Boundless

by Jack Campbell

  At least that was also someone he knew, though not very well. Geary shook his head. “Do you know what route they plan on taking?”

  “Doubtless the route they know from having accompanied your fleet before.” Hiyen leaned forward, his eyes intent. “Admiral, in the aftermath of the war, both my republic and Kapelka’s federation wanted to reassert their independence from the Alliance. But both have discovered that during the war they integrated their economies and regulations very closely with the Alliance. Disentangling all of that is proving far more difficult than expected. That leaves the leaders of the republic with the need to demonstrate their independence despite remaining so closely tied to the Alliance. I think the Rift Federation’s leaders face the same problem. You see? Independent diplomatic outreach to another intelligent species offers a means to do that.”

  “But Kapelka knows what’ll happen if she tries to reach Dancer space with that small a force,” Geary said.

  “She does,” Hiyen said. “But she can’t travel as part of an Alliance fleet, either. The Rift Federation believes it is on the verge of being absorbed by the Alliance, and while many of the federation’s people would welcome that, others are fiercely opposed. Captain Kapelka has always tried to be discreet about her political leanings, but from my knowledge of her I believe she is one of those determined to reassert the independence of the Rift Federation.”

  “Normally that shouldn’t be any concern of mine,” Geary said. “The Rift Federation is independent. I don’t dispute that.” Hiyen was telling him this for a reason, though, and the reason must involve the impending mission. Geary thought about it, his own gaze going to the star display. “Kapelka’s going to follow the same route this fleet used before?”

  “That is my understanding,” Hiyen said.

  “Which would mean entering former Syndic space at Atalia Star System. Do you know if she’s planning to jump from Varandal?”

  Hiyen nodded, his expression somber. “I believe so.”

  “When?”

  “I don’t know. But I think their aim is to get a jump on the Alliance.”

  “They want to leave before we do?” There it was. Geary felt his jaw tighten and made an effort to relax it. “And alert everyone and every place along the way just before we get there. That’ll substantially increase the risk to my force. I can’t allow that.” But could he stop it?

  Captain Hiyen nodded somberly. “Admiral, Captain Kapelka and her crews fought well alongside us during the war. If there’s any way they can be convinced to accompany your force, I will do all I can to assist.”

  “What will Captain Kapelka do if I tell her not to leave Varandal before we do?”

  That made Hiyen hesitate. “I do not know.”

  * * *

  AS if wanting to ensure his worries weren’t allowed to settle, the universe arranged for Lieutenant Iger to visit that afternoon. “Admiral, I wanted to be certain that you’d seen my report about the anti-Dancer sentiments among the new recruits.”

  “Yes,” Geary said, rubbing his forehead as he tried to recall details. “Nothing serious, and the veteran crews are working to turn around anyone who thinks the Dancers are enemies.”

  “Yes, sir,” Iger said. “But I wanted to tell you in person something that couldn’t go in the report because it’s pure speculation.”

  Geary dropped his hand and looked straight at Iger. “What?”

  “There’s something missing,” Iger said, looking stubborn. “Something we should be seeing and aren’t.”

  “And something that clearly worries you,” Geary said.

  “Why haven’t any of the new recruits, even in private conversations that have been reported to us, expressed serious reservations about the Dancers? There hasn’t been even one case reported like that,” Iger added, clearly frustrated.

  “And you think we should have seen some?”

  “Admiral, we know people with those serious anti-Dancer sentiments exist. We know some were caught during screening of recruits. But we haven’t seen one such person at Varandal.”

  Geary sighed heavily, leaning forward. “What’s the official line on that?”

  “Officially,” Iger said, “the lack of serious anti-Dancer sentiment detected among new recruits we’ve received is because our screening process caught everyone. But that assumes no one was deceitful during screening, or that anyone practicing deception about their feelings would be caught. And that’s if every new recruit was asked about that.”

  “What do you think?” Geary asked.

  “Admiral, the total lack of detections of serious anti-Dancer sentiment means either no one arriving has such sentiments, or that they’re keeping quiet about them. I don’t believe that we should ignore the second possibility.”

  He didn’t want to have this additional complication to deal with. And it was, as Iger said, pure speculation. But he’d learned when his initial reaction was to reject something that he should examine his reasons for doing that. And right now all of his reasons had nothing to do with the possibility that Iger was right, or that Iger had had the guts to personally bring up the problem to him rather than keep it to himself. “‘Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence,’” Geary said. “Somebody said that a long time ago. You might be right, Lieutenant. What can we do?”

  Iger hesitated, looking startled that his argument had been accepted. “Notify the senior enlisted and senior officers, Admiral. There’s not much else we can do. But just being aware that we need to be alert for it could make all the difference in spotting it. If it’s out there.”

  “Draft me up a message to send to the captains in the fleet on what to watch for,” Geary said.

  “Yes, sir.” Iger hesitated again. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Lieutenant, I’ve learned to trust your assessments. I’m not going to disregard a warning from you just because I don’t want it to be true.”

