Valiente (76 page)

Geary’s reaction surely showed. “There’s someone on every ship in the fleet who likes this kind of thing?”

“No, sir,” the security officer corrected hastily. “Subnets that handle this sort of material are designed not to leave fingerprints when stuff is uploaded or downloaded. It automatically spreads to every communication node on the net, meaning every ship. Anyone on any ship who knew about it could get to it, but it’d be almost impossible to identify anyone who actually had done it or even what ship they were on.”

The implications of that were clear enough. “So the odds that we’ll be able to figure out who put the worm into this subnet are pretty dismal.”

The security officer made a helpless gesture. “ ‘Dismal’ is probably an optimistic term in a case like this, sir. We can monitor this subnet now that we have its characteristics identified, and that means it can’t be used for that again.”

“Monitor it? Shut it down. Are we sure there aren’t other covert subnets active?” Desjani demanded.

This time the security officer appeared surprised by the question. “We know there are, Captain.

The net linking the fleet is riddled with unofficial subnets, handling anything that’s not authorized officially, like gambling.”

“Why haven’t they been shut down?” Desjani pressed.

“Because my people are responsible for security, not law enforcement, Captain. As long as we know where the subnets are, we can monitor them and know what people are doing on them. If we shut one down, it’ll eventually reappear and have to be found again, and until we find it, we can’t know what’s going on in it. Like this one. If we’d known about it, we’d have picked up the worm when it was introduced into the subnet, so whoever used this particular subnet probably did it for that reason.” The lieutenant commander held up Geary’s data unit. “But you told me to shut this one down, so I will. The people who like this will have to set up a replacement, and that takes time.”

Geary pondered the moral difference between allowing material like that to be spread through the fleet so worse misuse could be tracked and shutting it down at the risk that the replacement would be used for sabotage as well. “How much time?”

“For a replacement subnet, sir? Under current conditions?” The security officer’s eyes went distant. “Half a day.”

“Half a day?”
Geary exchanged an aggravated look with Desjani. The choice didn’t really exist, given the nature of the threat to the fleet posed by another worm like that. “Keep it up and make sure it’s monitored.”

Captain Desjani gestured to her security officer. “Get on it. But give me that first.” The security officer hesitated, looking to Geary, who also hesitated, then waved a quick, reluctant assent.

“This one?” Desjani opened the file on Geary’s data unit, staring dispassionately for a few seconds, then clicked it off. “Is what it shows real?”

The security officer shook his head. “Usually not. Producing this stuff is bad enough, but if they used real people, the producers would find themselves facing eternity in prison. They use very realistic computer-generated images.”

“But it looks real,” Geary stated, feeling unclean for having viewed it.

“Yes, sir. That’s, uh, the point.”

“Thanks. Take care of it.” He shivered when the security officer had left.

Desjani looked as if she’d swallowed something vile. “I know why you agreed to leave the subnet up, but I also know how you must feel about that. Where’d you get that download? ”

“From someone I never would have guessed would like that kind of thing, judging by appearances.”

“Whoever it is needs a full psych workup.”

“Yeah.” Geary drummed his fingers on the table surface. “Can I order a psych workup confidentially?”

She nodded. “Yes, though I don’t know why you’d want to protect whoever this is. Just possessing that is a serious violation of regulations.”

“Because that person was willing to let me know this about himself so I could protect the fleet,”

Geary explained.

Desjani made a face. “That can’t have been easy. I won’t ask who it was.”

“Had you ever seen something like that before?”

She shook her head this time. “I’d heard about it, but never seen it.”

“Me, neither.” Geary rubbed his face with both hands. “Excuse me, Tanya. I need to call the fleet psychs and a fleet officer, then I need to take a shower. Let me know what your security officer finds out.”

“Yes, sir.” Desjani paused at the door and turned back to face him. “I wish to apologize for not trusting your assessment of Co-President Rione, sir.”

“That’s all right, Captain Desjani. It never hurts to have someone keeping me honest. And at least you’ll say her name.”

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Nothing. Please let me know when the rescrub of
Dauntless
’s systems is completed.”

