The Lost Fleet: Beyond the Frontier: Guardian (6 page)

That information had been chillingly confirmed by an incident on one of the assault transports.

Dr. Nasr looked worn-out, but then, he often did these days. “We have had an incident with one of the Marines that I wanted to be sure you were aware of.”

“Corporal Ulanov,” Geary said. “General Carabali already told me about it. Ulanov took a weapon and tried to shoot up his troop compartment but failed because his platoon leader had deactivated the weapons available to him.”

“Yes. Corporal Ulanov.” Nasr stared at nothing for a moment before refocusing on Geary. “I thought you would want to hear the results of the medical exams.”

Geary sighed, making a helpless gesture. “He’s faced too much combat, and he wants to get home.”

“Yes. And no.” Nasr smiled thinly. “He does want to get home. But the actual reason for the attempted rampage was that Corporal Ulanov is also afraid of getting home.”

“Afraid?” When a piece of information was so different from what you expected, it took a while to absorb it. Geary found himself repeating the word. “Afraid? Of getting home?”

“We’re seeing more cases like that, though Ulanov is the worst,” Nasr observed. “Admiral, what will happen when we get home? What will happen to these ships and these Marines?”

“As far as I know, they’ll remain under my command.”

“But perhaps not.”

“I don’t know.”

“That is the problem,” Nasr said. “You don’t know, I don’t know, no one knows. Corporal Ulanov kept telling his medical interviewer that he was afraid. It took a while to realize that what Ulanov feared was uncertainty. He is comfortable being a Marine. He knows he can face combat, though the physical and mental stresses from the combat he has experienced have done damage that Corporal Ulanov does not acknowledge. But he fears being cast aside like a machine designed for a purpose that is no longer needed. He wants to get home, but he fears what might happen when he gets there. That internal conflict is what made him snap.”

Geary slumped as he thought about Ulanov and the many others in this fleet who shared the same worries for their future. “I can get them home. We won’t wait here much longer before leaving. But there’s not much I can do about worries over the future. I don’t have the answers to those.”

“There is something you can do, Admiral. Tell them you will look after their welfare to the best of your ability. That may not seem like much to you, but to them it will mean a great deal.” One corner of Dr. Nasr’s mouth tilted in a small, sad smile. “As a doctor, it is all too easy to see people as a collection of parts that either work right or need to be replaced or repaired. You can forget the human those parts make up if you focus too much on the parts. I have seen those in command positions look upon people the same way, as parts in the organism they rule over. Parts that exist only to serve the organism. If a private fails or dies, the private is replaced by another. That’s all. We all fear being seen as parts, expendable and replaceable, don’t we?”

“We do, Doctor, because we’ve all seen it happen to others and sometimes felt it happen to us. All right. I’ll find a way to let everyone know they won’t just be cast aside.”

He was reaching to end the call when the doctor spoke again. “Have you seen the reports from the ships of the Callas Republic and the Alliance?”

Geary nodded. “I’ve looked them over. There don’t seem to be any problems on those ships. I know they want to be detached from this fleet when we get home, and I’ll do all I can to make that happen.”

“There don’t
seem
to be problems,” Nasr repeated. “But there are. Those men and women expected to go home when the war ended, to have their warships recalled to their republic and their federation. That didn’t happen. At the moment, they are all outwardly doing fine. But do you know how a person can be just walking along, or working as usual, no signs of trouble, then suddenly they snap because of hidden stresses? That describes those ships. Be careful of them, Admiral.”

“I will be, Doctor.” He sat for a while after ending the call with Nasr.
There’s nothing else I can do about the Callas Republic and Rift Federation ships, and I’ve already told all supervisors to watch their people carefully and refer for evaluation any who seemed marginal. I need to make the supervisors’ job easier, though.
Geary straightened in his seat and tapped the record command on his comm software. “This is Admiral Geary. I want to give everyone a situation update. We
will
be departing Midway soon, returning home. We’ll stay at home for an extended period because even though you have all put in amazing efforts to keep our ships going and repair the damage they’ve sustained, this fleet will still require a lot of work at the maintenance facilities at Varandal.”

