Fearless tlf-2

by Jack Campbell

  “Surely not all commanders could be like that.”

  “No, of course not. Though it seems they tend to collect in the highest ranks, where they can do the most damage.” Geary finally looked over at Rione. “Many of these ship commanders are good, brave sailors. But they’ve spent their entire careers being told how to fight one way. It’ll take a while to overcome all of that hidebound experience and convince them that change is not a bad thing. Change doesn’t come easily to the military, even when that change is a return to the professional tactics of the past. It’s still change from the way things are.”

  Rione sighed and shook her head. “I’ve seen the many ancient traditions that the military holds dear and sometimes wonder if it thereby attracts too many of those who value lack of change over accomplishment.”

  Geary shrugged. “Maybe, but those traditions can be a tremendous source of strength. You told me some time back that this fleet was brittle, prone to break under pressure. If I can successfully reforge it stronger, it’ll be in no small part because of the traditions that I can draw on.”

  She accepted his statement without any sign of whether or not she believed it. “I do have some information that may help to partially explain the actions of those four ships. Since we left jump space and the communications net became active, some of my sources have reported that rumors have been spread through ships. Rumors that you, having lost your fighting spirit, would rather allow Syndic warships to escape to fight another day than risk engaging them.”

  Geary found himself laughing in disbelief. “How could anyone believe that after Kaliban? We tore that Syndic flotilla apart. Not a one got away.”

  “People will believe what they wish to believe,” Rione observed.

  “You mean like believing Black Jack Geary is a mythical hero?” he asked sourly. “Half the time they want to worship me, the warrior from the past who’s going to save this fleet and the Alliance by winning a war a century old, and the other half of the time they spread rumors that I’m incompetent or afraid.” Geary finally sat down, gesturing Rione to a seat opposite him. “So what else are your spies in my fleet telling you, Madam Co-President?”

  “Spies?” she repeated in a surprised tone as she sat down. “That’s such a negative term.”

  “It’s only negative if the spies are working for your enemy.” Geary rested his chin on one fist, regarding her. “Are you my enemy?”

  “You know I distrust you,” Rione replied. “At first it was because I feared the hero worship that could make you as big a threat to the Alliance and this fleet as the Syndics. Now it’s because of that, and because you’ve proven yourself a very capable man. That combination is very dangerous.”

  “But as long as what I’m doing is in the best interests of the Alliance, we’re on the same side?” Geary inquired, letting some sarcasm show. “I’m worried about what that mine ambush says about our enemy, Madam Co-President.”

  She frowned at him. “What does it tell you about our enemy that you did not already know?”

  “It says the Syndics are thinking. It says they’re being smart, like when they tricked this fleet into taking their hypernet to the Syndic home system so it could run into a war-ending ambush.”

  “Which would’ve succeeded if not for the unlooked-for presence of the century-old hero of the Alliance, Captain Black Jack Geary,” Rione stated half-mockingly. “Found on the edge of final death in a lost survival pod, like an ancient king miraculously returned to life to save his people in their hour of greatest need.”

  He grimaced back at her. “To you that’s funny, because you don’t have to live with people believing you’re that person.”

  “I’ve told you that you are that person. And, no, I don’t find it funny at all.”

  Geary wished he understood her better. Since being rescued, he’d been in the military environment of the fleet and had been badly surprised by some of the cultural changes wrought by a century of bitter war. But his only direct contact with civilian culture in the Alliance was Victoria Rione, and she kept much hidden. He couldn’t tell how much had changed back home and in what ways, and he really wanted to know.

  But Rione isn’t likely to help me better understand Alliance civilian culture if she thinks I could use that knowledge to make myself more of a threat to the Alliance government. Maybe someday she’ll trust me enough to unwind about such things. Geary sat forward, working the controls on the table between them that still seemed a bit unfamiliar, even after months in this stateroom. An image of Sutrah sprang up, next to a larger display of the stars near Sutrah. “We’re going to go through the rest of this system very carefully. I assume the Syndics laid similar minefields near the other jump points, but we can spot them and avoid them now that we know to look.”

  Rione pointed to symbols on the display. “Two Syndic military bases? Are either a threat?”

  “They don’t look like it from what we can see. Obsolete, to all appearances. What we’d expect in a system not on the Syndic hypernet.” He let his gaze rest on the depictions of the Syndic bases, thinking about the hypernet that had changed things so much since what he thought of as his time. Much faster than the system-jump-faster-than-light method, and with unlimited range between the gates of the hypernet, it had revolutionized interstellar travel and left countless star systems to wither like broken twigs when they weren’t judged special enough to justify the expense of a gate.

  Geary punched the update key, and the latest information on Sutrah System was presented. The only change was in the positions of the light Syndic warships, which had lured his four ships into the minefield. Those Syndics were still running, heading away from Geary’s forces at velocities edging toward .2 light speed. They’d been accelerating so fast that their inertial compensators must be badly stressed and their crews pinned to their seats by leak-through. Chasing them would be futile, since they could simply keep heading away while the Alliance fleet sooner or later had to proceed to one of the jump points out of Sutrah, but Geary still felt a tide of anger sweep over him at the sight of the Syndic ships, knowing vengeance was out of the question in this case.

