He, and Implacable, were doing all that could be done given the distances and the realities of acceleration and deceleration.
He prayed it would be enough.
Inspire was pivoting again, her own propulsion units flaring as the battle cruiser slid into position amidst the swarm of battered refugee ships, a lion suddenly present among a herd of sheep. On the outer edges of the gaggle of freighters, the Alliance light cruisers were also gliding into position, like cheetahs aiming to keep the herd from scattering away from the prime predator.
“Admiral, there are shuttles launching from ground forces bases on the planet.”
“How many shuttles?” Duellos demanded.
“Eight . . . nine, sir. Here’s three more coming around the curve of the planet.”
“Twelve,” Duellos said to Geary. “Enough?”
“Probably all Sissons has got,” Geary muttered in reply. He gestured to Inspire’s communications watch. “I need a maximum override space shipping broadcast. All circuits.”
“Yes, sir.” It took only a couple of seconds before the chief nodded back to him. “You’re ready, Admiral. Channel six.”
“Thank you.” Geary put on a stern expression, then hit the control. “All ships carrying refugees, this is Admiral Geary of the Alliance fleet. I am here to restore order, and I will do so. All activity is to cease on your ships. Armed and armored Alliance ground forces and Marines will be arriving on your ships. Any disobedience or unrest will be met with appropriate levels of response to reestablish calm and security. The commanding officers or executives of every ship carrying refugees are to contact the Alliance battle cruiser Inspire immediately and report the status of their ships. Any ships requiring assistance to restore order are to notify me on Inspire immediately.”
What else would Syndics need to convince them to follow instructions? Geary recalled the phrasings he had heard at Midway among the former Syndics there. “Any failure to comply with my orders will be dealt with by whatever means are required. To the honor of our ancestors, Geary, out.”
He had barely finished when another high-priority transmission came in. Not a message this time, but a direct call.
Colonel Galland spat out her words furiously. “An update! A damned, useless, bug-riddled software update that knocked my entire wing out of operation! My techs are restoring all systems to prior-day configurations, but my FACs will be out of commission for at least another hour while we do the resets, then bring everything online again.”
“An update?” Geary questioned. “Someone planted worms in an update?”
She shook her head. “We haven’t found any worms. That doesn’t mean there aren’t any. Right now, I don’t know if the sabotage was malicious or just the routine sabotage-by-software-update that we usually encounter.”
“What’s the status of your supply shuttles that the refugees were storming?”
“There were three mated to freighters when the rioting started. One got clear. Two are stuck, with refugees packed into them and the air locks, and the flight crews locked down on the control deck. If those shuttles pull away, every refugee in them will die.”
That settled one question. “I’ve got one platoon of Marines in riot gear. I’ll send half to each ship where one of your shuttles is stranded so they can clear out the mess.”
“Thanks, Admiral.” Galland grinned ferociously. “I see ground forces on the way up, too. What did you do to General Sissons to get him to cooperate?”
“That’s between me and the general,” Geary said, even though he knew that in cases like this security only slightly slowed down universal knowledge of what had been in the messages he had exchanged with Sissons. Good gossip had a way of defeating any barrier and often seemed to exceed the light-speed limit in how fast it got around. “You’ve got a couple of FACs at the second gas giant, Sextus. There’ll be a new freighter headed that way.”
“The one claiming its power core is unstable? You’re sending my guys a bomb? Gee, thanks, Admiral.”
“You’re welcome.”
Duellos broke in. “Admiral, two of the freighters have lit off main propulsion and ignored warnings to stop.”
“Have the light cruisers nearest them fire warning shots,” Geary ordered. “And tell the freighter crews that if we have to fire on the freighters to stop them, we’ll be aiming at the control decks of the ships.”
He turned back to Galland to see her watching him appraisingly. “Admiral, as my FACs in orbit regain operational capability, I’ll place them temporarily under your command. Once I get enough going to operate on their own, I’ll have the squadron commander take over and coordinate with you. Are you all right with that?”
“That’s fine,” Geary said. “Does your squadron commander have experience working with ground forces?”
“Here? No. Sissons claimed he never had time or resources or money for joint ops. Do you have experience working with ground forces, Admiral?”
Geary smiled. “A little over a century ago. Two Alliance warships and a couple of platoons of ground forces. I was just a department head on one of the ships.”
“Oh.” Galland grinned back at him. “A little rusty, then?”
“Yeah. Let’s get this done, Colonel. No, wait. What do you have on the refugees? None of the material I’ve seen since arriving here tells me anything about them.”
“They’re Syndics.”
“Are they?” Geary asked. “Is Batara still under Syndic control?”
“I don’t know, Admiral,” Galland admitted. “I don’t have any data on the refugees. I’ve had my hands full dealing with the freighter executives. The aerospace intel capability in this region was at Yokai, and as far as I know they all went home when everything else there closed down. Interrogations and collection at Adriana are the responsibility of ground forces intel.”
