Dauntless tlf-1 Page 4

  “Don’t patronize me. These ships are the life of my Republic. If they’re destroyed—”

  “I want to get every ship that I can home.”

  “Really? Instead of regrouping and trying to stage a brilliant counterattack resulting in a glorious victory? Isn’t that what you really want, Captain Geary?”

  Geary just looked at her, not bothering to hide his weariness. “You seem to think you know me.”

  “I do know you, Captain Geary. I’ve heard all about you. You’re a Hero. I don’t like Heroes, Captain. Heroes lead armies and fleets to their deaths.”

  Geary sat back, rubbing his eyes now. “I’m supposed to be dead,” he reminded her.

  “Which makes you all the more a case in point.” Rione took two steps toward the situation display still visible on the conference table and pointed to it. “Do you know why Admiral Bloch took this chance, why he gambled so much of the Alliance’s power on this operation?”

  “He told me it looked like a way to finally force an end to the war.”

  “Oh, yes.” Rione nodded, her eyes still on the display. “A daring and bold blow. An operation worthy of Black Jack Geary himself,” she added softly. “That’s a quote, Captain.”

  Geary stiffened. “He never said anything like that to me.”

  “Of course not. But he said it to others. And invoking the spirit of the great Black Jack Geary helped win approval for this attack. Which as you see, has gone so well.”

  “Don’t blame me for this! I’m going to get what’s left of this fleet out of it if I can, but I didn’t put it here to begin with!”

  She paused, as if listening intently to Geary. “Why did you assume command?”

  “Why?” He waved one hand toward the hatch. “Because Admiral Bloch asked me to. Ordered me to! And then … they…” He glowered at the deck, unwilling to look at her. “I didn’t have any choice.”

  “You fought to assert your authority. I saw that, Captain Geary.”

  “I had to. Without someone taking command, someone with a legitimate right to command, this fleet would’ve fallen apart and been destroyed in detail by the Syndics. You must’ve seen that, too.”

  She bent down, and her eyes sought his. “Can I trust Black Jack Geary? That’s who you are.”

  “I’m an officer of the Alliance. And … I have a job to do. If I can.” He tried to bite off the last three words and failed, not wanting to show any weakness of spirit, not sure how that might harm the fleet’s already slim chances. “That’s all I am.”

  “All? Not the hero of legend?” She came closer, peering at him. “Who are you, then?”

  “I thought you said you already knew that.”

  “I know Black Jack Geary, and I fear that the great Black Jack Geary will try to do something heroic that will seal the fate of this fleet and perhaps that of the Alliance and of my own people as well. Are you Black Jack Geary?”

  He laughed, unable to control it. “Nobody could be him.”

  She spent a long moment watching him, then turned and walked a few steps away again. “Where’s the hypernet key?”

  “What?”

  She spun, eyes flashing. “The Syndic hypernet key. I know there’s one still in the fleet. If it had been destroyed, you’d have told everyone that to ensure they followed your plan. It still exists. Where is it?”

  “I’m sorry, but—”

  “Does it still exist?”

  He met her eyes, trying to decide what to do, what to say, and hating the idea of lying. “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  “I’d prefer not to say.”

  “Suppose I said I’d agree to place my ships and those of the Federation under your command if you told me?”

  He managed a crooked half-smile. “I’d still prefer not to say, but for the sake of those ships, I’d tell you.”

  “You’d agree to that? You know the importance of that information?”

  “Yes. And yes, I’d agree to tell you, if that’s what it took to get those ships out of here with the rest of the fleet.”

  Co-President Rione’s eyes narrowed. “I could then trade that information to the Syndics in exchange for safe passage.”

  That hadn’t occurred to him. He glared at her. “Why the hell are you telling me that?”

  “To let you know that misplaced trust can be deadly. But you were willing to grant trust to me. I’ll be blunt, Captain Geary, I’m agreeing to this only because I don’t see any other choice. The ships of the Republic will remain in this fleet, and I’m certain the Rift Federation ships will follow my recommendation to do so as well. But I reserve the right to remove those ships from your command whenever I see fit.”

