Jack Campbell: The Lost Fleet – Dauntless

Everyone turned to stare at Geary. Surprise, elation on the faces of the younger officers, skepticism showing on some of the older officers as they all murmured acknowledgment of the admiral’s order.

Geary brought his hand up in the formal salute he’d always known but hadn’t seen among this fleet. He didn’t know when saluting had ceased to be a normal military courtesy in the Alliance fleet, but he was damned if he’d just wave good-bye to a superior officer. Bloch gave a rusty half-salute in reply, then turned and passed quickly through the entry area toward the waiting shuttle, followed by a couple of the older officers.

Geary watched the shuttle depart, unmoving, wondering what he should feel. Command of an entire fleet. Or what was left of it, anyway. The pinnacle of a Navy officer’s career. His command was just for a little while, of course. No matter how bad things were, they didn’t really want him in command. Admiral Bloch was just making a small gesture toward the legendary Captain “Black Jack” Geary, granting a symbolic honor before the Admiral got back with whatever agreement he’d managed to arrange. The negotiations might take a while, but Geary had once known and dealt with representatives of the Syndicate Worlds, and while he’d never liked the Syndics, he was certain they’d cut a deal now rather than face the losses the trapped Alliance fleet would otherwise inflict as it died.

He became aware that the remaining officers were watching him, expectation now warring with their other expressions. Geary turned to face the group and nodded. “Dismissed.” They all turned to go, except for two who paused to awkwardly salute in acknowledgment of the order. Geary returned the salutes, wondering why and at what point such things had gone out of style.

Then he stood, watching them leave, uncertain what to do next. Where did the acting fleet commander belong? On the bridge of the Dauntless, perhaps. With everyone watching him and nothing really to do. What possible difference does it make where I go now? I can give orders from my stateroom if I need to, but I won’t need to, and what would I do if I could? Everything I knew, everyone I knew, is gone. I’m so very tired. I spent almost a century in survival hibernation, sleeping away the lives of my friends, and I’m still tired. To hell with it.

He returned to his stateroom, sat down at the rough-edged desk and tried to look at and think of nothing again. But he couldn’t, because he did after all have a job to do now. After several minutes, the long habits of duty nagged him into motion. Geary squinted at the communications panel set next to the desk, making sure he’d push the right buttons. “Bridge, this is Captain Geary. Acting fleet commander. Please notify me when the shuttles from the fleet reach the Syndic flagship.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” The enlisted sailor visible on the screen nodded rapidly, his eyes filled with awe at seeing Geary. “Estimated time of arrival is fifteen minutes from now.”

“Thank you.” Geary hastily shut off the screen, unnerved by the hero worship on the man’s face. He tried to settle back into his numbness, but duty dug its heels into Geary’s shoulder and kept poking at him. Rather than keep fighting it, he reached for other controls. The flagship’s combat system balked at first from letting him see the latest fleet status data, but somewhere it picked up the information that Geary was now acting commander and grudgingly provided the necessary access. Geary read down the list of ships slowly and methodically, feeling pain beginning to finally gnaw against the deadness inside of him. So many ships lost. So many of the remainder damaged. Small wonder Admiral Bloch had gone to seek terms from the Syndics.

“Captain Geary. Our shuttles have reached the Syndic flagship.”

“Thank you.” Geary didn’t want to think about Admiral Bloch being herded through the enemy ship to beg and bluff for whatever concessions he could squeeze out of the victorious enemy. Geary had never cared for the way the Syndics treated their own people, let alone how they handled others. But they could be reasoned with.

“C-captain Geary. Th-this is the communications watch.”

Geary looked toward the screen. The officer there seemed rattled beyond what Geary had seen elsewhere. Far more rattled. “What is it?”

“A…a message…from the Syndic flagship. Captain. Th-they sent it to all our ships.”

“Show me.” The image of the officer dissolved. Geary saw Admiral Bloch and the other senior Alliance officers, standing next to a bulkhead on what must be the Syndic flagship. The view pulled back, showing the location to be a shuttle dock, and revealing a Syndic official with the impeccably tailored uniform, brilliant rank insignia and instantly recognizable arrogance of a Chief Executive Officer facing the camera.

“Alliance Fleet, your Admiral came to us to ‘negotiate’ for terms of surrender.” The CEO made a gesture.

Geary felt his mouth go dry as a group of Syndic special troops stepped forward, one per Alliance officer, and fired point-blank into Admiral Bloch and the others. Bloch and some of the others tried to remain at attention but crumpled as blood stained their uniforms. Within moments, every senior Alliance officer lay unmoving and unquestionably dead.

The Syndic CEO waved negligently toward the bodies. “There is nothing to ‘negotiate’ with your former leaders. Anyone else who tries to ‘negotiate’ will suffer the same fate as these fools. Those Alliance ships and officers who surrender unconditionally will receive reasonable terms. We have no quarrel with those who were forced to fight us by misguided leaders such as these.” Even through his shock, Geary wondered if the Syndic CEO knew how insincere that statement sounded. “But those who attempt to ‘negotiate’ will die, though perhaps not as quickly as your Admiral.”

“You have one hour to surrender your ships. After that, we will move in and crush any resistance.”

Geary stared at the screen after it blanked and the face of the communications officer returned, gazing back at Geary with despair. Geary had known the Syndics to be ruthless, but he’d never known them to commit this kind of atrocity. Like other things Geary had encountered, it seemed the Syndics had changed over the long course of this war, and not for the better.

It took a long moment for it to sink in that his command of the fleet was no longer a temporary thing. A fleet decimated in battle and trapped, facing overwhelmingly superior numbers. With one hour’s grace. And here was this communications officer, and uncounted others like him, hoping and praying that Geary could somehow do something.

Geary took a deep breath, knowing the emptiness he had felt since his rescue was helping to keep his face composed. “Get me Captain…” What was the name Admiral Bloch had mentioned? “Desjani. Captain Desjani. Now.”

“Yes, sir! She’s on the bridge, sir.”

On the bridge. Geary belatedly recalled that Desjani was Dauntless’s commanding officer. Had he met her? He couldn’t remember.

Within moments, Captain Desjani’s face was displayed on the screen. Middle-aged perhaps, her face worn with the strain of time, experience, and the recent disastrous battle, so that Geary couldn’t even have guessed at how she’d look in a time and place of peace and calm. “I was told you wanted to speak with me.”

“Captain, are you aware of the recent Syndic message?”

She swallowed before answering. “Yes. It was sent to all ships, so every commanding officer saw it.”

“Do you know why the Syndics killed Admiral Bloch?”

Desjani’s mouth twisted in a snarl. “Because they’re soulless scum.”

Geary felt a twinge of anger. “That’s not a reason, Captain.”