TWO
GEARY sat in his stateroom, frowning at his display. There were a lot of things to do, a lot of orders to give and decisions to make, as always, even when not facing a potential battle within the next two days. One lingering problem was what to do with Captains Pelleas and Burdock and Commander Cui, former commanding officers of, respectively, the battleships Gallant, Encroach, and Magnificent. That was technically an easy problem since the penalty for mutiny was death by firing squad. But both Pelleas and Cui had served valiantly and were popular among the fleet, and much of the evidence was indirect. Until he could prove their connection to the murder of one of Dauntless’s sailors and the attempted murder of himself, he wanted to hold off on the firing squads.
So Geary stayed quiet, gazing at the three-dimensional depiction of the Alliance fleet that floated over his desk. Over three hundred warships, ranging from the small and sleek barracuda-like destroyers to the massive, swift sharks of the battle cruisers, and the even more massive and deadly killer whale shapes of the battleships. None of the ships were designed to go into atmospheres so their shapes had nothing to do with streamlining. Instead they reflected engineering realities, that sharp edges and corners attracted stress and cracked, whereas curves distributed that stress, and secondarily that curved shapes were more likely to deflect a hit than a flat one or corners aptly called “shot traps” by ship designers.
Even with this many ships, the fleet was much diminished from what it had been near the end of the century-long war with the Syndicate Worlds. It had taken terrible losses just before Geary found himself thrust into command, and smaller but painful losses in every battle since then as he brought the fleet home against all odds and finally forced the apparently endless war to an end.
But the formation of warships, arranged in a lattice resembling a huge box as it orbited, was still significantly larger than Geary had known a century ago.
His eyes went to one of the heavy cruisers, the display detecting his focus and automatically zooming in on the ship as detailed information popped up. Sapphire. Commanding Officer Commander Sean Eric Boudreaux. All systems operational. Crew status ninety-six percent, all critical skill requirements met.
He’d been in command of a heavy cruiser on that day now more than a hundred years gone. Merlon. Caught in a one-sided fight, buying time for other Alliance ships to escape the Syndic surprise attack that started the war. To everyone else in the fleet that fight was long-ago history. To him, presumed dead, frozen in survival sleep in a damaged escape pod for more than ninety-nine years, it still felt like yesterday. And to nearly everyone else in the fleet, born and raised during the war, Geary was a legendary commander, the greatest commander ever, his reputation elevated to suit the needs of a wartime government desperate for heroes to inspire its people as the war dragged on for decade after decade. He knew none of the legends about him were true, but these people who were the descendants of those he’d grown up with had needed their hero, so he’d done his best.
Fortunately, some of them knew he was human. Without that, the burden would have long ago overwhelmed him.
“Admiral?”
Geary looked over to see Captain Tanya Desjani at the door to his stateroom. “Captain?”
“I just dropped by to see if you needed to discuss anything,” she said, coming inside the stateroom but leaving the door open as usual.
He weighed talking about his moody thoughts but decided against it. “How do you recommend we handle the Syndics if they come at us?”
She made a face. “We want it to be obvious they attacked and we defended, right? And we have an overpowering advantage that we should use. You know that Syndic CEO is going to target this ship, right?”
“Because?” Geary said, already knowing the answer. “It’d make more sense to go after Boundless, to cripple our diplomatic mission, or the fast fleet auxiliaries to force this fleet to head home sooner than planned when our supplies got low.”
“It would,” Desjani agreed. “Under normal circumstances, I’d list both as primary targets. But this isn’t normal because that Syndic CEO isn’t rational. She’s going to be thinking what a huge hero she’d be if she was the one to finally kill the legendary Black Jack Geary, about the rewards and honors that would shower on her when she returned to Syndic space.” She laughed. “Of course, there’s as close to a hundred percent chance as it gets that the CEO will die before her ship gets within range of Dauntless, but that’s what a rational person would worry about.
“Rearrange our current box with Dauntless near the back, the auxiliaries and Boundless behind her. Arrange all of the battleships in a matrix the Syndics will have to face, with the rest of the fleet arrayed to hit the Syndics from all sides as they make their approach.” Desjani shook her head. “Nothing living will get through that.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Geary said. “If the Syndics veer onto another vector to hit us from a different angle we can pivot the box to keep the kill zone centered on their approach. But I was also thinking it’d be a good idea to form the battle cruisers, except for Dauntless, into two separate formations that can react to anything else the Syndics do.”
