The Lost Fleet: Beyond the Frontier: Leviathan (22 page)

“Everything that’s been put out by you, sir, but nothing based on experience. We weren’t along during the fights at Atalia and Bhavan, and we only saw one side of the battle here at Varandal.” Rico nodded outward. “And we’ve heard the rumors that are going around.”

“Which aren’t good,” Young added. “I’ve talked to some friends on other ships who have engaged the dark ships, Admiral. Everybody says they’re tough.”

“They are,” Geary said. “We’ve found the dark ships’ base, though, and we know how to get to it.”

Young fixed her eyes on Geary. “And that’s why you need an assault transport.” She made the words a statement, not a question.

“There will likely be a big orbiting facility at the star the dark ships are operating from. It will be designed for command and control, housing large numbers of people, and supporting a wide variety of functions.”

“Facility assault,” Rico said, nodding. “Third Brigade can do that. There’s just the one facility?”

“There are likely to be a lot of other orbiting structures, but they will be support facilities for the dark ships. Docks and warehouses, primarily. It’s possible that anyone still on those facilities are trapped there. It might be a hostage rescue or evacuation under fire situation. It will also be an intelligence collection mission, acquiring any and all information available in the storage systems at the facilities. General Carabali told me Third Brigade is the best, no matter what we encounter.”

Rico nodded again. “What intel are we looking for, sir?”

“Everything and anything. This isn’t for me. The government constructed those facilities, lost control of them, and wants to know what has been going on there.”

“Yes, sir.” The Marine did not seem the least bit surprised that the government would not know what was going on at a government facility.

“How many evacuees, Admiral?” Young asked. “If
Mistral
is loaded with assault troops, she won’t have much room for new riders.”

“I don’t know,” Geary said. “I’d like to have an empty assault transport along with us as well. But at the moment,
Mistral
is all I have.”

Commander Young sat silently for a few moments, her eyes gazing intently into space. “It depends on the numbers, sir. There are ways to pack in a lot more bodies and give life support a temporary boost to handle the load. No one will be happy, but we can double up as long as it doesn’t last too long. However, the only way to be sure we can carry a lot of people out is to leave some space aboard.”

“Which would mean limiting how many Marines were aboard,” Colonel Rico objected.

“I’ve only got so much room on the bus,” Young said. “Even if we go standing room only, I can’t just keep packing people in without overloading life support and the air inside the ship going toxic. I assume you grunts want to keep breathing?”

“We’re sort of fond of breathing,” Rico agreed.

“I understand that we want all of the Marines we can bring,” Geary said. “But we’ll only bring two of your battalions, Colonel. The rest of
the space on
Mistral
will be left free for emergency evacuees. There’s a chance the number of evacuees could still exceed
Mistral
’s maximum capacity, in which case we’ll transfer people onward to some of the larger warships.”

“Under fire?” Young asked.

“Possibly under fire,” Geary confirmed. “I know that’s far from ideal circumstances.”

“I have shuttle pilots who will volunteer to carry out the transfers under fire,” Rico said.

Commander Young snorted. “Funny how Marines never have trouble finding volunteers.”

“Marine sergeants are very persuasive,” Rico said. “Admiral, I would really like to have a better idea of what we’ll be facing in the way of a threat. I know what the dark ships can throw at us, but what kind of infantry threat will there be?”

“I don’t think we’ll face soldiers,” Geary said. “What little we know indicates no military presence. Maybe paramilitary or heavily armed security forces.”

“Heavily armed security forces? Do you mean like police action teams, or something like Syndic Vipers?” Rico asked, citing the fanatical special forces that worked for the Syndicate Worlds’ Internal Security Service.

“I don’t know,” Geary said. “Does the Alliance have anything like Vipers?”

“There are rumors, sir, but I don’t know of anyone who has ever seen anything like that.”

