The Lost Fleet: Outlands - Implacable E-Book

Jack Campbell

• Herausgeber: Titan Books
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Seitenzahl: 536

Beschreibung

Admiral John "Black Jack" Geary fears the greatest threat to humanity may be itself in this gripping continuation of the New York Times bestselling series. As far from explored space as any human has ever been, Geary and the Alliance fleet are on their own, protecting a diplomatic mission in territory belonging to an alien species with still-unknown motives. His already complex and dangerous mission is further imperiled by deadly challenges from other human factions seeking to harm or exploit the aliens. When another alien species whose technology is far more advanced than humanity's arrives, the stakes are raised to the highest possible level.Only the most serious danger comes from an unexpected source. When presented with orders to carry out actions he believes not only are mistaken but would be contrary to the ideals of the Alliance, Geary has to finally decide whether he must invoke the power that his long-revered name holds, all the while knowing that this might endanger his entire fleet, tear apart the Alliance, and destroy everything he has fought for.

Leseprobe

Contents

Cover

Also by Jack Campbell and Available from Titan Books

Title Page

Leave us a Review

Copyright

Dedication

The First Fleet of the Alliance

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

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18

Acknowledgments

ALSO BY JACK CAMPBELLAND AVAILABLE FROM TITAN BOOKS

THE LOST FLEET SERIES

Dauntless

Fearless

Courageous

Valiant

Relentless

Victorious

Beyond the Frontier: Dreadnaught

Beyond the Frontier: Invincible

Beyond the Frontier: Guardian

Beyond the Frontier: Steadfast

Beyond the Frontier: Leviathan

Outlands: Boundless

Outlands: Resolute

THE LOST STARS SERIES:

Tarnished Knight

Perilous Shield

Imperfect Sword

Shattered Spear

THE GENESIS FLEET SERIES

Vanguard

Ascendant

Triumphant

THE STARK’S WAR SERIES (as John G. Hemry)

Stark’s War

Stark’s Command

Stark’s Crusade

JAG IN SPACE (as John G. Hemry)

A Just Determination

Burden of Proof

Rule of Evidence

Against All Enemies

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The Lost Fleet: Outlands – Implacable

Print edition ISBN: 9781789096187

E-book edition ISBN: 9781789096781

Published by Titan Books

A division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd

144 Southwark Street, London, SE1 0UP

www.titanbooks.com

First edition: July 2023

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Names, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead (except for satirical purposes), is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2023 John G. Hemry writing as Jack Campbell.

The right of John G. Hemry to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

To Simcha Kuritzky

“To be a mensch is to be supportive. To be a friend,to be calm in troubled times. To support others.”—THEHONORABLE MICHAEL KIRBY AC CMG,FORMER JUSTICE OF THE HIGH COURT OF AUSTRALIA

For S., as always

THE FIRST FLEET OF THE ALLIANCE

Admiral John Geary, Commanding

FIRST BATTLESHIP DIVISION

SECOND BATTLESHIP DIVISION

Gallant

Dreadnaught

Indomitable

Fearless

Glorious

Dependable

Magnificent

Conqueror

THIRD BATTLESHIP DIVISION

FOURTH BATTLESHIP DIVISION

Warspite

Colossus

Vengeance

Encroach

Resolution

Redoubtable

Guardian

Spartan

FIFTH BATTLESHIP DIVISION

Relentless

Reprisal

Superb

Splendid

FIRST BATTLE CRUISER DIVISION

SECOND BATTLE CRUISER DIVISION

Inspire

Dauntless

Formidable

Daring

Dragon

Victorious

Steadfast

Intemperate

THIRD BATTLE CRUISER DIVISION

Illustrious

Incredible

Valiant

FIFTH ASSAULT TRANSPORT DIVISION

Tsunami

Typhoon

Mistral

Haboob

FIRST AUXILIARIES DIVISION

SECOND AUXILIARIES DIVISION

Titan

Witch

Tanuki

Jinn

Kupua

Alchemist

Domovoi

Cyclops

TWENTY-SIX HEAVY CRUISERS IN FIVE DIVISIONS

First Heavy Cruiser Division

Third Heavy Cruiser Division

Fourth Heavy Cruiser Division

Fifth Heavy Cruiser Division

Eighth Heavy Cruiser Division

FIFTY-ONE LIGHT CRUISERS IN TEN SQUADRONS

First Light Cruiser Squadron

Second Light Cruiser Squadron

Third Light Cruiser Squadron

Fifth Light Cruiser Squadron

Sixth Light Cruiser Squadron

Eighth Light Cruiser Squadron

Ninth Light Cruiser Squadron

Tenth Light Cruiser Squadron

Eleventh Light Cruiser Squadron

Fourteenth Light Cruiser Squadron

ONE HUNDRED FORTY-ONE DESTROYERS IN EIGHTEEN SQUADRONS

First Destroyer Squadron

Second Destroyer Squadron

Third Destroyer Squadron

Fourth Destroyer Squadron

Sixth Destroyer Squadron

Seventh Destroyer Squadron

Ninth Destroyer Squadron

Tenth Destroyer Squadron

Twelfth Destroyer Squadron

Fourteenth Destroyer Squadron

Sixteenth Destroyer Squadron

Seventeenth Destroyer Squadron

Twentieth Destroyer Squadron

Twenty-first Destroyer Squadron

Twenty-third Destroyer Squadron

Twenty-seventh Destroyer Squadron

Twenty-eighth Destroyer Squadron

Thirty-second Destroyer Squadron

FIRST FLEET MARINE FORCE

Major General Carabali, commanding

3,000 Marines on assault transports and divided into detachments on battle cruisers and battleships

EVERYTHING HAD GONE VERY smoothly for the last week.

As urgent alerts sounded throughout the Alliance battle cruiser Dauntless, Admiral John “Black Jack” Geary belatedly realized that should have worried him.

The Alliance fleet he commanded was, after all, orbiting in a star system controlled by an alien species, and was as far from human-controlled space as anyone had ever been. At least, as far as was known any humans had ever been. The aliens humanity called Dancers (because of the graceful maneuvers of their spacecraft) had finally provided a copy of a star chart showing how many other intelligent species the Dancers had made contact with, and the star systems they controlled. Humanity while pushing down the galactic arm had unknowingly been bumping up against space already claimed by other species. The Dancers seemed friendly, though their motives and much else about them remained unknown. But other alien species, such as the mysterious enigmas and the ruthless Kicks, had responded to human contact with murderous violence.

Which was why the Alliance had sent Geary and the fleet he commanded to escort a diplomatic mission to the Dancers. And why, even though the fleet was in a supposedly safe Dancer-controlled star system, alarms warning of danger shouldn’t be a surprise.

