She nodded again. “Yet the federation is so much smaller than the Alliance that they couldn’t seriously threaten any deals we could make with the Dancers. Yes. I think your idea will benefit us a great deal, as well as saving the lives of the sailors on those Rift Federation ships. But I can’t make that decision without informing my superiors. Here’s what I’ll do. I’ll submit the proposal to offer unofficial protection to the Rift Federation delegation so we can learn how the Dancers react to dealing with different human entities. But I’ll do it under my name to avoid having anyone think this is another Black Jack plot.”
“Another Black Jack plot?” Geary asked, knowing Rycerz was right about needing to keep his name off the proposal, but also feeling a bit annoyed that he couldn’t take credit for something that he’d thought of.
“Sorry,” Ambassador Rycerz said with a smile. “To certain fans of conspiracies, your hand is everywhere. When Captain Kapelka arrives at this star system, make your offer to her. Put nothing in writing or on the official record. She’ll probably insist on that anyway to protect herself from charges that she disregarded her orders to get to Dancer space on her own. Let me know whether she agrees. And then I’ll pretend not to notice that those ships are staying with us as we travel to Midway and then Dancer space.”
“All right,” Geary said. “Although what you just told me also isn’t in writing.”
Rycerz made a face. “You have every right to be wary of entrapment. When I send my message to Unity asking for approval, I’ll make my message UOD. Unless Otherwise Directed. If Unity doesn’t get contrary orders here before we depart, you and I will both be legally covered.”
“There’s another problem,” Geary said. “There’s a possibility that the Rift Federation ships will refuse to comply with instructions not to jump before we do. As I said, that could create serious problems for us.”
“Is there any way to stop them from doing that?”
“I can station warships near the jump point and threaten to fire if the Rift Federation ships approach. But that means I’d have to be willing to fire if they kept coming regardless.”
The ambassador’s eyes widened. “You want permission to fire on ships of the Rift Federation?” It was hard to tell if she was primarily shocked or horrified.
“No,” Geary said. “That’s the last thing I want to do.”
“Good. Because I’d never approve it!” Rycerz sat back with a stunned expression. “Using force against the Rift Federation would lend credence to all the conspiracy theories that the Alliance is preparing to annex the federation’s star systems and then those of the Callas Republic as well. It’d produce catastrophic results. Why did you even mention it?”
“To let you know that if the Rift Federation ships insist on going ahead of us, I don’t have any good way to stop them,” Geary said.
Rycerz closed her eyes and shook her head. “If they insist on doing it, we have to let them.” She opened her eyes, focusing intently on him. “Are you going to blame me for your not being able to stop those ships?”
“No,” Geary said. “I take responsibility for my own decisions. But I will notify you if the Rift Federation ships insist on going ahead. If you can get them to change their minds, I’d be grateful.”
“I’ll try if it comes to that.” The ambassador grimaced. “The Rift Federation knows we can’t stop them without precipitating a crisis that would rock the entire Alliance. I wouldn’t be surprised if some elements in the Rift Federation are hoping for that, willing to martyr some of their ships and crews to bring about a complete rupture in relations.”
“If they get martyred, it won’t be at the hands of the Alliance fleet,” Geary said.
“Good.” Ambassador Rycerz locked a somber gaze on him. “This mission is bigger than you or me, Admiral. I won’t do anything that might compromise it.”
“Nor will I,” Geary said. Rycerz was saying all the right things. Did she mean them? “I guess we should keep this private meeting short to try to prevent feeding the conspiracy theorists.”
Colonel Webb accompanied Geary and Carabali on the way back to the shuttle dock to return them to Dauntless. “Would you tell me something, Colonel?” Geary asked. “Why would you and those in your unit volunteer to spend five years away from home?”
Webb frowned. “There are plenty of people who were happy when the war ended. And there were plenty of people who were happy to have the chance to be something other than whatever they did in the military. But what about us who take pride in that identity? I didn’t want to move on, to some civilian job sitting at a desk somewhere, dreaming of the past, or being a mercenary for some company that wants to protect its precious assets. I’m special forces and I’m proud of it. But there’s downsizing going on. The war’s over. The Alliance can’t afford to maintain the same size of military to deal with the problems that remain.”
Webb turned an unyielding look on Geary. “That’s why I volunteered, and why my people volunteered. It meant a guarantee that for at least the next five years we could still be the thing we trained to be, the thing we took pride in being. One of my sergeants, an outstanding special forces operator, couldn’t wait to get out. He was tired of the killing, tired of losing friends, tired of wondering when his luck would run out. I wished him the best of luck and I meant it. But I also knew that wasn’t what I wanted.”
“I understand,” Geary said. “We’re on the same side here. You work directly for the ambassador. But your mission, and mine, will have greater chances of success if we work together.”
Colonel Webb nodded. “I understand, Admiral. And I agree.” As they reached the shuttle he stopped walking and saluted in farewell. “I’m sure we’ll be speaking more in the future.”
