The series is set one-hundred-plus years into an interstellar war between two different human cultures, the Alliance and the Syndics. The protagonist of the story is discovered floating in a suspended animation escape pod one-hundred years after he made a "heroic last stand" against an enemy fleet. In the present, he's a renowned hero to the Alliance and his name and actions are used to justify poor tactics and decisions. Awakened after being discovered during a secret mission that turns out to be an enemy trap, he's suddenly dropped into the fleet commander's chair and expected to live up to the legend that has grown around him.
THE cold air blowing in through the vents still carried a faint tang of overheated metal and burned equipment. Faint echoes of a blast reached into his stateroom as the ship shuddered. Voices outside the hatch were raised in fright and feet rushed past. But he didn’t move, knowing that if the enemy had resumed the attack there’d be alarms sounding and many more than just one blow struck to the ship. And, attack or not, he had no assignment to run to, no job to fulfill.
He sat in the small stateroom he’d been given, arms crossed and hands tucked in to try to drive away an inner cold that never seemed to leave him. He could hear the sounds of the ship and her crew, and as long as the hatch remained closed he could try to pretend the ship was a ship he knew and the crew were people he’d served with. But those ships and those people were gone, as by all rights he should be as well.
He shifted position slightly, clenching his hands tighter against the cold that welled up from within, as one knee brushed against the rough edge of the small desk this stateroom boasted. He stared at that edge, trying to grasp what it meant. The future was supposed to be smooth. Smooth and clean and bright. It wasn’t supposed to be rougher and more worn than the past. Everybody knew that. But then, wars weren’t supposed to be apparently endless, going on and on and draining the smoothness and brightness from a future that could now only afford efficiency.
“Captain Geary, your presence is requested at the shuttle dock.”
The announcement took a moment to penetrate. Why did they want him? But an order was an order, and if he lost the structure of discipline now he might find he had nothing left at all. He exhaled heavily, then stood, his legs stiff from inner and outer cold. He braced himself before opening the hatch, not wanting to face the people outside, but finally yanked it open and began walking.
The passages of the Alliance battle cruiser Dauntless were crowded with enlisted personnel and a leavening of other officers. They made way for him as he walked, creating a narrow path that seemed to magically open and close just before and behind him as he plodded steadily toward the shuttle area. He kept his eyes unfocused, looking straight ahead and not seeing their faces. He knew what would be reflected on those faces. He’d seen the hope and awe, neither understanding nor desiring it. Now he knew that awe would be joined by anguish and despair, and he wanted to see those faces even less than before. As if he’d let them down, when he’d never promised them anything or claimed to be anything more than he really was.
The crowd suddenly jammed solid before him, and he had to halt. A junior officer looked back and saw him. “Captain Geary!” she exclaimed, her face lighting with irrational hope. The junior officer had dirty hydraulic fluid smeared across one side of her face and a light cast on one arm to cover an injury from the recent battle. Her uniform showed scorch marks on the side of the injured arm.
Geary knew he should say something to the officer, but he couldn’t find any words. “Shuttle dock,” Geary finally stated.
“You can’t get there through here, Captain,” the lieutenant offered eagerly, fatigue falling away from her and oblivious to the lack of reaction from Geary. Her sudden enthusiasm made her seem impossibly young and somehow made Geary feel even older. “It’s sealed off while they repair battle damage. You felt that last shock, didn’t you? We had to jettison some fuel cells before they blew. But we’ll be ready again soon. We’re not beaten yet. Are we? We can’t be.”
“I need to get to the shuttle dock,” Geary repeated slowly.
The lieutenant blinked. “Shuttle dock. Go down two decks and forward from there. That should be clear. It’s good to see you, sir.” Her voice broke on the last sentence.
It’s good to see me? Geary thought. A momentary heat of anger warred against the ice inside him. Why? But he just nodded and replied without inflection. “Thank you.”
Down the ladders two decks and forward again, Geary moved alone through the crowd that still parted and closed as he walked. Despite his attempts to avoid seeing, he caught glimpses of faces now, faces with the same anguish and lit with the same insane optimism when they caught sight of Geary.
Admiral Bloch waited at the entry to the shuttle dock, along with his chief of staff and a small crowd of other officers. Bloch motioned to Geary and drew him aside to speak privately. Unlike the others, Bloch seemed less despairing than stunned by the recent battle, as if he still weren’t quite able to grasp what had happened. “The Syndic leaders have agreed to negotiations. They insist that I and every other flag rank officer participate in person. We’re in no position to refuse their demand.” The Admiral’s voice sounded dull, very different from the booming enthusiasm Geary had grown used to hearing. His eyes were dull, too. “That leaves you the most senior officer in our absence, Captain.”
