The Lost Fleet: Beyond the Frontier: Invincible (10 page)

Hundreds of human warships dipped and climbed past each other, following individual paths that were coordinated and woven into a single fabric. The battleships not already at the top of the human formation climbed, joining the rest of the battleships in the top layer to form a wall of strength. The battle cruisers formed clusters at the front and back of the formation, ready to defend those areas or reinforce the battleships. Heavy cruisers swung downward to form a shell about the auxiliaries and assault transports, while light cruisers and destroyers scattered to mix with the battleships and battle cruisers.

But the mass of the human formation stayed relatively compact as it steadied out, heading straight at the alien fortress, but aimed to pass beneath it.

Dauntless
’s bridge was silent, everyone watching their displays, waiting to see how the alien armada would act, and when the fortress would launch its huge force of missile ships.

“Point of no return,” Desjani murmured. They were too far committed to this course now, unable to turn away from the fortress and the alien armada quickly enough to avoid a clash.

“Here they come,” Geary said.

The alien armada had come around and was braking velocity, its huge and cumbersome superbattleships straining to match the maneuver. The curve marking the armada’s projected course drifted to the side, steadying directly under the alien fortress. But the massive bear-cow ships couldn’t slow themselves fast enough. “Combined engagement velocity estimated at point one nine light speed,” Desjani said, as unnaturally calm as usual in the face of battle.

“All units,” Geary ordered, “engage any targets that enter your weapons envelopes.”

It had been days, then hours, then minutes, and now only seconds remained as the three elements of the battle rushed together. Would the alien fortress launch its missile ships on time for a perfect intercept of the human fleet tearing past, or . . . ?

“Here they come,” Desjani said. “Get anything that comes close,” she ordered her bridge crew.

The missile ships had begun launching, leaping upward from the surface of the fortress, but the launches faltered, staggering to a halt as the bear-cow armada in blind pursuit of the human fleet came blundering between the fleet and the fortress, fouling the path of the missile ships as the forces came together at a combined velocity of about fifty-seven thousand kilometers per second. Geary had planned it like an ancient bullfight, getting the bull enraged, getting it where and when he wanted it to be, until the final pass and away while the bull staggered past the place where it had thought to gore its opponent.

The actual shooting lasted for only milliseconds, too fast for human senses to register, automated combat systems selecting targets and firing at enemies who were there and gone in an instant. Particle beams seared deadly paths between ships, specter missiles launched to slam into targets too close to maneuver to avoid them, and sometimes even grapeshot was fired at targets close enough, the metal ball bearings striking with immense force against shields and armor.
Dauntless
rocked in the wake of explosions already far behind, Geary calling out new orders before he had time to assess damage to the fleet. “All units, brake at maximum to point one light speed.”

The human warships slewed around in place, their main propulsion units struggling to get their velocity low enough to use the jump point looming just beyond.

“A lot of misses,” Desjani commented, breathing slowly and deeply. “Looks like most of the bear-cow shots went wild.”

Geary spared a quick glance at the fleet status readouts. The human warships had focused their fire on the missile ships that had managed to launch, annihilating the partial wave short of their targets though taking some damage from near misses. The bear-cows, hampered by fire control systems that couldn’t match human capabilities at a combined engagement speed of point one nine light, hadn’t scored many hits despite the tremendous amount of firepower hurled out by the superbattleships.

He looked back at the maneuvering display, seeing velocities of his ships crawling downward, closer to point one light speed, the jump point approaching very, very quickly ahead.

“We’ll make it,” Desjani said.

“Not by much.” But it would be enough. “All units, jump now.”

FIVE

“THEY’RE
going to come after us,” Desjani said. Outside of
Dauntless
, nothing was visible now except the dull gray emptiness of jump space. “Those civilian experts are right.”

“Yeah.” He had the same feeling. Geary watched one of the mysterious lights of jump space flare off to one side of the ship, then vanish. “The star we’re heading for is a white dwarf. The odds of a habitable world are very small. Unless the bear-cows have heavily fortified a distant outpost, we’ll be in a better position to take them out.”

“We hit some of those superbattleships hard as we went past,” Desjani pointed out. “But we didn’t inflict much damage. They’re going to be very hard to kill. And did you notice this?” She sent a record to Geary’s display. “Watch the top layer of ships in our formation as they pass closest to the fortress.”

He watched the replay, spotting what she had seen. During the moments when the human ships had been nearest to the fortress, passing beneath it though still thousands of kilometers distant, something had pushed them down and farther away from the fortress. “The bear-cow planetary defense. Whatever that is. At least those unexpected vector changes messed up some of the bear-cow fire aimed at those ships.”

“And made some of the shots from those ships miss, too,” Desjani said. “I think we’ve got a real good picture of the maximum range of that defense mechanism now.”

“Good call.” Tension was still draining from him. How long had he been up on the bridge, for how many hours had he been engaged in the bullfight with the alien armada? “We’ve got eight days in jump space. A really long leap.”

