Jack Campbell - Guardian

“The medical authorities will take your experience into account, won’t they?” Geary asked. “You say the physicians at the Shilling Institute are capable.”

“They are, but they are among the elite. We are fleet physicians, Admiral,” Dr. Nasr said with heavy irony. “A lesser form of surgeon in the eyes of the elite. They will listen to us, some of them will pay heed, but I fear others will discount what we say and make their own mistakes.” All trace of humor was gone now. “And the last two bear-cows may die. Not because the people gaining custody of them are evil or wrong but because humans make mistakes, even in cases that do not involve very cute creatures who do not think as we do and did not evolve as we did.”

Geary clenched his teeth, fighting down a sense of futility that he knew the doctor must share. “We did the best we could. I don’t know what else we could have done.”

“Neither do I, Admiral. I wanted you to know. Perhaps I am being unduly pessimistic, the doctor unwilling to hand his patient off to another doctor. Perhaps I am the one suffering from the belief that I know more than anyone else.” Nasr seemed wistful for a moment. “It is a great pity. The bear-cows will never know how hard we tried to save them, to keep them alive, to help them. But they think they already know what we intend toward them, and so they would not listen, not even for a few seconds. How do we explain this to others, to those who would blame us? I have already heard it. How could you have fought them? How could you have killed them?”

“They didn’t give us any choice.”

“Our records should make that clear,” the doctor agreed. “Unless people do not want to believe those records.”

“Thank you, Doctor. For everything.” Geary turned to talk to Tanya, only to hear the high-pitched squeal that warned of an urgent message.

Captain Hiyen had the fixed expression of someone facing a firing squad, that combination of resignation that nothing could be done and determination to face fate’s last throw with as much courage as possible. It was not the sort of fatalistic cast any commander wanted to see on a subordinate when they reported in. It seemed particularly out of place here, in supposed safety at Varandal. “Admiral, I must speak with you, privately and as soon as possible.”

The battleship Reprisal orbited only a few light-seconds distant, making a real conversation possible without long, awkward pauses as light crawled between ships carrying human messages. “What exactly does this concern?” Geary asked, gesturing urgently to Desjani.

“It… concerns the ships of the Callas Republic. And, I believe, those of the Rift Federation. Please, Admiral. There may be little time.”

Rione had warned him that a long-simmering pot might be on the verge of boiling over. Geary paused, thinking, then glanced over at where Tanya sitting, her whole attitude alert as she sensed Geary’s concern. “Captain Desjani, please accompany me to the high-security conference room.” Private talk, hell. He needed other ears, other minds, working with him if this involved what he feared.

And if this matter involving the ships of the Callas Republic was what he thought it was… Geary hit an internal comm control. “Emissary Rione, I need you in the high-security conference room as soon as possible.” Rione had been Co-President of the Callas Republic, and respected by the crews of the ships from that republic and the Rift Federation, before being recently voted out of office in one of the wave of special elections convulsing the Alliance’s political order. The republic and the federation had only joined with the Alliance during the war out of fear of the Syndicate Worlds, and with their populations now chafing to sever formal ties, Rione’s loyalty to the Alliance had been a serious drawback for her with the voters.

“That call was from Reprisal ,” Tanya noted, as they started toward the conference room, walking briskly but not so fast as to arouse alarm among the crew members who saw them.

“Right. You can guess what this is probably about.”

She nodded with a slow deliberation that startled Geary. “They want to go home.”

“We all do.”

“Not as bad as them. And we are home, in the Alliance. Those ships are from the Callas Republic. They haven’t been home in a long time.”

“I know.”

A few minutes later, the hatch to the room sealed behind Rione as she joined them, the lights above the hatch came on declaring the room and its communications to be as secure as current fleet hardware and software could achieve, and Geary gestured to Tanya to open the link to Captain Hiyen.

Hiyen did not appear happy to see the others present but then sighed heavily in acceptance. “Admiral, I will trust in your judgment on including these others. Madam Co-President, I still call you that, but many of our people no longer trust you.”

Rione took that news impassively, but Geary could see the hurt in her eyes. “I did not write the orders that kept you here. I was called on to deliver them, but I never approved of them.”

“I believe you,” Hiyen said. “Admiral, to put it bluntly, I have the sad duty to report that mutiny is imminent on the ships of this fleet from the Callas Republic and, I believe, on those from the Rift Federation as well. In my professional opinion, at any moment, my officers and crew, and those of the other ships from the republic and the federation, will cease responding to orders and break away from the fleet en route their homes.

“There is nothing,” Hiyen added, “that I can do to stop this. It is in some ways a miracle that we came this far without mutiny. But now it is inevitable.”

Desjani clenched one fist. “If those ships mutiny and take off on their own, the rest of the fleet is going to go unstable really fast. But if you send Marines to subdue the crews, or order our ships to fire on those ships, the result might be even worse.”

And, of course, Geary knew that even though he had not created this situation, the decision on what to do was his, and his alone, just as the blame for any negative consequences would be his.

“You’ve tried everything to keep a lid on the situation?” Geary asked Hiyen.

“Everything except mass arrests,” Captain Hiyen replied heavily. “I fear attempting that would cause the entire situation to go nova.”

“He’s right,” Rione said, her voice quiet but full of certainty. “We can’t contain this any longer.”

“But Captain Desjani is right,” Geary said. “If I just let those ships head for home, every other sailor and Marine in this fleet is going to start wondering about taking decisions like that into their own hands. A lot of them don’t want to mutiny, they want to be fleet, but they’re feeling badly used. Trying to stop any of them by force would produce even worse results.”

“Talk to them,” Desjani urged.

“Force is the only remaining option to stop this,” Hiyen said. “They will not listen, not even to Black Jack. They are grateful to him, but they have been through too much. I will be removed from command by my crew if I try to stop them, and they will fight back if you try to stop them.”

If only Hiyen had been incompetent, a bad leader whose assessments were not to be trusted and whose removal could stabilize the situation. But Captain Hiyen was capable enough. Not the finest officer in the fleet, but a good officer who knew how to lead. Geary looked at Tanya and saw his assessment mirrored in her eyes.

“How is the fleet supposed to handle such situations?” Rione asked.

Geary shrugged. “The traditional response is to shoot the messenger. Blame Captain Hiyen for telling us about the problem, blame him for the problem, and do nothing else until everything blows up.”