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  Some of the security officials, seeing him deviating from the middle of the path, ran to intercept Geary. But he adopted a ship’s captain attitude, striding forward as if nothing and no one dare stand in his way. He had to direct a single look at one official who planted himself in his path but gave way under that stare.

  He didn’t stop until at the fence separating the press from him, trying not to frown at the symbolism of that. One of the founding principles of the Alliance had been to allow as few restrictions as possible on the public’s ability to learn what the government was doing. When had the Alliance started fencing off the press whose constant vigilance was necessary in a democratic system?

  The reporters stared at him, poised to shout questions but waiting to see if he’d speak.

  “I have something to say,” Geary said, speaking calmly. “I want to put to rest any rumors or worries. I came here on orders from the Alliance government. I will follow the orders of the Alliance government as long as I wear this uniform, because I still believe in the Alliance. I don’t know how many men and women have given their lives over the centuries to defend the freedoms the Alliance has protected, but I’ve seen many of them die fighting under my command. I will never betray their sacrifices. I ask everyone who hears this to refrain from any actions that would harm others or the Alliance. Our ancestors gave us a very precious gift, a government shared among many to ensure their safety and freedom. I will never support any actions that would undermine that.”

  As far as he could see, the members of the crowd near enough to listen were intent on his words, while farther off people’s attention was focused on their individual pads as his words were broadcast as fast as they were spoken.

  He paused, and a reporter’s voice leapt into the tiny gap. “Are you here to see justice done? Will you clean house in the Senate?”

  Geary didn’t have to feign a frown of puzzlement. “I’m not part of the legal system. I’ve done what I can to ensure all evidence of violations of the Alliance’s laws were brought to the government. I will answer whatever questions the Senate puts to me. And I will trust the government to take the right and necessary actions to deal with those who have violated their oaths and responsibilities.”

  His response appeared to stun them for a moment. Geary noticed that the buzz of conversation beginning to rise from the crowd had suddenly dropped back to silence. Was that a good or a bad thing? Did it mean they were thinking about his words, or rejecting them?

  The quiet was broken when another reporter called out, her voice harsh. “Won’t you vow to immediately deal with corrupt and law-breaking senators? Will you immediately bring them all to justice?”

  “No.” He let the word sit alone for a moment before continuing. “I will let the courts and the legal system do that. Abandoning due process in the name of justice is insane. Do you only want someone to blame, or do you want those who did wrong to be held to account for their actions? These are your courts, your laws, which exist to protect every citizen. Casting them aside would not produce justice.”

  How were they taking that? Geary tried to unobtrusively look over the nearest portions of the crowd to read their reactions, but it was very hard to pick out a single expression in the mass of people without obviously focusing on one individual at a time. The quiet might mean anything, agreement or stunned disapproval. Whether the silence meant they were listening, truly hearing what he was saying, he couldn’t tell.

  Another reporter spoke up, her voice more measured. “Do you have anything else to tell the people of the Alliance?”

  He hesitated, not wanting to risk saying the wrong thing, unsure how his earlier words had been received, but his memory suddenly produced a vision of Rione’s last transmission at Unity Alternate, and that broke something inside of him. Save the Alliance. Every moment since he’d awoken from survival sleep, other people had been expecting him to save them, to fix everything for them. He was worn out from those expectations. Frustration fueled his words as Geary looked at the reporters, letting the words come.

  “Yes. I wish that all of the people of the Alliance would stop listening to lies, stop believing that everything wrong is someone else’s fault, and stop believing that someone else will fix everything. There aren’t any easy, simple, painless answers. I can’t save the Alliance! When Victoria Rione sacrificed herself to save my fleet and to save all of you, she asked me to tell the people of the Alliance to stop blaming others and to look in the mirror for the solution to our problems. Only that person, the one you see in that mirror, can fix what ails the Alliance. She died doing not what would benefit her or people just like her, but doing what would save us all. She knew that anything good requires a willingness to sacrifice for others, to believe the best of others no matter how difficult it is. I believe that her ancestors welcomed her, and that all of our ancestors would approve of her actions.”

  He realized that if she were here, Rione would probably be rolling her eyes in open scorn of the idealistic words. But she had lived them, in her own way.

  “Thank you,” Geary said in the silence that lingered following his words. He turned and walked away, followed by a crescendo of more shouted questions. His mind was already worrying over what he’d said and how he’d said it. He could only hope those words helped things instead of making them worse.

  He had only taken several steps when a single small drone flashed into sight and zipped toward him, so low it skimmed the surface of the plaza, somehow evading a volley of defensive fire as well as whatever unseen electronic countermeasures were being hurled at it.

  Running would be senseless. The drone was faster and quicker than he was. Geary stood watching it, not knowing what else he could do. It wasn’t fatalism, just a realization that his best and only chance would be a last-moment dodge that the drone wouldn’t have time to adjust for before racing past him. The same tactics that he’d use in space, but on a much, much smaller and much, much slower scale.

  It didn’t seem slower, though, not when standing here as the drone tore through the air toward him.

