Not that the leading Syndic battle cruiser was a threat anymore. The null-field hits on top of the torrent of hell-lance fire had riddled the warship and left it a drifting wreck from which survival pods were bursting spasmodically as the surviving crew tried to find safety.
Geary searched for the second Syndic battle cruiser, clenching his teeth as he saw that the battle cruiser’s commander had wrenched the big warship around and was accelerating toward the Alliance auxiliaries.
“He doesn’t stand a chance,” Desjani observed.
As the battle cruiser tore through the Alliance formation, it took hit after hit from destroyers, light cruisers, and heavy cruisers along its path. Each individual blow did little damage, but they kept adding up as the Syndic battle cruiser kept accelerating in an attempt to confuse the Alliance targeting systems. But without enough time and distance to get its speed high enough, the battle cruiser took more and more hits. It sliced past Illustrious and Incredible and staggered as the two Alliance battle cruisers poured fire into its port side.
The Syndic battle cruiser kept going as the damage accumulated, running into wave after wave of fire.
By the time it reached the battleships of the Tenth Battleship Division, the Syndic battle cruiser had taken so many hits that it was probably running blind, its sensors smashed, its remaining weapons flashing out futilely and gaining no hits. Only the battle cruiser’s main drives at the stern remained relatively undamaged, bringing the Syndic warship up past point one light as it kept accelerating.
Amazon and Guardian, the closest Alliance battleships to the doomed Syndic battle cruiser’s path, fired volleys of grapeshot almost straight down the enemy ship’s course, the metal shot hitting the Syndic’s hull at a combined velocity of close to point two light speed.
The front half of the Syndic battle cruiser vaporized under the impacts, the stern portion shuddering as it passed through the remains of the bow and then coming apart into a field of small fragments, some of which impacted harmlessly on the shields of Amazon and Guardian.
Desjani sighed. “The entire crew of that battle cruiser must be dead.”
Geary nodded in agreement. “No one could’ve survived that.”
“Too bad.” Desjani looked toward Geary. “For the first time in my life, I really wanted to meet a Syndic. The commanding officer of that ship. He or she fought very gallantly.” She’d come a ways from the officer who Geary had first met, to whom the Syndic enemy were inhuman and beneath contempt. “It’s best he or she is dead, of course,” Desjani added matter-of-factly. “I’d hate to leave a Syndic like that alive.”
“You’d hate to leave alive a Syndic officer that you respect?” Geary asked.
Desjani lowered her brow slightly. “Respect? I couldn’t respect a Syndic, sir. How could anyone? Though this one died well. I just wanted to see what such a Syndic was like.”
Geary shrugged. “Right now, they’re dead, blown into very small pieces along with their crew and their ship.”
“Yes, sir.” Desjani smiled in reply.
Maybe she hadn’t come that far. But then, Desjani was the daughter of a hundred years of war, a century of titfor-tat atrocities. The enemy was as alien to her as the intelligences that Geary suspected lurked beyond Syndic space. “Let’s get this fleet straightened out. All units, well done.” Geary’s eyes locked on the display, where in one corner names in red told of Alliance ships lost: two destroyers and three light cruisers. A lot of other ships had taken damage during the melee. Some of the surviving destroyers might not be repairable and might have to be abandoned here, and at least one heavy cruiser had taken serious damage. “Assume Formation Delta One unless engaged in recovering Alliance survival pods.” He would have to figure out which warships were so badly hurt that they’d have to fall back with the auxiliaries to simplify repair efforts, joining the torn-up battleships Orion, Majestic, and Warrior in what was becoming a formation of crippled ships.
Geary switched circuits and called down to the intelligence section. “See if you can find out if any of those Syndic survival pods have high-ranking officers in them.” He needed to know what the Syndics were doing and how the war was going along the border with the Alliance. Given the Syndic obsession with secrecy and keeping their own officers under tight control, odds were that even if the commander of the entire Syndic force had survived, he or she wouldn’t know the answers to that. But the longer Geary went without knowing, the more the questions gnawed at him. How long could he evade an enemy, most of whose movements were invisible to him?
