Implacable, page 34
Charban almost rolled his eyes. “Human problem, humans fix.”
“I think there’s something else in there, though,” Lieutenant Jamenson said. “It’s subtle. A shift in the way they’re addressing things. Like they’re analyzing what we did and are starting to add that into their intentions. That’s my impression.”
Geary nodded, studying Jamenson. “If you see that, it might well be there. See how it develops.”
“I wish I could have contributed more,” John Senn said. “But the stakes seemed a bit high for me to stick my nose into it.”
“Did you understand what the dispute was about?” Geary asked.
“Oh, sure. That was easy. Kadavergehorsam. That’s what it was about.”
Everyone else stared at him in various stages of perplexity. Everyone else except Dr. Cresida, who nodded toward Senn. “Corpse-like obedience. Blindly following orders to the letter. The dream of authoritarians for thousands of years summed up in a single word.”
“I’ve never heard it,” Geary said. “Corpse-like obedience. I’ve met people who expected it, though.”
“Article 16,” General Charban said, “was written to avoid anyone being able to claim that as an excuse for their actions.”
“But the military still loves the idea,” Dr. Cresida said.
“Of course it does,” Charban said with a wry smile. “The military wants smart, capable, versatile individuals who can think for themselves and will only do precisely what they’re told to do. Militaries are like that. So are some forms of government, and any number of businesses.”
“Perhaps militaries present it in its clearest form,” John Senn remarked. “And, yet . . . I saw our fleet, our people, think for themselves. Those other ships were told to attack us, right?”
Geary nodded. “The four battle cruisers were supposed to destroy Boundless to keep it from our hands. Even on Invincible they wouldn’t do that, though Captain Bai tried again when she charged Topaz.”
“Bai did try to fire on Boundless?” Charban asked.
“Yes. Members of her crew took it upon themselves to abort the firing commands.”
Dr. Cresida gave Geary an arch look. “But you still expect obedience to your orders.”
“Yes, I do. It’s important.” Geary scratched his head, thinking. “It’s critical, really, that I know people will do what I tell them to do under normal circumstances. But, at the same time, there has to be a mental and moral kill switch in there. Something that can say no when an order crosses a line.”
“Such as being ordered to fire on other Alliance ships,” Lieutenant Jamenson said.
“Like that,” Geary agreed. “Like Article 16. Without that, we’d just be robots, like one of the new ships said when shifting command authority to me. I understand the contradiction, Doctor. Yes, you’re expected to obey, but you’re also expected to think. All I can say is it seems to be the best system humans have been able to develop. Oh, speaking of systems, you’re free to ask the Dancers about those possible gate modifications.”
Charban gave an exasperated groan. “Anything for a straight answer, even if it’s an answer only Dr. Cresida might be able to understand. What is it that all of us are missing when dealing with the Dancers?”
“They are aliens,” Lieutenant Iger said.
“Yes. But I can’t help thinking our problem is less one of alien thought patterns than it is of something we ought to be able to grasp as easily as Dr. Cresida does all those equations. Pragmatism. There are certain requirements to get things done. Regardless of how you view the universe. There’s what we want to do, what we can do, and what we must do. Those often conflict, but there’s always a way to reconcile them.”
He paused, his brow creased in thought. “Admiral, the two lieutenants and I joined the military because we thought we had to, because the Syndics attacked and kept attacking and it felt like we had to help stop them. But, Admiral Geary, a century ago before the war, you could make a choice to serve in the fleet based on your personal desires. Dr. Cresida is here, on a warship. So is our resident historian. In an ideal universe, they would be working on other things, I would never have worn battle armor into combat, and Tanya Desjani never would have commanded a battle cruiser in action.”
“I think your vision of an ideal universe differs from Tanya Desjani’s,” Geary said. “What’s the point?”
“We all ended up here, in the same place, dealing with the same problems. And, so far, we’ve been in agreement about what to do. Even though we came from very different places and experienced different things. Why doesn’t that work with the Dancers?”
“Because we haven’t figured out the pragmatic solution,” Jamenson said. “The Dancers are waiting for us to do that.”
“Why not just tell us?” Geary said wearily.
“Maybe that’s the test,” Jamenson said. “The big test. Can they figure out something that ought to be obvious? If not, how can they be trusted?”
