Dreadnaught

Gazing back at the other liberated prisoners, Geary saw an admiral and a general looking his way. Time to reposition before I get pinned down. “I need to return to the bridge,” he said to no one in particular in a voice loud enough to carry. He offered the prisoners a quick wave and smile, then dashed off before they could leave the line.

He made it there only twenty minutes after leaving, finding everything still going well. Of course, he could have directed the operation from anywhere within Dauntless, but humans had long since learned that leaders needed to be seen and needed to issue orders from professionally appropriate locations. Geary had discovered that the old (and apparently true) story of the admiral who had issued orders during a battle from the comfort of his stateroom while drinking beer was still well-known.

Carabali’s shuttle was the last to dock on Tsunami. “All shuttles recovered, all Marines accounted for, all prisoners located and liberated,” she reported to Geary. “No damage to shuttles, personnel casualties limited to several sprains incurred during the landings.”

“Outstanding job, General.” Geary let out a long breath that felt like he had been holding it for hours. “All units, execute Formation November at time four zero.”

Forming into five rectangles, broad sides facing forward, the largest rectangle in the middle itself centered on Dauntless, the Alliance fleet accelerated away from the Syndic planet, heading for the jump point that would take it back to Hasadan. But this time, from Hasadan the fleet would take the Syndic hypernet to Midway. He stood again, stretching out the accumulated tension. “I think I’ll take a break in my stateroom, Captain Desjani.”

“Get something to eat, too,” she said.

Resisting the urge to say, “Yes, ma’am,” and salute her in front of the bridge crew, Geary headed for his stateroom by way of a mess compartment to pick up a battle ration. It wasn’t the best food, and arguments within the fleet debated whether battle rations qualified as food at all using most definitions of that word, but the rations filled you up and met minimum daily nutrition requirements.

He was almost to his stateroom when Desjani came quickly toward him down the passageway, her expression stiff. She gestured wordlessly toward Geary’s stateroom, letting him enter and following closely behind. Once inside she closed the door with great care, then turned to him, her face a mask of barely contained fury, all the more fearsome for the coldness of the fire in her eyes. “Request permission to speak freely, sir.”

“You never require permission to do that,” he replied, keeping his own voice low and steady.

“I have been informed of the identity of one of the liberated prisoners. Her husband.”

“That’s right.” He wondered if her anger was directed at him for not telling her, but it seemed aimed elsewhere.

“What an amazing coincidence. She came aboard with new orders, diverting this fleet from its planned course and its planned mission in order to come to the prisoner-of-war camp in this star system, a camp that just happened to have her husband among its number.” Desjani’s words came out clipped, hard as a barrage of grapeshot. “We came here on her personal errand.”

“That’s possible, but—”

“Possible? She jerked around this fleet for her own personal purposes—”

“Tanya, hear me out!” He waited as she took a deep breath, the heat in her eyes subsiding to a controlled blaze. “I’ve had time to think about this. First, my impression was that she was shocked to see her husband. But she’s very good at concealing her real feelings, so that’s far from definitive.”

“She’s—”

“I’m more worried about dealing with all of the other VIPs.”

Desjani took a long, slow breath, still furious but keeping the feelings on a shorter leash. “Like Falco.”

“Multiplied a hundred times.”

Her eyes narrowed as the fires in them became a white-hot, focused torch. “Why? She didn’t like Falco. Neither did the government. Why unleash dozens more like him?”

“I don’t know.” He sat down, one hand to his forehead, trying to blank out anger and frustration. The battle ration sat untouched, his appetite fled for the moment. “All I know for certain is that they’re here, and we’re taking them into alien space with us.”

“Hundreds of loose cannons.” Now Desjani seemed baffled. “What possible advantage does that give anyone?”

“I think Rione knows why we were sent here to get them.”

“Her secret orders. But why wouldn’t the government want those Falco-wannabes left in Syndic hands as long as possible? Why make them a priority for release?”