The Lost Fleet: Beyond the Frontier: Guardian

by Jack Campbell

  “Yes,” Geary finally said.

  “I . . . guess that was important back then,” Tanya said in a way that made it clear she was trying to grasp the concept and failing. “I can understand the crossing-the-line thing,” she added. “And commemorating the first mission to another star. That was so big. They actually traveled at sublight speed across the dark between stars. I read about that when I was a little girl.”

  Her eyes went distant with memory, and she smiled. “The Ship to the Stars. I remember the book because I read it so many times. It was about a girl and a boy on the ship. They had been born on the ship because it was a generation ship. The trip would take so long that the crew who had left Old Earth would all die of old age on the way. Their children were brought up to run the ship and continue the journey, and their children would actually reach the other star.”

  Geary smiled, too, recalling the story. “I read the same book. I wanted to be that little boy. Anyone could travel to another star, but only people like him ever crossed the dark between stars. Ever since we discovered how to use jump drives, no one has gone into the Great Dark.”

  “I talked to Jaylen Cresida about that once,” Tanya said in a low voice, her expression saddened at these memories of their dead comrade. “The observations those people and their instruments recorded are still used. Jaylen had studied some of them. We still depend on that data about the nature of space far from any star because no one else has ever gone out there to collect it.”

  “Really?” Geary looked toward a bulkhead as if he could see through it to the space beyond the bubble of nothing in which Dauntless was heading for Sol. “Instruments must have gotten a lot better since then. You would think someone would propose an automated mission to get new data.”

  Desjani shrugged. “We’ve been busy,” she said.

  He wanted to slap his forehead over his boneheaded statement. Busy. With a century of desperate warfare. “I know. Um . . . there was a ceremony when you crossed the line. This is your ship, so it’s up to you, but it is a tradition.”

  “What sort of ceremony?” She started reading. “Are you serious? That’s— All right, we can— No. Not that part. But the rest looks doable. Absurd, but doable. I guess our ancestors had more of a sense of humor than I’ve given them credit for. Are our Very Important Senators and Not So Important Envoys going to participate in this?”

  “It’s voluntary,” Geary said.

  “Meaning I have to invite them?”

  “Yeah. You have to invite them.”

  —

  “LET me make one thing very clear,” Desjani had announced to her officers and senior enlisted, her voice taking on all the depth and force of command. “This must remain in fun. We have all been through hard and long years in which fun usually meant short, hectic times on a strange planet or orbital facility between campaigns and battles, the sort of fun that often ended up producing as many injuries to the crew as a battle would have. This is different. You all must ensure that it remains enjoyable. If there is any hint of its becoming something else, any hint of real hazing or real hurt of any kind, you are to step in and stop it before it happens. I will be walking the passageways of Dauntless throughout this entertainment, and I expect the same of all of you who are not part of the ceremony. Are there any questions? No? Then go out, have a good time, and ensure everyone else has a good time.” Desjani finally relaxed her stern expression, smiling at the assembled officers and senior enlisted. “That’s an order.”

  A number of main passageways had been converted into gauntlets designed to inflict mock injury and real, though slight, humiliation. In one passageway, the deck sailors responsible for much of the routine maintenance aboard Dauntless had rigged up devices to spray fake tattoos using dyes that faded within minutes. As Geary walked through it, getting a large and elaborate WHAT WOULD BLACK JACK DO? design emblazoned on the front of his uniform, he noted that the tattoos near him were considerably tamer and less suggestive than those he had spotted emerging from that passageway earlier.

  In another passageway, the code monkeys had set up a maze from which you could only escape after figuring out the right pattern.

  In a third place, Dauntless’s food-service specialists were handing out ancient Syndic ration bars the fleet had picked up off an abandoned facility during the fighting retreat from the Syndic home star system. Those who in the past had complained the loudest about the food aboard the ship were forced to gag down a few bites before being allowed to proceed.

