Jack Campbell - Invincible

Geary frowned in thought, leaning back. “Like their ship formations. Not just functional, but also beautiful to our eyes. And if they come from something that could build webs like spiders, that would imply natural instincts for the sort of engineering that humans look at in awe.”

“Yes! Something that thinks differently from us but in a way we can still touch, still grasp in our way.”

“Humans can see patterns,” Geary objected. “That’s not alien to us.”

“We can,” Dr. Setin broke in, “but that’s not our bias. This was what led me to consider Dr. Shwartz’s ideas to be intriguing because humans don’t instinctively think in terms of patterns. We think in terms of opposites. Black and white, good and bad, yin and yang, thesis and antithesis, yes and no, right and left, friend and enemy. What matters to us are opposites, and everything that isn’t a clear opposite is evaluated on a scale of where it lies between opposites. Lukewarm. Maybe. Gray. When we stretch our minds, we can see patterns, but that’s not our natural way of seeing things.”

He had to think about that some more, the implications gradually growing apparent, while the doctors waited. “Then to these aliens, we’re neither allies nor enemies. We’re part of some pattern.”

“We think so,” Dr. Shwartz said. “There was one sentence they sent that I kept puzzling over. It seemed to say, ‘The picture is changed but remains.’ And then I thought, what if they mean not picture, but pattern? Our arrival changed the pattern, but the pattern isn’t gone, it has just altered. And then the spider-wolves said, ‘Together we hold the picture.’ Well, if that really means ‘together we hold the pattern,’ then that explains what they expect from us. Our part in this pattern, I think we can speculate, is in their eyes to provide another anchor so that the pattern through which they view the universe can retain stability.”

“You think these creatures see humanity as a force for stability?” Geary asked.

The two doctors both hesitated, then exchanged glances. “That does sound odd, doesn’t it?” Dr. Shwartz said. “We don’t see ourselves that way. But then how many outside observers have ever evaluated humanity? Perhaps, compared to the likes of the paranoid enigmas and the rapacious bear-cows, we look pretty good to the spider-wolves.”

“There’s a term, a pictogram,” Dr. Setin added, “that they keep using. The software they gave us interprets it in various ways. Anchor or foundation or bond or keel or buttress. Those are all things that lend stability to something. It keeps coming up when they talk to us. This concept of having firm anchors appears to be critically important to them.”

He understood then. “Because without anchors, any pattern is going to unravel, come apart.”

“Exactly.”

“I think,” Dr. Shwartz continued in a cautious voice, “that their idea of an anchor may include intangibles as well as physical objects. Ideas. Theories. Philosophies. Mathematics. All of these things contribute to the pattern, all of these things help keep it in place.”

If only they weren’t so ugly… “It sounds like the spider-wolves and we can understand each other. Or at least understand enough to coexist in peace and maybe exchange ideas.”

“I think so, Admiral, yes.” She made an uncomfortable gesture. “Of course, this remains a theory. It’s not always clear at all how they react to something we try to say. Reading emotion on them is… challenging.”

“There are subtle color shifts,” Dr. Setin explained. “We’ve spotted those on the spider-wolf people, changes in hue on the head and body, but we don’t know which color means what. It is possible there are other cues to feelings, like scents or hormonal emissions, but since we’re carrying on all of this by remote communications and are not physically in the same room with them, we can’t know that.”

“I… understand.” What did the spider-wolves smell like? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. “Have they said anything about the ship we captured?”

“The ship?” Both doctors appeared uncomfortable now. “We haven’t talked much about that…” Dr. Setin said.

“Why? Are the spider-wolves upset about that?”

“No. It’s…” Setin looked downward. “The… attack. We’ve seen… the aftermath. So many… so very many…”

Geary got it then. “The bear-cows we had to kill. I know that’s not easy to contemplate. It wasn’t something we did by choice. They chased us here, they attacked us here, and they refused to surrender.”

“But, to meet a new species, and then to… to…”

“Have you given the same amount of anguish to the men and women who died because the bear-cows wouldn’t even talk to us?” That had come out harshly, more angry than he had intended. “I’m sorry. But the ugly truth is that the bear-cows cared less for the lives of their fellow bear-cows than you and I did. That’s a difference in the view of the universe between our species that left us no alternatives. If you think I am happy about that, you’re mistaken.”

“We know that, Admiral,” Dr. Shwartz said. “We regret that it had to be so. It’s not a criticism of your actions.”

Dr. Setin didn’t look as if he entirely agreed with that, but if so, he had the good sense to remain silent.

“What about the six living bear-cows, Admiral?” Dr. Shwartz asked. “We keep being told the matter is classified.”

“They’re recovering, as far as we can tell, but remain comatose,” Geary said. “They’re totally isolated from human contact to try to keep them from panicking if they wake up. That’s all I know right now.”

After that call ended, Geary sat staring at his star display, thinking that he should try to rest. Or maybe do something just for fun. Read a book—

His comm panel buzzed.

Dr. Nasr, the senior fleet medical officer, looked like he hadn’t slept in days. He probably hadn’t, despite Geary’s orders that everyone stand down for a day. Doctors had always considered themselves above the military discipline that governed everyone else, making no secret that they thought their oaths as physicians held more important status than the rules binding other officers. “You left me a message, Admiral?”

He had? When? Prompted by the doctor’s statement, Geary finally recalled. The message had been cached in the comm system on Dauntless , set to transmit when the fleet left jump days ago. Neither he nor the doctor had experienced the luxury of time for dealing with that message until now. “It’s about one of the fleet’s officers. Commander Benan.”

“Benan?” Nasr’s eyes went vague as he searched memory. “Injured during the battle?”

“No. This pertains to the reasons for his difficulties in adjusting to having been liberated from the Syndic labor camp at Dunai.”

Nasr sighed. “Admiral, I fully appreciate your concern for all of your officers, but we’re still heavily engaged in dealing with combat injuries right now.”

“Doctor”—something in Geary’s voice caused Nasr’s gaze on him to sharpen—“what do you know about mental blocks?”

The doctor stared silently back at Geary for several seconds. “Not much.”

“Do you know if the nature of blocks has changed in the last century?”

The doctor paused again for a long while before replying, his face increasingly grim, then finally shook his head. “In every way that matters, no.”

“But they’re being used now.” Geary made it a statement.

“You know that, Admiral?”

“I know that. I didn’t know it until very recently.”

The doctor closed his eyes, then opened them again to focus on Geary. “Officially, on an unclassified level, and even for most levels of classification, blocks are not used. I couldn’t discuss this with anyone else but you, because you’re the fleet commander. I’m not blocked, I would have left the service rather than agree to that, but I have taken an oath to follow security procedures.”