Dreadnaught

“I believe so, Admiral. Wait one. Got it. Voice only. You will have a broadcast link in three . . . two . . . one . . . now.”

The broadcast icon popped up on Geary’s comm unit display. He slowed down to keep from breathing hard from exertion as he held the device closer to his mouth and began speaking clearly. “All units in the Alliance fleet, this is Admiral Geary. All ships are to return to assigned orbital stations immediately. I do not want to have to repeat this order again.” He let a full measure of anger and disappointment sound as he said that. Should he threaten the errant warships with relief of their commanding officers if they didn’t obey this time? No. Let his expectations be clear and give the officers responsible for overreacting some way of covering their retreat without seeming to surrender. In this fleet, with its concepts of honor, threats might well backfire.

“The fleet headquarters message,” Geary continued, “which notified the fleet of pending charges against numerous commanding officers in the fleet, has been canceled effective immediately.” The senators hadn’t actually told him that in so many words, but this was no time to leave any ambiguities hanging. “I say again, the fleet headquarters message is canceled. No actions ordered by that message remain in effect, and it will not be retransmitted. I will be proceeding directly from Ambaru station to my flagship, and once aboard Dauntless, I will immediately hold a conference to brief all commanding officers on the situation. To the honor of our ancestors, Geary, out.”

He took another deep breath, keying off the broadcast link before speaking to Desjani again. “How was that?”

“Acceptable.”

“Thanks. Assuming things calm down, you and I will need a shuttle to Dauntless.”

“I already ordered one dispatched. It’s about fifteen minutes out from docking. Where do you want it brought in?”

Good question. Already worn-out, Geary considered a nice, secure, and more isolated military dock. But he realized the tension within Varandal hadn’t dissipated by a long shot. Plenty of people must have felt something was wrong even if they hadn’t noticed warships on the move. I need to show everyone that everything is fine. Civilians as well as military. “Make it a civilian dock. Ask Admiral Timbale to deploy the same soldiers who were working crowd control when we got here to set up things at whatever dock gets assigned. Don’t try to seal it off. Let people see us and see that everything is okay.”

“I understand, Admiral,” Desjani said, her tones getting a little sharp again. “I will be happy to assist you.”

Ouch. “If you please, Captain.”

“Certainly, Admiral. I am happy to report that all ships off station seem to be turning around. I don’t think any of them wanted to find out what would happen if you had to give that order a fourth time.”

“Thanks, Tanya.”

He closed the call, handing the comm unit back to the major with his thanks. The major took the unit with an awed expression. Would he keep it, Geary wondered, or put it up for auction as a device actually used by Black Jack himself?

Geary took it slower after that, walking at a good but not hurried pace, now wanting to convey a lack of anxiety to anyone watching. Calm continued to spread through the station. The last few checkpoints were passed with the soldiers not even bothering to check him through this time but just making shows of saluting him.

Geary dutifully returned every salute, surprised to see that the old gesture of respect was spreading so quickly through the rest of the military. When he had been awakened from survival sleep, only the Marines had still retained saluting. The rest of the military, scarred and bled white repeatedly by the never-ending war, had let the custom lapse. “Did your chain of command order everyone to start using salutes?” he asked the major.

“No, Admiral Geary,” the commando said, his shy smile at strange odds with the number of battle awards he wore on his left breast and the scars mottling one side of his face. “The fleet’s sailors came in doing it, and they said you thought it was a good idea, so everyone else is picking up on it. Our ancestors did it. We should. No one had to order anyone, sir. Although . . . well, it was a little hard to start copying Marines.”

Geary grinned although feeling awkward again that a veteran of so much combat should be overwhelmed by him. “There are worse fates, Major . . . ?”

“Sirandi, sir,” the major said, coming to attention for a moment.

“Sirandi?” Where have I heard that name? On the old Kutar. “I served with a Lieutenant Sirandi on a destroyer. He was from . . . Drina.”

The major’s eyes widened in astonishment. “My family has relatives on Drina.”