“I don’t know. Probably too many.” A supposed Syndic traitor had provided the key, a means for the Alliance fleet to launch a surprise attack on the Syndic home system and win the war in one stroke. Irresistible bait for the recklessly aggressive leaders of the Alliance fleet. The Syndics had known they’d take the bait and waited in ambush when the Alliance fleet arrived. Disaster was too kind a word, but at least this much of the fleet had escaped to survive this long, and the Syndics had to be terrified that their hypernet key was on one of the remaining Alliance ships. “I’ve wondered why the Syndics killed all the most senior officers in this fleet when they went to negotiate. It would have made more sense to keep a few alive to interrogate.”
“They may have,” Rione noted. “Video can be faked. I’ve no doubt most of those officers we saw being murdered actually did die, leaving you as the senior officer in the fleet, but I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that at least one or two who had supposedly been killed were in fact kept alive for just that purpose.”
Which would mean the Syndics might also know that Dauntless carried the key and needed to be destroyed by them at all costs. “It just keeps getting better,” Geary mumbled sarcastically.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing. Just talking to myself.”
Rione gave him an annoyed look. “We’re supposed to be talking to each other. The battle cruiser losses are worrisome as well as tragic. We’ve lost almost no battleships, though.”
“Yeah.” Geary stared at the names. “Triumph at Vidha, and Arrogant at Kaliban.” Technically Arrogant had been one of three scout battleships with the fleet, something halfway between a heavy cruiser and a battleship, and it had taken some work for him to stop thinking of them as cruisers. Geary wondered what strange bureaucratic impulse had led to their design, since it left them too small to operate as battleships and too large to function as heavy cruisers. “But Warrior, Orion, and Majestic are beat to hell. Getting them back into shape for battle is going to take a long time. If we can do it at all. They may require major shipyard repairs.” He didn’t need to add that the closest major shipyards that could do the job were in Alliance space. The fleet needed every battleship it had to get home safely, but it likely couldn’t get the badly damaged battleships back into full operating condition until they got home safely.
Another nod from Rione. “I understand Warrior took almost as much damage at Vidha as Invincible did. Wouldn’t it be wiser to just abandon and destroy Warrior, as you did Invincible?”
Rione’s spies in the fleet had obviously been keeping her informed. Geary gave another grimace. “Warrior didn’t suffer the propulsion system damage that Invincible did, so Warrior can keep up with the fleet. I won’t abandon Warrior lightly. I can’t explain why, but it hurts morale more to scuttle a ship ourselves than it does to have that ship die in combat. Besides, I’ve been keeping an eye on their repair progress. Warrior’s crew is working their butts off to get their ship back in shape. At this point, if worse came to worst, I’d consider cannibalizing Majestic to help get Warrior and Orion back into shape. Orion is making some progress on repairs, but Majestic is dragging. Neither of them will be fighting in the line of battle for a while. I’ll have to keep all three of those battleships with the auxiliaries, which won’t do their pride any good.”
“They have little ground for pride.” Rione’s voice had gone low and hard. “Running from this fleet, then running and leaving their comrades at Vidha—”
“I know that,” Geary broke in, his own voice rough with anger. “But I can’t write off those ships and crews! I need to rebuild not only the ships but also the crews, and that means they need to believe in themselves, and that means their pride matters.”
Rione sat silent, her face flushed.
“Sorry.”
“I deserved it,” she shot back, her anger seeming directed mostly at herself. “I’m a politician. I should understand the importance of what people believe.” She took a long, deep breath, calming herself. “I’m not oblivious to the pain of losing ships as large as battle cruisers, or any ships at all, but you should take comfort that you’re not losing battleships in equal numbers.”
Geary shook his head. “No. If I keep losing battle cruisers, then the battleships will start taking more losses.”
This time Rione looked puzzled. “Why?”
