Jack Campbell - Invincible

For some unknown reason, the spider-wolf ships had been following his auxiliaries around since the battle, occasionally engaging in intricate maneuvering with themselves or even among the human ships. The fleet’s personnel had begun referring to those movements as dances. Their purpose or meaning for the spider-wolves remained a mystery, but at least for the humans, the dances were benefiting morale. Since the spider-wolves had managed the impossible feat of deflecting a kinetic bombardment aimed at a human planet, they had become welcome visitors rather than objects of puzzlement and worry.

No one seemed to be using the term “Bub” anymore. Instead, Geary heard repeated references to “the Dancers.” The tone of voice in such cases was always admiring or approving. He had been able to discourage but not eliminate the use of Bub to describe the spider-wolves, but now the spider-wolves’ own actions had earned them the respectful name of Dancers.

Geary slumped back as he finished his message to Smythe, wishing that he could have grabbed a little more sleep before his responsibilities had called him back to the bridge.

“No rest for the weary?” Rione asked.

“Apparently not. Now what?”

“Our currently favorite Syndic CEO has finally decided to do us the kindness of communicating with us.”

“That’s just wonderful.” Geary sat up straighter, blinking away fatigue. “How bad is it?”

“I haven’t seen it yet. It’s addressed to you. But it ought to be good,” Rione remarked.

CEO Boyens looked much like he had when they had last seen him as they released their high-ranking prisoner with the war over. Then he had been appropriately solemn, but now Boyens smiled in the practiced, polished, and perceptibly insincere manner that must be part of the Syndicate Worlds’ CEO-training pipeline. Then, as if realizing that his audience could read that gesture for what it was, Boyens tried to shift the smile to something approximating sincerity.

“Why do I feel like he’s trying to pick me up in a bar?” Desjani asked.

“Is that what it looks like?” Geary said.

“Sort of. It never worked on me when I was buzzed, so it sure as hell isn’t going to work when I’m sober. Are you trying to claim that nobody’s ever hit on you in a bar?”

“I don’t think I should answer that.” He fell silent as Boyens began to speak in earnest tones.

“Admiral Geary, I am immensely grateful for your assistance in once again defending this star system against aggression by the enigma race. On behalf of the government of the Syndicate Worlds, I offer my thanks to you.”

“Thanks to you ,” Desjani muttered. “Not to the Alliance or to this fleet, to you .”

He might have missed that significant distinction if Tanya hadn’t pointed it out, so now Geary listened even more critically as Boyens went on.

“Admiral, now that you’ve completed your work here, I will be happy to detach one of my mobile forces’ units to escort you through Syndicate Worlds’ space and back to Alliance space. I am certain that you cannot wait to return home.”

Desjani laughed softly. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out, our friends and allies. I’d rather deal with the Kicks.”

“Naturally,” Boyens continued, “you’ll want to proceed home via Prime in order to update the peace treaty to reflect current realities and share any information that would be of interest to the entire human race. If some of the ships with you are ambassadors of some sort, they will, of course, want to stop at Prime on their way to Alliance space. I have some business to conclude here, then will follow you, eager to learn everything that your explorations have contributed to human knowledge of the universe. For the people, Boyens, out.”

That was simply too outrageous. Geary managed to keep his voice level as he hit the reply command. “Thank you for your offer,” he began without any polite preamble. “The Alliance fleet is always prepared to repel aggression.” Let Boyens, and his superiors at Prime, read anything they wanted into that. “However, our work here is not yet entirely complete. We have some discussions under way with local authorities.” That would give Boyens something else to think about. “Just as your forces did not play any role in the defense of this star system, we will also not require any of your forces to assist in our movements. As you may have noticed, we are already ourselves escorting other ships to Alliance space and will choose our own path back. Our guests have expressed the wish to be escorted directly to Alliance authorities, and we will be honoring their wishes.”

Rione stepped into the image beside Geary as smoothly as if the move had been practiced beforehand. “As you are aware, CEO Boyens, the peace treaty does not restrict the exact route we must use when traveling to and from the Midway Star System. Nor does it restrict our time here. As Emissary of the Alliance, I thank you for your offer of assistance and wish you a pleasant return journey to Prime. To the honor of our ancestors, Rione, out.”

As the reply cut off, she turned an apologetic face to Geary. “You were done speaking to him, weren’t you?”

“I certainly was.”

One hour later, they received a message in which a gracious Iceni granted Geary free access to asteroids in the star system for mining, asking only that the Alliance auxiliaries coordinate their activity with the local “space-resource-extraction authorities.”

Less than an hour after that, another message from the planet came in marked eyes only, private, for Admiral Geary. He went down to his stateroom to view it, wondering what this could concern.

The message was from General Drakon, this time sitting alone, looking ahead and speaking without any pretense. “I am asking a personal favor, Admiral Geary. I understand that you have no reason to grant that to a former enemy. However, the favor is not for me, but for one of my subordinates. Colonel Rogero is one of my most highly trusted and highly regarded officers. He has asked me to see if the attached message can be delivered to one of your subordinate officers. In light of his loyal service to me and as one professional to another, I am requesting that you forward the message to its intended recipient. In case any question arises, President Iceni is aware of this communication and the contents of the attached message and has no objections to either. I will answer any questions you have regarding this matter if you communicate them to me.”

Drakon paused, his eyes looking outward as if he could actually see Geary. “I’m glad we never met in battle during the war, Admiral. I’m not at all sure I would have survived that experience, though I would have given you the fight of your life before it was over. For the people, Drakon, out.”

Geary replayed that last part again, listening intently. General Drakon didn’t put the enthusiastic lilt to the “for the people” phrase that Kommodor Marphissa had, but there was nonetheless something more than an automatic use of a meaningless phrase there. Geary thought he sensed a defiance, a determination, as if Drakon was actually willing to defend the ideals behind that saying, ideals long since forgotten by the Syndicate Worlds’ government, if they had ever held any real substance at all to most Syndic leaders.

He turned back to the attachment. A message from one of the former Syndic officers to one of Geary’s officers? He knew who it would be addressed to before he looked at it. Captain Bradamont.

There were difficult things he had to do as an officer, as a fleet commander, but reading a personal message between two people felt like one of the most unpleasant obligations he faced. Wincing inwardly, Geary opened the attachment, knowing that the fleet’s firewalls and security software would have already checked it for dangerous content.