But as Geary walked quickly onto the bridge (because seeing the admiral running could create panic in even the steadiest sailors) and dropped down into the fleet commander’s seat, he still stared in disbelief for a moment before he could speak. “Syndics? Here?”

“Syndics. Here,” Captain Tanya Desjani confirmed. She was in the ship commander’s seat next to Geary’s, studying her display as she sized up the new arrivals. “And they have Dancer escorts.”

“The Syndics couldn’t have gotten here without Dancer escorts. But why did the Dancers bring them here instead of telling them to go home? The Dancers know what Syndics are like.” The Syndicate Worlds, a corporate-run human empire, had been falling apart in rebellion and revolt since finally losing a century-long war with the Alliance. The Syndics could still muster the resources of scores of star systems, but with so much of those engaged in internal warfare, the Syndicate Worlds no longer had the ability to field a fleet to match that of the Alliance.

Desjani sat back in her seat, frowning. “A half-dozen battle cruisers, ten heavy cruisers, and twenty-three Hunter-Killers. It’s impressive that the Syndics managed to commit a force like that to coming here, but that’s a very light force to fight your way through enigma space with. I’m surprised they made it. Maybe they took serious losses while crossing enigma-controlled star systems.”

Geary shook his head, frowning as well. The enigmas, obsessed with their privacy, assaulted every human force that tried to enter space controlled by them, and had attacked human-controlled star systems as well. Most recently they had wiped out an attempt by a small group of ships from the Rift Federation to reach Dancer space without Alliance help. “I could believe serious losses, but I’m not seeing any signs of battle damage on any of the Syndic ships that made it here.”

“Lieutenant Yuon?” Captain Desjani called to one of the bridge watch standers.

“Yes, Captain,” Yuon responded as he studied the display before his watch station. “The fleet’s sensors see some hull repairs on two of the battle cruisers, but it’s the sort of work that the Syndics only do in space docks. There are no other external signs of combat damage on any of the Syndic warships.”

“They got through enigma space without sustaining any combat damage? That rules out a big fight with the enigmas. How did they manage getting through unscathed with so small a force?” Geary wondered.

“Maybe they just got lucky,” Desjani said. “We did inflict a lot of losses on the enigmas on our way here. It’s possible at the moment the enigmas couldn’t muster enough ships to deal with a Syndic force even that small.”

“We have an incoming message from the Syndics, Admiral,” the communications watch reported.

“Maybe they’ll tell us how they did it,” Geary said. Not that he was looking forward to discussions with a Syndic CEO. “Accept the message. We might as well get this over with.”

The hypernet gate that the Syndic warships and their Dancer escorts had arrived at was four and a half light hours from the star, a distance of nearly five billion kilometers. That meant it had taken nearly four and a half hours for the light showing their arrival to reach Geary’s fleet where it orbited near a Dancer-inhabited planet. A message sent by the Syndics when they arrived required the same amount of time to cross that immense distance. When measured against the size of space, even light itself felt slow, but at least the Syndics had sent a message almost as soon as they arrived here, rather than arrogantly waiting for the Alliance ships to acknowledge them first.

An image appeared on the bridge displays, showing a woman wearing the immaculately tailored suit of a Syndicate Worlds CEO. Her hair wasn’t simply finely styled as usual, though, but looked as if it had been obsessively worked into rigidity. And the CEO’s face . . .

“What’s wrong with her eyes?” Captain Desjani wondered. “Is it just me that thinks something isn’t right there?”

“Something’s wrong, and not just with her eyes,” Geary said. The eyes were too bright, held wide open, in a face drawn tight with either tension or excitement. “Is she an avatar rather than a real human?”

“It doesn’t feel like an avatar,” Desjani said. To hide their real appearance, the enigmas always used human-appearing avatars when communicating with humans. But humans could sense the so-called uncanny valley in such avatars, the feeling that something was fundamentally wrong with the “person” they were seeing even if they couldn’t pinpoint just what that was. “And the Syndics don’t use avatars. Their CEOs always want to put their faces out there.”

The woman had begun speaking, her voice as tight as her expression, her words coming very quickly. “This is CEO Sara Okimoto Gardonyi of the Syndicate Worlds. We are here to negotiate exclusive deals with the Arachno Lupin species. Any interference or attempts to negotiate your own deals are forbidden and will be met with all the force at my command. You are ordered to depart this star system and Arachno Lupin-controlled space. For the people Gardonyi out.” The ending words, often rushed by Syndic executives who didn’t really believe the phrase “for the people,” were this time spoken so fast they seemed to form a single word.

Desjani gazed at her display in disbelief. “All the force at her command? She’s got six battle cruisers. We’ve got eleven, plus twenty battleships. Why would she make a threat like that against those odds?”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Geary agreed. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Maybe she’s riding on Up patches,” Desjani suggested, referring to the drugs that could keep people awake and alert for long periods, though at an eventual price. “For about a week from how quickly she was talking.”

“The snakes wouldn’t allow that.”

Geary looked toward the back of the bridge. Kommodor Bradamont had arrived and was standing by the observer’s seat, gazing in bafflement at the lingering image of the Syndic CEO. “Syndicate Worlds Internal Security?” he asked her.

“Yes, Admiral.” Bradamont shook her head. “That CEO is clearly not thinking straight. The Syndicate allows some eccentricity in the highest ranks, but not something like that. The snakes aboard her flagship should have already taken her out, either temporarily or permanently. That’s how the Syndicate does business.”

Bradamont would know. Originally an Alliance fleet officer, she’d joined the fleet of Midway, a star system that had rebelled from the Syndicate Worlds and retained plenty of knowledge of how the Syndics worked.

But someone else aboard this ship had even better inside knowledge, borne of having survived that system on the inside. “Could you get Colonel Rogero’s take on this?” Geary asked.

“Certainly, Admiral,” Bradamont said. She and Rogero had both been sent along on this mission by Midway, and while Midway was technically only “associated” with the Alliance, it was in everyone’s interest for the mission to do as well as possible.

Captain Desjani glanced at Geary. “Since I made an untrained medical assessment of that CEO, maybe we should ask for a trained opinion.”

“We should,” Geary agreed. “I’ll be interested to see what Dr. Nasr thinks of her.” He tapped a command to forward the message to Dauntless’s chief medical officer.

Colonel Rogero (formerly Executive Rogero of the Syndicate Worlds ground forces) arrived on the bridge a minute later, frowning. “Syndicate CEO protocol demands a calm demeanor and a superior attitude. I’ve seen CEOs on the verge of breakdowns whose behavior resembled this, because they knew it was only a matter of time before the hammer fell on them. But CEOs with that kind of short future are not tasked with missions of this nature. The Syndicate takes care to choose people they believe they can count on in command of such missions.”

