The Lost Fleet: Fearless

Geary smiled in greeting, extending his hand. After all the too-youthful senior officers Geary had seen, the fruit of hideous losses in battle after battle that had forced the fleet to promote quickly, it was odd to meet an older junior officer. But there were no promotions in labor camps. “It’s a pleasure, Lieutenant. Good to have you aboard. I’m Captain John Geary, fleet commander.”

Lieutenant Riva, still surprised by the realization of his old friend’s current rank, automatically shook Geary’s hand for a moment before Geary’s words apparently penetrated. “D-did you say Captain John Geary, sir?”

Desjani smiled proudly, her face glowing. “Captain John ‘Black Jack’ Geary. He’s alive, Casell. He’s our commander. He’s bringing this fleet home.”

Riva’s face took on the look Geary had come to dread, a mixture of awe, disbelief, and wonder. “Of course,” Riva breathed. “One of the Marines said Captain Geary had brought the fleet here, and we thought he was speaking symbolically. But it’s true.” His face flared with enthusiasm. “The Syndics are doomed. Tanya-I mean, Captain Desjani, do you know who was senior officer in the camp? Captain Falco.”

Desjani stared at her old friend. “Fighting Falco? He’s alive, too?”

“Yes! And with him and Black Jack-” Lieutenant Riva gulped. “I mean, Captain Geary, this fleet will be unbeatable!”

Geary nodded, keeping his polite smile fixed. From what he’d seen of the fleet he’d inherited, any officer with the nickname “Fighting” probably represented everything Geary had been trying to change. But maybe not. He couldn’t prejudge a man obviously held in high regard.

A tall, thin man paused dramatically at the top of a shuttle ramp, surveying the scene, then came marching over, his expression demanding. He wore fleet captain’s insignia pinned to the collar of a coat that was in pretty good shape compared to what the other prisoners were wearing. People turned to watch, something about the man’s presence exerting a pull on attention like a magnet attracting iron. Geary couldn’t help thinking of Rione’s disdain for “heroes” who led fleets to their doom. This man could do that, Geary thought.

The man halted before Geary and gave him a confident, comradely smile. “I need to see the fleet commander.”

Geary couldn’t help noticing that the statement hadn’t been a request. “I’m the fleet commander.”

“A captain!” The man looked around, frowning, as if searching for a concealed admiral. “You must have suffered some serious losses.”

“I’m afraid we did,” Geary agreed.

The man sighed and looked regretful in a way that somehow implied that if he had been in command that wouldn’t have happened. He was, Geary realized, a master at projecting unspoken things that those around would believe had actually been said. “Very well. No rest for the weary, eh?” he asked Geary with another look that implied shared understanding. “But duty is a harsh mistress that cannot be ignored by those with honor. I’ll be assuming command, then.”

Geary managed to keep his reaction limited to raised eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

The man whom Geary assumed had to be Fighting Falco gave him a look that combined surprise at the question with reassurance. “I think I’m safe in concluding that I’m the senior officer present now by virtue of date of rank. That makes it my duty and responsibility to assume command.”

Geary nodded in a way that he hoped acknowledged the man’s words without conveying agreement. “The situation may not be what you think it is, Captain…?” he asked, even though he’d already guessed.

That earned him a full-scale frown. A shot aimed at the man’s ego apparently had no trouble penetrating the shields of companionable authority he liked to carry. “You should recognize me.”

Lieutenant Riva, apparently oblivious to the tension, spoke proudly. “This is Captain Falco, sir.”

“Captain Francesco Falco,” the man advised. “I assume you recognize the name?”

“Actually I heard it for the first time a few moments ago.” Geary didn’t know why he had said that, but the renewed frown his words conjured on Falco’s face was worth any fallout from it. “Pleased to meet you,” Geary added, trying to keep his tone neutral.

“From your age,” Falco stated, his expression stern now, “it’s obvious that I’m senior in date of rank.” He had clearly decided to set Geary straight on who was in charge. “Now, if you’ll show me to my stateroom, I’m sure there’s a lot to do. Set up a fleet conference as soon as possible.” He waited, frowning a third time as Geary stared back with no apparent emotion and no sign of moving. Geary had the clear impression that Falco wasn’t used to having to repeat orders. “Who are you, Captain?”

Desjani, who from her attitude had noticed the tension, spoke carefully. “Captain Falco, this is Captain Geary.”

“Geary? Some relation to the hero, I suppose.” Falco had a chiding expression now, like a father dealing with a recalcitrant child. “We all remain in debt to the example given us by Black Jack Geary, but that doesn’t mean-”