“Good. I don’t think something like that could have been kept completely secret. If no one has ever seen it, it probably doesn’t exist.” Geary realized that was a pretty weak argument during a discussion about attacking Unity Alternate but decided not to address that point. “Here’s the other hard part. Whoever we encounter may believe that they are defending the interests of the Alliance.”

Young and Rico both stared at Geary. Rico recovered first. “We might have to fight Alliance forces?”

“That’s very unlikely,” Geary said. “As we saw at Ambaru, even when given misleading data, Alliance ground forces soldiers did not want to engage Alliance Marines, and the information I have is that no regular military forces should be at the dark ship base. But a paramilitary force might be there and might have orders to resist us. If we encounter that situation, Colonel Rico, I need to know that you can defuse it if possible but take out anyone who actively tries to prevent you from carrying out your mission.”

He looked over at Commander Young. “And if any of the dark ships are present when we hit their base and realize what you intend, they will try to take you out. It’s going to be hazardous as hell. If the dark ships decide to make a priority target of you, it is possible that I will have a very hard time keeping them off you. You have the right to know that.”

Young grinned. “We’re used to that, Admiral. Haven’t you heard the joke that AT doesn’t stand for Assault Transport, but rather Active Target?”

“Sir,” Colonel Rico said, “we’ll get the job done. This is about defending the Alliance, right?”

“I promise you that it is,” Geary said. “I have orders from the highest levels for this operation.”

“Then we’ll get the job done as long as the bus gets us there.”

Commander Young gave him an arch look. “The bus will get your freeloaders there. After that, it will be up to you Marines to pay for the ride.”

“We’ll earn our fare,” Rico said. “We got this, Admiral.”

“Excellent,” Geary said. “We have some emergency repairs that have to be completed on some of the warships, so the departure date for the assault will be about a week from now. Have your ship and your Marines ready.”

“We could go within twenty-four hours, sir,” Commander Young
said. “As long as the Marines are ready to load. We’re already preloaded with most of their equipment.”

“Twenty-four hours,” Rico agreed.

After they had left, Geary checked the latest updates on maintenance and supply.
Formidable
was the last battle cruiser still in dock and would be getting pushed out on an emergency basis the next day.
Fearless
would have all of her main propulsion systems in working order within thirty-six hours, under threat of being left behind when the fleet moved. The shameful possibility of being the only battleship to miss the upcoming fight had driven the crew of
Fearless
and the maintenance personnel working with them to superhuman efforts to ensure the job was done.

Admiral Timbale was emptying the supply centers at Varandal of every fuel cell available. It wouldn’t be enough on such short notice to top off all of the warships, but only the battleships and battle cruisers would be at less than one hundred percent starting out. There were also frustrating shortages of specter missiles, and even a baffling shortfall in grapeshot. “They’re just ball bearings!” Geary had protested. “Round pieces of metal! How hard can it be to make more of them?” But other priorities had interfered, so some of the warships would be heading out with less than full shot lockers.

The good news in terms of food supplies was that there had been plenty of ration bars available to be loaded onto the ships to provide meals during battle situations. The bad news was that nearly every crate was made up of the infamous Danaka Yoruk bars, which had apparently been stockpiled to feed to Syndic prisoners of war who had then unexpectedly been released into the custody of representatives of the Midway Star System. Geary took under serious consideration Desjani’s suggestion that they use the Danaka Yoruk bars as substitutes for the inadequate supply of metal grapeshot.

Exhausted by going over the status reports, expediting what needed to be expedited, delaying what could be delayed, making sure the right
people were in the right positions, planning for what would be done at Unity Alternate, and coordinating actions, Geary finally managed to sleep.

—

“ADMIRAL!”

Geary bolted awake, shocked by the urgency in the summons. He sat up in his bunk, slapping the nearest comm panel. “Here. What’s happened?”

“They— They’re back,
sir!”

“WHO
is back?”
Geary roared with what he thought was an immense amount of patience. Only the fact that the caller sounded surprised rather than scared, which is what he would have expected if those who were back were the dark ships, kept him from bolting for the bridge without waiting for further explanation.

