Valiant tlf-4

by Jack Campbell

  Another watch-stander answered. “That city isn’t at a comfortable temperature for humans, but it’s still got some heat, and the atmosphere inside reads out as breathable. Their air-generation and recirc systems must be in bad shape, though, from the amount of contaminants we’re seeing on spectral analysis.”

  Geary looked over at Desjani, who was grimacing. She noticed his regard and shrugged uncomfortably. “It’s not a nice way to die, sir. Even for Syndics.”

  “Five hundred and sixty. Families, surely. Adults and kids.” Geary had the automated billeting assistant on his fleet database run the figures. “We could hold them.”

  “Hold them?” Desjani stared at him.

  “Yeah. Like you said, it’s an ugly way to die, slowly freezing and feeling the air get worse and worse. We could take them somewhere else.”

  “But—” Desjani stopped and spoke slowly. “Sir, it’s the smallest drop in the bucket. Yes, it’s … tragic. Even though they’re Syndics. But that many people die in this war every second. At this very moment there’s a good chance that an Alliance world is being bombarded by Syndic warships, and thousands of our civilians are dying.”

  Geary nodded to show he knew the truth of her words. And yet … “What was the Third Truth?”

  She looked back at him for a long moment before answering. “Only those who show mercy can expect to receive it. It’s been a very long time since I heard the Truths recited.”

  “I guess we used to do that more often a century ago.” Geary looked down, gathering his arguments. “I know what’s been done. I know what Syndic ships may be doing at this moment. But how can we just sail by and let those people die? Anything we could have done at Lakota would have been insignificant against the scale of the tragedy. Here we can make a difference.”

  “Sir, any delay could be fatal. We don’t know what kind of Syndic force might be in pursuit of us, or what forces are moving to block us in other star systems. Going to that world will cost at least an extra day in this star system. Maneuvering to pick them up will cost fuel-cell reserves we can’t afford to burn. Not a lot, but some. They’ll eat our rations while aboard our ships, and we’re already short on food, too. On board they’ll have to be guarded constantly to ensure that they don’t commit sabotage. And then we’ll have to find a way to drop them off in the next star system without costing too much time and fuel-cell reserves, possibly while dodging an enemy flotilla.” Desjani laid out each point in turn, then spoke firmly. “Sir, the cost of this gesture could well be more than we can afford.”

  “I understand.” And he truly did. What would be the morality of hazarding the many thousands of personnel in this fleet, and the fate of the Alliance itself, in the name of saving a few hundred enemy civilians? It wasn’t like he didn’t have other things to worry about, like whoever had placed the worm in the fleet’s jump drives, and might take advantage of any focus on these Syndics to commit more sabotage. He’d hoped that once the fleet returned to normal space someone who had searched their conscience during the transit to Wendig would have contacted him with important information, but no such informant had appeared. Nor had Rione’s or Duellos’s sources within the fleet discovered anything new. But was that a critical factor in deciding whether or not to help these people? “Co-President Rione, what is your opinion?”

  Rione took a while to answer. “I can’t dispute the arguments laid out against offering assistance,” she finally replied in an unemotional voice. “But you want to do it anyway, don’t you, Captain Geary?” Geary nodded. “Then my advice would be to follow your instincts. Every time you’ve done so, you’ve been right.”

  Desjani turned enough to glare at Rione, then her expression changed as she thought. “Co-President Rione is right, sir. About your instincts. You are guided in ways we are not.”

  Geary managed not to groan. Guided. By the living stars themselves. Or so Desjani and a large portion of the fleet believed.

  “But, sir,” Desjani continued, “it’s still a very large risk. My advice has not changed. Besides, it’s very likely that another Syndic pursuit force will come through this system after us. They’ll hear the distress message, too.”

  He nodded, grateful at the realization that a humane alternative existed. Then another insight hit. “Would a Syndic force in pursuit of us divert to assist those civilians?”

