Tulev fixed his eyes on Geary. “They said that? Tell me, Admiral, what would you call a person, a man or a woman, who killed without concern, without thought or regret, simply because they had orders to do so? What would you call someone who felt nothing at all when they killed, never questioned an order to kill, and never hesitated, but simply killed, then moved on to the next target?”
“I’d call a person like that a monster,” Geary said.
“A monster. Yes. Because those who we send to kill must know what they are doing, must realize what life means, must feel the pain. If killing becomes too easy, those who issue the orders become too fond of it. We know this from history. There have been too many times and places where it became easier to kill than to think, easier to kill than to debate, easier to kill than accept differences.” Tulev frowned, revealing great anger for the first time since Geary had met him. “And they would make war ‘better’ by turning it over to monsters who don’t care? Who feel nothing when they kill?”
“An ancient military leader supposedly once said that it is well that war is so terrible, because otherwise people would grow too fond of it,” Geary said.
“He or she knew much more than the fools who sought to give war to the uncaring minds of machines,” Tulev said, still frowning. “To the dark ships, what they did was not terrible. It was simply a task, an order to be fulfilled. We will stop them, Admiral? We will not accept official assurances that next time there will be no malfunctions?”
“I will not,” Geary said. “I will use every bit of my authority and influence to stop them. I don’t care how many peaceful tasks are supervised by artificial intelligences. They’re good at a lot of things, as long as someone is watching for times when something goes wrong by accident or malware. But not war. Not if we’re going to stay human.”
“Welcome back.” Admiral Timbale led Geary out of the shuttle dock and toward one of the main commercial areas of Ambaru Station. “Things are still a bit unsettled here. Everyone will be immensely comforted by the sight of Black Jack.”
“It’s that bad?” Geary asked.
“Enough word of what happened, and what nearly happened to this station at the hands of those dark ships, that both the civilian and military populations of the station are jumpy.” Timbale smiled and waved at a passing group in civilian work clothes. “I’ve been going through recent shipping reports and finding some very disturbing things,” he continued, Timbale’s relaxed tone of voice and outward demeanor clashing with his words.
“Disturbing things?” Geary asked, nodding and smiling at passersby who brightened at the sight of him.
“Yes.” Timbale glanced sideways at Geary. “Shipping losses. You understand, we’re used to a certain level of those. Syndic raiders slipping into border star systems. Sabotage. Accidents due to rushed manufacture of the ships or hazardous materials being transported. Stuff happens. Once the war officially ended and word of that filtered through the Syndic border star systems, we had a big change for the better. Shipping losses declined by over seventy percent.”
“That’s good.”
“Yes. But less good is the fact that, according to the reports that have come in, we saw a resurgence of losses in recent months.” Timbale looked down, his mouth working. “Freighters and other shipping that never reached their destinations. Sometimes wreckage was identified, but with all of the wreckage in most star systems within a score of light-years of Syndic space, that hasn’t been possible too often.”
As he returned salutes from several passing ground forces soldiers, Geary somehow managed to keep his smile fixed despite an urge to snarl. “Mysterious, unexplained losses.”
“And no survivors from the crews.” Timbale reached one hand up and back to rub his neck. “We had thought, well, that’s the Syndics. They’ve been messing with us, like they did with your forces transiting their space, and this is just more Syndic ugliness. But no one has spotted any Syndic warships transiting Alliance space in or near the star systems where the losses have occurred.”
“Unbelievable,” Geary murmured. “I wonder how those ships were written off by the people running the dark ship program? Collateral damage? Training accidents?”
“They would have had trouble blaming it on personnel error,” Timbale said, his eyes now straight ahead as he walked beside Geary.
“I’d like to see that data,” Geary said. “See where the losses have been occurring.”
“It might help identify where the base is,” Timbale said. “Listen. You need to say something. Give an interview. I know you can’t talk about the dark ships and all of the garbage associated with that, but the people need to hear Black Jack telling them to keep the faith.”
“Surely there are other people who can tell them that,” Geary said, reluctant to step into such a public role again.
“There are,” Timbale agreed. “But no one believes them when they talk about what the Alliance means and how important it is because they don’t believe it. But you do, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“They’re putting it all together, Admiral,” Timbale emphasized. “The press and others. This is going to come out. Word of what happened to Atalia is all over the place, and word is trickling in from Indras. A lot of people saw your ships apparently fighting nothing and taking damage from apparently nothing, and they want to know what the hell happened here. Corporations want to know what’s happening to their ships and their cargoes. Families are raising hell about missing crews. And some of your own sailors and Marines are finding ways to talk to people. You and I both know that it’s going to take a while for the government to decide how to respond to this mess. Fleet headquarters is going to pass the buck for doing anything to the government, so don’t expect any orders from them. That means it’s up to us to handle things here for the time being, which means it is really up to you.”
“Things keep working out that way, don’t they?” Geary said. He looked over and saw a group of civilians hustling toward him, their clothes and overall appearance matching those of newscasters.
The woman in the lead skidded to a halt about a meter short of him, positioning herself in a way that offered a good look at Geary from the vidcam resting on her shoulder. One thing that hadn’t changed in the last century was that news reporters were still legally required to openly display any recording devices. “Admiral Geary, there are many rumors making the rounds. The people of the Alliance would like a statement from you.”
Geary waited as other reporters stopped nearby, behind them a growing, mixed crowd of military and civilians, all craning to hear anything he said. “I am waiting for orders,” he said. “I have reported to the government everything that I know and am preparing my forces to be ready for whatever mission I am assigned.”
“Who really gives the orders, Admiral?” a male reporter demanded. “The government? Or you?”
“The government.” He said it as if no other answer could have been expected. “I serve the Alliance.”
“Does the government really represent the people of the Alliance anymore?” another woman asked.
“As far as I’m concerned, it does,” Geary said. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m looking at the government of the Alliance right now.” He slowly ran his gaze across the crowd to drive home the point. “They are men and women whom you have elected. You chose them to speak for you, to make decisions.”