The Lost Fleet: Beyond the Frontier: Invincible (39 page)

“They could do that?” Desjani questioned.

“They got the stuff they need, Captain. That’s an orbital shipyard. Not a big, fantastolous one like the shipyards we trashed at Sancere, but it is a shipyard. That means they have the industrial equipment and the materials they’d need to do that kind of thing. All they needed was enough time.”

“The bombardment was only launched about ten minutes ago,” Geary said.

“Yes, sir, Admiral. But they haven’t ripped off a piece of that orbital dock where that battleship is tied up and pulling at it, so they must have figured out what they might have to do and gotten started a while ago.”

“Thanks, Master Chief,” Desjani said.

Gioninni saluted smartly, then his image vanished.

“The enigmas showed up here about a day ago,” Geary said, “so the Syndics, the former Syndics, on that orbital shipyard had only about a day to realize they might have to move that dockyard and get the work done. Somebody showed some very good forethought and initiative.”

“Nice in an Alliance officer,” Desjani replied. “Not so nice in a Syndic. Lieutenant Castries, can they get that thing moved enough to evade those rocks?”

“It’s just barely started moving,” Castries said. “Our systems are having to estimate its mass, and estimate how much thrust the battleship is putting out. There’s a high degree of uncertainty, Captain.”

“It sounds like the answer is ‘maybe,’” Geary said.

“Yes, Admiral. It’s ‘maybe’ calculated out to several decimal points, though.”

“Captain,” Lieutenant Yuon offered, “the enigma bombardment is centered on the points where the orbiting structure and the battleship would have been if neither could move. We use looser patterns to make sure some of the rocks get hits, but the enigmas employed a tight pattern. That would ensure the destruction of the battleship and the dock if they didn’t move. But it also means they don’t have to move as far to get clear of the rocks.”

“Fifteen minutes to impact if they don’t,” Castries added.

At first there was some excitement as the two surviving enigmas from this small group tried to evade not only Kommodor Marphissa’s flotilla but also the human warships still in pursuit. The enigmas made it past the Syndics, but one of them got boxed in by some of Geary’s ships and blown apart. The other ran for the jump point at maximum acceleration, leaving its pursuers once more too far behind to catch it.

That left the ongoing drama of the incoming bombardment. Geary was used to watching ships move at thousands of kilometers per second. Now he watched as the battleship strained to move the far more massive shipyard only a couple of kilometers within the next fifteen minutes. It felt like the old joke about watching paint dry, except in this case an awful amount of destruction was hurtling down on the structure while the space dock built up speed meter by painful meter as the minutes dragged by at a snail’s pace.

“They might make it,” Castries reported with five minutes to go. “It’s going to be close.”

It was. The rocks plummeted past the shipyard and battleship without causing any damage, skipped over the upper ranges of the gas giant’s atmosphere, then continued onward, their paths scattered by the interaction with the gas giant.

“Estimated range of the nearest miss was five hundred meters,” Lieutenant Yuon reported. “Plus or minus one hundred meters.”

“Somebody’s ancestors were looking out for them,” Desjani said. “Remember this incident, Lieutenant. When you employ rocks against an object in space, it doesn’t matter whether you miss by a hundred kilometers or by a meter. It’s still a miss and doesn’t bother the target at all.”

The new battleship had shut off its main propulsion, and now the far-weaker attitude jets on the orbital facility were firing to very gradually brake its motion and settle it back into a fixed orbit that would be slightly farther out from the gas giant, but not by any distance that would matter to anything but rocks aiming for where that facility had once been.

That left the fourteen enigma warships still heading for the hypernet gate, but an hour and a half after the bombardment missed the orbital dockyard, those enigmas saw that event, and it was apparently the last straw. Once again, the enigma ships spun about in maneuvers no human ship could match. Geary’s forces caught one anyway, then, more by luck than design, managed to hit a second hard enough to cause it to self-destruct. “If they keep going like bats out of hell,” Desjani said, “no one else has a chance to get the rest unless you cut loose some of Armus’s ships.”

“No.” Geary felt not just a tiredness over the deaths this day but also a nagging worry that the fleeing enigmas might still choose to ram any pursuer that got too close. Losing another ship or ships to rake in a few more enigma warships didn’t seem like a worthwhile risk given how badly the enigmas had been beaten here.

