"Order the ships to heave to," Noyes said, and Jackie nodded.
"The Pappenheim has already issued that order, sir," the tech replied. "No response."
"Board it," Noyes ordered, after glancing back at Jackie.
The minutes ticked by and the tension aboard the station increased accordingly. The unknown vessel slowed its hurtling descent into the gravity well, proceeding under fighter escort toward the Navy dry-dock, indicating they had been success fully boarded.
At last the tech reported a hail from one of the vessels.
"Lieutenant Tsang reporting," said a voice, and a view of the bridge of a Malaysia-class starship appeared near a console. Tsang was in a vacc suit. "Come in, Cicero Base."
"This is Laperriere," Jackie said, stepping toward the display. "Report, Lieutenant."
"No life support on the bridge, Commodore. The hull has been breached. There are pressurized compartments aft."
"What ship is it?" she asked, dreading the answer.
"I . . . seem to be aboard the IS Singapore, ma'am." She gestured behind her.
"You're on the admiral's flagship? Are you sure, Lieutenant?"
". . . Yes ma'am. The admiral—my team found him in the ship's Engineering Section, trying to . . . rip out the controls for the maneuver drive with his bare hands. We took him off in restraints."
The bridge of the station was as silent as a tomb.
"There were twenty or twenty-five other crew and officers aboard, all in about the same shape. I took responsibility to have them removed."
"Ask if there were any Sensitives aboard," Sergei said quietly.
"Were any of the survivors Sensitives?" Jackie asked.
"We found six Sensitives in the sick bay, ma'am. All dead by overdose. It . . ." she swallowed ". . . looked like it was by their own hand. Doc says it was cyanide. What are your orders, ma'am?" The young lieutenant looked to be relieved, finally having the opportunity to follow someone else's orders.
"Where have the survivors been moved?"
"I had them transferred to the sick bay of the Pappenheim, ma'am. It's inbound for Cicero Op."
Jackie turned to Noyes. "Countermand the Pappenheim's flight orders. It, and every vessel involved in the scramble, are to keep their distance from dry-dock, and from every other installation in this system. No one is to pass within ten thousand klicks of their present location except on my orders. Do it!"
"Ma'am?" Tsang asked.
"Lieutenant, pass a 'Well done' to the rest of the task force. You are to consider yourselves under quarantine until further notice. No additional personnel are to board the vessel unless absolutely necessary, and no one is to come in contact with the survivors except medical personnel unless I order it."
"Ma'am, the Sensitives—"
"Especially the goddamned Sensitives!" she interrupted. "No one, Tsang. Pass the word. And I will have the hide of anyone who countermands those orders hanging from the flagpole of Cicero Down control tower. Do it. Laperriere out." She signaled to break the connection.
She turned at last to Sergei. "I suppose you expected this, too."
"No, actually not," he said wearily. "I did not expect them to return at all. Now at least we have a chance to learn the nature of our enemy, before . . ."
"Before what?"
Sergei looked up at Jackie. "Before, Commodore, that enemy destroys us."
***
A storm was sweeping across South Continent: fierce by any standards except possibly those of Cicero itself. Naval personnel posted to Cicero soon became accustomed to the climate or else they transferred elsewhere; for those inured to it, this particular bout of weather was no more than a garden-variety storm.
From where she sat, Jackie could see the storm beginning to cover the southern hemisphere of the planet, striking the coasts. She could imagine the biting cold wind sweeping in from across the ocean and the clouds chasing each other across the sky in its wake; she could almost see the freezing rain pouring down on the tarmac. In truth, sitting in light uniform blouse and trousers in a pleasant air-conditioned cabin three hundred and forty kilometers above the surface with the planet spread portrait-fashion against the starry backdrop of the Cygnus Arm, the cold seemed completely incongruous.
She had seen this view many times before. Still, it always amazed her, reminding her of the majesty of nature and the sheer size and grandeur of the universe. It was a humbling experience, yet easily taken for granted in an age in which travel between stars was commonplace, almost mundane.