  He was bracing himself to leap to one side, the drone only a couple of meters away, when a shot finally connected, shattering propulsion units on one side of the drone and causing it to flip wildly up and to one side. As the drone staggered, trying to regain control, several more shots slammed into it and the device broke into several pieces.

  The remnants of the drone tossed off fragments as they fell, but he still stood just watching, feeling foolish even though no amount of dodging would have made him any safer.

  He realized that the shot that had crippled the drone had come from the same security officer who’d tried to stop him from getting to the press. He and other officials were trying to use their bodies to screen Geary from the drone’s debris.

  Geary took a deep breath, realizing that in the wake of the shots the crowds had fallen silent. The attack had happened too quickly for the crowds to panic, and now the images being broadcast by the press were telling everyone the danger was over. He raised one arm and waved, turning so that everyone could see him. Lowering his arm, he walked to the security officer whose shot had crippled the drone and extended his hand. “Thank you.”

  The officer, face still filled with strain, stared at the hand, then reached to shake it. “It . . . was my . . . honor, sir.”

  Turning, Geary waved again to the crowd, who inexplicably had erupted into cheers. A senior official ran up, looking near tears. “Sir, I’m very sorry for this security breach. I—”

  He held up a hand to halt the apology. “It’s over. Just make sure you find out how it got past your defenses so the next one can be stopped.” With another wave to the world in general, Geary headed once more for the building. He’d been dreading walking inside those doors but now looked forward to being cut off from the masses of people watching his every move.

  He reached the building without further
incident, grateful when the entry door closed behind him to seal off the crowds who all expected something, but not the same thing, from him. Halting to take a long, slow breath, Geary looked around.

  Everyone had heard of the great hall just inside the front entry of the Alliance Senate. Everyone had seen images of it in all of their virtual reality glory. But, as with so much else, actually standing in that hall felt very different. Especially when he was apparently the only person here in a place normally crowded with those who had business with the Senate or tourists visiting what was effectively the home of the Alliance.

  The walls of the great hall were lined with works of art, mostly paintings or poems, but occasionally interrupted by sculptures or other creations. Geary walked past some of them, reading the names of the artists. Da Vinci and Wheatley. Hokusai. Kahlo, Kipling, and O’Keeffe. Sher-Gil. Phidias and Behzad. People from every part of humanity, who’d all put their own special mark on art that spoke to many even now, very far from Old Earth and very long after their creations were made. He paused before one work, marveling at it, slightly extending one hand in the human instinct to reach the amazing before halting himself.

  “You can touch them,” someone said.

  Geary turned to see a lean woman had approached silently and was watching him with a slight, knowing smile. She was old enough for it to be apparent despite the medical advances that could hold back signs of aging until near the end. Her clothes were a rich, bright purple, standing out against the more subtle shades of the art surrounding them. He felt a vague sense of familiarity as he looked at her, as if they’d once met briefly or he’d seen her image somewhere. “Touching them seems wrong,” he said.

  “If they were the originals from Old Earth, it would be a terrible crime to touch them.” She waved in a broad, graceful sweep taking in the entire hall. “All of these are reproductions, as exact as could be made, but using far more durable materials. That particular painting isn’t on canvas even though it looks like it to the eye. It’s a ceramic material. Almost indestructible.”

  He winced in embarrassment. “I knew that. I forgot when I actually saw these, though.”

  “A lot of people do.” She looked around. “The greatest artistic creations of all of humanity. Our ancestors look out at us through these images and these words, which show far more than any digital picture could ever capture. Some of the originals no longer exist on Old Earth, destroyed by time or accident or war. But they live on here.” The woman eyed Geary. “I always feel humbled in their presence. People come and go from life, here and gone, perhaps little remembered. But these works have lasted far longer than their creators, because they were judged worthy of being preserved. I often wonder if I’ll ever do anything half so worthy.”

  “Me, too,” Geary said.

  “Do you mean that? The great Black Jack?”

  “I never claimed to be great.”

  “Really?” She nodded around her. “This hall was designed to humble those who looked upon it. To show them what humanity could create, what we all shared, and how small we all are compared to what we aspire to. The founders of the Alliance wanted it that way. They passed on a warning to their descendants, that anyone who could walk through this hall untouched by it, anyone who didn’t feel diminished in comparison to the greatest art of humanity, was not someone to be trusted with power.”

  “I’d never heard that.” He tore his eyes from the works of art to look more closely at her. “Are you my escort?”

  “If you want to call me that,” she said.

  “And this is another test?” Geary asked, gesturing around the room.

  “Everything is a test. I’m Senator Nakamura.”

  The name was surprisingly familiar. “From Kosatka?” Maybe that was where he’d seen her.

  “Yes. One of my ancestors played a role in the founding of the Alliance. He was the one who put the warning about this hall into our family lore.” Her smile shifted slightly, but her eyes remained sharp. “My family also goes a long ways back with the Desjani-Ochoas.”

  “I see. Do you know Tanya?”

  “I’m her godmother.”