Near the hypernet gate, CEO Boyens’s flotilla had still not moved.

Desjani saw Geary’s glower directed at that force. “I guess Boyens thought it would be smart to avoid risking getting any scratches on his ships,” she commented.

“Maybe that was smart in the short term,” Geary replied, “but it seriously ticked me off in the long term even though I expected something like that. He’s going to have to deal with me now. I know the people running this star system used to be Syndic CEOs, too, but they sent their ships out to fight while he watched to see what would happen.”

“I can’t wait to hear his first message to us,” Desjani said. “And I’m looking forward to hearing your reply, too. Oh, congratulations.”

“For what?” For a moment, he truly didn’t understand what she was referring to.

“Uh, victory? Saved the star system? I do recommend you detach some of Armus’s heavy cruisers and destroyers to shadow those surviving enigmas just in case they get ideas before they reach the jump point, but I believe that even the living stars wouldn’t think me presumptuous to offer you congratulations at this point.”

“Thanks, Tanya.” He couldn’t feel triumphant right now. All Geary felt was exhaustion as he watched the surviving enigmas flee.

NINETEEN

“MIDWAY
continues to recognize its obligations under the treaties made with the Syndicate government on Prime,” President Iceni was saying. “However, since we are now an independent star system, there will be a need to renegotiate agreements. I assure you that we seek agreements that will mutually benefit us and the Alliance and do not anticipate any problems reaching such agreements. For the people, Iceni, out.”

He should let Rione deal with this, but there were still fleet matters to address. Geary straightened his uniform and tapped the reply command. “This is Admiral Geary. I will leave negotiations on such matters to the two emissaries of the Alliance government we have with us. They will be contacting you soon for that purpose. Of immediate concern, my auxiliaries are very low on raw materials. I would like your agreement for them to mine some of the asteroids in this star system for such materials so that we can begin to repair the battle damage suffered here.”

The damage hadn’t all been suffered here, of course, but he figured it didn’t hurt to toss in a not-so-subtle reminder that his fleet had suffered damage and losses defending those he was now asking a favor of.

“Please pass on to Kommodor Marphissa,” Geary continued, “my personal appreciation for the efforts of her and her ships in working with us for the defense of this star system. They fought well.” He had been trying hard to think of Marphissa as someone other than a Syndic, and someone other than a Syndic would have received such a thanks from him. “To the honor of our ancestors, Geary, out.”

Another message now. “Captain Smythe, I am anticipating a positive reply to our request for access to raw materials here. Prepare for mining operations and head your ships toward the asteroids you want to dig in.”

For some unknown reason, the spider-wolf ships had been following his auxiliaries around since the battle, occasionally engaging in intricate maneuvering with themselves or even among the human ships. The fleet’s personnel had begun referring to those movements as dances. Their purpose or meaning for the spider-wolves remained a mystery, but at least for the humans, the dances were benefiting morale. Since the spider-wolves had managed the impossible feat of deflecting a kinetic bombardment aimed at a human planet, they had become welcome visitors rather than objects of puzzlement and worry.

No one seemed to be using the term “Bub” anymore. Instead, Geary heard repeated references to “the Dancers.” The tone of voice in such cases was always admiring or approving. He had been able to discourage but not eliminate the use of Bub to describe the spider-wolves, but now the spider-wolves’ own actions had earned them the respectful name of Dancers.

Geary slumped back as he finished his message to Smythe, wishing that he could have grabbed a little more sleep before his responsibilities had called him back to the bridge.

“No rest for the weary?” Rione asked.

“Apparently not. Now what?”

“Our currently favorite Syndic CEO has finally decided to do us the kindness of communicating with us.”

“That’s just wonderful.” Geary sat up straighter, blinking away fatigue. “How bad is it?”

“I haven’t seen it yet. It’s addressed to you. But it ought to be good,” Rione remarked.

CEO Boyens looked much like he had when they had last seen him as they released their high-ranking prisoner with the war over. Then he had been appropriately solemn, but now Boyens smiled in the practiced, polished, and perceptibly insincere manner that must be part of the Syndicate Worlds’ CEO-training pipeline. Then, as if realizing that his audience could read that gesture for what it was, Boyens tried to shift the smile to something approximating sincerity.