Was this what the unknown planets had looked like to the crew of the Gustav Adolf II, the Negri Sembilan? Or to the squadron of six that had followed in their wake, looking for a trace of them? The vid log of the survey team of the Gustav had shown an Earthlike world that had looked something like Cicero—except warmer. Like every other Earthlike planet in the universe, she thought to herself.
She rubbed her forehead absentmindedly. Gets the thoughts flowing, as a former lover used to say. In a happier time, he would rub her forehead for her, after a tense stint at the engineering station or on the bridge. Now she did it for herself.
She turned away from the full-length display panel and opened the medical report again, trying to discern some clue amidst the awful evidence provided by the chief surgeon of the IS Pappenheim.
All surviving crew of the Singapore are suffering from what appears to be acute schizophrenia, coupled with extreme paranoia. These psychoses are directed at anyone and everything, including each other or medical personnel. This tendency is especially acute with regard to Sensitives, who were mentioned in conversations with various patients. Though there is no evidence in medical histories regarding personal phobias toward Sensitive-trained individuals . . .
Of course not, Jackie thought to herself; wouldn't let 'em aboard a starship if there were.
. . . several individuals (cf. att. reports 12, 19, 22, 26, 33, et al.) flew into rages when Sensitive examination was recommended in their hearing. One orderly (cf. att. report 22) was badly injured and bitten twice by a young female crewmember, who nearly succeeded in removing her restraints in the process of hurling herself at the individual. On two other occasions the reactions most closely resembled petit mal seizures. From depositions thus far obtained, Sensitives on board all three ships were forcibly poisoned by members of their own crew without evidence of remorse. In one case this act was carried out by a brother on his own sister (cf. att. report 52), and during the interrogation the individual in question declaimed that the sister had "ceased to be human" and had "become a monster." Other interrogations (cf. att. reports 19, 26, 38, et al.) contain similar utterances . . .
The chime of the door interrupted her. She looked up to see the figure of Commander Noyes standing outside. She beckoned him to enter.
He was still in duty uniform—she had changed as soon as she reached her quarters and felt slightly uncomfortable receiving him in such casual attire. She shrugged to herself and returned his salute as he offered it, cap tucked under his arm at precisely the correct angle.
"I have completed a thorough check of our survey data, Commodore." He cleared his throat. "There appear to be several inconsistencies between original and recent survey data, especially for systems surveyed within the last six years. Cicero Down is out of contact because of the storm"—he gestured offhandedly to the planet behind her—"but evidence indicates that data was altered entirely at Cicero Down and partially changed up here as well."
"se Sergei suspects an enemy agent is present here in Cicero System, Bryan." She folded her hands before her on the table. "I'm not completely convinced of that assertion, but if true, the person may still be on-station. I want security to be tight around here. Is that understood?"
"Aye-aye, ma'am." He looked down at his feet, and then at Jackie once more. "Commodore, I would like to discuss some thing with you off the record."
"You may speak freely."
Noyes walked forward and took a seat opposite his commanding o
fficer. "As you know, I receive—as a matter of course—all reports submitted to you. Documents marked as confidential I generally relegate to a special file devoted to that purpose, to be examined only as your orders permit.
"I made an exception to that rule today. Without specific order from you, I took it upon myself to read the medical report from Dr. Callison aboard Pappenheim. I have been in His Majesty's Navy for eighteen years, Commodore, and there is no precedent for what Dr. Callison reports, not in my experience, and not in official record.
"Though you are under no obligation to tell me what is going on, ma'am, I feel that I can best perform my duties if you do."
She attempted to measure him, then to try and see if there was any hidden meaning in what he had said. But behind the professional decorum of the base commander, all she could sense was fear.
"Bryan, I've got a crisis on my hands. This began with two vanished Exploration Service ships, but it was made clear to me by—events—that something far more serious is going on out there. Admiral Tolliver's actions seem to have resulted in considerable loss of life, and I will shortly be filing a report to the Admiralty with my conclusions."