“Because the battle cruisers do certain jobs,” Geary explained. “They have the firepower of battleships but can accelerate, maneuver, and decelerate like heavy cruisers. They don’t have the shields or armor of battleships because they trade that off in favor of the ability to move faster. That makes battle cruisers very useful for certain tasks requiring speed as well as firepower. But if I lose enough battle cruisers, I’ll have to use battleships for those tasks, and battleships are too sluggish. They’ll get caught by Syndic battle cruisers, and even though one battleship can outfight one battle cruiser, it can’t handle four or more backed up by lighter combatants. Or I can use heavy cruisers and have them take even heavier losses until they’re all gone and I have to fall back on the battleships anyway.”
Rione finally frowned in understanding. “Losses will accelerate if we’re forced to use warships for tasks they’re not designed for.”
“Yeah.” Geary gestured at the display. “And if the major combatants, the battleships and battle cruisers, hold back at all, then the light cruisers and destroyers will get torn to pieces. It all ties together. I can’t get replacements for lost units, so I have to avoid being forced to expend what I’ve got.” He stared at the names of the ships, his mind filled with an image of the remains of the Terrible after it collided with a Syndic battle cruiser at Ilion. Or rather, an image of the flash of light that was all that remained of both ships after they struck each other at a decent fraction of the speed of light. Not just a ship but its entire crew blown to hell in an instant’s time. “Ancestors help me,” he whispered.
Geary felt Rione’s hand rest on his shoulder for a long moment, offering the comfort of a firm grasp, before it was withdrawn again. “I’m sorry.”
“Victoria—”
“No.” She stood up abruptly, her face averted from him. “Victoria isn’t here. Co-President Rione offers her condolences and her support. I’m sorry, Captain Geary.” She rushed out before he could say anything else.
“What have you got?” Geary asked. He was gazing through a one-way screen at the interrogation room where the captain of the Syndic merchant ship they’d destroyed upon arrival in Baldur sat sweating with fear despite the slightly cool temperature of the compartment. Readouts and displays around the screen revealed everything about the Syndic’s physical state and the thought patterns in his brain. If the Syndic lied, it would be immediately obvious on the brain scans, and just being able to confront someone with that often produced results.
The intelligence officer, Lieutenant Iger, made a face. “Not much. The Syndics don’t tell their civilian population any details about military operations or losses.”
“Kind of like the Alliance?” Geary suggested dryly.
“Well, yes, sir,” the lieutenant admitted. “But worse, actually, and the Syndics don’t allow a free press or open discussion, so it’s harder for their citizens to figure out what’s actually going on. About all the merchant crew has been able to tell us is what they’ve been told in Syndic propaganda. Victory is certain, Syndic losses light, and this fleet was totally destroyed.”
“He knows that last certainly isn’t true,” Geary observed. “Where did his ship come from?”
“Tikana. Another system bypassed by the hypernet. His ship did trade runs on the margins, working for a Syndic corporation that lives off the economic scraps bigger corporations don’t bother with.”
“Not a lot of good, recent news or observations, then?”
“No, sir.” Lieutenant Iger gestured toward the figure of the Syndic merchant captain. “Scared to death, but he doesn’t seem able to tell us anything despite that.”
“I take it he hasn’t heard any rumors about this fleet?”
“No, sir,” the intelligence officer repeated. “He’s showing truthfulness when denying hearing anything like that. When we prompt him with names of systems we’ve been in, like Corvus or Sancere, he showed some recognition of the star system name but nothing more.”
Geary spent a moment wondering whether to actually speak with the Syndic, then decided he should. “I’ll go on in. What’s his name?”
“Reynad Ybarra, sir. His home world is Meddak.”
“Thanks.” Geary went through the three hatches leading into the interrogation compartment. Once inside, he saw the Syndic merchant captain staring at him. The Syndic seemed too frightened to move, but even if he had been inclined toward suicidal attacks, it wouldn’t have mattered. The interrogation facility had enough stun weaponry aimed at the prisoner to knock him out before he took a full step toward Geary. “Greetings on behalf of the Alliance, Captain Ybarra,” Geary stated formally.
