The Lost Fleet Beyond the Frontier Invincible

“Yes. They seem to want it badly. The offer to let us use their hypernet came while we were trying to figure out what they wanted. Apparently, they thought we were bargaining as opposed to being confused.”

“Whatever works. But we still don’t know what it is?”

“No!” Charban’s frustration grew more visible. “As best I can translate the pictograms and words they are using, it is something like ‘universal fixing substance.’”

“Universal fixing substance?” Geary asked. “We have a universal fixing substance?”

Charban spread his hands in exasperation. “They think we do. And they want it from us.”

“But why do they think that? What did we do to make them think we had some universal fixing substance?”

“I can’t determine the answer to that given our very limited communications. From their persistence, and their certainty, I would guess that they thought we had demonstrated the use of such a thing.”

Geary looked around the bridge. “What do we have that fits that name?”

Everyone looked as if they were thinking intently. No one offered any suggestions.

“Glue?” Lieutenant Yuon finally suggested.

That made as much sense as anything. “Glue?” Geary echoed to Charban.

“No, Admiral. I thought of that and offered a tube of adhesive. They said no, then asked for the universal fixing substance again.”

“Admiral, ask the engineers,” Desjani said. “Captain Smythe and his people. If anyone would know anything about that, it would be the engineers on the auxiliaries.”

“If any of the engineers know about some universal fixing substance,” Geary said, “and never mentioned it to me, there’s going to be hell to pay.”

But Smythe, already worn from the days of work getting repairs done, only stared back at Geary with a blank expression. “Universal fixing substance?”

“Right. What have we got that fits that description?”

“Nothing. That’s like . . . universal solvent. Nice to have, but no one has ever actually come up with one. Well, actually, a universal solvent would be very bad to have because you couldn’t make a container to hold it—”

“Captain Smythe,” Geary broke in, “the spider-wolves are certain we have it.”

“I don’t have it.”

“Please notify all of your engineers that we need it and ask them what they think could be it.”

“Very well, Admiral. But I’ll be frank that I wouldn’t hold my breath expecting anyone in this fleet to produce something that can fix anything.”

Geary waited until Smythe had ended the call, then sent out a message to every ship asking them if any could identify whatever it was the aliens wanted.

Then he waited, with growing impatience. With every second, the enigma retaliatory force was getting closer to Midway, but all he could do was sit here. He made another call. “Captain Smythe, have you figured out how to move that superbattleship yet?”

“Uh, yes, Admiral,” Smythe replied, only momentarily fazed by the new topic. “We’ll use the battleships.”

“Battleships? Plural?”

“Yes.” Smythe perked up at the chance to discuss something any engineer would see as sexy. “Four of them. Relentless, Reprisal, Superb, and Splendid. They were shot up fairly badly, but their propulsion systems remain in fine shape. We’ll mate them to the superbattleship, link their propulsion controls through a coordination unit, and use them to haul the superbattleship home.”

“Those are going to be four very unhappy battleships,” Desjani murmured.

“What else have we got that can haul around that much mass?” Geary asked her. “Besides, they’ll also serve as defenders of that thing. Since we blew away every weapon on the superbattleship, our own battleships’ weapons will have to do the job of making sure no one destroys it. Have we heard any answers on the universal fixing substance yet?”

“Not since the last time you asked,” she replied.

“The question went to every ship?”

“Via the command circuit, yes, Admiral. You sent it.”

Something about that made Geary pause, trying to catch an elusive thought. “Command circuit.”

“That’s what you used,” Desjani said, eyeing him defensively.

“Which goes to the commanding officers of all the ships in the fleet.”

“Yes . . . It always has.”

What was it? What idea was flitting just out of reach? “Who would they ask? On their ships?”

“Members of their crew.” Desjani shrugged. “Their officers, I suppose.”

“Their officers. You asked the officers on Dauntless?”

“Yes, Admiral.” She seemed curious as well as defensive now. “Are we going somewhere with this?”

“I don’t—” Going somewhere? The old joke. If junior officers are confused about where to go next, they should ask the senior enlisted, who will be happy to tell the junior officers where to go. “I’m an idiot.”

Desjani raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you speaking purely on a professional basis? Because on a personal basis, I resent that.”

“Tanya, when you need to know something, how to do something, who do you go to? Who gets things done?”

She looked puzzled, then smiled. “The chiefs.”