Jack Campbell: Dauntless

To Christine and Larry Maguire.

Good people and good friends who’ve made our lives richer by their being here.

For S., as always.

I’m indebted to my editor, Anne Sowards, for her valuable support and editing, and to my agent, Joshua Blimes, for his inspired suggestions and assistance. Thanks also to Catherine Asaro, J. G. (Huck) Huckenpöhler, Simcha Kuritzky, Michael LaViolette, Aly Parsons, Bud Sparhawk, and Constance A. Warner, for their suggestions, comments, and recommendations.

The cold air blowing in through the vents still carried a faint tang of overheated metal and burned equipment. Faint echoes of a blast reached into his stateroom as the ship shuddered. Voices outside the hatch were raised in fright and feet rushed past. But he didn’t move, knowing that if the enemy had resumed the attack there’d be alarms sounding and many more than just one blow struck to the ship. And, attack or not, he had no assignment to run to, no job to fulfill.

He sat in the small stateroom he’d been given, arms crossed and hands tucked in to try to drive away an inner cold that never seemed to leave him. He could hear the sounds of the ship and her crew, and as long as the hatch remained closed he could try to pretend the ship was a ship he knew and the crew were people he’d served with. But those ships and those people were gone, as by all rights he should be as well.

He shifted position slightly, clenching his hands tighter against the cold that welled up from within, as one knee brushed against the rough edge of the small desk this stateroom boasted. He stared at that edge, trying to grasp what it meant. The future was supposed to be smooth. Smooth and clean and bright. It wasn’t supposed to be rougher and more worn than the past. Everybody knew that. But then, wars weren’t supposed to be apparently endless, going on and on and draining the smoothness and brightness from a future that could now only afford efficiency.

“Captain Geary, your presence is requested at the shuttle dock.”

The announcement took a moment to penetrate. Why did they want him? But an order was an order, and if he lost the structure of discipline now he might find he had nothing left at all. He exhaled heavily, then stood, his legs stiff from inner and outer cold. He braced himself before opening the hatch, not wanting to face the people outside, but finally yanked it open and began walking.

The passages of the Alliance battle cruiser Dauntless were crowded with enlisted personnel and a leavening of other officers. They made way for him as he walked, creating a narrow path that seemed to magically open and close just before and behind him as he plodded steadily toward the shuttle area. He kept his eyes unfocused, looking straight ahead and not seeing their faces. He knew what would be reflected on those faces. He’d seen the hope and awe, neither understanding nor desiring it. Now he knew that awe would be joined by anguish and despair, and he wanted to see those faces even less than before. As if he’d let them down, when he’d never promised them anything or claimed to be anything more than he really was.

The crowd suddenly jammed solid before him, and he had to halt. A junior officer looked back and saw him. “Captain Geary!” she exclaimed, her face lighting with irrational hope. The junior officer had dirty hydraulic fluid smeared across one side of her face and a light cast on one arm to cover an injury from the recent battle. Her uniform showed scorch marks on the side of the injured arm.

Geary knew he should say something to the officer, but he couldn’t find any words. “Shuttle dock,” Geary finally stated.

“You can’t get there through here, Captain,” the lieutenant offered eagerly, fatigue falling away from her and oblivious to the lack of reaction from Geary. Her sudden enthusiasm made her seem impossibly young and somehow made Geary feel even older. “It’s sealed off while they repair battle damage. You felt that last shock, didn’t you? We had to jettison some fuel cells before they blew. But we’ll be ready again soon. We’re not beaten yet. Are we? We can’t be.”

“I need to get to the shuttle dock,” Geary repeated slowly.

The lieutenant blinked. “Shuttle dock. Go down two decks and forward from there. That should be clear. It’s good to see you, sir.” Her voice broke on the last sentence.

It’s good to see me? Geary thought. A momentary heat of anger warred against the ice inside him. Why? But he just nodded and replied without inflection. “Thank you.”

Down the ladders two decks and forward again, Geary moved alone through the crowd that still parted and closed as he walked. Despite his attempts to avoid seeing, he caught glimpses of faces now, faces with the same anguish and lit with the same insane optimism when they caught sight of Geary.

Admiral Bloch waited at the entry to the shuttle dock, along with his chief of staff and a small crowd of other officers. Bloch motioned to Geary and drew him aside to speak privately. Unlike the others, Bloch seemed less despairing than stunned by the recent battle, as if he still weren’t quite able to grasp what had happened. “The Syndic leaders have agreed to negotiations. They insist that I and every other flag rank officer participate in person. We’re in no position to refuse their demand.” The Admiral’s voice sounded dull, very different from the booming enthusiasm Geary had grown used to hearing. His eyes were dull, too. “That leaves you the most senior officer in our absence, Captain.”

Geary frowned. He hadn’t really considered that before now. His seniority dated from the day he’d been promoted to Captain. That had been a very long time ago. And with that seniority would come responsibilities. “I can’t—”

“Yes.” Admiral Bloch drew a deep breath. “Please. Captain. The fleet needs you.”

“Sir, with all due respect—”

“Captain Geary, I wouldn’t blame you for wondering if you’d have been better off if we hadn’t found you. I thought, a lot of people thought, it was a harbinger of good luck. ‘Black Jack’ Geary, back from the dead to accompany the Alliance fleet to its greatest victory.” Bloch closed his eyes for a moment. “Now I need to leave the fleet in the hands of someone I can trust.”

Geary grimaced, wanting to yell at Bloch, tell the admiral that the man he wanted to leave in charge of the fleet wasn’t the man actually standing here, that such a person had never existed. But Bloch’s eyes weren’t simply dull, Geary now saw. They were dead. He finally just nodded slowly. “Aye, aye, sir.”

“We’re trapped. This fleet is the Alliance’s last hope. You understand of course. If something happens … do your best. Promise me.”

Geary fought down another impulse to shout out his objections. But breaking the ice inside him would be too hard, and a stubborn sense of duty insisted he couldn’t refuse Admiral Bloch’s request. “I will.”

“ Dauntless … listen, Captain.” Bloch leaned close, speaking even more softly. “ Dauntless has the key onboard. Do you understand? Ask Captain Desjani. She knows and can explain. This ship must get home. Somehow. The hypernet key must get back to the Alliance. If we can do that, there’ll still be a chance, and the ships and the people we’ve lost won’t have been in vain. Promise me, Captain Geary.”

Geary stared, not understanding, shocked even through his numbed senses by the pleading in the admiral’s voice. But it wasn’t like Geary would be in charge forever. Bloch would negotiate with the Syndics, then return and be back in command. Geary would never have to learn any details about some “key” on the Dauntless that somehow related to a method of traveling between the stars that was much more rapid than even the system-jump faster-than-light transportation method used in Geary’s time. “Yes, sir.”