The Lost Fleet: Beyond the Frontier: Guardian (37 page)

Geary looked from one captain to another. One by one, they nodded in agreement with Badaya. “You’re putting me in a difficult position,” Geary said, frustrated. “If I bypass Captain Badaya, it will be seen as a snub to him. But if I select him, you’re saying it could create serious command issues in a crisis.”

“It will not be seen as snub,” Armus said, each word coming out with careful deliberation, “if it is known you intended Captain Badaya for the assignment but he declined. Hold a fleet meeting tomorrow as you intended, say you want Badaya to take temporary command, and allow him to decline the honor.”

Annoyed, but seeing the wisdom of their advice, Geary nodded. “Fine. Then after Captain Badaya declines I will appoint Captain Tulev—”

“No, sir,” Tulev said. “I must also decline.”

Annoyance was becoming anger. Why did something so simple have to be so difficult? “Why?” Geary demanded.

“Because I am a man with no world,” Tulev said, betraying no hint of the feelings that statement must evoke in him. “The Syndics destroyed my home planet during the war. There are portions of the fleet that regard me as only belonging to the Alliance now, without loyalty to a home world to counterbalance that.”

Geary tamped down his anger. If Tulev could speak so calmly about something so personally painful to him, upset by others for lesser reasons could only seem petty. “Should I bother naming a third choice, or have you all decided on that for me?”

“This isn’t a mutiny,” Duellos pointed out. “You chose to gather us now instead of just announcing your decision to everyone in the fleet because you trust our judgment, and we are giving you that judgment. You wanted to see what we would say about selecting Captain Badaya as acting commander, didn’t you?”

After a brief hesitation, Geary nodded. “I suppose I did. What’s your advice then?”

“It would help,” Captain Tulev said, “if the fleet remained under command of a Geary.”

To Geary’s surprise, the others nodded, while Jane Geary looked uncomfortable. “She’s not senior to any of you,” he pointed out to the others.

“She has the name,” Badaya said. “As well as an impressive record. And we will all back her. Together, those things will keep the fleet safe until you return.”

Duellos was examining one hand intently as he spoke with studied casualness. “Tanya agrees, too.”

It would have been nice if she had told me about that before this.
“This fleet shouldn’t be commanded on the basis of some family hierarchy,” Geary protested.

“It’s not that,” Duellos said. “Jane has earned her right to the position, and because for a long time she was not part of this fleet, she has no baggage from earlier political squabbles. But the name is important not just to the fleet. If anyone in the government or at fleet headquarters is planning any surprises after you and Tanya leave on
Dauntless
, they would not reconsider their plans on the basis of going up against a Captain Badaya, or a Captain Tulev or Armus or Duellos. But if the fleet commander is named Geary? Then the political fallout becomes much greater, because a descendant of Black Jack has a standing with the populace that no one else can match except Black Jack himself.”

Jane Geary nodded, looking unhappy. “I spent a lifetime running away from the name because I knew how much power it held. I did not suggest this to anyone, and I agreed only reluctantly, but I have to admit the strength of the reasoning behind it.”

“I see.”
And I don’t like it. It gives me, and it gives Jane, too much power. But that’s the point. It’s the sort of power that might give pause to anyone planning on doing anything stupid.
“All right. Tomorrow morning, I’ll hold a meeting, Captain Badaya will decline the role of acting commander in my absence, then—”

“I will nominate Captain Geary in your stead,” Armus said. “I belong to no faction. Everyone knows I’m just about getting the job done. It will come best from me.”

The others nodded in agreement, and the next morning the deal was done.

As
Dauntless
approached the hypernet gate, the six Dancer ships came zooming in from one side and below to take up station in a ring about the Alliance battle cruiser. Senators Sakai, Suva, and Costa came crowding onto the bridge to watch the event, Captain Desjani greeting them with respectful but cool formality before turning back to her duties.

Geary nodded to her. “Enter the destination, Captain Desjani.” He felt a strange sense of fate hovering about them as Tanya manipulated the simple hypernet key controls.

Tanya gave him a half smile and a sidelong look as
Sol
appeared on the hypernet control. “I never expected to enter this destination,” she murmured, then spoke more loudly. “Request permission to enter hypernet, destination Sol Star System.”

Geary nodded again. “Permission granted.”