As the call ended, Geary turned to Duellos. “Did you copy all of that?”
“Yes, Admiral.” Duellos gestured behind him. “The two misbehaving freighters have seen the error of their ways thanks to very near misses from hell lances and have shut down their propulsion. My Marines are loading into my shuttles now. I need a rules-of-engagement question answered for them, though. They have CRV, riot-dispersal gas, and CRX, riot-suppression gas. The Marines want to use the CRX.”
“What’s wrong with the CRV?” Geary asked.
Duellos swung a hand across his controls and repeated Geary’s question to the image of a Marine sergeant in battle armor that appeared.
“It’s like this, Admiral,” she said. “CRV is designed to disperse riots, to make people run by doing real unpleasant stuff to their eyes, ears, noses, skin, and so on. Nothing too bad, just real uncomfortable. But there’s no place on a ship like that for anyone to run, and from the readings I’m seeing, the life support on those tubs is already shaky. We drop a bunch of CRV into that, and the rioting might get a whole lot worse as people try to run away from it but have nowhere to run.”
“Could we end up with dead?” Duellos asked.
“Yes, sir,” the sergeant replied. “Crushed and suffocated in the panic. And the overstressed life support will take forever to sweep out the CRV, so people will be suffering a long time. But the CRX will just knock them out. No warning, just boom, out go the lights. No time to panic and start stampeding. That’s what I recommend if we run into problems, sir.”
“Can the CRX cause casualties?” Geary said.
“Maybe,” the Marine replied. “Very low odds, but if someone is already sick or something, it might push them over the edge. But it’s as close to nonlethal as anything in the arsenal, Admiral.”
Duellos nodded his recommendation to Geary, and Geary in turn nodded to the Marine. “Use the CRX if you have to employ gas, Sergeant.”
“Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!”
After the Marine’s image vanished, Du
ellos raised an eyebrow at Geary. “Marines don’t usually get that excited about nonlethal options.”
“From what General Carabali has told me, they really hate the idea of facing out-of-control civilians. There have apparently been some very ugly incidents on Syndic worlds where Marines had to fire to protect themselves from rioters who were just out of their heads with fear and panic.”
“The glory of war,” Duellos muttered. “We fleet sailors never had to see those who died when we dropped rocks on them from many thousands of kilometers away.”
“That’s over and done,” Geary said, his voice sharp.
“Admiral,” the operations watch reported, her voice carrying easily over the low conversation between Geary and Duellos, “Implacable reports fifteen minutes to intercept of the refugee ship with failing life support.”
“Do we have any more reports from Dagger or Parrot?” Geary asked.
“Dagger reports . . .” The watch-stander hesitated, then continued speaking in grim tones. “Reports that the freighter crew says they are donning survival suits.”
The combat systems watch-stander shook his head. “Captain, my cousin worked on a freighter. Breaking out those suits costs money. They don’t do it unless they absolutely have to.”
Duellos nodded slowly, his expression tightly controlled. “Would they wait until air quality was bad enough that it was necessary for survival? Or would they don the suits earlier to have a margin for safety?”
“Captain, from what my cousin said, they’d wait until the last minute.”
“And we’re twenty light-minutes distant from all of them,” Duellos said.
Geary pressed his lips tightly together, then hit his comm control harder than necessary, knowing that anything he said would get there too late to make any difference. “Dagger, Parrot, this is—”
“Admiral, incoming from Parrot!”
Breaking off the transmission, Geary called up the new message.
Parrot’s commanding officer seemed shockingly young, a product of the war when promotions could come very rapidly as more senior officers were wiped out wholesale in bloody engagements. Only her eyes betrayed the experiences which had aged her enough to qualify for command despite her youth. “Admiral, based on reports from the freighter crew about conditions aboard the ship, I decided to attempt attaching another evac tube. The attempt was successful, because conditions aboard the freighter are so bad that most of the passengers are either half-conscious or already comatose.
“We’ve linked an intake tube to our own life support to suck out what we can from the freighter and send back clean air, but we don’t have nearly enough capacity. Dagger is mating a tube to another air lock and should join the effort within another few minutes. Implacable is only a few minutes away now, but . . . sir, we’re going to lose some of them. Maybe a lot of them. We’re doing all we can. Lieutenant Commander Miller, out.”
A year ago, Miller would have been trying to kill those Syndics. Now she looked ready to howl with frustration at not being able to save them all. Despite the tragedy unfolding, Geary saw grounds for hope in that.
“Admiral, incoming from ground forces shuttles.”
He shifted his attention to another screen, where a ground forces officer faced him, uniform and other aspects of his appearance reflecting a very hasty shuttle trip. “Major Farouk, One Thousand Seven Hundred Twelfth Military Police Regiment. I have six and a half platoons ready to assist you, sir.”
Duellos indicated his display. “They should go to these ships, Admiral. I’ve been watching them while you handled the big picture, and they’ve got the most restive refugees. Our cruisers just had to fire more warning shots to keep a few more of those freighters from bolting.”