Desjani nodded. “I concur. This could be a one-pass, total-annihilation battle if the Syndics do what’s expected. If they don’t, those two battle cruiser formations will be insurance to keep the Syndics from running amok.”
Geary raised one eyebrow at her. “You’re unusually calm about proposing a battle in which Dauntless will likely not strike a blow, let alone get any Syndic ship kills.”
This time she shook her head. “You know I like blowing up stuff, the bigger the better. And I like a good fight. This, though, is going to be a one-sided slaughter over nothing. There’s no joy in that. My ancestors will understand why I have to participate, but I doubt they’d be pleased if I was gleeful about it.”
“No. I don’t think they would be.”
Desjani tilted her head slightly as she studied him, one hand reaching across to touch the wedding ring on her other hand. It was their way of communicating when discussions could get personal. “Are you okay, Jack?”
“I think so.” He managed a smile. “I could use a miracle or two, but there’s nothing unusual about that.”
“I’m all out of miracles today. Do you need to see Dr. Nasr to check if your happy meds need adjusting?”
“I probably should,” Geary said. “Happy meds,” the fleet term for various ways of treating stress and depression, had been rarely used a century ago. After a hundred years of war marked by massive losses of human life, their use had become routine to keep sailors and officers going. “It’s stupid to wish there was something else I could do to deal with this situation, but I can’t help it.”
“Maybe the Dancers could do something,” she said.
“They created this mess by bringing the Syndics here!”
“And maybe they want to see if we handle it by killing the other guys or asking for help in preventing that.”
He gave her a long look. “That’s an excellent idea. What would I do without you?”
“Hopefully you’ll never know.” Desjani lowered the hand touching her wedding ring. “You good, Admiral?”
“Yes, Captain. Thank you. I’m going to see General Charban.”
She left, but he spent a moment longer looking after her. Tanya Desjani and he had married during a short period when she wasn’t under his command. Since then, they’d maintained strictly professional attitudes on duty, and whenever they were aboard Dauntless they were both on duty. He’d kept waiting for higher-ups to complain or order the arrangement to end, but apparently his enemies were still hoping that he and Desjani would act unprofessionally and give them another avenue to attack the almost untouchable hero.
Because the ugly truth was that the legendary Black Jack could get away with almost anything if he wanted to. John Geary was determined never to give in to that temptation.
But it was always there.
GENERAL Charban was retired but had consented to continue serving as a liaison of sorts to the Dancers and other alien species, a task at which Geary thought Charban had proven invaluable.
When Geary reached the compartment where Charban worked, he found it occupied by every one of Charban’s motley assemblage of assistants. Lieutenant Iger, a fleet intelligence officer, had proven himself capable of crafting communications with the Dancers in the poetic formats the Dancers preferred. Lieutenant Jamenson, her naturally bright green hair a genetic-engineered legacy of proud ancestors on her home world of Eire, had a unique ability to hide information in confusing formats, which also allowed her to spot patterns in otherwise baffling collections of data. John Senn was an historian, one who had been ostracized for his entire career for seriously investigating indications of alien species having visited Old Earth or other worlds humans had settled. After the recent discovery of actual alien species, he had suddenly become the only reliable expert on such matters, which hadn’t stopped the scientists aboard Boundless from disdaining any possible input from a mere historian. He had found a home here with Charban’s group, though.
The last member of the ad hoc group was Dr. Jasmine Cresida, a brilliant physicist who had proven capable of unique insights into Dancer thinking. Geary wasn’t sure why she’d chosen to continue assisting Charban instead of returning to Boundless, where the other scientists attached to the mission resided. He was grateful for her decision, but Dr. Cresida had never hidden her dislike for Geary himself. He doubted she would ever forgive him for the death of her equally brilliant sister, Jaylen, who had been killed while under Geary’s command, while carrying out orders that Geary had given.
The two lieutenants sprang to their feet as Geary entered the compartment, the historian eyeing them as if studying the customs of an ancient society, while Dr. Cresida ignored Geary’s arrival, her eyes staying on her pad as she worked on something that would probably be incomprehensible to all but perhaps a dozen other people in all of human-occupied space.
Geary waved Iger and Jamenson back to their seats as General Charban smiled briefly in welcome. “Any word from the Dancers?”
