stop will be Atalia,” Geary confirmed to the officers watching him. “We’ll assume battle formation before jump even though we don’t expect to encounter significant opposition at Atalia. If the Syndics want a fight there, though, we’ll give it to them.” The fleet conference room seemed to be huge just then, with a very long table occupied by the virtual presences of every commanding officer of every ship in the fleet. In addition to the fleet officers, newly promoted Marine General Carabali was present, along with Co-President Rione and two grand council representatives, the stout Senator Costa and a male senator named Sakai, who’d spoken little when Geary met with the council.
Most of the fleet officers were doing their best to ignore the presence of the two new politicians but were treating Rione with marginal courtesy since it was known that Geary trusted her. The officers of the ships from the Callas Republic and the Rim Federation had always regarded Rione as their politician and defended her, but even they had been happy that they had never had to choose between her and Geary.
Where Captain Cresida should have been, one of the new battle-cruiser captains sat. A replacement, and yet not a replacement. But at least the stolid, reliable presences of Captains Duellos and Tulev were there, and Desjani was physically present.
“In order to ensure security for our plans, I’ll give further orders at Atalia,” Geary continued. “I’m not happy keeping you in the dark until then, but it’s critical to keep our plans secret. Are there any questions?”
Most of the officers looked disappointed but nodded in acceptance. However, the newer commanders, those who had joined the fleet at Varandal, looked around with confused expressions. Geary knew what they were expecting, to have him lay out a plan that he would try to convince the fleet’s officers to support, using political maneuvering to build up enough support until the fleet commander called for a vote among the fleet captains sanctioning the plan. He’d done away with that procedure as fast as he could, though for a long time fleet conferences had been painfully contentious.
“Fleet Admiral Geary”—Captain Olisa of the battle cruiser Ascendant sounded torn between respect and challenge—“fleet officers are accustomed to receiving more information about proposed plans at this point.”
Geary gave Olisa a polite but firm look in return. “My plans aren’t proposed, Captain. They’ve been made. I’ll let you know more when I can.”
“But we need to discuss—”
Tulev broke in, speaking dispassionately. “Fleet Admiral Geary is open to suggestions and comment, Isvan. I assure you he will listen, but he does not do things as you are accustomed. He follows the path of our ancestors.”
“Our ancestors?” Olisa grimaced, but nodded. “I had heard things were different. It takes some getting used to, though.”
“I understand,” Geary replied. “I had a number of things to get used to as well.”
“Can you confirm our mission, Fleet Admiral Geary?” Captain Armus of the Colossus asked. “Are we indeed aiming to force an end to the war?”
Geary weighed his response. Armus had been difficult at times and was by no stretch an inspired officer, but he was also brave enough and followed orders. At the moment he was, in addition, being respectful and proper, which deserved the same treatment in return. Geary finally nodded. “That’s correct. We intend backing the Syndics into a corner and keeping them there until they agree to halt the fighting. Not just a cease-fire. An end to the war.”
Captain Badaya, who had seemed smug and contented since Geary’s promotion, nodded back as if sharing a secret with Geary. “Using your plan, Fleet Admiral Geary.”
“Yes. You’ll all get much more detail on it at Atalia, I promise.”
As the officers’ images vanished, Geary saw that the two new political observers remained as if expecting something. “Yes, Senators?”
Costa gave Geary a quick smile. “You can brief us now that the others have left.”
Desjani seemed to be literally biting her lip to keep from saying something. Geary searched for the correct and diplomatic response.
But Rione turned to Costa with a reassuring smile. “I’ll bring them up to date, Fleet Admiral Geary.”
She would? Geary hadn’t confided his exact plans to Rione. Had she broken his security? But then on the side of her face away from the other senators Rione dropped a slow wink to Geary. “All right,” Geary said. “Captain Desjani?”
He left hastily with Desjani, wondering what Rione would tell the others to keep them happy. “I wonder if there’s any way to freeze those two out of the meeting software?”