As Geary and Carabali strapped into their seats on the shuttle, he looked over at her. Carabali had a distant look, her brow furrowed slightly. “What are you thinking, General?”
Carabali gave him a glance from the corners of her eyes. “That anti-Dancer sentiment we’re worried about. The same sentiments that earned me a new star for my combat wounded badge. I’m thinking that if I wanted to sabotage a mission like that, I’d want to use someone already trained and experienced in how to sabotage equipment and kill people. Someone on the inside who’d be in a position to learn the entire security setup.”
It took him a moment to understand. “You think one of the special forces in the honor guard could be a threat? I’d think they were very heavily screened before being accepted as volunteers.”
“There are ways to mislead even the strictest screens,” Carabali said. “Among those most well trained in how to do so are . . .”
“Elite special forces,” Geary finished. “How good do you think these guys are?”
“I think they’re Wendigos.”
“Wendigos?” Geary said, not liking the sound of that.
Carabali twisted her mouth in disapproval. “Special forces that are officially not known to even the rest of the special forces. That officially don’t even exist. But there are stories about them. Enough stories with enough reality to them to convince me they’re real.”
“You don’t seem to like them.”
“They do the jobs too tough, or too ugly, for regular special forces. The sort of thing the Alliance doesn’t want to admit it ever does.” Carabali glanced at him. “Some rumors claim they’ve done political assassinations. I don’t believe those. But I don’t like units that operate outside the chain of command. Whose actions aren’t allowed to see the light of day. We’ve had recent experience with where that can lead.”
Rumors didn’t add up to reality, no matter how many there were. But Carabali wasn’t the sort to give credence to something she didn’t have good reasons to believe. And, as she said, excessive secrecy had already been proven to create serious problems. “What are your recommendations?”
“With your per
mission, I’ll have my own force recon people and senior enlisted reach out to the honor guard. Coordination meetings, social gatherings to get to know each other, all routine things. But that’ll give my people a chance to see if any of the special forces types don’t feel quite right.”
“Permission granted,” Geary said as the shuttle’s thrusters pitched it over for the final approach to Dauntless. “I hope you’re wrong.”
“I hope I’m wrong, too,” Carabali said. “But Colonel Webb displayed some odd priorities. He asked questions about the Dancers, seemed to regard them as a primary security concern, but didn’t even mention the internal security issues you and I have been alerted to.”
Which did seem a bit odd now that Carabali had brought it up. Geary nodded to her. “Keep me informed.”
Captain Desjani was waiting at the shuttle dock. “How’d it go?” she asked as they walked toward his stateroom.
“Not bad,” he said.
“Really?” Desjani shook her head, pausing to acknowledge a greeting from a petty officer going the other way down the passageway.
He could easily hear the skepticism she hadn’t directly voiced. “Before Grendel,” Geary said, “before the war, I used to admire diplomats. A lot of people did. Not the political hacks who bought themselves choice postings, but the professionals. The people who worked for the Alliance government, and went to places where no one else wanted to go, and tried their best to make things better.”
Desjani shrugged. “There wasn’t much call for diplomacy for the last century. The Syndics would demand we surrender, we’d refuse, and the war would keep going on.”
“But we needed people like that,” he said. “And we need them now.”
“They didn’t prevent the war from starting,” she pointed out. “And they couldn’t end it.”
Which was certainly true. “Tanya, I didn’t live through decades of the war like you did. But I believed in dedicated diplomats before the battle at Grendel, and I believe in them now. I guess in some ways I have to believe that people trying their best can make a difference.”
She stopped as they reached the hatch to his stateroom. “You’ll believe that until the day you greet your ancestors, won’t you?”
He paused as well, looking at her. “It’s why I do this.”
“And it’s why people follow you.”
“Have you ever heard of Alliance special forces called Wendigos?”
“Everybody’s heard of them. I don’t know if they’re real, though.”
“Carabali thinks they are.”
Desjani studied him closely. “Why are you bringing this up?”
“There may be some aboard Boundless. That’s just between you and me.”
“Great.” Desjani shrugged. “Another fine day in the fleet. I can’t wait until the Rift Federation ships get here and add another problem to the pile.”
* * *
CAPTAIN Desjani’s wish was granted a couple of days later, when a heavy cruiser, two light cruisers, and four destroyers popped out of the hypernet gate. That was one destroyer less than Captain Hiyen had predicted. Knowing the limited resources the Rift Federation had, Geary couldn’t help wondering if the fifth destroyer had been deliberately cut from the force or if it had been in too bad a shape to make the journey.
Proceeding at a sedate (for warships) point one light speed, the Rift Federation force had quickly steadied out on a vector for the jump point to Atalia. With six light hours to cover, it would require sixty hours, or two and a half days, before the Rift Federation ships could reach the jump point.
If they’d sent their arrival report upon exiting the hypernet, it should show up at any moment, right after the light showing their arrival. As the minutes went past, he became increasingly impatient.