“Then why haven’t the snakes taken her out?” Bradamont asked.

“I have no idea.” Rogero shook his head. “Something this obvious should have caused the snakes aboard that ship to intervene already and remove her from command. They would arrest and execute someone on far less serious grounds than that. The sub-CEOs and executives in that Syndicate force might be reluctant to act against their CEO, but the snakes would be merciless.”

An urgent tone alerted Geary to an incoming call. Seeing it was from Dr. Nasr, he accepted it immediately, causing the doctor’s image to appear before him.

“The Syndic CEO’s appearance is not typical. I believe I have identified the reason for this,” Dr. Nasr said, plainly unhappy. “I ran a copy of the CEO’s message through our diagnostic system and to my surprise the diagnosis referenced old records of early experiments on the impact of prolonged time in jump space on humans. Our medical systems say this Syndic CEO’s appearance and behavior match a number of mental and emotional afflictions. Given the circumstances that she has just arrived at this star, the medical analysis systems suggest we consider what was known as Severe Jump Space Syndrome.”

“The Syndics were in jump space for a prolonged time?” Geary asked, startled. Stories still circulated through the fleet about those early experiments, which had discovered in sometimes horrific ways that prolonged time in jump space had increasingly severe impacts on the human mind. Even though the much newer hypernet gates offered faster-than-light travel between stars without the discomfort and dangers of jump space, many star systems still lacked the expensive gates and could only be reached through the old-fashioned jump drives. “But the route to Dancer-controlled space only requires jumps well within human tolerance. Why would the Syndics have needed prolonged jumps to reach here?”

“I do not know, Admiral. I’m a doctor, not a fleet navigator.”

“True enough,” Geary said. “Captain Desjani, see if your people can figure out how the Syndics could have reached Dancer space in a way that required prolonged time in jump space. All right, Doctor, here’s something you should be able to tell me. How badly does this Severe Jump Space Syndrome affect individuals? I know what horror stories say. What did the experiments show?”

“They did not show Jump Zombies or Jump Vampires or Jump Demons,” Dr. Nasr said, nearly rolling his eyes at the most common of the jump monster stereotypes. “What they did show was an increase in the mental and physical discomfort that grew with every additional day in jump.” He gazed over at something he was reading. “Not a linear increase. An exponential increase.”

“You’re talking about things like that feeling your skin doesn’t fit right anymore?” Geary asked.

“Worse,” Nasr replied. “Mental and emotional instability, described as detachment from a typical sense of normality. To put it another way, the test subjects showed a tendency to lose their grip on what we call reality, resulting in decisions and actions divorced from any sense of real consequences.”

“I’ve known people like that who’d never been in jump space,” Desjani said.

“Typically,” Dr. Nasr added, “the syndrome impacted individuals for anywhere from one to six standard months.”

“Ancestors save us,” Geary said. “So what you’re telling me, Doctor, is that if this is Severe Jump Space Syndrome, then that Syndic CEO we’re dealing with isn’t just the usual cynical, truth-challenged, and untrustworthy Syndic. They’re also, for want of better words, temporarily insane.”

“For one to six standard months following their latest exit from jump space,” Dr. Nasr said, nodding. “The old testing never identified a way of determining why some individuals recovered sooner and others required more time. That means we cannot predict how many weeks that Syndic CEO, in particular, will require to recover.”

“In particular?”

“Every Syndic on those ships would have also been exposed to jump space for a longer-than-safe period,” Nasr pointed out.

“Great.” Geary rubbed his face for a moment as he thought. “Give me the worst case. What were the worst outcomes of those old experiments?”

For a moment, even normally unflappable Dr. Nasr showed a flash of revulsion. “Mutilation. Murder. Cannibalism. If you wish me to send you detailed files—”

“No. Thank you. Obviously the Syndics weren’t in jump space that long.” Geary realized he was developing a headache. “Then and now, is there any treatment?”

Dr. Nasr shrugged. “Time. One, um, interesting discovery from the old experiments was that sedating the subject caused the syndrome to last longer. Apparently the mind has to be fully functioning and aware in order to repair the damage caused by the time in jump space.”

“Wonderful. Thank you, Doctor.” Geary suppressed a sigh, wondering why Ambassador Rycerz, the Alliance’s primary representative for this mission, hadn’t already called him demanding to know why the Syndics had sent their message to him instead of to her. But as much as he’d like to pass this problem off to the diplomatic side, it was clearly a matter falling under his responsibility for the safety of the mission.

He looked around, seeing Kommodor Bradamont huddled with Lieutenants Castries and Yuon near their watch stations, Desjani monitoring their discussion from a slight distance.

Castries ran both hands through her hair in exasperation. “It doesn’t make sense. Unless . . . maybe it has something to do with how the Syndics made it past the enigmas without a fight?”

“What?” Kommodor Bradamont said, an expression of growing shock on her face. “Ancestors. That might be it. Is there a way to reach Dancer space through jump space avoiding enigma-controlled stars if the Syndics used longer jumps?”

Lieutenant Yuon was already running the courses, nodding quickly. “Yes. In theory. But it would require jumps longer than Syndic jump drives, or Alliance jump drives, are capable of safely making.”

Lieutenant Castries studied Yuon’s work. “Kommodor, didn’t the enigmas make longer jumps to attack Iwa Star System?”

“Yes,” Bradamont said. “They—” She broke off speaking, turning a bleak face toward Geary as she addressed Yuon. “Lieutenant, are your theoretical jumps within the range the enigmas must have developed to reach Iwa?”

“Uh . . . yes, Kommodor.” Yuon blinked in amazement. “The Syndics got that technology from the enigmas? How?”

“We haven’t been able to recover anything from them,” Captain Desjani said. “How would the Syndics . . . Oh, hell.” She looked at Geary. “We’ve guessed that during the war between the Alliance and the Syndics the enigmas leaked hypernet technology to both sides in order to keep the war going.”

He got it. “So maybe the enigmas have leaked their new jump capabilities to the Syndics. They knew some humans, at least, could fight their way through to the Dancers. So they’re trying to mess with our attempts to represent humanity by giving the Syndics a way to get here, too. A way that keeps humans from passing through enigma-occupied star systems.”

“I’m willing to bet it’s not just the Syndics,” Desjani said. “Hypernet tech was ‘independently’ discovered essentially simultaneously all through human-occupied space. The enigmas probably didn’t want to give any human faction any advantage over any other.”