She entered the command, and the stars vanished.

They weren’t in jump space this time. They were, literally, nowhere. There was nothing outside the bubble in which
Dauntless
and the six Dancer ships existed. They weren’t moving. They would instead simply be at their destination after the proper amount of time had elapsed, having gone from Varandal to Sol without (as far as the physics were concerned) having traveled between those two places. It didn’t make any sense, but then a lot of things about physics didn’t make sense to humans once you went far enough up or down the scale from the narrow band of reality in which humans normally operated.

Because so little else made sense, it seemed perfectly appropriate that the length of the journey meant it would take less time than shorter journeys in the hypernet required. “Sixteen days,” Desjani said.

“Just a hop to a demilitarized star system and back home again,” Geary said. “For once, we don’t have to worry about anything going wr—” He broke off at the ferocious glare that Desjani turned on him. “What?”

“Were you really going to say that?” she demanded.

“Tanya, what could—”

“Stop it! I don’t want to find out, and neither do you!”

EVEN
sixteen days could seem like a long time.

The regulations and procedures for entering Sol Star System had been dug out of the archives to be reviewed by all officers. Reading them in his stateroom, Geary was struck by two odd sensations. The first was a feeling of dusting off old records even though digital files never actually accumulated dust. The second was a dawning realization that he had read through these procedures once before.

When was it? I was an ensign, I think. At some point, I called up these procedures and read them, daydreaming that someday my ship would be the one chosen at the ten-year point for the visit to Old Earth. That feels so long ago.

How many ensigns have there been in the fleet since then? How many of those ensigns died during the century-long war? I’m sure none of them daydreamed about visiting Old Earth. They just hoped to survive, and maybe to be the heroes that young men and women dream of being before they become old enough and experienced enough to realize that real glory never comes to those who seek it.

They dreamed of being like Black Jack. It wasn’t my fault they did that. The government and the fleet needed a hero, and I guess I was plausible enough to be built into one even though I’m nothing like the legend they created. But they died wanting to be like me.

I don’t know what Black Jack could do to help the Alliance with the mess it is in. I don’t know what I can do. But I have to keep trying because people believed in who they thought I was. This trip isn’t going to solve anything, but once we get back, I have to think of something. Maybe something I see at Sol will give me some ideas.

There was a link near the procedures for entering Sol that also tickled Geary’s memory. He read it, a smile growing. One more thing that had been forgotten, but there was no reason it could not be revived.

His hatch alert chimed. Instead of Tanya, or Rione or anyone else whom Geary might have expected, Senator Sakai had come to see him.

For over a minute, Senator Sakai sat without speaking in the seat that Geary offered, just watching Geary with his usual enigmatic expression. Finally, Sakai spoke in a quiet voice that nonetheless commanded attention. “Admiral, you are a rare specimen. An anachronism.”

“You don’t need to point that out,” Geary said, wondering what Sakai was driving at.

“Someone from a hundred years in the past. It has served you well in command of the fleet,” Sakai observed, as if Geary had not spoken. “It has served the Alliance well. At least, so far. But this is not the past. We are not the people you knew. This is not the Alliance you knew.” Sakai sounded neither happy nor sad about that. He simply said the words as if discussing a fact distant in time and place. “Admiral, where do you believe my loyalties lie?”

“I think, Senator,” Geary said, once more choosing his words with care, “that you are loyal to the Alliance.”

“Interesting. Do you believe that makes me unusual, or typical among the politicians who lead the Alliance in this time?”

That was an explosive question, and one he might have had a great deal of trouble answering if not for his long experience with Victoria Rione. “I believe that most, if not all, of the politicians in charge of the government believe that they are loyal to the Alliance.”

“Again, an interesting choice of words, Admiral.”

“Do you disagree with me?” Geary asked.

“Your answer was incomplete,” Sakai replied obliquely. The senator frowned slightly, looking off into the distance. “Not all of us who are loyal, who believe we are loyal, believe in the Alliance anymore. Some of us look at the Alliance and wonder not
if
it will perish, but
when
.” He focused on Geary with an intent gaze. “And we wonder whether you, with your antiquated ideals born of another time, will contrive to hold together a little longer that which is coming apart, or if your presence and your ideals will only accelerate the collapse of the Alliance.”

