Victorious

“No, she can’t. I don’t like doing this, Commander, but your own actions created this situation. I’m just grateful that Dungeon wasn’t destroyed by that improvised minefield. I give you credit for reacting, belatedly, to my orders to steer clear of it. If not for that obedience to my orders, you’d be relieved of command. But you did follow orders, although too late to keep your ship from being damaged. I won’t imperil every other ship in the fleet and our mission by spending four extra days crawling through this star system while Dungeon gets repaired. I regret that Dungeon won’t accompany the fleet, and my report will state that Dungeon’s return to Varandal in no way reflects adversely upon her officers and crew, but I have no choice here. Detach and return to Varandal at best speed for repairs, Commander.”

“Yes, sir.” Looking as pale as a ghost, Dungeon’s captain saluted awkwardly.

Geary sat slumped for a moment afterward, glaring at his display.

“He was lucky,” Desjani finally commented.

“I know. So were we. How desperate must the Syndics be to have rigged that kind of defense here?”

“Very desperate.” The thought seemed to bring further joy to Desjani.

Rione finally spoke again. “Did any of the Syndics on those small craft survive?”

Desjani grimaced at the query, then looked a question at one of the watch-standers.

“Probably not, Madam Co-President,” that lieutenant answered. “The FACs are so small that any hit is likely to hit the crew, too. There’s no survival pod, just the FAC itself and the suits of the one or two personnel in the crew. Survival time with the FAC’s systems knocked out is . . . uh . . . estimated at half an hour to an hour.”

“Then there’s no sense in asking Dungeon to search for survivors and take them prisoner?” Rione asked.

Without speaking directly to Rione, Desjani answered this time. “They were on a suicide mission. They knew it. If any still survive long enough for Dungeon to get close, they might well trigger further explosions on the wrecks of their craft or by using explosives attached to themselves.”

Seeing Rione’s unhappiness, Geary called Lieutenant Iger, relaying Desjani’s assessment. “Do you concur?”

Iger spoke to some of the other intelligence personnel, then nodded. “Yes, sir. Whoever was crewing those FACs under these conditions had to be fanatics ready to die for their cause. Unless one of them is dead or unconscious, I wouldn’t get close.” He paused in thought. “But even then their bodies might be rigged with proximity fuses activated by a dead-man mechanism. I wouldn’t risk it, sir.”

One more reminder, as if Geary needed any, of how ugly this war had become over the course of a century. “Sorry, Madam Co-President.”

“I understand.” She stood up. “I’m going to go back to my stateroom and pretend I was there during this entire time. Senators Costa and Sakai are not aware that politicians are permitted on the bridge during such periods, and I’d rather they not learn differently.”

As Rione left, Desjani gave her a suspicious glance. “Why is she being nice?”

Geary followed her gaze. “I have no idea.”

“Does she know your plans?”

“Not in detail.” He could have added “not like you,” but decided that would be overkill.

Desjani smiled grimly. “Good. When does everybody find out?”

“A day and a half, just a few hours before we jump out of here.”

“Good,” she repeated. “Dungeon will have hobbled back to the jump point and left for Varandal by then, so no last-minute messages to her can compromise your plans.”

“Right.” He said it as if he’d already thought of that, but Desjani’s grin told Geary he hadn’t gotten any better at lying.