“Admiral, FAC 4657A is reporting in for instructions.”
What should he do with a FAC? “Tell them to assist our cruisers in dealing with any freighters that start to leave orbit.”
“Marines aboard one ship are employing CRX,” Duellos said.
“What about the other one?” Geary asked.
“It looks like order was being restored before they boarded.” Duellos looked to one side, said something, then turned back to Geary. “They’ve been contacted by two leaders who are asking them to refrain from compliance actions, whatever those are.”
“When this calms down, I need to speak to those two leaders,” Geary said. “On a secure, remote hookup. Have the Marines tell them now that as long as they can restore order, the Marines will have no need to act.”
“Implacable has intercepted the stricken freighter and is assisting in rescue efforts,” another watch-stander reported.
“FAC 1793B reporting for instructions.”
“Ground forces boarding three freighters, shuttles still on approach for the other six.”
“FAC 8853A reporting for instructions.”
“Marines aboard freighter where CRX was employed need some fleet sailors to monitor freighter propulsion, power, and control systems until the crew revives.”
Geary paused to rub his eyes. The bubble was slowly getting under control, or at least was no longer threatening to break into a million pieces flying off through space, but it would be a while yet before he could relax. He lowered his hand and looked to where on his display Implacable, Dagger, and Parrot could be seen clustered around the stricken refugee ship.
I’ve limited the damage, but I couldn’t prevent some loss of life.
I’m going to get on top of this situation, find out how to get these refugees home, find out how to keep more from coming, and find out why they’re coming here in the first place. And the one good thing about this recent mess is that it’s put me in a place to start doing that.
It had been a very long day, but despite his exhaustion Geary still felt keyed up. He needed answers, and these people might be able to give them to him.
The conference room aboard Inspire was nearly identical to that on Dauntless, but Geary still felt an irrational discomfort, including a sense that the standard-issue seat he occupied in this compartment was more uncomfortable than the standard-issue seat in the compartment aboard Dauntless.
Seemingly seated at the table across from him were the virtual presences of two individuals, the refugee leaders whom the Marines had found aboard one of the freighters. The Marines had set up the conferencing equipment, then backed off so that the two leaders would feel freer to talk to Geary. Both the leaders were in nondescript outfits that had clearly been worn too long under conditions that didn’t permit baths or laundering.
The one who identified himself as Naxos was an older man of heavy build who reminded Geary of the more experienced senior enlisted sailors he had worked with. He did not seem comfortable with being someone in charge, and often looked down at his hands as if hoping they could do the talking for him. Naxos’s words confirmed Geary’s impression.
“I spent my life on a work line,” he said. “At the lowest level. I started forty years ago. My last job was senior line supervisor. People think that means I know how to get things done. I hope they’re right.” Naxos glanced toward Geary, a flash of defiance showing, then quickly looked away again.
“I’m not a Syndic CEO,” Geary said. “I like it when people look me in the eye.”
The other refugee leader was younger, sharper, a blade not yet worn down by life in the Syndicate Worlds. She didn’t have the same air of reflexive submission that Naxos did but lacked the confidence of someone who had occupied a high position. The woman, who gave her name as Araya, snorted skeptically at Geary’s words. “Can we afford to take your word for that?”
“I don’t see where you have any alternative,” Geary said. “From what I know, I’m the first person in authority from the Alliance to talk to you, and I might be the last. If there’s something we need to know, you need to tell me.” As he spoke with these two, on top of his earlier conversations, he was slowly realizing how much Victoria Rione had schooled him on difficult talks. Without telling him she was doing so, Rione had almost constantly forced him to deal with oblique statements and unclear motivations. He had always assumed that was just the way she was, but now he wondered if Rione had done it deliberately with this end in sight. She had been very direct in their first conversations, after all. “What was your job under the Syndicate?” he asked Araya.
“Sub-executive Level Five,” Araya replied as if daring him to comment on it.
“I can’t remember exactly where that rank sits in the Syndic hierarchy,” Geary said.
“It’s not high. In fact, you can’t get any lower without being a worker.” Her eyes studied him. “I was blackballed by a CEO. No promotions. Ever.”
“I see.”
“Do you?”
“I’ve talked to the people in the Midway Star System, who revolted against the Syndicate Worlds. They told me a lot about the system they had been forced to live under, what CEOs could do to try to compel people.” Geary pointed to Naxos, then Araya. “I’ve been ordered to take you back to your homes. But I want to help you.”
Skepticism radiated from the two like a physical force. “Why?” Naxos asked, his eyes on his hands.
“Because I’m supposed to solve this mess. Just taking you home won’t solve anything if you and the others just show up here again. You’re refugees. Why? Why did you leave Batara, and why did you come to an Alliance star system rather than one elsewhere in Syndic space?”
“You’re Alliance,” Araya said, heat entering her voice. “You’ve bombed us and killed us and shot at us for a century. Why should we tell you anything?”
“Why the hell did you come here if you think everyone in the Alliance is evil?” Geary asked.
“It wasn’t our—” Araya began hotly before cutting off her words. She glared at Geary, then shrugged. “All right. Batara threw out the Syndicate. We rebelled. But once we got rid of the snakes and the CEOs, we… we…”
He knew this story from other star systems. “You had been united against the Syndicate government, but after they were gone, the different factions at Batara started fighting among themselves. Is that what happened?”
“Yes,” Naxos confirmed, his gaze flicking upward for a moment to look at Geary before lowering again. “We were given a choice. Leave, or stay in a Syndicate labor camp that was under new management, or die. The last two options were the same thing.”
Geary nodded, leaning back in his seat as he thought. “Since you were rebels, you couldn’t go to another Syndic star system.”
“We didn’t have any choice,” Araya insisted. “That’s the only reason we came here. Leave Batara or die. Fine. Where could we go? We’ve got three jump points at Batara. One leads to Alliance space.”
“To Yokai,” Geary agreed.
“You call it Yokai. We call that jump point the Mouth of Hell. For a hundred years, the people at Batara watched Syndicate forces jump from there and disappear, or come back in tatters. For a hundred years, we never knew when Alliance killers would appear at the jump point to attack us.”
“There was a certain logic to it,” Naxos offered, frowning at his hands. “The other rebels wanted to get rid of us, so they sent us through the Mouth of Hell.”
“The other two jump points,” Araya continued, “lead to Yael and Tiyannak. Yael remains under Syndicate control. They don’t have enough forces to reconquer Batara, but they do have enough to send minor attacks at us. They pop out, bombard some installations and destroy some shipping, then run. If we resubmit to the Syndicate, they say they’ll stop. But everyone in Batara knows that letting the CEOs back will be worse than anything the forces at Yael can do to us. And the ones who kicked us out of Batara didn’t want us helping the CEOs, joining with them or just telling them lots of things about what was going on, so they wouldn’t let us jump to Yael.”