about this. I’m worried. This lunge toward Alliance space has gone far smoother than we had any right to expect. You’re surprised, too, aren’t you? Thank you for admitting that. There’s a fine line between the confidence needed to command this fleet effectively and the overconfidence that will doom it.”
There wasn’t any trace of mockery or anger in her now that Geary could see, so he responded in the same reasonable tones. “I understand that. I know I need someone whom I trust second-guessing me.”
“Someone who knows you’re human,” Rione emphasized.
“I know I’m not what people think Black Jack is.”
“I realize that. But…” This time Rione frowned. “Are you jealous of him?”
That came as a total surprise. “What?”
“Are you jealous of Black Jack? The great hero who can win any battle? Do you want to prove you could be just as good as him?”
“No! That’s ridiculous!”
“Is it?” Rione just watched Geary for a few seconds. “Many of your most devoted followers, even certain captains, idolize Black Jack and not necessarily you. Any human would find that frustrating.”
“Certain captains know who I am by now.” But Geary couldn’t help wondering. He did get angry when Black Jack came up, almost as if the myth were a rival to the real man. “I don’t think I’m trying to prove anything.”
“Thank you for qualifying your statement. All I can ask is that you be aware of the fact that envy of Black Jack might skew your thinking.” Rione shook her head. “I still think this dash toward Alliance space was a dangerous thing to do. It worked out this far, but it’s left us at Ixion with the Syndics drawing in again. And I wonder if you did it in part because it’s what Black Jack would have done.”
Maybe he had. After all, the fleet’s captains had been restive again, wanting to see progress in getting home, wanting to do something not necessarily cautious but courageous. He’d known that, and he’d given them what they wanted. “I can’t ignore what the fleet’s officers expect and want. You know that.”
“I do. But what they need is thoughtful, sensible Captain John Geary, not heroic Black Jack.” She stepped back. “Think about what I said. Now, I need to catch up on how the ships of the Callas Republic are doing. I’ll see you tonight, if all is quiet.”
“Okay.” He watched her go, then turned back to his own stateroom. Have I been trying to outdo or match Black Jack? No. Aggravating as it is dealing with that legend, it has also given me the leverage I need to get the fleet this far. It’s not about me trying to outguess Black Jack. No, I’ve been trying to outguess the Syndics since I ended up in command of this fleet. Now the Syndics have seen enough of what I’m doing to try to outguess how I’m outguessing them. How do I outguess myself and the Syndics at the same time?
I need to talk to someone else. Who? Duellos, Tulev, Cresida, they’d all have good advice, but it would be the advice of officers trained to think in patterns the Syndics are familiar with. Rione is a very sharp politician, but when it comes to decisions about the fleet, she’s got limitations. Desjani…Rione was right. Tanya Desjani doesn’t think my decisions can be wrong.
Who else is there? I can’t exactly ask my opponents in the fleet for their advice, not that I’d respect advice from people like Midea, Casia, Numos, or Faresa.
Or Falco.
Falco.
Rione would scream bloody murder.
But I wonder what Falco would advise. The man’s a fool and insane, but…if I’m looking for an opinion totally different from what I would normally do…
SEVEN
“HOW’S Captain Falco doing?” Geary asked in a professionally brisk tone with an undercurrent of concern for a fellow officer in the fleet. He didn’t want anyone saying that they’d heard him mocking Falco.
The fleet doctor on the screen frowned slightly. “He’s happy.”
Which could only mean that Falco remained completely delusional. If he had any idea that he was under arrest instead of being in command of the fleet, Falco would be furious. “Is he being treated?”
“He’s being kept stable,” the doctor replied. “Those are our orders and the usual procedure when a next of kin can’t be contacted for a decision on further treatment. We’re keeping the condition from worsening, and we’re ensuring he doesn’t turn violent or self-harming. He spends most of his time developing campaign plans and seeing to the administrative needs of a virtual fleet he can access.”
“The last time I checked, the fleet doctors were still running tests and evaluating Captain Falco. Can you tell me now whether or not he can be cured?” Geary asked, not sure whether he really wanted to know the answer.
“Hold on while I review his record.” The doctor’s image vanished, replaced by a screen holder portraying fleet doctors at work. Geary tried not to get upset with the doctor’s attitude, recognizing the same kinds of behavior toward laypeople that doctors had used in Geary’s time a century earlier and had probably been using for quite a few millennia before that.
Finally the doctor’s image reappeared. “A cure is possible. Probable, I’d say. Of part of the condition,” the doctor amended. “We could reduce the delusions substantially, but from my review of Captain Falco’s records and history, he was already suffering from a long-term ailment before being committed to my care. That condition probably has become habitual for him and merely correcting physical problems and near-term stress-related reality avoidance wouldn’t change Captain Falco’s well-established thought patterns.”
“A long-term ailment? You mean something that Captain Falco developed while he was a prisoner of the Syndics?”
“No, no,” the doctor corrected in the slightly annoyed way his profession had of dealing with the nondoctor parts of humanity who attempted to grasp the secrets of medicine. “Long-term. Even prior to his capture by the Syndicate Worlds, Captain Falco obviously suffered from a condition in which he believed himself uniquely capable and qualified to command the Alliance fleet and win the war for the Alliance. It’s more common than you might realize,” the doctor lectured, apparently having forgotten that he was speaking to the fleet commander.
“Really?” Geary asked.
“Oh, yes. The condition was common enough to be given a name several decades ago.”
“A name?”
“Certainly! It’s called a Geary Complex.” The doctor paused, frowned, then gave Geary a close look. “That’s you, isn’t it?”
“The last time I checked,” Geary replied, wondering just how many officers in the fleet had suffered from a Geary Complex over the last century of war.
The doctor nodded thoughtfully, eyeing Geary as if expecting him to start raving at any moment. “Well, then, you should know exactly what I’m talking about.”
Geary started to laugh, then hesitated. He could imagine what Victoria Rione would be saying right now, and she’d be partly right. He did believe that he was best suited to command this fleet. But that was because his legend could be used to keep the fleet together and the training he’d brought with him from the past could win victories. It wasn’t based on any exaggerated ideas of his abilities, on any belief that he alone could command the fleet to victory. And it wasn’t about trying to match the legend of Black Jack.
I’m nothing like Falco, and don’t want to be like Falco. The differences between us are why I want to talk to Falco.
He ended up shrugging. “Maybe, Doctor. But I don’t really want to command this fleet. I don’t have any choice. I’m the senior officer and have a duty to perform.”
The doctor nodded in the manner of someone humoring a patient. “Naturally. They all say variations on that. Their duty. They have a responsibility to save the Alliance. And so forth.”
Geary sighed, not enjoying the too-close-for-comfort conversation. “I have a responsibility to save lives, Doctor, and if you look up seniority information in the fleet database, you’ll see that I’m the most senior captain in the fleet by a very wide margin.” He’d been promoted to captain a hundred years ago. Posthumously promoted since he was believed dead at Grendel, but the fleet regulations didn’t worry about that. Once he showed up alive,
