I guess it’s a lot easier to hold meetings now. Geary took a moment to wonder if that was a good thing, or if that was one of the things which had sapped the spirit from the fleet. He stood at his seat, wondering if anyone should or would call everyone else to attention, but when that didn’t happen, he sat stiffly.
No one spoke. With the exception of Captain Desjani, who’d taken a real seat just to his left, every other officer was looking at him. Geary looked back at them, one by one, letting his gaze linger on each briefly before moving on. Some gazed back with carefully blank expressions, hiding their thoughts. A number of others held challenges in their eyes, plainly not receptive to Geary’s authority. But the majority stared at him with the desperation of the dying, praying for deliverance. To varying degrees, all of them seemed weary and worried.
Geary took a deep breath, deciding to deliberately avoid the informality he’d seen among this fleet in favor of the formal speech and actions he’d always known. “For those of you who haven’t met me, I am Captain John Geary. When Admiral Bloch left the Dauntless, he placed me in command of the fleet. I intend to carry out that responsibility to the best of my ability.” He wondered what his voice sounded like to them, what the words meant to them.
A woman who must be approaching retirement age gave Geary an acidic look. “Did Admiral Bloch provide any reason for that action?”
Geary frowned at her, feeling a slow glow of heat forming inside and welcoming the relief from the coldness he’d felt since being rescued. “I’m personally not accustomed to asking my superiors to provide me with reasons to justify their decisions.” A ripple ran through the ranks of the ship captains, but what it meant he couldn’t tell. “Admiral Bloch did, however, inform me that I was the senior officer in rank and length of service remaining with this fleet.”
The woman’s eyebrows shot upward. “Length of service? Are you serious?”
“Are you suggesting we compare dates of rank, Captain…” he looked at the identifying tag floating near her, “Captain Faresa?”
“That would be meaningless, as you are aware.”
“No, I am not aware.” Geary let the growing heat enter his voice. “If this fleet begins picking and choosing which rank and seniority factors matter, it will dissolve into chaos, and you will all die.”
A moment of silence followed before another officer broke in. Captain Numos of the Orion, Geary saw. “Are you suggesting you can somehow offer us salvation? There are only two options available to us as a fleet, Captain. We die fighting, or submit to, at best, living slavery and slower death.”
Geary found himself smiling wearily. “I can die fighting. I imagine it’s easier the second time around.”
Captain Duellos, of the Courageous, laughed. “Very good, Captain Geary! If that’s our fate—”
Numos interrupted again. “There’s another option. If we break up, every ship for itself, some of us may win through to the hypernet gate—”
“Break up?” another captain demanded. “You mean every ship for itself?”
“Yes! The slower and more heavily damaged ships are doomed anyway. There’s no sense—”
“My ship took damage because it absorbed enemy fire that would’ve been aimed at yours otherwise! And now you want to leave us to Syndic labor camps?”
“If there’s no alternative—”
“Quiet.” It wasn’t until everyone stared at him that Geary realized he’d spoken. From their expressions, he wondered what his voice had sounded like this time. “This fleet will not abandon any ships.”
Numos spoke again and Geary could see some of the other officers nodding in agreement with his words. “That’s not a reasoned judgment because you’re not qualified to command this fleet. You know that. Your knowledge of weapons and tactics is hopelessly outdated. You lack understanding of the current situation, here and at home. You—”
Something inside Geary flared to full life in a blast of heat. “Captain Numos, I am not here to debate command issues with you or any other officer of this fleet.”
“You’re not qualified to command! You don’t know—”
“I know I’m in command by virtue of seniority and the last order of Admiral Bloch, and that if I require information to support my command, then my subordinates will provide that information.”
“I’m not—”
“And if you or any other ship commander feel themselves to be incapable of supporting me properly or following orders, I will relieve them of command and replace them with officers I can depend upon. And, I might add, officers that other ships can depend upon to support them.” Numos’s face flushed. “Do you feel incapable of supporting me properly, Captain Numos?”
Numos swallowed, then spoke with stubborn insistence but without the confidence he’d shown earlier. “Captain Geary, your seniority is a fluke, as you yourself know. Your date of rank is almost a century old because your promotion to Captain was granted posthumously. No one knew you were still alive. A century in survival hibernation does not impart any experience.” Some of the other captains made small motions of agreement, apparently emboldening Numos again. “We must choose a commanding officer based on their ability to deal with the current situation, and that requires current knowledge.”
Geary stared back at Numos so coldly that he leaned back as if being threatened. “In the Alliance Fleet I know, no one ‘chose’ their commanders. I have no intention of allowing you or anyone else to interfere with my command authority.”
A stout man down at one end of the table cleared his throat. “Captain Geary is senior. He’s in command. End of discussion.”
Geary nodded toward him, fixing the name and face in memory. Captain Tulev of the Leviathan. Someone Geary could count on.
Then a woman in the uniform of the Alliance Marines spoke. Colonel Carabali, who must’ve inherited her command when the Marine general accompanying the fleet died along with the other flag officers. “We’re sworn to obey our commanders and defend the Alliance. The Marines understand that Captain Geary is our commander under Alliance Fleet Regulations.”
Another ship’s Captain spoke up, her voice ragged. “Dammit, if he can’t get us out of this, who can?”
All eyes focused on Geary again as the woman openly voiced what so many of them had been thinking. He wanted to avoid those faces, but he had to meet their hope and skepticism dead on. Geary couldn’t hide anymore. “I’m going to try.”
TWO
Silence hung in the room for a moment, then Captain Faresa spoke again, her voice and expression still harsh. “How, Captain? What magic will you use? We have less than an hour remaining before the Syndic deadline expires.”
Geary gave her an equally harsh look, but he could gaze down the ranks of ship commanders and see that his command authority hung on a knife-edge. For the first time, he noticed how young many of them were. Younger than the ship captains he’d known a century ago and clearly less hardened or experienced than those captains. Too many of them were watching and waiting, ready to jump in any direction. And if they started jumping, the entire fleet might fall apart and leave the Syndics with easy pickings. “Then we’d better use that time thinking instead of hurling barbs at each other, shouldn’t we?” He pointed at the center of the table, where the display portrayed the ships of the Alliance fleet. The most heavily damaged ships had formed into a rough sphere. Between them and the looming wall of the Syndic fleet, a rectangular wall of Alliance ships spread out, bent into a crescent facing the enemy. It looked impressive, until you totaled up the ships involved and realized the waiting Syndic sledgehammer would shatter the Alliance crescent as if it were made of glass.