They sat in silence for a few moments, then Desjani gestured toward the image still hovering before them. “Did the Marines get records of those graves while they were on the ground? The names of those who rest there?”
“I doubt it.” Fensin tapped his head with one finger. “They didn’t have to. Every one of us had names to remember. I was one of those who had to remember all of the dead whose last names began with F. The list of the honored dead is in our memories. We couldn’t take them home because they’ve already gone to join their ancestors, but we will take their names to their families.”
For a moment Geary imagined that he could see them, the prisoners going painstakingly over the names of those who had died, checking their lists against each other, committing the names to the only form of record they had. Year by year, as the lists grew longer, never knowing if anyone in the Alliance would ever hear those lists, but keeping them in their memories just the same. It was all too easy to sense how the prisoners had felt in that POW camp, which they had every reason to believe would be their jail until they died. All too easy to understand their need for such rituals and their sense of betrayal. “All right.” Geary looked a question a Rione.
She looked down, then nodded. “I believe him.”
“So do I,” Desjani added without hesitation.
Geary tapped the comm controls. “Captain Tulev, get those three senior former prisoners onto a shuttle with Marine guards. Take them to . . .” He pondered his options. He needed a ship without former POWs from Heradao on board, but every warship had those.
Every warship.
“
Titan
. Take them to
Titan
with orders that they be confined under guard until further notice. All three are under arrest.”
Tulev nodded as if unsurprised. “The charges? We are obligated to provide them to those under arrest.”
“Treason and dereliction of duty in the face of the enemy. They told me they were preparing a report on their actions. Make sure they have the means to produce that report. I want to see it.” That wasn’t strictly true. The last thing he wanted to do was read through that document if what Commander Fensin had said was accurate. But he had an obligation to see what the three officers said in their own defense.
Once Tulev had signed off, Geary faced Fensin again. “Thank you, Commander. I think I can promise you that if what you told us is confirmed by your fellow former prisoners, then formal courts-martial back in Alliance territory will reach the same conclusions you did.”
“Do we have to wait?” Fensin asked with shocking calmness. “You could order them shot right now.”
“That’s not how I do business, Commander. If your statements are true, those three will condemn themselves with their own report, then no one will doubt the necessity of carrying out justice.”
“But Captain Gazin is so old,” Fensin argued. “She may not live until we reach Alliance space, and she’d escape the fate she deserves.”
Desjani answered him in her command voice. “If she dies, then the living stars will render judgment and justice, Commander. No one can escape that. You’re an officer in the Alliance fleet, Commander Fensin. You held to that as a prisoner. Don’t forget it now that you’re back with us.”
Rione’s expression hardened, but Fensin just stared at Desjani again for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, Captain. Forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” Desjani assured him. “You’ve been through hell, and you did your duty by telling us the truth. Continue to do your duty, Commander. You were always part of the fleet, but now you are with it once more.”
“Yes, Captain,” Fensin repeated, sitting straighter.
Rione looked to Geary. “If there’s nothing else, I’d like to spend some time with Commander Fensin, then get his medical screening accomplished.”
“Of course.” Geary and Desjani stood together and left. He looked back as the hatch closed and saw Rione still holding Fensin’s hand, no words passing between them. “Damn,” he muttered to Desjani.
“Damn,” she agreed. “Are you sure we shouldn’t shoot them now?”
So Desjani had been tempted, too, but hadn’t argued with him in front of the others to avoid appearing to undermine his own position. “Sure? No. But it has to be done right. There can’t be any perception of mob justice. Good job getting Fensin to talk. How did you know to prod Fensin with a question about treason?”
She made a face. “Some of the conversations I had with Lieutenant Riva. He talked a few times about things like that. I didn’t really understand before, but I remembered how he’d get very angry when talking about anyone who he thought had been too compliant with the Syndics. Something about this made me recall that.” Desjani looked down the passageway, and added something in a bland voice. “It’s not like I think of Riva. Not at all, usually.”
