“I know. So were we. How desperate must the Syndics be to have rigged that kind of defense here?”
“Very desperate.” The thought seemed to bring further joy to Desjani.
Rione finally spoke again. “Did any of the Syndics on those small craft survive?”
Desjani grimaced at the query, then looked a question at one of the watch-standers.
“Probably not, Madam Co-President,” that lieutenant answered. “The FACs are so small that any hit is likely to hit the crew, too. There’s no survival pod, just the FAC itself and the suits of the one or two personnel in the crew. Survival time with the FAC’s systems knocked out is … uh … estimated at half an hour to an hour.”
“Then there’s no sense in asking Dungeon to search for survivors and take them prisoner?” Rione asked.
Without speaking directly to Rione, Desjani answered this time. “They were on a suicide mission. They knew it. If any still survive long enough for Dungeon to get close, they might well trigger further explosions on the wrecks of their craft or by using explosives attached to themselves.”
Seeing Rione’s unhappiness, Geary called Lieutenant Iger, relaying Desjani’s assessment. “Do you concur?”
Iger spoke to some of the other intelligence personnel, then nodded. “Yes, sir. Whoever was crewing those FACs under these conditions had to be fanatics ready to die for their cause. Unless one of them is dead or unconscious, I wouldn’t get close.” He paused in thought. “But even then their bodies might be rigged with proximity fuses activated by a dead-man mechanism. I wouldn’t risk it, sir.”
One more reminder, as if Geary needed any, of how ugly this war had become over the course of a century. “Sorry, Madam Co-President.”
“I understand.” She stood up. “I’m going to go back to my stateroom and pretend I was there during this entire time. Senators Costa and Sakai are not aware that politicians are permitted on the bridge during such periods, and I’d rather they not learn differently.”
As Rione left, Desjani gave her a suspicious glance. “Why is she being nice?”
Geary followed her gaze. “I have no idea.”
“Does she know your plans?”
“Not in detail.” He could have added “not like you,” but decided that would be overkill.
Desjani smiled grimly. “Good. When does everybody find out?”
“A day and a half, just a few hours before we jump out of here.”
“Good,” she repeated. “Dungeon will have hobbled back to the jump point and left for Varandal by then, so no last-minute messages to her can compromise your plans.”
“Right.” He said it as if he’d already thought of that, but Desjani’s grin told Geary he hadn’t gotten any better at lying.
The fleet had been in the Atalia Star System for just over twelve hours when the transmission came in from the primary inhabited world. Seven individuals stood behind a broad desk, one of them speaking earnestly. “From the senior Syndicate Worlds’ CEOs in Atalia Star System to Captain Geary. We have voted to secede from the Syndicate Worlds and establish an independent star system. We wish to offer the formal surrender of Atalia to the Alliance on the condition that you personally guarantee the safety of everyone in it from further attack or reprisal.”
Geary leaned back in a chair in his stateroom, staring at the screen, then forwarded it within Dauntless. “Madam Co-President, I need you to look at this message.”
Less than ten minutes later, his hatch announced Rione’s arrival. She carried an air of triumph mingled with worry as she entered. “Surrender. Do you know the last time a Syndic star system surrendered to the Alliance?”
“No.”
“It’s never happened. They can be conquered and subdued with great effort, and individual groupings of forces or cities might surrender under pressure, but not an entire star system.” Rione sat down, her eyes hooded. “There’s no sign of revolution within this star system?”
“No. It doesn’t seem to be happening like it did at Heradao. Fleet sensors and the intelligence section haven’t picked up internal fighting or any problems with the Syndic command and control net.”
Rione’s eyes went toward the star display in Geary’s stateroom. “We killed the backbone of the loyalist forces at the jump exit. All the ones who would have died rather than surrender. They did, and now what remains is far less eager to fight hopeless battles.”
That made sense but still left a big question. “How the hell do I accept the surrender of a star system? I don’t have a fraction of the Marines and other ground forces we’d need to occupy just a few critical places.”
She gave him a rueful look. “You might also ask how you intend protecting this star system from Syndic retaliation. I assume you’re not interested in leaving a substantial portion of your fleet behind.”
“No.” Geary paced, trying to figure out how to respond. “Dungeon hasn’t jumped yet. I checked her position, and we should have time to get a message to her before she leaves for Varandal. Dungeon can carry the message, and the Alliance can push some other units in here to handle any light warships the Syndics might still have in this region.”
“Atalia has been pounded to hell for the last century. It’s not exactly a prize for the Alliance.” Rione shrugged and stood up. “But we’re not annexing it. I’ll prepare a message for Dungeon to carry to the grand council, suggesting we offer limited protection but avoid promising any more than that. The Alliance can’t afford to take on the responsibility of fixing up Syndic star systems as well as our own. Make certain that you specify in your message to Dungeon that you’ve promised on your own honor that the people in Atalia won’t be bombarded again unless in response to attacks on Alliance units in this star system.”
He set to work crafting his replies as Rione left. At one point an alert announced the arrival of the Alliance kinetic bombardment launched twelve hours ago at some of the distant targets at which it had been aimed. There wasn’t any halting the onward progress of that bombardment, since the Alliance couldn’t stop the rocks any more than the Syndics could.
One other thing bothered him, though. Atalia hadn’t surrendered to the Alliance. It had surrendered to him.
Captain Duellos—the man, not his virtual image—leaned back and glanced around Geary’s stateroom. “I always expect a place to seem different when I’m there in person no matter how realistic my virtual visits were supposed to be. Too many people use filters that show a virtual visitor a false image of grandeur or whatever other spotless illusion they prefer to their own reality.”
“So, is this different?” Geary asked, dropping into the seat opposite.
“Not that I can tell.” Duellos shrugged. “I didn’t expect differently. To me you’ve always seemed uncomfortable with illusions.”
Most visits among the fleet’s ships were virtual ones, but while physical visits were unusual, they weren’t totally unheard of. With no enemy threat still present, Duellos had taken a shuttle to see an old acquaintance who was now commanding officer of one of the new battle cruisers, then swung his shuttle by Dauntless on the way back to Inspire. “How’s your friend on Agile?” Geary asked.
“He’s fine, though a bit worried about everything he’s hearing about these radical new ways of fighting that Black Jack Geary is employing. I reassured him that they are honorable, effective, and learnable, as he saw when we arrived at Atalia. He wanted to see me in person to pass on a memento from a mutual friend of ours who died in battle a little while back and wanted me to have something of his to remind me of … our times together.” Duellos sat silent for a moment, then looked directly at Geary. “I keep expecting to get a message from Jaylen Cresida with the latest on her researches or some tactic she wanted to talk about.”