  Desjani’s lips compressed into a thin line, then she shook her head. “Probably not, sir. Almost certainly not. Their commander would be sent to the labor camps for wasting time.”

  Give Desjani full credit. She didn’t want to divert to help those people, for a long list of good reasons, but she’d given him an honest assessment even though it hurt her case. He thought about the people on Wendig One. It was entirely possible that some of them, even adults, had never seen any ship in their star system. Why would any ship come here once the hypernet had been constructed? Now, with their means of life failing, they would look up and see this fleet and watch it pass by and leave. Then they’d maybe see a Syndic flotilla and watch it pass by and leave. Then there’d be no more ships. While the air got colder and harder to breathe. While the elderly and the youngest children died one by one, the strongest citizens clinging despairingly to each other as death came slowly for them each in turn, until Wendig Star System was as devoid of human life as it had been for uncounted millennia before the first starships came here.

  Geary drew in a deep breath. The vision he’d seen of the dying colony had been so real, as if he were there. Where had it come from?

  Maybe he was being guided. He knew what his heart said, and he knew what everything he’d been taught said. Measured against that was the cruel reality of war and the necessities of command. But there wasn’t a Syndic flotilla right on this fleet’s tail, no imminent threat to measure against those innocent lives.

  Everyone was watching him, waiting. Only he could decide. And that knowledge tipped the balance, because he had a responsibility to make hard decisions, and going onward and leaving the colony to its fate didn’t require a decision, just the absence of one until the option became too hard to carry out. “I feel,” Geary began, “that we have a duty to help those people. That this is a test of us, one we must pass to prove we still believe in the things that made the Alliance great. We will pass that test.”

  It felt like all those on Dauntless’s bridge had been holding their breath and now let them out all at once. Geary looked to Desjani, dreading to see a look of disapproval there. He knew how Desjani felt about Syndics. And now Geary wanted to risk her ship to rescue some of them.

  But Desjani didn’t seem angry. She was watching him as if trying to see something not apparent to the naked eye. “Yes, sir,” she said. “We will pass that test.”

  The video message feed from Wendig One was broken by static, another ugly reminder of what they had left behind at Lakota. “I can’t trace it to interference. It’s probably because their equipment is patched together,” the communications watch explained.

  A man looked out, his expression baffled. “Alliance warships, we are in receipt of your message. We’re incredibly grateful for your assistance. Is the war over? How do you come to be this deep in Syndicate Worlds’ space?”

  Geary checked and saw that the fleet was still almost two light-hours from Wendig One. Not the best circumstances for a conversation. Extremely annoying circumstances for a conversation, really, when his reply would take two hours to reach the Syndic and the Syndic’s next answer another two hours to reach Geary. “This is the Alliance fleet commander. We won’t deceive you. The war is not over. This fleet is on a combat mission, on its way back to Alliance space. But we do not war on civilians or children. We will divert from our course through this system far enough to be able to send shuttles down to evacuate your people. There must be no delays. You have my word on the honor of my ancestors that you will be treated properly while aboard Alliance ships and dropped off safely in the next inhabited Syndicate Worlds’ star system we reach.
Provide an accurate count of people involved, broken down by families so we can ensure that no families are separated during the transit. We’ve identified the landing pad on the northwest side of your town as the best location for our shuttles to land. There’s some drifting sand covering part of it that needs to be swept clear by your people if possible. Everyone must be standing by at the nearest access to that landing pad when our shuttles arrive. No weapons of any kind are to be brought, nor anything that could be used as a weapon. Personal luggage must be limited to ten kilos per person. Are there any questions?”

  Geary leaned back and closed his eyes. If there were any questions, he wouldn’t hear them for at least four hours.

  Less than two hours later Captain Desjani took a message, then got up from her command seat and stepped close to speak to Geary, activating his sound-deadening field. “My systems-security officer reports that the subnet we were told about before leaving Branwyn was used again to try to plant a worm. The worm was identified and blocked, but all attempts to ID the originator have failed.”