“Are you finally going to get enough sleep?”

“That’s my intent.” He didn’t have to tell Desjani to order maximum crew rest for the next couple of days. He knew that she would do that. Captains sometimes had to demand intense efforts from their crews for extended periods. All captains understood that. Good captains also knew the need to compensate for that extra effort when opportunity permitted, to let their crews know the additional exertion wasn’t taken for granted. “First, I’m going to go down and give my thanks to my ancestors, though. We’re going to need their help when we meet up with the bear-cows again.”

It hadn’t exactly been a victory, but it hadn’t been a defeat. The fleet was clear of Pandora, and it was heading back toward home, even if that path back would be a somewhat crooked one of necessity as the fleet jumped from star to star. Once they reached Syndicate Worlds’ space, they would be able to use the Syndic hypernet to get back to Alliance space quickly, but that option did not exist out here far beyond human-occupied space.

No one could claim that he personally and this fleet as an arm of the Alliance government had not followed their orders. Geary had done exactly what his orders called for, to learn more about the strength and numbers of the enigma race and to learn how far regions controlled by the enigmas extended beyond human-occupied space. Now it was time to take that information home.

The crew members whom Geary encountered in the passageways seemed cheerful enough in a “we survived that, and we’re on the way home” sort of way.

He made his thanks to those powers who were hopefully watching out for him and the rest of the fleet, then made it to his stateroom, fell into his bunk, and finally let himself relax into blessed sleep.

“I’M
going to have that talk with Commander Benan,” Geary said. After three days in jump space, he had managed to catch up considerably on sleep and was not yet affected by the strange sensations of discomfort that grew in humans the longer they stayed in jump space.

Desjani raised beseeching eyes upward. It was odd, Geary thought, that humans still instinctively looked up toward the divinities they believed in. Even though humans had penetrated far into the heavens and among the stars, they still somehow thought of something greater being “up there.”

“Admiral, I repeat that is a horrible idea.”

“Understood. I think it’s a horrible idea, too.” He groped for the right words. “But I just have a gut feeling that I need to do this.”

She eyed him. “A gut feeling?”

“Yes. Something keeps telling me that talking alone with Benan will accomplish something.” Geary spread his hands as if trying to clutch at something insubstantial. “I owe that man. Personally, for what happened between me and his wife. And as a representative of the Alliance, for what happened to him in the line of duty. My brain tells me that there’s nothing more I can accomplish, that I have done all that duty requires, but then something else says maybe honor requires a bit more. Requires me to try something that I have no right to expect will work. Because not trying something that
might
work would be safe but wrong.”

Desjani sighed. “You’re letting guilt drive you to this?”

“No. I don’t think it’s guilt. I did nothing against him on purpose, and I had nothing to do with what the Syndics did to Benan when he was a captive.” Geary paused, thinking. “But he is one of my people, an officer under my command, who is suffering from some kind of injury. Nothing we have tried yet has helped much. One thing we have not tried is a private conversation with me. I need to do that.”

She nodded, one corner of her mouth twisted in a rueful smile. “Duty is a hard horse to ride. All right. I might feel the same obligation. And if something keeps telling you that you need to try this . . . Our ancestors often speak to us in muted voices. Maybe one of yours is trying to tell you what to do. But”—the half smile disappeared—“you’re not going to have that woman in there with you, are you?”

“No. Having Victoria Rione there would just emphasize one of the things between us.”

“She could also serve to restrain him if he flies off the handle. Admiral, you know as well as I do that if Benan says something to you that is contrary to regulations, you are obligated to act on that even if no one else knows about it.”

“I’m aware of that,” Geary said.

Desjani shook her head. “Fine. Were you planning to have this little chat in your stateroom?”

“That is a private—”

“It’s also where you and that woman spent a lot of time together. Remember?” Her voice roughened, but Desjani managed not to sound too angry at the thought. “Do you think Benan won’t be aware of that?”

Geary grimaced. “We’ll use a private conference room. Security-sealed.”

“And I’ll be outside the hatch. Along with that woman. If you hit the panic button in there, I’ll have the hatch open and be throwing her between you two before you can count to three.”

“All right, Captain.”

Rione hadn’t been any more enthusiastic about the idea than Desjani, but Geary had not relented. “Your instincts have been right often enough in battle,” Rione finally said. “And mine have been just as often wrong. Perhaps you will be right in this as well.”

Geary led Benan into the conference room, knowing that Desjani and Rione were just out of sight around a corner of the passageway and would come to stand by the hatch once it was closed.

Commander Benan stood rigidly by the table dominating the center of the room, his eyes wide like a trapped animal’s. “Sit down,” Geary said, realizing as he did so that the words had come out in the tones of an order.

Benan hesitated, his eyes fixed on the bulkhead before him, then sat rigidly in the nearest chair.

Geary sat down opposite Benan, keeping himself sitting erect, his hands resting on the table before him. There was nothing social about this meeting. It was purely professional. “Commander, you’ve been undergoing treatment since being liberated.”