“Trust does seem to play a big role,” Lieutenant Iger said. “Lokaa of the Taon made a huge deal of it. And the Wooareek wanted to see a bunch of humans in person in one of their star systems to see what they thought of us. At least, we think that’s what they wanted.”
“And the Dancers,” Geary said. “That visit Captain Desjani and I had on the surface. How would we react to them? How would a lot of Dancers react to us? In person, not in virtual form. Maybe that’s a prerequisite for a deal. As close to personal contact as possible. The Kicks and enigmas couldn’t do it, and they also couldn’t make any live-and-let-live arrangement with another species. But how does that lead us to the deal?”
“Whatever it is has to be something that includes room for Midway,” Charban said. “Bradamont and Rogero have been very patient, but they’re also frustrated. That ‘only speak to one’ thing. What solution meets the needs of the Dancers and of different parts of humanity?”
“A pragmatic one,” Geary said. “As you said, General, you all have different backgrounds. Maybe the answer we’re seeking will come from one of those.”
* * *
THE lawyer sent from Boundless to lead the investigation into the deaths aboard Implacable didn’t look dangerous. That is, her appearance was pleasant enough, nothing about her indicating any kinship with sharks or other merciless predators. Eyeing her, Geary wondered if she was like that writer he’d met a long time ago, a kind-looking woman who wrote blood-soaked stories about vampires and zombies. Perhaps this woman, despite her outwardly open appearance, also secretly wrote stories of death and despair and entire worlds dying. Because she was definitely a lawyer. “Citizen Thompson?”
She nodded, all business. “Mary Thompson. I’m only here to interview General Julian. No one else aboard this ship has firsthand knowledge about the shootings beyond what you viewed in the message from Implacable, correct?”
“That is correct,” Geary said. “If you’ve viewed the record of that message, you know as much as I do. Do you think General Julian will actually cooperate in the investigation?”
Thompson shrugged. “People like him tend to fall into two categories. Either they refuse to say a thing, or else they insist on telling you at great length exactly what they did and why they did it and why this whole thing is unfair because it’s obvious they did nothing wrong.”
“General Julian strikes me as the sort who’ll do the second thing,” Geary said, escorting the lawyer to the vicinity of the brig. “This is Chief Master-at-Arms Slonaker. He’ll provide anything you need. If there is anything else I can do, please let me know.” He paused, fighting down a wave of anger. “If General Julian did give the orders, I want him to pay for every life taken.”
Mary Thompson nodded. “I’ll do my best to ascertain the facts. Is it correct that every living member of the special security force from Implacable is currently imprisoned on . . . Typhoon?”
“They are all there,” Geary said. “Along with the remains of the special security force members who died during the disarming of their force.”
“Deaths during a military operation are a different issue,” Thompson said. “It’s not part of the investigation I’m doing. I’d appreciate Typhoon being notified that I’ll be going there next. Have you talked to any of those people?”
“No,” Geary said. “I’ve made visits to a number of the new ships to meet their crews, but not Implacable given the need for the investigation, and I haven’t been to Typhoon since the prisoners from Implacable were brought there.”
“Good.” The lawyer looked about her. “You should feel free to visit Implacable now. The people on that ship were walking around like those expecting a hammer to fall at any minute. Frankly, I don’t expect to learn much from those being held on Typhoon. Most likely they’ll all try to throw their dead comrades under the bugs by blaming all of the killings on them.”
“Under the bugs?” Geary asked. “I thought the expression was ‘under the bunk.’ That’s what they say in Glenlyon, as in ‘hiding the evidence.’ ”
“No, no,” Thompson said, “it’s ‘under the bugs.’ Not just hidden but hurting them, too. That’s what we say on Wotan.”
Geary watched the lawyer and Chief Slonaker walking toward the brig cell holding General Julian. He thought about whether he should go with them, exchange some words with Julian, but decided against it. He’d either gloat, or try to punch Julian. Either action might hinder the investigation.
He turned back toward his stateroom, hoping that he’d never have to speak to General Julian again.
The next day he made sure to visit Implacable. The battleship wasn’t that far off now, part of the Alliance formation. The crew was indeed nervous and unhappy. Geary did his best to reassure them, to express shared sorrow for the loss of their shipmates, and to let them feel like they were fully part of the fleet from which they’d been temporarily separated. He also told Commander Sasorith that she’d remain in command and made sure Captain Rogov wasn’t being a problem.
“No problem,” Sasorith told him. “He barely speaks to anyone. He blames himself for the sailors who died.”