  But the Syndic ambush bothered him for reasons beyond that. Rione didn’t seem to understand the implications. The survival of the Alliance fleet depended upon Geary making the right decisions and the Syndic command making the wrong decisions. If the Syndics had lost their overconfidence and begun carefully planning, then even Geary’s best moves might fail to keep the Alliance fleet at least one step ahead of Syndic forces strong enough to deal the Alliance forces a death blow.

  Though even the little blows could add up. Out of the hundreds of ships in the Alliance fleet, the four lost here weren’t critical. But the fleet could be nibbled to death over time by taking such losses at star after star, and there were a lot of stars between the fleet and home.

  He glanced at the display, wishing Sutrah were a lot closer to Alliance space. Wishing Sutrah had somehow miraculously gained an unguarded hypernet gate. Hell, as long as he was at it, why not wish he’d died on his ship a century ago, so he wouldn’t be in command of this fleet now, with so many lives and ships depending upon him? Snap out of it, Geary. You had every right to be depressed when they thawed you out, but you’re past that now.

  The communicator chimed for his attention. “Captain Geary, we’ve spotted something important.” Captain Desjani’s voice held some emotion he couldn’t quite identify.

  “Important?” If it was a threat, surely she’d have just said that.

  “On the fifth world of the system. It looks like a labor camp.”

  Geary gave Rione a glance to see how she was taking the news, but Rione didn’t seem to find it remarkable, either. The Syndicate Worlds had a lot of labor camps, because the Syndicate Worlds devoted a lot of effort to dealing with real or imagined internal enemies. “Is there something special about it?”

  This time he could clearly identify the strain in Desjani’s voice. “We’re picking up communic
ations from the camp that indicate it holds Alliance prisoners of war.”

  Geary stared at the depiction of the fifth world in the Sutrah system. Nine light-minutes from its star, still a bit over four light-hours from the Alliance fleet. He hadn’t expected to be going near the inhabited worlds of this system, hadn’t anticipated any delays.

  It looked like his plans would have to change.

  I hate these meetings, Geary thought for perhaps the hundredth time, which was impressive, given that he’d only had to attend about five of the things so far. Inside the briefing room, the conference table was actually only a few meters long. But thanks to the communications net connecting the ships of the fleet and the latest virtual presence technology, the table now seemed to run off into the distance, seat after seat occupied by commanders of his ships. The most senior officers were apparently seated the closest to Geary, but all he had to do was look at any officer, no matter how far down the table, and they’d loom close, identification information helpfully appearing right next to them.

  Granted, the conferences had an odd rhythm to them. The fleet had been drawn into a much tighter formation for the conference, but because of light speed limitations on the communications, the farther-off ships were still twenty or even thirty light-seconds off. Those were the smallest ships with the most junior commanders, of course, the ones who were expected to watch, learn, and keep their mouths shut, so the delayed-action nature of their interactions had little impact. But even for closer ships there could be several seconds’ delay between question and answer, so the participants had learned to speak, pause, speak, pause, allowing time for interjections and comments to arrive.

  Captain Numos, commanding officer of the Orion, was staring down his nose at Geary, doubtless still seething over his own poor performance at Kaliban, which of course Numos blamed on Geary rather than himself. Near Numos sat Captain Faresa of the Majestic, her expression as acidic as usual. Geary wondered why Faresa didn’t somehow dissolve the table surface just by glaring at it. In welcome counterpoint to those two, Captain Duellos of the Courageous lounged in his chair, apparently relaxed but with alert eyes, and Captain Tulev of the Leviathan sat stolidly, his dismissive gaze fixed on Numos and Faresa. Farther down the table, fiery Commander Cresida of the Furious grinned openly at the prospect of more action, while not far from her appeared to sit Colonel Carabali, the senior surviving Marine in the fleet and another capable and dependable officer.

  Actually sitting next to Geary was Captain Desjani, the only other person physically present in the crowded room. Co-President Rione had begged off attending, but Geary knew the officers of the ships from the Rift Federation and the Callas Republic would provide Rione with a full report of everything that happened. He suspected she’d avoided being here in person in order to see what he’d say in her absence.

  Geary nodded brusquely to the assembled officers. “First of all, let us pay respect to the crews of the destroyers Anelace, Baselard, and Mace, and of the cruiser Cuirass, who are in the arms of their ancestors, having died in the line of duty in defense of their homes and families.” He felt a bit of a hypocrite to not add in a denunciation of the behaviors that had led those ships to their deaths, but that still seemed out of place.

  “Are we sure that there were no survivors?” someone asked.

  Geary gestured to the commander of the Second Destroyer Squadron, who cleared his throat and looked unhappy as he answered. “We conducted a thorough search. The only survival pods located were all badly damaged and inactive.”

  Numos spoke, his voice harsh. “We should’ve pursued those Syndic Hunter-Killer ships and made them pay for destroying those ships and killing their crews!”

  “How would you have caught them?” Duellos asked in a drawl that clearly conveyed contempt.

  “A full-scale pursuit at maximum acceleration, of course.”