Benan nodded his head in a jerky motion but said nothing.

“Medical is very concerned at your lack of progress.”

Another nod and continued silence.

“Is there anything I should know that is impacting your personal well-being, Commander? Anything that neither I nor medical staff is aware of?”

The commander’s eyes went to Geary, meeting the admiral’s gaze, something odd hidden inside those eyes. “There is nothing I can say.” It came out haltingly.

“Nothing you can say?” Geary felt a flash of anger.
I’m trying to help. Why won’t he let me?
“This isn’t a personal issue, no matter what you may think. It is professional. You are an officer under my authority, and I am responsible for your health and well-being.”

“There is nothing I can say,” Benan repeated, his words sounding mechanical now.

“I am the commander of this fleet,” Geary said, “and in that capacity and by that authority I hereby order you to tell me of anything that is complicating your medical treatment and recovery from prisoner-of-war conditions.”

Benan seemed to stop breathing for a moment, then his mouth worked several times before words came. “The fleet commander. As the fleet commander, you order me to speak. Please repeat that.”

“As the commander of this fleet I order you to speak,” Geary said again, wondering what was happening.

Looking around, Benan paused to swallow. “We are alone. There are no recording devices active here.”

“That is correct.”

“Damn!” Benan swallowed again, this time convulsively, shooting to his feet. “I can talk. I can talk.” He wavered where he stood.

“Sit down, Commander,” Geary ordered.

Benan dropped into the chair again, his face working with emotions that changed too rapidly to read. “Yes, there is something inhibiting my treatment. I don’t know how, but it must be responsible somehow. But I must explain. Do you know what I did, Admiral? Before the Syndics captured me?”

“You were a fleet officer,” Geary answered. “Your record is a good one. Reliable, courageous, smart.”

Benan gasped a short laugh. “That was who I used to be. Perhaps not the smart portion, though. No. A smart man wouldn’t have gotten involved in it.”

“Involved in what, Commander? The war?”

“We all had to get involved in the war.” Benan stared at a corner of the stateroom. “Except Vic. She shouldn’t have. It’s changed her, too. Vic never would have—” His voice choked off, and Benan reddened, trembling, but didn’t move otherwise, avoiding looking at Geary.

Since there was nothing useful that Geary could think of to say, he waited patiently.
I’m sorry I slept with your wife. We both thought you were dead. I’m sure that doesn’t make you feel any better. But you already know it put your wife through hell when she found out you might still be alive.

After a long pause, Benan spoke again. “I can tell you. Because if a fleet commander orders me to speak, I have to respond. If we are alone, with no witnesses.”

“Are you saying that some order bound you from saying anything before this?”

“It wasn’t an order, Admiral,” Benan spat. “Have you been told about Brass Prince? Have they told Black Jack about Brass Prince?”

“Brass Prince?” Geary mentally ran through the many classified project and plan names that he had seen since awakening from survival sleep. “I can’t recall hearing of that.”

“You would remember if you had.” Benan’s voice had sunk to a whisper. “A very secret project undertaken by the Alliance government. Do you know what we were working on, Admiral? Biowarfare,” Commander Benan said, his voice barely audible now. “Strategic biological warfare. You might have believed that’s the one rule the Syndics and the Alliance didn’t break during the war. But the Alliance conducted some research.”

“Strategic biological warfare?” Geary repeated, not believing what he was hearing.

“Yes. Things able to wipe out the populations of entire planets. Things that could sit dormant inside human bodies long enough to be transported to other star systems before they became virulent, then wipe out populations so quickly that no countermeasures could be successful.” Benan’s hands shook. “Purely for defensive purposes, of course. That’s what everyone said. If we had that capability, the Syndics wouldn’t dare use a similar capability against us for fear of retaliation in kind. That’s what we told ourselves. Maybe it was true.”

Geary realized that he had stopped breathing and slowly inhaled before speaking. “Does the Europa Rule still exist?”

“Of course it does. But we were told that things had changed. That we needed to take into account new realities. The Syndics would do anything. Strategic biowarfare didn’t seem beyond them.”

“But . . . the Europa Rule,” Geary said again, bewildered. “In my time, they showed vids of that in high school. To ensure everyone knew what happened. That colony moon in the Sol Star System wasn’t rendered uninhabitable for humans for all time by an attack. The pathogen was accidentally released by a so-called defense research facility on Europa. If it hadn’t been so virulent, caused death so quickly, it might have reached Earth itself before our ancestors realized what had happened.”

“I know that! We all knew that!” Commander Benan glowered at the deck, then spoke in a more controlled fashion. “They still show the videos in school. Images, as clear as the day they were taken by surveillance cameras whose operators were already dead or by uncrewed probes sent down from space. The people on Europa lifeless, bodies strewn everywhere within the habitats. Some lying there peacefully, and others revealing final moments of panic and pain. If you’ve seen them, I’m sure you remember them as clearly as I do.”