“Should I speak to him?” Geary asked.
“I don’t think that would be a good idea. Captain Rogov still feels you created the conditions that led to the shootings.”
There wasn’t much he could say to that, because in a way it was true. It was also false in very important ways, because Geary didn’t think he’d had any choice, and Rogov himself had been willing to order other ships to fire on their Alliance comrades when told to do so by General Julian. Maybe it was Rogov’s knowledge of his own guilt that contributed to his depression. “Have medical personnel seen Captain Rogov to assess his mental and emotional state?”
“Yes, Admiral,” Commander Sasorith said.
There wasn’t anything else he could do.
The next day, Commander Sasorith called to inform him that Captain Rogov had killed himself.
“It’s not your fault,” Desjani said.
“Yes, it is. He was one of my officers. I was responsible for him.”
“He made his own choices. Sasorith said they discovered he wasn’t taking the meds he’d been prescribed.”
“I’m still responsible,” Geary said, his voice low, his eyes focused on nothing.
She sighed heavily. “Yes, as fleet commanding officer the welfare and health of everyone in the fleet is part of your duties. But you’re not one of the living stars. You can only do so much. Don’t beat yourself up because you couldn’t do more.”
He gave her a glance. “You know exactly how I feel because you feel it, too.”
Desjani didn’t reply for a moment. “Of course I do. I’ve never stopped wishing I could’ve saved more from the Fleche. Everybody told me how great I was for saving so few. And I never believed that. Any more than you can believe what I’m telling you about Rogov. But you have to accept it. It’s the only way to keep going. You know that as well as I do. We do our best. And when that’s not enough . . . we suck it up and try harder. No one tries harder than you. It’s not your fault.”
She was right, he knew. But, as with her, that knowledge was a cold comfort. Like her, he’d never stop wishing he could’ve done something more, even if that something was not humanly possible.
And so he made a call he didn’t want to have to make but felt he had to. “Dr. Nasr, I wanted to ensure that General Julian is being medically evaluated on a regular basis.”
Dr. Nasr nodded, his expression somber. “This is about Captain Rogov? I have heard. You need not fear that General Julian will attempt the same act. There are people who keenly feel their responsibility for the impact their words and actions have on others and on events. Such was Captain Rogov. And there are those who never spare a thought for such things, whose only concerns are for themselves. Such is General Julian. He continues to express the firm belief that his actions were perfect, and once back in the Alliance he will be freed, celebrated, and his opponents will be punished in the most severe manner. He is looking forward to that, and will do nothing that might prevent him from witnessing the triumph he is certain will come.”
It wasn’t exactly welcome news to hear, but it was one less thing to worry about.
* * *
THERE were ways to distract himself from dark thoughts. Paperwork was one of those ways, and there was always paperwork to do for someone commanding a fleet.
At the end of a long day, having finally caught up on the latest paperwork, Geary was looking forward to hopefully getting a decent night’s sleep. But the moment he prepared to crawl into bed a call came from General Charban.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Admiral, but this is urgent,” Charban said. “John Senn was watching the transmitter when something unusual came in. The Dancers sent the same message to us and to Boundless. Specifically addressed to both ships. They’ve never done that before.”
“What’s the message?” Geary asked.
“I asked Lieutenant Jamenson if she agreed with me on my interpretation, and she did.”
“What is the message?” Geary repeated, growing more concerned.
“I’d have to call it an ultimatum. Yes, the Dancers sent us an ultimatum. As Lieutenant Jamenson summarized it, they’re tired of messing around, they want us to present a proposal for long-term relationships they can deal with, and if we can’t come up with that within six more days they’d like us to leave. Of course, the Dancers said it much more poetically than that. But it doesn’t require a degree in literature to get the meaning.”
“Oh, hell.” Geary’s comm panel buzzed. “Hold on, General. Yes?”
“Ambassador Rycerz wants to speak with you, Admiral. She says it’s urgent.”
It had been a long day, and it was also going to be a long night.
* * *
THE next couple of days were filled with a different kind of stress. It was one thing to have a goal in sight and try to find a way to reach it. It was much different when the goal itself was uncertain beyond the vague need to meet whatever requirements the Dancers had.
Every discussion seemed to go in circles, bouncing variations on the same ideas off the same problems and getting nowhere.