“I see.” To Geary’s surprise, he realized he had felt a twinge of jealousy. He had to change the subject. “I wonder if I might not have ended up going down that same misguided road that those three did if I’d been captured.”
Desjani frowned at him. “No. You wouldn’t have. You care about the personnel under your command, but you also know the risks they have to run. You’ve always been able to balance those things.”
“I care about them enough to send them to their deaths,” Geary replied, hearing some bitterness creep into his tone.
“That’s exactly right. Too much callousness, and their lives are wasted. Too much concern, and they die anyway, with no result. I don’t pretend to understand why things are that way, but you know they are.”
“Yeah.” He felt the momentary depression lifting and smiled at her. “Thanks for being here, Tanya.”
“It’s not like I could be anywhere else.” Desjani smiled back, then her face went formal, and she saluted. “I need to see to my ship, sir.”
“By all means.” He returned the salute, then watched her walk away.
She had a ship to see to and he had to call
Titan
and let Commander Lommand know that a particularly unwelcome cargo would be arriving on his ship soon. The burdens of command varied, but burdens they always were.
BY the next morning he felt better. The third planet of Heradao was comfortably distant, the fleet had finished joining up with the units left behind in the area of the space battle, and the entire Alliance force was headed for the jump point for Padronis. Even the old Syndic ration bar he chose for breakfast didn’t seem to taste as bad as usual.
At about that point, the comm unit in his stateroom buzzed. “Sir, you have an urgent request for communications from Commander Vigory.”
“Commander Vigory?” Geary tried to match the name to a ship or a face, failed, and checked the fleet database. Another former POW from Heradao. No wonder his name hadn’t been familiar. Vigory was on
Spartan
, and according to the summary in the database, he’d had a fairly routine career before being captured by the Syndics. “All right. Put him through.”
Thin and intense, Commander Vigory resembled other Alliance personnel liberated from Heradao. “Captain Geary,” he began in a stiff voice, “I wished to pay a call and render proper respects to the fleet commander.”
“Thank you, Commander.”
“I also wished to inform you that I am still awaiting a command assignment.”
Still awaiting?
Geary’s eyes went to the time. It had been less than a day since the fleet left orbit about Heradao’s third planet. Then his mind fastened on the rest of Vigory’s statement. “Command assignment?”
“Yes, sir.” Vigory’s eyes were demanding as he gazed at Geary. “A review of fleet records indicates numerous ships in this fleet suitable for an officer of my rank and seniority are currently commanded by officers junior to me.”
“You expect me to relieve some existing commanding officer so that you can have his or her ship?”
The question seemed to startle Commander Vigory. “Of course, sir.”
Geary fought down an impulse to cut off Vigory at the knees and tried to speak in a reasonable but firm tone. “How would you feel if you lost your command under those circumstances, Commander?”
“That scarcely matters, sir. This is a question of honor and proper deference to my rank and position. I have no doubt that any ship in this fleet would benefit from my experience and ability to command.”
No, Vigory probably had never had a doubt in his life, Geary thought as he looked at the man. According to the records available, Vigory had been taken prisoner about five years ago, meaning that he was a product of a fleet in which individual honor meant everything and ships fought without regard for sound tactics. Maybe he was a decent officer despite that, but at this point, retraining a ship’s commanding officer would be just one more thing to worry about, besides being grossly unfair to some other officer. “Commander, I’ll lay this out as clearly as I can. Every commanding officer in this fleet has fought for me all the way from the Syndic home star system, rendering brave and honorable service in numerous engagements with the enemy.” That was an exaggeration in a few cases, but Vigory didn’t seem the sort to grasp distinctions. “I will not relieve any of my current commanding officers without cause based on their performance. This fleet is returning to Alliance space, and once there you can request a command assignment on a new-construction warship or a warship whose commanding officer is rotating to a new assignment.”
Vigory seemed to have trouble understanding. “Sir, I expect very quickly to receive a command assignment in this fleet suitable to my rank and seniority.”