Geary took a long moment to reply. “I would not do anything to harm the Alliance. I have made every effort to act as necessary to protect and preserve the Alliance.”

“Admiral, you believe you will not do anything to harm the Alliance. You believe your every effort has been for the good of the Alliance.” Sakai shook his head. “Perhaps I am too jaded, too bitter from watching destruction become a virtue. Perhaps you are the hero the Alliance needs. But I do not believe it.”

“Why would you say that to me?”

“Perhaps because you are one of the few left who would not seek to use my words against me. Perhaps because truth is spoken so rarely these days that I wanted the feel of it in my words at least once more.” This time, one corner of Sakai’s mouth bent very slightly upward in the barest of smiles. “I am a politician, Admiral. Do you know what happens to politicians who tell the truth? They get voted out of office. We must lie to the voters. Tell them the truth, and they punish us. Lie, and they reward us. Like the dogs in the ancient experiment we learn to do what brings rewards. Somehow the system stumbles onward, the Alliance survives, but the pressure on it builds with every refusal by its leaders and its people to face unpleasant truths.”

Sakai again sat without speaking for several seconds, his eyes hooded in thought. “We politicians lie for the best of reasons, for the best of causes,” he finally said in a monotone. “For the good of the Alliance. For the good of our people. Only by lying can we serve them. Do you believe me?”

“I do,” Geary said, bringing what might have been a glimmer of surprise to life in Sakai’s eyes. “Isn’t that the problem? Just about everyone thinks they are doing the right thing. Or they’ve convinced themselves that they’re doing the right thing, and that others must be both wrong and self-serving.”

Sakai regarded Geary again. “You have been speaking with Victoria Rione, I see. Are you aware of how much effort some politicians put into ensuring she was once more placed upon your flagship for your mission into enigma space?”

“I’ve guessed.”

“I am one of those politicians who backed such an effort.” A tiny smile once more bent Sakai’s mouth. “Though not, perhaps, for the same reasons as others.”

What did that admission mean? “Will you tell me your reasons?”

“In part. Emissary Rione—excuse me, Envoy Rione is, shall we say, not the sort of weapon which merely follows the path set for it by others. She is what you in the military would call a smart weapon, one that thinks for itself. Such a weapon may not act as those who unleash it expect.” Sakai shook his head. “Envoy Rione believes in the Alliance, too. She is willing to do any number of things that our ancestors would never have agreed to in order to preserve it.”

“But what did
you
expect her to do?” Geary pressed.

“Admiral.” Sakai paused again, then looked at Geary with another searching gaze. “The legend that grew around Black Jack said that he would return to save the Alliance. Everyone assumed that meant Black Jack would defeat the Syndics. But saving the Alliance is not simply a matter of ending the war. That has become very, painfully, clear to all of us. And now the people of the Alliance increasingly ask themselves whether Black Jack’s ultimate mission is not a military one, not aimed against any external foe, but is instead to save the Alliance from the inner forces that threaten to destroy it.”

Geary had to bite back an immediate, instinctive denial. Instead, he shook his head and spoke with care once more. “I wouldn’t know how to do that. I have never believed in the legend. I do not believe that I am destined or chosen or whatever term you want to use. I’m just trying to do my job, my duty, the best that I can.”

“Does what
you
believe matter?” Sakai asked in a low voice. “Belief is a very powerful force, Admiral, for good or for ill. Belief can destroy that which appears unshakable, and belief can accomplish what knowledge tells us must be impossible. I cannot save the Alliance, Admiral. If I believed that I could, I would be one with the fools who think that they alone know wisdom, that they alone know what must be right. But people look at you, Admiral, and do not see a fallible human. They see Black Jack. Do not deny it. I accompanied your fleet on the final campaign against the Syndics so I could see you and so I could see how others acted toward you. Even those who hate you, who wish to see you fail, see Black Jack. And Black Jack can do those things that those who believe in him think he can do. Perhaps even things I believe to be impossible.”

“Or that belief in me could be the last straw that breaks the back of the Alliance,” Geary said, not trying to hide his bitterness.

“Yes.” Sakai inclined his head slightly toward Geary. “An interesting dilemma.”

“Can you tell me whether you will help me hold things together?” Geary demanded. “Not as some mythical Black Jack but just doing what I can. Will you help?”