Not wanting to pressure Charban and his people, Geary nonetheless dragged himself down to their work area to see if he could contribute anything useful. He hadn’t gotten enough sleep since the Dancers issued their ultimatum, but neither had a lot of other people.
The compartment had a full complement inside. In addition to General Charban’s usual group, Kommodor Bradamont and Colonel Rogero were present. Everyone was sprawled in their seats in the postures of mentally and physically weary individuals who had been running steadily for too long and still couldn’t see a finish line anywhere.
Everyone except Dr. Cresida, who still sat as if unaffected by the crisis. But Charban had told Geary that she was working at least as hard as anyone else, trying to come up with proposals from a different perspective.
“Relax,” Geary said as he joined them. “Go ahead and keep working.”
“I feel like we’re trying to stack marbles,” Charban said. “Lots of effort, but the same result every time.”
“I wish the pressure was generating new ideas,” Geary said. “But I understand why it’s not. I certainly haven’t thought of anything new. If my ancestors plan on dropping any hints, I hope they do it soon.”
Lieutenant Jamenson, her eyes bleary, looked at him. “One of your ancestors helped form the Alliance fleet. Didn’t you tell us that, Admiral? That must have been hard, too.”
“It was. They did find a way to work together.”
John Senn gazed from Jamenson to Geary, his brow lowered in thought. “Admiral, you did mention that before. It’s been stuck in the back of my brain for some reason.”
“How can that example help?” Charban asked. “We don’t want to talk the Dancers into joining the Alliance, and if we did there’s no reason to think they’d agree.”
“But . . .” Senn made a vague gesture. “That cooperation back then . . .
“When did it start? Didn’t some of it happen before the Alliance was actually formed?”
“It depends how you look at it,” Geary said. “I’ve discovered some histories claim the first allied defensive action was when my ancestor prevented an attack on Kosatka by an unidentified warship. Others say it was later when Glenlyon helped defend Kosatka against a worse attack, and some say it wasn’t until a force made up of ships from three different star systems combined to defeat an attack on Glenlyon.”
“That was all before the Alliance formed?”
“Yes,” Geary said.
“How did they do that?” John Senn asked, looking perplexed. “Everything I’ve seen of this fleet is one person in command and we’re all part of the Alliance and basically we’re this one thing. But back then they weren’t?”
“I think there’s something else in there, though,” Lieutenant Jamenson said. “It’s subtle. A shift in the way they’re addressing things. Like they’re analyzing what we did and are starting to add that into their intentions. That’s my impression.”
Geary nodded, studying Jamenson. “If you see that, it might well be there. See how it develops.”
“I wish I could have contributed more,” John Senn said. “But the stakes seemed a bit high for me to stick my nose into it.”
“Did you understand what the dispute was about?” Geary asked.
“Oh, sure. That was easy. Kadavergehorsam. That’s what it was about.”
Everyone else stared at him in various stages of perplexity. Everyone else except Dr. Cresida, who nodded toward Senn. “Corpse-like obedience. Blindly following orders to the letter. The dream of authoritarians for thousands of years summed up in a single word.”
“I’ve never heard it,” Geary said. “Corpse-like obedience. I’ve met people who expected it, though.”
“Article 16,” General Charban said, “was written to avoid anyone being able to claim that as an excuse for their actions.”
“But the military still loves the idea,” Dr. Cresida said.
“Of course it does,” Charban said with a wry smile. “The military wants smart, capable, versatile individuals who can think for themselves and will only do precisely what they’re told to do. Militaries are like that. So are some forms of government, and any number of businesses.”
“Perhaps militaries present it in its clearest form,” John Senn remarked. “And, yet . . . I saw our fleet, our people, think for themselves. Those other ships were told to attack us, right?”
Geary nodded. “The four battle cruisers were supposed to destroy Boundless to keep it from our hands. Even on Invincible they wouldn’t do that, though Captain Bai tried again when she charged Topaz.”
“Bai did try to fire on Boundless?” Charban asked.
“Yes. Members of her crew took it upon themselves to abort the firing commands.”
Dr. Cresida gave Geary an arch look. “But you still expect obedience to your orders.”
“Yes, I do. It’s important.” Geary scratched his head, thinking. “It’s critical, really, that I know people will do what I tell them to do under normal circumstances. But, at the same time, there has to be a mental and moral kill switch in there. Something that can say no when an order crosses a line.”
“Such as being ordered to fire on other Alliance ships,” Lieutenant Jamenson said.
