“The fleet headquarters message,” Geary continued, “which notified the fleet of pending charges against numerous commanding officers in the fleet, has been canceled effective immediately.” The senators hadn’t actually told him that in so many words, but this was no time to leave any ambiguities hanging. “I say again, the fleet headquarters message is canceled. No actions ordered by that message remain in effect, and it will not be retransmitted. I will be proceeding directly from Ambaru station to my flagship, and once aboard Dauntless, I will immediately hold a conference to brief all commanding officers on the situation. To the honor of our ancestors, Geary, out.”
He took another deep breath, keying off the broadcast link before speaking to Desjani again. “How was that?”
“Acceptable.”
“Thanks. Assuming things calm down, you and I will need a shuttle to Dauntless.”
“I already ordered one dispatched. It’s about fifteen minutes out from docking. Where do you want it brought in?”
Good question. Already worn-out, Geary considered a nice, secure, and more isolated military dock. But he realized the tension within Varandal hadn’t dissipated by a long shot. Plenty of people must have felt something was wrong even if they hadn’t noticed warships on the move. I need to show everyone that everything is fine. Civilians as well as military. “Make it a civilian dock. Ask Admiral Timbale to deploy the same soldiers who were working crowd control when we got here to set up things at whatever dock gets assigned. Don’t try to seal it off. Let people see us and see that everything is okay.”
“I understand, Admiral,” Desjani said, her tones getting a little sharp again. “I will be happy to assist you.”
Ouch. “If you please, Captain.”
“Certainly, Admiral. I am happy to report that all ships off station seem to be turning around. I don’t think any of them wanted to find out what would happen if you had to give that order a fourth time.”
“Thanks, Tanya.”
He closed the call, handing the comm unit back to the major with his thanks. The major took the unit with an awed expression. Would he keep it, Geary wondered, or put it up for auction as a device actually used by Black Jack himself?
Geary took it slower after that, walking at a good but not hurried pace, now wanting to convey a lack of anxiety to anyone watching. Calm continued to spread through the station. The last few checkpoints were passed with the soldiers not even bothering to check him through this time but just making shows of saluting him.
Geary dutifully returned every salute, surprised to see that the old gesture of respect was spreading so quickly through the rest of the military. When he had been awakened from survival sleep, only the Marines had still retained saluting. The rest of the military, scarred and bled white repeatedly by the never-ending war, had let the custom lapse. “Did your chain of command order everyone to start using salutes?” he asked the major.
“No, Admiral Geary,” the commando said, his shy smile at strange odds with the number of battle awards he wore on his left breast and the scars mottling one side of his face. “The fleet’s sailors came in doing it, and they said you thought it was a good idea, so everyone else is picking up on it. Our ancestors did it. We should. No one had to order anyone, sir. Although . . . well, it was a little hard to start copying Marines.”
Geary grinned although feeling awkward again that a veteran of so much combat should be overwhelmed by him. “There are worse fates, Major . . . ?”
“Sirandi, sir,” the major said, coming to attention for a moment.
“Sirandi?” Where have I heard that name? On the old Kutar. “I served with a Lieutenant Sirandi on a destroyer. He was from . . . Drina.”
The major’s eyes widened in astonishment. “My family has relatives on Drina.”
“Perhaps he’s one of them.” Geary paused as time rushed over him again. He hadn’t looked up the fate of Lieutenant Sirandi, as he had avoided learning about the deaths of most of those he had once known, but the man had surely died long ago, either in battle or from old age. “Perhaps he was one of them, I mean.”
Major Sirandi’s eyes were shining. “It is a great honor to know one of my ancestors served with you, Admiral Geary.”
Trying to shake off the melancholy that still threatened to hit him when reminded in a personal way of the century lost to survival sleep, Geary shook his head. “The honor is mine, to have served with him, and now to be in the service while you are as well. Your ancestors, the ancestors of all of you,” he said to the other soldiers, “are surely proud of you for the way you honor them with your lives of duty and sacrifice.”
The phrase sounded old-fashioned, and it was for these soldiers even if it had been in common use in Geary’s time; but for some reason that seemed to please the soldiers even more. Tradition meant a lot, especially when other certainties had been rocked on their foundations. As they walked onward, Geary took careful looks at the commandos, seeing that the major and most of the others had not just the combat awards but also the brooding eyes of veterans who had seen too many things and lost too many friends. They might be demobilized someday, sent off to rejoin the civilian world, but they would never truly be civilians again. “How are the ground forces doing?” Geary asked. “Is there much demobilization going on?”
Major Sirandi hesitated, his lips pressing together tightly for a moment. “Do I have permission to speak freely, Admiral?”
“Yes.”
“It is very disorganized right now. Some units are told they will disband immediately, others told there will be no major downsizing. Then the next day everybody is told the opposite of what they were told before. Our own unit has been informed that we will remain active, but I don’t know.” The major paused again. “I have tried to imagine what I would do. I don’t know. All my life I’ve trained to fight, and I have fought. It’s what I know.”
The other commandos nodded in agreement, even the younger ones. “My family served for three generations in the war,” one of them said. “I always knew I would serve when I grew up. Now, I don’t know what the future is.”
“You’re not alone in that,” Geary said, surprised to hear these soldiers expressing the same sentiments he had spoken of to Tanya. “None of us know what the future holds.”
The soldiers exchanged quick glances, none of them saying what they doubtless all believed, that Black Jack, rumored to have spent his century of survival sleep among the living stars, might indeed know more than other men and women.
“You have your Marines in the fleet, Admiral Geary,” Major Sirandi said in a sudden rush. “But if you need good commandos, men and women who can fight better than anyone, please remember us.”
Geary met his eyes. “Major, rest assured that I will remember you, and everyone else here.”
A minute later, the major’s comm unit chimed again. “Dock 71 Beta,” he reported to Geary. “Your shuttle is docking there.”
“Thank you,” Geary said. “That’s Captain Desjani?”
“Just a text, Admiral. It also says . . .” The major frowned in puzzlement. “ ‘Mother was right.’ ”
Geary couldn’t help grinning. “It’s . . . a code, Major.” Of sorts. He remembered the shock on the face of Desjani’s mother when they’d met her on Kosatka, and the first words her mother had spoken to Tanya. You are going to have a very interesting life, Tanya. Just remember, if it gets too interesting, that you chose it.
They had cleared all but the last security checkpoint when Admiral Timbale came toward them. The commandos stayed walking with Geary but fell back a few steps so he could talk to Timbale privately. “Is everything all right on your end?”