“Why do I feel like he’s trying to pick me up in a bar?” Desjani asked.

“Is that what it looks like?” Geary said.

“Sort of. It never worked on me when I was buzzed, so it sure as hell isn’t going to work when I’m sober. Are you trying to claim that nobody’s ever hit on you in a bar?”

“I don’t think I should answer that.” He fell silent as Boyens began to speak in earnest tones.

“Admiral Geary, I am immensely grateful for your assistance in once again defending this star system against aggression by the enigma race. On behalf of the government of the Syndicate Worlds, I offer my thanks to you.”

“Thanks to
you
,” Desjani muttered. “Not to the Alliance or to this fleet, to
you
.”

He might have missed that significant distinction if Tanya hadn’t pointed it out, so now Geary listened even more critically as Boyens went on.

“Admiral, now that you’ve completed your work here, I will be happy to detach one of my mobile forces’ units to escort you through Syndicate Worlds’ space and back to Alliance space. I am certain that you cannot wait to return home.”

Desjani laughed softly. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out, our friends and allies. I’d rather deal with the Kicks.”

“Naturally,” Boyens continued, “you’ll want to proceed home via Prime in order to update the peace treaty to reflect current realities and share any information that would be of interest to the entire human race. If some of the ships with you are ambassadors of some sort, they will, of course, want to stop at Prime on their way to Alliance space. I have some business to conclude here, then will follow you, eager to learn everything that your explorations have contributed to human knowledge of the universe. For the people, Boyens, out.”

That was simply too outrageous. Geary managed to keep his voice level as he hit the reply command. “Thank you for your offer,” he began without any polite preamble. “The Alliance fleet is always prepared to repel aggression.” Let Boyens, and his superiors at Prime, read anything they wanted into that. “However, our work here is not yet entirely complete. We have some discussions under way with local authorities.” That would give Boyens something else to think about. “Just as your forces did not play any role in the defense of this star system, we will also not require any of your forces to assist in our movements. As you may have noticed, we are already ourselves escorting other ships to Alliance space and will choose our own path back. Our guests have expressed the wish to be escorted directly to Alliance authorities, and we will be honoring their wishes.”

Rione stepped into the image beside Geary as smoothly as if the move had been practiced beforehand. “As you are aware, CEO Boyens, the peace treaty does not restrict the exact route we must use when traveling to and from the Midway Star System. Nor does it restrict our time here. As Emissary of the Alliance, I thank you for your offer of assistance and wish you a pleasant return journey to Prime. To the honor of our ancestors, Rione, out.”

As the reply cut off, she turned an apologetic face to Geary. “You were done speaking to him, weren’t you?”

“I certainly was.”

ONE
hour later, they received a message in which a gracious Iceni granted Geary free access to asteroids in the star system for mining, asking only that the Alliance auxiliaries coordinate their activity with the local “space-resource-extraction authorities.”

Less than an hour after that, another message from the planet came in marked eyes only, private, for Admiral Geary. He went down to his stateroom to view it, wondering what this could concern.

The message was from General Drakon, this time sitting alone, looking ahead and speaking without any pretense. “I am asking a personal favor, Admiral Geary. I understand that you have no reason to grant that to a former enemy. However, the favor is not for me, but for one of my subordinates. Colonel Rogero is one of my most highly trusted and highly regarded officers. He has asked me to see if the attached message can be delivered to one of your subordinate officers. In light of his loyal service to me and as one professional to another, I am requesting that you forward the message to its intended recipient. In case any question arises, President Iceni is aware of this communication and the contents of the attached message and has no objections to either. I will answer any questions you have regarding this matter if you communicate them to me.”

Drakon paused, his eyes looking outward as if he could actually see Geary. “I’m glad we never met in battle during the war, Admiral. I’m not at all sure I would have survived that experience, though I would have given you the fight of your life before it was over. For the people, Drakon, out.”