  “Messing with our system jump drives again?”

  “No, sir.” Desjani tilted her head toward the star-system display. “It would have infiltrated the combat systems of two warships and caused the targeting and launch of kinetic bombardment munitions aimed at the town occupied by the Syndic civilians. A systems-security alert has been sent to all warships in the fleet to scrub their combat systems for any worm that might have gotten through by other means.”

  That took his breath away for a moment. “So our saboteurs are willing to kill helpless Syndics as well as unsuspecting Alliance comrades. Which ships?”

  “The munitions would have been launched from Courageous and Furious, sir.”

  “Ships commanded by two of my strongest supporters in the fleet.” Geary felt a slow burn of anger. His fleet and shuttles never could have reached the Syndic survivors before those munitions struck. “Someone has a sick sense of vengeance and a very ugly willingness to do anything.”

  Desjani’s expression showed she agreed with him. “In half an hour they’ll know the worm was blocked. That’s when the munitions were supposed to launch.”

  “Thank you, Captain. I have a couple of people to talk to.” Geary left the bridge and waited until he was in his stateroom, with all security features active, before calling Rione and filling her in. “I don’t know if anyone will react when the worm doesn’t work, but you might have your sources watching.”

  Rione, her face pale, nodded.

  Geary passed the same information to Captain Duellos, then waited, wondering what he’d do if somehow another worm hadn’t been blocked or detected, if some of his ships did launch bombardment munitions against that dying Syndic colony. Nothing happened, though, and no one called. He hadn’t really expected anyone suddenly to rage in disappointment when the set time passed, but apparently not even subtle signs of frustration had been spotted in anyone. The only thing he could be certain of was that whoever had planted the worms would now be aware that their chosen subnet path had been compromised.

  That and whoever had tried to destroy three Alliance warships earlier was now also opposed to Geary’s aiding these Syndics. At least that helped reassure him that he was indeed doing the right thing.

  After all of that a reply finally came from the Syndic colony.

  The Syndic he’d seen before was now anxious. Geary couldn’t help thinking how much more nervous the Syndic would be if he’d known how close his town had come to being turned into a large crater. “Sir, my people are very worried. Please don’t take this wrong, but many don’t trust the Alliance. Unless things have changed a great deal since our last news from outside, and it has been decades, there has been very little consideration for civilians in this war. I’m trying to convince them to trust you, because I can’t think of any reason why you’d bother to kill us aboard your ships rather than just letting us die here. No reason except … the women … the girls … all the children. I’m sorry, but you must understand what we fear. What can I tell them, sir?”

  Geary pondered his reply. This man clearly wanted and needed to be convinced himself if he was to argue effectively with his own people. “Tell your people that Captain John Geary commands this fleet by the grace of his ancestors, and that he will never dishonor those ancestors by harming the helpless or breaking his word. I tell you again that I give you my personal word of honor that you will not be harmed as long as you do not attempt to harm these ships. Any person in this fleet who tries to assault any one of you will be dealt with under the wartime provisions of the fleet code of justice. I could have lied to you about the war, about this fleet’s mission. I didn’t. Your people have no military value whatsoever. But they are people. We won’t let them die if we can save them. Please provide the information we need as soon as possible.”

  The next half day passed with a normalcy that felt almost surreal. Geary authorized the release of information about the latest worm despite fears that it might garner support for the saboteurs from officers who opposed his decision to aid the Syndics, but instead there was another wave of revulsion at the idea of hijacking ships’ combat systems. Humans had never fully lost their mistrust of automated combat systems, so anyone messing with their software to cause weapons systems to act on their own ended up on the wrong side of the fence as far as just about everyone was concerned.

  Shuttles soared between warships, bringing new fuel cells and expendable munitions, replacement parts and anything else the auxiliaries had manufactured to meet the needs of the fleet during the period since leaving Lakota. Geary was pleased to see his fleet’s average fuel-cell reserves climb back up to 65 percent. Not great by a long shot, but better than it had been. Commander Savos was brought to Orion as her new commanding officer, fully aware of the challenge he faced there. Maybe he could turn Orion around as Commander Suram had done with Warrior.

