Jack Campbell - Victorious

He stopped in front of Timbale and saluted, holding the gesture as Timbale stared back in momentary confusion. Then a light of understanding appeared in Timbale’s eyes, and he hastily sketched a crude return salute. “C-captain Geary. W-welcome aboard Ambaru station.”

“Thank you, sir.” Geary’s flat words echoed in the otherwise-silent dock.

Rione came up beside him. “Admiral, I suggest you disperse your honor guard now that they have greeted Captain Geary.”

Timbale stared back at her, then at the Marines, a drop of sweat running down one side of his face. “I …”

“Perhaps if you contacted grand council chair Senator Navarro, he would modify whatever your original orders were?” Rione suggested.

“Yes.” Backpedaling with ill-concealed relief, Timbale muttered into his comm unit, waited, then muttered again. Forcing a smile, the admiral nodded to Rione, then turned toward the ground forces arrayed along the bulkheads. “Colonel, return your troops to their quarters.” The ground-forces officer stepped forward, her mouth open in apparent protest. “Just do it, Colonel!” Timbale snapped.

The ground-forces soldiers pivoted in response to their orders and filed out, more than one of them casting awed glances toward Geary before they left. He wondered what would have happened if he had simply given orders directly to those soldiers. Would they have done what Black Jack ordered? The thought brought a tight sense of worry as the reality of what he could do, of what he might cause to happen if he didn’t handle things right, came home to him clearly.

When the last ground-forces soldier had left, Geary looked to his Marine major. Now what? Bring his escort with him? Bring some of them? What reason did he have to believe that more ground-forces troops wouldn’t appear and try to arrest him again as soon as he left the dock? Prudence dictated taking at least some of the Marines with him.

Which would also mean walking into the presence of the grand council with armed and armored Marines at his back. To anyone watching or hearing, such an action would scream two things: an imminent coup and a fundamental distrust on Geary’s part of the Alliance’s political leaders. The impact of those things could destroy everything he hoped to achieve and trigger the coup he feared.

But if he was arrested, the fleet would act, no matter his expressed wishes.

Rione was watching him, apparently relaxed. She wouldn’t tell him what to do now, not with so many others watching and listening, but her attitude conveyed a message. Confidence. Calm.

Taking a deep breath, Geary nodded to the Marine commander. “Stay here. Stand easy. I don’t know how long we’ll be.”

“Sir?” The Marine major gestured to his troops. “We can send a squad—”

“No.” Geary looked around, trying to act like a man with nothing on his conscience and no reason to fear his superiors. “We’re on friendly territory, Major. We’re among friends. Citizens of the Alliance need not fear their government or each other.” He didn’t know who was listening, but whoever it was should understand what that meant.

The major saluted. “Yes, sir.”

Timbale had his eyes on Geary, too, puzzlement there along with concern. “Could you inform me as to your intentions, Captain?” the admiral asked quietly.

“I’ve been ordered to report to the grand council, sir. I intend to follow orders.” Would Timbale recognize the greater significance of that last statement?

Rione gestured toward the interior of the station. “We shouldn’t keep the grand council waiting, Admiral.”

Admiral Timbale looked from her to Geary, then seemed to reach a decision. “Just a moment, please.” He stepped to one side, speaking rapidly into his comm unit, waiting, then speaking again in angry tones. Finally satisfied, he turned back to Geary. “There shouldn’t be any more hindrances to your reaching the grand council, Captain. Please accompany me.”

Geary allowed Rione to fall in beside Timbale, then walked behind them as the group left the hangar. Most of his nerves had vanished, a cold fury at the grand council’s assumption that he would act dishonorably driving away any doubts. Following Timbale, he and Rione walked through a maze of passages and spaces. Like many orbital stations, Ambaru had grown by adding successive layers. Unsurprisingly, the grand council had chosen a meeting room in the innermost and therefore most secure part of the station.

As Geary entered the room, he saw that one wall was given over to a very large virtual window into space, as if the room were on the outer edges of the station. Floating over the large conference table was a star display, while off to the other side a miniature representation of the fleet and other ships in Varandal Star System hovered. Behind the table sat seven men and women in civilian clothes, while to one side of them a ground-forces general and an admiral stood uncomfortably.

Geary had held many conferences since assuming command of the fleet, but this one was different. Unlike in the fleet conference room on Dauntless , everyone present was actually, physically there rather than most attending through virtual meeting software. More importantly, this time Geary wasn’t the senior officer present. He hadn’t realized how used to that status he’d become in the months since assuming command of the fleet as it teetered on the edge of destruction. But Geary realized that perhaps the most disturbing difference here was that Captain Tanya Desjani wasn’t present. He’d grown very used to her presence, her support, and her advice at critical meetings.

Geary marched to a point opposite the center of the table and saluted. “Captain John Geary, acting commander of the Alliance Fleet, reporting,” he announced with rigid formality.

A tall, lean civilian in the center of the council nodded and made a vague gesture. “Thank you, Captain Geary.”

“Who,” another male politician demanded, “appointed you acting fleet commander, Captain?”

Geary kept his gaze on the bulkhead as he answered. “Admiral Bloch appointed me to the position in the Syndicate Worlds’ home star system immediately prior to his leaving the fleet to conduct negotiations on the Syndic flagship, sir. When he died, I retained the position based on my seniority within the fleet.”

“You already knew that,” a short, stout female politician muttered to her colleague.

The man who’d first spoken gestured the others to silence, then glared as two began to talk anyway. “The council chair is speaking,” he snapped. After staring down some defiant looks from the other politicians, the man gazed steadily at Geary for a long moment before talking again. “Why are you here, Captain?”

“To present my report on recent operations while the fleet was under my command and out of contact with Alliance authorities,” Geary recited, “and to provide recommendations for future operations.”

“Recommendations?” The tall civilian leaned back, his eyes searching Geary, then they shifted suddenly to Rione. “Madam Co-President, on your oath to the Alliance, does he mean that?”

“He does.”

The ground-forces general spoke abruptly. “He’s separated from those treasonous Marines, Senator Navarro. We can arrest him now. Get him off this station and out of Varandal before anyone—”

“No.” Senator Navarro shook his head. “I was at best ambivalent about what was presented as a simple security precaution. Now having met this man, I am certain it would have been a mistake.”

“This is a decision for the entire council to make,” a thin woman broke in.

“I agree with Senator Navarro,” the stout woman replied, drawing some startled looks, which told Geary she didn’t customarily support Navarro.