How do I say the rest?
“I want to offer my personal assurances to all of you that I will make every effort to look out for you, to ensure that when we return home, you are treated as you deserve after your service to the Alliance.”
That isn’t enough. Of course I’m going to look out for all who have served under me. That’s my responsibility. But I can’t promise there will be no problems once we return. What else do I say to let them know I won’t abandon them?

Oh, hell. Just say that.
“We did not leave anyone behind anywhere in alien space. No one will be left behind after we return home.”

He ended the recording, then called the bridge. “Tanya, could you look over something for me?”

“You mean since I have nothing else to do but oversee a battle cruiser and her crew?” Desjani asked.

“It won’t take much time,” Geary promised.

“Gee, I’ve never heard that one before. All right, Admiral. Will you be coming to the bridge soon?” she added pointedly.

He glanced at the time. “I’ll be up there in a while. There’s no rush, is there?”

“No, of course not,” Desjani agreed.

Neither of them knew exactly when things would begin happening. There were too many uncertainties about travel times within the other star systems a certain ship had been transiting. But sometime within the next twelve hours, the plan proposed by General Drakon’s representatives would either succeed or fail.

Geary made a show of wandering up to the bridge of
Dauntless
. He stopped several times to talk with members of the crew. Most of them asked variations on “when are we leaving?” He replied with variations on “soon.”

On the bridge, Desjani nodded to him, gesturing to her display. “Good update, Admiral. Do you want to send it?”

“You don’t have any suggestions for improvements?” Geary asked as he took his seat and called up his own display showing the situation in this star system.

“Nope. This is one of those times when unedited words from the heart are best.”

“Then please transmit it to the fleet, Captain.”

“Certainly, Admiral.”

“Anything new from CEO Boyens today?”

She made a gesture of indifference. “Just another complaint about provocative maneuvers on our part. He seems to feel threatened by the fact that you’ve moved so many warships to an orbit only ten light-minutes from the hypernet gate.”

“And only eight light-minutes from his flotilla,” Geary said. “Did we send him the standard response that the authorities at Midway have given us freedom to maneuver within this star system?”

“You’d have to ask our emissaries,” Desjani said, now disdainful.

“I will,” Geary said. His annoyance with Boyens had been growing, as the Syndic CEO had sent repeated messages supposedly about negotiations but mainly containing thinly veiled derision of Geary’s inability to budge him from this star system.

But while the Syndic flotilla had stubbornly held its position near the hypernet gate, the Alliance presence near that gate had grown to include seven battleships and eleven battle cruisers, along with dozens of heavy and light cruisers and eighty destroyers. Few of those warships were in perfect condition, but all of them had the propulsion, shielding, and weapons if necessary to go on the attack. Geary had designated them Formation Alpha and arranged them into a single, giant fist aimed toward Boyens’s Syndic flotilla.

As the Alliance warships took up position, Kommodor Marphissa had taken the remaining warships of the Midway flotilla out and around, forming a small pocket of defense that still blocked any movement by the Syndic flotilla toward the star and also further limited possible movement by the Syndics by threatening their route toward the nearest jump point.

“He’s got to know what we’re doing,” Desjani commented, her posture and tone of voice now that of someone who did not expect anything to happen today that hadn’t happened yesterday and the day before. “Boyens isn’t stupid, even if he is a Syndic CEO.”

“He thinks we’re trying to bluff him into leaving,” Geary said.

“Isn’t that what we’re doing?” she asked with exaggerated innocence.

If he had been drinking something, he might have choked on it at that moment. Fortunately, any need for a reply was eliminated a second later.

“Another ship has arrived at the gate,” Lieutenant Castries said, her voice perking up as the identity of the new arrival became clear. “It’s the heavy cruiser belonging to Midway that escorted that other cruiser out through the jump point for Kane.”

“He came back through the gate?” Lieutenant Yuon blurted out. “That’s—”

“Not very bright,” Desjani said, still calm and composed. “They must have thought the Syndic flotilla would be gone. Look, they’re coming around and heading for the rest of the Midway flotilla.”

“Not very fast,” Lieutenant Castries muttered. “Captain, fleet sensors estimate that the heavy cruiser has lost a main propulsion unit. No damage that we can see, so it might be an equipment failure.”

