Implacable, page 16
“He said, when you factor in all the costs and all the requirements and all the benefits up and down the line, it’s the most efficient way of growing crops. For a while it’s also labor-intensive, but once robotics reaches a certain place there’s no contest.” She pointed around the area. “The crops support each other, some adding to the soil what others take, and protect each other from pests or too much sun or whatever.”
“That sounds like a great way of doing things,” Geary said. “It figures that the Dancers would employ the most efficient form of growing crops.”
He watched as one of the big robots picking fruit paused in its work before turning and, its long legs stepping daintily as if it were a massive insect, approaching him and Desjani. None of the Dancers acted alarmed, so Geary waited until the robot stopped. Extending two arms, it offered him and Desjani each a fruit.
“Do you think it’s ripe?” Geary asked, examining the gift.
“It’s ripe,” Desjani said, her voice so full of certainty that Geary looked at her in surprise.
She held up the fruit, giving Geary a flat look. “This is a paracot. Native to Kosatka, my home world. At least, we’ve always believed it was native to Kosatka.”
“We’re a long ways from Kosatka,” Geary said. “Was any of this in what they served us yesterday?”
“Yes. I thought it tasted familiar, but also thought what are the odds? It turns out the odds were a lot better than I realized.”
Geary looked to the nearest Dancer, trying to frame his question right.
“This . . . good fruit . . . grows here,
“Also very far from here,
“A . . . distant planet.”
The Dancer made a sharp movement with one claw before they replied.
“Life knows no limit,
“All who travel carry life,
“And leave legacy.”
“That sounds like an admission they’ve been dropping off seeds on worlds their ships visited,” Desjani said.
“Or,” Geary said, “an admission that any traveler carries contamination with them. Humanity long ago accepted that by traveling to other worlds we introduce new elements of life there. We can’t prevent it.”
“Same difference,” Desjani said. She typed quickly. It means they were on Kosatka at some point. Long enough before humans got there for paracot trees to be well established in the wild. Why didn’t the Dancers settle it themselves before humanity exploded into that sector of space?
That’s a question we’re probably not going to learn the answer to for some time, Geary typed in reply.
After a leisurely stroll through the plants of the mixed farm, the humans were urged back onto the bus.
Their destination this time only became clear when the bus rolled out onto the landing field where the Alliance shuttle was still grounded, awaiting Geary and Desjani’s return. The day had gotten steadily more cloudy, with the feeling of rain threatening. With the sun obscured, the temperature had dropped to a level that was slightly cold even with Geary’s jacket closed.
“I guess our tour is over,” Desjani said. Do you get the feeling today’s agenda was cut short after the incident at the museum/temple/whatever? she typed.
There’s no way to tell since the Dancers never gave us an agenda for this visit. Geary looked about him, trying to judge the moods of the Dancers. They’re not acting upset as far as I can tell. For what little that was worth. No human had yet developed much skill in sensing subtle emotions in the Dancers. Maybe they just want us to leave before it starts raining.
The bus stopped near the shuttle, the Dancers coming off to form the same line they’d been in when the humans arrived. Geary braced himself for another round of interspecies hugs, but to his relief the Dancers only waved the humans on, their claws rubbing together in “applause.”
“Farewell human friends,
“Your time here very useful,
“Valuable as well.”
That sounded good, though “useful” had a lot of possible connotations, not all of them good as far as humans were concerned. Geary had already memorized his own goodbye and tried to speak in a way that emphasized sincerity.
“We both are honored,
“By your hospitality,
“We sorrow to leave.”
After waiting several awkward seconds to see if the Dancers would say or do anything else, Geary nodded to Desjani and they both walked to the shuttle. The ramp dropped as they approached. Geary paused at the foot of the ramp to render a salute toward the Dancers, wondering how they’d take that gesture.
Once he was inside, the ramp raised and the pilot called back. “Are we good to lift, Admiral?”
“I guess so,” Geary said.
“There are six small Dancer ships hovering nearby. Probably our escort out. We’ll lift as soon as you’re strapped in, Admiral.”
Shuttle pilots also had to practice forms of diplomacy, including how to tell admirals they needed to strap into their seats.
Geary, securely strapped in next to Desjani, felt the shuttle lift and watched on the displays as the planetary surface dropped away. He felt an odd melancholy, perhaps born of opportunities that hadn’t appeared and answers that had often been ambiguous.
“At least we learned they were vegetarians,” Desjani said. “And we learned they have mind-bending tapestries.”
“And we learned they have a secret stockpile of stale Danaka Yoruk bars,” Geary said.
“That’s important, too.”
What had they seen without realizing the importance of it? The sensor feeds back to the fleet should have recorded everything. Hopefully they had seen more than the unaided human eye could, and the experts among the fleet would be able to spot everything of significance.
Hopefully.
In the seat beside him, Desjani carefully deactivated the sensors and recording devices in her uniform, then shuddered. “Spiders,” she muttered.