“Why do you ask me this?” Sakai said, this time smiling more openly. “I have already told you that I lie. It is my profession. It is what my people demand of me. You could not believe whatever answer I gave you.”

Geary sat back, watching Sakai. From somewhere, words came to him. “One way to avoid lying is to avoid actually answering the question, isn’t it? Give an evasive response, and let the listener read whatever meaning they want into it.”

Sakai’s smile vanished, replaced by an intrigued expression. “You have spent
much
time around Envoy Rione. I should have guessed how much you would learn from her. And so I will finally answer that question you asked. What did I expect Envoy Rione to do aboard your flagship? I believed that Envoy Rione would find creative ways to forestall any plans aimed at you. That is why I supported placing her on your ship. This in turn gave me access to some other . . . consultations to which I might otherwise have been barred.”

“Senator, that sounds suspiciously like you were trying to help me,” Geary said.

“Not you. The Alliance. Because whatever you do, however mistaken or correct your actions based on your prewar sense of right and wrong, you are not a fool. Unlike some of those pursuing other means to
save
the Alliance.” Sakai held up a single forefinger to forestall Geary from interrupting. “Admiral, you have been told that construction of new warships has been halted. In fact, a new fleet of sufficient strength to rival your own is being built, and I use the term ‘rival your own’ because that is a great part of its intended purpose.”

Geary did his best to feign surprise followed by outrage. “Why would the government mislead me like that?” He could think of any number of reasons but wanted to see which ones Sakai offered up.

“The government is not misleading you. Certain powerful individuals within the government are misleading you. Others do not ask questions whose answers might prove too difficult. Others delude themselves that destructive means will serve creative ends. Here is what you must know. A decision has been made to give command of this fleet to an officer who will, depending upon whom you ask, safeguard the Alliance, or actively counter the threat posed by a certain hero to whom the existing fleet is extremely loyal, or act as a passive counterbalance to the threat posed to the Alliance by you.” Sakai paused again. “The reasons all come down to one broad strategy. A majority of the grand council have been convinced that the way to fight fire is with fire. If they fear an ambitious high-ranking military officer with a fleet firmly at his back, the solution is to create another.”

“That’s insane. Are they trying to create a civil war?”

“They believe,” Sakai said, “that they are saving the Alliance. That saving the Alliance requires creating the means to destroy it and giving that means to a man whose desires will destroy it. You said it is insane? You are right. They see only what they wish to see.”

Geary stood up and paced slowly back and forth before Sakai, unable to sit still any longer. “If the government persists in actions that are likely to destroy the Alliance, what the hell can I do to save it?”

“I do not know. Perhaps nothing. Perhaps your best efforts will only precipitate the civil war you spoke of.”

“Then why are you even helping me this much by telling me about what the government is doing and why?” Geary demanded.

Sakai let out a slow sigh. “Because, Admiral, your most powerful weapon, the belief of others in you, might enable you to save an Alliance I believe to be doomed. Might, I say. It is something. Something small. Yet preferable to surrendering to despair and watching others oh-so-cleverly and oh-so-cunningly bring about the loss of all we and they hold dear.”

“Who is getting the command of that new fleet?”

“Admiral Bloch.”

That answer had come directly, with no evasion or delay. Why? “Even though the grand council must know that Bloch intended to stage a military coup if his attack on the Syndic home star system at Prime had succeeded?”

“Even though.” Sakai looked off into the distance again as if he could see something there that was invisible to Geary. “I wonder why I still try. Then I think of my children and their children. What might happen to them if the Alliance falls apart? I think of my ancestors. When the day comes that I face them, what will I say I had done with the life granted me? How will they judge me and my actions?” He shrugged. “My wish is to be able to face them and say I did not quit. Perhaps my efforts are doomed to failure, but that will not be because I ceased trying.”

“You don’t really believe that it is hopeless,” Geary suggested.

Senator Sakai stood up to leave, his expression unreadable once more. “Say rather, Admiral, that I am afraid to admit that it is hopeless.”

After Sakai had left, Geary found his gaze returning to the link he had opened about returning to Sol Star System.
Anachronism, am I? Fine. Traditions hold us together, but a lot of those traditions faded under the pressure of the war. Maybe it’s time for this anachronistic admiral to introduce a few more anachronisms.

—

“WE’RE
going to cross the line,” Geary said.