The Syndic didn’t move or say anything, just stared nervously at Geary.
“How’s the war going?” Geary asked.
This time the Syndic paused, then began reciting something he had obviously heard often enough to commit to memory. “The forces of the Syndicate Worlds continue to go from victory to victory. Our triumph over the Alliance aggressors is ensured.”
Geary sat down opposite the man. “Do you ever wonder why you haven’t won the war yet if your forces have been going from victory to victory for the last century?” The Syndic swallowed but said nothing. “The Alliance wasn’t the aggressor, you know. We were attacked without warning. I know because I was there.” The Syndic’s eyes widened with disbelief tinged with fear. “I’m sure you’ve been told that I’m Captain John Geary.” The fear grew. “Would you like this war to end?” More fear. Not a topic the man was comfortable with. Doubtless even discussing it could get a Syndic citizen accused of treason.
How to get the man to say something? Geary fell back on an old standby. “Do you have a family still at Meddak?”
The Syndic hesitated, as if trying to decide if the question was safe to answer, then nodded.
“Are they okay?”
That finally got something. “My parents only. My sister died when Ikoni was bombarded,” the Syndic choked out. “My brother died five years ago when his ship was destroyed in battle.”
Geary grimaced. A brother and a sister dead in the war. An all-too-common circumstance in a war characterized by bloody battles and bombardments of civilians. “I’m sorry. May they rest in the arms of their ancestors.” The Syndic gazed back in confusion at the courteous offer of sympathy. “I’m going to tell you something, and then we’re probably going to let you and your crew go. I won’t bother saying that what you’ve been told by your leaders is a lie, because the fact that you’re on a ship that was supposedly destroyed should tell you that already. No, I want you to realize that we’d like to end this war, too. There’s been too many deaths, which aren’t accomplishing anything. Your home is safe from the fleet I command. Go to any system we’ve been in since we left the Syndic home system, and you’ll see that only military or military-related targets have been destroyed. The Alliance will keep fighting as long and as hard as we have to in order to ensure the safety of our own homes, but we’ll do so with honor. Tell that to anyone you want.”
Standing up, Geary left the Syndic staring after him. Once back in the observation room, he found the lieutenant eyeing the readouts. “Anything?”
“He doesn’t believe you,” the lieutenant observed.
“No, I didn’t expect him to. Do you think we can get anything useful out of them?”
“No, sir.”
“Then put them back in their escape pod and launch it toward safety.”
“Yes, sir.” Lieutenant Iger hesitated. “Captain Geary, the personnel who went over the escape pod reported that it had a couple of serious system failures due to use of cheap materials and what looks like poor quality control.”
“You check for that?” Geary asked, impressed.
The lieutenant grinned. “Yes, sir. This ship was sort of an economic bottom dweller, but even its physical condition can tell us something about the state of the Syndic economy as a whole.”
Geary nodded. “I don’t recall anything about the Syndic military escape pods we’ve captured having those kind of problems.”
“No,” the lieutenant agreed. “They give the military first pick at everything and priority on everything. Only the leadership gets higher priority when it wants things.”
“I guess that shouldn’t surprise me. Can we fix the broken systems on that merchant ship’s escape pod?”
“Yes, sir, I think so.”
“Then I want that done before the pod is relaunched,” Geary directed. “They’ll know they only made it safely because of our help.”
The intelligence officer saluted, showing off his skill with the gesture of respect that Geary had reintroduced to the fleet. “Aye, aye, sir. But this merchant crew is only a single tiny drop in the Syndic ocean, so even if they feel grateful, it won’t help us.”
“Maybe not.” Geary turned to go, then paused and looked back. “Then again, enough drops add up into waves. Maybe in time we can rock the Syndic leadership’s boat a little. Besides, sometimes our ancestors like to see us doing things for others that we don’t expect to benefit us, don’t you think?”
