“What are we trying to avoid?” Desjani asked.
“A region about seventy kilometers across centered on the prison camp.”
“Seriously? Swing our orbit a couple of degrees toward the planetary equator. That will actually assist recovery of the shuttles and allow us to skim the edge of that region you’re worried about.”
Geary gave the order, then sat staring at his display, watching the shuttles approach, the closest wave nearly back among the fleet.
“Admiral?” Desjani prompted.
“Admiral!” Rione said, as her image reappeared. “That Syndic CEO is more nervous than she’s been before. Very nervous. But she said they would expect us to conduct the recovery in one and a half standard hours. If I know why I’m lying, I can do a better job for you,” she added pointedly.
It would take half an hour, a very long half an hour, to get the shuttles recovered. Geary keyed in Carabali and Rione, then spoke so Desjani could also hear as he described what Lieutenant Jamenson had found.
“The entire landing force would be wiped out,” Carabali said grimly, “and every prisoner down there would be blown to atoms as well.”
“We’d take a lot of damage,” Desjani said. “It’s hard to say how many hits they’d score, but with our ships in this tight a formation encountering a dense field of powerful particle beams, we’d very likely lose dozens. Not to mention damage to ships that weren’t a total loss.”
“And they would blame us,” Rione said. “Count on it. The Syndic rulers on Prime would announce that we had bombarded that planet, causing all of that damage. No wonder CEO Gawzi looks so nervous. Her planet is about to be shaked and baked, and most of the remaining population killed.”
“An expendable planet in an expendable star system,” General Carabali agreed. “It’s logical enough if you’re cold-blooded enough. When will we be clear of this threat?”
“When we get the shuttles aboard and take a course away from the planet,” Geary said.
“What about the prisoners in the camp?” Rione asked.
“If Lieutenant Jamenson is right, the only way to keep those prisoners alive is to stay away from the trap. We either get the Syndics to lift them out to us, or we leave them.” The words had no sooner left his mouth than Geary felt bitterness fill him. Leave them. Leave Alliance military personnel taken as prisoners, who might have been held by the Syndics for several decades, who knew Alliance ships were here because of the Marine surveillance drones, who might have seen some of the Alliance shuttles high above them turn about and head back for space. “We’ll do everything we can to get them out of there.”
It sounded weak. It sounded bureaucratic.
I’m getting too good at saying bureaucratic things.
“Ten minutes to complete recovery of all shuttles,” Lieutenant Yuon reported.
“Admiral,” Rione said, “CEO Gawzi is on the planet. Do we know where other senior Syndic personnel are?”
“We know the senior internal-security officials have gone off planet.”
“Do you remember Lakota? Where a Syndic flotilla was ordered to destroy a hypernet gate at close range?”
“And not warned about what would happen,” Geary said. “Yes. I saw a former Syndic officer at Midway saying no one was warned by the Syndic leaders.”
Rione nodded, smiling unpleasantly. “You can be certain that the junior Syndic internal-security personnel holding guns on the CEO and other important officials on the planet, and the people who will trigger the weapon because that is too important to risk a malfunction in an automated system, have not been told what use of that weapon will do to the planet they are on. Perhaps we should tell them.”
“But the CEO knows?” Carabali asked. “Why wouldn’t she tell them?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she knows it will be bad but doesn’t know how very bad it will be. Maybe she has had a mental block implanted to keep her from talking.”
“Barbarians,” Carabali spat.
Rione slid her eyes toward Geary, but instead of pursuing that dangerous subject, her next words referred back to her earlier statement. “Shall I work on an announcement to the people of the Simur Star System?”
“Yes,” Geary said. “But don’t send anything until I clear it.”
“What about the expanded formation?” Desjani asked.
“Let’s hold off on that. We’re about to get far away from where that Syndic continental shotgun is aimed, then our main threat will still be those four groups of ships. The Dancers are staying tucked in close to Invincible, thanks be to our ancestors, and if we’re lucky, they’ll remain there.”
Seven minutes later, the last shuttle had been docked. Geary took his fleet out of its close-in orbit, aiming for another orbit out past the moons that kept the Alliance warships far from the region of space above the prison camp. The Dancers maintained their positions near Invincible, for once offering no extra complications for Geary to deal with.
“What are we going to do?” Desjani muttered. “The Syndics in this star system can’t revolt, not with all of those Syndic warships free to bombard them. We can’t go anywhere near that prison camp. The Syndic warships can’t hurt us as long as we stay in this formation, but as long as we stay in this formation, we can’t hurt them.”
“Stalemate,” Geary agreed. “Even worse than before. I don’t know, Tanya. The Syndic CEOs are playing a game as ugly as it gets. How do we counter that? How do we get those prisoners out of there when they’re sitting on top of a huge weapon?”
She started to shake her head, then straightened, eyes intent. “What fires the weapon? If we can break the trigger, we can get the prisoners out.”
He felt the first sense of hope in a while. “That’s an idea worth checking out.” It was time to call Lieutenant Jamenson again.
“But, first,” Desjani suggested, “you might tell the rest of the fleet’s commanding officers what’s going on.”
The small conference room didn’t require the software to make it appear larger for this meeting. Besides Geary, Desjani, Rione, and Lieutenant Iger, who were physically present, the other attendees were limited to the virtual presences of Captain Smythe, Lieutenant Jamenson, General Carabali, and a Commander Hopper, whom Smythe introduced as “a wizard, or a sorceress, at anything to do with comm linkages, coding, and remote signals.” Whether that was true or not, Hopper, lean and middle-aged, radiated a reassuring aura of competence from where she sat.
“Have you found anything else?” Geary asked Lieutenant Jamenson.
Jamenson shook her head, her eyes slightly glazed from tension and work, her green hair still vivid against skin still pale. “No, sir. Was I right, sir?”
“We all think so. Captain Smythe?”
Smythe smiled crookedly. “I wouldn’t have seen it. I’d never heard of the Continental Shotgun. But I’ve reviewed Lieutenant Jamenson’s findings, and I agree with them.”
Lieutenant Iger nodded unhappily. An engineer had discovered a major threat that Iger’s office was supposed to have spotted. But, to his credit, Iger hadn’t tried to discredit Jamenson’s conclusions. “Nothing about that program was in the intel files, but from what the engineers have provided us, it all fits, Admiral. Either the Syndics learned about the Alliance’s experiments with the concept or they came up with it independently.”
“You think the Syndics could have thought of that by themselves?” Rione asked.
“Oh, yes,” Smythe said. “In engineering terms, it’s a really cool concept. The BFG to beat all BFGs. I’d love to build one and set it off just to see the fireworks. But, uh, you’d need a spare planet. That is, a planet you weren’t planning on using for anything else.”