Lost Fleet 1 - Dauntless Read online

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  Published by the Penguin Group

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  THE LOST FLEET: DAUNTLESS

  An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author

  Copyright © 2006 by John G. Hemry writing as Jack Campbell.

  Cover art by Pat Turner.

  Cover design by Annette Fiore.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information address: The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ISBN: 1-4295-1064-1

  Praise for The Lost Fleet: Dauntless

  “A solid, thoughtful, and exciting novel loaded with edge of-your-seat combat.” —Elizabeth Moon, Nebula Award–winning author of Marque and Reprisal

  “Jack Campbell’s dazzling new series is military science fiction at its best. Not only does he tell a yarn of great adventure and action, but he also develops the characters with satisfying depth. I thorougly enjoyed this rip-roaring read, and I can hardly wait for the next book.” —Catherine Asaro, Nebula Award–winning author of Alpha

  “Black Jack Geary is very real, very human, and so compelling he’ll leave you wanting more. Jack Campbell knows fleet actions, and it shows.”—David Sherman, author, with Dan Cragg, of the Starfist series

  To Christine and Larry Maguire.

  Good people and good friends who’ve

  made our lives richer by their being here.

  For S., as always.

  Acknowledgments

  I’m indebted to my editor, Anne Sowards, for her valuable support and editing, and to my agent, Joshua Blimes, for his inspired suggestions and assistance.

  Thanks also to Catherine Asaro, J. G. (Huck) Huckenpöhler, Simcha Kuritzky, Michael LaViolette, Aly Parsons, Bud Sparhawk, and Constance A. Warner, for their suggestions, comments, and recommendations.

  Contents

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  ONE

  The cold air blowing in through the vents still carried a faint tang of overheated metal and burned equipment. Faint echoes of a blast reached into his stateroom as the ship shuddered. Voices outside the hatch were raised in fright and feet rushed past. But he didn’t move, knowing that if the enemy had resumed the attack there’d be alarms sounding and many more than just one blow struck to the ship. And, attack or not, he had no assignment to run to, no job to fulfill.

  He sat in the small stateroom he’d been given, arms crossed and hands tucked in to try to drive away an inner cold that never seemed to leave him. He could hear the sounds of the ship and her crew, and as long as the hatch remained closed he could try to pretend the ship was a ship he knew and the crew were people he’d served with. But those ships and those people were gone, as by all rights he should be as well.

  He shifted position slightly, clenching his hands tighter against the cold that welled up from within, as one knee brushed against the rough edge of the small desk this stateroom boasted. He stared at that edge, trying to grasp what it meant. The future was supposed to be smooth. Smooth and clean and bright. It wasn’t supposed to be rougher and more worn than the past. Everybody knew that. But then, wars weren’t supposed to be apparently endless, going on and on and draining the smoothness and brightness from a future that could now only afford efficiency.

  “Captain Geary, your presence is requested at the shuttle dock.”

  The announcement took a moment to penetrate. Why did they want him? But an order was an order, and if he lost the structure of discipline now he might find he had nothing left at all. He exhaled heavily, then stood, his legs stiff from inner and outer cold. He braced himself before opening the hatch, not wanting to face the people outside, but finally yanked it open and began walking.

  The passages of the Alliance battle cruiser Dauntless were crowded with enlisted personnel and a leavening of other officers. They made way for him as he walked, creating a narrow path that seemed to magically open and close just before and behind him as he plodded steadily toward the shuttle area. He kept his eyes unfocused, looking straight ahead and not seeing their faces. He knew what would be reflected on those faces. He’d seen the hope and awe, neither understanding nor desiring it. Now he knew that awe would be joined by anguish and despair, and he wanted to see those faces even less than before. As if he’d let them down, when he’d never promised them anything or claimed to be anything more than he really was.

  The crowd suddenly jammed solid before him, and he had to halt. A junior officer looked back and saw him. “Captain Geary!” she exclaimed, her face lighting with irrational hope. The junior officer had dirty hydraulic fluid smeared across one side of her face and a light cast on one arm to cover an injury from the recent battle. Her uniform showed scorch marks on the side of the injured arm.

  Geary knew he should say something to the officer, but he couldn’t find any words. “Shuttle dock,” Geary finally stated.

  “You can’t get there through here, Captain,” the lieutenant offered eagerly, fatigue falling away from her and oblivious to the lack of reaction from Geary. Her sudden enthusiasm made her seem impossibly young and somehow made Geary feel even older. “It’s sealed off while they repair battle damage. You felt that last shock, didn’t you? We had to jettison some fuel cells before they blew. But we’ll be ready again soon. We’re not beaten yet. Are we? We can’t be.”

  “I need to get to the shuttle dock,” Geary repeated slowly.