Geary replayed that last part again, listening intently. General Drakon didn’t put the enthusiastic lilt to the “for the people” phrase that Kommodor Marphissa had, but there was nonetheless something more than an automatic use of a meaningless phrase there. Geary thought he sensed a defiance, a determination, as if Drakon was actually willing to defend the ideals behind that saying, ideals long since forgotten by the Syndicate Worlds’ government, if they had ever held any real substance at all to most Syndic leaders.

He turned back to the attachment. A message from one of the former Syndic officers to one of Geary’s officers? He knew who it would be addressed to before he looked at it. Captain Bradamont.

There were difficult things he had to do as an officer, as a fleet commander, but reading a personal message between two people felt like one of the most unpleasant obligations he faced. Wincing inwardly, Geary opened the attachment, knowing that the fleet’s firewalls and security software would have already checked it for dangerous content.

Colonel Rogero wore a uniform similar to General Drakon’s. He seemed as straightforward as his general though speaking steadily as if reciting from a script or prepared speech. “For Captain Bradamont, commanding officer of the Alliance battle cruiser
Dragon
, this is Colonel Rogero, Midway ground forces. Much has happened in recent months.”

Rogero provided a careful rundown of those events, giving details about activity not only here at Midway but also in some of the surrounding star systems. There had been fighting in many places, revolts and Syndic attempts to suppress rebellion. Midway had gotten heavily involved in those nearby star systems, plainly aiming for a leading role in . . . what? A small personal empire for Iceni and Drakon? Or, at the other extreme, a small alliance of free star systems? That last seemed very unlikely, but if it were true . . .

If only he knew more about Iceni and Drakon.

Rogero must have known that this message would be seen by people other than Bradamont. Drakon and Iceni must have known that, too. This was, then, not just a personal accommodation for Rogero but also a means to pass information to Geary under the cover of that.

Which also meant that Rogero’s and Bradamont’s personal feelings for each other were still being used by those in authority over them. Perhaps, to former Syndic CEOs like Drakon and Iceni, that was a matter of no consequence. But Geary felt a little unclean despite his own lack of involvement.

Colonel Rogero paused, his carefully controlled manner cracking. “Captain Bradamont . . . I must inform you that . . . my feelings will never change. That is why I must ask you to forget me, because it is impossible and can only harm you. I am now free of the forces that sought to use our feelings for their own purposes. I hope that, with the end of the war, you are free as well. But, if not, you may inform those people that I will provide no more reports. You can no longer serve them as a source of information. You have acted as a patriot and noble person at all times, and I will freely offer a detailed, official statement to anyone who questions your role over the last several years.

“Farewell, Captain Bradamont.”

Geary sat back, one hand rubbing his forehead lightly. What Rogero had said confirmed what Bradamont had told him and what Lieutenant Iger had partially confirmed as well. As far as Geary knew, though, Iger wasn’t aware that Bradamont was the officer who had been working for Alliance intelligence under the code name White Witch as part of a highly classified program. Once Iger saw this message, that particular rabbit would be out of the hat for certain.

“Captain Bradamont, I need to speak with you privately as soon as possible.”

Her image appeared to him within minutes, standing at attention.
Dragon
was close enough to
Dauntless
that only a little more than a light-second’s delay affected their communications, a lag too small to notice.

“Captain Bradamont,” Geary began, feeling awkward. “This is both a personal and a professional matter. Please sit down.”

Bradamont sat stiffly, watching him warily. “Does this pertain to the matter we discussed some time ago?”

“Everything surrounding White Witch, yes.” Geary offered her his comm pad, putting it on the arm of her seat and activating the message. “This message is for you, even though parts of it were also clearly intended for other people here.”

She listened while he tried not to watch her reaction. Finally, Bradamont reached as if to turn off the pad, forgetting that her virtual presence couldn’t do that, then withdrew her arm, her expression now revealing nothing. “Thank you, Admiral.”

He shut it off. “Is there anything you want to tell me?”

“I’ve already informed you of the circumstances, Admiral.”

“Do you have any wishes in this matter? At the very least, I can ensure that a reply is sent, in whatever form you choose.”

“A reply.” Bradamont shook her head. “What can I say? He’s right. It must end. It has ended. Neither of us can be used anymore. The contents of that message will alert the fleet’s intelligence personnel as to who I must be. I’ll have to live with that. I’ve lived with worse things. I must live without him.”