Iger paused, frowning. “Yes, sir.”
“Which puts you between a meteor and the planet it’s impacting.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What can I do to resolve the pressure on you?” Geary asked. “I need you focused on your job, not on wondering how somebody on Unity will react to you doing that job.”
“Sir?” Iger appeared startled by the question, then his shoulders came up. “Admiral, I know this sounds odd, but the best thing you can do for me is put in your reports that I followed procedures even in, um, critical situations.”
It made an odd, bureaucratic kind of sense. “If instead of saying you provided great support I say you always followed proper procedures they’ll be happy?”
“If they see I’ve stuck by their rules they’ll put me in for a medal,” Iger said, looking apologetic. “Instead of counseling me for failing to set appropriate priorities.”
“Then so be it,” Geary said, smiling at the absurdity. You’d think he’d been in the fleet long enough to anticipate such things. “Now that we’ve resolved that, I need to ask you something sensitive.”
“Sensitive?” Iger asked, immediately all-business. “If this is about the, uh, Defender fleet ships, I don’t have any additional information. I don’t know how many more of them might be out there.”
“At least we know there are two less. No, I’m assuming all of their combatants are gone, and whatever is left is like the ships we encountered at the hypernet gate. Courier ships meant to carry information. It stands to reason some of those would have been away from Unity Alternate when we destroyed the AI-controlled ships there. No, my concern is with a different problem. I want to know if you’ve received any reports of a particular internal threat,” Geary said. “At Unity, I discovered that there are people who fear the Dancers enough to resort to violence.”
Iger nodded quickly. “Oh, yes. Internal security. That is sensitive. Some of those who tried to kill you were like that, motivated by fear of the Dancers. Were you told that?”
“I was. So you do have something on that?”
“Yes, Admiral. Normally, nothing I’m involved with should be aimed at Alliance citizens, but this is an exception.”
“I’m glad,” Geary said. “But why is it an exception?”
“Because of this,” Iger continued as he pulled up a report on his display. “Right here. Men and women motivated by anti-Dancer feelings have been trying to join the fleet.”
That was worse than he’d expected. Geary read the report, feeling grim. “They’re joining to fight the Dancers. To protect humanity from the Dancers. At least we caught them during their enlistment screenings.”
“Yes, Admiral,” Lieutenant Iger said. “We caught some of them.”
Geary turned a sharp look on the intelligence officer. “How many are we supposed to have missed?”
“We don’t know, Admiral.” Iger indicated the report. “That tells us how many were detected. But we have no way of knowing how many slipped past before new recruits began being specifically asked about the Dancers. If they weren’t questioned about that, they wouldn’t have betrayed their motivations.”
“Are you telling me that any new personnel our ships receive as replacements might share that fear of the Dancers?” He looked over the report again. “This is mighty vague about their possible actions.”
Iger nodded. “I believe, from my experience with such reports, that reflects a lot of uncertainty. You see where they say so far there only appear to be loose associations of those with anti-Dancer sentiments. ‘Loose associations’ means no clear doctrine, no leaders, or no patterns of action.”
“Except for the one who tried to kill me.” But then, one event didn’t make a pattern. “Their reasons for distrusting or hating the Dancers also appear to be all over the map.”
That brought another nod from Lieutenant Iger. “One of the things we were warned about in intelligence training was to avoid projecting our own fears or preconceptions into our analysis and conclusions. But that’s exactly what the anti-Dancers seem to be doing. Their fears of the unknown, their fears of the Dancers’, um, appearance, their fears of something truly different.”
“That’s a good point,” Geary said. “They’re looking at the Dancers and seeing their own fears. What can we do to screen our new arrivals for possible anti-Dancers? And can we do anything if we do find some? There’s no law against disliking an alien species. Is there?” he added, once more aware that he hadn’t caught up with all of the changes a century had wrought.