"Which are . . . if I may ask?"
"Jesus Christ." She touched the comp, opening up the medical report. "Six ships of the line jump from here armed to the teeth, each carrying a full complement of Marines. Days later just one ship returns, with eighty-five percent of its crew dead, its sick bay littered with the bodies of dead Sensitives. What few crew are left seem to be stark raving mad, including Admiral Tolliver himself.
"They poisoned their own Sensitives, they've taken welders and dug burrows through their own corridors, trying to get away from 'monsters' . . . What the hell am I supposed to conclude, Bryan? What happened to them? What did they really see?"
"How does the Gyaryu'har feel about this?"
"se Sergei." She sighed and rubbed her forehead. "This is all tied up intimately with zor mythology. He believes that there really are monsters—inimical aliens at Sargasso and else where, including perhaps on this base. He tried to tell the admiral but Tolliver shrugged it off as nonsense. Until a week ago, I would have done the same. Now I'm not so sure."
"But you support the 'first contact' theory yourself."
"Only because—" She swore under her breath. Was she going to tell him about having seen tentacled monsters? "Only because it seemed to fit the evidence. But what about the rest of it?
"The fact remains that there are victims of this event and their stories—however crazy—seem to agree. The accounts are not exactly the sort of dispassionate, clinical observations that make up Admiralty reports, but they will constitute the bulk of my report once I have an opportunity to confirm Dr. Callison's account personally."
"You're going out there? In person? Surely a holo would be sufficient—"
"No." She placed her hands, palms down, on the desk in front of her. "My career may be riding on the way this is reported to the Admiralty, Bryan. I have no choice other than to investigate it firsthand. That means a person, not a holo."
"Commodore," he said, sitting forward. "Your orders established a quarantine for the Singapore and its survivors. You're too important to jeopardize yourself in this way. For the record, I would like to offer . . . to visit in your place."
"I appreciate your offer, Bryan." She smiled at him. "But the answer is no. I wouldn't send a subordinate anywhere I wouldn't go myself. Commander Ch'k'te will be aboard Cicero Op within the next watch, and I only expect to be aboard the Pappenheim for a few hours. When I return we'll complete my report to the Admiralty together with se Sergei."
"se Sergei? Surely, ma'am, this is strictly a Navy matter—"
"This is no longer simply a Navy matter. The involvement of the High Nest complicates everything. We've waded into very deep waters, and if we take steps in the wrong direction we'll wind up in way over our heads. I agree that se Sergei is an enigma—but he may have a better understanding of this situation than either of us. Remember, he was flying starships before your grandfather was born. Zor robes or no, Bryan, he has military as well as diplomatic experience. We need all the help we can get."
***
As her gig touched down in the landing bay of the IS Pappenheim a few hours later, Jackie felt far less sure of herself than she had in her conversation with Bryan Noyes. During the trip out she had reread the medical report, with no more peace of mind than the first time through. There was simply no way to reconcile it to actual procedure.
Still, she was haunted by the concern that somehow she could have been able to prevent it. It didn't stand up to close examination: she had made her objections known for the record and had been obliged to follow the admiral's orders. Despite everything that had gone before, naval regulations allowed the admiral to take such extraordinary actions. His decision to take the squadron outsystem had placed the responsibility for its fate in his hands. If he had chosen to ignore the advice of more experienced subordinates he might suffer the consequences from his own superiors. That wasn't certain: Admirals tended to get away with whatever they wanted, and commodores sometimes took the blame. It might come down to patronage.
But if the Admiralty decided to punish Tolliver, what purpose would it serve? Who would punish someone who had lost his sanity?
Jackie wasn't terribly fond of Tolliver. He had ignored her advice; he'd insulted an important official of the zor High Nest. He had ultimately thrown away six ships and nearly everyone aboard.