“Like that,” Geary agreed. “Like Article 16. Without that, we’d just be robots, like one of the new ships said when shifting command authority to me. I understand the contradiction, Doctor. Yes, you’re expected to obey, but you’re also expected to think. All I can say is it seems to be the best system humans have been able to develop. Oh, speaking of systems, you’re free to ask the Dancers about those possible gate modifications.”
Charban gave an exasperated groan. “Anything for a straight answer, even if it’s an answer only Dr. Cresida might be able to understand. What is it that all of us are missing when dealing with the Dancers?”
“They are aliens,” Lieutenant Iger said.
“Yes. But I can’t help thinking our problem is less one of alien thought patterns than it is of something we ought to be able to grasp as easily as Dr. Cresida does all those equations. Pragmatism. There are certain requirements to get things done. Regardless of how you view the universe. There’s what we want to do, what we can do, and what we must do. Those often conflict, but there’s always a way to reconcile them.”
He paused, his brow creased in thought. “Admiral, the two lieutenants and I joined the military because we thought we had to, because the Syndics attacked and kept attacking and it felt like we had to help stop them. But, Admiral Geary, a century ago before the war, you could make a choice to serve in the fleet based on your personal desires. Dr. Cresida is here, on a warship. So is our resident historian. In an ideal universe, they would be working on other things, I would never have worn battle armor into combat, and Tanya Desjani never would have commanded a battle cruiser in action.”
“I think your vision of an ideal universe differs from Tanya Desjani’s,” Geary said. “What’s the point?”
“We all ended up here, in the same place, dealing with the same problems. And, so far, we’ve been in agreement about what to do. Even though we came from very different places and experienced different things. Why doesn’t that work with the Dancers?”
“Because we haven’t figured out the pragmatic solution,” Jamenson said. “The Dancers are waiting for us to do that.”
“Why not just tell us?” Geary said wearily.
“Maybe that’s the test,” Jamenson said. “The big test. Can they figure out something that ought to be obvious? If not, how can they be trusted?”
“Trust does seem to play a big role,” Lieutenant Iger said. “Lokaa of the Taon made a huge deal of it. And the Wooareek wanted to see a bunch of humans in person in one of their star systems to see what they thought of us. At least, we think that’s what they wanted.”
“And the Dancers,” Geary said. “That visit Captain Desjani and I had on the surface. How would we react to them? How would a lot of Dancers react to us? In person, not in virtual form. Maybe that’s a prerequisite for a deal. As close to personal contact as possible. The Kicks and enigmas couldn’t do it, and they also couldn’t make any live-and-let-live arrangement with another species. But how does that lead us to the deal?”
“Whatever it is has to be something that includes room for Midway,” Charban said. “Bradamont and Rogero have been very patient, but they’re also frustrated. That ‘only speak to one’ thing. What solution meets the needs of the Dancers and of different parts of humanity?”
“A pragmatic one,” Geary said. “As you said, General, you all have different backgrounds. Maybe the answer we’re seeking will come from one of those.”
* * *
THE lawyer sent from Boundless to lead the investigation into the deaths aboard Implacable didn’t look dangerous. That is, her appearance was pleasant enough, nothing about her indicating any kinship with sharks or other merciless predators. Eyeing her, Geary wondered if she was like that writer he’d met a long time ago, a kind-looking woman who wrote blood-soaked stories about vampires and zombies. Perhaps this woman, despite her outwardly open appearance, also secretly wrote stories of death and despair and entire worlds dying. Because she was definitely a lawyer. “Citizen Thompson?”
She nodded, all business. “Mary Thompson. I’m only here to interview General Julian. No one else aboard this ship has firsthand knowledge about the shootings beyond what you viewed in the message from Implacable, correct?”
“That is correct,” Geary said. “If you’ve viewed the record of that message, you know as much as I do. Do you think General Julian will actually cooperate in the investigation?”
Thompson shrugged. “People like him tend to fall into two categories. Either they refuse to say a thing, or else they insist on telling you at great length exactly what they did and why they did it and why this whole thing is unfair because it’s obvious they did nothing wrong.”
“General Julian strikes me as the sort who’ll do the second thing,” Geary said, escorting the lawyer to the vicinity of the brig. “This is Chief Master-at-Arms Slonaker. He’ll provide anything you need. If there is anything else I can do, please let me know.” He paused, fighting down a wave of anger. “If General Julian did give the orders, I want him to pay for every life taken.”