Geary knew where she was driving with that. “Which means that longer jump drive capability, offering an apparently much safer route to Dancer space, may have become widely available after we left.”

“Everyone also has access to the results of those early jump experiments,” Kommodor Bradamont protested. “They’d know what those long jumps would do to those who undertook them.”

“That didn’t stop the Syndics,” Desjani said.

Colonel Rogero, quiet for some time, spoke up again. “The Syndicate always officially claimed that its leaders were literally superior humans. They were leaders because they were superior. And since every citizen of the Syndicate had grown up under the Syndicate’s rules, all of them were automatically stronger and better than anyone from a weak, disorganized culture like that of the worlds of the Alliance.”

Bradamont nodded slowly. “The Syndicate’s leaders would have told themselves that their people could endure things the people in the early experiments couldn’t.”

“Just so.”

“The snakes must be crazy, too. I mean, even crazier than usual. Why haven’t they killed everyone?”

Rogero paused to think. “Habit,” he finally said. “Syndicate rules and regulations are rigid for all but CEOs. Even the snakes are only supposed to execute offenders using certain procedures when possible. Would this severe syndrome exaggerate fears? If so, anyone thinking they should do something different might be paralyzed with worry.” His lips twisted in a dark sort of smile. “If I had the actions on my conscience that the average snake does, I would certainly be afraid to be called to account for any of them.”

Desjani shook her head at Geary. “This looks like a real mess. When do we answer Crazy Syndic CEO? Even if the Syndics ramp up their speed we’ve got at least a couple of days before they can get within weapons range of us.”

“I’ll talk to the ambassador,” Geary said. “And one other person.” He touched an internal communications command. “General Charban? We have another problem. The Dancers just escorted a Syndic flotilla here. According to our doctors, the Syndics are likely all temporarily insane. Could you and your people please ask the Dancers why they escorted an armed force of insane Syndics here?”

Charban’s image gazed back at Geary, his expression that of someone who could no longer be surprised by whatever absurdity the universe decided to produce next. “I’ll see what I can do, Admiral. You know the Dancers aren’t always forthcoming about their reasons for doing things. May I ask why the Syndics are temporarily insane?”

“Extended-length jumps to reach Dancer space while avoiding the enigmas,” Geary said. “They may be the first of many temporarily insane human visitors to Dancer space.”

“Of course. I thought things were going too well.” Charban offered a half-serious thumbs-up. “We’ll get right on it, Admiral.”

“Thanks.” That call ended, Geary stood up. “I need to call the ambassador. I probably ought to do that from my stateroom.”

“Good idea,” Captain Desjani said.

*   *   *

HIS STATEROOM WASN’T HUGE or luxurious, but it was private. Geary activated the security features before sitting at his desk to make his call.

Ambassador Rycerz was aboard the converted cruise liner Boundless orbiting less than a light second from Dauntless, where it was serving as the diplomatic base for this mission to the Dancers. Since Rycerz answered immediately she must have already been informed of the arrival of the Syndics and been awaiting Geary’s call. “What’s going on, Admiral? Why did the Syndics direct their message to you instead of to me?”

Something about her attitude made him want to start with it’s not my fault, but Geary instead explained what had been learned and guessed about the new arrivals. Not happy himself with the situation, he got some satisfaction from seeing the growing distress on the ambassador’s face. “That’s what we have so far,” he finished. “I have not yet replied to the Syndic ultimatum.”

“There’s only one possible reply,” Rycerz said. “We’re here at the invitation of the Dancers. Only the Dancers can tell us to leave. And the Syndics have absolutely no authority or legal standing to demand that we make no arrangements or agreements with the Dancers. But there are different ways to phrase that reply. I’ll consult with my staff on the best wording.” She paused. “I know this is a security matter, and under your responsibilities, but I’m sure you understand there’s a strong diplomatic element as well.”

“I do,” Geary said. “The Syndics were still accelerating in the latest light to reach us from them, but if they are constrained by the velocity of their Dancer escorts it will take them close to two days to reach us. We need to try to defuse the situation before then.”

Ambassador Rycerz nodded wearily. “Defusing an unstable explosive is more challenging than the usual crisis.”

“I need to emphasize that while a rational opponent would not attack us given our large superiority in numbers and firepower, the Syndic flotilla’s leaders are not currently rational. I can’t rule out an attack on us if we don’t do as they say.”

“We cannot do what they say!”

“I agree. But that may mean a nasty fight inside a Dancer-inhabited star system,” Geary said. “Knowing that everyone on their ships is likely irrational, if the Syndics attack I’ll have to do my best to completely destroy their flotilla.”

“Oh, that’ll look good to the Dancers.” Rycerz sat back, grimacing. “But you’re certain of victory if it comes to that?”

“As certain as such things can be,” Geary said, remembering all the things that could go wrong in any battle. “What I don’t know is what the cost of victory would be. How many ships damaged, whether we’d lose some ships, including potentially battle cruisers, and how many of our sailors might die fighting a completely senseless battle.”

“Fair enough,” Rycerz said in a low voice, avoiding Geary’s gaze. “We have no wish to pay such a price in a battle we don’t want.” She clenched a fist and thumped it on her desk. “Why did the Dancers set this up to happen?”

“Maybe they consider it a human problem.”

“Or maybe they want to have front-row seats to a human battle, as if we were gladiators. There are people all too willing to believe that sort of thing of the Dancers.” Rycerz didn’t continue for a moment, covering her face with one hand. Finally, she lowered the hand, giving Geary a frank look. “This moment was bound to come, though we hoped it wouldn’t be for a long time. Not everyone in human space wants the Alliance government to be the sole point of contact with any alien species. My instructions are to make a deal as soon as possible.” She sighed heavily. “Unfortunately, the Dancers haven’t been willing to act quickly.”

Geary nodded in sympathy. He was all-too-well acquainted with situations where the best intentions were sabotaged by reality. He and the ambassador had different responsibilities but dealt with the same sort of uncertainties and problems. “What are your instructions from the government if another human faction showed up before we completed any deals with the Dancers?”

Ambassador Rycerz smiled. “I reviewed them while I was waiting for your call. Stripped of diplomatic phrasing, my instructions come down to ‘let’s hope that doesn’t happen, and if it does, get your job done anyway.’”

“Your superiors and mine sometimes seem to have a lot in common,” Geary said. “Is there anything new from the Dancer side?”

“No.” Rycerz let her exasperation show. “After they provided us with that star chart we thought there’d been a breakthrough. But since then we seem back to the old delay and noncommittal situation. If we could only figure out what the Dancers want we might finally make some progress, but we can still only guess why they offered us the star chart.”