  He shrugged. “It doesn’t look like I’ve got any other choice, either, do I?”

  Rione actually smiled. “No, you don’t.”

  “Thank you.” Geary paused, then stood carefully, one hand supporting himself on the chair. “There’s something I’d like from you.” The Co-President frowned. “I need a politician. Someone who can make an argument last as long as possible. Someone good with saying lots of words that don’t mean what they sound like, and avoiding commitments.”

  “Why, thank you, Captain Geary.” Apparently Co-President Rione did have a sense of humor buried somewhere inside her.

  “Don’t mention it.” He waved at the display, where the wall of Syndic ships loomed over the Alliance fleet. “The Syndic deadline isn’t more than half an hour away, now. We’re going to need every minute we can get to repair damage and reposition our fleet in readiness to bolt for that jump point. Can you speak to the Syndics, string them along and try to keep them from moving in as long as possible?”

  “You mean on behalf of the Republic and the Rift, or of the entire fleet?”

  “Whatever works. Whatever will keep them talking. Just buy us some time, Madam Co-President. As much as you possibly can.”

  She nodded. “That’s a reasonable request, Captain Geary. I will open the talks with the Syndics as soon as I board my shuttle.”

  He stared at her. “Shuttle? You’re not going to—”

  “The Syndic flagship? No, Captain Geary. I’m coming here. To the Dauntless. I want to keep a personal eye on you. And on a certain very important piece of equipment. Oh, yes. You told me nothing. But I believe I can best safeguard the interests of my people by being on your ship.”

  Geary took a deep breath, then nodded. “I’ll notify Captain Desjani you’re coming.”

  “Thank you, Captain Geary.” Another smile, as challenging as her eyes. “Now I shall attempt to frighten the Syndics into giving us all more time.” With that, her image vanished.

  Geary sat for a moment looking at the spot that Rione had seemed to occupy. Maybe she can frighten the Syndics into holding off a little while longer. She sure scares me.

  Captain Desjani took the news of Co-President Rione’s imminent arrival as if it were just one more malign event in a day filled with them. “At least we’ve still got those ships with us.”

  “Yes.” Geary looked around. “Captain Desjani, where’s Admiral Bloch’s staff?”

  “His staff?”

  “Yes. All the officers assigned to him as fleet commander. Where are they? I’d think they’d have sought me out.”

  Desjani looked briefly puzzled, then her expression cleared. “Oh, I understand. You’re thinking of the old days. I’m sorry,” she added hastily in apparent response to the reaction she saw on Geary’s face, “but much has changed. We’ve been short of experienced officers for a long time. The staffs you knew have been cannibalized so those officers would be free to be assigned to ships.”

  Geary shook his head. “Losses have been that bad?”

  “Bad?” Desjani hesitated. “We’ve lost many ships over the course of the war. The Syndics have lost more,” she added hastily.

  “I was wondering why many of the ship commanders seemed so young.”

  “There’s … not always the luxury of allowing off
icers a long career before they’re needed to command ships.”

  “I understand,” Geary stated, even though he didn’t really understand at all. All these young commanding officers, all these new ships … he felt the ice inside him again for a moment as he realized all of the ships whose data he’d examined were new or nearly new. Geary had assumed that was because older ships had been left behind since they were less capable. Now he wondered just how many older ships there were, just what the typical lifespan of the officers, sailors, and ships of the Alliance had dwindled to under the pressure of this war.

  Captain Desjani was still explaining, as if she felt the need to personally justify the situation. “Losses haven’t always been bad. But sometimes we lose a lot. A century of war drains a lot of ships and sailors from a fleet.” She looked both angry and weary. “A lot of them. Admiral Bloch did have two senior aides assigned. You may not have seen them board the shuttle with him to go to the Syndic flagship, along with Admiral Bloch’s chief of staff.”