* * *
QUARANTINE after returning to Dauntless hadn’t taken long, because the shuttle on the ground had been able to sample the outside for dangerous pathogens and had found none that humans weren’t already protected against. After decontamination and a thorough screening from Dr. Nasr, Geary found himself in the familiar conference room aboard Dauntless, along with the real presences of General Charban and John Senn, the historian, as well as Senior Chief Tarrani. Ambassador Rycerz, back on Boundless once more, attended in virtual form from her office. So did Captain Smythe aboard Tanuki.
Captain Desjani was also present in person, but reluctantly, having concluded that Dauntless’s crew had gotten a bit loose during her brief absence and needed some tightening up.
“I assume you all saw and heard everything on the surface,” Geary said.
“Everything you saw and heard,” Rycerz said, resting her chin on one hand. “Sometimes nothing but what you could see. That unfortunately includes the things in the night.”
“The sensors in our uniforms couldn’t spot anything else?” Desjani asked, surprised.
“Whatever made up that window was transparent to some visible light and nothing else,” Senior Chief Tarrani explained. “The wall wasn’t transparent to anything. The best technicians in the fleet confirmed that, Admiral. Your sensors saw nothing more than what you could using the available light. Which is to say, pretty much nothing. Vague shapes that can’t be exploited or fine-tuned or analyzed to come up with anything more precise or clearer.”
“That’s an interesting trick,” Geary said. “Too bad we didn’t get a sample of the window material. And the wall material.”
Rycerz looked down, reading something on her desk. “Vegetarians. Vegetarians who arrange their food in artistic designs. That’s going to shock a few people.”
“That’s going to shock a lot of people,” Charban said.
“This thing about the fruit,” Rycerz said, tapping her desk. “The . . . paracot. You brought back some of it? Did you have it tested?”
“Yes,” Geary said. “It’s genetically almost identical to a Kosatkan paracot. There are some minor differences that could be caused by genetic drift.”
“Why would Kosatka be the only planet where we’ve seen this?”
“It’s not,” John Senn said, drawing startled looks. “There are a number of extremely similar plants that have been found on more than one planet we’ve explored. I mean genetically extremely similar. But those similarities have been attributed to coincidence. Chance.” He smiled, his voice taking on a sarcastic tilt. “The official scientific term for the ‘apparent’ similarities is pseudosimilisorigo, false similar origin.”
“Plants with that much similarity in their genetics were put down to coincidence?” Geary asked. It was exactly because of the fruit question that he’d asked that Senn be present for this meeting.
“Of course,” John Senn replied. “Because it couldn’t have been anyone nonhuman spreading those plants to other worlds before we reached them. Everyone knew that wasn’t true. So it had to be something else. No matter how improbable that something else happened to be.”
“Sometimes,” Ambassador Rycerz said in a dry tone, “Occam’s razor cuts the wrong way. These tapestries. You got some excellent scans of them.”
“Dr. Cresida is examining them,” Charban said. “She’s already confirmed the speculation that some of the tapestries illustrate scientific principles. Others . . .”
“Fleet medical staff are trying to analyze the, um, hallucinogenic tapestries,” Geary said. “They’ve confirmed the effects of looking at them, but have no idea how the tapestries are creating those effects.”
Rycerz nodded slowly, her eyes lowered. “I’m wondering if the Dancers intended for you and Captain Desjani to gaze at those tapestries long enough to be strongly impacted by them. But I can’t see why the Dancers would want that.”
“I’ve been in the entry hall of the Alliance Senate on Unity,” Geary said, “where exact reproductions of the greatest art in human history are on display. I felt there the same sort of awe that I felt in that Dancer building. If nothing else, it tells us that humans and Dancers share something in our ability to be moved by art.”
“That is important,” the ambassador agreed. “As is our apparent shared ability to have our minds bemused by some art. The fundamental question we’re facing is why did the Dancers bother inviting you and Captain Desjani to the surface? I agree with you that this visit does not appear to have been intended to produce any breakthroughs or major developments. Some sort of incremental acceptance of humanity by the Dancers seems the most likely objective.”
“Or another test of humanity,” General Charban said. “The Dancers wanted to know what humans ‘heard’ when they saw those tapestries.”
“If they really wanted to know that, why didn’t they ask again afterwards?” Rycerz said, rapping one fist on her desk. “They could have put the question to Admiral Geary again once they were outside.”
“Perhaps they thought we couldn’t ‘hear’ the tapestries when we weren’t viewing them,” Geary suggested.
Ambassador Rycerz made a face but eventually added a reluctant nod. “That can’t be ruled out. But why didn’t the Dancers escorting you know that the Dancers visiting that tapestry place would object to your presence?” Ambassador Rycerz sounded as if she was asking the question of herself. “It seems a very amateurish mistake for the Dancers to make.”
“Captain Desjani and I had some ideas about that,” Geary said.
“Yes. I heard them.” Rycerz sighed, sitting back in her chair. “Those ideas also can’t be ruled out. But that doesn’t mean your ideas are correct. We lack enough information to know. Why were there any hiccups at all? We were brought to this star system. The Dancers wanted us here, so they must have been prepared for our arrival. And the presence of the Taon on the surface means they are used to having other species around. The Dancers must have procedures for dealing with those other species. Why would they not have followed their own rules when humans were involved?”