If the Alliance fleet had arrived in Daiquon half a day later, it would have run right into that minefield outside the jump point, and the Syndic picket ships would have escaped to tell their high command the path the Alliance ships were following.
Any elation in the victory vanished as Geary stared at the names of the dead ships and the nearby reports of damage and crew casualties from other ships. It had been a small victory, dearly purchased.
FIVE
ALL things being equal, the transit through Daiquon to the jump point for Ixion should have required about five and a half days. The five substantial objects in orbit about the star Daiquon consisted of four barely planet-sized rocks and one massive supergiant that was just shy of enough mass to become a star in its own right. The small Syndic installations that had once occupied one of the rocks were all cold and had probably been mothballed long ago. There was absolutely no reason to linger in Daiquon and nothing capable of delaying the fleet.
But the Alliance heavy cruiser Brilliant had been so badly hurt during the brief engagement that Geary had to slow the entire formation while Brilliant’s main propulsion units received emergency repairs. The only alternative to that was leaving Brilliant behind, and he wasn’t about to do that.
But there wasn’t any choice when it came to the destroyers Sword-Breaker and Machete. Both had been so badly chewed up that only a major shipyard could have repaired them. Geary had the crews taken off and the ships’ power cores set to overload, turning both destroyers into slowly expanding balls of wreckage to join those already littering Daiquon as a result of the destruction of the Syndic warships. His other ships could use the officers and sailors from the lost destroyers, but it still hurt morale to have to scuttle two ships.
A score of other destroyers, three more light cruisers, and one more heavy cruiser had joined the three battleships in the makeshift division of badly damaged ships near the auxiliaries division. Geary tried to salve the pride of those ships by officially designating them a close support escort force for the auxiliaries, but he feared their unhappiness with being assigned to a place far from the front of any battle would breed further problems down the line. They’ll be upset, even though it’s the only decision that makes any sense. But then what about war has anything to do with making sense?
Geary closed his eyes, trying to block out the images of dying ships and their crews. His stateroom was very quiet, only the faint sounds that spoke of Dauntless being a living ship penetrating the bulkheads to provide familiar comfort. Vent fans humming as they distributed and cooled air, pumps churning as liquids went here and there, barely audible voices of members of the crew passing near, perhaps accompanied by the low rumble of a transport cart. For how many centuries had sailors heard those sounds around them? Before that there had been the creaking of wood and rigging on ships that used sails to carry them across planetary oceans. Ships were never completely silent, not while they lived.
“Captain Geary? This is Lieutenant Iger in the intelligence section.”
He hit the comm pad to accept the call. “This is Geary. What’ve you got?”
“We’ve analyzed the communications between the survival pods from the Syndic warships we destroyed, and as far as we can tell, all of the senior officers died on their ships. None of the pods seem to contain anyone who’s trying to assert authority or coordinating activity.”
No sense in diverting any of his own ships to pick up pr
isoners who wouldn’t know anything useful. “Are they all still headed for the mothballed installation in this system?”
“Yes, sir,” Iger confirmed. “There’s no place else for them to go.”
“How long can they survive on what’s in the pods and whatever’s at that base?” So far, the Alliance fleet had found either emergency rations or simply food abandoned in place, frozen on airless worlds, at every derelict Syndic facility they’d examined.
“The pods contain enough provisions for a couple of weeks, assuming they’re all full of survivors. They can stretch that, of course. Even if most of the ships were supposed to stay here to see if we showed up, Syndic procedure is to send a courier ship to report mission completion, in this case laying the minefields. When the enemy leaders in the nearby systems don’t hear from the warships in Daiquon, they’ll send someone to check on them. There may already be a ship on the way.”
“Okay. Thanks.” No sense in diverting a ship to pick up any pods containing Syndic sailors. He could make sure this fleet sent a message to the Syndic authorities on the inhabited world in Ixion Star System when they got there, ensuring the Syndics knew they had people awaiting rescue here.