“That gesture came right after my portion of the fleet returned from the Taon star,” Geary said. “Maybe the fact that we avoided getting involved in the Taon internal wars pleased the Dancers.”

“Maybe.” Rycerz waved off the possibility. “Right now I need to focus on convincing a crazy Syndic CEO not to commit ugly suicide in front of the Dancers by attacking us.”

“Do you want me to respond in any way to the Syndic message to me?”

“No. I’ll handle that. We don’t want anyone back in human-controlled space claiming the Alliance fleet engineered an unnecessary fight for the glory of an easy victory.” She looked down at her desk, her expression growing thoughtful. “Is this a test? Are the Dancers deliberately trying to see how we handle a mess like this?”

“Maybe General Charban will get an answer out of the Dancers that explains something.”

“I won’t be holding my breath on that.”

GEARY SAT IN HIS STATEROOM, frowning at his display. There were a lot of things to do, a lot of orders to give and decisions to make, as always, even when not facing a potential battle within the next two days. One lingering problem was what to do with Captains Pelleas and Burdock and Commander Cui, former commanding officers of, respectively, the battleships Gallant, Encroach, and Magnificent. That was technically an easy problem since the penalty for mutiny was death by firing squad. But both Pelleas and Cui had served valiantly and were popular among the fleet, and much of the evidence was indirect. Until he could prove their connection to the murder of one of Dauntless’s sailors and the attempted murder of himself, he wanted to hold off on the firing squads.

So Geary stayed quiet, gazing at the three-dimensional depiction of the Alliance fleet that floated over his desk. Over three hundred warships, ranging from the small and sleek barracuda-like destroyers to the massive, swift sharks of the battle cruisers, and the even more massive and deadly killer whale shapes of the battleships. None of the ships were designed to go into atmospheres so their shapes had nothing to do with streamlining. Instead they reflected engineering realities, that sharp edges and corners attracted stress and cracked, whereas curves distributed that stress, and secondarily that curved shapes were more likely to deflect a hit than a flat one or corners aptly called “shot traps” by ship designers.

Even with this many ships, the fleet was much diminished from what it had been near the end of the century-long war with the Syndicate Worlds. It had taken terrible losses just before Geary found himself thrust into command, and smaller but painful losses in every battle since then as he brought the fleet home against all odds and finally forced the apparently endless war to an end.

But the formation of warships, arranged in a lattice resembling a huge box as it orbited, was still significantly larger than Geary had known a century ago.

His eyes went to one of the heavy cruisers, the display detecting his focus and automatically zooming in on the ship as detailed information popped up. Sapphire. Commanding Officer Commander Sean Eric Boudreaux. All systems operational. Crew status ninety-six percent, all critical skill requirements met.

He’d been in command of a heavy cruiser on that day now more than a hundred years gone. Merlon. Caught in a one-sided fight, buying time for other Alliance ships to escape the Syndic surprise attack that started the war. To everyone else in the fleet that fight was long-ago history. To him, presumed dead, frozen in survival sleep in a damaged escape pod for more than ninety-nine years, it still felt like yesterday. And to nearly everyone else in the fleet, born and raised during the war, Geary was a legendary commander, the greatest commander ever, his reputation elevated to suit the needs of a wartime government desperate for heroes to inspire its people as the war dragged on for decade after decade. He knew none of the legends about him were true, but these people who were the descendants of those he’d grown up with had needed their hero, so he’d done his best.

Fortunately, some of them knew he was human. Without that, the burden would have long ago overwhelmed him.

“Admiral?”

Geary looked over to see Captain Tanya Desjani at the door to his stateroom. “Captain?”

“I just dropped by to see if you needed to discuss anything,” she said, coming inside the stateroom but leaving the door open as usual.

He weighed talking about his moody thoughts but decided against it. “How do you recommend we handle the Syndics if they come at us?”

She made a face. “We want it to be obvious they attacked and we defended, right? And we have an overpowering advantage that we should use. You know that Syndic CEO is going to target this ship, right?”

“Because?” Geary said, already knowing the answer. “It’d make more sense to go after Boundless, to cripple our diplomatic mission, or the fast fleet auxiliaries to force this fleet to head home sooner than planned when our supplies got low.”

“It would,” Desjani agreed. “Under normal circumstances, I’d list both as primary targets. But this isn’t normal because that Syndic CEO isn’t rational. She’s going to be thinking what a huge hero she’d be if she was the one to finally kill the legendary Black Jack Geary, about the rewards and honors that would shower on her when she returned to Syndic space.” She laughed. “Of course, there’s as close to a hundred percent chance as it gets that the CEO will die before her ship gets within range of Dauntless, but that’s what a rational person would worry about.

“Rearrange our current box with Dauntless near the back, the auxiliaries and Boundless behind her. Arrange all of the battleships in a matrix the Syndics will have to face, with the rest of the fleet arrayed to hit the Syndics from all sides as they make their approach.” Desjani shook her head. “Nothing living will get through that.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Geary said. “If the Syndics veer onto another vector to hit us from a different angle we can pivot the box to keep the kill zone centered on their approach. But I was also thinking it’d be a good idea to form the battle cruisers, except for Dauntless, into two separate formations that can react to anything else the Syndics do.”

Desjani nodded. “I concur. This could be a one-pass, total-annihilation battle if the Syndics do what’s expected. If they don’t, those two battle cruiser formations will be insurance to keep the Syndics from running amok.”

Geary raised one eyebrow at her. “You’re unusually calm about proposing a battle in which Dauntless will likely not strike a blow, let alone get any Syndic ship kills.”

This time she shook her head. “You know I like blowing up stuff, the bigger the better. And I like a good fight. This, though, is going to be a one-sided slaughter over nothing. There’s no joy in that. My ancestors will understand why I have to participate, but I doubt they’d be pleased if I was gleeful about it.”

“No. I don’t think they would be.”

Desjani tilted her head slightly as she studied him, one hand reaching across to touch the wedding ring on her other hand. It was their way of communicating when discussions could get personal. “Are you okay, Jack?”

“I think so.” He managed a smile. “I could use a miracle or two, but there’s nothing unusual about that.”

“I’m all out of miracles today. Do you need to see Dr. Nasr to check if your happy meds need adjusting?”

“I probably should,” Geary said. “Happy meds,” the fleet term for various ways of treating stress and depression, had been rarely used a century ago. After a hundred years of war marked by massive losses of human life, their use had become routine to keep sailors and officers going. “It’s stupid to wish there was something else I could do to deal with this situation, but I can’t help it.”

“Maybe the Dancers could do something,” she said.

“They created this mess by bringing the Syndics here!”

