He wondered how officers like Captains Numos and Faresa had stayed alive while so many others had died. Granted he’d only seen them briefly, but he hadn’t gained the impression that either of them were especially skilled. He suspected they were like some officers he’d once known, the ones who somehow managed to always let someone else take the risks, who worked hard at maintaining their image while avoiding actions that might hazard them or their image. But he had no proof of that, so for the time being at least all he could do was watch Numos and Faresa in the hope of either confirming or refuting his suspicions.
Having stalled as long as he could, Geary steeled himself and called up the record of Commander Michael Geary. As he’d guessed, and as had been apparent from the way he’d fought his ship, his grandnephew had been one of the experienced and skilled survivors. Not because he’d held back in action, either. Michael Geary had indeed spent a lifetime trying to live up to the heroic standards of Black Jack Geary. He’d finally achieved that goal by dying in battle.
A lot of amateurs and a few survivors. No, they were all survivors, of a war that’d kept going for a long, long time, with occasional cease-fires that had apparently only been agreed to so that both sides could rearm after particularly heavy losses.
I need to talk to these people. Geary stared at the door to his stateroom, grateful for the protection it offered but also knowing he couldn’t keep hiding here. I have to get to know them, see how well they can still hold up under pressure. Based on the people I’ve met so far, they’ll keep trying for a while because of their irrational faith in me, but what happens after I’ve made enough mistakes, after I’ve made it clear that I’m not the mythical Black Jack Geary but really just Commander John Geary, promoted to Captain after his “death” and not sure what the hell to do or how to get them home safe? What then?
The only way to learn the answer to that question was to get out past that stateroom door.
For the next several days, Geary devoted perhaps half his time to studying and the other half to walking through the Dauntless. He’d set an informal goal of trying to walk to every compartment in the ship, if for no other reason than he knew letting the crew see him would be important for their morale. He also desperately wanted them to see him as human, before he proved his fallibility again, but he wasn’t sure he was making much progress on that account.
On one such walk, he stopped by the compartment containing Dauntless’s null-field projector. The null-field’s crew stood around, smiling, as Geary stared at the massive, squat device. Something about the size and shape of the weapon made him think of a mythical giant troll, resting on its haunches as it waited patiently for a victim to come close enough. Geary did his best to hide his misgivings and smiled back at the crew. “The weapon’s ready to employ?”
“Yes, sir!” The crew chief, who looked so young Geary wondered if he’d been shaving for very long, laid a possessive hand on the monster. “It’s in perfect condition. We run checks every day, just like the manuals say, and if anything looks even a little off, we make sure it’s fixed.”
Another of the null-field’s crew spoke up, her proud tone matching that of the crew chief. “We’ll be ready, Captain. Any Syndic warship that gets within range is gonna get fogged real good.”
It took Geary a moment to realize that “fogged” must refer to what would be left after a null-field shot reduced anything, and anyone, within its target area into subatomic particles. Somehow, he nodded and smiled in response to the boast. Gunners loved their guns. They always had and probably always would. That’s why they were gunners. And his ancestors knew the fleet needed good gunners. “The next time we get up close with the Syndics, we’ll see if we can give you that shot.” The crew grinned and pumped their fists into the air. I don’t have the heart to tell them that Dauntless can’t be risked if I can help it. But there’s all too great a chance we might end up getting close to Syndic warships whether I like it or not before this is all over.
The hell-lance battery crews weren’t quite as enthusiastic, but then unlike the null-fields, their personal toys weren’t brand-new weapons that they’d gotten to be the first to play with. Geary easily recognized the hell-lance projectors, even though these bulked three times the size of the ones he’d known.
A veteran Chief Petty Officer at a hell-lance battery patted one of the weapons. “I bet you wish you’d had one of these girls along on your last battle, eh, Captain?”
Geary managed that polite smile again. “It would’ve come in very handy.”
“Not that you needed one, sir,” the chief added hastily. “That battle of yours … everyone knows about it. This stuff today is great, but they don’t make ships or sailors like that anymore.”
Geary knew the truth of the statement, but he knew another truth as well. He looked at the dull surface of the hell-lance for a moment, then shook his head. “You’re wrong, Chief.” Then he cocked one eyebrow at the others present. “One of the advantages of being fleet commander is that I get to tell a chief he’s wrong.” They all laughed, then stopped when Geary spoke again, his voice measured. “They still make great ships and great sailors. You all saw Repulse.” His voice caught on the last word, but that was okay because he saw the sailors’ reactions and knew they understood and felt the same way. “We’ll get the damage to our ships repaired, we’ll restock our expendable weapons, and the next time we meet the Syndic fleet, we’ll make them pay a hundred times over for Repulse.”
They cheered. He felt like a fraud, mouthing words he didn’t really believe. But they had to believe in themselves, and mistaken or not, they believed in him.
As he turned to go, the chief yelled over the cheers. “We’ll make you proud you commanded us, Black Jack!”
Ancestors help me. But Geary turned and spoke as the crowd fell silent to listen. “I’m already proud to command you.”
And they cheered again, but that was okay, because what he’d said this time was completely true.
He had to be escorted by Captain Desjani when he went to see the hypernet key in its secured area. About half as large as a cargo container, the device took up most of the space in the compartment where it rested. Geary walked around the outside, seeing the power cables snaking into it and the control lines weaving in and out. He looked at it for a long time, wondering at how something so ordinary in appearance could be so important.
“Captain Geary.” The only good thing about Co-President Victoria Rione’s expression was that it was marginally less cold than her tone of voice.
“Madam Co-President.” Geary stepped back to allow her into his stateroom. He’d been trying to wean himself off the meds and hadn’t taken any today, which had left him feeling even worse than usual and in no mood for a visitor. But given her authority over some of the ships in the fleet, he couldn’t send Rione away. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”
Apparently, he didn’t quite manage to keep the irony out of his voice, because Rione’s expression dropped a few more degrees toward absolute zero. But she walked into the stateroom, waited while Geary closed the door, then eyed him silently.
If she’s trying to unnerve me, she’s doing a good job. Geary tried not to let Rione anger him, since he had a feeling that Rione used such emotions to trick her opponents into saying and doing things they’d probably regret. “Would you like to sit down?”