Implacable, page 28
Geary nodded slowly. “Thank you for your candor and your estimate, General. Given the risks, I need to consider whether to try the option you’ve proposed. Stalemate might well be preferable, but I have a feeling that stalemate is growing increasingly unstable. If it breaks down, we’ll probably face that worst case.”
“I agree, Admiral.”
“I’ll let you know my decision, General.”
FOURTEEN
CARABALI had left. Geary sat in his stateroom, alone, realizing he didn’t really have a choice, but still very reluctant to take such a risk.
A knock on his door caused him to scowl and look up.
Dr. Jasmine Cresida stood there, appearing unhappy to have had to make this visit, her attitude that of someone doing an unwelcome but necessary task.
“Come in,” Geary said, trying to smooth out his expression into something approaching welcoming. “What brings you here, Doctor?”
“You asked me to look into whether alien hypernet gates might be taken over and destructively collapsed,” Cresida said in a flat voice, having come only a couple of steps inside.
“Oh, yes.” Geary nodded apologetically to her. “I’m sorry. What did you find out?”
“Nothing definitive,” Cresida said. “There are two possible approaches that I thought of which, in theory, might allow it.”
“Can those approaches be blocked?”
“I don’t even know if they exist,” Cresida said, her voice growing sharper. “I can’t speculate on details when I don’t know if the general concepts are even valid.”
“Of course.”
“But,” Cresida added, “if species such as the Dancers and the enigmas have viewed hypernet gate technology as a means for nova-scale bombs for much longer than humanity has, they should have already identified and protected against any ways in which an enemy can use their weapons against them. The only way to confirm that is to discuss the matter with the Dancers. Charban thought I should clear that with you before we ask.”
Geary nodded again. “He’s right. As of now, General Julian can find out anything we talk to the Dancers about because of the duplicate transmitter/translator aboard Boundless. We need to regain control of Boundless before we ask those questions.”
“Regain control?” Dr. Cresida said, her voice suddenly gone extremely cold.
“Yes,” Geary said, meeting her gaze, which had turned hostile. “Without triggering fighting among the Alliance forces here. There may be a way to do that, but it will involve a lot of risk.”
“Are you worried some of your minions may die?”
He almost snapped back at her over that, but instead shook his head. “I always worry about whether people might die. My worry here is about what happens if the worst possibilities play out. About how many may die if I’m wrong, or if someone makes a mistake that can’t be taken back. I know you don’t like me and never will. That’s fine, because what you’re doing is so valuable not just to the Alliance but to humanity. I hope you will continue those efforts.”
“As long as you ask nicely. So, you have to make a decision, and if you’re wrong everything goes pear-shaped?”
“Pretty much.”
“Why do you think you wouldn’t be able to find a solution to that?”
He looked at her, judging what he should say, what he could say. He didn’t know what decided him, but it was probably her resemblance to her sister Jaylen. “Because if it goes that badly, I won’t be around to find a solution. Others will have to try to fix the mess I’m leaving for them.”
“I see. Why are you still considering it, then?”
“Because,” Geary said, “as risky as it is, it may be the only chance to start resolving this situation, to free Ambassador Rycerz and everyone else on Boundless, without triggering all-out violence. We can’t keep waiting indefinitely, because conditions aboard Boundless appear to be deteriorating. To prevent anyone dying on that ship, I may have to risk triggering the conflict I’m doing my best to avoid.”
Dr. Cresida gave Geary a speculative look, remaining silent for a moment before speaking in a different tone of voice. “You have always been candid with me. I will return the favor by being honest with you. Admiral, if I may paraphrase one of the greatest detectives in literary history, once you have eliminated all other options as worse, whatever option remains, no matter how unpleasant, must be the right one.”
He thought about that for a few seconds. “That’s true. That does sum up the scope of my choices, doesn’t it? Who was that detective?”
“Sherlock Holmes.”
“Holmes?” Geary surprised himself by smiling more. “That’s right. I remember now. The Hound. I love that story.”
“You’ve read The Hound of the Baskervilles?” Cresida said, staring at Geary as if he had suddenly grown a second head.
“Well, it was more than a century ago.”
“That still counts.” Dr. Cresida shook her head at him. “You’re very confusing, Admiral. Good luck.”
“Thank you.” He looked at the door to his stateroom after she had left. Whatever option remains, no matter how unpleasant . . . That really did say it all.
Geary touched his comm pad. “Captain Desjani, I need to see you in my stateroom.”
* * *
“YOU’RE . . .” Desjani struggled for control. “That is . . . With all due respect . . . Are you out of your mind?”
“There’s only one way to resolve the situation on Boundless without potentially triggering civil war between the Alliance forces in this star system,” Geary said. “Only Black Jack can do this, so I have to take that chance.”
“If you’re murdered by Webb’s fanatics it’ll all fall apart anyway!”
“No. It won’t.” Geary kept his voice calm. “I am leaving orders that if anything happens to me Captain Jane Geary is to assume command of all Alliance forces in this star system. With backing from you and Captain Duellos and the other senior officers in this fleet, Jane will be able to hold it all together and take any necessary actions to deal with General Julian and his followers.”
