The fleet had arrived in Ixion six light-hours from the star itself. Aside from a scattering of mining and manufacturing facilities farther out in the system, the Syndic presence was concentrated around the sole habitable world a mere nine light-minutes from its star. As expected, Ixion had suffered from not being on the Syndic hypernet, though not as badly as some of the places that Geary had seen. It still seemed moderately prosperous and from analysis of the planet’s atmosphere and surface retained a large population and plenty of industry.
There was an orbital facility about the habitable world that had been tagged by the fleet’s sensors as probably military, but it posed no danger at all to the Alliance fleet. He’d already sent off a brief message to all the Syndics in the Ixion Star System warning them not to attempt to interfere with the Alliance fleet’s passage and letting them know about the survivors awaiting rescue at Daiquon.
So what was the problem? The main Syndic combat presence in the star system had been crushed with ease. Too much ease. That was it. “The crews of those Syndic ships were totally green and unprepared for combat.”
Captain Desjani looked over at him and nodded. “That’s clear.”
“And yet they were positioned as if the Syndics clearly expected this fleet to arrive in Ixion.”
“Yes, sir.” Now Desjani frowned. “That’s inconsistent, isn’t it? If they believed you’d bring the fleet here, why did they have their least experienced units guarding the jump exit?”
“Good question. And not just a couple of sacrificial lambs, but battleships and battle cruisers. Why did the Syndics throw away those ships by leaving them to confront us?” Geary looked toward the back of the bridge. “Madam Co-President? What do you think?”
“I think there’s something I need explained,” Rione replied. “You know those Syndic crews were inexperienced because of their behavior. I remember something like that at Sancere. Some Syndicate Worlds warships barely avoiding collision. But this was much worse.”
“The formation at Sancere was made up of new ships with barely trained crews,” Desjani pointed out. “Like the one we encountered here, but I’d guess a little better trained.”
“So?” Rione pressed. “Why should that matter? How do the crews influence what the ships do when maneuvering orders are given? Aren’t the motions of warships controlled by automated systems?”
Geary nodded, realizing that was a perfectly reasonable question. “Right. At the velocities warships move, it’s almost always crazy to try maneuvering manually.”
“Then why would their amount of training and experience make a difference?”
Desjani spoke like an instructor, apparently oblivious to Rione’s obvious annoyance with her tone. “There are three stages of training and experience with maneuvering warships. The least experienced simply don’t trust the automated maneuvering systems, since we all know any automated system can suffer errors. What creates the most problems is that as relativistic distortion effects come into play, human instincts are thrown off. We think the maneuvering systems are doing the wrong thing because our senses and our experiences in a much slower environment don’t match what we seem to be seeing and feeling when moving at tenths of light speed.
“Crews at that most inexperienced stage are the most likely to panic, decide that the maneuvering systems are in serious error, and try to manage the maneuvers themselves.” Desjani waved one hand toward the display. “You saw what happens then. It takes a good amount of time to learn enough to accept that the maneuvering systems know what they’re doing and to understand what will happen if you override them. That’s the second stage of experience. Those who last long enough come to realize that even automated maneuvering systems can suffer miscalculations and failures sometimes, and that they really do need to be overridden on rare occasions. Then you have to know when to override and what to do, which is the third stage of experience.”
Desjani smiled at Geary. “Correct, sir?”
“That’s how it was in my time, too. It takes a lot of time moving at point one and up to point two light to develop the instincts needed to correctly second-guess the automated systems.” He gestured from Rione to the display. “I say instincts, because it has to happen below the level of conscious thought. There’s not enough time for our brains to process it. And even then, only a fool would try to override the autos in a combat situation when two formations are passing through each other. By the time you realized you were going to hit something, you’d already be part of a ball of plasma from the collision.”
“Thank you,” Rione answered in a flat voice. “Then the answer to your question seems obvious. They thought you might bring this fleet here, but didn’t consider it the mostly likely place. It may have been the least likely in their judgment. They left something in place just in case, but didn’t really expect that force to end up confronting this fleet.”
Geary glanced at Desjani, who nodded. “That seems plausible. But why assume this was the least likely destination for the fleet?”
Rione swung her arm in a grand gesture and spoke with broad exaggeration. “Because the great Black Jack Geary has repeatedly demonstrated that he doesn’t make straight runs for Alliance space. He moves carefully, trying to avoid the obvious destinations in favor of ones that the Syndics are liable to judge unlikely.”
That made sense. “They’re trying to second-guess me based on my patterns of movements so far, but in this case I did something uncharacteristic.”
“Uncharacteristic is one word for it,” Rione agreed sarcastically.
“It worked,” Desjani noted in a sharp voice, instantly reacting in defense of Geary.
“But we can’t count on it working again,” Rione replied in a tone just as blunt. “You can see, the first of the Syndic Hunter-Killers is already heading for a jump point. It will carry news of where the Alliance fleet is, and then the Syndics will see a new pattern in the movements of this fleet.”
“Yes,” Geary broke in quickly to keep the argument from escalating. “You’re both right.” That didn’t seem to make anyone happy, though. “I need to think about our next destination. Thanks for your insights, Captain Desjani and Madam Co-President.” He stood up, stiff from sitting since the fleet’s arrival at Ixion.