  “No.” But then I wasn’t aware of much of anything at that point.

  “They’re all dead now, of course. There’s some junior officers who were seconded to the staff, but they’re all ship’s company. They’ve got primary jobs on the Dauntless.”

  “I assume they’re needed there right now.”

  “Yes, although one of them’s dead and another’s too badly injured to leave sick bay. I would like to continue using the other two in their primary duties—”

  Geary held up one hand to forestall further words. “By all means. I’ll see them when conditions permit. Can you tell me how Admiral Bloch ran a fleet with such a small staff?”

  Desjani made a face. “By only doing what needed to be done and leaving the rest to his ship commanders, I suppose. And the support systems available to you are very effective.” She checked the time and looked alarmed. “Captain Geary, with your permission, I really must get back to the bridge.”

  “Permission granted.” Desjani was hastening away even as Geary’s arm quivered in anticipation of returning a farewell salute that never came. Am I going to have to get used to that, or am I going to have to change the way they do things? He looked over at the Marine, still standing at attention outside the entry to the conference room a short distance away. “Thank you.” The Marine obliged with a rigidly proper salute, which Geary returned.

  He started to head after Desjani, knowing he should be on the bridge as well, but felt his legs suddenly wavering as if their strength had fled again. Geary put out a hand, leaning on the bulkhead, and when certain of his balance, began walking slowly toward his stateroom.

  He dropped gratefully into the chair, breathing heavily. I can’t afford this now. There’s too much to do. He dug inside a drawer, coming up with a med-pack containing the fleet physicians’ best estimate of what he’d need to keep going. They told me this stuff won’t interfere with my thinking. What if it does? But if I don’t take it I won’t be able to do my job anyway.

  I need to stop getting into situations where all my options are potentially bad.

  He slapped the med-pack against his arm, feeling the slight tingle that meant it was doing its work. It’d take a few moments to feel the effect, so he called up the support systems that Desjani had mentioned.

  As soon as he did so, he saw a message from Commander Cresida of the Furious. It contained the plan she’d promised to reposition the fleet ships in preparation for fleeing to the jump point. Geary studied it as carefully as he could, feeling the pressure of time weighing on him. Less than half an hour, perhaps, before the Syndics moved; less than that if they’d lied about how long they’d give the Alliance ship commanders to make up their minds. Once all the Alliance ships were in position, or once the Syndics started moving if that happened first, the plan called for the code name Overture to signal the fleet’s withdrawal toward the jump point.

  He felt a surge of frustration as he scanned ship names, wishing he knew more about how they’d move and how they’d fight. Numos was right that my knowledge is outdated, but my ancestors know I’m still a better commander than he’ll ever be. And as he’d told Numos, right now acting instead of waiting was paramount. Muttering a quick prayer, he marked the plan approved and tagged it to be transmitted to the fleet.

  He started to stand up, felt a quiver of unsteadiness still there, and sat again, forcing himself to wait a few more minutes. Turning back to the fleet statistics, Geary began scanning through them, trying to absorb as much knowledge of the ships as he could. As he’d suspected, they were all new or nearly so. If the average age of those ships meant what he thought it did, losses must have been, must still be, staggering.

  The loss of a ship didn’t necessarily mean the loss of the entire crew of course, but you’d still lose a lot of people.

  Geary stared at the rough edge on his desk, finally realizing what it told him. Ships being churned out as fast as they could be built to replace losses in battles. Officers and sailors being rushed through training to crew those ships, then promoted quickly to replace those also lost in combat. And as those inexperienced crews in hastily constructed ships were hurled into battle, they kept taking heavy losses, dying too fast to learn. How long had the fleet been caught in that death spiral? No wonder they forgot to salute. No wonder they’ve forgotten how a fleet should be commanded. They’re all amateurs. Amateurs with the lives of their shipmates and the fate of the Alliance in their hands. Am I the only trained professional left in this entire fleet?

  What happened to all the ships and people I knew? Did they all die in battle while I slept?

