The Lost Fleet: Beyond the Frontier: Guardian

Timbale, still three light-hours distant on Ambaru station, blew out a long breath. “It’s been . . . interesting here. I assume you’ve noticed the stealth shuttles and commandos hanging around Ambaru, waiting for me to step outside the protection of the Marines on the station. I’ve had a full platoon of combat-ready Marines following me everywhere for the last few days because I’m pretty sure at least one senior officer thinks he or she has grounds for arresting me. But now you’ve shown up, just as Captain Bradamont said you would. She got out fine, though it was nip and tuck for a while. She also gave me a rundown on what you ran into out there, including telling me about that captured superbattleship, but I didn’t realize just how big that damned thing was. And the six Dancer ships. I knew all that was coming. No one else did, though, so you’ve made one hell of a dramatic entrance. But then, you make a habit of that.” Timbale smiled to show the comment was meant as a compliment.

“I’m still in charge here for the time being. I’m glad you’re here to back me up. I think things will finally calm down really fast now, and fleet headquarters will rethink any ideas about relieving me for treason or bad judgment or just on general principles. Ah, what do you know, the commandos look like they’re finally heading home. I guess everything is fine, and we’re all friends again.

“I’m really looking forward to seeing your detailed report on what you’ve been doing. Damn, that is one big battleship. To the honor of our ancestors, Timbale, out.”

The next several days were busy ones. The fleet had to be brought into the inner star system, many ships put into parking orbits reserved for Alliance warships and others eased into orbiting dry docks for repair work. Liberated Alliance prisoners had to be shuttled to Ambaru station for processing. Reports had to be sent, Alliance courier ships racing to the Alliance hypernet gate at Varandal to bear the news of Black Jack’s return to the government at Unity and to fleet headquarters. Other courier ships, private ones leased by news organizations, also tore out of Varandal with reports that Black Jack was alive, he was back, he had rescued thousands of Alliance prisoners from the Syndics, including many senior officers, all of them men and women long thought dead, he had found new allies for humanity, he had been betrayed by the Syndics and defeated the enigmas once more, and other news reports that Geary could have done without. That Black Jack had possession of the largest warship every constructed and he would use it to either defend humanity or take over the Alliance or wipe out the Syndics once and for all or . . .

“A fleet?” Desjani blurted. “Some people think you’re going to build a fleet of ships like Invincible? Do they have any idea what that would require?”

“No,” Geary said sourly. “They don’t have any idea. That’s why they think I’ll do it.” They were in his stateroom, the hatch open, while Geary wondered for the thousandth time since arriving at Varandal when he and Tanya might have a chance to leave her ship, to spend at least a few hours off official property and off official duty, as husband and wife rather than Admiral and Captain.

Another message came in, and Geary almost shunted it to mail before seeing who it was from. “They are still alive,” Dr. Nasr reported with a wan smile. “We have kept the last two captured bear-cows alive until we reached Alliance space and until someone else could take custody of them.”

“Congratulations, Doctor,” Geary said. He could understand the doctor’s subdued attitude. Had they done the right thing? What would happen to those two Kicks now? Nasr cared more than anyone else because to him, they were his patients. Even while the entire rest of the fleet used the nickname Kicks, the doctor continued to employ the more polite and respectful term “bear-cows” when speaking of those two.

“I am in receipt of orders to transfer the two bear-cows to custody of the Shilling Institute.” Nasr grimaced. “They are good people. Good doctors. It is a good place for treatments of the most difficult kinds. But I do not like turning the bear-cows over to someone who does not know them. We have learned enough to keep the sedation at the right levels though there were a few rough moments even in the last several days.”

“The medical authorities will take your experience into account, won’t they?” Geary asked. “You say the physicians at the Shilling Institute are capable.”