“And maybe they want to see if we handle it by killing the other guys or asking for help in preventing that.”

He gave her a long look. “That’s an excellent idea. What would I do without you?”

“Hopefully you’ll never know.” Desjani lowered the hand touching her wedding ring. “You good, Admiral?”

“Yes, Captain. Thank you. I’m going to see General Charban.”

She left, but he spent a moment longer looking after her. Tanya Desjani and he had married during a short period when she wasn’t under his command. Since then, they’d maintained strictly professional attitudes on duty, and whenever they were aboard Dauntless they were both on duty. He’d kept waiting for higher-ups to complain or order the arrangement to end, but apparently his enemies were still hoping that he and Desjani would act unprofessionally and give them another avenue to attack the almost untouchable hero.

Because the ugly truth was that the legendary Black Jack could get away with almost anything if he wanted to. John Geary was determined never to give in to that temptation.

But it was always there.

*   *   *

GENERAL CHARBAN WAS RETIRED but had consented to continue serving as a liaison of sorts to the Dancers and other alien species, a task at which Geary thought Charban had proven invaluable.

When Geary reached the compartment where Charban worked, he found it occupied by every one of Charban’s motley assemblage of assistants. Lieutenant Iger, a fleet intelligence officer, had proven himself capable of crafting communications with the Dancers in the poetic formats the Dancers preferred. Lieutenant Jamenson, her naturally bright green hair a genetic-engineered legacy of proud ancestors on her home world of Eire, had a unique ability to hide information in confusing formats, which also allowed her to spot patterns in otherwise baffling collections of data. John Senn was an historian, one who had been ostracized for his entire career for seriously investigating indications of alien species having visited Old Earth or other worlds humans had settled. After the recent discovery of actual alien species, he had suddenly become the only reliable expert on such matters, which hadn’t stopped the scientists aboard Boundless from disdaining any possible input from a mere historian. He had found a home here with Charban’s group, though.

The last member of the ad hoc group was Dr. Jasmine Cresida, a brilliant physicist who had proven capable of unique insights into Dancer thinking. Geary wasn’t sure why she’d chosen to continue assisting Charban instead of returning to Boundless, where the other scientists attached to the mission resided. He was grateful for her decision, but Dr. Cresida had never hidden her dislike for Geary himself. He doubted she would ever forgive him for the death of her equally brilliant sister, Jaylen, who had been killed while under Geary’s command, while carrying out orders that Geary had given.

The two lieutenants sprang to their feet as Geary entered the compartment, the historian eyeing them as if studying the customs of an ancient society, while Dr. Cresida ignored Geary’s arrival, her eyes staying on her pad as she worked on something that would probably be incomprehensible to all but perhaps a dozen other people in all of human-occupied space.

Geary waved Iger and Jamenson back to their seats as General Charban smiled briefly in welcome. “Any word from the Dancers?”

Charban’s smile slipped. “Surprisingly, yes.” He hesitated, glancing at his assistants. “We were just debating possible alternate meanings to their answer, but it seems only one interpretation makes sense.”

“And that would be?” Geary asked.

“Stripped of poetry and rhyme, the Dancer reply comes down to saying they brought the irrational Syndics here because the behavior of the Syndics appeared to the Dancers to fall within normal parameters for human behavior.”

Geary heard someone bark a sardonic laugh and realized it was him. “The Dancers couldn’t tell the difference between humans acting crazy and humans acting human?”

General Charban shrugged. “In all fairness, even among ourselves humans often have trouble identifying the differences.”

John Senn the historian shook his head, his gaze on the table. “One of the reasons humanity looked forward to meeting intelligent aliens was because they could hold up a mirror for us, let us see how humanity was perceived by nonhumans. I guess there never was any reason to think that mirror would show us things we liked.”

“If that’s true,” Lieutenant Jamenson said, her voice sharp, “then the Dancers are looking at all of us, Alliance or Syndic or whatever, and just seeing ‘human.’ Not individuals. That’s no way to deal with any species. We’re not ants with identical behavior patterns.”

“True enough,” General Charban said. “We need to get the Dancers to see the individuals, not the species. But, for now, they’ve dumped these crazy Syndics in our laps.”

“I need you to follow up,” Geary said. “It’s too late to tell the Dancers not to bring the Syndics here, but we can try to explain to the Dancers that these Syndics are temporarily capable of actions that could harm anyone and everyone in this star system. It’s to the Dancers’ own best interests to help us prevent the Syndics from flying off the handle. If they can do anything to limit the actions of the Syndics, it will be to everyone’s advantage.”

Charban nodded. “Including the Syndics’. Do I read the odds right?”

“Yes. If it comes to a fight, we’ll annihilate them,” Geary said. “We need to convince the Dancers that we’d be extremely grateful if they help us avoid that.”

Lieutenant Iger spoke up in a low voice. “Wiping out the Syndics would . . . simplify things.”

Lieutenant Jamenson nodded but didn’t say anything. John Senn gave Iger a distressed look but also remained quiet. Dr. Cresida acted as if she’d heard nothing.

General Charban glanced at Geary.

Geary nodded to Charban, accepting the offered chance to respond first. Fortunately for him, he’d already been trying to imagine what advice Victoria Rione would be offering if she were still alive, and had realized how she’d probably try to make the most of the situation by using her opponent’s weaknesses against them.

“It might simplify things in the short run,” Geary said. “Ifseeing us wipe out the Syndics instead of working out an accommodation with them didn’t backfire by making the Dancers less willing to deal with us. But, in the long term, you’ve probably all heard that we expect more ships to show up from other human factions, worlds, businesses, governments, and who knows what else. They’ll all want to make deals. We need to show the Dancers that the Alliance is who they should deal with. If we’re in that kind of contest, trying to convince aliens who can be trusted to keep their word, who will offer the fairest deals, and who will play straight with them, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather be competing against than Syndics.”

Charban nodded, smiling. “It’s to our advantage to have the Syndics as the alternative. And once the Dancers choose us over the Syndics, we’ll have a built-in advantage against every subsequent competitor.”

“Right. We have to think long term, and outside the military box.”

Lieutenant Iger looked embarrassed. “Of course, Admiral. I should have realized that.”

“When you’re more than a century old, you’ll think of things like that,” General Charban assured him.

“I’m only a century old chronologically,” Geary said. “Listen, there’s one other thing we need from the Dancers. See if they’ll tell us how long it’s been since those Syndic ships left jump on arrival in a Dancer star system. That will tell us whether we have any hope of any of the Syndics starting to recover soon.”

“Of course,” Charban said. “We’ll do our best, and stress the urgency of our requests to the Dancers.”

