The Lost Fleet: Relentless

by Campbell, Jack

  Badaya nodded. “I’ve seen the intelligence reports of what we’ve learned from being deep inside Syndic space. By matching Syndic atrocities, we worked against ourselves. I won’t deny that. What does that have to do with our return to Alliance space?”

  “I’m wondering if our opponents in Alliance space want me to seize power.”

  Badaya leaned back, his eyes narrowing in thought as he gazed at Geary. “Why would they want that? They don’t even know you are with this fleet yet.”

  “They don’t necessarily want me,” Geary explained, “but they must have known about Admiral Bloch and his ambitions.”

  “I didn’t know you were aware of Bloch’s goals. You’ve obviously done your homework on this.” Badaya rubbed his chin, looking away from Geary as he thought. “He thought winning at the Syndic home star system would give him the stature to try to seize power. Whether he could have actually had the backing within the fleet to do that is another question, but it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility. I believe our political leaders are corrupt, but I don’t think all of them are stupid, so some of them must have known of Bloch’s ambitions and the potential for him to achieve them. Yet they let Bloch lead this fleet anyway. I hadn’t put that together before.” He centered his gaze on Geary again. “Why?”

  Geary tapped the table lightly to emphasize his words. “I’ve been doing some research. Historically, corruption is a problem in every form of government, but it’s far worse in dictatorships than it is in elected governments. That’s because dictatorships don’t have formal limits on the powers of officials and don’t have a free press or open government that exposes corruption.”

  Badaya frowned again. “You wouldn’t be a dictator.”

  “I wouldn’t be elected,” Geary pointed out. “No matter my intentions, I’d have to rule as a dictator. Now, what form of government would corrupt politicians favor the most?”

  The frown deepened. “They want you to take over so they can operate their corruption freely? Why would they think you or even Admiral Bloch would allow that?”

  “Because I’m not a politician.” Geary nodded toward the representation of Alliance space. “Whatever Bloch thought of his political skills, I think he was probably outclassed by those who have politics as a profession. A military officer in power could be manipulated by corrupt politicians, manipulated in ways that would enhance the power and the wealth of those politicians far more than could be managed in an open, democratic system.”

  Badaya sat silent for a long time, then nodded as well. “I see your point. A fleet officer wouldn’t know how to play their games any more than the politicians could command a fleet action. The politicians want a puppet they could pull the strings on and hide behind, just like Kila wanted to use Caligo. Is that what helped you see this? It wouldn’t matter who the officer was who seized power. Hell, the politicians would probably be thrilled that it was you because of what they could get away with by claiming it was what Black Jack wanted.” He nodded again. “Playing by their rules. I see what you mean. They want a fleet officer to try being a politician because they can run rings around us with words that don’t mean what they seem to mean. But what do we do? Just let them keep running the Alliance into the ground?”

  “There’s a middle ground.” He didn’t like saying this, let alone admitting it. But what he was about to say was true. “I have the potential to take over. I could really overthrow the government.” The words felt sour in Geary’s mouth as he spoke of something contrary to his oath and his beliefs. “The politicians know that. The decent ones, the ones who can be brought around, will know they have to listen to me.”

  Badaya smiled. “They’ll be afraid not to do as you say, afraid enough for you to get things done. And the corrupt ones will cooperate with you because they’ll want to curry your favor for when you do take over.” He held up one hand, palm out, as Geary started to speak. “I understand you don’t want to give them that opportunity. But if they’re anything like we believe, it won’t even occur to them that you could resist the temptation.”

  He hadn’t thought of that, but Badaya’s suggestion made sense. Geary nodded. “I remain a threat, someone they have to listen to, yet the strengths of the Alliance government, of our democratic principles and individual rights, also remain intact.”

  “Clever.” Badaya’s smile grew. “You outthought them, didn’t you? Just like you’ve outthought the Syndics. I made the same mistake a lot of other people did, assuming that the politicians weren’t just as capable of manipulating us as they were of enriching themselves. Is that why you had that affair with Rione? To learn all you could about them?”

  It took Geary a moment to calm himself enough to trust his response. Badaya was honorable enough by today’s standards, and a decent officer, but to call him undiplomatic was an understatement. “I learned a number of important things from Co-President Rione,” he finally said, a true statement Badaya could interpret any way he wanted. “But,” he added while fixing Badaya with a sharp look, “Rione can be trusted.”

  “You’d know,” Badaya agreed with an amused expression. “After all, you have seen parts of her none of the rest of us have.” He chuckled at the clumsy joke while Geary hoped he wasn’t flushing with discomfort. “Now, I take it you want your supporters in the fleet to know what you intend?”

  “That’s right.” Geary kept his voice level. “It’s important that everyone understand what is going on.” Or rather, what he wanted them to think was going on. I will not dictate to my political leadership. I just pray the military and political superiors I deal with will listen to me or at least not obviously dismiss me. “The last thing we want is for my hand to be forced by officers who think they’re doing me or the Alliance a favor but will actually be playing into the hands of the most corrupt politicians.”

