The Lost Fleet: Beyond the Frontier: Steadfast (22 page)

“Can the CRX cause casualties?” Geary said.

“Maybe,” the Marine replied. “Very low odds, but if someone is already sick or something, it might push them over the edge. But it’s as close to nonlethal as anything in the arsenal, Admiral.”

Duellos nodded his recommendation to Geary, and Geary in turn nodded to the Marine. “Use the CRX if you have to employ gas, Sergeant.”

“Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!”

After the Marine’s image vanished, Duellos raised an eyebrow at Geary. “Marines don’t usually get that excited about nonlethal options.”

“From what General Carabali has told me, they really hate the idea of facing out-of-control civilians. There have apparently been some very ugly incidents on Syndic worlds where Marines had to fire to protect themselves from rioters who were just out of their heads with fear and panic.”

“The glory of war,” Duellos muttered. “We fleet sailors never had to see those who died when we dropped rocks on them from many thousands of kilometers away.”

“That’s over and done,” Geary said, his voice sharp.

“Admiral,” the operations watch reported, her voice carrying easily over the low conversation between Geary and Duellos, “
Implacable
reports fifteen minutes to intercept of the refugee ship with failing life support.”

“Do we have any more reports from
Dagger
or
Parrot
?” Geary asked.

“
Dagger
reports . . .” The watch-stander hesitated, then continued speaking in grim tones. “Reports that the freighter crew says they are donning survival suits.”

The combat systems watch-stander shook his head. “Captain, my cousin worked on a freighter. Breaking out those suits costs money. They don’t do it unless they absolutely have to.”

Duellos nodded slowly, his expression tightly controlled. “Would they wait until air quality was bad enough that it was necessary for survival? Or would they don the suits earlier to have a margin for safety?”

“Captain, from what my cousin said, they’d wait until the last minute.”

“And we’re twenty light-minutes distant from all of them,” Duellos said.

Geary pressed his lips tightly together, then hit his comm control harder than necessary, knowing that anything he said would get there too late to make any difference. “
Dagger
,
Parrot
, this is—”

“Admiral, incoming from
Parrot
!”

Breaking off the transmission, Geary called up the new message.

Parrot
’s commanding officer seemed shockingly young, a product of the war when promotions could come very rapidly as more senior officers were wiped out wholesale in bloody engagements. Only her eyes betrayed the experiences which had aged her enough to qualify for command despite her youth. “Admiral, based on reports from the freighter crew about conditions aboard the ship, I decided to attempt attaching another evac tube. The attempt was successful, because conditions aboard the freighter are so bad that most of the passengers are either half-conscious or already comatose.

“We’ve linked an intake tube to our own life support to suck out what we can from the freighter and send back clean air, but we don’t have nearly enough capacity.
Dagger
is mating a tube to another air lock and should join the effort within another few minutes.
Implacable
is only a few minutes away now, but . . . sir, we’re going to lose some of them. Maybe a lot of them. We’re doing all we can. Lieutenant Commander Miller, out.”

A year ago, Miller would have been trying to kill those Syndics. Now she looked ready to howl with frustration at not being able to save them all. Despite the tragedy unfolding, Geary saw grounds for hope in that.

“Admiral, incoming from ground forces shuttles.”

He shifted his attention to another screen, where a ground forces officer faced him, uniform and other aspects of his appearance reflecting a very hasty shuttle trip. “Major Farouk, One Thousand Seven Hundred Twelfth Military Police Regiment. I have six and a half platoons ready to assist you, sir.”

Duellos indicated his display. “They should go to these ships, Admiral. I’ve been watching them while you handled the big picture, and they’ve got the most restive refugees. Our cruisers just had to fire more warning shots to keep a few more of those freighters from bolting.”

“Thanks. Major, your assistance is welcome. I am tagging the nine freighters that we assess are most in need of riot control. My Marines are already boarding these other two. I have authorized the use of CRX riot-suppression gas.”

Farouk stared blankly back at Geary for a moment before replying. “Sir, we have no CRX.”

“You only have CRV?”

“No, sir. We don’t have any gas.”

“What
have
you got?”

“Screamers, flash-bangs, stunners—”

It was equipment more suited to dealing with serious law-enforcement scenarios than riot control. Geary held up his hands to halt the recitation. “Use minimum necessary force. We’ve got six warships out here to back you up. Are there any leaders among the refugees whom you can contact to help restore order?”

Major Farouk’s expression reflected embarrassment this time. “I don’t know, Admiral.”

“Your intel people can’t tell you?” Geary demanded, afraid that he already knew the answer.

“We have nothing on the refugees, Admiral. They are under the control of the aerospace forces. I asked, sir,” Farouk added quickly. “As we were lifting. I was told the refugees are Syndics who came here for economic reasons, and if there was anything else, the aerospace forces should have learned it. That’s all.”

“Here are my orders to you,” Geary said slowly and clearly. “As you board each ship, make sure you attempt to learn if there are local leaders who can assist in restoring and maintaining order. I want to know what you learn. Advise me immediately if you need any assistance or learn anything that I have to know. Any questions?”

“No, sir.”

“Damned idiot bureaucratic foolishness,” Geary grumbled after the call ended. “They’re Syndics. Didn’t anyone think it was important to know why so many were risking coming into Alliance territory?”

Duellos shrugged. “They’re Syndics,” he repeated. “Let me tell you how the people here probably have been thinking. First, since the refugees are Syndics, they’ll lie if they’re asked. Second, their motives don’t matter because they’re going back to Syndic territory. Third, they’re Syndics, so who the hell cares? That’s on top of what we already know about General Sissons’s attitude toward cooperation and providing any support he doesn’t absolutely have to provide.” He checked something on his display. “My Marines are beginning boarding ops. Do you want to monitor them?”

He liked doing that, liked watching events through the viewpoints of the Marines, but . . . “Not this time. There’s too much else going on for me to get that narrowly focused. Let me know if they run into problems.”

“
Formidable
has propulsion controls back online!” the operations watch announced happily.

Geary felt himself smiling, too. Things were finally getting under control. “
Formidable
, this is Admiral Geary. Proceed to intercept with
Inspire
. I want these freighters to see another battle cruiser coming.”

“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.”