Three hours later, every system in the fleet triple-scanned and certified as malware-free by security officers who knew their lives might well depend on not missing anything, Geary ordered the fleet to jump for Wendig. Despite a tight feeling in his gut as
Dauntless
entered jump space, nothing went wrong.

IT wasn’t hard at all to figure out why Wendig hadn’t gotten a Syndic hypernet gate, nor why Syndic records indicated the star system had been abandoned once the Syndic hypernet had been constructed. The only puzzle was why anyone had actually remained in the system. Only three worlds orbited the star, along with a mess of asteroids. Two of the planets were in distant orbit, frozen balls of rock orbiting more than five light-hours from the feeble warmth of the dim red star. The world nine light-minutes from the weak star had too little atmosphere, and what it did have was poisonous to humans, but it had once boasted at least two covered cities. Taking another look at the data, Geary decided that even at their biggest, “town” had been a better description than “city” for both of them.

Absolutely no other trace of humanity remained in the Wendig Star System. Now one of those towns was dark and cold, but the other was still inhabited even though many portions of it seemed inactive. “They, or their parents, might have been abandoned here when the Syndic corporations employing them pulled out of the system,” Desjani remarked.

“Yeah. I can’t see any other reason they might have stayed.”

“Captain?” The communications watch-stander gestured toward his display. “There’s a distress signal being broadcast. It’s from the inhabited world.”

That brought up unpleasant memories of Lakota. Desjani frowned as she and Geary both punched their own displays to bring up the signal.

It was audio only, a voice speaking with labored calm. “Anyone passing through or near Wendig Star System, this is the town of Alpha on the world Wendig One.” The corporate minds of the Syndic leaders hadn’t tended to grant poetic names to worlds or towns, Geary reflected for maybe the hundredth time, unless the names had been created for advertising purposes. “Our remaining life-support systems are at risk of imminent failure,” the message continued. “We’ve cannibalized everything left on this world to keep them working, but all resources are now exhausted. There are over five hundred and sixty remaining inhabitants who require emergency assistance and evacuation. Please respond. ” A pause, then a universal time and date register, then the message began repeating.

Geary checked the date on the message again. “They’ve been sending this for a month.”

“Anyone near Wendig?” Desjani asked. “They must know that no one would be closer than the nearest inhabited star systems, and this message will take years to get to those. Even then, it’s too weak to be heard across interstellar distances. Unless an astronomical researcher scanning that frequency band picks it up, it’ll go unheard, and researchers avoid bands used for human communication systems because they’re so full of noise.”

“Maybe these people have been sending rescue requests for years, then, which have gone unheard. Are they still alive?” Geary wondered.

Another watch-stander answered. “That city isn’t at a comfortable temperature for humans, but it’s still got some heat, and the atmosphere inside reads out as breathable. Their air-generation and recirc systems must be in bad shape, though, from the amount of contaminants we’re seeing on spectral analysis.”

Geary looked over at Desjani, who was grimacing. She noticed his regard and shrugged uncomfortably. “It’s not a nice way to die, sir. Even for Syndics.”

“Five hundred and sixty. Families, surely. Adults and kids.” Geary had the automated billeting assistant on his fleet database run the figures. “We could hold them.”

“Hold them?” Desjani stared at him.

“Yeah. Like you said, it’s an ugly way to die, slowly freezing and feeling the air get worse and worse. We could take them somewhere else.”

“But—” Desjani stopped and spoke slowly. “Sir, it’s the smallest drop in the bucket. Yes, it’s . . .

tragic. Even though they’re Syndics. But that many people die in this war every second. At this very moment there’s a good chance that an Alliance world is being bombarded by Syndic warships, and thousands of our civilians are dying.”

Geary nodded to show he knew the truth of her words. And yet . . . “What was the Third Truth?”

She looked back at him for a long moment before answering. “Only those who show mercy can expect to receive it. It’s been a very long time since I heard the Truths recited. ”

“I guess we used to do that more often a century ago.” Geary looked down, gathering his arguments. “I know what’s been done. I know what Syndic ships may be doing at this moment.