  “I think I can guarantee you that won’t happen now.” Badaya smiled admiringly as he stood up. “All of those times you denied wanting enough power to change things you were studying the situation and planning options, weren’t you? I should have guessed. A good commander doesn’t play by the enemy’s rules. I’m going to remember that.”

  Geary slumped down after Badaya’s image vanished, rubbing his eyes with one hand and feeling dishonest, manipulative, and even a bit dishonorable. He hadn’t directly lied to Badaya, but he’d certainly misled the man as thoroughly as any politician could have done.

  After a while he called Rione to his stateroom. She came in, evaluated his attitude, then smiled approvingly. “You did it. Badaya bought it?”

  “Yes. I think so.”

  “Good. And you’re unhappy.”

  “I don’t like lying to people,” Geary told her coldly. “Maybe that’s why I’m so bad at it. I don’t like knowing I can be good enough at it to deceive even someone like Badaya.”

  Rione walked slowly to one side. “Lying? What lie did you tell?”

  “You know perfectly well—”

  “What I know, Captain Geary, is that what you told Badaya is, as near as we can determine, truthful. Now try to get this through your thick head. Captain Badaya didn’t ‘buy’ anything. Do you believe that a military dictatorship would be a disaster for the Alliance? Yes? Then what did you lie about? I admit comparing it to the Syndic ambush hadn’t occurred to me, but once you and your captain came up with that, I thought it was brilliant.”

  He set his jaw and glared at Rione. “Stop calling her that. Nobody owns Desjani, especially not me.”

  “Fine, if you care to believe that.” Rione matched his glare. “You need to remember that you’re doing nothing for personal gain. You don’t want wealth or power. So why the hell should you feel guilty about forestalling a military coup against the government of the Alliance?”

  “Because no Alliance officer should have even thought of such a thing!” Geary yelled, the shame and anger bursting from him. “I never should have received such an offer and when I did my immediate refusal should have been the end of
it!”

  Rione watched him for a moment, then looked away herself, her face shadowed by emotion. “We’re not the people our ancestors were, John Geary. We’ll always let you down when you compare us to those you knew a century ago.”

  Her unexpected and very unusual candor extinguished Geary’s rage. “It’s not your fault that you were all born into a war that was already ancient. It’s not your fault that you inherited the pain and distortions caused by decades of war. I can’t pretend that I’m better than you because I was spared that.”

  “But you are better than us,” Rione insisted with bitterness in her voice. “You’re what we should have been, what our parents and our grandparents should have held on to, the belief that ideals must be honored. Do you think I can’t see that? If we had done our jobs as the situation demanded of us, then none of this would have happened. And, yes, I very much include the Alliance’s political leadership in that.”

  “You inherited the war,” Geary repeated. “I can’t pretend to understand everything that happened in the last century, but there seems plenty of blame to go around and more than a few things that nobody could have helped.”

  “I don’t believe in making excuses for failures, Captain Geary. Not mine and not anyone else’s. Just remember that the people you trust approve of what you did just now. If you don’t trust yourself, trust them.” She turned without another word and left.

  SIX hours to the jump for Atalia. As much as Geary feared finding the Syndic reserve flotilla there, he also had a growing restlessness, a desire to see this to the end. One way or the other, the Alliance fleet’s long retreat would be over soon.

  “Captain Geary.” Colonel Carabali’s expression revealed nothing. “Request permission for a private meeting prior to the jump for Atalia.”

  “Of course, Colonel. I have no scheduled commitments for a couple of hours, so we can have that meeting whenever you’re ready.”

  “Now would be fine with me, sir.”

  “Okay.” Geary authorized Carabali’s image to appear in his stateroom, then waved her virtual presence to a seat. The colonel walked over to it and sat, her back straight, rigidly formal. “What’s this meeting about?”

  “Consider it a reconnaissance mission, sir.” Colonel Carabali gave Geary a penetrating look. “What do you intend doing when this fleet reaches Alliance space, Captain Geary? I’ve heard various reports and wish to know the truth for certain.”

  The loyalty of the Marines to the Alliance was legendary, but given all of the other changes he’d seen, Geary had been wondering for some time how the Marines now felt about political authorities in the Alliance and how they felt about the offers to Geary to become a dictator when the fleet made it back to Alliance space. But he’d never come up with a way to ask those questions without making it appear that he was sounding out the Marines for support, which was the last thing he wanted. Now Geary sat down opposite the colonel, holding his eyes on hers. “I intend following whatever orders are given to me. I will have suggestions and a proposal for an operation, but I have no way of knowing how those will be taken. Is that what you need to know?”

  “For the most part.” Carabali studied Geary for a moment. “I won’t insult your intelligence by pretending both of us don’t know that you’re not just any fleet officer. You can choose to obey whatever orders are given you, but you do have other options.”

  “And you want to know if I intend exercising those options?”

  Carabali nodded, her face still impassive.

  Geary shook his head. “No, Colonel, I do not intend exercising any options that would conflict with my oath to the Alliance. Is that clear enough?”

  “From you, yes.” Carabali paused again. “There are some close-hold messages being passed around the fleet that indicate you intend doing more than just following orders.”