Rione stood as well, accompanying Geary off the bridge. She waited until they were temporarily alone in a passageway before speaking once more. “It won’t work again.”
“I told you I need to think about it,” Geary answered, a little harsher than he had intended.
“It shouldn’t take that much thought. I know the next star on the straightest possible line to Alliance space is T’negu. If we go there, this fleet will find a trap far dead-lier than those poor fools we encountered here.”
“You could be right.”
“I am right! Even if I don’t know all those little details of fleet operations that you and Captain Tanya Desjani enjoy sharing with each other!”
He stopped and glared at Rione. “Is that about the experience question? You asked, and we answered. And you’re supposed to be working to disprove rumors that you’re jealous of Captain Desjani!”
“Jealous?” Rione shook her head and smiled, but the humor didn’t reach her eyes. “Not likely. I just want you to remember that Captain Desjani worships the space you sail through. That influences her advice to you. She doesn’t think you can fail.”
“That’s—” Geary reined in his temper. “All right, I’ll admit that’s important to remember. I haven’t forgotten it. Now, I repeat, I haven’t decided on where we’ll go from here. Please wait until I’ve reached a decision before informing me how wrong it is.”
“I’ll be happy to wait until then.” Rione sighed and ran one hand through her hair. “I’m not trying to be a bitch about this. I’m worried. This lunge toward Alliance space has gone far smoother than we had any right to expect. You’re surprised, too, aren’t you? Thank you for admitting that. There’s a fine line between the confidence needed to co
mmand this fleet effectively and the overconfidence that will doom it.”
There wasn’t any trace of mockery or anger in her now that Geary could see, so he responded in the same reasonable tones. “I understand that. I know I need someone whom I trust second-guessing me.”
“Someone who knows you’re human,” Rione emphasized.
“I know I’m not what people think Black Jack is.”
“I realize that. But…” This time Rione frowned. “Are you jealous of him?”
That came as a total surprise. “What?”
“Are you jealous of Black Jack? The great hero who can win any battle? Do you want to prove you could be just as good as him?”
“No! That’s ridiculous!”
“Is it?” Rione just watched Geary for a few seconds. “Many of your most devoted followers, even certain captains, idolize Black Jack and not necessarily you. Any human would find that frustrating.”
“Certain captains know who I am by now.” But Geary couldn’t help wondering. He did get angry when Black Jack came up, almost as if the myth were a rival to the real man. “I don’t think I’m trying to prove anything.”
“Thank you for qualifying your statement. All I can ask is that you be aware of the fact that envy of Black Jack might skew your thinking.” Rione shook her head. “I still think this dash toward Alliance space was a dangerous thing to do. It worked out this far, but it’s left us at Ixion with the Syndics drawing in again. And I wonder if you did it in part because it’s what Black Jack would have done.”
Maybe he had. After all, the fleet’s captains had been restive again, wanting to see progress in getting home, wanting to do something not necessarily cautious but courageous. He’d known that, and he’d given them what they wanted. “I can’t ignore what the fleet’s officers expect and want. You know that.”
“I do. But what they need is thoughtful, sensible Captain John Geary, not heroic Black Jack.” She stepped back. “Think about what I said. Now, I need to catch up on how the ships of the Callas Republic are doing. I’ll see you tonight, if all is quiet.”
“Okay.” He watched her go, then turned back to his own stateroom. Have I been trying to outdo or match Black Jack? No. Aggravating as it is dealing with that legend, it has also given me the leverage I need to get the fleet this far. It’s not about me trying to outguess Black Jack. No, I’ve been trying to outguess the Syndics since I ended up in command of this fleet. Now the Syndics have seen enough of what I’m doing to try to outguess how I’m outguessing them. How do I outguess myself and the Syndics at the same time?
I need to talk to someone else. Who? Duellos, Tulev, Cresida, they’d all have good advice, but it would be the advice of officers trained to think in patterns the Syndics are familiar with. Rione is a very sharp politician, but when it comes to decisions about the fleet, she’s got limitations. Desjani…Rione was right. Tanya Desjani doesn’t think my decisions can be wrong.
Who else is there? I can’t exactly ask my opponents in the fleet for their advice, not that I’d respect advice from people like Midea, Casia, Numos, or Faresa.
Or Falco.
Falco.
Rione would scream bloody murder.
But I wonder what Falco would advise. The man’s a fool and insane, but…if I’m looking for an opinion totally different from what I would normally do…
SEVEN
“HOW’S Captain Falco doing?” Geary asked in a professionally brisk tone with an undercurrent of concern for a fellow officer in the fleet. He didn’t want anyone saying that they’d heard him mocking Falco.
The fleet doctor on the screen frowned slightly. “He’s happy.”
Which could only mean that Falco remained completely delusional. If he had any idea that he was under arrest instead of being in command of the fleet, Falco would be furious. “Is he being treated?”