  “The youngest officer in the fleet knows the laws of physics wouldn’t allow us to catch those ships without chasing them halfway to the next star and burning up nearly all of our fuel in the process.”

  Captain Faresa intervened, her voice sour. “An officer in the Alliance fleet shouldn’t give up before starting. ‘Attempt the impossible, and you will achieve it.’ ”

  The way the quote was delivered sounded depressingly familiar. Geary glanced at Captain Desjani, who nodded at him, unable to suppress a proud look. Another “quote” from Black Jack Geary, doubtless taken completely out of context if he’d ever actually said it at all, and used to justify things that the real Black Jack never would’ve supported and certainly didn’t support now. “I’ll have to look up just when I said that and what I meant,” he replied, keeping his voice even. “But I agree completely with Captain Duellos. Pursuit would’ve been futile. I have to place responsibility for this entire fleet above my desire for revenge, and I’d expect any other officer to do the same.”

  “The fleet has grown used to expecting the fleet flagship to lead the way into battle!” Faresa stated as if that somehow proved an argument.

  Geary bit back a vicious comment. Just because the fleet’s grown used to expecting stupidity doesn’t mean I have to be stupid.

  But Desjani answered for him, her pride clearly affronted by an implied insult to her ship as well as to Geary. “Dauntless was in the center of the formation at Kaliban, right where the Syndics aimed their attack,” Desjani noted in a formally stiff voice.

  “Yes,” Geary agreed. Though to be honest, because of the way I’d set up the battle with my fleet’s firepower concentrated on the aim point of the Syndic attack, being in that position probably was the safest place for Dauntless. He didn’t say that, though. He didn’t because he knew he’d have to keep Dauntless safe all the way home to Alliance space, fleet traditions be damned. Dauntless still carried the Syndic hypernet key, though few knew that besides Geary and Captain Desjani. Even if every other ship in the fleet was lost, getting that key back to Alliance space would give the Alliance a crucial advantage over the Syndics. Not that Geary intended sacrificing every other ship if there was any other possible way to get Dauntless back.

  Numos looked as if he were ready to say something else, so Geary stabbed a finger at the display of Sutrah System hovering above the conference table. “I hadn’t intended bothering to divert from our transit of this system to deal with the inhabited worlds, but as you all know, we’ve learned something that changes those plans. We have indications that there’s a labor camp on the fifth world that confines Alliance prisoners.”

  “Indications?” Captain Tulev asked shrewdly. “You don’t think this is certain?”

  Geary took a deep breath. “We’ve already been tricked once in this system. It would’ve been easy for the Syndics to fake the message traffic that makes it seem there’s Alliance personnel in that camp.” He easily sensed the rebellion rising around him. “I fully intend going there and finding out for sure. But we have to be alert for another ambush.”

  “Bait to lure us near the fifth planet?” Colonel Carabali asked, her eyes narrowing in thought.

  “It’s possible. We’ll be able to spot any minefields during our long approach to that world no matter how stealthy they are. What else could be there that we’d have to worry about?”

  The colonel shrugged. “You can mount truly massive weaponry on a planet like that, but it has to climb out of the gravity well and deal with the atmospheric effects to get at space targets. Besides, if they try to engage us with that kind of stuff, all we have to do is stand off and throw big rocks at the planet.”

  A studious-looking ship captain spoke up. “You mean massive kinetic energy projectiles.”

  “Yeah,” the Marine colonel agreed. “That’s what I said. BFRs. It’s not that I’m thrilled about sending my boys and girls down to the surface of a Syndic-occupied world. We don’t have nearly enough ground troops to secure the kind of perimeter we need for safety. But the entire planet will be hostage to the Syndics’ good behavior, and we don’t really h
ave any alternative.”

  “We have to send the Marines down?” Geary asked.

  Captain Desjani nodded. “After a few incidents much earlier in the war we determined that the Syndics would hold back some of their prisoners, especially any they thought of high value. The only way to confirm we’ve picked up everyone is to have our own personnel access the Syndic camp records for everything from body counts to food rations to make sure our count matches the numbers they seem to have.”

  “All right.” That made sense, even if Geary didn’t like the idea of sweeping the fleet close to the fifth planet and slowing down so his shuttles could pick up the prisoners. “I assume the Syndic shuttles aren’t to be trusted, and we have to depend on our own.” Everyone nodded this time. “Everyone with shuttles on your ships prepare them for some heavy use. I’ll ask Co-President Rione to deliver our ultimatum to the Syndics regarding the prisoners.”

  Numos gave Geary a look of exaggerated disbelief. “Why should she be involved?”

  Not sure why Numos had developed a dislike of Rione, Geary answered bluntly. “She’s our most capable negotiator.”

  “Her blunders at Corvus nearly costs us the Titan!”

  Geary felt anger rising in him. The Syndic betrayal at Corvus involving merchant ships supposedly delivering supplies to the Alliance fleet hadn’t been Rione’s fault, hadn’t been anyone’s fault, really. Surely Numos knew that. “That’s not my assessment.”

  “Of course not! Since Co-President Rione has been spending a great deal of time alone with you in your stateroom, I’m sure you think—”