“Fleet Admiral Geary”—Captain Olisa of the battle cruiser Ascendant sounded torn between respect and challenge—“fleet officers are accustomed to receiving more information about proposed plans at this point.”
Geary gave Olisa a polite but firm look in return. “My plans aren’t proposed, Captain. They’ve been made. I’ll let you know more when I can.”
“But we need to discuss—”
Tulev broke in, speaking dispassionately. “Fleet Admiral Geary is open to suggestions and comment, Isvan. I assure you he will listen, but he does not do things as you are accustomed. He follows the path of our ancestors.”
“Our ancestors?” Olisa grimaced, but nodded. “I had heard things were different. It takes some getting used to, though.”
“I understand,” Geary replied. “I had a number of things to get used to as well.”
“Can you confirm our mission, Fleet Admiral Geary?” Captain Armus of the Colossus asked. “Are we indeed aiming to force an end to the war?”
Geary weighed his response. Armus had been difficult at times and was by no stretch an inspired officer, but he was also brave enough and followed orders. At the moment he was, in addition, being respectful and proper, which deserved the same treatment in return. Geary finally nodded. “That’s correct. We intend backing the Syndics into a corner and keeping them there until they agree to halt the fighting. Not just a cease-fire. An end to the war.”
Captain Badaya, who had seemed smug and contented since Geary’s promotion, nodded back as if sharing a secret with Geary. “Using your plan, Fleet Admiral Geary.”
“Yes. You’ll all get much more detail on it at Atalia, I promise.”
As the officers’ images vanished, Geary saw that the two new political observers remained as if expecting something. “Yes, Senators?”
Costa gave Geary a quick smile. “You can brief us now that the others have left.”
Desjani seemed to be literally biting her lip to keep from saying something. Geary searched for the correct and diplomatic response.
But Rione turned to Costa with a reassuring smile. “I’ll bring them up to date, Fleet Admiral Geary.”
She would? Geary hadn’t confided his exact plans to Rione. Had she broken his security? But then on the side of her face away from the other senators Rione dropped a slow wink to Geary. “All right,” Geary said. “Captain Desjani?”
He left hastily with Desjani, wondering what Rione would tell the others to keep them happy. “I wonder if there’s any way to freeze those two out of the meeting software?”
“At least you have that politician to handle them,” Desjani grumbled. “May my ancestors forgive me, but I’m actually grateful for the moment that she’s on board.”
“You’ll get over it.”
“And very quickly, too,” Desjani agreed. “Will you be on the bridge for the jump to Atalia?”
“Of course.” Geary paused. “There’s a lot riding on this. There’s somewhere I should go before then.”
“I’m on my way there, too.” They walked into the depths of Dauntless, to the most protected part of the ship, where the rooms set aside for religious purposes rested. Desjani bade him farewell at the door to one room, her eyes searching his for a moment before the privacy door closed.
He sat down on the traditional wooden bench in his own room. He wondered for the first time from which world the wood had come. So many worlds had trees or similar vegetation, and humanity had brought many plants with them on their long march through the vastness of space. Geary lighted the single candle, then sat watching the flame for a while. It was hard to put his many emotions into words, but finally he spoke softly. “I’m not asking for success for me, but for all of those who are counting on me. Please help me end this, and if my fate is to die on this mission, please see Tanya Desjani safely to her home again.”
Half an hour later he was on the bridge of Dauntless along with Desjani as the fleet, divided into three subformations and arrayed for battle, jumped for Atalia.
FOUR
Four days later, the Alliance fleet flashed back into normal space at the jump point on the fringes of the Syndicate Worlds-controlled Atalia Star System.
“What the hell?” was Geary’s first response as the fleet’s sensors updated the situation.
No mines blocked their exit from the jump point, no powerful flotilla of warships waited nearby or cruised in distant orbit about the star Atalia, but only four light-minutes distant a large gaggle of Syndic merchant ships hung at rest relative to the jump point as if they were awaiting the Alliance warships.
Desjani, frowning in disbelief, turned to bark out orders to the bridge watch-standers. “Find out everything you can about those merchant ships.”
“Captain,” the operations watch-stander reported, “every one of those merchant ships has smaller craft hanging on them, up to twenty on the larger ones.”
“Mother ships.” Geary waited impatiently for more detailed reports from the sensors’ examination of the enemy craft. “Carrying what?”
“Those things are too big to be missiles,” Desjani commented. Then her eyes widened in recognition. “Damn. They’re—”
“Syndic fast attack craft,” the operations watch-stander reported triumphantly.
“They’re sending FACs against us?” Desjani seemed almost horrified, but not as if she feared the news. “Against this many warships in open space?”
“FACs?” Geary hastily read as a description popped up on his display, and understanding came. “They look like they’re pretty much the same as the SRACs a hundred years ago.”
“SRACs?” Desjani asked.
“Short-range attack craft. Those were only intended for operations very close to planets or other major space objects because of their limited range and capabilities.”
“Then they’re effectively the same thing,” Desjani confirmed. “Out here, unable to dart into atmosphere or behind a planet, they’re going to have problems.”
Problems indeed. Geary hurriedly studied the capabilities of the FACs. At point one light speed, the Alliance fleet only required forty minutes to cover four light-minutes of distance. Ten minutes had already passed, and he had to assume that the FACs would launch as soon as possible, then would speed toward the Alliance ships, further reducing the time until contact.
Like the SRACs he had known, these FACs were small, carrying only one or two human crew members. In addition to a single hell-lance particle-beam projector with a slow recharge time, some models carried a single missile, while others had a couple of single-shot grapeshot launchers. Their armor was nonexistent, and their small power plants could support only weak shields. “Who the hell sent them on this suicide mission?”
“They must all be volunteers,” Desjani offered.
Alerts sounded as the fleet’s sensors spotted the FACs starting to launch from the improvised merchant mother ships three minutes ago. Looked at only in terms of numbers, the swarm of small craft seemed impressive.
Rione obviously thought so. “Can we handle this?”
“Easily,” Desjani muttered.
Geary nodded in agreement.
“But they’re smaller, faster, and more maneuverable,” Rione insisted.
“Smaller, yes,” Geary replied. “Faster and more maneuverable, no. Whoever came up with this plan must be primarily a planetary defense officer, who thought because FACs look sort of like atmospheric craft compared to space warships, that the physics would work the same as aircraft versus seagoing ships on planets with atmospheres and oceans. But those FACs aren’t operating in a much-less-dense medium than our ships, they’re operating in exactly the same medium, so it’s all about mass-to-thrust ratios. The FACs are small, but that means they’ve got small propulsion systems and small power plants. They’re certainly more maneuverable than battleships, but our destroyers have bigger propulsion units and better mass-to-thrust ratios.” On his display, the FACs had finished scrambling from the merchant ships and were accelerating toward the Alliance fleet.