Charban’s smile slipped. “Surprisingly, yes.” He hesitated, glancing at his assistants. “We were just debating possible alternate meanings to their answer, but it seems only one interpretation makes sense.”
“And that would be?” Geary asked.
“Stripped of poetry and rhyme, the Dancer reply comes down to saying they brought the irrational Syndics here because the behavior of the Syndics appeared to the Dancers to fall within normal parameters for human behavior.”
Geary heard someone bark a sardonic laugh and realized it was him. “The Dancers couldn’t tell the difference between humans acting crazy and humans acting human?”
General Charban shrugged. “In all fairness, even among ourselves humans often have trouble identifying the differences.”
John Senn the historian shook his head, his gaze on the table. “One of the reasons humanity looked forward to meeting intelligent aliens was because they could hold up a mirror for us, let us see how humanity was perceived by nonhumans. I guess there never was any reason to think that mirror would show us things we liked.”
“If that’s true,” Lieutenant Jamenson said, her voice sharp, “then the Dancers are looking at all of us, Alliance or Syndic or whatever, and just seeing ‘human.’ Not individuals. That’s no way to deal with any species. We’re not ants with identical behavior patterns.”
“True enough,” General Charban said. “We need to get the Dancers to see the individuals, not the species. But, for now, they’ve dumped these crazy Syndics in our laps.”
“I need you to follow up,” Geary said. “It’s too late to tell the Dancers not to bring the Syndics here, but we can try to explain to the Dancers that these Syndics are temporarily capable of actions that could harm anyone and everyone in this star system. It’s to the Dancers’ own best interests to help us prevent the Syndics from flying off the handle. If they can do anything to limit the actions of the Syndics, it will be to everyone’s advantage.”
Charban nodded. “Including the Syndics’. Do I read the odds right?”
“Yes. If it comes to a fight, we’ll annihilate them,” Geary said. “We need to convince the Dancers that we’d be extremely grateful if they help us avoid that.”
Lieutenant Iger spoke up in a low voice. “Wiping out the Syndics would . . . simplify things.”
Lieutenant Jamenson nodded but didn’t say anything. John Senn gave Iger a distressed look but also remained quiet. Dr. Cresida acted as if she’d heard nothing.
General Charban glanced at Geary.
Geary nodded to Charban, accepting the offered chance to respond first. Fortunately for him, he’d already been trying to imagine what advice Victoria Rione would be offering if she were still alive, and had realized how she’d probably try to make the most of the situation by using her opponent’s weaknesses against them.
“It might simplify things in the short run,” Geary said. “If seeing us wipe out the Syndics instead of working out an accommodation with them didn’t backfire by making the Dancers less willing to deal with us. But, in the long term, you’ve probably all heard that we expect more ships to show up from other human factions, worlds, businesses, governments, and who knows what else. They’ll all want to make deals. We need to show the Dancers that the Alliance is who they should deal with. If we’re in that kind of contest, trying to convince aliens who can be trusted to keep their word, who will offer the fairest deals, and who will play straight with them, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather be competing against than Syndics.”
Charban nodded, smiling. “It’s to our advantage to have the Syndics as the alternative. And once the Dancers choose us over the Syndics, we’ll have a built-in advantage against every subsequent competitor.”
“Right. We have to think long term, and outside the military box.”
Lieutenant Iger looked embarrassed. “Of course, Admiral. I should have realized that.”
“When you’re more than a century old, you’ll think of things like that,” General Charban assured him.
“I’m only a century old chronologically,” Geary said. “Listen, there’s one other thing we need from the Dancers. See if they’ll tell us how long it’s been since those Syndic ships left jump on arrival in a Dancer star system. That will tell us whether we have any hope of any of the Syndics starting to recover soon.”
“Of course,” Charban said. “We’ll do our best, and stress the urgency of our requests to the Dancers.”
“Perhaps I can help with that,” Dr. Cresida said, speaking up for the first time.
“Your assistance would be very welcome,” Charban assured her.
“I need you all to understand,” Geary said, “that there’s a strong chance we won’t be able to dissuade that irrational Syndic CEO from attacking us. We may be forced to fight. Dr. Cresida, if you would rather not be aboard a warship during such a battle, I can get you back to Boundless in plenty of time.”
“I’m comfortable here,” Cresida said, not looking at Geary.
“How about you, Citizen Senn?” Geary asked the historian. “Do you want to return to Boundless?”