  Another gauntlet lined the passageway leading to the shuttle dock. The weapons wielded by the sailors and Marines lining that passageway ranged from stuffed bunnies to balloons, with the occasional rubber chicken or a fluffy, fake stobor. Geary walked down the passageway, grinning, as the veterans of countless battles laughed and pelted him with silly, harmless weapons.

  The main show was in the shuttle dock, the largest single compartment on the ship, where the unworthies seeking entry into the fellowship of the Voyagers were forced to pass muster before the “rulers” of Sol Star System.

  Master Chief Gioninni, playing the role of King Jove, sat on an impressive throne created by modifying a high-g survival seat. His face boasted a long, bushy, fake beard, and Gioninni had somehow acquired an actual trident, an ancient weapon with a two-meter-long shaft and three wickedly barbed points. He wore a crown fashioned in one of Dauntless’s machine shops, gleaming with gold plating that should have been used in electronics repair. Geary resolved to make sure that gold ended up back in the ship’s repair stockpiles and didn’t get diverted for any personal uses, then realized that Desjani had surely already seen to that.

  The crown had nine points, each bearing a representation of one of the planets in Sol Star System, the largest, in the center, Jove itself. There had been some debate about how many planets should be on the crown, as the ancestors had apparently been unable to decide how many planets there were in Sol’s orbit. Throughout history the numbers had fluctuated from nine to eight to twelve, then six, before returning to eight, then nine in the latest official records. Geary had finally chosen the latest number, and nine it was.

  On the right side of King Jove sat Queen Callisto (usually known as Senior Chief Tarrini), wearing a crown identical to King Jove’s. But instead of a trident, Callisto bore a bow of ancient design. The arrows in her quiver appeared to be just as real and dangerous as the trident Gioninni waved about with a carelessness that was most likely false, but from the way Senior Chief Tarrini held her bow, she looked prepared to use it as a club on the king and anyone else she thought required a little extra discipline.

  On Jove’s left sat Davy Jones, in the form of Gunnery Sergeant Orvis, the commander of Dauntless’s Marine detachment. Orvis held a gavel of judgment as if it, too, were a weapon.

  “I understand Jove,” Charban said from where he stood near Geary, a GROUND APE tattoo with appropriate illustration fading on his chest. “That’s the largest planet in Sol Star System. And Callisto is one of the largest moons of Jove and at one time was the largest human colony in the outer star system. They make sense. But who or what is Davy Jones supposed to represent? I looked into it, and there were no early spaceship commanders by that name.”

  “Davy Jones was a mythical figure,” Geary explained, “that sailors on Earth thought ruled over the bottom of the ocean, caused disasters at sea, and took the spirits of dead sailors.”

  “I see.” Charban glanced at the three senators, who had cautiously entered the shuttle dock and were looking about with varying expressions. “That makes sense.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Senator Suva complained. “What do the oceans of Earth have to do with space?”

  “We’re still sailors, Senator,” Geary said. “We sail a much vaster ocean, one lacking in water and all else, but the job is the same.”

  Senator Costa snorted. “From what little I remember of my ancient history, sailors on the seas of Earth spent most of their time drunk, which probably explain
s all this. It must have made sense to someone who was three sheets to the wind.”

  Senator Sakai did not comment. He appeared to be busy studying the Sirens standing to either side of the two monarchs and the judge. The Sirens, one female and one male, had been chosen from among the enlisted sailors and Marines by popular vote. In accordance with the old traditions, the Sirens wore uniforms modified to be alluring. Geary had heard of celebrations in the past in which this had sometimes led to overly enthusiastic modifications that ended up requiring remarkably small amounts of uniform fabric, but Captain Desjani had made it clear that the outfits of any Sirens on her ship had better fit an official definition of alluring and not go one millimeter less than that.

  On their left hips, both Sirens wore one of the multipurpose tools known as a Swiz knife. On their right hips, each carried a roll of duct tape. That symbolism, Geary thought, even the Dancers could easily grasp if they saw it. But the aliens probably wouldn’t be able to tell that the Sirens not only represented a chance of help when other aid was too far distant, but also the sort of temptations far from home that could create problems in the first place.

