Jack Campbell - Guardian

The enforced isolation of hypernet travel, or that in jump space, left a lot of time to get backed-up work accomplished. Geary, sitting at his stateroom table and sourly eyeing the long list of backed-up items he still had to go through, was trying to decide whether that was a good or a bad thing. Why did I want to be an admiral? Oh, yeah, I didn’t ever want to be an admiral. I just wanted to do my job and do it well. Rise to command of a ship. But command of a fleet? A fleet far larger than the Alliance fleet that existed before the war? And be responsible for every man and woman, and now Dancer as well, who is part of that fleet? Nope, I never wanted that. But I’ve got it.

His hatch alert chimed.

Trying to not look too relieved at the diversion from administrative tasks, Geary spun in his seat to face the hatch and tapped an entry authorization.

He had half hoped it might be Tanya, visiting to snatch a few moments of being together without being under the eyes of the entire crew, or maybe Rione, ready to spill a few more clues about her mysterious secret orders. Instead, the hatch opened to reveal the earnest and melancholy face of Emissary Charban. “Have you a few moments, Admiral?”

“Certainly. Come on in.” He didn’t hesitate to offer his time, as he would have much earlier in the mission. Charban had come aboard Dauntless tagged as an aspiring politician, a retired general who had been sorely disillusioned about the usefulness of violence in accomplishing anything as he watched men and women die and little change. But Geary had come to see that Charban was not a fool or a phony. He was a tired man who had seen too much death but could still think and reason well enough to spot things that others could not.

Increasingly, Charban had emerged as the primary point of contact with the Dancers, even Rione giving way to him. Dr. Setin had complained about that before the fleet entered the gate at Midway. “Why is an amateur being given preference in dealing with this alien species?”

“Because the alien species keeps asking specifically to deal with him,” Geary had pointed out. He knew that thanks to reports from Setin’s associate Dr. Shwartz.

“He is an amateur. We have spent our entire academic careers preparing for communication and contact with a nonhuman intelligence!”

“Yes, Dr. Setin, I understand. I will look into the matter and see what should be done.” Dr. Setin had spent an academic career preparing to communicate with a nonhuman intelligence but, ironically, wasn’t able to identify a classic human bureaucratic brush-off when he received one.

“May I speak with you about the Dancers?” Charban asked Geary as the emissary entered the stateroom.

“Have a seat. I hope this is good news.”

Charban grimaced as he sat down opposite Geary. “The experts tell me I am wrong.”

“Then you’ve got good grounds for thinking you may be right,” Geary said. “Dr. Shwartz told me those academic experts, herself included, spent their entire careers up until now theorizing about intelligent aliens, and now that they’ve finally encountered the real things, they’re having trouble adjusting to the fact that the realities aren’t matching a lot of their theories. What in particular is this about?”

“Our attempts to communicate better with the Dancers.” Charban’s expression shifted into exasperation, then worry. “I am not certain they are being cooperative.”

Having had the same suspicion growing in him for a few weeks now, and not happy at all with the idea that the Dancers might not be playing straight with their human contacts, Geary was less than thrilled to hear that someone else shared his worries. He took a deep breath. “Explain, please.”

“It’s hard to explain an impression,” Charban complained. “Not scientific at all, I am told. You know we have been making slow progress in communicating with the Dancers. Very slow progress.”

Geary nodded. “They’re so very different from us that the slow progress isn’t surprising anyone. We have such a huge gap to cross between our species in order to establish the meaning of words and concepts. But I have been wondering why even the basic concepts are coming so slowly.”

Charban smiled crookedly. “You’ve been reading the reports from our experts,” he noted. “That is all true. But…” He paused, frowning in thought. “I have the impression that the Dancers are deliberately slow-pedaling the process, that it is taking far longer than it could if they went at the pace of which they are capable.”

“Do you have any impression why?”

“You’re taking me seriously? Thank you.”

“Emissary Charban,” Geary said, “you’ve proven remarkably good at grasping the way the Dancers think. You figured out why the enigmas fear us so. You explained Kick behavior before any of the rest of us figured it out. You have a talent for this. Of course I am taking you seriously.”

This time Charban’s smile was genuine. “I thank you again. It has been a humbling and frustrating experience for me since leaving the military, Admiral. Diplomats and politicians know much I do not and yet seem to miss things obvious to me. Our experts in nonhuman intelligent species have a vast formation of advanced degrees following them around, yet often circle around answers instead of seeing them.”

“Our experts in nonhuman intelligent species,” Geary said dryly, “had never actually known anything about any real nonhuman intelligent species until they joined us on this mission. When it comes to real aliens, you seem to have a feel for the right answers.”

“Would you recommend me for a position working with such aliens?” Charban asked. “I should tell you that our experts would be very put out by an amateur like me getting such a job over them.”

“All of our experts?”

“Not Dr. Shwartz.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. Dr. Shwartz seems to be unique among them in recognizing that real-life experience can sometimes be more valuable than academic degrees. But understanding the Dancers is a unique challenge.”

Charban frowned. “I don’t know why the Dancers would be delaying more open communications with us. I don’t have a sense of ill intent. I don’t have any sense of any reason. What I do have is a feeling that they are choosing to go slow on this.”

Geary looked toward the star display, thinking. “If they can understand us better than they are letting on…”

“It is my feeling that is the case.”

“But are keeping their own speech with us at basic levels…” Geary shook his head. “That would mean they can understand what we’re saying but would be pretending not to be able to tell us things.”

“Yes.” Charban nodded toward the star display. “And what would they not want to tell us?”

The potential answers to that question were almost infinite. Geary shook his head once more. “If they think in patterns, as you and Dr. Shwartz suggested, they might be seeing a pattern they don’t want to tell us about. What kind of questions are they being asked?”

“All sorts of things. Basic information about themselves, about other alien species, scientific and technical questions, what they know of us, and how long they’ve known of us.” Charban shrugged. “Pick your possible secret.”

“But the experts disagree with you?”

“Yes. Except Dr. Shwartz. She listens. I don’t know if she agrees, but she’s reserving judgment.”

Geary caught Charban’s eyes. “Tell me your gut feeling. When we take the Dancers back with us to Alliance territory, should we regard them as a potential danger?”

“My gut feeling, Admiral, is that they’ve already been to Alliance space, that they’ve been watching us for a long time. If they meant to harm us, as the enigmas did, I believe they have had opportunity. Instead, I think they have been studying us. They—” Charban broke off speaking, showing dawning realization. “That could be it. If they’ve been watching us, they may have seen a pattern. Something involving us. A pattern or patterns that are still playing out.”