“At least you have that politician to handle them,” Desjani grumbled. “May my ancestors forgive me, but I’m actually grateful for the moment that she’s on board.”
“You’ll get over it.”
“And very quickly, too,” Desjani agreed. “Will you be on the bridge for the jump to Atalia?”
“Of course.” Geary paused. “There’s a lot riding on this. There’s somewhere I should go before then.”
“I’m on my way there, too.” They walked into the depths of Dauntless, to the most protected part of the ship, where the rooms set aside for religious purposes rested. Desjani bade him farewell at the door to one room, her eyes searching his for a moment before the privacy door closed.
He sat down on the traditional wooden bench in his own room. He wondered for the first time from which world the wood had come. So many worlds had trees or similar vegetation, and humanity had brought many plants with them on their long march through the vastness of space. Geary lighted the single candle, then sat watching the flame for a while. It was hard to put his many emotions into words, but finally he spoke softly. “I’m not asking for success for me, but for all of those who are counting on me. Please help me end this, and if my fate is to die on this mission, please see Tanya Desjani safely to her home again.”
Half an hour later he was on the bridge of Dauntless along with Desjani as the fleet, divided into three subformations and arrayed for battle, jumped for Atalia.
FOUR
Four days later, the Alliance fleet flashed back into normal space at the jump point on the fringes of the Syndicate Worlds-controlled Atalia Star System.
“What the hell?” was Geary’s first response as the fleet’s sensors updated the situation.
No mines blocked their exit from the jump point, no powerful flotilla of warships waited nearby or cruised in distant orbit about the star Atalia, but only four light-minutes distant a large gaggle of Syndic merchant ships hung at rest relative to the jump point as if they were awaiting the Alliance warships.
Desjani, frowning in disbelief, turned to bark out orders to the bridge watch-standers. “Find out everything you can about those merchant ships.”
“Captain,” the operations watch-stander reported, “every one of those merchant ships has smaller craft hanging on them, up to twenty on the larger ones.”
“Mother ships.” Geary waited impatiently for more detailed reports from the sensors’ examination of the enemy craft. “Carrying what?”
“Those things are too big to be missiles,” Desjani commented. Then her eyes widened in recognition. “Damn. They’re—”
“Syndic fast attack craft,” the operations watch-stander reported triumphantly.
“They’re sending FACs against us?” Desjani seemed almost horrified, but not as if she feared the news. “Against this many warships in open space?”
“FACs?” Geary hastily read as a description popped up on his display, and understanding came. “They look like they’re pretty much the same as the SRACs a hundred years ago.”
“SRACs?” Desjani asked.
“Short-range attack
craft. Those were only intended for operations very close to planets or other major space objects because of their limited range and capabilities.”
“Then they’re effectively the same thing,” Desjani confirmed. “Out here, unable to dart into atmosphere or behind a planet, they’re going to have problems.”
Problems indeed. Geary hurriedly studied the capabilities of the FACs. At point one light speed, the Alliance fleet only required forty minutes to cover four light-minutes of distance. Ten minutes had already passed, and he had to assume that the FACs would launch as soon as possible, then would speed toward the Alliance ships, further reducing the time until contact.
Like the SRACs he had known, these FACs were small, carrying only one or two human crew members. In addition to a single hell-lance particle-beam projector with a slow recharge time, some models carried a single missile, while others had a couple of single-shot grapeshot launchers. Their armor was nonexistent, and their small power plants could support only weak shields. “Who the hell sent them on this suicide mission?”
“They must all be volunteers,” Desjani offered.
Alerts sounded as the fleet’s sensors spotted the FACs starting to launch from the improvised merchant mother ships three minutes ago. Looked at only in terms of numbers, the swarm of small craft seemed impressive.
Rione obviously thought so. “Can we handle this?”
“Easily,” Desjani muttered.
Geary nodded in agreement.
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