  The next reply from the Syndics didn’t come until the Alliance fleet was less than a single light-hour from Wendig One and about ten hours at its current velocity from reaching the planet. “We will trust you because we have no choice. Some of our people are using the few working survival suits we have left to try to sweep clear the landing pad you indicated. All of us will be standing by when your shuttles arrive.”

  Desjani listened to the message with a resigned look.

  Rione’s expression masked her thoughts. Everyone else Geary could see seemed puzzled, trying to figure out why he was doing this. In a way, that was very depressing. But none of them were objecting anymore, and that was at least hopeful.

  The shuttles launched as the fleet approached Wendig, the Alliance warships braking their velocity to allow time for the shuttles to reach the surface, load, and rejoin. Geary monitored the action from the bridge of Dauntless. Every shuttle had a detachment of Marines in full battle armor aboard just in case. He hadn’t been thrilled by that since it meant reducing the passenger capacity of the shuttles and requiring using more of them, but Colonel Carabali had been insistent, and he’d recognized the wisdom of her strongly worded suggestions.

  “All birds down,” the operations watch-stander reported.

  On his display, Geary could see an overhead image of the grounded shuttles, the Marines spilling out to stand sentry and screen the passengers, evacuation tubes being run to the air lock on the civilian town. He toggled briefly to the video feed from one of the Marines. The outside of the Syndic town already looked long abandoned, drifts of toxic snow and sand piled up against its walls, broken and cannibalized equipment littering the lifeless landscape. Geary couldn’t help shivering at the cold, empty image of desolation. “Can you imagine being trapped in a place like that?” he asked Desjani.

  She viewed the feed, frowning, but said nothing.

  “Loading complete,” Colonel Carabali reported. This was a landing expedition and therefore a Marine operation, she had insisted. “Evac tubes being withdrawn into shuttles. Shuttle liftoff estimated in zero thre
e minutes.”

  “Any problems, Colonel?” Geary asked.

  “Not yet, sir.” Confronted with well over five hundred Syndics, Carabali obviously believed it was only a matter of time before problems arose.

  “Birds in the air on schedule,” the operations watch-stander reported. “Rendezvous with warships projected on time in twenty-five minutes.”

  Desjani tapped her own controls. “Colonel Carabali, please confirm all Syndics were searched for weapons and destructive materials.”

  Carabali sounded slightly insulted at having a fleet officer ask if Marines had done their jobs. “Absolutely. Full scans. They’re clean. They don’t have much.”

  Geary and Desjani went down to the shuttle dock to see the Syndic civilians destined for Dauntless arrive. The Syndics filed off the shuttle between ranks of Marines in full battle armor with weapons at guard position. Some of the civilians were trying to look brave, but all appeared frightened. Fifty-one of them, their civilian clothes a mix of styles and types that Geary realized must reflect raiding old stockpiles and closets as their supplies of clothing wore out. All of them seemed slightly gaunt, reflecting what must have been short rations in recent years as the amount of food available also ran low.

  They were also trying not to stare around at the ship and at the Alliance personnel in the hangar deck. It struck Geary as he watched them that these people had never encountered strangers before, never actually been anyplace unfamiliar. Far in time and space as they were from mankind’s origins, these Syndics were like the ancient inhabitants of a small island encountering their first ships from the outside. Not just ships, but warships carrying people who were supposed to be their sworn enemies.

  Desjani stood beside him, her posture rigid, her face revealing nothing as she watched the enemy civilians walk onto the deck of her ship.

  Geary recognized the man he’d spoken with and stepped forward. “Welcome to the Alliance fleet flagship. We’ll have to keep you all under guard, and a warship isn’t designed for a lot of passengers, so your accommodations will be pretty cramped.”