John Senn shook his head firmly. “No way. From what I’ve seen, there’s no safer place in this fleet than right here.”
“Thank you, but a battleship has a number of advantages when it comes to safety,” Geary said.
“And I’d like to observe the, um, activity from this ship. If I may,” Senn added hastily.
“I’m sure General Charban can help with that.”
“Are you going to ask the duck whether he wants to remain on the ship?” Dr. Cresida asked, her eyes still on her work pad.
Everyone else smiled, but Geary kept his face and tone serious. “Ensign Duck is officially a member of the crew. He has to stay aboard unless Captain Desjani chooses to temporarily transfer him to another ship.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” General Charban said. “What are Ensign Duck’s official duties?”
“He conducts security patrols of the ship,” Geary said, still serious.
Lieutenant Iger nodded. “The duck spotted that intruder in a stealth suit that was invisible to the ship’s interior sensors.”
“Exactly,” Geary said, not adding that the duck’s ability to do that had probably saved his own life. “Speaking of threats, do you have anything new on the Syndics, Lieutenant Iger?”
Iger replied, his voice automatically taking on the formal tones of a briefer. “We still haven’t received any useful intelligence from the Syndic flotilla, Admiral. The only thing my analysts have noted is that the Syndics are maintaining their formation more precisely than they usually do.”
“They are?” Geary ran that through his mind before nodding. “Colonel Rogero and Kommodor Bradamont speculated that the Syndics have kept going despite the jump space syndrome because they’re sticking obsessively to their rules and procedures, any natural paranoia exacerbated by the syndrome. It makes sense they’d be more attentive to keeping station in their formation. Any deviation from anything might cause all hell to break loose on those ships. Lieutenant, share anything you can with Kommodor Bradamont. Her experience with Syndics might help her spot things we can’t.”
“Yes, Admiral.”
“Exactly how much time do we have?” General Charban asked.
Geary checked the time. “The Syndics have been pushing their Dancer escorts, but the Dancers have been holding firm at point one light speed. At that rate, the Syndics will reach us in another forty-one hours. If the Syndics are showing evidence of hostile intent when they reach ten light minutes from us, I’ll bring the fleet to full combat readiness at that time. If the Dancers are going to help, they need to do so within the next forty hours.”
John Senn stared at Geary. “What would be evidence of hostile intent?”
“Strengthening their shields, powering up weapons, activating fire control systems, that kind of thing,” Geary said. “Signs they’re getting ready to fight. I don’t want to take similar measures until I have to, because I don’t want the Syndics thinking I’m getting ready to hit them, but if I see them getting ready, I’m going to have to prepare my ships. And I repeat my offer to transfer you to another ship. There’s a good chance that if the Syndics come at us they will target this ship in an attempt to kill me.”
Senn looked a bit nervous, licking his lips before replying. “Well, Admiral, they say you’re on the good side of the living stars, so this should still be a safe place, right?”
Geary found himself unable to find words to answer that.
But as he struggled with a reply, General Charban spoke slowly. “I can assure you, having myself miraculously lived through too many bloody battles, that virtue or being on the right side has little or nothing to do with surviving. That all too often seemed merely a matter of chance. The righteousness of our cause was no armor at all against any weapon. I don’t know where the gaze of the living stars rests when battles are fought, but most often it seemed to be elsewhere when most needed.”
Dr. Cresida spoke in the silence that followed, her eyes fixed on Charban. “And yet you continued to fight.”
“Yes,” Charban said. “Because I had friends and soldiers under my command who I did not want to let down. I have seen too many die in battles that seemed to have had little purpose or meaningful results, which has reinforced my belief that such sacrifices should be demanded only when absolutely necessary. When I was in a position of command, I could try to make a difference, because as much as I hate it, sometimes those sacrifices have to be asked of those we are given responsibility over. But I reached the point where I simply couldn’t do it anymore. That’s when I retired.”
“General,” Lieutenant Jamenson said earnestly, “you earned that. No one can say you didn’t do your duty for longer than many could have.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Charban shrugged. “But the fact remains that now the responsibility to only spend the lives entrusted to us wisely lies in the hands of officers such as the admiral here. I am on this ship because I believe the admiral feels that responsibility as keenly as I did. And that is why he warned that no one should feel safe because of his presence.”
“I understand,” John Senn said, now looking abashed. “There’s a saying about there being no atheists in battles, but I guess that’s not true.”
