Jack Campbell - Guardian

“Right.”

“Damn!” Desjani seemed even more upset now. “I hate it when that woman does that!”

“Does what?”

“Does something that’s… not evil. It makes me wonder what she’s actually up to.” Desjani settled back, her expression becoming thoughtful. “What will you do?”

“I could talk to them,” Geary said.

“That didn’t work with the enigmas or the Kicks. It has rarely worked with the Syndics. And as much as I don’t want to agree with anything those politicians said, it is very suspicious that those ships knew we were coming and who would be aboard. If they knew that, and have taken the actions they already have, they’re not going to listen to anything we say.”

“That’s a point. How about if I talk to them in a way they might understand? I’ll avoid admitting there are any Alliance governmental representatives aboard. That might confuse them. While we’re talking, we’ll keep heading for Old Earth.”

“And if they’re after you?”

“I’ll let them know we won’t roll over without a fight.”

He took another long look at the image of the flashy, overdressed, and over-medaled commander of the outer-star warships, then hit the reply command. “Captain Commodore Tavistorevas, this is Admiral Geary of the Alliance fleet. As I am sure you understand, this warship is a sovereign extension of the Alliance itself. I cannot permit this battle cruiser to be boarded by a foreign power operating in a neutral star system. I am also charged by my government to safely escort to Old Earth the ships carrying emissaries from the alien species we know as Dancers. The Dancers are the only intelligent alien species with which humanity has yet managed to establish friendly relations. In accordance with my orders, I must protect them from any interference or harm, and I will do so.

“Should you wish to issue a formal objection to the actions of the Alliance, please send it to me and I will ensure it is forwarded to appropriate authorities upon our return to the Alliance.

“To the honor of our ancestors, Admiral Geary, out.”

Desjani shrugged. “That can’t hurt. Hmmm. They’re pushing their velocity up to point two light. They’re definitely not just out to block us from leaving. They want to catch us.”

“Admiral?” Lieutenant Iger’s image had reappeared. “Our systems have had a chance to evaluate how those warships maneuver. Their estimate is that the, uh, Shield of Sol warships have no armor.”

“No armor?” Geary questioned.

“There’s a small margin of possibility that light armor might be in place around critical areas,” Iger said.

“What about weapons? I’m still just seeing a few weapon sites and types identified on my display.”

“Those are all that have been confirmed or labeled as high-probability,” the intelligence officer explained. “All of the ornamentation on those ships could be concealing a lot of other weapons, but we’re doing pixel-by-pixel analysis of high-resolution scans. If there are more weapons, we’ll spot them.”

“As soon as possible,” Geary emphasized, then gave Desjani a disgruntled look as Iger’s image vanished. “There have to be a lot more weapons on those ships. We need to have a better idea of what we might have to fight.”

“No armor,” she mused. “But they’re not faster than us. Good. And unless I miss my guess, from the look and sound of Mister Medals, they have highly centralized command and control. If we can take him out, it might be a lot easier to handle the rest.”

Geary looked at the formation of the other warships, a shallow tube longer than it was wide, with one of the megacruisers and two of the corvettes inexplicably spread out from each side. “Mister Medals is probably in that center warship. He won’t be easy to get to.”

“No,” Desjani agreed. “Not without taking heavy fire from all sides, and Dauntless isn’t built to take that kind of punishment.”

He didn’t answer, feeling increasingly gloomy as the situation sank in. Dauntless was alone. She had to look out for the six Dancer ships, but even without that handicap, the Alliance battle cruiser faced a difficult situation, badly overmatched in numbers and firepower. Moreover, the enemy was an unknown quantity in many ways. What sort of tactics did they use? How good was their fire control? How powerful were their weapons? Was Mister Medals a good commander or the sort of aristocratic buffoon that he appeared to be? If he was really good, then the buffoon act might be totally misleading, designed to cause others to underestimate him.

How much had the enemy been told about Dauntless by whoever had told them of the Alliance governmental representatives aboard her?

Too many questions. Not nearly enough answers.

And guessing wrong could be fatal, not just for Dauntless but for whatever hopes rested on humanity’s relationship with the Dancers.

Old Earth was much farther distant than the “Shield of Sol” warships, so it was no surprise that they had not yet heard anything from Sol Star System authorities when a reply came from the outer-star forces.

The gaudy commander of the outer-star warships, whom Geary found himself unable to think of except as Mister Medals, this time acted not only bored but also how-dare-you imperious. “I am His Excellency Captain Commodore First Rank Stellar Guard of the Fist of the People Earun Tavistorevas, Paramount of the Shield of Sol . You are to use my full title when communicating with an officer of my position. I have no interest in whatever orders you received from the vulgar leaders of your barbarous society. You will comply with my orders. If you do not immediately reduce velocity and power down all offensive and defensive systems, I will destroy you as well as every tramontane impurity you have brought into our Home.”

“I don’t think they want to negotiate,” Desjani said, as the transmission ended. Her words sounded light, but her expression was dour.

Geary knew why. The Shield of Sol ships had kept closing on Dauntless . Having upped their velocity to point two three light speed, the other warships were only a couple of hours from overtaking the Alliance battle cruiser. Of the many other spacecraft in Sol Star System, all of them civilian ships, the ones whose tracks would have brought them anywhere near the tracks of Dauntless and the other warships had all altered course to stay well away. They obviously expected the worst. The Dancers had stayed with Dauntless , but was that for the best? Wouldn’t they be safer if he told them to scatter, to head for the hypernet gate and home? But what if they didn’t listen? How could he protect them? How could Dauntless be saved? In an attempt to distract himself, Geary spoke loudly. “Does anyone have any idea why he keeps using terms that have to do with purity and vulgarity?”

Everyone on the bridge shook their heads, so Geary repeated the question to Lieutenant Iger.

“No, sir. They seem to think they are somehow special.”

“I had already gathered that on my own,” Geary said, breaking the call to Iger with an abruptness he knew was unusual. Something was bothering him. Something that loomed just beyond his conscious awareness like a huge beast staying out of his sight but close enough that he could tell it was there.

He stared at his display, feeling an unusual tightness in his guts. He could feel his breaths becoming quicker and shallower. A strange object seemed to be stuck in his throat.

“Admiral?”

He had been here before. He hadn’t been good enough that time.

“Admiral.”

Desjani’s tone broke through Geary’s fixation on his display. He looked over at her.