  “Oh.” Couldn’t Tanya have mentioned the possibility that he might run into her godmother on Unity? “She never told me about that.”

  “I’m not surprised. Tanya was never comfortable with being part of an Old Family on Kosatka. She always believed that the only things which mattered were those she earned by her own efforts.”

  “That’s Tanya,” Geary said. He rubbed his chin as he gazed at Senator Nakamura. “I assume there’s a reason that you in particular were sent to meet me.”

  “Yes.” She nodded slowly, as if deciding whether to say more, before finally speaking, her eyes locked on him. “It was hoped you might be more candid with me than with anyone else.”

  “Candid?”

  “About your motivations, your plans.”

  Geary sighed, the sound making a strange, sibilant echo in the vast hall. “I gave my reasons for being here in my message when my ship arrived. I judged it vital to provide an armed escort to Mistral to ensure she arrived safely at Unity. Once here, I received orders to land and provide my personal report to the Senate Grand Council. After that I expect to report to Fleet Headquarters for further orders.”

  “Really, Admiral?”

  The note of skepticism stung. He felt his face hardening. “As I just said out there, I will not betray the sacrifices of those who died to preserve the Alliance by acting otherwise. Those sacrifices include the men and women who died at Unity Alternate to save the Alliance. Those names may be faceless to you, but to me every single one is a person who gave their future to preserve the future of the Alliance.”

  Senator Nakamura said nothing for a long moment, her face as rigid as if carved from stone. “I knew the face of Victoria Rione,” she finally said. “I didn’t like her, but I respected her. On your honor, Admiral, is your account of her sacrifice complete and accurate in all details?”

  “If you’ve seen the evidence included in my arrival report, you’ve seen the copy of her final transmission attached to it. I would not dishonor her by lying or trying to alter that transmission,” Geary said, hearing the strain in his voice as he fought to control his temper. “And I would very much appreciate not being implicitly accused of that again.”

  After another long pause, Senator Nakamura shook her head. “I can’t promise that, Admiral. You say she destroyed the Defender fleet, what you called the black ships, by causing the hypernet gate at Unity Alternate to collapse.”

  “I’m not saying anything,” he replied. “I sent you the evidence. That’s what tells you what happened.”

  Senator Nakamura appeared unimpressed by his statement. “It is absolutely prohibited for any person to have a copy of the software that can cause a gate to collapse in that fashion. Where did Rione get it?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “The original work to develop that software was done in your fleet by one of your officers at your orders.”

  He got mad. He couldn’t help it, even though that was surely what Nakamura was aiming for, to provoke him into making some incriminating statement. But he could be angry and still watch his words. “Which you know because I reported it. And you know that software was a by-product of trying to find a way to ensure the collapse of a gate wouldn’t cause a hugely destructive pulse of energy to be released. That’s what I ordered my officer to do. And it was members of the Alliance Senate who suggested using that software as a weapon against the Syndics, not me. If you’re looking for where former senator Victoria Rione got that software, maybe you should look closer to home.” Whatever he would have said next went unsaid as Geary spotted worry in the senator as a result of his last statement. “You’re afraid that your name is among the rest of the evidence aboard Mistral, aren’t you?”

  Any remaining trace of cama
raderie fled as Senator Nakamura spoke with careful control. “Those of us entrusted with the safety of the Alliance have to take necessary actions. Actions which can be easily misinterpreted by those lacking the same perspective and responsibilities.”

  “Responsibilities? Perspective?” Geary realized his hand had clenched into a fist, and willed it to relax. “Would you like to compare your responsibilities to mine, Senator?”

  “You have no right to act as judge of us!” Senator Nakamura said, her eyes wide.

  “I won’t judge anyone, but I will tell the truth, Senator. If the truth worries you, then perhaps you’d better consult with your ancestors. They’re the ones who’ll be judging you in the end, not me.”

  “You really do think you’re the great hero who deserves to rule the Alliance, don’t you?”

  The words might have stung if he hadn’t more than once mocked the idea. “If I did, I would’ve arrived here with a fleet,” Geary said. “Are you going to escort me to wherever I’m supposed to go?”

  She glared at him before turning and walking off at a quick enough pace that he had to hurry after her. Geary watched her stiff back, wondering how well Tanya and her godmother got along.

  Senator Nakamura halted before a massive door guarded by two Marines. The Marines wore sidearms, but otherwise weren’t in battle readiness. The sight of them in dress uniforms was reassuring, a sign that no one thought the situation was dangerous enough for more extreme measures.

  Inside he found himself facing not just the Grand Council seated along one side of a broad table, but also the rest of the Senate in rows of seats ranked behind them, all facing toward the long desk at which he was clearly supposed to sit. Senator Nakamura walked past the desk without any gesture to Geary, heading for a seat among the front row of senators not in the Grand Council. He stood beside one of the chairs at the desk, uncertain what to do.

  Senator Navarro was back on the Grand Council, and apparently serving as its head once more. He nodded in welcome. “Thank you for coming, Admiral. Would you please take a seat?”