“Of course not,” Charban said. “As Lieutenant Jamenson pointed out, every individual is different. Many do become stronger believers. Others, seeing the apparent arbitrariness with which some die and others live, conclude there is nothing overseeing the messy universe we live in. Both perspectives are within what the Dancers call normal human parameters.”
Geary nodded. “So let’s see if we can minimize how many die this time around. Let me know if you learn anything or need anything.”
“We’re not required to run any more messages past the ambassador for approval before transmitting them to the Dancers?”
“Not today, General.”
EVEN for veterans of many space battles, the times involved were hard to get used to. Human instincts, developed on the surface of a planet with limited lines of sight, went on alert when enemies were in view. But in space an enemy force could be clearly seen even if billions of kilometers distant and days away from contact. Instinct urged humans to remain alert against the enemy that could be seen even though remaining in full combat readiness for days would seriously degrade a crew’s ability to fight when the battle finally got to them.
After updating his fleet on the current situation and his intent to go to full combat status when the Dancers were ten light minutes away, Geary ordered his ships’ commanding officers to ensure their crews got rest and carried out any important maintenance or repair work. Because the upside of being able to see enemies approaching from so far away was that surprise was very hard to achieve unless ships were close to something like a star or large planet behind which enemies could hide.
Ambassador Rycerz’s reply to the Syndic CEO went out six hours after the CEO’s message had been received. Rycerz had plainly involved the medical staff aboard Boundless in drafting the message. At no point did it directly say no to the Syndic demands, instead trying different means of diverting the discussion into other, safer areas. The tone of the message was calm, soothing, rational.
Because of the distance remaining between the Syndic flotilla and the Alliance fleet, it would be at least eight hours until any reply from CEO Sara Okimoto Gardonyi was received.
Maybe, if the Dancers had kept the Syndics waiting for a few weeks before they brought them to this star, and if CEO Okimoto Gardonyi was one of those who recovered faster, the reply would be more measured, more rational, and less threatening.
A little over eight hours later, Geary was awakened from restless attempts at sleep by the communications watch. “Admiral, we’ve received another message from the Syndics.”
“A message addressed to us?” Geary asked, sitting up in his bunk.
“Addressed to you, Admiral.”
Great. “Before we accept, get Captain Desjani and Dr. Nasr linked in. I want them to view the message, too.”
“Yes, Admiral.” A slight pause. “All ready, sir.”
Geary dropped down into the seat at his desk, activating the display there as he stifled a tired yawn. “Go ahead.”
If anything, CEO Sara Okimoto Gardonyi seemed even more hyper and compulsive than in the first message, her eyes so wide they seemed to fill her face. “You cannot fool us, Black Jack! The message from your lackey is insulting and weak, betraying your fear. Citizens of the Syndicate are not so easily bluffed! Nor are we so easily subverted. My chief security officer has warned me of the otherwise undetectable transmissions from your ships that seek to gain mental control over my workers. A dozen workers so weak-minded as to fall under your control have already been executed before they could do damage. You thought your subversion would be concealed from us until too late by not giving your puppets orders to immediately commit sabotage, but I know the fact sabotage had not been carried out was proof it was being planned by them! I will no longer accept your mere departure from this star system. You must be stopped! You are ordered to surrender your ships immediately! Your workers will be interrogated and if found to be misled minions will be permitted to live and serve the Syndicate Worlds in one of our job-training facilities. You will see no such mercy, Black Jack! ForthepeopleGardonyiout.”
The image of the Syndic CEO froze, looking even more disturbing without any movement or words to distract from her appearance.
Captain Desjani’s image appeared next to it. “Looks like we’re going to be fighting a battle.”
“Looks like it,” Geary agreed. “Doctor? That CEO doesn’t seem to be getting any better.”
“No,” Dr. Nasr agreed, his own image appearing next to that of Desjani. He looked not just physically tired but also dejected at the knowledge that his skills offered no good answers. “I will consult with my colleagues, but my initial impression is that the stress of facing battle with us is making her symptoms worse.”
“She seems pretty certain of victory,” Desjani pointed out. “I mean, that’s total delusion, but if she’s that sure, why should she be stressed?”
“Because buried in her mind is a rational thinker,” Dr. Nasr said. “Observing, unable to exert control, knowing what will happen if it cannot regain control soon. The CEO is confident, and terrified.”