He’d played this game himself. Take as long as possible to send a message, depend on light speed limits to require hours for it to be received, and then gain additional hours before the reply could get to him. The Rift Federation ships could be halfway across the star system before initial greetings had been exchanged.
Not this time. He decided to send his own message immediately. It would still take hours to reach the Rift warships, but that was the best he could do. “Rift Federation warships, welcome to Varandal. This is Admiral Geary. Please proceed to an orbit near Ambaru Station for critical discussions. I also request that you review the proposal attached to this message as I believe it would greatly benefit both your mission and my own. To the honor of our ancestors, Geary, out.”
He wasn’t certain whether to be grateful for the impending meetings that would keep him occupied while waiting to hear from the Rift Federation ships. Among his responsibilities was the need to coordinate with both the technical and the scientific teams aboard Boundless. Which meant meeting with both teams.
In what he later realized was an ominous portent, at the insistence of the science team leader Dr. Macadams the meeting with his team was by virtual conference instead of face to face.
Geary sat at one of the long sides of a table in one of Dauntless’s secure conference rooms. Since the focus of the scientific team was the Dancers, Geary had General Charban beside him. On the other side of Charban, Lieutenant Iger and Lieutenant Jamenson also sat. With Victoria Rione dead, those three were the ones most experienced with dealing directly with the Dancers.
Facing them along the other side of the table were the virtual presences of Dr. Macadams and his senior assistants. They’d finally shown up ten minutes after the scheduled time of the meeting, arriving without any apology for the delay. But even though Geary was annoyed, he kept his bearing and his voice polite. “Dr. Macadams, welcome to Varandal. I understand that you’re in charge of the people who will be trying to gain more knowledge about the Dancers.”
Macadams didn’t answer immediately. Instead his forehead crinkled into a frown with glacial slowness, the expression finally coming to rest on his brow like a whale washed onto a beach by the incoming tide. “The sapient aliens should not be referred to using a flippant and insulting term.”
Surprised that the doctor was opening the meeting in that fashion, Geary glanced at Charban. “Dancers is neither flippant nor insulting,” he said. “It’s a name given out of respect for the aliens by our sailors.”
“What our sailors think scarcely matters,” Macadams said. “What matters is how the sapient aliens feel about it.”
General Charban smiled as if Dr. Macadams had just said something nice. “I’ve talked with the Dancers about the name. Once I explained what dance meant to humans, the Dancers seemed to be very pleased. Their word for dance appears to be the same as their word for work, as both involve using learned, repeating patterns. I believe they see the name as human praise for how well they do their tasks, which is indeed why the sailors gave them that name.”
Geary nodded. “The ease and gracefulness with which the Dancers maneuver their ships. That’s impressed everyone who’s seen it.”
Macadams turned his frown on Charban. “Given your lack of qualifications, your interpretation of how the sapient aliens feel about the word is irrelevant,” the doctor said, giving no sign that he was aware he’d just flipped his prior argument on its head.
“Excuse me,” Geary said, his instincts to defend those working for him kicking in. “General Charban is the most qualified person in human space to interpret the feelings of the aliens because of his practical experience dealing with them.”
After a long pause in which Macadams gave no sign of having heard Geary, the leader of the science team spoke again. “That word is no longer to be used to describe them out of respect for the sapient aliens.”
Resigned to having to work with the doctor, and knowing the limits of his own authority, Geary made a slight, ambiguous gesture with one hand. “What term do you want used in official correspondence?”
Dr. Macadams’s e
xpression shifted to annoyance. “What do they call themselves? That’s what we should call them.”
Charban was no longer trying to smile, but he kept his voice neutral. “I’ve asked the . . . them many times, and the answer is always ‘we call ourselves we’ or ‘we call ourselves us.’ I’m not sure whether they don’t understand the question or are deliberately withholding it out of cultural considerations.”
One of Macadams’s assistants nodded, his expression thoughtful. “It might be they consider their name for their own species to be some sort of taboo item not to be shared with outsiders. But they also might not categorize themselves in the same ways humans do.”
Dr. Macadams twisted his head enough to bend a withering look at the unfortunate assistant who had dared to comment. The assistant fell silent, staring at the table. “More likely, your translation device is not up to the challenge of dealing with communications.”
“It’s not our translation device,” Charban said. “The Dancers sent us the software for it, which when loaded into an isolated device adapted itself to our hardware so the Dancers’ software could function. Our coders still don’t know how the Dancers did that.” Charban had apparently made up his mind to repeat the word “Dancers” as often as possible.
“Operator error,” Macadams said, dismissing Charban’s words. “My assistants will go over it and get it working properly as soon as you send it to this ship.”
Another brief pause followed before Geary interceded. “We will send Boundless a copy of the software sent to us so you can load it into your own device. But we will not give up our own means of communication with the . . . aliens.”
Boundless Page 21