Jack Campbell - Victorious

“Yes. A good thing.” Kattnig sounded slightly uncertain, though. “I couldn’t be with the fleet, you know. My last ship, Paragon , had been badly damaged in the fighting at Valdisia, so we were undergoing major repairs at T’shima.”

“I see.”

“Then Paragon was rushed into action to defend the Alliance when the fleet was … unable to be accounted for. We were so badly shot up defending Beowulf that the ship was written off.”

“It must have been a valiant action,” Geary said, wondering why Kattnig seemed to be trying to justify his absence from the fleet when it first attacked the Syndic home star system.

“It was, sir. It was.” Kattnig’s voice sank to a whisper, his eyes staring into the distance, then he focused back on Geary. “I demanded another ship. To … to be with the fleet this time.”

Geary spoke quietly and firmly. “The defense of the Alliance while the fleet was gone was a critical task. Otherwise, we would have returned to find ruin and defeat. You performed well.”

“Thank you, sir. You will see how well my ship can perform,” Kattnig promised.

Geary had done what he could to keep morale on Adroit high, but his inspection had provided too many proofs that her crew could fight better than the ship they had been given. Necessary redundancies in critical systems had been reduced past the safe minimums, weapons capabilities were hindered by cost-cutting in the lines supplying power to the hell lances and in the missile magazines, which carried fewer specters than even their limited size could have managed if properly laid out. Sensors lacked redundancies and capabilities as well, the Adroit class having been designed to be dependent on the sensors being employed by other ships. All well and good in a fleet engagement, but an Adroit -class ship on her own would be significantly handicapped by that feature. He couldn’t even send an Adroit out in company with only escorts, since the capabilities of cruisers and destroyers couldn’t completely compensate for the shortfalls of the sensors on the new battle cruisers.

The design of the Adroit -class warships had once again driven home to him just how bad things were, just how much the economies and industrial base of the combatants had been strained by a century of warfare beyond even the abilities of interstellar civilizations to sustain. If he didn’t succeed in bringing an end to this war, everything would continue to deteriorate, an accelerating spiral toward collapse, as if the war were a black hole sucking in humanity and everything humanity had created among the stars. He could now understand the desperation that had led Desjani to demand his promise to stick to the mission she believed he had been assigned by the living stars themselves. He could understand the hope with which people looked to him. He wondered how much all of them understood the strain their hopes put on him.

Desjani did. He felt certain of that. She understood well enough that she had as much as offered to surrender her honor to him if he asked that of her, if Geary said he needed that. His reaction to that offer, a refusal to do such a thing to her, had given him the strength to keep going. Humanity’s civilizations might be crumbling, but as long as people like Desjani kept fighting and believing, there was hope the fall could be arrested.

So Geary sat in the fleet command seat on Dauntless ’s bridge as the fleet’s warships settled into their assigned positions, then the entire fleet began accelerating toward the jump point for the Syndic-controlled star system of Atalia, hundreds of warships moving as one.

He became aware that Desjani was watching him, unaware of his own inner thoughts. At least, he hoped she was unaware of them. At times, Desjani had shown an unsettling ability to seem to be reading his mind. “What?”

“They’re a fine sight, aren’t they, sir?” she asked. “I never saw them maneuver like this. We were always slop-pier before. What counted was getting to grips with the enemy, not looking good in formation. We didn’t realize that there was a connection between those two things.”

“They look very good. They are very good. But they won’t all be coming home,” Geary noted in a quiet voice.

“No. It’s been a century since they all came home, Fleet Admiral Geary. Perhaps you’ll finally change that.”

“If I do, I won’t have done it alone, Captain Desjani.”

The fleet headed out, every eye in Varandal Star System on its progress.

“Our first stop will be Atalia,” Geary confirmed to the officers watching him. “We’ll assume battle formation before jump even though we don’t expect to encounter significant opposition at Atalia. If the Syndics want a fight there, though, we’ll give it to them.” The fleet conference room seemed to be huge just then, with a very long table occupied by the virtual presences of every commanding officer of every ship in the fleet. In addition to the fleet officers, newly promoted Marine General Carabali was present, along with Co-President Rione and two grand council representatives, the stout Senator Costa and a male senator named Sakai, who’d spoken little when Geary met with the council.

Most of the fleet officers were doing their best to ignore the presence of the two new politicians but were treating Rione with marginal courtesy since it was known that Geary trusted her. The officers of the ships from the Callas Republic and the Rim Federation had always regarded Rione as their politician and defended her, but even they had been happy that they had never had to choose between her and Geary.

Where Captain Cresida should have been, one of the new battle-cruiser captains sat. A replacement, and yet not a replacement. But at least the stolid, reliable presences of Captains Duellos and Tulev were there, and Desjani was physically present.

“In order to ensure security for our plans, I’ll give further orders at Atalia,” Geary continued. “I’m not happy keeping you in the dark until then, but it’s critical to keep our plans secret. Are there any questions?”

Most of the officers looked disappointed but nodded in acceptance. However, the newer commanders, those who had joined the fleet at Varandal, looked around with confused expressions. Geary knew what they were expecting, to have him lay out a plan that he would try to convince the fleet’s officers to support, using political maneuvering to build up enough support until the fleet commander called for a vote among the fleet captains sanctioning the plan. He’d done away with that procedure as fast as he could, though for a long time fleet conferences had been painfully contentious.

“Fleet Admiral Geary”—Captain Olisa of the battle cruiser Ascendant sounded torn between respect and challenge—“fleet officers are accustomed to receiving more information about proposed plans at this point.”

Geary gave Olisa a polite but firm look in return. “My plans aren’t proposed, Captain. They’ve been made. I’ll let you know more when I can.”

“But we need to discuss—”

Tulev broke in, speaking dispassionately. “Fleet Admiral Geary is open to suggestions and comment, Isvan. I assure you he will listen, but he does not do things as you are accustomed. He follows the path of our ancestors.”

“Our ancestors?” Olisa grimaced, but nodded. “I had heard things were different. It takes some getting used to, though.”

“I understand,” Geary replied. “I had a number of things to get used to as well.”

“Can you confirm our mission, Fleet Admiral Geary?” Captain Armus of the Colossus asked. “Are we indeed aiming to force an end to the war?”

Geary weighed his response. Armus had been difficult at times and was by no stretch an inspired officer, but he was also brave enough and followed orders. At the moment he was, in addition, being respectful and proper, which deserved the same treatment in return. Geary finally nodded. “That’s correct. We intend backing the Syndics into a corner and keeping them there until they agree to halt the fighting. Not just a cease-fire. An end to the war.”