  As if to emphasize Iger’s suspicions, the next day another courier ship arrived at the hypernet gate. Accelerating toward the fleet’s ships light hours distant, it broadcast a message that it had highly classified information to be passed directly to Admiral Geary. Over the next day and a half it responded to requests for more information with variations on the same message.

  If it hadn’t been for the attacks at the hypernet gate at Unity, no one would’ve been alarmed at the unusual actions of the courier ship. But they were unusual enough to draw notice at a time when everyone was keyed up.

  As the courier ship neared Dauntless, Geary waited on the bridge along with Captain Desjani. The other battle cruisers of the Fourth Division were orbiting nearby, Daring, Victorious, and Intemperate all at full battle readiness.

  “Talk to me, Lieutenant Castries,” Desjani said.

  “Still no indications the courier ship is a dark ship,” Castries said. “Its performance profiles and exterior appearance still match standard courier ship models.”

  “Am I set up for my message to relay?” Geary asked.

  “Yes, sir. It’ll go to Daring, and then be sent from Daring to the courier ship as if you’re aboard Daring.”

  Geary tapped his message controls. “Fleet Courier Ship 793G, this is Admiral Geary. You are ordered to immediately begin braking your velocity to point zero zero one light speed.”

  The courier ship was close enough by this time that the reply came with only a tiny delay. Unlike earlier messages, this one showed a visual, a lieutenant who displayed no apparent tension. “We have urgent materials for direct delivery to Admiral Geary by order of Fleet Headquarters. Proceeding to delivery.”

  “The courier ship is firing maneuvering thrusters,” Lieutenant Yuon reported. “His main propulsion has lit off. Captain, he’s not swinging around to brake velocity. He’s accelerating and steadied on a new vector aimed at Daring. One minute to collision.”

  Desjani looked at G
eary.

  He nodded.

  “All hell lance batteries engage the target,” Desjani said at the same time as she hit her comm controls. “All ships in Fourth Division, weapons free to engage the approaching ship.”

  Hell lances speared out from all four battle cruisers to meet the oncoming ship at the same time as Daring’s main propulsion lit off at full power to shove her out of the path of the courier ship still accelerating toward her.

  The courier ship tried to alter vector to match Daring’s movements, but disintegrated as dozens of hell lances tore through it.

  “Captain?” Lieutenant Castries said, her voice higher pitched than usual. “We’re picking up organics in the wreckage as well as traces of atmosphere.”

  “What?” Desjani inhaled deeply, glancing at Geary.

  Had they destroyed a real courier ship, with a real crew aboard it? Before he could reply, a call came to the bridge. Senior Chief Tarrani, her expression somber. “Captain, last night I was talking with Master Chief Gioninni about how we’d sneak one of those dark ships through. He said he’d stuff a frozen human cadaver inside it so we’d get the right organic signature.”

  “Is there any way to tell if what we’re picking up is from a recently dead human or a cadaver?” Desjani asked.

  “Gioninni suggested checking acid levels in the remnants of the organic material. The moment a person dies, he said, pH levels start dropping as acidity increases.”

  “Lieutenant Castries—”

  “Already on it, Captain.” Castries’s hands paused after she’d entered the search parameters. “Chemical analysis shows higher-than-normal levels of acid.”

  Geary let out a breath he’d been holding. “Get those readings to Dr. Nasr. I want his call on whether they’re consistent with a human who’d just died, or a cadaver.” He gave Desjani a sharp look. “Just how did Master Chief Gioninni know that?”

  “There are some questions that are better not asked,” she said. “Let alone answered.”

  Dr. Nasr called in, looking troubled. “Admiral, it’s impossible to make a definite call, but those acidity levels in the organics are higher than would be seen in a living person.”

  “Take time to take a good look at everything,” Geary said. “I’ll report any analysis at this point is preliminary. Doctor, how hard would it be for someone to get their hands on a human cadaver?”

  “If they could forge authorizations?” Dr. Nasr said. “It would be quite simple. A lot of people die every day, and all too many of those people die without family or friends to look after their remains. DNA identification cannot overcome that problem. Someone posing as such a relative would have no trouble getting what they wanted.”

  “But couldn’t DNA testing rule out someone as a relative?”

  “No. If it was too difficult to falsify the DNA test results, the person could simply claim to have married into the family and present documents apparently proving the relationship.” The doctor shook his head in disapproval. “Too many die alone. It is a challenge we still have not conquered.” His frown deepened as he paused in thought. “Those acidic levels. If someone died alone, and was not discovered for several hours or a day before the body was transferred to a cold environment, the pH levels we’re seeing would be consistent with that.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.” Geary put together a quick report and sent it off to Admiral Timbale and the rest of the ships in the star system. Then he called Lieutenant Iger. “How many more of those things might be out there?”

  Iger didn’t have to look it up. “The best estimates we’ve received in the last month show a maximum of six AI-controlled courier ships that cannot be confirmed as having been destroyed.”

  “So there are five left.”

  “Yes, Admiral. A maximum of five. There might be fewer.”

  “Is there any chance someone could still be building more of them somewhere?”

  “No, Admiral,” Iger said. “The shipyards and workers involved in that were all identified and shut down. No one in Alliance space could be building more.”