“Then I regret to inform you that your expectations are misplaced.” Geary tried not to get angry but could hear his voice getting sharper. “You will serve as needed by the Alliance, just like every officer in this fleet.”
“But . . . I . . .”
“Thank you, Commander Vigory. I appreciate your willingness to serve as your duty to the Alliance requires.”
The conversation over, Geary leaned back and covered his eyes with one hand. A moment later the alert on the hatch to his stateroom chimed.
Great. This morning is going downhill fast.
He authorized entry, sitting up straighter as Victoria Rione entered. “Captain Geary.”
“Madam Co-President.” They’d had plenty of physical intimacies in this very room, but that was over and done, and neither would presume on their earlier relationship.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Rione continued.
“I was just trying to remember why I wanted to rescue the Alliance POWs on Heradao,” Geary confessed.
She flicked a smile at him. “Because you have an annoying habit of insisting on doing what’s right even when common sense might dictate acting otherwise.”
“Thank you. I think. What brings you here?”
“The Alliance POWs liberated from Heradao.”
Geary didn’t quite stifle a groan. “Now what?”
“This may be good news, or perhaps useful.” Rione inclined her head toward another part of the ship. “Sometime after you left us yesterday, Commander Fensin confessed to me that the best thing he could have been told was what your captain said to him, reminding him of his responsibilities as an officer of the Alliance and ordering him to live up to those responsibilities.” She paused before continuing. “From what Kai Fensin said, he and the other POWs on Heradao long lacked a firm hand they respected to give them purpose. He thought all of them would benefit from treatment such as your captain gave him.”
Geary refrained from pointing out that his “captain” had a name, and that Desjani wasn’t “his” in any case. “That makes a great deal of sense. They’re not used to having senior officers they respect or to whose orders they’d listen.”
“Kai suggested you might want to inform others in the fleet of this, so they’d be able to treat the other former prisoners accordingly. In that respect, they’re not like the ones we liberated from Sutrah.”
“Thank you,” Geary repeated. “I think he’s right.”
“Yes, and so was your captain. My instincts to protect Commander Fensin were wrong.”
“Don’t beat yourself up about that. Desjani and Fensin are both fleet.” Rione just nodded silently. “How are you doing?”
She gave him a searching glance. “Why do you ask?”
“You seem to have been very happy to find Commander Fensin.”
Rione’s eyes flashed. “If you’re implying—”
“No!” Geary raised both palms in apology. “That’s not what I meant. It just seems that meeting him was a good thing for you.”
She subsided as quickly as her anger had flared. “Yes. He reminds me of many things. Of the life I once had.”
“I could tell.” It was best not to tell Rione that Desjani had been able to see it as well.
“Could you?” Rione bent her head for a moment. “I sometimes wonder what will happen if my husband lives and we are united again. In the years since he left, I have changed in many ways, become harder and stronger and . . . not the woman he left.”
“I saw that woman. When you were with Kai Fensin.”
“You did?” Rione sighed. “Maybe there’s hope for me, then. Maybe she’s not dead after all.”
“She’s not, Victoria.”
Rione raised her gaze and looked at him with a twisted smile. “That’s one of the few circumstances under which you can still call me that, John Geary. Thank you. I’ve said what I needed to say.” She walked to the hatch but paused in it before leaving, her back to him. “Please thank your captain on my behalf for her words to Commander Fensin. I’m grateful.” Then she was gone and the hatch was sliding shut.
He drafted up a message telling the fleet’s ship captains to be firm with the former POWs from Heradao and to get them assigned duties as soon as possible. After sending it, Geary settled back and stared at the star display again.
Roughly two more days until the fleet reached the jump point for Padronis. That star should be quiet, with no known Syndic presence. For that matter, Atalia, the next and last Syndic star system they had to transit, should be quiet, too, despite its human population. If Alliance intelligence was anywhere near right then the Syndics had used up everything they had. No significant number of warships could be available to contest the rest of the fleet’s journey home.