  An unfortunate sailor had just fumbled his explanation of how the mythical devices called mail buoys were supposedly positioned to relay transmissions between stars. At a brusque gesture from King Jove and an imperious sweep of her bow by Queen Callisto, Davy Jones directed the sailor to stand in a far corner and loudly recite a long, satirical, and risqué song called “The Laws of the Fleet” for the benefit of his fellows before returning for another try.

  A roar of welcome sounded as Captain Desjani entered the shuttle dock. She walked past cheering sailors and Marines until she reached Master Chief Gioninni and fixed him with a warning look.

  But Gioninni just grinned. “Captain Desjani! Your reputation proceeds you!”

  Senior Chief Tarrini nodded. “Queen Callisto can find no fault with Captain Desjani.”

  “She is judged worthy to enter your realm by Davy Jones,” Gunnery Sergeant Orvis added.

  Gioninni’s smile faded, and he cocked a stern eye on her. “Captain Desjani, you are hereby sentenced to command of the battle cruiser Dauntless, the finest ship in the fleet, but one crewed by the biggest band of slackers, misfits, scoundrels, deadbeats, and slovenly sailors ever to sail the stars! Can you turn such a crew into real sailors, Captain?”

  Desjani’s reply could be heard easily over the laughter following King Jove’s sentence. “I already have!”

  “Then enter into my realm of Sol Star System, Captain Desjani, and be a member in good standing of the ancient and revered order of Voyagers!”

  Amid renewed cheers, Tanya walked out past Geary with a salute and a wink. He returned the salute, then looked over at Charban and the senators. “You’re welcome to meet the King and Queen as well.”

  Charban squared his shoulders with dramatic exaggeration and marched toward the Royal Family of Sol, but Costa and Suva hesitated. Sakai, after a few seconds, shook his head. “This is an event for the military, Admiral. We should not intrude.”

  “This is an event for anyone who travels in space,” Geary corrected.

  “We’re not . . . like you,” Senator Suva said, her voice tinged with what sounded like regret.

  “Are you sure of that?” Geary asked.

  The senators looked back at him as if they had never considered that question before.

  —

  THE next day, they arrived at Sol.

  All signs of merriment and celebration had vanished except for a single stuffed bunny that a hell-lance battery had adopted as a mascot. But those weapons were powered down for arrival, as were all other weapons aboard Dauntless. The shields were at full strength, because that was a necessary secondary protection against radiation and other hazards to navigation, but otherwise the warship was in as peaceful a configuration as a battle cruiser could be.

  “I don’t like it,” Desjani grumbled for the hundredth time as she sat on the bridge.

  “The requirements for entering Sol don’t allow for exceptions,” Geary reminded her for at least the fiftieth time. “And Sol Star System is demilitarized. There are no weapons and no threats.”

  “There is no place where humans are that fits that description,” Desjani objected.

  “Two minutes to hypernet exit,” Lieutenant Castries announced.

  Near her, the three senators jostled each other for position near the single observer seat on the bridge. Rione and Charban were also on the bridge for the historic moment, but well off to one side where Lieutenant Yuon had made some room for them.

  The last minute passed in silence, everyone lost in their own thoughts.

  Nothing was abruptly replaced by Everything as they left the hypernet. Off to one side, a distant spark of light marked Sol, the home star of humanity.

  But Geary couldn’t spare time to sightsee. Instead, his eyes went to another part of his display, where warning signs had sprung to life on a dozen warships of unfamiliar design.

  SIXTEEN

  “I told you!” Desjani said. “It’s a good thing they’re too far away to pose an immediate threat!”

  “They’re not Syndics,” Lieutenant Yuon reported, bewildered.

  Orbiting half a light-hour past the gate, the strange warships were too distant to attack, but their presence here was inexplicable.

  Aside from those ships, all of the other space traffic in Sol Star System looked routine. Merchant ships swung between planets, faster couriers and passenger ships were on flatter trajectories, and near most of the worlds orbiting Sol smaller craft could be seen dipping into and out of planetary atmospheres.

