Jack Campbell - Leviathan

“Hit ’em,” the order came back. “Through the hatch and left. You’ll take them in the rear.”

“Got it. Through hatch, left. Are we weapons free?”

“If they fire, you are cleared to engage. The brass wants live prisoners, though. See if they’ll surrender when they realize they’ve been flanked.”

“Roger.” The lieutenant repeated the orders to her platoon, then as the nearest Marine yanked open the hatch, the entire force charged through, the Marines in their heavy combat armor having to duck and twist to get through an opening intended for typical human sizes.

The Marines emerged into what Geary recognized as another section of that broad corridor, this part on the other side of the defended blast doors. Several men and women wearing reinforced survival suits were crouched near the doors. They did not realize at first that there were Marines behind them, but when one turned and cried a warning the rest jerked around rapidly to face this new attack

“Drop your weapons!” The voice of the Marine lieutenant, amplified by her battle armor, boomed through the corridor.

One of the defenders brought up a weapon to aiming position, and died a second later as several Marines put shots through him.

The rest stood frozen before dropping their weapons hastily.

“We got six prisoners and one body,” the lieutenant reported.

The six survivors, whose reinforced survival suits bore a private security contractor symbol, sounded terrified, not defiant like the agents Geary still had detained aboard Dauntless . “We didn’t sign up for this,” one announced. “Don’t want to fight no Marines. We’re on the same side.”

“Uh-huh,” the lieutenant replied. “Who’s in charge? This guy?” She indicated the dead defender.

“No, no, it’s the suits! They only talk to us to give orders. They’re holed up in the command center.”

“Pack ’em up,” the lieutenant told her platoon. “And get those blast doors open.”

“Wait!” another one of the private security guards cried. “We can help you guys! I heard what they’re doing. They’re getting ready to fry all the files in the system! Sanitize the records, they call it. If they know you’ve made it past us, they’ll set off magnetic pulse bombs all over the station!”

“Captain?” the lieutenant called.

“I heard. We’ve got hack and cracks breaking into the systems at remote locations and trying to sever the links from the command center. Hold your position and see what else those guys can tell you.”

The captured contractors had no qualms about spilling their guts since they had been told to stay behind when most of the other occupants of the facility had tried to flee. “No room, they told us. They said they’d send somebody back for us. Then we saw them get blown to pieces. Ever since then, we’ve been hiding in here, hoping those damned ships wouldn’t notice us.”

Geary pulled his attention away from the Marines again, hoping they would successfully prevent the “suits” from destroying all of the records on the facility. “Any changes?” he asked Desjani.

“They’re a bit closer, that’s all,” she said. “How are the grunts doing?”

“They’re working it.” Geary rubbed his lower face with one hand as he considered the situation. “I’m thinking we should—”

“Admiral,” the comm watch-stander announced loudly, “we have a message coming in from one of the dark battle cruisers!” He cringed before Desjani could even direct a withering glare at him, then spoke at a normal volume. “I’m sorry, Captain.”

“I’m the only one who yells on this bridge,” she informed him, “and no one likes it when I do.”

“Yes, Captain. Admiral, what should I do with the message?”

Geary had controlled his initial reaction, managing to just nod in response. “Send it to me.”

The image of Admiral Bloch appeared before him. He had last seen Bloch at the Syndicate Worlds home star system, Prime, when the defeated Bloch was taking a shuttle to the Syndicate flagship to plea for a deal to save the rest of the apparently doomed Alliance fleet. He had thought that Bloch had died that day, along with the other senior fleet officers, murdered by Syndic special forces.

But the Syndics had not wanted to kill a captive whose knowledge might prove valuable. They had kept him, and when the war was over and Bloch’s living presence offered a chance to disrupt the still-hated Alliance, the Syndics sent him home.

Then, having nearly lost the war for the Alliance, and having made little secret of his belief that a military dictatorship overseen by him would cure the ills of the Alliance, Bloch was received by some as a champion. And as someone who might be a counter to the immense popularity of Black Jack Geary. Faced with Black Jack, a hero whose achievements and fame were seen as threats to the government, parts of the government reacted by embracing Black Jack’s antithesis.

It hadn’t gone well for the government, and as Geary looked at Bloch’s image, he saw that it hadn’t gone well for Admiral Bloch, either. From appearances, Senator Unruh’s suspicions that Bloch had already regretted getting what he wanted were extremely accurate.

Bloch was in a compartment that looked like a fairly luxurious stateroom fitted out with a ship’s bridge command fixtures. The lavish compartment was messy, though, with empty ration containers strewn about.

Admiral Bloch himself looked as bad as he had when he left Dauntless on that day at Prime when he was supposed to arrange a surrender of what was left of the Alliance fleet. Geary remembered how dead Bloch’s eyes had seemed then as his dreams of power and glory crumbled. But now his appearance was at least as bad. Admiral Bloch’s eyes held the terror of a small mammal held in a trap.

“Black Jack,” Bloch said with forced familiarity. “Admiral Geary now! Congratulations on that and… and on your many… many victories. I am in a… difficult situation. The ships under my… uh… that are supposed to be under my command… have… uh… malfunctioned.” His lips bent in a weak attempt at a smile. “Mutiny, you could call it.

“Most of these ships have no provision for crews,” Bloch said, gaining some composure as he described technical matters. “Except this one. The flagship. We have a small area with life support for me and my staff.” His eyes shifted, avoiding looking toward Geary. “We have… had… two shuttles in the dock on this battle cruiser. For the use of me and my staff. Also fully automated. No pilots.”

Admiral Bloch swallowed uncomfortably. “My staff… took one. To try to get to the government facility. They… did not make it. Once the shuttle got clear of this ship, it apparently registered as a target for the surrounding ships of the Defender Fleet.”

“That bastard,” Desjani said in a low voice. “He told them to go first so he could see whether or not the dark ships would target a shuttle from his flagship.”

“After which he would take the second one,” Geary agreed.

“You need to know something, Black Jack,” Bloch continued, his attitude now defiant as if he realized what his audience’s reaction would be to his earlier admission. “You’ve been too clever. I can still see what is happening outside of my flagship. Outside of my stateroom. I saw you destroy the docks and warehouses on which my fleet is dependent. Yes, you knocked out the support system for the Defender ships. But even though I cannot control them, I can monitor their decision processes. Do you know what you have done, Admiral? Destroying their support facilities here at Unity Alternate has activated the Armageddon Option in their programming.”

“Armageddon Option does not sound good,” Desjani murmured.