“Perhaps I can help with that,” Dr. Cresida said, speaking up for the first time.

“Your assistance would be very welcome,” Charban assured her.

“I need you all to understand,” Geary said, “that there’s a strong chance we won’t be able to dissuade that irrational Syndic CEO from attacking us. We may be forced to fight. Dr. Cresida, if you would rather not be aboard a warship during such a battle, I can get you back to Boundless in plenty of time.”

“I’m comfortable here,” Cresida said, not looking at Geary.

“How about you, Citizen Senn?” Geary asked the historian. “Do you want to return to Boundless?”

John Senn shook his head firmly. “No way. From what I’ve seen, there’s no safer place in this fleet than right here.”

“Thank you, but a battleship has a number of advantages when it comes to safety,” Geary said.

“And I’d like to observe the, um, activity from this ship. If I may,” Senn added hastily.

“I’m sure General Charban can help with that.”

“Are you going to ask the duck whether he wants to remain on the ship?” Dr. Cresida asked, her eyes still on her work pad.

Everyone else smiled, but Geary kept his face and tone serious. “Ensign Duck is officially a member of the crew. He has to stay aboard unless Captain Desjani chooses to temporarily transfer him to another ship.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” General Charban said. “What are Ensign Duck’s official duties?”

“He conducts security patrols of the ship,” Geary said, still serious.

Lieutenant Iger nodded. “The duck spotted that intruder in a stealth suit that was invisible to the ship’s interior sensors.”

“Exactly,” Geary said, not adding that the duck’s ability to do that had probably saved his own life. “Speaking of threats, do you have anything new on the Syndics, Lieutenant Iger?”

Iger replied, his voice automatically taking on the formal tones of a briefer. “We still haven’t received any useful intelligence from the Syndic flotilla, Admiral. The only thing my analysts have noted is that the Syndics are maintaining their formation more precisely than they usually do.”

“They are?” Geary ran that through his mind before nodding. “Colonel Rogero and Kommodor Bradamont speculated that the Syndics have kept going despite the jump space syndrome because they’re sticking obsessively to their rules and procedures, any natural paranoia exacerbated by the syndrome. It makes sense they’d be more attentive to keeping station in their formation. Any deviation from anything might cause all hell to break loose on those ships. Lieutenant, share anything you can with Kommodor Bradamont. Her experience with Syndics might help her spot things we can’t.”

“Yes, Admiral.”

“Exactly how much time do we have?” General Charban asked.

Geary checked the time. “The Syndics have been pushing their Dancer escorts, but the Dancers have been holding firm at point one light speed. At that rate, the Syndics will reach us in another forty-one hours. If the Syndics are showing evidence of hostile intent when they reach ten light minutes from us, I’ll bring the fleet to full combat readiness at that time. If the Dancers are going to help, they need to do so within the next forty hours.”

John Senn stared at Geary. “What would be evidence of hostile intent?”

“Strengthening their shields, powering up weapons, activating fire control systems, that kind of thing,” Geary said. “Signs they’re getting ready to fight. I don’t want to take similar measures until I have to, because I don’t want the Syndics thinking I’m getting ready to hit them, but if I see them getting ready, I’m going to have to prepare my ships. And I repeat my offer to transfer you to another ship. There’s a good chance that if the Syndics come at us they will target this ship in an attempt to kill me.”

Senn looked a bit nervous, licking his lips before replying. “Well, Admiral, they say you’re on the good side of the living stars, so this should still be a safe place, right?”

Geary found himself unable to find words to answer that.

But as he struggled with a reply, General Charban spoke slowly. “I can assure you, having myself miraculously lived through too many bloody battles, that virtue or being on the right side has little or nothing to do with surviving. That all too often seemed merely a matter of chance. The righteousness of our cause was no armor at all against any weapon. I don’t know where the gaze of the living stars rests when battles are fought, but most often it seemed to be elsewhere when most needed.”

Dr. Cresida spoke in the silence that followed, her eyes fixed on Charban. “And yet you continued to fight.”

“Yes,” Charban said. “Because I had friends and soldiers under my command who I did not want to let down. I have seen too many die in battles that seemed to have had little purpose or meaningful results, which has reinforced my belief that such sacrifices should be demanded only when absolutely necessary. When I was in a position of command, I could try to make a difference, because as much as I hate it, sometimes those sacrifices have to be asked of those we are given responsibility over. But I reached the point where I simply couldn’t do it anymore. That’s when I retired.”

“General,” Lieutenant Jamenson said earnestly, “you earned that. No one can say you didn’t do your duty for longer than many could have.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Charban shrugged. “But the fact remains that now the responsibility to only spend the lives entrusted to us wisely lies in the hands of officers such as the admiral here. I am on this ship because I believe the admiral feels that responsibility as keenly as I did. And that is why he warned that no one should feel safe because of his presence.”

“I understand,” John Senn said, now looking abashed. “There’s a saying about there being no atheists in battles, but I guess that’s not true.”

“Of course not,” Charban said. “As Lieutenant Jamenson pointed out, every individual is different. Many do become stronger believers. Others, seeing the apparent arbitrariness with which some die and others live, conclude there is nothing overseeing the messy universe we live in. Both perspectives are within what the Dancers call normal human parameters.”

Geary nodded. “So let’s see if we can minimize how many die this time around. Let me know if you learn anything or need anything.”

“We’re not required to run any more messages past the ambassador for approval before transmitting them to the Dancers?”

“Not today, General.”

*   *   *

EVEN FOR VETERANS OF many space battles, the times involved were hard to get used to. Human instincts, developed on the surface of a planet with limited lines of sight, went on alert when enemies were in view. But in space an enemy force could be clearly seen even if billions of kilometers distant and days away from contact. Instinct urged humans to remain alert against the enemy that could be seen even though remaining in full combat readiness for days would seriously degrade a crew’s ability to fight when the battle finally got to them.

After updating his fleet on the current situation and his intent to go to full combat status when the Dancers were ten light minutes away, Geary ordered his ships’ commanding officers to ensure their crews got rest and carried out any important maintenance or repair work. Because the upside of being able to see enemies approaching from so far away was that surprise was very hard to achieve unless ships were close to something like a star or large planet behind which enemies could hide.

Ambassador Rycerz’s reply to the Syndic CEO went out six hours after the CEO’s message had been received. Rycerz had plainly involved the medical staff aboard Boundless in drafting the message. At no point did it directly say no to the Syndic demands, instead trying different means of diverting the discussion into other, safer areas. The tone of the message was calm, soothing, rational.

Because of the distance remaining between the Syndic flotilla and the Alliance fleet, it would be at least eight hours until any reply from CEO Sara Okimoto Gardonyi was received.