Mary Thompson nodded. “I’ll do my best to ascertain the facts. Is it correct that every living member of the special security force from Implacable is currently imprisoned on . . . Typhoon?”
“They are all there,” Geary said. “Along with the remains of the special security force members who died during the disarming of their force.”
“Deaths during a military operation are a different issue,” Thompson said. “It’s not part of the investigation I’m doing. I’d appreciate Typhoon being notified that I’ll be going there next. Have you talked to any of those people?”
“No,” Geary said. “I’ve made visits to a number of the new ships to meet their crews, but not Implacable given the need for the investigation, and I haven’t been to Typhoon since the prisoners from Implacable were brought there.”
“Good.” The lawyer looked about her. “You should feel free to visit Implacable now. The people on that ship were walking around like those expecting a hammer to fall at any minute. Frankly, I don’t expect to learn much from those being held on Typhoon. Most likely they’ll all try to throw their dead comrades under the bugs by blaming all of the killings on them.”
“Under the bugs?” Geary asked. “I thought the expression was ‘under the bunk.’ That’s what they say in Glenlyon, as in ‘hiding the evidence.’ ”
“No, no,” Thompson said, “it’s ‘under the bugs.’ Not just hidden but hurting them, too. That’s what we say on Wotan.”
Geary watched the lawyer and Chief Slonaker walking toward the brig cell holding General Julian. He thought about whether he should go with them, exchange some words with Julian, but decided against it. He’d either gloat, or try to punch Julian. Either action might hinder the investigation.
He turned back toward his stateroom, hoping that he’d never have to speak to General Julian again.
The next day he made sure to visit Implacable. The battleship wasn’t that far off now, part of the Alliance formation. The crew was indeed nervous and unhappy. Geary did his best to reassure them, to express shared sorrow for the loss of their shipmates, and to let them feel like they were fully part of the fleet from which they’d been temporarily separated. He also told Commander Sasorith that she’d remain in command and made sure Captain Rogov wasn’t being a problem.
“No problem,” Sasorith told him. “He barely speaks to anyone. He blames himself for the sailors who died.”
“Should I speak to him?” Geary asked.
“I don’t think that would be a good idea. Captain Rogov still feels you created the conditions that led to the shootings.”
There wasn’t much he could say to that, because in a way it was true. It was also false in very important ways, because Geary didn’t think he’d had any choice, and Rogov himself had been willing to order other ships to fire on their Alliance comrades when told to do so by General Julian. Maybe it was Rogov’s knowledge of his own guilt that contributed to his depression. “Have medical personnel seen Captain Rogov to assess his mental and emotional state?”
“Yes, Admiral,” Commander Sasorith said.
There wasn’t anything else he could do.
The next day, Commander Sasorith called to inform him that Captain Rogov had killed himself.
“It’s not your fault,” Desjani said.
“Yes, it is. He was one of my officers. I was responsible for him.”
“He made his own choices. Sasorith said they discovered he wasn’t taking the meds he’d been prescribed.”
“I’m still responsible,” Geary said, his voice low, his eyes focused on nothing.
She sighed heavily. “Yes, as fleet commanding officer the welfare and health of everyone in the fleet is part of your duties. But you’re not one of the living stars. You can only do so much. Don’t beat yourself up because you couldn’t do more.”
He gave her a glance. “You know exactly how I feel because you feel it, too.”
Desjani didn’t reply for a moment. “Of course I do. I’ve never stopped wishing I could’ve saved more from the Fleche. Everybody told me how great I was for saving so few. And I never believed that. Any more than you can believe what I’m telling you about Rogov. But you have to accept it. It’s the only way to keep going. You know that as well as I do. We do our best. And when that’s not enough . . . we suck it up and try harder. No one tries harder than you. It’s not your fault.”
She was right, he knew. But, as with her, that knowledge was a cold comfort. Like her, he’d never stop wishing he could’ve done something more, even if that something was not humanly possible.
And so he made a call he didn’t want to have to make but felt he had to. “Dr. Nasr, I wanted to ensure that General Julian is being medically evaluated on a regular basis.”
