The Lost Fleet Beyond the Frontier Invincible

Geary shifted his gaze to the representation of the human fleet. Quite a few officers had been startled by the formation he had moved the fleet into. Unlike Geary’s usual practice of breaking the fleet into multiple subformations that maneuvered independently, this time he had brought the entire fleet together into a single flattened box shape. The auxiliaries and the assault transports occupied the center of the box, while the battleships, battle cruisers, cruisers, and destroyers were arrayed along the sides and bottom.

“What exactly are we trying to do here?” Captain Duellos had asked.

“Give the enemy a clear, concentrated target,” Geary had replied.

“You usually try to avoid doing that,” Duellos pointed out.

True enough. But this time he wanted a target the bear-cows couldn’t resist.

The biggest problem in the plan involved timing. He had to time everything the human fleet did in order to get reactions from the bear-cows when he wanted those reactions. Now Geary waited, trying to relax his mind, letting himself feel the right moment. “All units, turn starboard two zero degrees, up five degrees at time three zero.” That should do it.

There wasn’t any actual up or down in space, nor could ships, which could be pointed in any direction, agree on where their left and right were, so humans had imposed their own rules on trackless space. Upon arrival in a star system, the fleet’s systems drew a plane along the orbits of the majority of the star’s planets, designating one side “up” and the other “down,” so every ship knew what those directions meant. Every ship also understood that starboard meant turning toward the star, while port meant turning away from it. Crude but simple, the arbitrary system imposed by humanity worked and so had remained unchanged for centuries.

Desjani sat in her own command seat near his side. “At least with the fleet this concentrated, everybody will get your messages quickly.”

“That’s one less thing to worry about,” Geary agreed.

At thirty minutes past the hour, every ship in the human fleet turned simultaneously, the shape of the box not changing but its path through space altering to angle toward the alien armada. Geary watched the smoothly executed maneuver with a feeling of pride. “Damn, they move good.”

“We always knew how to handle ships,” Desjani reminded him. “You just retaught us the importance of moving in unison.”

“Hell, Tanya, you can handle a ship better asleep than I ever could at full alert.”

“You’re only saying that because it’s true.” She tapped out some calculations. “All right, the bear-cow armada is fifty-nine light-minutes and a handful of light-seconds distant. They’ll see that we turned toward them in about an hour. Since we’re closing on them faster now, we should start seeing their reactions in another . . . fifty-six minutes after that.”

“It shouldn’t take them long to react. Lieutenant Iger and the civilian experts all think from the videos we’ve intercepted that the bear-cows are indeed herd organized. The herd leader is the leader, pure and simple. That leader won’t consult with anyone before deciding what to do.”

“And the big herd leader on the planet is five light-hours distant, so he or she can’t, uh, horn in on what to do,” Desjani added. “What are you going to do for the next two hours?”

“Wait,” Geary said.

“I was going to suggest rest. Have you had anything to eat?” When he shook his head, she pulled out a ration bar in an unusually bright wrapper. “Try this.”

He took it, frowning as he read the label. “This isn’t a ration bar. It’s a ‘fusion cuisine hand-wrap.’ VIP-issue only.” Geary cocked a questioning look at her. “VIP-issue only? How many of these do we have?”

“Quite a few,” Desjani said, chewing on her own hand-wrap appreciatively. “The crew is going to get a pleasant surprise in their battle rations.”

“I know I shouldn’t ask, but how did they get aboard Dauntless?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Meaning you didn’t ask.”

“Mama didn’t raise a fool,” Desjani said. “If you want to ask Master Chief Gioninni how he came across these, you’re welcome, but he’ll probably just tell you they were lying around about to be disposed of, and he rescued them from being wasted. Or something like that.”

Geary took a bite. The hand-wraps were good. Much, much better than the ration bars the fleet was used to. “Oh, to be a VIP.” He caught her amused look. “No, I’m not. So why did these wraps only show up now?”

“They’ve been available in the chiefs’ mess since we left Varandal,” Desjani said. “I—”

“Caught them?”

“I gained knowledge of the hand-wraps’ availability,” Desjani continued in a perfectly serious tone of voice, “and directed Master Chief Gioninni to immediately enter them into the ship’s food inventory control system.”

“I see.” Geary took another bite. “Has the master chief reported anything regarding untoward activity among the auxiliaries?”