Maybe, if the Dancers had kept the Syndics waiting for a few weeks before they brought them to this star, and if CEO Okimoto Gardonyi was one of those who recovered faster, the reply would be more measured, more rational, and less threatening.

*   *   *

A LITTLE OVER EIGHT hours later, Geary was awakened from restless attempts at sleep by the communications watch. “Admiral, we’ve received another message from the Syndics.”

“A message addressed to us?” Geary asked, sitting up in his bunk.

“Addressed to you, Admiral.”

Great. “Before we accept, get Captain Desjani and Dr. Nasr linked in. I want them to view the message, too.”

“Yes, Admiral.” A slight pause. “All ready, sir.”

Geary dropped down into the seat at his desk, activating the display there as he stifled a tired yawn. “Go ahead.”

If anything, CEO Sara Okimoto Gardonyi seemed even more hyper and compulsive than in the first message, her eyes so wide they seemed to fill her face. “You cannot fool us, Black Jack! The message from your lackey is insulting and weak, betraying your fear. Citizens of the Syndicate are not so easily bluffed! Nor are we so easily subverted. My chief security officer has warned me of the otherwise undetectable transmissions from your ships that seek to gain mental control over my workers. A dozen workers so weak-minded as to fall under your control have already been executed before they could do damage. You thought your subversion would be concealed from us until too late by not giving your puppets orders to immediately commit sabotage, but I know the fact sabotage had not been carried out was proof it was being planned by them! I will no longer accept your mere departure from this star system. You must be stopped! You are ordered to surrender your ships immediately! Your workers will be interrogated and if found to be misled minions will be permitted to live and serve the Syndicate Worlds in one of our job-training facilities. You will see no such mercy, Black Jack! For the people Gardonyi out.”

The image of the Syndic CEO froze, looking even more disturbing without any movement or words to distract from her appearance.

Captain Desjani’s image appeared next to it. “Looks like we’re going to be fighting a battle.”

“Looks like it,” Geary agreed. “Doctor? That CEO doesn’t seem to be getting any better.”

“No,” Dr. Nasr agreed, his own image appearing next to that of Desjani. He looked not just physically tired but also dejected at the knowledge that his skills offered no good answers. “I will consult with my colleagues, but my initial impression is that the stress of facing battle with us is making her symptoms worse.”

“She seems pretty certain of victory,” Desjani pointed out. “I mean, that’s total delusion, but if she’s that sure, why should she be stressed?”

“Because buried in her mind is a rational thinker,” Dr. Nasr said. “Observing, unable to exert control, knowing what will happen if it cannot regain control soon. The CEO is confident, and terrified.”

“Captain Desjani, please have this message forwarded to Ambassador Rycerz,” Geary said, “and to Lieutenant Iger, Kommodor Bradamont, and Colonel Rogero. Doctor, any idea why that CEO thinks I’m using undetectable mind-control transmissions?”

Dr. Nasr sighed. “She is seeing enemies everywhere. You heard her. Not being able to detect your mind-control transmissions is proof they exist. It is mental illness, not something you can logically debate.”

Geary nodded, wondering why he felt guilty about the deaths of a dozen Syndics who had been suspected of helping him. Their deaths weren’t his fault. But they still stung. “I’m wondering how many crew members have already been killed on those ships. Even with automated controls, that’s going to hurt their ability to fight.”

“If they kill too many of their own,” Desjani observed, “they may not even make it to the fight.”

Geary was on the bridge of Dauntless five hours and twenty minutes after Tanya Desjani made that prediction, gazing at his display as he pondered possible outcomes when the Syndics got closer. His thoughts were interrupted by the sounding of a sudden alert as the display highlighted a red marker that had appeared.

“Captain,” Lieutenant Yuon called out, “one of the Syndic heavy cruisers exploded.”

“I can see that, Lieutenant,” Desjani said, her eyes fixed on her own display. “There weren’t any signs of problems before that happened?”

“No, Captain. No indications of any problems. Comms in the Syndic formation appeared normal, and sensor readings from the heavy cruiser’s power core didn’t show any signs of trouble.”

Geary looked at the red marker on his display that highlighted the expanding cloud of dust and debris that had once been a Syndicate Worlds heavy cruiser and its crew. It was odd how immediate it felt even though the explosion had happened over three hours ago. His gaze shifted as another marker sprang to life on one of the Syndic Hunter-Killers that had been closest to the destroyed heavy cruiser.

“One of the Syndic HuKs seems to have taken damage from the debris from the heavy cruiser,” Lieutenant Castries announced. “Sensors can see hull damage, and the shields on the HuK have collapsed.”

“No surprise there,” Desjani said, her voice grim.

Geary nodded in agreement. Syndic Hunter-Killers were smaller than Alliance destroyers, with weaker shields and less armament. Such small warships were well suited to some tasks, but they were also expendable, easily destroyed by hits that larger warships could shrug off.

He watched the stricken HuK sliding slowly away from its position in the Syndic formation, a sign that the ship’s maneuvering systems must be out of action.

Two of the surviving heavy cruisers leapt away from their positions in the Syndic formation, closing rapidly on the damaged HuK.

“It appears that the Syndics are sending heavy cruisers to assist the damaged ship,” Lieutenant Yuon reported.

More alerts sounded as the Alliance fleet’s sensors received the light of events that had occurred more than three hours ago.

Hell lance beams, concentrated streams of charged particles, shot from the two heavy cruisers, riddling the helpless Hunter-Killer. Coming closer, the Syndic heavy cruisers unleashed grapeshot, swarms of metal ball bearings that vaporized the HuK’s hull when they struck, breaking the ship into several larger pieces and a field of smaller debris.

Their task done, the heavy cruisers swung back into their positions in the Syndic formation.

“Our sensors can’t spot any escape pods amid the wreckage of the Syndic HuK,” Lieutenant Yuon reported, his voice tighter than usual.

“Damn,” Desjani muttered.

“Why?” Geary asked out loud.

Kommodor Bradamont had reached the bridge and answered him. “At a guess, Admiral, the Hunter-Killer was ordered to return to its place in the formation. It didn’t. The ship was declared mutinous and ordered destroyed as an example to the rest of the crews in the flotilla.”

“Even though the ship physically couldn’t comply with the order?” Geary said.

Colonel Rogero had just arrived on the bridge as well, and nodded quickly in reply to Geary’s question. “I have seen Syndicate citizens killed for their inability to carry out orders that could not be obeyed,” he said, his voice grim. “In this case, destroying one of their ships was an extreme measure, but that would reflect the irrational impulses driving the Syndicate commanders.”