“Captain Desjani, please have this message forwarded to Ambassador Rycerz,” Geary said, “and to Lieutenant Iger, Kommodor Bradamont, and Colonel Rogero. Doctor, any idea why that CEO thinks I’m using undetectable mind-control transmissions?”
Dr. Nasr sighed. “She is seeing enemies everywhere. You heard her. Not being able to detect your mind-control transmissions is proof they exist. It is mental illness, not something you can logically debate.”
Geary nodded, wondering why he felt guilty about the deaths of a dozen Syndics who had been suspected of helping him. Their deaths weren’t his fault. But they still stung. “I’m wondering how many crew members have already been killed on those ships. Even with automated controls, that’s going to hurt their ability to fight.”
“If they kill too many of their own,” Desjani observed, “they may not even make it to the fight.”
Geary was on the bridge of Dauntless five hours and twenty minutes after Tanya Desjani made that prediction, gazing at his display as he pondered possible outcomes when the Syndics got closer. His thoughts were interrupted by the sounding of a sudden alert as the display highlighted a red marker that had appeared.
“Captain,” Lieutenant Yuon called out, “one of the Syndic heavy cruisers exploded.”
“I can see that, Lieutenant,” Desjani said, her eyes fixed on her own display. “There weren’t any signs of problems before that happened?”
“No, Captain. No indications of any problems. Comms in the Syndic formation appeared normal, and sensor readings from the heavy cruiser’s power core didn’t show any signs of trouble.”
Geary looked at the red marker on his display that highlighted the expanding cloud of dust and debris that had once been a Syndicate Worlds heavy cruiser and its crew. It was odd how immediate it felt even though the explosion had happened over three hours ago. His gaze shifted as another marker sprang to life on one of the Syndic Hunter-Killers that had been closest to the destroyed heavy cruiser.
“One of the Syndic HuKs seems to have taken damage from the debris from the heavy cruiser,” Lieutenant Castries announced. “Sensors can see hull damage, and the shields on the HuK have collapsed.”
“No surprise there,” Desjani said, her voice grim.
Geary nodded in agreement. Syndic Hunter-Killers were smaller than Alliance destroyers, with weaker shields and less armament. Such small warships were well suited to some tasks, but they were also expendable, easily destroyed by hits that larger warships could shrug off.
He watched the stricken HuK sliding slowly away from its position in the Syndic formation, a sign that the ship’s maneuvering systems must be out of action.
Two of the surviving heavy cruisers leapt away from their positions in the Syndic formation, closing rapidly on the damaged HuK.
“It appears that the Syndics are sending heavy cruisers to assist the damaged ship,” Lieutenant Yuon reported.
More alerts sounded as the Alliance fleet’s sensors received the light of events that had occurred more than three hours ago.
Hell lance beams, concentrated streams of charged particles, shot from the two heavy cruisers, riddling the helpless Hunter-Killer. Coming closer, the Syndic heavy cruisers unleashed grapeshot, swarms of metal ball bearings that vaporized the HuK’s hull when they struck, breaking the ship into several larger pieces and a field of smaller debris.
Their task done, the heavy cruisers swung back into their positions in the Syndic formation.
“Our sensors can’t spot any escape pods amid the wreckage of the Syndic HuK,” Lieutenant Yuon reported, his voice tighter than usual.
“Damn,” Desjani muttered.
“Why?” Geary asked out loud.
Kommodor Bradamont had reached the bridge and answered him. “At a guess, Admiral, the Hunter-Killer was ordered to return to its place in the formation. It didn’t. The ship was declared mutinous and ordered destroyed as an example to the rest of the crews in the flotilla.”
“Even though the ship physically couldn’t comply with the order?” Geary said.
Colonel Rogero had just arrived on the bridge as well, and nodded quickly in reply to Geary’s question. “I have seen Syndicate citizens killed for their inability to carry out orders that could not be obeyed,” he said, his voice grim. “In this case, destroying one of their ships was an extreme measure, but that would reflect the irrational impulses driving the Syndicate commanders.”
“Admiral, we have an incoming message from the Syndic flotilla!”
