Jack Campbell - Guardian

Geary nodded. “Yes, but those warships are also claiming to be under the control of this star system. That would make that senior CEO responsible regardless. I want to see what they say about that.”

“An interesting suggestion, Admiral.” Rione beckoned to Charban. “Let’s go send that message. We’ll talk about how to word it on the way to the conference room.”

But she paused as the specter missiles from Tulev’s battle cruisers began impacting on the derelicts. Some of the explosions were appropriate to the impact, the warheads of the missiles combining with the kinetic energy of the missile itself to blow apart ships that were already rickety.

Of the seven derelicts hit, however, four blew apart with much greater force than missile warhead and impact could explain. Geary watched the spread of shrapnel and high-velocity particles from the explosions, feeling cold satisfaction at having guessed right. Those derelicts had been weapons, planted across the path of the Alliance fleet, kept on station by maneuvering capabilities that mines could not match.

Rione sketched a brief, half-mocking salute Geary’s way, then left the bridge with Charban.

Geary kept his eyes on his display as the fleet coalesced into the tight sphere of the Armadillo formation. The four groups of new Syndic warships, apparently uncertain as to what the Alliance ships were doing, had all swung off from intercepts and were proceeding to positions at different points around the Alliance formation. He had a mental image of frustrated mosquitoes swarming around an impenetrable mesh of netting.

No. That’s wrong. That image assumes that those Syndic warships aren’t still a danger. I can’t be sure of that. I don’t know what else the Syndics might pull now that they can’t fight me on conventional terms. They used suicide attacks, a boarding operation, and a minefield at Sobek. That’s what we know of. What else is here?

“So far they haven’t repeated themselves,” Desjani mused.

Had he spoken that last aloud or was Tanya reading his mind again? “What else can those warships do?” Geary asked.

“Distract us?” She asked that as alerts sounded.

The vectors of all four groups of warships were changing as they swung around and accelerated toward different parts of the Alliance formation.

“They shouldn’t be able to damage the hide of the Alliance Armadillo!” Desjani observed with overstated bravado. Muffled laughter sounded from the back of the bridge as assorted lieutenants and other watch-standers absorbed their captain’s joke.

Geary ignored the mockery as he ran a couple of quick simulations. “Even if they go onto suicide vectors, we’ve got a tight enough formation with enough firepower on the outside to be able to blow them apart before they penetrate our, uh, formation.” He had almost said “hide,” which would have only reinforced Desjani’s joke.

As it was, he had a bad feeling that he would be hearing comments about the Alliance Armadillo for years to come.

Despite his certainty that the defensive arrangement of ships would frustrate the Syndic attackers, Geary still felt tense as the four groups of ships swung in against different parts of the outer shell of the Alliance formation. The Syndics bored in, entering the Alliance missile envelopes, and specters began leaping from the nearest Alliance warships.

But the Syndics pitched around and climbed or dove away almost as soon as they had entered missile range. Geary watched, angry, as dozens of missiles were wasted, their targets zooming out of range. “I should have guessed they’d do something like that.”

“They won’t get away with it again,” Desjani assured him. “I recommend you tell the ships to hold missile fire until the Syndics are too close to evade out of range.”

“Yeah. Good idea.” He transmitted the orders, glaring at his display. It wasn’t a stalemate. As long as the Alliance ships kept moving, they would reach the next jump point and leave Simur. But it felt like a stalemate as the Syndic warships bent their vectors back toward the Alliance formation again. “They may not be able to hurt us, but they’ve got the initiative. I don’t want to give them time to think up something.”

“Hmmm,” Desjani murmured. She hesitated as a thought struck her, then leaned toward her display, watching intently as she entered commands. “They’re using automated maneuvering. I’m sure of it.”

“How can you be sure?” Geary asked.

“The movements are extremely precise. Every ship moves at the exact same moment, and every maneuver is identical for every ship. Do a replay of their tracks when those four groups last came at us, then overlay the tracks of all four groups on each other.”

“Identical,” Geary said. “Not just each ship, the entire formation. The exact same approach vector and the same avoidance vector.”

“They’re new,” Desjani insisted. “Not just the ships. The crews. They don’t have the training to maneuver manually, so they’re letting their automated systems handle everything. Maybe they’ve got orders to do that. But if they’re using automated systems, then those systems will have patterns.”

“How long will it take us to analyze those patterns?”

She paused, then made an uncertain gesture. “A while. We’ll need examples of their attack patterns. I don’t know how many. Eventually, our combat systems will be able to predict their movements.”

“Eventually.” Hanging around Simur waiting an indefinite period while Syndic warships made repeated passes at his formation didn’t sound like a worthwhile strategy. His fleet wouldn’t be happy with remaining on the defensive while the Syndics nipped at the Alliance formation, but if the fleet kept heading home, that should counteract the unhappiness to a considerable extent. He still had to worry about getting the Dancers, and Invincible , safely back to Alliance territory. “Tanya, let’s aim for the jump point for Padronis. Circuitous path, just in case there are any more surprises in this star system.”

Desjani paused again, but whatever she planned to say was interrupted by a call to Geary from the intelligence compartment on Dauntless .

Lieutenant Iger looked almost apologetic. “Admiral, there’s a new POW camp here. A really big one, on the habitable planet, and there are Alliance military personnel there.”

His head beginning to throb in time to a familiar headache, Geary rubbed one hand hard against his forehead. “There wasn’t before.”

“Not the last time the Alliance attacked this star system, no, sir.” Images appeared next to Iger. “This is new. Recent construction on the habitable world.”

Geary studied the images, seeing large barracks and warehouses arranged in a pattern that had become familiar. The new camp was located far from any of the cities on the planet, in an especially desolate region of the generally desolate planet. That also matched Syndic practice, which placed their prison and labor camps either close to a city or in the middle of nowhere. “It looks like a Syndic POW camp,” he conceded.

“We’ve also intercepted Syndic communications that indicate the camp was recently constructed as a central location for housing Alliance prisoners of war brought from smaller camps in other star systems,” Iger continued.

“They’re supposed to be turning those prisoners over to the Alliance as part of the peace agreement,” Geary said. “Why build a new camp here?”

“Admiral… perhaps the Syndics don’t intend to honor that part of the peace agreement.”

If that was so, it would be part and parcel of Syndic behavior as far as every other portion of the peace agreement was concerned. “How many POWs are here?”