“Syndic ships have much less onboard-repair capability than we do,” Desjani replied.

“He’s in trouble,” Lieutenant Yuon confirmed. “Maneuvering systems estimate that with that much propulsion out, the Syndics will be able to catch him before the rest of the Midway flotilla can join with him.”

“You sound perplexed, Lieutenant,” Desjani said. “Why?”

“I . . .” Yuon licked his lips, then made a helpless gesture. “I sort of feel like they’re on our side, Captain. Even though that’s a Syndic cruiser. I mean, it used to be one.”

“It’s not a Syndic cruiser,” Geary agreed. “The Syndics built it, but somebody else owns it now. And the cruisers that still answer to Syndic authority are going after it.” He didn’t need to rerun the maneuvering system’s conclusions. Even judging the movement of the ships on the display by eye, he could tell that the heavy cruisers and HuKs leaping away from the Syndic battleship would get within weapons range of the lone Midway heavy cruiser at least half an hour before it reached the company of the rest of the Midway flotilla.

Geary tapped his comm controls. “All units in Formation Alpha, prepare for combat.”

He could feel the startled stares of the rest of the bridge crew on him, even Desjani feigning surprise. With the exception of Desjani, they had no idea why he had given that order.
Not yet. We can’t let the cat out of the bag quite yet.

“Assume full combat readiness,” Desjani ordered her watch team. Alarms blared, summoning the entire crew to action stations, while Geary watched the movements of the other ships and judged the right time for his next communication. “Captain Desjani, I see that the Syndic cruisers and HuKs aiming to intercept that newly arrived Midway cruiser will be within weapons range of their target in eight minutes.”

“That’s what our combat systems say,” Desjani confirmed.

“Set me up for a transmission to the Syndic flagship.”

The Syndic battleship with CEO Boyens aboard was eight light-minutes from
Dauntless
. The heavy cruisers and HuKs that had raced away from that battleship were now nearly a light-minute from the battleship and rapidly closing on the lone Midway cruiser at a high angle from above and behind. The Midway flotilla had surged into motion but was still several light-minutes away from where the Syndics were about to attack their lone comrade.

Now.
Geary tapped his controls again, choosing the one prepared for sending a message to CEO Boyens. He had assumed a puzzled and angry expression and spoke with the same mix of emotions. “CEO Boyens, this is Admiral Geary of the First Fleet of the Alliance. You have sent forces to intercept a ship chartered by and operating under the authority of the government of the Alliance. You are to cease any actions aimed at an Alliance-flagged ship and withdraw your forces immediately. Geary, out.” He deliberately left off the formal ending, giving the message an abrupt tone.

The bridge crew was staring at him again, but their gazes shifted as Emissaries Rione and Charban walked onto the bridge. “Admiral,” Rione said, as if genuinely surprised, “we chartered that ship for Alliance government business. Why are Syndicate warships pursuing it?”

“I don’t know, Madam Emissary,” Geary replied. “I have informed the Syndics of the ship’s status and told them to veer off.”

Desjani once again pretended to be startled. “We chartered that Midway cruiser? The Alliance government?”

“That is correct,” Charban said. “We judged it to be in the interest of the Alliance that we be on good terms with the home star of that heavy cruiser.”

“But if it’s under Alliance government charter, it is Alliance property during the period of the charter. If the Syndics attack it—”

“They will be attacking an
Alliance
ship,” Geary broke in. “All units in Formation Alpha, immediate execute accelerate to point two light speed, come starboard three two degrees, up zero six degrees.”

“You will have to act if they attack an Alliance ship,” Rione agreed, sounding as upset as if this had not all been arranged in advance.

He had timed his message as well as possible. The Syndic heavy cruisers and HuKs had surely been sent out with orders to attack the lone Midway heavy cruiser. Having been humiliated once before, Boyens would be determined to ensure that this time his prey did not escape. They would launch that attack unless Boyens countermanded his earlier orders. But Geary had sent his message to Boyens so that it would arrive before the Syndic ships fired but too late for any message from Boyens to reach the Syndic attackers telling them not to fire. It was a simple matter of geometry, the three sides of the communications triangle adding up to less time than Boyens needed.