Jack Campbell - Guardian

“Captain?” the communications watch-stander called. “We have a message coming in from the unidentified warships. It uses an old format that’s standard for comms in Sol Star System and is addressed to our, uh, ‘senior superior command supervising authority and controller.’”

“Redundant much?” Desjani growled. “Forward it to the Admiral.”

“Let everyone on the bridge see it,” Geary ordered. “Envoys Rione and Charban, please wait on that message to the Dancers until we see what these other ships tell us.”

An image appeared before him of a man well past middle age seated on a bridge not too different from that of Dauntless . No surprise there. The most efficient arrangement of controls and watch stations had been worked out centuries ago. Wherever anyone went in human space, they would find the configuration of a ship’s bridge to be roughly similar.

The man wore a uniform with such elaborate design and ornamentation that Geary found himself searching for the rank insignia and unable to sort it out among the many other glittering objects adorning the outfit. The suits of Syndic CEOs were well-known for their intricate and expensive tailoring, but this uniform would have put any Syndic CEO to shame. The man’s hair was about shoulder length and as ostentatiously styled as his uniform, the top of the hair formed into a stiff peak that ran back like the plume on an ancient helmet. On the man’s right and left breasts, a solid sheet of award ribbons and medals formed a multicolored breastplate reaching from shoulder to waist.

It was all undoubtedly meant to be impressive, but as Geary took in the gaudy image, he heard Tanya Desjani not quite stifle a giggle. Elsewhere on the bridge of Dauntless , there were muffled laughs and suppressed sounds of wonderment.

“I am His Excellency Captain Commodore First Rank Stellar Guard of the Fist of the People Earun Tavistorevas, Paramount of the Shield of Sol,” the extravagant officer declared in a bored tone of voice. “I condescend to speak to the lowly representatives of the barbarous government of the inconsequential so-called Alliance. You have entered this star system without permission. You have brought with you tramontane creatures whose presence is an affront to the unsullied Earth. Hear my command. You will disable all combat systems. You will graciously welcome security auditors who will board your vulgar craft in search of impurities and render it impotent to do harm. You will surrender the tramontane conveyances to us. Once you have complied with all instructions and requirements, I will permit you to depart upon your plea for clemency. By the authority granted me to ensure the security of all, this is Earun Tavistorevas.”

Geary was the first to speak when the transmission ended. “What the hell is a tramontane?”

Rione answered. “I just looked it up. An ancient term which literally means ‘from over the mountains.’ Newer meanings, and by newer I mean quite a few centuries ago, are ‘foreigner,’ ‘barbarian,’ or ‘alien.’”

“They couldn’t just say ‘alien’?” Charban asked. “I assume they are referring to the Dancers.”

“Vulgar craft?” Desjani said in a dangerous voice. “Did they call Dauntless a vulgar craft?”

Uncharacteristically, Rione answered again, speaking directly to Desjani. “They appear to feel superior to us in all ways.”

“How many awards did that clown have displayed on his chest?” Charban, who rarely spoke so bluntly, let his words drip with scorn. “He must be the greatest hero by far in the history of humanity.”

“Give me a background shot from that transmission,” Geary ordered.

Without the image of the “Captain Commodore” in the foreground, they could much more easily make out the figures of the others on the bridge of his ship. All of them displayed large panels of awards on their uniforms, though none as large and sparkly as that of their leader.

“Make that a crew of amazing heroes,” Desjani said contemptuously. “They must hand out medals for getting up in the morning.”

“From the looks of it,” Geary said, “they may hand out medals for displaying your prior medals properly.”

Senator Suva spoke angrily. “Are you all done mocking him? You do realize he ordered us to surrender this ship? And that we are very badly outnumbered?”

“He’s over half a light-hour distant,” Geary pointed out. “I don’t know what velocity he will accelerate to, but his ships seem to be maneuvering comparably to our ships. It’s going to take him a while to catch us even if we don’t speed up.”

“Speed up? Are you talking about resisting his orders?”

Rione sounded more annoyed than angry as she answered. “We have no obligation to follow his orders. Nor do I trust him to abide by his claim that he would let us go after disabling our weapons and after we beg his forgiveness for breaking rules we did not know of and are not required to follow.”

“He can enforce those rules,” Charban said in a heavy voice. “He has the firepower to do so.”

“We cannot fight in Sol Star System!” Suva cried. “Even those who do not consider it sacrilegious would be outraged!”

Geary spoke loudly enough to shut down the conversation. “We don’t intend fighting. I’m going to answer that overdressed clown, telling him politely that as a warship of the Alliance we are not subject to his authority in a neutral star system. I will further tell him that the business of the Dancers is with the authorities here, not with his… whatever it is.”

“He didn’t address his message to you, so you shouldn’t answer it,” Costa said sharply. “He specifically said it was for the representatives of the—” She broke off, looking startled.

Sakai nodded slowly. “How did he know this ship carried representatives of the Alliance government?”

“Could someone have gotten here ahead of us?” Costa demanded.

“Someone must have. Someone who left Varandal allegedly en route a different destination came to Sol instead, and left before we arrived.” Sakai’s face had become as unrevealing of emotion as stone. “Those ships were awaiting our arrival and, immediately upon seeing us, acted aggressively. I wonder what would become of each of us if we surrendered to their demands?”

“Who would want all three of us—” Suva began, then also ceased speaking abruptly.

Sakai nodded again. “Perhaps not all three of us are in peril. Perhaps one, or two, would be released safely. Perhaps not. There may be those who want none of us to come home.”

“You know there are,” Costa spat. “And some of them have a lot of money. That overdressed buffoon may act contemptuous of the lowly government of the inconsequential Alliance, but I’ll bet you he accepted a handsome bribe from… some person.” She looked around, half-defiant and half-worried, becoming aware again that others were listening to the discussion.

Desjani’s eyes went to Geary. He could read the message in them. You’re the target of this, too. You and Dauntless .

He nodded back to her in wordless agreement, trying not to let his expression become too grim. Black Jack without a fleet at his back. A single battle cruiser, outnumbered and isolated. The politicians on board might be targets, Costa, Suva, Sakai, and Rione, but were they the primary targets? Or would they and Dauntless ’s crew be more collateral damage of attempts to “stop” Black Jack?

“Why don’t we know more about these people?” Rione complained, glaring at her data pad. She had been furiously tapping in search commands and now looked toward Lieutenant Iger’s image. “There’s nothing here about star systems beyond Sol except literally ancient summaries.”