  Not wanting to think about that, Geary tried to concentrate on the data before him again, scrolling it quickly so he’d have to pay close attention. He frowned, suddenly half-aware of something he’d just skimmed over, and looked back again carefully. There it was. Alliance battle cruiser Repulse, commanding officer Commander Michael J. Geary. Michael Geary was my brother’s name. But he has to be long dead, and he never entered the fleet that I know of. Not before I went to sleep for a century, anyway.

  Do I have time to follow up on this? But we’re going into battle, and if something happens I might never know. Geary hesitated, then punched in the code to speak to the commanding officer of the Repulse. It took a few moments, then an unnervingly almost-familiar face appeared. “Yes, sir?”

  Neither the tone nor the expression of the Repulse’s commander seemed welcoming, but Geary couldn’t stop from asking, not after seeing that face. “Pardon me, Commander Geary, but I’d like to know if we’re related.”

  The other’s face stayed hard and unyielding. “Yes.”

  “How? Are you—”

  “My grandfather was your brother.”

  The ice threatened to take him again. His brother. A few years younger than him once upon a time. Geary was looking at a face reflecting the inheritance his brother had passed on to a grandchild, and suddenly the loss of his own time felt unbearable, and not just because the Repulse’s commander looked to be quite a few years older than Geary’s own apparent age. His grandnephew had beaten the odds by surviving this long, but that didn’t seem to have brought him any joy. “What…” Geary looked away and took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m sorry. I don’t know anything about you and … and … my brother. What happened to him?”

  “He lived and he died,” Geary’s grandnephew stated flatly.

  Something about the hostility brought Geary’s temper out. “I know that. He was my brother, you cold bastard.”

  “Do you need anything else, sir?”

  Geary glared at the man, seeing the signs of age there along with lines imparted by strong emotions. His grandnephew was certainly a couple of decades older than Geary, and those years hadn’t been kind to him. “Yes. There is something else. What the hell did I ever do to you?”

  The other man actually smiled, though the expression held no humor. “You? Nothing. Not to me, or to my father, or to my grandfather. Grandfather used to say
he’d have traded the honors for having you back, but then he lived in the glow of Black Jack Geary, Hero of the Alliance, not in the shadow of that Hero.”

  Geary heard every capital letter as the commander of the Repulse pronounced the words, and he let his anger show. “That’s not me.”

  “No. You were human. I figured that out. But to the rest of the Alliance, you weren’t human. You were the perfect hero, the shining example to the youth of the Alliance.” Commander Michael Geary hunched closer to his screen. “Every day of my life has been measured against the standard of Black Jack Geary. Do you have any idea what that’s been like?”

  He could guess, having seen the emotions that had greeted him on so many faces. “Why the hell did you join the Navy?”

  “Because I had to! Just like my father. We were Gearys. That’s all there was to it.”

  Geary squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hands against his head. I’ve only lived with this image of myself for a few weeks. To live a lifetime in its shadow… “I’m very sorry.”

  “You didn’t do it,” his grandnephew repeated.

  “Then why do you so obviously hate me?”

  “It’s hard to break the habits of a lifetime.”

  I want to hear about my brother, and what happened to his children, and whatever you could tell me about my other friends and relatives, but I can’t do that with someone who’s hated me all his life and isn’t the least bit reticent about showing me that hate. “Damn you.”

  “You already did.”

  Geary reached to break the connection, then fixed his grandnephew with an icy glare. “Do you feel capable of following my orders to the best of your ability?”

  “Oh, yes. I can do that.”

  “If I see you balking or in any way hazarding other ships by your actions, I’ll relieve you of your command in a heartbeat. Do you understand? I don’t care if you hate me.” Which was a lie, and he was sure the other man knew it was a lie, but it had to be said. “But I will not tolerate any actions that will imperil the ships and sailors of this fleet.”

  The other Geary quirked a half-smile. “I assure you I will carry out my duties as if Black Jack Geary himself were my commander.”