But how can we just sail by and let those people die? Anything we could have done at Lakota would have been insignificant against the scale of the tragedy. Here we can make a difference.”

“Sir, any delay could be fatal. We don’t know what kind of Syndic force might be in pursuit of us, or what forces are moving to block us in other star systems. Going to that world will cost at least an extra day in this star system. Maneuvering to pick them up will cost fuel-cell reserves we can’t afford to burn. Not a lot, but some. They’ll eat our rations while aboard our ships, and we’re already short on food, too. On board they’ll have to be guarded constantly to ensure that they don’t commit sabotage. And then we’ll have to find a way to drop them off in the next star system without costing too much time and fuel-cell reserves, possibly while dodging an enemy flotilla.” Desjani laid out each point in turn, then spoke firmly. “Sir, the cost of this gesture could well be more than we can afford.”

“I understand.” And he truly did. What would be the morality of hazarding the many thousands of personnel in this fleet, and the fate of the Alliance itself, in the name of saving a few hundred enemy civilians? It wasn’t like he didn’t have other things to worry about, like whoever had placed the worm in the fleet’s jump drives, and might take advantage of any focus on these Syndics to commit more sabotage. He’d hoped that once the fleet returned to normal space someone who had searched their conscience during the transit to Wendig would have contacted him with important information, but no such informant had appeared. Nor had Rione’s or Duellos’s sources within the fleet discovered anything new. But was that a critical factor in deciding whether or not to help these people? “Co-President Rione, what is your opinion?”

Rione took a while to answer. “I can’t dispute the arguments laid out against offering assistance,” she finally replied in an unemotional voice. “But you want to do it anyway, don’t you, Captain Geary?” Geary nodded. “Then my advice would be to follow your instincts. Every time you’ve done so, you’ve been right.”

Desjani turned enough to glare at Rione, then her expression changed as she thought. “Co-President Rione is right, sir. About your instincts. You are guided in ways we are not.”

Geary managed not to groan. Guided. By the living stars themselves. Or so Desjani and a large portion of the fleet believed.

“But, sir,” Desjani continued, “it’s still a very large risk. My advice has not changed. Besides, it’s very likely that another Syndic pursuit force will come through this system after us. They’ll hear the distress message, too.”

He nodded, grateful at the realization that a humane alternative existed. Then another insight hit.

“Would a Syndic force in pursuit of us divert to assist those civilians?”

Desjani’s lips compressed into a thin line, then she shook her head. “Probably not, sir. Almost certainly not. Their commander would be sent to the labor camps for wasting time.”

Give Desjani full credit. She didn’t want to divert to help those people, for a long list of good reasons, but she’d given him an honest assessment even though it hurt her case. He thought about the people on Wendig One. It was entirely possible that some of them, even adults, had never seen any ship in their star system. Why would any ship come here once the hypernet had been constructed? Now, with their means of life failing, they would look up and see this fleet and watch it pass by and leave. Then they’d maybe see a Syndic flotilla and watch it pass by and leave. Then there’d be no more ships. While the air got colder and harder to breathe. While the elderly and the youngest children died one by one, the strongest citizens clinging despairingly to each other as death came slowly for them each in turn, until Wendig Star System was as devoid of human life as it had been for uncounted millennia before the first starships came here.

Geary drew in a deep breath. The vision he’d seen of the dying colony had been so real, as if he were there. Where had it come from?

Maybe he was being guided. He knew what his heart said, and he knew what everything he’d been taught said. Measured against that was the cruel reality of war and the necessities of command. But there wasn’t a Syndic flotilla right on this fleet’s tail, no imminent threat to measure against those innocent lives.

Everyone was watching him, waiting. Only he could decide. And that knowledge tipped the balance, because he had a responsibility to make hard decisions, and going onward and leaving the colony to its fate didn’t require a decision, just the absence of one until the option became too hard to carry out. “I feel,” Geary began, “that we have a duty to help those people. That this is a test of us, one we must pass to prove we still believe in the things that made the Alliance great.