“Thanks. Major, your assistance is welcome. I am tagging the nine freighters that we assess are most in need of riot control. My Marines are already boarding these other two. I have authorized the use of CRX riot-suppression gas.”
Farouk stared blankly back at Geary for a moment before replying. “Sir, we have no CRX.”
“You only have CRV?”
“No, sir. We don’t have any gas.”
“What have you got?”
“Screamers, flash-bangs, stunners—”
It was equipment more suited to dealing with serious law-enforcement scenarios than riot control. Geary held up his hands to halt the recitation. “Use minimum necessary force. We’ve got six warships out here to back you up. Are there any leaders among the refugees whom you can contact to help restore order?”
Major Farouk’s expression reflected embarrassment this time. “I don’t know, Admiral.”
“Your intel people can’t tell you?” Geary demanded, afraid that he already knew the answer.
“We have nothing on the refugees, Admiral. They are under the control of the aerospace forces. I asked, sir,” Farouk added quickly. “As we were lifting. I was told the refugees are Syndics who came here for economic reasons, and if there was anything else, the aerospace forces should have learned it. That’s all.”
“Here are my orders to you,” Geary said slowly and clearly. “As you board each ship, make sure you attempt to learn if there are local leaders who can assist in restoring and maintaining order. I want to know what you learn. Advise me immediately if you need any assistance or learn anything that I have to know. Any questions?”
“No, sir.”
“Damned idiot bureaucratic foolishness,” Geary grumbled after the call ended. “They’re Syndics. Didn’t anyone think it was important to know why so many were risking coming into Alliance territory?”
Duellos shrugged. “They’re Syndics,” he repeated. “Let me tell you how the people here probably have been thinking. First, since the refugees are Syndics, they’ll lie if they’re asked. Second, their motives don’t matter because they’re going back to Syndic territory. Third, they’re Syndics, so who the hell cares? That’s on top of what we already know about General Sissons’s attitude toward cooperation and providing any support he doesn’t absolutely have to provide.” He checked something on his display. “My Marines are beginning boarding ops. Do you want to monitor them?”
He liked doing that, liked watching events through the viewpoints of the Marines, but . . . “Not this time. There’s too much else going on for me to get that narrowly focused. Let me know if they run into problems.”
“Formidable has propulsion controls back online!” the operations watch announced happily.
Geary felt himself smiling, too. Things were finally getting under control. “Formidable, this is Admiral Geary. Proceed to intercept with Inspire. I want these freighters to see another battle cruiser coming.”
“Admiral, FAC 4657A is reporting in for instructions.”
What should he do with a FAC? “Tell them to assist our cruisers in dealing with any freighters that start to leave orbit.”
“Marines aboard one ship are employing CRX,” Duellos said.
“What about the other one?” Geary asked.
“It looks like order was being restored before they boarded.” Duellos looked to one side, said something, then turned back to Geary. “They’ve been contacted by two leaders who are asking them to refrain from compliance actions, whatever those are.”
“When this calms down, I need to speak to those two leaders,” Geary said. “On a secure, remote hookup. Have the Marines tell them now that as long as they can restore order, the Marines will have no need to act.”
“Implacable has intercepted the stricken freighter and is assisting in rescue efforts,” another watch-stander reported.
“FAC 1793B reporting for instructions.”
“Ground forces boarding three freighters, shuttles still on approach for the other six.”
“FAC 8853A reporting for instructions.”
“Marines aboard freighter where CRX was employed ne
ed some fleet sailors to monitor freighter propulsion, power, and control systems until the crew revives.”
Geary paused to rub his eyes. The bubble was slowly getting under control, or at least was no longer threatening to break into a million pieces flying off through space, but it would be a while yet before he could relax. He lowered his hand and looked to where on his display Implacable, Dagger, and Parrot could be seen clustered around the stricken refugee ship.
I’ve limited the damage, but I couldn’t prevent some loss of life.
I’m going to get on top of this situation, find out how to get these refugees home, find out how to keep more from coming, and find out why they’re coming here in the first place. And the one good thing about this recent mess is that it’s put me in a place to start doing that.
• • •
IT had been a very long day, but despite his exhaustion Geary still felt keyed up. He needed answers, and these people might be able to give them to him.
The conference room aboard Inspire was nearly identical to that on Dauntless, but Geary still felt an irrational discomfort, including a sense that the standard-issue seat he occupied in this compartment was more uncomfortable than the standard-issue seat in the compartment aboard Dauntless.
Seemingly seated at the table across from him were the virtual presences of two individuals, the refugee leaders whom the Marines had found aboard one of the freighters. The Marines had set up the conferencing equipment, then backed off so that the two leaders would feel freer to talk to Geary. Both the leaders were in nondescript outfits that had clearly been worn too long under conditions that didn’t permit baths or laundering.