Geary tried to drop back into his reverie, but an instant later his hatch alert chimed. “Come in,” Geary called resignedly without opening his eyes.
After a short interval, he heard a dry voice. “Congratulations on another victory.”
Geary’s eyes shot open. Victoria Rione stood in the entry. As she saw him gaze at her, she stepped inside, the hatch sealing in her wake, and came to sit across from Geary. Unlike Desjani, Rione leaned back, almost casual, but in the manner of a cat who could spring at any moment. “What’s the occasion?” Geary asked.
“I told you. I came to congratulate you.”
“Like hell.” Geary gestured angrily. “You’ve spent weeks avoiding me. Why’d you decide to finally show up here again?”
Rione looked away. “I have my reasons. We lost a ship from the Callas Republic in that battle you just fought.”
“I know. Glacis. I’m sorry. We lost about half of her crew but were able to rescue the rest. The survivors were distributed among other ships from the Callas Republic.”
“Thank you.” Rione’s jaw clenched. “I should have seen to that myself. It’s my responsibility.”
“No, it’s mine, as fleet commander, but I would have welcomed your assistance in the matter. And, to put it bluntly, Madam Co-President, the ships of the Callas Republic are wondering why you haven’t been in closer contact with them.”
“I have my reasons,” Rione repeated after a long moment of silence.
“You could share them,” Geary suggested. “Didn’t you once advise me to talk about my problems?”
“Did I? Have you been lonely?” she added abruptly.
“I missed you, yes.”
“I’m not the only woman on this ship, Captain Geary.”
“You’re the only one I can touch,” Geary replied sharply. “You know that. Everyone else in this fleet works for me.”
She gazed at him, her feelings hidden as usual. “You had no one else to talk to?”
“A few times. Captain Duellos. Captain Desjani.”
“Oh?” It was still impossible to tell what Rione was feeling. “Captain Desjani? Did you discuss various ways to slaughter Syndics?”
That almost sounded like Rione’s old, acerbic teasing. Geary weighed his response, then decided to be open about it. “Mostly just operational things, yes. But we did talk about Kosatka once. I told her I’d like to visit there when we get back.”
Rione raised one eyebrow.
“Why not? It’s a nice place. Maybe I couldn’t stay there, but I’d like to see it again.”
“It’s changed, Captain Geary.”
“That’s what Desjani said.” Geary shrugged. “Maybe I want to see how it’s changed, to help me absorb the fact that a century has passed since I last was there.”
“You’d scarcely be allowed to wander around, you know.” Rione twisted her mouth. “Black Jack would be mobbed.”
“Yeah. Desjani offered to show me around. She could help me avoid the crowds, maybe. Her parents are still alive. They’d help us keep a low profile, I think.”
Victoria Rione stayed silent again for a moment, her face unmoving. “So,” she finally observed, “Tanya Desjani has invited you home to meet her parents.”
It hadn’t even occurred to him that Desjani’s offer could be read that way. “What’s the matter? Are you jealous?”
This time both of Rione’s eyebrows arched upward. “Hardly.”
“Good. Because the last thing I want is anyone thinking I’m interested in her or vice versa.” Had Rione heard the baseless rumors about him and Desjani that Duellos had referred to? How could she not have heard them with her spies keeping track of events inside the fleet?
This time Rione smiled slightly. “Oh, surely not, John Geary. Think of the advantages of having a woman who believes you were sent by the living stars to save us all. Many men pray for a woman who would worship them. You’ve got one ready and waiting.”
Geary stood up, anger stirring. “I don’t find that funny at all. Tanya Desjani is a fine officer. I don’t want anyone thinking she would engage in unprofessional behavior. My enemies in this fleet are already trying to stir up trouble and undermine me by alleging that Desjani and I have an unprofessional relationship. I don’t want any more rumors that we’re involved with each other. I won’t do that to her.”
Rione’s smile vanished, and she looked down for a moment. When she raised her head again, her face was composed. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”
“Well, damn,” Geary couldn’t help saying, “I’ve got a woman who just admitted I was right. A lot of men pray for that, too.”