“He’s being kept stable,” the doctor replied. “Those are our orders and the usual procedure when a next of kin can’t be contacted for a decision on further treatment. We’re keeping the condition from worsening, and we’re ensuring he doesn’t turn violent or self-harming. He spends most of his time developing campaign plans and seeing to the administrative needs of a virtual fleet he can access.”
“The last time I checked, the fleet doctors were still running tests and evaluating Captain Falco. Can you tell me now whether or not he can be cured?” Geary asked, not sure whether he really wanted to know the answer.
“Hold on while I review his record.” The doctor’s image vanished, replaced by a screen holder portraying fleet doctors at work. Geary tried not to get upset with the doctor’s attitude, recognizing the same kinds of behavior toward laypeople that doctors had used in Geary’s time a century earlier and had probably been using for quite a few millennia before that.
Finally the doctor’s image reappeared. “A cure is possible. Probable, I’d say. Of part of the condition,” the doctor amended. “We could reduce the delusions substantially, but from my review of Captain Falco’s records and history, he was already suffering from a long-term ailment before being committed to my care. That condition probably has become habitual for him and merely correcting physical problems and near-term stress-related reality avoidance wouldn’t change Captain Falco’s well-established thought patterns.”
“A long-term ailment? You mean something that Captain Falco developed while he was a prisoner of the Syndics?”
“No, no,” the doctor corrected in the slightly annoyed way his profession had of dealing with the nondoctor parts of humanity who attempted to grasp the secrets of medicine. “Long-term. Even prior to his capture by the Syndicate Worlds, Captain Falco obviously suffered from a condition in which he believed himself uniquely capable and qualified to command the Alliance fleet and win the war for the Alliance. It’s more common than you might realize,” the doctor lectured, apparently having forgotten that he was speaking to the fleet commander.
“Really?” Geary asked.
“Oh, yes. The condition was common enough to be given a name several decades ago.”
“A name?”
“Certainly! It’s called a Geary Complex.” The doctor paused, frowned, then gave Geary a close look. “That’s you, isn’t it?”
“The last time I checked,” Geary replied, wondering just how many officers in the fleet had suffered from a Geary Complex over the last century of war.
The doctor nodded thoughtfully, eyeing Geary as if expecting him to start raving at any moment. “Well, then, you should know exactly what I’m talking about.”
Geary started to laugh, then hesitated. He could imagine what Victoria Rione would be saying right now, and she’d be partly right. He did believe that he was best suited to command this fleet. But that was because his legend could be used to keep the fleet together and the training he’d brought with him from the past could win victories. It wasn’t based on any exaggerated ideas of his abilities, on any belief that he alone could command the fleet to victory. And it wasn’t about trying to match the legend of Black Jack.
I’m nothing like Falco, and don’t want to be like Falco. The differences between us are why I want to talk to Falco.
He ended up shrugging. “Maybe, Doctor. But I don’t really want to command this fleet. I don’t have any choice. I’m the senior officer and have a duty to perform.”
The doctor nodded in the manner of someone humoring a patient. “Naturally. They all say variations on that. Their duty. They have a responsibility to save the Alliance. And so forth.”
Geary sighed, not enjoying the too-close-for-comfort conversation. “I have a responsibility to save lives, Doctor, and if you look up seniority information in the fleet database, you’ll see that I’m the most senior captain in the fleet by a very wide margin.” He’d been promoted to captain a hundred years ago. Posthumously promoted since he was believed dead at Grendel, but the fleet regulations didn’t worry about that. Once he showed up alive, the seniority counted. “Can I order treatment fo
r Captain Falco? To get him back to reality?”
“If you’re the fleet commander you can order that. Your decision would be reviewed by Alliance authorities, of course.”
It should have been easy to decide. Why let a man remain insane? But Falco was under arrest, facing a number of offenses against fleet regulations and Alliance law that carried the death penalty. Cure him, and he’d face a reality far less happy than the delusions he was enjoying. But what right did anyone have to decide not to make someone else well if they had the power? “It’s not an easy decision,” Geary finally stated heavily.
“I would recommend against it,” the doctor replied. “Taking into account all of Captain Falco’s circumstances, he could well turn both despondent and suicidal if forced to confront reality. He’d be much better off in a fully staffed and dedicated health facility when he faces those issues.”
There was the out that Geary had been hoping for. He wouldn’t have to decide on his own. “I see no reason to go against your recommendation, Doctor. Please make sure I’m informed if your recommendation changes, or if Captain Falco’s condition changes or deteriorates significantly.”
“I suppose I could do that. Yes, you are the fleet commander, so you’re authorized to see that information.”
“Thank you. I’d like to visit Captain Falco, in virtual mode.”
“Visit him?” The doctor seemed startled.
“Doesn’t Captain Falco have many visitors?”
“He’s under arrest. Did you know that?”
“Yes,” Geary explained patiently. “I’m the one who ordered his arrest.”
“Oh. Yes. But you want to see him now?”
“See him and talk to him.”
The doctor frowned in thought, then nodded. “It’s not contraindicated for someone in Captain Falco’s condition, and of course since you won’t be physically present, there’s no bodily risk to either of you. I would advise you not to forcefully confront him with his true status.”