“The Dancers, sir. A lot of them.”

“The
Dancers
?” That was the last thing he had expected to hear. Geary called up the display in his stateroom and stared at the image before him.

Forty Dancer ships had arrived in Varandal. Arrived at the jump point from Bhavan. The perfect ovoids of the Dancer ships gleamed against the black backdrop of space. They were arranged in an intricate formation that made them resemble a complex necklace of immense pearls speeding through the emptiness with perfectly coordinated movements.

Geary reached the bridge of
Dauntless
within a few minutes. “How the hell did the Dancers get to Bhavan?” he demanded.

Tanya Desjani had beaten him to the bridge. “You’re not going to like the answer.”

General Charban was already there as well. He turned a bland look on Geary, as if determined to no longer be fazed by anything the Dancers did. “According to your experts, Admiral, they didn’t come from Bhavan.”

“They arrived at the jump point from Bhavan,” Geary insisted.

Charban indicated Lieutenant Castries, who looked uncomfortable. “Admiral,” she said, “we got a weird signature when the Dancers left jump.”

“A weird signature?” Geary pressed both hands against his forehead. “What does that mean?”

“Sir, when ships leave jump, they always emit a small burst of energy. It’s insignificant, and no one really knows what causes it, so no one worries about it.”

“Jaylen Cresida speculated that it might be caused by some sort of friction while traveling through jump space,” Desjani said, seated and with her chin resting in one palm. “As the lieutenant says, it’s so small an effect that it just gets noted and ignored.”

Geary nodded impatiently. “All right. I remember that. There was a research project before . . . before Grendel. A ship I was on assisted the research. I never heard any results from it, though.”

Lieutenant Castries indicated her display. “Our systems alerted us that when the Dancers left jump, the energy signature they gave off was much stronger than it should be and also had some unusual density readings.”

“Put it on my display,” Geary ordered, sitting down and glaring at the data as it sprang to life before him. “What the hell is that?”

“We . . . don’t know, sir.”

“The Dancer ships haven’t shown that kind of energy signature before when leaving jump?”

“No, sir.”

Charban cleared his throat. “Admiral, the Dancers insisted on going to Old Earth, so they could return the body of a human explorer who had been involved in early research into jump drives centuries ago. Apparently, he was in jump space for a very long time and did not come out until somewhere in the Dancer-occupied region of the galaxy.”

“I’m not likely to forget that,” Geary said. Being trapped in jump space was perhaps the worst nightmare scenario for space travelers. The thought of that ancient astronaut stuck in jump space until he died had rattled everyone who heard of it. “Hold on. Are you saying the Dancers might have jumped to Varandal not from Bhavan but all the way from their own territory? They would have been in jump space for months. No one could handle that.”

“No
human
could handle that,” Desjani corrected him.

Geary looked at her. “I had wondered what jump space felt like for the Dancers. Is there any other explanation for their getting here?”

“They could have jumped star by star all the way from the region of space they occupy,” she said. “But that many jumps and transiting that many star systems would have taken so long that they would have had to have started about a year ago.”

“Could they have figured out how to use the Syndic hypernet? Could they have gotten a Syndic key?”

“Yes, sir, but then why did they jump here from Bhavan rather than from Atalia or some other star on the Syndic side of things?”

Geary looked back at Castries. “Exactly how long would a single jump all the way from Dancer space take?”

Lieutenant Castries made a helpless gesture. “Sir, we don’t know. All we can do is extrapolate from the jumps we make from star to adjacent star, but we don’t know if there is a straight correlation between distances in our universe and distances in jump space, or what happens when you jump to a star much farther off than the ones nearest to the jump point you used.”

“Can we even detect whether jump points can reach those more distant stars?” Desjani asked.

“I’ll see what I can find out, Captain,” Castries said. “But there’s nothing in our navigation systems that would indicate we can do that.”

“But we haven’t been looking for it, have we?” Desjani said.

“No, Captain. I don’t know if we know
how
to look for something like that.”