Geary sat on the bridge of the Dauntless again, watching the images of the Syndic mining facility as his fleet rushed toward it at point zero two light. They’d had to brake down the fleet’s velocity even more to ensure the shuttles would be able to slow to landing speed without overshooting the assault targets. Next to the image of the mining facility, a virtual window revealed Colonel Carabali, her face sober. “The landing force is embarked and ready, sir.”
“Thank you, Colonel.” Geary took a good look at Carabali. “Do you want to go in with them?”
Carabali hesitated, clearly torn by the offer. “I should remain on a ship, coordinating the battle from the landing force control center, Captain Geary.”
Strange, Geary thought. For fleet officers, gaining rank didn’t do much to change the risk of combat. Even the highest admiral in a combat assignment would be facing the same risk from enemy fire as the lowest ranking sailor, because they rode the same ships into battle. But it was different for the Marines. When the landing forces went in, their overall commanders had to have the discipline to avoid diving into personal combat so they could oversee the entire battle. It was odd to realize that in the case of the Marine commanders not rushing into combat required more discipline and, in a way, courage than simply accompanying the landing force would need. Facing death could be easier than watching your troops die while you floated above it all.
But all he said was, “Very well, Colonel. Should I address your people before they go in?”
Carabali hesitated again, this time for a different reason. “They’re about to launch, sir. Any distraction at this time might be unwise.”
Geary almost laughed. A distraction. If only that were the worst problem he could cause. “All right, Colonel. Let me know immediately if you need anything. Otherwise I’ll leave you alone now so you can run your battle.”
“Thank you, sir,” Carabali replied with a grin. She rendered a precise salute to him. The Marines had never abandoned saluting like the rest of the fleet had, naturally, and so hadn’t had to relearn the gesture. “I’ll notify you when we have the facility in hand, Captain Geary.”
The colonel’s image vanished, and Geary leaned back in his command seat with a sigh. There was a sense of helplessness at times like this. Ships had been committed to their courses and speeds, Marines prepared for their assault, and now all he could do was watch it happen and hope nothing went wrong. Commander of a fleet, and I’m still subject to the laws of time and space. I knew a few commanders in my time who thought their rank allowed them to i
gnore those things, but I imagine those commanders died early on during the war. While I floated in survival sleep and the Alliance turned me into a mythical hero. I wonder which of us was luckier?
“Nothing’s leaving the mining facility,” Captain Desjani noted.
Geary switched his attention back to the display and nodded. “No escape pods, and even that old tug is still just sitting there. Whoever’s there is staying instead of evacuating.”
“They probably fear we’ll blow away anything trying to escape,” Desjani suggested in a way that told Geary such practices had been common before he assumed command.
He refrained from asking what honor there was in shooting defenseless escape pods. Practices that Geary found abhorrent had become commonplace over a century of war, as the Syndics had committed increasingly worse atrocities and the Alliance had responded in kind. Over time a lot had been forgotten by the descendants of the officers and sailors whom Geary had known. Forgotten until the revered Black Jack Geary had awakened and reminded the present of the things the past had believed in. Desjani had been among the first to realize what had been lost in trying to match Syndic inhumanity, so there was no sense in making an issue of it with her again. Instead, Geary nodded once more. “Or maybe when we slowed down they figured out we were coming to take the place instead of just destroying it. But they can’t hope to repel our attack.”
“No,” Desjani agreed. “But they might inflict losses; they might slow us down. Syndic leaders would be willing to trade the workers in a mining facility for that.”
“Yeah.” They’d already seen evidence of that in almost every system they’d passed through. The Syndics had risked entire surplus worlds for the chance to strike blows at the fleeing Alliance fleet. He studied the image of the facility again. “They’ve got maglev rails for moving ore.”
Desjani nodded. “Taking them out from a distance would risk hitting the stockpiles.”
“What are the odds the Syndics could turn them into weapons?”
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