  That should have been reassuring. It wasn’t. “What about outside Alliance space?” Iger stared at him, momentarily wordless. “Is there any chance the Syndics got their hands on the plans for those things?” Geary pressed.

  “I haven’t seen anything indicating that,” Iger said, speaking slowly. “But I don’t know if that’s because we’ve looked and haven’t found anything, or because we haven’t looked. Perhaps the Alliance should be looking for signs of that.”

  “Perhaps it should,” Geary said.

  One more thing to worry about.

  * * *

  FOUR ships arrived at Varandal’s hypernet gate a couple of days shy of two weeks until planned departure. Three were well-known, the assault transports Tsunami, Typhoon, and Haboob, carrying General Carabali and the Marines she’d taken to Unity. Aside from being a reassurance that his mission was still on, the return of the Marines also meant the government was feeling less concerned about its own security.

  The fourth ship was big. It broadcast its identity as Boundless, an Emissary-class ship.

  “What the hell is an Emissary-class ship?” Desjani said.

  “That, apparently,” Geary said. “And here’s an incoming message from Boundless for me.”

  He didn’t recognize the woman whose image appeared. She wore a civilian suit and an air of authority that both seemed well fitted to her. “Admiral Geary, this is Ambassador Rycerz. I look forward to meeting you in person as soon as possible. We have much to discuss.”

  “Are you worried about that last line?” Desjani asked. “Because I am.”

  “She doesn’t look evil,” Geary said.

  “Neither do the Kicks.”

  It would be a few days before the Boundless reached the orbit of Varandal station and positioned itself near Dauntless. Plenty of time for him to worry over what Rycerz wanted to talk about, especially since she would have authority over him in nonsecurity matters.

  * * *

  THE Boundless had once been a large passenger ship, capable of carrying thousands of people in varying degrees of comfort and luxury depending on how much money they could pay. Sometimes the passengers had been immigrants heading for new homes around unfamiliar stars. Other times they’d been tourists, gazing at the changing views of the heavens as the ship had jumped from star to star, the constellations themselves altering when viewed from places light years apart.

  During the war, the Boundless had been converted to carry military personnel from training camps at distant stars to their units near the front, up to ten thousand at a time, crammed together as new recruits fed the insatiable maw of the endless war.

  Now, her interior rebuilt, her systems replaced with the newest equipment, Boundless carried a new set of passengers, totaling only about five hundred in a ship originally designed to carry several times that number in comfort.

  “The crew totals about three hundred,” Captain Matson told Geary as he led him on a tour of the ship. General Carabali walked with them, several other of Boundless’s officers following behind. The crew wore uniforms that attempted to look professional without looking military, since Boundless’s new assignment was as a platform for civil tasks.

  “That’s pretty large for a civilian ship, isn’t it?” Geary asked.

  “It is,” Matson agreed, indicating the other ship’s officers with the group. “We need to have enough skilled people with us to operate and maintain the ship, and care for our passengers, for an extended period. If something breaks out there, we have to be able to fix it ourselves.”

  He pointed aft. “A lot of the former passenger space has been converted into storage for extra food stocks, water tanks, and fuel cell reserves. We can go a long time without running out of food. There are also a couple of compact manufacturing shops. In case of emergency,
we can even fabricate new fuel cells if we can get the right raw materials.”

  “That’s pretty impressive,” Geary said. “How many people are you carrying total?”

  “About five hundred.” Matson began walking the group toward the bow. “The biggest group among our passengers are the diplomatic corps and their support staff, including the military honor guard. One hundred of them in all, directly answering to Ambassador Rycerz just as I do. Then there’s a group of roughly sixty that makes up the engineers and scientists. Their overall supervisor is Dr. Kottur. The smallest group is the one everyone is calling the Ollies.”

  “Ollies?” Carabali asked.

  Captain Matson smiled. “Specialists in biology, sociology, anthropology, zoology, neurology, psychology, and a bunch of other -ologies. They’re supposed to learn more about the Dancers. I’m sure you’ve already heard from them so they could find out what you’ve learned so far.”

  “No,” Geary said. “I haven’t had any contact from them.”

  “Oh.” Matson’s smile went away. “Their leader is a man named Macadams. He’s . . . well, I don’t want to prejudice you.”

  Which, Geary thought, is what someone says when the only other things they can think to say are very prejudicial. Since Matson had already impressed him as being professional and capable, that didn’t bode well for what Macadams might be like.

  They’d reached the forward parts of the ship, which had been rebuilt into the diplomatic section, with conference rooms and offices in addition to living quarters. The other ship’s officers stopped in a break room while Captain Matson led the way to the ambassador’s office, gesturing for Geary and Carabali to enter while he stayed outside.

  The large office had clearly been designed to impress without boasting, the walls lined with displays of art and other human achievements, the furnishings sturdy and elegant without being luxurious. Enough open space had been left to accommodate seating designed for Dancers once it was learned what kind of seating they used. At the far end of the office from the entry was the ambassador’s desk, with several seats positioned facing it.