  “People hear what they want to hear, Colonel. As long as it keeps them from actions that would be harmful to the Alliance, I’m okay with that.”

  “ ‘Harmful to the Alliance’ meaning?” Carabali pressed.

  Geary sat back and shook his head. “The Alliance’s greatest strength has never been its star systems or population or fleet. It’s the principles we believe in and practice. I don’t think the Syndics could ever hurt us as badly as we could hurt ourselves. I won’t stage a coup, Colonel, and I’ll do everything I can to keep one from being staged in my name.” He didn’t fear word of that getting back to any of his most misguided supporters. It was what he’d told Badaya, after all.

  She studied him, then nodded. “Will you attempt to remain in command of this fleet?”

  “Yes.”

  “Even though you only took command in the Syndic home star system because you had to do so?”

  “Yes.” Geary let a small smile show. “I didn’t know it was that obvious.”

  “It wasn’t.” Carabali let her own tiny smile flicker on and off again. “I’m used to trying to figure out what’s beneath the surface of fleet officers. The lives of my Marines often depend on that.” Her expression went wooden once more. “Do you think you can end this war?”

  He started to reply, then shot Carabali a questioning look. “You said ‘end,’ not ‘win.’ ”

  “I asked the question I meant to ask, sir.”

  “I need to be certain of that.” Geary leaned forward slightly, searching her expression but seeing nothing but the professional mask. “There’s a lot I’m still learning about what this war has done, about how the fleet and the Alliance feel about it.”

  Carabali raised one hand to her chin and rubbed it for a moment as if contemplating the question. “I’ll fight as long as I have to fight to protect the Alliance. Beyond that . . . I’m tired of making decisions about who lives and who dies, Captain Geary. A little of that goes a long way.”

  “I know. Believe me.”

  “Yes, you do, but not in the same manner. The fleet offers certain luxuries that ground fighting doesn’t, and your own personal history is different from ours. You grew up at peace, and you spent your fleet career at peace until Grendel.” Carabali looked away, her eyes seeming to focus on something far away. “May I tell you some history? There was a lieutenant who’d grown up with the war and joined to follow in the footsteps of her grandmother and her father. On one of her first ground-combat missions she and her Marine platoon were cut off from the rest of their unit. The atmosphere around them was toxic with Syndic defensive chem agents. The power on their battle armor was running low, and if it went too low for life support, the lieutenant and her platoon would die.”

  Geary watched the colonel’s face, which still revealed little. “An ugly situation no matter how experienced an officer.”

  “Yes. I didn’t mention that the lieutenant’s platoon had captured a breached Syndic bunker along with a number of Syndic self-defense-force personnel. The Syndics all had suits with plenty of power reserves, and the lieutenant’s leading noncommissioned officer informed her that it would be possible to jury-rig a means of draining the Syndic suits to recharge our own power cells.”

  The colonel paused again while Geary put himself there and tried not to shudder. “But if the Syndic suits were drained, the prisoners would die.”

  “Or they’d have to be killed to keep them from attacking the Marines once they realized they were going to die,” Carabali agreed. “The lieutenant knew there was only one decision possible, but she also knew it would be a decision that would haunt her forever.”

  “What did the lieutenant do?”

  “The lieutenant hesitated,” Carabali stated in a voice as collected as if she were providing a routine report, “and her leading noncommissioned officer, as ruthless a bastard as any sergeant has ever been, suggested that the lieutenant leave the bunker for a little while to see if she could reestablish communications with the rest of the Alliance forces from the outside. The lieutenant grasped at the suggestion, knowing what she was really agreeing to, and left the bunker, standing outside until t
he sergeant appeared with enough charged power cells to keep her battle armor going. The entire platoon, it seemed, had enough power to try to regain Alliance lines. The lieutenant led the way, and she and her platoon made it back that evening. No one asked how the platoon’s power supplies had held out so long. The lieutenant received a medal for saving her entire platoon under such difficult circumstances.”

  Without even thinking, Geary’s eyes went to the left breast of Carabali’s uniform, searching for the combat-award ribbon that might mark the event.

  But the colonel kept speaking, her voice flat. “The lieutenant never wears that medal or its ribbon.”

  “Did the lieutenant ever go back into the bunker?”

  “The lieutenant didn’t have to. The lieutenant knew what was inside.” Carabali nodded toward the star display. “Somewhere, right now, another Alliance lieutenant is facing that same kind of decision, Captain Geary. Somewhere, a damned Syndic officer is making a similar decision, because it’s the only decision to be made. Too many of those decisions have already been made.”

  “I understand.”

  “What decision will you make, sir?” Carabali looked back at him. “Can you end this war on acceptable terms?”

  “I don’t know.” It was Geary’s turn to point to the stars. “What I propose depends in part on what happens between here and Alliance space, but at this point . . . Colonel, I’ll have to ask that you not repeat this outside this meeting.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “At this point it appears I may have to propose seriously hazarding this fleet again, right after I get it to safety. I’m not sure how that will sit with the leaders of the Alliance, or with the personnel in this fleet for that matter.”