Syndic survival pods have high-ranking officers in them.” He needed to know what the Syndics were doing and how the war was going along the border with the Alliance. Given the Syndic obsession with secrecy and keeping their own officers under tight control, odds were that even if the commander of the entire Syndic force had survived, he or she wouldn’t know the answers to that. But the longer Geary went without knowing, the more the questions gnawed at him. How long could he evade an enemy, most of whose movements were invisible to him?
If the Alliance fleet had arrived in Daiquon half a day later, it would have run right into that minefield outside the jump point, and the Syndic picket ships would have escaped to tell their high command the path the Alliance ships were following.
Any elation in the victory vanished as Geary stared at the names of the dead ships and the nearby reports of damage and crew casualties from other ships. It had been a small victory, dearly purchased.
FIVE
ALL things being equal, the transit through Daiquon to the jump point for Ixion should have required about five and a half days. The five substantial objects in orbit about the star Daiquon consisted of four barely planet-sized rocks and one massive supergiant that was just shy of enough mass to become a star in its own right. The small Syndic installations that had once occupied one of the rocks were all cold and had probably been mothballed long ago. There was absolutely no reason to linger in Daiquon and nothing capable of delaying the fleet.
But the Alliance heavy cruiser Brilliant had been so badly hurt during the brief engagement that Geary had to slow the entire formation while Brilliant’s main propulsion units received emergency repairs. The only alternative to that was leaving Brilliant behind, and he wasn’t about to do that.
But there wasn’t any choice when it came to the destroyers Sword-Breaker and Machete. Both had been so badly chewed up that only a major shipyard could have repaired them. Geary had the crews taken off and the ships’ power cores set to overload, turning both destroyers into slowly expanding balls of wreckage to join those already littering Daiquon as a result of the destruction of the Syndic warships. His other ships could use the officers and sailors from the lost destroyers, but it still hurt morale to have to scuttle two ships.
A score of other destroyers, three more light cruisers, and one more heavy cruiser had joined the three battleships in the makeshift division of badly damaged ships near the auxiliaries division. Geary tried to salve the pride of those ships by officially designating them a close support escort force for the auxiliaries, but he feared their unhappiness with being assigned to a place far from the front of any battle would breed further problems down the line. They’ll be upset, even though it’s the only decision that makes any sense. But then what about war has anything to do with making sense?
Geary closed his eyes, trying to block out the images of dying ships and their crews. His stateroom was very quiet, only the faint sounds that spoke of Dauntless being a living ship penetrating the bulkheads to provide familiar comfort. Vent fans humming as they distributed and cooled air, pumps churning as liquids went here and there, barely audible voices of members of the crew passing near, perhaps accompanied by the low rumble of a transport cart. For how many centuries had sailors heard those sounds around them? Before that there had been the creaking of wood and rigging on ships that used sails to carry them across planetary oceans. Ships were never completely silent, not while they lived.
“Captain Geary? This is Lieutenant Iger in the intelligence section.”
He hit the comm pad to accept the call. “This is Geary. What’ve you got?”
“We’ve analyzed the communications between the survival pods from the Syndic warships we destroyed, and as far as we can tell, all of the senior officers died on their ships. None of the pods seem to contain anyone who’s trying to assert authority or coordinating activity.”
No sense in diverting any of his own ships to pick up prisoners who wouldn’t know anything useful. “Are they all still headed for the mothballed installation in this system?”
“Yes, sir,” Iger confirmed. “There’s no place else for them to go.”
“How long can they survive on what’s in the pods and whatever’s at that base?” So far, the Alliance fleet had found either emergency rations or simply food abandoned in place, frozen on airless worlds, at every derelict Syndic facility they’d examined.
“The pods contain enough provisions for a couple of weeks, assuming they’re all full of survivors. They can stretch that, of course. Even if most of the ships were supposed to stay here to see if we showed up, Syndic procedure is to send a courier ship to report mission completion, in this case laying the minefields. When the enemy leaders in the nearby systems don’t hear from the warships in Daiquon, they’ll send someone to check on them. There may already be a ship on the way.”
“Okay. Thanks.” No sense in diverting a ship to pick up any pods containing Syndic sailors. He could make sure this fleet sent a message to the Syndic authorities on the inhabited world in Ixion Star System when they got there, ensuring the Syndics knew they had people awaiting rescue here.
Geary tried to drop back into his reverie, but an instant later his hatch alert chimed. “Come in,” Geary called resignedly without opening his eyes.
After a short interval, he heard a dry voice. “Congratulations on another victory.”
Geary’s eyes shot open. Victoria Rione stood in the entry. As she saw him gaze at her, she stepped inside, the hatch sealing in her wake, and came to sit across from Geary. Unlike Desjani, Rione leaned back, almost casual, but in the manner of a cat who could spring at any moment. “What’s the occasion?” Geary asked.
“I told you. I came to congratulate you.”
“Like hell.” Geary gestured angrily. “You’ve spent weeks avoiding me. Why’d you decide to finally show up here again?”
Rione looked away. “I have my reasons. We lost a ship from the Callas Republic in that battle you just fought.”
“I know. Glacis. I’m sorry. We lost about half of her crew but were able to rescue the rest. The survivors were distributed among other ships from the Callas Republic.”
“Thank you.” Rione’s jaw clenched. “I should have seen to that myself. It’s my responsibility.”
“No, it’s mine, as fleet commander, but I would have welcomed your assistance in the matter. And, to put it bluntly, Madam Co-President, the ships of the Callas Republic are wondering why you haven’t been in closer contact with them.”
“I have my reasons,” Rione repeated after a long moment of silence.
“You could share them,” Geary suggested. “Didn’t you once advise me to talk about my problems?”
“Did I? Have you been lonely?” she added abruptly.
“I missed you, yes.”
“I’m not the only woman on this ship, Captain Geary.”
“You’re the only one I can touch,” Geary replied sharply. “You know that. Everyone else in this fleet works for me.”
She gazed at him, her feelings hidden as usual. “You had no one else to talk to?”
“A few times. Captain Duellos. Captain Desjani.”
“Oh?” It was still impossible to tell what Rione was feeling. “Captain Desjani? Did you discuss various ways to slaughter Syndics?”
That almost sounded like Rione’s old, acerbic teasing. Geary weighed his response, then decided to be open about it. “Mostly just operational things, yes. But we did talk about Kosatka once. I told her I’d like to visit there when we get back.”
Rione raised one eyebrow.
“Why not? It’s a nice place. Maybe I couldn’t stay there, but I’d like to see it again.”
“It’s changed, Captain Geary.”
“That’s what Desjani said.” Geary shrugged. “Maybe I want to see how it’s changed, to help me absorb the fact that a century has passed since I last was there.”
“You’d scarcely be allowed to wander around, you know.” Rione twisted her mouth. “Black Jack would be mobbed.”