“Just because I’m being a bitch doesn’t mean you have to be a bastard.”
It was Geary’s turn to look away and nod. “That’s true.”
“Besides,” Rione continued, “I’m much better at it than you are.” She sagged back in her seat, her expression a mix of weariness and unhappiness.
Geary leaned forward. “What the hell’s going on, Victoria? I can tell something is bothering you, and I don’t think it’s me. I’ve been trying to imagine why you’d neglect your duties to the Alliance and the Callas Republic and, quite frankly, I’m baffled.” She sat silent, her expression revealing nothing. “Is it me? You haven’t touched me since Ilion. We never made any promises, but I honestly don’t understand what happened to change things.”
Rione shrugged, her face averted. “I’m a bitch. You knew that. It was only physical, anyway.”
“No, it wasn’t.” Rione didn’t look up, so Geary continued. “I said it before, and I’ll say it now. I like talking with you. I like being around you.”
“I notice you’re not denying that I’m a bitch.”
“And you’re trying to change the subject.” He caught her frown. “Is this related to why you and Captain Desjani are at sword’s point whenever you’re together?”
She laughed mockingly. “Such an observant man. If Desjani and I were two formations of Syndic warships you’d have figured out what we were doing a long time ago.”
Geary refused to rise to the bait. “I respect you both. I like you both, though in different ways. I also respect the way both of you think. That’s why it worries the hell out of me that I don’t know why you two seem to hate each other since Ilion.”
Rione looked away for some time before answering. “Captain Tanya Desjani is afraid that I will hurt the man she idolizes.”
“Dammit, Victoria—”
“I’m not joking, John Geary.” She sighed heavily and finally looked back at him. “Use your head!” Rione demanded harshly. “What did we pick up at Sancere?”
“A lot of things.”
“Including an outdated but large listing of Alliance prisoners of war.” To Geary’s shock, Rione seemed to be trembling slight
ly as she spoke. “You know the Syndics stopped sharing lists of prisoners with us long ago. You know many of the names on that list were presumed dead. You should have realized that some of the names on that list would be people that were thought to be certainly dead!” She almost shouted the last.
He finally got it. “Your husband. His name was on the list?”
Her fists were clenched, and she was visibly shaking. “Yes.”
“But you said you knew he was dead.”
“Those who escaped from the ship said he had died!” she yelled, though Geary somehow knew Rione wasn’t yelling at him. She calmed herself, taking long, slow breaths. “But the list we captured gives his name and identity number. It says he was badly injured but alive when captured.”
Geary waited a moment, but she said nothing more. “That’s all?”
“That’s all, John Geary. I know the Syndics captured him alive. I know he was seriously hurt. I don’t know if he lived for even another day. I don’t know if he survived whatever medical treatment the Syndics offered. I don’t know if he was sent to a labor camp. I don’t know if he died after that.” She paused. “I don’t know.”
Victoria Rione, normally so in control, was radiating pain. Geary moved over and held her close, feeling the tremors inside her. “I’m sorry. Damn, I’m sorry.”
Her voice was slightly muffled now. “I don’t know if he’s alive. I don’t know if he’s dead. If he somehow survived, if he’s in a labor camp somewhere, the chances that I’d ever learn of it, the chances that I’d ever see him again, are so tiny as to be zero. Yet he could be alive. My husband, the man I still love.”
And, Geary realized, she had learned this within weeks of coming into his bed for the first time. The ugly irony of it left him wondering why the living stars had done such a thing to Rione. “Okay. You don’t have to say any more.”
“Yes, I do. After ten years of staying true to his memory, I gave myself to you, and then learned he might still live.” Rione pushed Geary away and stared off to the side. “Fate had its joke, didn’t it? I thought I had done the right thing, John Geary. I thought I had honored my dead husband and done as he would have wished. Now I find I may have dishonored him. Myself as well, but mostly him.”
Lost Fleet 3 -Courageous Page 12