The Lost Fleet – Dauntless

They left jump space at full alert, ready for the worst, knowing they might find mines laid in their paths and a Syndic fleet right behind the mines. Knowing they might have to fight their way through that fleet if they wanted to survive another day. But only emptiness greeted the nervous searches of Alliance targeting systems.

The Kaliban Star System, as far as the best instruments available to the Alliance could tell, was totally lifeless. Nothing alive that could be seen, no spacecraft in motion, and not even the feeble warmth given off by a single piece of equipment even in standby mode could be detected. There had been people living here once, but now everything in Kaliban was cold, everything in Kaliban was silent.

“No mines, praise our ancestors,” Captain Desjani exulted. “That means our arrival here was totally unexpected. You outguessed them, Captain Geary.”

“I guess I did.” No sense in false modesty. We came here because I said so, and only because I said so. “Kaliban’s not much of a place now, is it?”

“It never was much of a place.”

Five planets, two of them so small they barely qualified for the name. All hostile to human habitation because of temperatures either far too low or far too high, and atmospheres either nonexistent or toxic. Plus the usual assortment of rocks and ice balls, though even those didn’t seem very numerous or noteworthy compared to other star systems. Nonetheless, people had built homes here. Kaliban didn’t have anything special at all, except for the gravity well provided by its star that made jump points work. Geary could imagine the human history of Kaliban’s system easily, because the same things had happened in so many other places.

Ships had been forced to come through Kaliban to get to other places before the hypernet. And because there’d been ships coming through, there’d been a shipyard or two or three built to handle emergencies and provide maintenance or supplies to the passing ships, as well as work on the ships that stayed in-system to transport workers and their families. The shipyards and the families had needed some services, so small towns had grown up in a few places. Buried under the soil of a hostile world or burrowed out of a large asteroid, they’d provided the things small towns had always provided. Some of the ships coming through would carry passengers or cargo bound for Kaliban. And of course there’d been mines to provide local raw materials instead of hauling mass from another star, and people to work in the mines, and a local government to keep things under control, and representatives of the central Syndic authority to keep the local government under control.

The rest Geary knew only from what he’d heard. The hypernet had come into existence and the ships didn’t need to come through Kaliban, or the innumerable systems like it, anymore. The shipyards had closed as their lifeblood dwindled to a trickle, and without those jobs the small towns started dying. Once there’d been no particular reason to come to Kaliban except for the jump points. Now there wasn’t any reason to stay at Kaliban. How many years did the last holdouts hang on? Maybe not all that long. In a Syndic system, everyone would’ve been a company employee of some sort, and companies cut their losses long before most individual people are willing to give up. There’s no one left now. All the installations we can see are cold. No energy usage, no environmental systems working. They shut down everything. I guess the last person who left Kaliban remembered to turn off the lights.

Measured in the life span of a star, the human presence here had lasted the barest flicker of a moment. For some reason, seeing that and knowing it brought the sense of cold back to Geary.

Then he shook it off. Every sailor learned one thing quickly, and that one thing was that everything about space was inhuman. The sheer size of it, the emptiness of it, the death it carried everywhere except for those very, very small places amid the emptiness where humans could walk on a planet’s surface with their faces bare to the wind and breathe the air. It isn’t good and it isn’t bad, the old saying went, it just is.

It’s too big for us, and we’re only here for the blink of eye as far as it’s concerned, an old chief had told Geary when he was so young an officer it almost hurt to remember. Someday, any day, it could take you, because even though it doesn’t care about us, it’ll kill us in an instant if it can. Then, if your prayers to the living stars are answered, you’ll get to go live forever in their warmth and light. If not, you’d best make the best of the life you’ve got. Speaking of which, did I ever tell you about the time my old ship visited Virago? Now that was a party.