Dr. Nasr nodded, his expression somber. “This is about Captain Rogov? I have heard. You need not fear that General Julian will attempt the same act. There are people who keenly feel their responsibility for the impact their words and actions have on others and on events. Such was Captain Rogov. And there are those who never spare a thought for such things, whose only concerns are for themselves. Such is General Julian. He continues to express the firm belief that his actions were perfect, and once back in the Alliance he will be freed, celebrated, and his opponents will be punished in the most severe manner. He is looking forward to that, and will do nothing that might prevent him from witnessing the triumph he is certain will come.”
It wasn’t exactly welcome news to hear, but it was one less thing to worry about.
* * *
THERE were ways to distract himself from dark thoughts. Paperwork was one of those ways, and there was always paperwork to do for someone commanding a fleet.
At the end of a long day, having finally caught up on the latest paperwork, Geary was looking forward to hopefully getting a decent night’s sleep. But the moment he prepared to crawl into bed a call came from General Charban.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Admiral, but this is urgent,” Charban said. “John Senn was watching the transmitter when something unusual came in. The Dancers sent the same message to us and to Boundless. Specifically addressed to both ships. They’ve never done that before.”
“What’s the message?” Geary asked.
“I asked Lieutenant Jamenson if she agreed with me on my interpretation, and she did.”
“What is the message?” Geary repeated, growing more concerned.
“I’d have to call it an ultimatum. Yes, the Dancers sent us an ultimatum. As Lieutenant Jamenson summarized it, they’re tired of messing around, they want us to present a proposal for long-term relationships they can deal with, and if we can’t come up with that within six more days they’d like us to leave. Of course, the Dancers said it much more poetically than that. But it doesn’t require a degree in literature to get the meaning.”
“Oh, hell.” Geary’s comm panel buzzed. “Hold on, General. Yes?”
“Ambassador Rycerz wants to speak with you, Admiral. She says it’s urgent.”
It had been a long day, and it was also going to be a long night.
* * *
THE next couple of days were filled with a different kind of stress. It was one thing to have a goal in sight and try to find a way to reach it. It was much different when the goal itself was uncertain beyond the vague need to meet whatever requirements the Dancers had.
Every discussion seemed to go in circles, bouncing variations on the same ideas off the same problems and getting nowhere.
Not wanting to pressure Charban and his people, Geary nonetheless dragged himself down to their work area to see if he could contribute anything useful. He hadn’t gotten enough sleep since the Dancers issued their ultimatum, but neither had a lot of other people.
The compartment had a full complement inside. In addition to General Charban’s usual group, Kommodor Bradamont and Colonel Rogero were present. Everyone was sprawled in their seats in the postures of mentally and physically weary individuals who had been running steadily for too long and still couldn’t see a finish line anywhere.
Everyone except Dr. Cresida, who still sat as if unaffected by the crisis. But Charban had told Geary that she was working at least as hard as anyone else, trying to come up with proposals from a different perspective.
“Relax,” Geary said as he joined them. “Go ahead and keep working.”
“I feel like we’re trying to stack marbles,” Charban said. “Lots of effort, but the same result every time.”
“I wish the pressure was generating new ideas,” Geary said. “But I understand why it’s not. I certainly haven’t thought of anything new. If my ancestors plan on dropping any hints, I hope they do it soon.”
Lieutenant Jamenson, her eyes bleary, looked at him. “One of your ancestors helped form the Alliance fleet. Didn’t you tell us that, Admiral? That must have been hard, too.”
“It was. They did find a way to work together.”
John Senn gazed from Jamenson to Geary, his brow lowered in thought. “Admiral, you did mention that before. It’s been stuck in the back of my brain for some reason.”
“How can that example help?” Charban asked. “We don’t want to talk the Dancers into joining the Alliance, and if we did there’s no reason to think they’d agree.”
“But . . .” Senn made a vague gesture. “That cooperation back then . . .
“When did it start? Didn’t some of it happen before the Alliance was actually formed?”
“It depends how you look at it,” Geary said. “I’ve discovered some histories claim the first allied defensive action was when my ancestor prevented an attack on Kosatka by an unidentified warship. Others say it was later when Glenlyon helped defend Kosatka against a worse attack, and some say it wasn’t until a force made up of ships from three different star systems combined to defeat an attack on Glenlyon.”
“That was all before the Alliance formed?”
“Yes,” Geary said.
“How did they do that?” John Senn asked, looking perplexed. “Everything I’ve seen of this fleet is one person in command and we’re all part of the Alliance and basically we’re this one thing. But back then they weren’t?”