  The lieutenant blinked. “Shuttle dock. Go down two decks and forward from there. That should be clear. It’s good to see you, sir.” Her voice broke on the last sentence.

  It’s good to see me? Geary thought. A momentary heat of anger warred against the ice inside him. Why? But he just nodded and replied without inflection. “Thank you.”

  Down the ladders two decks and forward again, Geary moved alone through the crowd that still parted and closed as he walked. Despite his attempts to avoid seeing, he caught glimpses of faces now, faces with the same anguish and lit with the same insane opt
imism when they caught sight of Geary.

  Admiral Bloch waited at the entry to the shuttle dock, along with his chief of staff and a small crowd of other officers. Bloch motioned to Geary and drew him aside to speak privately. Unlike the others, Bloch seemed less despairing than stunned by the recent battle, as if he still weren’t quite able to grasp what had happened. “The Syndic leaders have agreed to negotiations. They insist that I and every other flag rank officer participate in person. We’re in no position to refuse their demand.” The Admiral’s voice sounded dull, very different from the booming enthusiasm Geary had grown used to hearing. His eyes were dull, too. “That leaves you the most senior officer in our absence, Captain.”

  Geary frowned. He hadn’t really considered that before now. His seniority dated from the day he’d been promoted to Captain. That had been a very long time ago. And with that seniority would come responsibilities. “I can’t—”

  “Yes.” Admiral Bloch drew a deep breath. “Please. Captain. The fleet needs you.”

  “Sir, with all due respect—”

  “Captain Geary, I wouldn’t blame you for wondering if you’d have been better off if we hadn’t found you. I thought, a lot of people thought, it was a harbinger of good luck. ‘Black Jack’ Geary, back from the dead to accompany the Alliance fleet to its greatest victory.” Bloch closed his eyes for a moment. “Now I need to leave the fleet in the hands of someone I can trust.”

  Geary grimaced, wanting to yell at Bloch, tell the admiral that the man he wanted to leave in charge of the fleet wasn’t the man actually standing here, that such a person had never existed. But Bloch’s eyes weren’t simply dull, Geary now saw. They were dead. He finally just nodded slowly. “Aye, aye, sir.”

  “We’re trapped. This fleet is the Alliance’s last hope. You understand of course. If something happens…do your best. Promise me.”

  Geary fought down another impulse to shout out his objections. But breaking the ice inside him would be too hard, and a stubborn sense of duty insisted he couldn’t refuse Admiral Bloch’s request. “I will.”

  “Dauntless…listen, Captain.” Bloch leaned close, speaking even more softly. “Dauntless has the key onboard. Do you understand? Ask Captain Desjani. She knows and can explain. This ship must get home. Somehow. The hypernet key must get back to the Alliance. If we can do that, there’ll still be a chance, and the ships and the people we’ve lost won’t have been in vain. Promise me, Captain Geary.”

  Geary stared, not understanding, shocked even through his numbed senses by the pleading in the admiral’s voice. But it wasn’t like Geary would be in charge forever. Bloch would negotiate with the Syndics, then return and be back in command. Geary would never have to learn any details about some “key” on the Dauntless that somehow related to a method of traveling between the stars that was much more rapid than even the system-jump faster-than-light transportation method used in Geary’s time. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Thank you. Thank you, Captain. I knew if there was one person I could count on, it’d be you.” If Geary’s reaction to the admiral’s statement showed on his face, Bloch gave no sign. “I’ll do my best, but, if worse comes to worst…” Bloch stood silent for a moment. “Somehow, if you can, save what’s left of the fleet.” He raised his voice as he led Geary back to the others. “Captain Geary is in command of the fleet in my absence.”

  Everyone turned to stare at Geary. Surprise, elation on the faces of the younger officers, skepticism showing on some of the older officers as they all murmured acknowledgment of the admiral’s order.

  Geary brought his hand up in the formal salute he’d always known but hadn’t seen among this fleet. He didn’t know when saluting had ceased to be a normal military courtesy in the Alliance fleet, but he was damned if he’d just wave good-bye to a superior officer. Bloch gave a rusty half-salute in reply, then turned and passed quickly through the entry area toward the waiting shuttle, followed by a couple of the older officers.

  Geary watched the shuttle depart, unmoving, wondering what he should feel. Command of an entire fleet. Or what was left of it, anyway. The pinnacle of a Navy officer’s career. His command was just for a little while, of course. No matter how bad things were, they didn’t really want him in command. Admiral Bloch was just making a small gesture toward the legendary Captain “Black Jack” Geary, granting a symbolic honor before the Admiral got back with whatever agreement he’d managed to arrange. The negotiations might take a while, but Geary had once known and dealt with representatives of the Syndicate Worlds, and while he’d never liked the Syndics, he was certain they’d cut a deal now rather than face the losses the trapped Alliance fleet would otherwise inflict as it died.