It wasn't Tolliver who got her sympathy; it was the hundreds of Navy personnel who had undertaken the expedition with him. She still felt responsible for them. She could hardly help it. To Tolliver they might have been no more than names on a duty roster, but to Jackie they were far more than that—they were her people: her staff and her crew, and in many cases her friends.
The ones that survived, she reminded herself, are the lucky ones, insane or not. There are hundreds of others missing . . . presumed dead.
***
"Welcome aboard, Commodore," said Captain Georg Maartens as she reached the hangar deck. She exchanged salutes with him and with the Pappenheim's chief surgeon, Dr. Arthur Callison. Callison was newly posted to Cicero and looked like he'd simply put on an officer's uniform like a disguise, as an afterthought. Still, she knew his reputation, which was more than enough to make her glad to have him around.
Especially right now, she reminded herself.
By comparison, Maartens was an old friend. Despite his spit-and-polish image as a perfect Navy officer, he always reminded Jackie of a favorite uncle. Several years older than Jackie, he had not commanded anything bigger than a starship.
"Thank you, Georg. I'm . . . sorry to be so abrupt with my visit." Maartens led the way off the hangar deck. "I've come to see the admiral."
Callison hesitated slightly as they walked up to the lift. "I . . . Well, as you wish, ma'am," he said, seeming to change thoughts in midsentence. Maartens rolled his eyes at his commander behind the doctor's back; he'd assumed the request was an order.
"Do you have some objection, Doctor?" They stepped into the lift, and it began to rise slowly toward the heart of the ship.
"Officially? No, not at all, Commodore." Callison clasped his hands behind his back, in a way that was reminiscent of a professor in a lecture hall. "However, I would not advise it, as he is somewhat volatile at the moment. Furthermore he is heavily sedated, though he should be lucid enough to understand you."
"I see."
They rose several decks while Jackie considered her next question. "In your professional opinion," she said at last, "is Admiral Tolliver capable of giving any sort of report on the Sargasso expedition?"
"An official report, you mean." Callison rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "That all depends, Commodore."
"On what?"
"Well." Hands returned to lecture-hall pose. "As you know, Admiral Tolliver was found in a very excited condition, Commodore. He was extremely violent and had to be restrai
ned. While considerable medical effort and several doses of quintivalium have worked to ameliorate that condition, I suspect that if the matter of Sensitives is mentioned, he is likely to become enraged—"
"I understand. Several individuals flew into rages when Sensitive examination was recommended in their hearing Go on."
"The admiral," Callison continued, "will speak quite rationally about his experiences, and his dialogue is internally self-consistent. Note that I say 'internally.' " The lift stopped rising and began to glide laterally forward. "The sum of his remarks, however, is totally at odds with reality as we know it."
"Please explain."
"Admiral Tolliver is capable of delivering a precise, complete and accurate report of the events as he claims to have perceived them. But in view of the subject matter, I am sure that any summary court would dismiss it for exactly what it seems to be: the ravings of a lunatic."
The lift shuddered to a halt, and Maartens looked up querulously, as if to say, I'd better get this damn thing fixed. The three officers stepped out into the hall, exchanging salutes with a pair of midshipmen who were waiting for the lift.
"In fact, Commodore," Callison continued, "for the record, I would strongly advise against further disturbing the admiral. I do not believe that you will learn anything more than what professional staff have already obtained." They went through a door that slid open at Callison's gesture and found them selves in the sick bay. Callison led them into an inner office and beckoned them to chairs, while he sat and summoned forth medical records, which appeared in midair above his desk.
"I don't mean to question your report," Jackie said after a moment, trying not to bristle at Callison's last comment. "In fact it was quite thorough. Still, the Admiralty is going to be all over us very soon, and I have to be sure of my position. I trust that I make myself clear."
Callison appeared close to framing a reply, but Maartens cut in. "Loud and clear, ma'am."
Callison grunted, exchanged a long look with his CO, and then turned to face Jackie and handed her a comp, which she slipped into a shirt pocket.
The Dark Path Page 6