“Who suggested this?” Desjani demanded.
“General Carabali.”
“But—” Desjani covered her face with one hand, breathing in and out slowly. “Please forgive me for my unprofessional outburst, Admiral.”
“Of course.”
“But I still strongly advise against this course of action.”
“Your objection is noted for the record.” Geary had felt his own resolve wavering a bit, so he pushed on. “I’ll need a shuttle. Not one of Dauntless’s. I want to be able to approach Boundless without them guessing I’m aboard until it’s too late to block me. And an honor guard. Gunny Orvis, and seven more Marines as an honor guard. Dress uniforms. No weapons.”
“Understood, Admiral.” Desjani lowered her hand but avoided looking at him. “I’ll get it set up and notify you when the shuttle is ready to depart.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
She turned to go, but paused partway through the door. “Try not to die.”
“I’ll do my best.”
* * *
OVER a century ago, as a young lieutenant, Geary had ridden with a half-dozen Marines in a shuttle heading to intercept a merchant ship suspected of smuggling contraband. In an Alliance that hadn’t fought a significant war in decades, those Marines had carried only sidearms as weapons and had only been exposed to a handful of potentially dangerous situations in their careers. They had joked on the approach to the merchant ship, relaxed in the certainty that this was just one more routine search and they’d be back aboard their own ship in a few hours, eating dinner and looking forward to a decent night’s sleep.
It was funny, in a way that wasn’t really funny, to recall how nervous he’d been back then.
This time, Geary was accompanied by eight Marines from the detachment aboard Dauntless. All had seen, and survived, brutal combat situations. All but one of them had been wounded at least once. They’d worn battle armor in earnest too many times to count. They knew they were headed to confront heavily armed soldiers, but they themselves carried no weapons. Instead of battle armor, they wore dress uniforms. And instead of joking, they sat mostly silent, keeping their thoughts to themselves as the shuttle swooped upward toward Boundless.
The quiet in the main compartment of the shuttle was broken by a call from the pilots up front. “Admiral, Boundless is warning us off. Their shuttle dock isn’t opening.”
“Give me a few seconds,” Geary said, leaning toward the nearest comm pad. Blasting their way inside Boundless, or even breaking in as Marines might do in a typical boarding operation like that on the Fortuna, would be a very bad idea this time.
Seeing Gunnery Sergeant Orvis and the other Marines watching him intently, Geary gave them a tight-lipped smile. “Being fleet commander comes with certain perks,” he explained. “Including special override codes.” He was tapping the comm screen as he spoke. Finishing, he checked over the code before hitting the transmit command.
A moment later, the pilot called back again. “The shuttle dock is opening, Admiral. We still don’t have approach clearance, though.”
“Go ahead and enter the dock,” Geary ordered. “Notify Boundless that this shuttle is carrying me.” He tried to sound as if he wasn’t worried. Boundless did have point defense weapons installed, though. Would Colonel Webb think of those? Would he employ them against a shuttle he’d been told carried Admiral Geary? It seemed unlikely Webb would take that step, but it wasn’t impossible. So Geary sat with a calm expression and a crawling sensation inside as he wondered if the shuttle would be ripped apart as it made its final approach to Boundless’s dock.
“We’ve got a reception committee waiting,” the pilot warned.
“We see them,” Geary said. One of the displays was showing the view inside the dock, revealing six soldiers in battle armor, their weapons at the ready. One of the soldiers was unsuccessfully trying to wave off the shuttle.
The pilot brought the shuttle in to land, using a routine approach as Geary had ordered rather than a combat landing coming in fast and braking hard. “Should we drop the ramp, Admiral?”
No one had opened fire yet. Geary stood up slowly, feeling the tension around him climb. “Yes. Drop the ramp. Normal loading speed.”
In combat operations the ramp would slam down quickly to allow Marines to exit in a rush. But a fast-dropping ramp would look like an increased threat to the waiting soldiers. Instead, the ramp began lowering at the pace used in non-threat situations, slowly offering a direct view of the shuttle dock outside.
The six soldiers in full battle armor had taken up position to fire on anyone leaving the shuttle, and so were easily visible in what could be seen of Boundless’s shuttle dock beyond the shuttle ramp. All the soldiers’ weapons were leveled, aimed toward the shuttle.
The Marines with Geary had all stood up as well, automatically straightening their dress uniforms as they waited for orders, their eyes on Geary and the gunnery sergeant.
Geary had been able to choose to do this. All the Marines were supposedly volunteers, but he knew that meant they’d been told they were volunteering. They were here, unarmed, facing armed soldiers, knowing just how perilous this was. But they waited for orders, steady, the only outward signs of tension their quickened breathing and eyes both alert and worried. “There’s no one else I’d rather have with me right now,” Geary told them, meaning every word of it. Knowing they were watching him gave him the resolve to keep on with this even though his common sense was screaming at him to raise that ramp and run away. “Follow me.”