  Geary sat, his eyes on his display, letting his thoughts settle as he took in everything, trying not to be distracted by the names of the planets, which had assumed the status of legend. Mars. Jupiter. Venus. Old Earth itself. Dauntless sailed among the monuments to humanity’s first achievements, mankind’s first steps into space. But amidst those fabled names and worlds were warships of unknown origin and intentions. “Does anybody know what we’re dealing with here?” he finally asked.

  Senator Suva sounded and looked bewildered. “Sol Star System is neutral and demilitarized. Only . . . only ceremonial military forces are ever allowed here.”

  “These do not appear to be ceremonial,” Rione answered. “You do not recognize them, Admiral?”

  “No. Neither do our combat systems.” Dauntless’s sensors were evaluating everything they could see on the mystery warships, but even though tentative identifications of sensors and weapons sites were appearing on their hulls, the SHIP TYPE and SHIP ALLEGIANCE tags on the displays remained blank.

  “Syndics,” Costa declared. “They modified some of their designs—”

  “Our systems could spot that easily,” Geary said, trying not to sound dismissive of the senator. “They are not Syndics.”

  A virtual window appeared near Geary, revealing Lieutenant Iger. “Sir, nothing matching those warships is in any of our intelligence databases.”

  “Are they human?”

  “Definitely human, sir. Even though we can’t identify the ships, there are some design features on their hulls that hint at their origin.” Lieutenant Iger looked unhappy as he spoke his next words. “Sol.”

  “Sol?” Geary did his best not to sound angry at Iger. “Everything human came from Sol. Are you saying these warships belong to Sol?”

  “No, sir. But they are human in origin.”

  Geary glanced at the six Dancer ships surrounding Dauntless. Iger’s information wasn’t as useless as it had seemed at first. “That’s as near as you can identify them? Just a common origin at Sol?”

  “If the design features we see are being interpreted correctly,” Iger said, “the design of those warships and the designs we’re familiar with diverged at Sol.”

  “There is nothing unusual being broadcast in the star system ‘notices to shipping,’” Lieutenant Yuon reported. “The notices provide the same l
anguage about the star system being demilitarized that we have in our procedures for entering Sol Star System.”

  “And yet there they are.” Desjani grimaced. “Six of them are big, but smaller than us. Not heavy cruisers, and not battleships. Sort of like those scout battleships the Alliance tried.”

  “The ones that got wiped out in battle?” Geary asked, even though he knew the answer.

  “Yeah, those.” She tapped a quick command. “Whatever these are, they’re a bit smaller than the Alliance scout battleships. Hard to tell yet what kind of armor they’ve got.”

  “We’ll have to watch how they maneuver,” Lieutenant Iger chimed in. “That will give us some means to calculate their mass. Any mass in excess of a reasonable estimate for that size ship will likely represent armor.”

  “What about the smaller ships?” Geary asked. His display was rapidly filling in details on the six escorts with the six bigger warships, showing barracuda shapes reminiscent of Alliance destroyers and Syndic Hunter-Killers, but not as large as either. “They’ve got less mass than even Syndic HuKs.”

  “Corvettes?” Desjani guessed. “No. They’re even smaller than the Syndic Nickel corvettes.”

  “Who do they belong to?” Senator Suva demanded. “You should know that! How can you not know that?”

  Geary sighed and rubbed his forehead with one hand. “Senator, wherever these ships came from is not anywhere that the Alliance has current information on.”

  “Where would that be?”

  “I think I know.” Everyone’s attention centered on Senator Sakai. “I have studied much history,” he said. “Including the period when humanity first left Sol. The ships from Sol went in all directions, but there were two main paths. One path led inward along the spiral arm of the galaxy in which we reside. That resulted in the colonies near Sol in that direction, then the Alliance, the other groupings of star systems such as the Callas Republic and the Rift Federation, and beyond that the Syndicate Worlds. The other path led outward along our arm of the galaxy. Some of the earliest human colonies sprang into existence there. Perhaps these ships come from stars on the other side of the expansion from the one we occupy.”