  He became aware that the remaining officers were watching him, expectation now warring with their other expressions. Geary turned to face the group and nodded. “Dismissed.” They all turned to go, except for two who paused to awkwardly salute in acknowledgment of the order. Geary returned the salutes, wondering why and at what point such things had gone out of style.

  Then he stood, watching them leave, uncertain what to do next. Where did the acting fleet commander belong? On the bridge of the Dauntless, perhaps. With everyone watching him and nothing really to do. What possible difference does it make where I go now? I can give orders from my stateroom if I need to, but I won’t need to, and what would I do if I could? Everything I knew, everyone I knew, is gone. I’m so very tired. I spent almost a century in survival hibernation, sleeping away the lives of my friends, and I’m still tired. To hell with it.

  He returned to his stateroom, sat down at the rough-edged desk and tried to look at and think of nothing again. But he couldn’t, because he did after all have a job to do now. After several minutes, the long habits of duty nagged him into motion. Geary squinted at the communications panel set next to the desk, making sure he’d push the right buttons. “Bridge, this is Captain Geary. Acting fleet commander. Please notify me when the shuttles from the fleet reach the Syndic flagship.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” The enlisted sailor visible on the screen nodded rapidly, his eyes filled with awe at seeing Geary. “Estimated time of arrival is fifteen minutes from now.”

  “Thank you.” Geary hastily shut off the screen, unnerved by the hero worship on the man’s face. He tried to settle back into his numbness, but duty dug its heels into Geary’s shoulder and kept poking at him. Rather than keep fighting it, he reached for other controls. The flagship’s combat system balked at first from letting him see the latest fleet status data, but somewhere it picked up the information that Geary was now acting commander and grudgingly provided the necessary access. Geary read down the list of ships slowly and methodically, feeling pain beginning to finally gnaw against the deadness inside of him. So many ships lost. So many of the remainder damaged. Small wonder Admiral Bloch had gone to seek terms from the Syndics.

  “Captain Geary. Our shuttles have reached the Syndic flagship.”

  “Thank you.” Geary didn’t want to think about Admiral Bloch being herded through the enemy ship to beg and bluff for whatever concessions he could squeeze out of the victorious enemy. Geary had never cared for the way the Syndics treated their own people, let alone how they handled others. But they could be reasoned with.

  “C-captain Geary. Th-this is the communications watch.”

  Geary looked toward the screen. The officer there seemed rattled beyond what Geary had seen elsewhere. Far more rattled. “What is it?”

  “A…a message…from the Syndic flagship. Captain. Th-they sent it to all our ships.”

  “Show me.” The image of the officer dissolved. Geary saw Admiral Bloch and the other senior Alliance officers, standing next to a bulkhead on what must be the Syndic flagship. The view pulled back, showing the location to be a shuttle dock, and revealing a Syndic official with the impeccably tailored uniform, brilliant rank insignia and instantly recognizable arrogance of a Chief Executive Officer facing the camera.

  “Alliance
Fleet, your Admiral came to us to ‘negotiate’ for terms of surrender.” The CEO made a gesture.

  Geary felt his mouth go dry as a group of Syndic special troops stepped forward, one per Alliance officer, and fired point-blank into Admiral Bloch and the others. Bloch and some of the others tried to remain at attention but crumpled as blood stained their uniforms. Within moments, every senior Alliance officer lay unmoving and unquestionably dead.

  The Syndic CEO waved negligently toward the bodies. “There is nothing to ‘negotiate’ with your former leaders. Anyone else who tries to ‘negotiate’ will suffer the same fate as these fools. Those Alliance ships and officers who surrender unconditionally will receive reasonable terms. We have no quarrel with those who were forced to fight us by misguided leaders such as these.” Even through his shock, Geary wondered if the Syndic CEO knew how insincere that statement sounded. “But those who attempt to ‘negotiate’ will die, though perhaps not as quickly as your Admiral.”

  “You have one hour to surrender your ships. After that, we will move in and crush any resistance.”

  Geary stared at the screen after it blanked and the face of the communications officer returned, gazing back at Geary with despair. Geary had known the Syndics to be ruthless, but he’d never known them to commit this kind of atrocity. Like other things Geary had encountered, it seemed the Syndics had changed over the long course of this war, and not for the better.

  It took a long moment for it to sink in that his command of the fleet was no longer a temporary thing. A fleet decimated in battle and trapped, facing overwhelmingly superior numbers. With one hour’s grace. And here was this communications officer, and uncounted others like him, hoping and praying that Geary could somehow do something.

  Geary took a deep breath, knowing the emptiness he had felt since his rescue was helping to keep his face composed. “Get me Captain…” What was the name Admiral Bloch had mentioned? “Desjani. Captain Desjani. Now.”