Gunnery Sergeant Orvis nodded to Geary. “We’ll be right behind you, sir. Admiral, I’ve always maintained that no sailor could ever be the equal of a Marine, let alone better than one. I guess after this I’ll have to make one exception to that rule, and buy you a beer next time we have liberty.”
“I’ll look forward to that,” Geary said, trying not to let the quivering in his guts sound in his voice.
Taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders, Geary walked slowly down the ramp, timing each step to ensure he didn’t rush, seeing the soldiers’ weapons shift slightly to aim directly at him. He heard the Marines lining up behind him in two rows, shoulder to shoulder, as an honor guard should, following him, trusting him.
He’d never realized just how long a shuttle ramp was.
Geary stepped off the bottom of the shuttle ramp, his feet touching the deck of Boundless’s shuttle dock.
The soldiers were about four meters away, faceless in their battle armor, their weapons pointed straight at him.
It took every bit of Geary’s courage and will to speak in the calm tones of someone who simply expected to be obeyed. “I’m Admiral Geary. Lower your weapons, soldiers. There are no enemies here.”
He heard the Marine honor guard behind him come to a halt, Gunny Orvis and the other seven Marines standing at attention on the ramp, the only variation from routine the way the Marines had their open hands turned toward the front so that it was clear they held no weapons.
Geary saw each of the soldiers’ weapons twitching nervously from one target to another, restlessly lining up on him, then one of the Marines, back to him, another Marine . . .
He deepened his voice a little, also raising its volume slightly. “Is there a problem? Who’s in charge here?”
After a very long moment, with the weapons of the soldiers still agitatedly shifting rapidly from one target to the next, the voice of one came out through the speaker on his armor. “Drop your . . .” The voice trailed off as the soldier realized the rote command to drop their weapons made no sense when Geary and the Marines had none.
It still heartened Geary, who was trying to maintain his calm, authoritative appearance despite the growing tension inside him. One wrong step and this could go badly wrong very quickly. But the leader of these soldiers had fallen back on routine, on the standard procedures in such a situation, and right now Geary believed that routine was his friend. Because routine meant responding to the orders of an admiral, and not firing on friendly forces.
He looked directly at the soldier who’d spoken. “Sergeant . . . ?”
The soldier’s weapon wavered a bit as he automatically straightened to attention. “Sergeant Hayden Quinn, sir.”
“Sergeant Quinn,” Geary repeated, smiling slightly. “Good. You can lower your weapons.”
“Um . . . Admiral . . . our orders . . .”
“Do you see any hostile forces before you, Sergeant?”
A long pause. “No, Admiral.”
“There’s been some miscommunication,” Geary said. “Confusion. None of that is your fault. I’m here to clear it up, and I give my word that no one who in good faith obeyed apparently legitimate orders has anything to fear.” He noticed the aim of another of the soldiers drifting away from the shuttle. “Who are you, soldier?”
“Corporal Riley Quinn, sir.” The voice sounded exactly like that of Sergeant Quinn.
The strangeness of it, his relief at not getting shot yet, prompted Geary to smile a bit more. “Are you and the sergeant related?”
“Yes, Admiral. We’re brothers.”
“Twins,” Sergeant Quinn said. “I’m two minutes older,” he added, as if feeling the need to explain.
“That explains why you’re the sergeant,” Geary said. One of the things he’d learned from Tanya Desjani was how jokes in the middle of tense situations would calm everyone down, get them thinking instead of reacting.
The soldiers all abruptly stiffened, their aim steadying again. Geary guessed that orders had come to them through their armor’s comm systems, most likely something along the lines of What are you idiots doing?
“Admiral,” Sergeant Quinn began, his voice strained, “we have orders to place you under arrest.”
“On what grounds?” Geary said, keeping his voice relaxed.
“I . . . I don’t know, Admiral.”
What was Colonel Webb doing? Probably on his way down here. Would it be wiser to wait, or try to force the issue before Webb arrived?
The need for that decision was preempted as Webb and five more soldiers, neither Webb nor the others in battle armor but all carrying weapons, burst onto the shuttle dock.
Geary heard some shuffling from the Marines behind him. “Steady, Marines,” he said in a low voice.
Webb came closer to Geary, staying out of the line of fire from the armored soldiers who’d greeted the shuttle. “What are you doing here?” Webb looked like hell, his face drawn with tension, blinking as if his eyes hurt.
“Excuse me, Colonel?” Geary said. The tension in the shuttle dock had rocketed upward once again. He could see the soldiers with Webb, see how strung out they looked, confirmation that what Sergeant Tyminska had told Gunny Orvis about them being on Up meds too long was true. Twitchy, their nerves on edge, their minds hyped beyond safe levels, those soldiers too were aiming their weapons toward Geary and his Marines.
One nervous finger tightening on one trigger, and he’d probably be dead before he knew what had happened. And this fleet would probably end up in exactly the brother-against-sister war that he’d most feared.
Routine was his friend. Habit was his friend. These soldiers were disciplined and skilled. They’d spent years following orders, doing their duty. He needed to have them focusing on those things.