“They have followed some rules,” Geary said. “Only speak with one, and human problem, humans fix.”
“How do we know that’s not just a policy applied to humans in particular?”
“Governments and bureaucracies like to stick to fixed policies, if they have them,” John Senn said, speaking carefully, as if uncertain he should be saying anything this time.
“Except when they have to do something different,” Rycerz replied.
Senn made a gesture that was half shrug, half shaking of the head in disagreement. “When they have to do something different they may say they’re following a different policy, but in fact they’re usually following the same policy differently.”
Rycerz gazed fixedly at Senn for a long moment. “I may have made a mistake letting you go to Admiral Geary’s ship instead of keeping you with me,” she finally said.
Senn stared at Rycerz as if trying to decide whether he’d been praised or threatened.
Charban, looking as if he was trying not to appear amused by Senn’s words, gestured outward. “We need to keep in mind that while the Dancers brought us to this star system, the Dancers did not invite us to visit the regions of space they control. We showed up on their doorstep. They invited us in instead of sending us away, but we don’t know why.”
“We told them why we’d come,” Rycerz said, her voice growing sharper. “To establish permanent diplomatic relations and closer ties.”
“And they agreed to let us in,” Charban repeated. “That doesn’t mean the Dancers ever agreed to our agenda with them. The Dancers have never made clear their agenda with us. If we try to analyze Dancer actions in terms of how well they match the agenda we want to pursue, we may be barking up the wrong tree.”
Rycerz sighed heavily this time, rubbing her eyes with one hand. “Let me say this plainly. I cannot accept that the Dancers have no interest in pursuing diplomatic relations, and perhaps only invited us here to observe our reactions to events. Because if I accept that, it means my mission has failed, and all of your efforts to help it succeed were futile. I have to continue acting, and believing, that we can make this happen, even if that means convincing the Dancers to do something they didn’t plan on agreeing to when they brought us here.”
“You’ll continue to have the fleet’s full backing for that,” Geary said, looking around to allow the others to nod in agreement when his eyes rested on them. “We all know how important this is for the Alliance and for humanity as a whole. I agree with General Charban that we can’t assume the Dancers share our goals, but I also have to consider the possibility that the Dancers do want the same things we do and are sending us messages intended to convey that, messages which we are unable to understand properly.”
“If I may,” John Senn added, “I think we need to pay attention to that tapestry that seemed to depict a near-extinction-level event on a Dancer planet. If the Dancers experienced that within their historical memory, on their home world, it would have had a huge effect on how they view everything.”
Desjani snorted. “I’m not disagreeing, I thought the same thing, but if the Dancers experienced that sort of random, horrible event, why would they have come up with this idea that the universe forms a meaningful pattern to which they contribute?”
“If the Dancers are anything like people,” Senn said, “they have to try to make sense of something like that. Why did it happen? Why did our species survive something that could have wiped it out? Humans sometimes decide such things are random, and meaningless to the universe. But more often humans attempt to come up with reasons that make sense to them. Why did it happen? Saying it’s part of some huge plan is comforting compared to it was just chance. Why did we survive as a species? Saying it’s because we have some special role to play is more comforting than saying we were lucky.”
Captain Smythe, silent up until now, finally spoke. “Speaking as an engineer, and we still believe that the Dancers are born engineers, I always assume there’s a reason when something happens. A reason I can analyze. If something goes wrong or doesn’t work, I can take steps to fix it. It’s not an engineer’s approach to accept that something is random and unpredictable. We need to figure out the cause and what to do about it, and we always assume we can do that.”
“Like what Dr. Cresida talked about,” Geary said, surprised by how things were tying together. “With quantum mechanics. The Dancers don’t accept unpredictable or uncertain elements. They view it all as certainties even though that seems totally wrong to us.”
Ambassador Rycerz looked from Smythe to Geary. “If they assume they survived for a reason, they must assume every other space-faring species survived for a reason. And they think they know the reason.”
“The tapestry of the universe,” Charban said. “The unfinished picture they have to help finish.”
“And we must be here to help that as well,” Rycerz said. “Unless the Dancers have their own form of evil forces and assume some species, some actions in the universe, are driven by powers wanting to prevent the picture from being finished.”
“That public art the Dancers wouldn’t look at?” Desjani suggested.
Charban buried his face in his hands for a moment. “Everything we see and learn creates more questions and offers few certain answers. Are the tapestries ever supposed to be finished? That’s a human conceit. Finish the project. Figure out how the universe will end. What if the Dancers believe the picture is an eternal work in progress, never to be completed?”
“That would really be a cool idea,” John Senn remarked, his face lighting up with enthusiasm. “I need to mention that to Jazz.”
“Jazz?” Geary asked, wondering who he meant.
“Dr. Cresida,” Senn explained. “Her first name is Jasmine, and the way her mind works is like jazz, you know? Constant exploration and improvisation and testing boundaries and . . .” His expression shifted to embarrassment as he realized that everyone else was staring at him. “You, uh, probably shouldn’t call her that, though.”