“Forty ships,” Geary said, focusing back on practical issues. “General Charban, we need to know why they are here, how they got here, why they are here, what they want, and why they are here.”

“In that order?” Charban asked.

“Yes. Get me answers, General. The Dancers pointed us toward Unity Alternate. Some of them left in a rush. Now this much larger group of their ships has appeared without warning, apparently using jump drives in ways we can’t. We need to know what game they are playing and whether they consider us teammates in that game or part of the playing equipment.”

“Admiral,” Charban said, “we’ve been trying to figure those things out since we first met the Dancers.”

“Get that green-haired girl,” Desjani suggested. “You know, the one who spots things no one else does. Maybe she can help some more with figuring out the Dancers.”

“Lieutenant Jamenson?” Geary asked. “That’s not a bad idea. General, we need to leave Varandal within a few days on an urgent mission. I can’t leave Varandal with forty alien ships here. There’s a very urgent need for answers.”

“I will try,” Charban said.

—

IT
took some work to pry Lieutenant Jamenson loose from Captain Smythe this time. Smythe, dealing with the mountain of work required to get the fleet out of Varandal in a few days’ time, did not want to give
up his most valuable staff officer. Geary, not wanting to alienate a subordinate as capable as Smythe, was reluctant to simply order the action. “You do realize, Captain, that if I don’t have Lieutenant Jamenson’s help in understanding why the Dancers are here, the fleet may not be able to leave as intended, and all of the work you are doing would be wasted?”

Smythe gave in.

As soon as he heard she was aboard, Geary went to the special compartment set aside for communicating with the Dancers. The fleet’s system security personnel had been horrified when it was discovered that Dancer software could modify itself to work with human hardware, leading to an ironclad dictate that the Dancer software had to be kept on gear physically separated from other equipment.

Lieutenant Jamenson was there, seated at the long table holding the special comm gear, as were General Charban and Tanya Desjani. “How does it look?” Geary asked. “Ever since they arrived in this star system, the Dancers have been heading toward
Dauntless
at point two light. They’re almost on top of us now.”

“Fortunately,” Desjani added, “they haven’t shown any signs of strengthening shields or powering up weapons. Having a bunch of alien ships charging on an intercept for my ship does worry me, though.”

“What have they told us?” Geary demanded.

Charban sighed heavily enough to have put out the candles on a birthday cake. “There is no indication of hostile intent. As usual, they sound friendly. The Dancers sent us a long message that translated as ‘hello, it’s nice to be here, how are you?’ I asked them why they were here. The brief response said ‘we are on a mission.’ What mission? An ‘important mission.’ Admiral, why don’t you shoot me and put me out of my misery?”

Desjani was shaking her head. “Why would they go to the trouble to come here, then not talk to us in any meaningful way?”

A long silence followed her question.

Lieutenant Jamenson had been gazing at the comm gear and now asked General Charban about it. “This shows us the translations of what the Dancers have said? In human words? Can I use this to hear the original messages they send?”

“The original messages?” Charban asked. “You mean, in Dancer language? Yes, you can do that. We used to listen to them as well as the translations, but we stopped because it didn’t seem to help at all. Why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s not important. But it occurred to me that I had never heard a raw Dancer message. Since it’s something I haven’t tried, and everything we have tried hasn’t helped . . .”

“That makes at least as much sense as anything else about the Dancers,” Charban said. “I will warn you that some of the sounds the Dancers make probably could not be rendered by humans. Here. See this command that says ‘origin’? That means the same as original. And this command will direct the sound to you. That brings up a window with volume controls and that sort of thing.”

“Thank you, General.”

As Jamenson leaned close to the equipment, listening intently, Charban looked back at Geary. “I asked how the Dancers had gotten here. The reply was ‘we traveled.’ How did you travel? ‘By ship.’”

“They have to be messing with us,” Desjani said. “They’re on those ships laughing as they think about us trying to understand those messages.”

