“Captain Geary,” Colonel Carabali reported, “all personnel are loaded. The last shuttles should be off the surface by time one six.”

“Understood, Colonel, thank you.” Geary turned and sent the targeting commands to the combat system, which evaluated the targets, the weapons available on every ship, and launch angles before spitting back two seconds later a detailed plan. Geary skimmed it, checking how much his retaliation would draw down the fleet’s supply of kinetic projectiles and seeing that he’d have plenty left, even if Titan and her sisters weren’t able to manufacture new ones. He paused on the estimated ground casualties section. “I need to send a message to every Syndic in the system.”

Desjani nodded, gesturing to the communications officer, who rapidly set up the circuit, then gave her a thumbs-up back. “You’re ready, sir.”

Geary composed himself, checking to make sure the last Alliance shuttles had lifted before transmitting. “People of the Sutrah Star System, this is Captain John Geary, commanding officer of the Alliance fleet transiting your system. You’ve been betrayed by your leaders. Their sneak attacks on this fleet and on the forces liberating Alliance prisoners of war grant us the right to conduct retaliatory bombardments of your worlds.” He paused to let that sink in. “In exchange for the possibility of harming a few of our ships, your leaders placed your homes and your lives in our hands. Fortunately for you, the Alliance fleet does not war on civilians.” Not anymore, anyway. Not while Geary was in command. Hopefully his “old-fashioned” attitudes would someday wear off on the other officers.

“We will launch retaliation strikes at targets of our choosing on Sutrah Five and Sutrah Four. A list of targets in or near civilian areas will follow this message so evacuation can proceed before impacts. We aren’t required to provide that list, but our war is with your leaders. Remember that we could’ve wiped all life from this system and been justified by the laws of war. We choose not to do so. The Alliance is not your enemy. Your own leaders are your enemies.

“To the honor of our ancestors,” Geary recited. He’d been told the old form for ending a broadcast of this type was rarely used anymore, but clung to it. He still believed in it, and somehow it helped anchor him in this future in which honor had taken on sometimes alien meanings. “This is Captain John Geary, commanding officer of the Alliance fleet. End transmission.”

Rione spoke from behind him. “Thank you, Captain Geary, for acting to minimize the suffering of the populations of these worlds.”

He looked back at her and nodded. “You’re welcome. But it’s what I would’ve done anyway. It’s what honor demands.”

“The honor of our ancestors,” Rione replied, no trace of irony in her answer.

Captain Desjani stood up. “The shuttles from Dauntless will be docking soon. I should be at the shuttle dock to greet our new arrivals.”

“I should, too,” Geary agreed, standing as well and trying to conceal his reluctance. It really was his duty to greet the newly liberated Alliance personnel, even though he’d much rather have gone to his stateroom to avoid the public spectacle.

“May I accompany you?” Rione asked them both.

“Of course,” Desjani replied, seeming startled by the request. Geary realized she probably had been surprised, since Rione had every right to demand to go along with them and had instead asked permission. He wondered whether the request reflected political calculation to win Desjani over or sincere deference to the captain of a ship. Geary found himself hoping it was the latter.

The three of them walked to the shuttle dock, Geary and Desjani exchanging greetings with every crew member of Dauntless they passed, Geary getting real satisfaction out of the number of personnel who saluted him. His campaign to return saluting as routine seemed to be working.

“Does it please you to be saluted?” Rione asked in a noncommittal voice. “Salutes seem much more common now.”

Geary shook his head. “I don’t need it for my ego, if that’s what you’re asking. It’s what saluting implies, Madam Co-President, a level of discipline that I think benefits this fleet.” He didn’t add outwardly that he thought the fleet desperately needed such discipline if it was to hold together and continue to defeat Syndic attempts to destroy it. The leap from a salute to getting this fleet home safely seemed a huge one, but Geary did believe the connection existed.

It wasn’t until they reached the shuttle dock that Geary realized this was his first visit to it since he’d been summoned to the compartment by the doomed Admiral Bloch as that officer left to negotiate with the Syndics. He’d visited just about every place on the Dauntless, so he must’ve subconsciously avoided this location. Geary tried to remember how he’d felt then, the ice filling him emotionally and mentally, and felt relief that he’d managed to overcome much of that under the pressure of being in command. Or perhaps in spite of the pressure of being in command. But he could stand here now and not be haunted by the ghost of Admiral Bloch pleading for Geary to save what was left of the fleet.

He glanced at Captain Desjani, standing waiting beside him for the shuttles to disembark their passengers. Normally somber with the pressures of command or showing joy only at the destruction of Syndic ships, she looked different now. Anticipation of seeing the liberated prisoners had brought an unusual attitude of simple happiness to her. “Tanya?” Desjani gave him a surprised look. Geary rarely used her first name. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m glad Dauntless is my flagship. She’s a great ship, and you’re a great commanding officer. Your ability and support have meant a great deal to me.”

Desjani actually flushed with embarrassment. “Thank you, Captain Geary. As you know, I’ve been very glad for your presence ever since we found you.”

He nodded with a small, self-mocking smile. Desjani was among those who firmly believed he’d been sent to the fleet by the living stars to save the Alliance in its hour of greatest need. Geary didn’t think he would ever be comfortable with that level of confidence or belief in him. For that matter, he shared Victoria Rione’s fear that if he ever did start to be comfortable with such hero worship, then he’d be well on his way to turning into a greater danger to this fleet than the Syndics.

As if reading Geary’s thoughts, Co-President Rione spoke politely. “We are indeed fortunate to have Captain Geary in command.”

The shuttles from Dauntless swung into the docking bay like huge, ungainly living creatures. No wonder current fleet slang for the shuttles was “birds.” The outer hangar doors sealed, the inner doors opened, and after a moment the ramps of the shuttles dropped.

The Marines assigned to Dauntless disembarked first, moving quickly to take up formation and present arms in a sign of respect. Then the group of newly liberated prisoners who had been designated for Dauntless began leaving the shuttles, looking around as if uncertain this was really happening, as if they expected to wake up any moment and find themselves still doomed to lifelong imprisonment on a miserable Syndic world far from any possible hope of rescue. All of them were thin, only a few still wore intact uniforms, most having to make do with what looked like cast-off civilian clothing.

Captain Desjani was speaking into her portable communications unit. “All hands on Dauntless, the Alliance personnel we liberated will need uniforms. I encourage everyone to contribute whatever they can spare.” She looked at Geary. “We’ll get them properly outfitted, sir.”

“I’m sure they’ll appreciate that,” Geary agreed, imagining that the exact same arrangement was playing out through the entire fleet right now.

Geary heard a gasp of surprise from Captain Desjani as the former prisoners filed past. “Casell?”