She studied him, then nodded. “Will you attempt to remain in command of this fleet?”
“Yes.”
“Even though you only took command in the Syndic home star system because you had to do so?”
“Yes.” Geary let a small smile show. “I didn’t know it was that obvious.”
“It wasn’t.” Carabali let her own tiny smile flicker on and off again. “I’m used to trying to figure out what’s beneath the surface of fleet officers. The lives of my Marines often depend on that.” Her expression went wooden once more. “Do you think you can end this war?”
He started to reply, then shot Carabali a questioning look. “You said ‘end,’ not ‘win.’ ”
“I asked the question I meant to ask, sir.”
“I need to be certain of that.” Geary leaned forward slightly, searching her expression but seeing nothing but the professional mask. “There’s a lot I’m still learning about what this war has done, about how the fleet and the Alliance feel about it.”
Carabali raised one hand to her chin and rubbed it for a moment as if contemplating the question. “I’ll fight as long as I have to fight to protect the Alliance. Beyond that… I’m tired of making decisions about who lives and who dies, Captain Geary. A little of that goes a long way.”
“I know. Believe me.”
“Yes, you do, but not in the same manner. The fleet offers certain luxuries that ground fighting doesn’t, and your own personal history is different from ours. You grew up at peace, and you spent your fleet career at peace until Grendel.” Carabali looked away, her eyes seeming to focus on something far away.
“May I tell you some history? There was a lieutenant who’d grown up with the war and joined to follow in the footsteps of her grandmother and her father. On one of her first ground-combat missions she and her Marine platoon were cut off from the rest of their unit. The atmosphere around them was toxic with Syndic defensive chem agents. The power on their battle armor was running low, and if it went too low for life support, the lieutenant and her platoon would die.”
Geary watched the colonel’s face, which still revealed little. “An ugly situation no matter how experienced an officer.”
“Yes. I didn’t mention that the lieutenant’s platoon had captured a breached Syndic bunker along with a number of Syndic self-defense-force personnel. The Syndics all had suits with plenty of power reserves, and the lieutenant’s leading noncommissioned officer informed her that it would be possible to jury-rig a means of draining the Syndic suits to recharge our own power cells.”
The colonel paused again while Geary put himself there and tried not to shudder. “But if the Syndic suits were drained, the prisoners would die.”
“Or they’d have to be killed to keep them from attacking the Marines once they realized they were going to die,” Carabali agreed. “The lieutenant knew there was only one decision possible, but she also knew it would be a decision that would haunt her forever.”
“What did the lieutenant do?”
“The lieutenant hesitated,” Carabali stated in a voice as collected as if she were providing a routine report, “and her leading noncommissioned officer, as ruthless a bastard as any sergeant has ever been, suggested that the lieutenant leave the bunker for a little while to see if she could reestablish communications with the rest of the Alliance forces from the outside. The lieutenant grasped at the suggestion, knowing what she was really agreeing to, and left the bunker, standing outside until the sergeant appeared with enough charged power cells to keep her battle armor going. The entire platoon, it seemed, had enough power to try to regain Alliance lines. The lieutenant led the way, and she and her platoon made it back that evening. No one asked how the platoon’s power supplies had held out so long. The lieutenant received a medal for saving her entire platoon under such difficult circumstances.”
Without even thinking, Geary’s eyes went to the left breast of Carabali’s uniform, searching for the combat-award ribbon that might mark the event.
But the colonel kept speaking, her voice flat. “The lieutenant never wears that medal or its ribbon.”
“Did the lieutenant ever go back into the bunker?”
“The lieutenant didn’t have to. The lieutenant knew what was inside.” Carabali nodded toward the star display. “Somewhere, right now, another Alliance lieutenant is facing that same kind of decision, Captain Geary. Somewhere, a damned Syndic officer is making a similar decision, because it’s the only decision to be made. Too many of those decisions have already been made.”
“I understand.”
“What decision will you make, sir?” Carabali looked back at him. “Can you end this war on acceptable terms?”
“I don’t know.” It was Geary’s turn to point to the stars. “What I propose depends in part on what happens between here and Alliance space, but at this point… Colonel, I’ll have to ask that you not repeat this outside this meeting.”
“Of course, sir.”
“At this point it appears I may have to propose seriously hazarding this fleet again, right after I get it to safety. I’m not sure how that will sit with the leaders of the Alliance, or with the personnel in this fleet for that matter.”
Carabali frowned slightly. “If that proposal were made by another officer, it wouldn’t sit well. But you have built up a tremendous reserve of trust, sir.”
“Even though we’ve lost a lot of ships?”
“Your concept of a lot still differs from that of people who have grown up in this war, sir.” Carabali reached one finger up to touch her rank insignia. “These were my grandmother’s, and then my father’s. Both of them died in combat before they were able personally to hand down these insignia to one of their children. I had hoped to break that family curse, but, Captain Geary,” the colonel stated with her eyes locked on his, “if my death in combat were to ensure my children didn’t have to wear these because the war had ended in a way the people of the Alliance could live with, then I would willingly make that sacrifice. That’s the crux of the matter here, sir. We’ve been willing to die for a long time, but that willingness has been colored by despair that our sacrifices will accomplish little. We trust you to make our deaths count, if it comes to that.”
Geary nodded, feeling a heaviness filling him. “I promise to do my best.”
“You always have, sir. And if you hold to your promise not to violate your oath to the Alliance, the Marines in this fleet will do their best by you as well.”
This time Geary frowned, thinking through the words. “That’s an uncharacteristically ambiguous statement, Colonel.”
“Then I’ll state clearly that if you give orders to act against the Alliance government, I and my officers will do all we can to ensure the Marines do not obey such orders.”
“That won’t be a problem because I won’t give such orders.”
“Then we understand each other.” Carabali looked away for a moment, her eyes hooded in thought. “But if we receive orders to arrest you… that’s when it gets hard. It should be simple. Obey lawful orders. But it won’t be if you haven’t violated your own oath. A long time ago a wise man said that everything in war is simple, but all of the simple things are complicated. Like this. Is it lawful to arrest an officer, one with an unblemished record, because of what he might do? Military and civilian lawyers could argue that point for a long time. As you said, the Alliance is about the principles we hold dear, and one of those has always been the rights of our people.”
“That’s true, Colonel.” Geary stood up. “I swear that I will do everything I can to avoid such a conflict between orders and principles. We’re on the same side and, frankly, I like it that way.”