Jack Campbell - Leviathan

“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.”

“And we know how important patterns are to the Dancers! Of course their methods of communication would reflect that! Maybe it’s a sort of verbal handshake! ‘Hi, I’m intelligent and want to talk about intelligent things!’ ‘Hi, I am also intelligent and want to talk about intelligent things, too!’ We have to try this. Do you have any singers in your fleet, Admiral?” Charban asked.

Geary looked at Desjani, who made the universal human gesture of ignorance. “There must be some,” she said. “None of my officers, judging from their efforts during our occasional karaoke nights.”

“I didn’t know you had karaoke nights on Dauntless ,” Geary said.

“If you heard my lieutenants and ensigns trying to sing, you’d know why it’s been a while since we held one,” Desjani said. “You can send out a message to all of the ships in the fleet, and I can have my crew checked to see if any claim singing talent—”

“I’d prefer not to spend a long time searching for singers before we can test this idea,” Geary said.

“Please don’t look at me,” Jamenson said. “If you put enough whiskey down me, I sometimes try to sing, but it’s the sort of sounds that would make any self-respecting alien within a hundred light-years run for home. How about poets? Maybe poems would work. Lieutenant Iger does haiku.”

Everyone looked at her.

“Lieutenant Iger does haiku?” Geary finally asked. Somehow, the image of the serious, straightforward intelligence officer didn’t fit such a thing.

“Yes, sir. That’s a kind of poem. They’re good,” Jamenson added. “Lieutenant Iger’s haiku, I mean. He really has a poetic soul. I think.”

“Lieutenant Iger?” Desjani asked in disbelieving tones.

“Yes, Captain.”

“Fine.” Desjani sighed. “Admiral, I recommend we get our intelligence officer up here to see if he can craft lovely poems for the singing spider wolves.”

Summoned on the double, Lieutenant Iger showed up at the conference room slightly out of breath. His eyes first fell upon Lieutenant Jamenson and her bright green hair, producing a reflexive smile that vanished as soon as Iger realized who else was present. Turning his usual sober and studious expression on Geary, Iger saluted. “You sent for me, sir?”

“That’s right,” Geary said, pointing to General Charban. “We need you to sit down with the general and write a poem for the Dancers.”

Iger blinked before managing to respond. “Sir?”

“Sit down with General Charban and write a poem to the Dancers,” Geary repeated. “What are the types of poems that you’re skilled at? Haiku? One of those.”

“For the Dancers?” Iger flushed slightly. “Admiral, my… hobby… is just a pastime. I’m not any good at it.”

“Lieutenant Jamenson says you are.”

Iger jerked with surprise and glanced at Jamenson. “She did? I mean… yes, sir. I’ll try, sir. A poem for the Dancers?”

“General Charban and Lieutenant Jamenson will explain,” Geary said, waving Iger in their direction.

He and Desjani stood watching as Lieutenants Iger and Jamenson huddled with Charban. “Who would have guessed that Iger had an, um, poetic soul?” Desjani murmured to Geary.

“I have a feeling that Lieutenant Jamenson may have awakened that particular part of Lieutenant Iger’s soul,” Geary commented dryly.

“Well, yeah, that’s what women do. We take rough objects and polish them up a bit. What if this doesn’t work, Admiral?”

“Then we’re no worse off than we were before.”

Lieutenant Iger was sitting, looking distressed and running one hand through his hair, while Lieutenant Jamenson spoke to him in a low voice, her expression encouraging. General Charban had leaned back and was pretending not to be aware of what the lieutenants were doing.

Finally, Iger stood up. “Admiral, I think this will do to convey the message General Charban wants to send. Ummm…

“Dark is this winter,

“Come now our friends from far stars,

“What do they seek here?”

Lieutenant Jamenson beamed at Iger with what seemed to Geary to be possessive pride, General Charban nodded approvingly, and even Tanya Desjani smiled. “Why the reference to winter?” Geary asked.

“It’s traditional in haiku, sir,” Iger explained. “There’s often a seasonal reference, and I thought—”

“That’s fine. I just wondered. Send it,” Geary said.

Charban poked the haiku into the transmitter, then everyone waited. “If they want to respond,” Charban said, “they’ll usually answer very quickly, and by now those Dancer ships are only a couple of light-minutes from this ship, so there shouldn’t be any major comm delays caused by distance.”

An alert tone sounded. Charban slapped the control, reading intently. He smiled, then sighed, then lowered his head to the table as if immensely tired.

“What’s wrong?” Geary demanded.

“Do you have any idea how much sleep and how much hair I have lost trying to figure out how to communicate better with the Dancers?” Charban said, his voice partly muffled against the table’s surface. He sat up, sighed again, then read. “Here’s the reply from the Dancers—

“Now we speak clearly,

“As one to one, side by side,

“To mend the pattern.”

Charban shook his head, looking dejected. “I feel like such an idiot.”

“No one else thought of it until now,” Geary said. “Lieutenant Jamenson, I’m going to get you promoted if it kills me.”

“Here’s the next message,” Jamenson said, looking abashed, as another tone sounded.

Charban read it out loud at once this time.

“Cold minds must be stopped,

“This mistake is an old one,

“We fight beside you.”