Gazing back at the other liberated prisoners, Geary saw an admiral and a general looking his way.
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
Carabali’s shuttle was the last to dock on
“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
“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.
“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
“That’s possible, but—”
“
“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
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?”