Jack Campbell - Guardian

“As many as twenty thousand, Admiral.”

“Twenty thousand?” Finding room on his ships for that many liberated prisoners would be extremely difficult.

“That’s the top end, Admiral, what the camp was designed to hold. The Syndic comms we’ve intercepted since arriving at Simur indicate thousands of Alliance prisoners are there, but we don’t know how many.”

Thousands. That was enough. Hundreds would be enough. Maybe even a couple would be enough. There is so much we can’t do, but we can liberate prisoners still being held after the war that justified their imprisonment is over.

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Geary sat back, rubbing his eyes with both hands, after Iger’s image vanished.

Desjani’s voice came from beside him. “This really stinks.”

“It does, doesn’t it?”

“Thousands of Alliance POWs. In a new camp. In a star system we had to come home through.”

It stank as badly as any bait could. “What’s the trap, though?” Geary asked.

“Do we want to find out?”

“Do we have any choice?” He called Rione. “Madam Emissary, we need to talk to the senior Syndic CEO in this star system about a prison camp.”

It took hours for Rione’s message to reach the habitable world where the Syndic CEO was probably located, and hours more for a reply to be received. Geary made good use of the time by heading his fleet inward toward the star and the habitable world.

The four Syndic ship groups made repeated passes at the fleet during that time, trying to provoke some response from the Alliance formation, but Geary held his fire, waiting for the Syndics to come in close enough to be attacked. They didn’t come near enough, and he didn’t let any of his ships leave formation to pursue the Syndics, so the stalemate continued. The fact that the Syndics were also being frustrated provided only a marginal sense of satisfaction.

The fleet had started out near the edges of the Simur Star System, about five light-hours from the star. The habitable world orbited about seven light-minutes from the star, so the curved trajectory that would intercept the habitable world was five point one light-hours long. Geary held the fleet’s velocity to point one light speed, which produced a travel time of fifty-one hours. Even at a speed of thirty thousand kilometers per second, the distances inside star systems took a while to cross. If the fleet had been limited to that velocity in journeying to the closest star to Simur, it would have required thirty-eight years of travel to reach Padronis at a distance of three point eight light-years.

“We have a reply,” Rione’s image said, her voice giving no clue as to the nature of the reply. “Do you want to see it?”

He was on Dauntless ’s bridge, so Geary activated his privacy field, making sure it included Tanya so that she could hear and see the message as well. “Sure. Relay it to me.”

Another virtual window appeared next to the one that held Rione’s image. Geary found himself looking at a very stern-faced, elderly woman in a Syndic CEO suit. The suit, while immaculately tailored as CEO suits always were, appeared a bit worn, betraying how long it had been since the senior CEO at Simur could afford to replace her outfit.

The female CEO spoke in clipped tones, as if biting off the end of each word. “I must protest the aggressive actions of the Alliance armed forces in this star system. Only the commitment of the Syndicate Worlds to honoring the letter and spirit of the peace agreement between our two peoples restrains me from ordering an appropriate response to your fleet’s movements.”

He tried not to get angry, which would only make it harder to spot subtle clues in the words and actions of the Syndic CEO. But even through his attempts to stay calm and observant, Geary noticed that this CEO sounded slightly different, her posture not the same. She was speaking, he realized, not just to him but to some other audience.

“The mobile forces whose actions you protest are not under my control,” the Syndic CEO continued. Somehow, those words held an uncharacteristic ring of truth. Had there been a tiny extra emphasis on the word “my”?

“I can do nothing to stop them, I have not ordered them to harass you, they are not Syndicate Worlds’ mobile forces, and therefore I regard this as a matter between you and whoever commands those mobile forces.”

The CEO gestured impatiently, one hand flinging outward in a practiced move that must have terrified her subordinates for decades. “As to the prison camp, I am aware of the obligations incurred by the Syndicate Worlds under the peace agreement. I am nonetheless extremely unhappy to have you demanding the release of those prisoners instead of offering to discuss the issue. You have doubtless seen that we have inadequate defenses in this star system, so I cannot resist your demand to yield the prisoners of war to you. However, neither will I cooperate. Bring your fleet here, use your own means to lift the prisoners to it, then depart, the sooner the better. I will be just as glad not to have six thousand additional mouths to worry about feeding.

“For the people, Gawzi, out.”

As was usually the case with senior Syndics, the phrase “for the people” was uttered like a single, rushed word, lacking any meaning or feeling. Geary had almost stopped noticing that, until hearing the phrase recited with enthusiasm at Midway had reminded him that it could mean something.

Rione was waiting for his comments, looking mildly impatient. “What do you think of that message?” Geary asked. “That CEO sounded a little different to me.”

“That’s because someone is holding a gun to her head,” Rione replied.

“In what sense?”

“In a literal sense. There’s someone near her, but outside the transmission image, who is threatening her. It’s obvious.”

There were times when Rione’s ability to recognize situations could be disturbing. He couldn’t help wondering where she had gained experience in this particular situation. “Those internal-security people?”

She nodded judiciously. “Most likely. The ones the Syndic citizens call snakes. We can safely assume that they are running this star system right now. Not simply pulling strings from behind a curtain but overtly forcing actions.”

“If that’s so,” Geary said, “the internal security here is forcing the CEO to invite us to come get prisoners out of that camp.”

Rione nodded again. “It wasn’t a very nice invitation, but the way she formed it as a challenge to us was interesting. And she sent confirmation that Alliance prisoners are indeed there. Six thousand of them.”

“They want us there.”

“Indeed. But from what I understand, her statement that she lacks the means to resist us is accurate. The prisoners had better be very carefully screened for pathogens, nanoparticles, or any other form of human-transported sabotage.”

“Thank you.” Geary drummed his fingers on the arm of his seat for a few seconds, frowning, then glanced at Desjani.

She shrugged. “That’s as good a guess as any. They can’t do anything else, so they’ll try to sneak some kind of plague aboard our ships.”

“Isn’t that too obvious?”

“They’ve got four groups of obviously Syndic warships attacking us. and they’re claiming they can’t control them because they’re not really Syndic warships,” Desjani pointed out. “Obviousness doesn’t seem to worry them.”

“Yeah.” He hit another control. “Lieutenant Iger. Do we have anything new?”

“No new threats identified, Admiral.” Iger smiled slightly. “There are a few messages we’ve intercepted that indicate the locals are not happy about what the Syndic authorities are doing. This one from an orbiting mining facility near the gas giant is typical.”