“To the honor of our ancestors, Admiral Geary, out.”
Desjani shrugged. “That can’t hurt. Hmmm. They’re pushing their velocity up to point two light. They’re definitely not just out to block us from leaving. They want to catch us.”
“Admiral?” Lieutenant Iger’s image had reappeared. “Our systems have had a chance to evaluate how those warships maneuver. Their estimate is that the, uh, Shield of Sol warships have no armor.”
“No armor?” Geary questioned.
“There’s a small margin of possibility that light armor might be in place around critical areas,” Iger said.
“What about weapons? I’m still just seeing a few weapon sites and types identified on my display.”
“Those are all that have been confirmed or labeled as high-probability,” the intelligence officer explained. “All of the ornamentation on those ships could be concealing a lot of other weapons, but we’re doing pixel-by-pixel analysis of high-resolution scans. If there are more weapons, we’ll spot them.”
“As soon as possible,” Geary emphasized, then gave Desjani a disgruntled look as Iger’s image vanished. “There have to be a lot more weapons on those ships. We need to have a better idea of what we might have to fight.”
“No armor,” she mused. “But they’re not faster than us. Good. And unless I miss my guess, from the look and sound of Mister Medals, they have highly centralized command and control. If we can take him out, it might be a lot easier to handle the rest.”
Geary looked at the formation of the other warships, a shallow tube longer than it was wide, with one of the megacruisers and two of the corvettes inexplicably spread out from each side. “Mister Medals is probably in that center warship. He won’t be easy to get to.”
“No,” Desjani agreed. “Not without taking heavy fire from all sides, and Dauntless isn’t built to take that kind of punishment.”
He didn’t answer, feeling increasingly gloomy as the situation sank in. Dauntless was alone. She had to look out for the six Dancer ships, but even without that handicap, the Alliance battle cruiser faced a difficult situation, badly overmatched in numbers and firepower. Moreover, the enemy was an unknown quantity in many ways. What sort of tactics did they use? How good was their fire control? How powerful were their weapons? Was Mister Medals a good commander or the sort of aristocratic buffoon that he appeared to be? If he was really good, then the buffoon act might be totally misleading, designed to cause others to underestimate him.
How much had the enemy been told about Dauntless by whoever had told them of the Alliance governmental representatives aboard her?
Too many questions. Not nearly enough answers.
And guessing wrong could be fatal, not just for Dauntless but for whatever hopes rested on humanity’s relationship with the Dancers.
Seventeen
Old Earth was much farther distant than the “Shield of Sol” warships, so it was no surprise that they had not yet heard anything from Sol Star System authorities when a reply came from the outer-star forces.
The gaudy commander of the outer-star warships, whom Geary found himself unable to think of except as Mister Medals, this time acted not only bored but also how-dare-you imperious. “I am His Excellency Captain Commodore First Rank Stellar Guard of the Fist of the People Earun Tavistorevas, Paramount of the Shield of Sol. You are to use my full title when communicating with an officer of my position. I have no interest in whatever orders you received from the vulgar leaders of your barbarous society. You will comply with my orders. If you do not immediately reduce velocity and power down all offensive and defensive systems, I will destroy you as well as every tramontane impurity you have brought into our Home.”
“I don’t think they want to negotiate,” Desjani said, as the transmission ended. Her words sounded light, but her expression was dour.
Geary knew why. The Shield of Sol ships had kept closing on Dauntless. Having upped their velocity to point two three light speed, the other warships were only a couple of hours from overtaking the Alliance battle cruiser. Of the many other spacecraft in Sol Star System, all of them civilian ships, the ones whose tracks would have brought them anywhere near the tracks of Dauntless and the other warships had all altered course to stay well away. They obviously expected the worst. The Dancers had stayed with Dauntless, but was that for the best? Wouldn’t they be safer if he told them to scatter, to head for the hypernet gate and home? But what if they didn’t listen? How could he protect them? How could Dauntless be saved? In an attempt to distract himself, Geary spoke loudly. “Does anyone have any idea why he keeps using terms that have to do with purity and vulgarity?”
Everyone on the bridge shook their heads, so Geary repeated the question to Lieutenant Iger.
“No, sir. They seem to think they are somehow special.”
“I had already gathered that on my own,” Geary said, breaking the call to Iger with an abruptness he knew was unusual. Something was bothering him. Something that loomed just beyond his conscious awareness like a huge beast staying out of his sight but close enough that he could tell it was there.
He stared at his display, feeling an unusual tightness in his guts. He could feel his breaths becoming quicker and shallower. A strange object seemed to be stuck in his throat.
“Admiral?”
He had been here before. He hadn’t been good enough that time.
“Admiral.”
Desjani’s tone broke through Geary’s fixation on his display. He looked over at her.
She was watching him with first surprise, then appraisal. “What’s the matter?”
He tried to answer, and that effort finally caused him to understand what had rattled him so badly. Why now? I can’t have a flashback now. I thought I was past this. Whatever was impeding his breathing also kept him from saying anything.
Desjani was leaning close, her voice very low and fierce. “Dammit, Jack, what’s the matter?”
He met her eyes and managed to say one word. “Grendel.”
“Grendel?” Tanya eyed him, puzzled, then her expression cleared. “Grendel. You, one ship, against bad odds, trying to protect a convoy. This is the first time you’ve faced that situation since you fought there.”
He nodded. Thank our ancestors that she understood, that I didn’t have to try to explain something I don’t entirely understand. This isn’t Grendel.
“This isn’t Grendel,” she said on the heels of his own thought.
Words broke from him in a sudden rush. “Tanya, I had my ship blown apart around me. Most of my crew killed. If that happens again—”
“This is my ship, Admiral. If Dauntless gets blown apart, I will be on her bridge fighting her to the last.”
Geary stared at her. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
She actually reached across and grabbed his wrist, the sort of physical contact they normally avoided to keep anyone from gossiping about the admiral and his wife the captain. “Listen. If I die here, it won’t be just your fault. It’ll be mine, too. This is my ship. I will stay with her until the end. And you will get everyone you can off of her, if that is our fate. We’ve been blessed with each other for a time far too short. But we never should have met at all. You should have died a century ago. You didn’t, and I won’t now.”
“Tanya—”
“Listen. I am certain that I can drive Dauntless better than any of those pretty boys and girls on their fancy ships. One-on-one, I’d kick their butts. But we’re up against a bunch of them, and I need somebody looking at the overall situation, outthinking and outguessing Mister Medals. Together, we can do this. But this is no time for stress memories to throw you off. If that happens, if you go jelly on me, we’re dead. Will you go jelly on me?”