The smile displayed by CEO Sara Okimoto Gardonyi felt terrifying even from a distance of billions of kilometers. “Your unprovoked and underhanded attack on this flotilla has failed, Black Jack. Despite the loss of one of our mobile forces units, and the need to deal with mutinous workers on another unit, this flotilla remains ready to force you to pay for your crimes! Even your attempt to replace the Internal Security Service agents aboard my own unit with your own look-alike minions has failed, as loyal agents valiantly sacrificed themselves to kill every traitorous doppelganger. You cannot escape your fate! ForthepeopleGardonyiout.”
Kommodor Bradamont, aghast, was staring at the image of the Syndic CEO. “Does what she said mean what I think it does?”
Colonel Rogero, by contrast, was smiling broadly. “The snakes aboard her ship wiped themselves out, turning their own paranoia and extremism against each other. If only that would happen everywhere in what remains of the Syndicate.”
Geary’s communications alert buzzed urgently. He accepted the call, seeing Ambassador Rycerz gazing worriedly at him.
“Did you cause the Syndic ship to explode?” the ambassador asked.
“No,” Geary said, trying to see the humor in the question. “We have no way of doing that from this distance. We didn’t destroy the other Syndic ship, either,” he added.
“I could see that.” Ambassador Rycerz clenched both fists. “One of the doctors aboard this ship tells me there’s a form of mental illness where someone thinks those close to them have been replaced by exact duplicates. That must be what caused these latest deaths on the CEO’s ship, though the doctor couldn’t tell what specific thing might have triggered the delusion. The Syndics on those ships will blame every stubbed toe on us right now, won’t they? There’s no way to negotiate with people in that condition. Will you be ready for them?”
“We’ll be ready for them,” Geary said.
A bit over a day later, he was back on the bridge of Dauntless, looking over his display at the data on his ships. Every single destroyer, light cruiser, heavy cruiser, battle cruiser, battleship, assault transport, and fast fleet auxiliary was at maximum readiness, awaiting only his command to come to full combat posture. Boundless, boasting nothing in the way of weapons but a couple of close-in protection systems, was also as ready as that ship could be. The Alliance ships were already in battle formation, the former box realigned into almost a cube, Dauntless centered near the back of the cube, the auxiliaries, the fast assault transports loaded with most of the Marines, and Boundless behind Dauntless. In front of Dauntless, twenty battleships were arrayed, most of the remaining Alliance warships spreading out from there to help form a deadly three-dimensional lattice. The four ships of the First Battle Cruiser Division under Captain Duellos aboard Inspire, along with a squadron of light cruisers and two squadrons of destroyers, formed a separate, small formation above and to one side of the main formation. The battle cruisers of the Third Division and the remaining ones from Dauntless’s Second Division under Captain Badaya on Illustrious, along with more squadrons of light cruisers and destroyers, were stationed below and slightly behind the main formation.
“The Syndic flotilla is fifteen light minutes distant,” Lieutenant Yuon announced. “They are maintaining point one light speed but have moved very close to their Dancer escort ships and appear prepared to accelerate past them.”
“You tried,” Captain Desjani said to Geary. “But it only takes one to start a fight.”
Before he could reply, General Charban called. “The Dancers have finally sent us a reply, after Dr. Cresida sang an aria at them emphasizing the urgency of our requests.” He paused, looking crestfallen. “The important thing about the Dancer reply is summarized by four words of it. ‘Human problem. Humans fix.’ ”
“Human problem?” Geary said, not sure whether or not to be angry. “Didn’t the Dancers themselves bring the Syndics here?”
“John Senn has a theory about that,” Charban said. “A bunch of Syndic warships showed up in a Dancer star system. They probably refused to leave. So the Dancers brought them here, expecting us to do what they’ve seen Alliance warships do to Syndic warships many, many times over the last century.”
That made far too much sense to disregard. “The problem is crazy humans, so other humans need to solve it instead of expecting the Dancers to fix things.”
“Pretty much,” General Charban said. “It’s . . . not an unreasonable position for them to take.”
Further discussion was interrupted by alerts on everyone’s displays.
“Fifteen minutes ago the Syndic flotilla increased their shield strengths to maximum and powered up weapons,” Lieutenant Castries reported.
“They’re more than two hours out from reaching us,” Captain Desjani said. “I guess they’re really eager to fight. But there’s nothing close enough for them to fight except their Dancer escorts.”
On the heels of her words an awful thought struck Geary, but before he could speak it a strident alert sounded as threat symbols multiplied on his display.
“The Syndics opened fire on their Dancer escorts!” Lieutenant Castries called out, sounding as shocked as Geary felt.