“No, sir,” Iger said. “Not as long as dislike doesn’t turn into actions contrary to orders or regulations. Admiral, all I can suggest is notifying the commanding officers in the fleet to be alert for anyone whose fears of the Dancers could constitute a security threat. Legal officers would have to be consulted on what else we can do. If it’s just a political difference in opinion, I don’t think we could do anything.” He paused. “Or should do anything. There were some . . . incidents several decades ago, well into the war, where there were attempts to treat political dissent as if it were treason. You may not have heard of those, but it’s one of the cautionary things we’re taught about.”
He shouldn’t have been surprised, after the other excesses inspired by war that he’d heard of, but Geary was still saddened to hear it. “I’m amazed that the Alliance made it this far without turning into something unrecognizable, or falling apart.”
Iger hesitated before speaking. “Whenever we most needed it, there have been some people willing to sacrifice themselves for doing the right thing. For following the law rather than expediency.”
“Let’s hope there are always enough people like that,” Geary said, trying to deflect what might have been read as indirect praise for his own actions. “Is there anything else I should hear about?”
“Reports from Indras,” Iger said. “And from our diplomatic contacts with the Syndics. Our diplomats were very unhappy that after denying any involvement with what happened at Indras, they learned it really was the work of the Defender fleet.”
“That must have made their work harder.”
“Oddly enough,” Lieutenant Iger said, pointing to another report he’d brought up on a display, “it didn’t. The Syndics always assume our diplomats are lying. They were happy to be able to point out proof, as if that somehow leveled the playing field, then continued arguing about what compensation the Alliance owes for that attack, along with veiled threats about retaliation.”
“How much territory does the Syndicate Worlds now control?” Geary asked, leaning to look closer at the report. “Are they still losing star systems?”
“We . . . don’t know,” Iger said, calling up a star display that floated over the desk. Star systems in the space once controlled by the Syndicate Worlds were highlighted by various colored tabs to mark those still thought under Syndicate government control, those known to have rebelled and declared independence, those descending into civil war or anarchy, and those whose status was simply unknown. “There have always been time lags in our information. Some of this is months old. And reliability of the reporting varies a great deal as well. I’ve been tasked to find out as much as I could when we transited through Syndic space, because the picture remains very unclear.”
Geary looked over the starscape, shaking his head. “How are the Syndic armed forces? Have they been able to replace their losses?”
Iger nodded unhappily. “All of the information we have indicates the Syndics appear to have never stood down from wartime production priorities. Their remaining shipyards are still turning out warships as fast as possible, and none of their ground forces have been demobilized. But we have data from many sources that Syndic losses have been staggering as they attempt to suppress every rebellious star system. It’s very unlikely the Syndics would attempt a major engagement with us if a substantial Alliance fleet went through their ter
ritory, but they’ll probably continue the sort of asymmetric attacks they attempted the last times we were in Syndic space.”
The assessment could have been worse, but it also could have been a lot better. “How about the Syndic government?” Geary asked. “Has that stabilized?”
“That is also uncertain,” Lieutenant Iger said. “The highest confidence estimate at this time is that a triumvirate is in charge of what remains of the Syndicate Worlds. But given how old our information is, even if that was true, it may no longer be.”
“If I remember my history right,” Geary said, “triumvirates tended to be unstable. Sooner or later the most powerful member got rid of the other two.” He paused, looking over the display of the regions once ruled by the Syndicate Worlds. “What’s our best guess for the future? Will it all fall apart?”
Iger shrugged apologetically. “There are too many variables, Admiral. People, especially. If someone with the right skills and charisma gets the right breaks, they could dramatically shift outcomes. Despite the vastness of space and the number of star systems and inhabited worlds, one person could make a big difference. And we simply don’t know enough to predict if such a person might appear.”
It didn’t seem possible that one person could make such a difference, Geary thought. But what would’ve happened if the fleet hadn’t found his damaged escape pod on the way to the Syndic ambush that nearly trapped and destroyed most of the Alliance’s warships? What if he hadn’t been there when the fleet was trapped and leaderless?
He didn’t want to think he was special, or that important. He couldn’t begin thinking that way.