“What does it sound like when a Dancer laughs?” Geary wondered, thinking of those wolf-spider faces. “Did you ask them about Unity Alternate?”

“I asked them about the many stars,” Charban said. “They said, ‘are you watching?’ I said yes. They said ‘good.’”

The resulting extended silence was broken by Jamenson. “They sound different,” she said, not like someone who has discovered something but as if she had no idea what she had found.

“What sounds different?” Charban asked her.

“The Dancer messages.” Jamenson turned a puzzled look on the other three. “When I listen to the first message they send us each time, when they start a conversation, it’s sort of long, and it sounds . . . it sounds sort of musical.”

“The sounds used in the Dancer language—” Charban began.

“No, General. Excuse me. It’s not that. Those opening messages have a sort of bounce to them, a feeling of . . .” Jamenson struggled for the right word. “Of someone saying a song.”

“Or a poem?” Desjani asked.

“Maybe, Captain. But then after we answer, they answer, and their messages are, um, flat.”

“Flat?” Geary asked.

“Yes, sir. Oh, listen for yourselves. You’ll see.”

Charban, not bothering to hide his skepticism, leaned over and tapped a command. “Go ahead and play them. We’ll all hear now.”

Geary concentrated as the first Dancer message played back, the sounds strange to human throats echoing softly in the room. “You’re right, Lieutenant. There is a sort of bounce to it. Like a . . .”

“A spoken-word musical instrument?” Desjani said, intrigued.

“And then,” Jamenson said, “here’s their response to our reply.”

The same sort of sounds could be heard, but this time even though they sounded the same, they felt different. “Flat,” Geary said. “I see what you mean, Lieutenant. But what does that mean?”

Charban was frowning in thought. “If they sang to us to start a conversation . . . there are animals that do that, right?”

“Birds,” Desjani said. “Insects, some mammals, those things on that planet in Kostel Star System. They sing to identify each other, to pass information, for mating—”

“I sincerely hope that’s not why the Dancers would be singing to us,” Charban said.

“Could they be songs?” Jamenson asked. “Songs without music?” She played one of the opening messages again.

Geary listened as the strange tones of Dancer speech once more
filled the conference room, the pitch of the words merging, blending, and soaring. “It must mean something. Something that the Dancers’ own translation software isn’t picking up.”

“Why wouldn’t the Dancer software reflect it if it was important?” Desjani asked. “Because it seemed obvious to them?” she answered herself.

“Maybe,” Charban said, his expression shifting rapidly. “We do that all the time, assuming that something very basic doesn’t have to be explained because it is so basic that we believe everyone will just know about it. Are they . . . ? Could the Dancers be wanting us to sing back to them?”

“Like birds,” Jamenson said. “As the Captain said. One gives a call, and the other responds, so they know who each other is, and then they sing back and forth. But if you don’t respond with a song or a whistle, they don’t respond the same way.”

“That is not a bird,” Desjani said, pointing to the image of a Dancer.

“But what if that’s the problem, Captain? What if we’re looking at them and thinking ‘spider,’ and ‘wolf,’ and ‘yuck,’ because that’s what they look like to us? And we’re still subconsciously basing our assumptions about how they act and talk by how they look to us? But why should they have patterns of behavior that match the images we’re seeing? They’re alien.”

Charban was shaking his head in obvious dismay. “No matter how hard I tried, I kept seeing those images. You are absolutely right, Lieutenant. If the Dancers had looked catlike, I would have assumed they thought and acted and communicated like cats. And if instead they thought like horses, it would have messed everything up.”

“They want us to sing to them?” Desjani asked skeptically. “But there’s no music.”

“We can try,” Lieutenant Jamenson said. “I mean, not really a song maybe, but cast a message with rhythm and scales and—”

“Patterns,” Charban said. “That’s what songs do. They establish
patterns of sound, patterns of words. Music. That’s described in terms of mathematics and proportions between scales.”

“Poems do patterns as well, right?” Jamenson added. “Some poems, anyway.”