Valiant

On his display, Geary could see an overhead image of the grounded shuttles, the Marines spilling out to stand sentry and screen the passengers, evacuation tubes being run to the air lock on the civilian town. He toggled briefly to the video feed from one of the Marines. The outside of the Syndic town already looked long abandoned, drifts of toxic snow and sand piled up against its walls, broken and cannibalized equipment littering the lifeless landscape. Geary couldn’t help shivering at the cold, empty image of desolation. “Can you imagine being trapped in a place like that?” he asked Desjani.

She viewed the feed, frowning, but said nothing.

“Loading complete,” Colonel Carabali reported. This was a landing expedition and therefore a Marine operation, she had insisted. “Evac tubes being withdrawn into shuttles. Shuttle liftoff estimated in zero three minutes.”

“Any problems, Colonel?” Geary asked.

“Not yet, sir.” Confronted with well over five hundred Syndics, Carabali obviously believed it was only a matter of time before problems arose.

“Birds in the air on schedule,” the operations watch-stander reported. “Rendezvous with warships projected on time in twenty-five minutes.”

Desjani tapped her own controls. “Colonel Carabali, please confirm all Syndics were searched for weapons and destructive materials.”

Carabali sounded slightly insulted at having a fleet officer ask if Marines had done their jobs. “Absolutely. Full scans. They’re clean. They don’t have much.”

Geary and Desjani went down to the shuttle dock to see the Syndic civilians destined for Dauntless arrive. The Syndics filed off the shuttle between ranks of Marines in full battle armor with weapons at guard position. Some of the civilians were trying to look brave, but all appeared frightened. Fifty-one of them, their civilian clothes a mix of styles and types that Geary realized must reflect raiding old stockpiles and closets as their supplies of clothing wore out. All of them seemed slightly gaunt, reflecting what must have been short rations in recent years as the amount of food available also ran low.

They were also trying not to stare around at the ship and at the Alliance personnel in the hangar deck. It struck Geary as he watched them that these people had never encountered strangers before, never actually been anyplace unfamiliar. Far in time and space as they were from mankind’s origins, these Syndics were like the ancient inhabitants of a small island encountering their first ships from the outside. Not just ships, but warships carrying people who were supposed to be their sworn enemies.

Desjani stood beside him, her posture rigid, her face revealing nothing as she watched the enemy civilians walk onto the deck of her ship.

Geary recognized the man he’d spoken with and stepped forward. “Welcome to the Alliance fleet flagship. We’ll have to keep you all under guard, and a warship isn’t designed for a lot of passengers, so your accommodations will be pretty cramped.”

The man nodded. “I’m the mayor of… Well, I used to be the mayor of Alpha. We can’t very well complain about conditions here. It’s warm, and we can breathe. We honestly didn’t know if our life-support systems would hold out until your shuttles reached us.” The man’s eyes were still troubled by the memories of what must have been an agonizing wait. “But at least we knew you were coming. There haven’t been any ships here since the corporations pulled out. Before we got your call, we were getting ready to draw lots, though some argued the oldest shouldn’t even draw since we wouldn’t last long anyway.”

It was all too easy to imagine how these people had felt. “Why weren’t you evacuated from this star system along with everyone else?”

This time the mayor made a baffled gesture. “We have no idea. All of us who were left worked for subsidiaries of the same corporation, and our senior staff left on the last ship sent by another company. We were told the ships for us would arrive soon. They never did.”

“We’re taking you to Cavalos, so I guess your ships finally did arrive.”

The mayor grinned nervously. “Better late than never, right? You said you’re Captain John Geary? We know the name. It’s in our histories, though I expect they say different things than yours do. You’re his grandson?”

Geary shook his head. “No. I’m him. It’s a long story,” he added, as the mayor stared at him in disbelief, “but suffice it to say I fought at Grendel in the first battle of this war, and the living stars willing, I’ll see the last battle of it as well.”

The man leaned back involuntarily, his eyes wide.

A woman stood beside the mayor, her eyes constantly shifting from him to Geary, then to three children hanging on to her. The oldest of those, a young boy, saw his father recoil slightly and eyed Geary defiantly. “Don’t you dare hurt my father!”