Glancing at Iger, Geary could tell the lieutenant was thinking that, though. “I couldn’t have accomplished what I have,” Geary said, “without the support and assistance of a lot of good people. I’ll grant that I made a difference, but alone I couldn’t have done what was needed.”
Iger grinned. “More variables. The more people involved, the more variables. Predicting what humans will do is a very inexact science.”
He couldn’t help smiling as well. “I won’t argue with that. Speaking of things humans did that no one predicted, how are you and Lieutenant Jamenson getting on?”
“Very well, sir!” Iger cheered up instantly at the mention of Jamenson. “We’re hoping for the chance of a brief honeymoon at Midway.”
“Midway?” That sounded both perilous and odd, choosing a former Syndic star system for a vacation. Odd, until he thought about the fact that Iger had just spoken of dealing with his superiors in Intelligence. “You’re not thinking of making that a working honeymoon, are you?”
Iger flinched, proving beyond any doubt that he wouldn’t be very good at undercover work. “Only any open-source material available, or listening to conversations,” he said.
“What about asking questions?” Geary said.
This time Iger hesitated. “Only if—”
“Never,” Geary said. “Syndics watch for that, people asking the wrong kinds of questions. We knew that a century ago, and I haven’t seen anything today that shows it’s changed. Your superiors tasked you with doing this?”
“If feasible,” Iger said, his eyes on the deck. “Sir, I wouldn’t do anything that would risk any harm to Shamrock.”
“Good.” Geary took time to think through his initial reaction, reluctantly realizing that getting a firsthand perspective on attitudes at Midway would be a good thing. He didn’t want Iger to endanger himself or Lieutenant Jamenson, but whom would he choose to send instead? “Are you good with doing it? Were you ordered to undertake that mission?”
“No, sir,” Iger said, his head coming up, his eyes on Geary as he shook his head. “I was asked to see if it could be done. They were careful not to phrase it as an order.”
“There are plenty of ways for superiors to make their wishes clear without giving a plain order,” Geary said. “So I’m asking again. Do you feel that the asking if it could be done had the same effect as an order?”
“No, sir,” Iger repeated, his voice firm. “The conversation was recorded, so they carefully avoided phrasing their wishes as something required of me.” He smiled slightly. “We’ve been doing that for a long time in Intelligence, recording all conversations. Too many people got hung out to dry based on verbal orders and verbal assurances.”
Geary nodded. “If the rest of the special agencies did that, the evidence should help ensure those responsible for the things we uncovered at Unity Alternate pay the price no matter how they try to blame underlings. Thank you, Lieutenant. I’ll consider allowing you and Lieutenant Jamenson to, um, honeymoon at Midway. Ultimately, though, it’s going to be up to Midway’s own leaders whether you get that opportunity.”
“Thank you, sir.” Iger waved to another display. “We received an update on Atalia just before leaving Unity, sir.”
“Atalia.” The formerly Syndic star system, on the border facing Alliance space, had been badly battered many times during the long war, and then again recently by the AI-controlled ships of the Defender fleet running amok. “How bad off are they?”
Iger pointed to portions of the report as he spoke. “It’s easier to list what hasn’t been destroyed than try to list everything that’s been torn up. The only thing keeping most of the population there is stubbornness. I’ve learned that they call it the Atalia Attitude, and take great pride in refusing to give up even when that’s the only smart option.”
“I have to respect refusing to give up,” Geary said. “Though there’s always a point where that stops being commendable and becomes insanity. They’ve asked the Alliance for help?”
“Yes, sir. But with all the demands on the Alliance government these days, there’s not much available for aid to former Syndic star systems.”
“Even though our ships were responsible for the last bout of unprovoked destruction there?”
“Out-of-control ships,” Iger said, sounding apologetic. “There are legal arguments being mustered that the Alliance isn’t accountable for what the dark ships did to foreign stars. Because the dark ships weren’t authorized or funded following legal requirements.”
“Alliance lawyers are arguing that because the dark ships were built by illegal methods the Alliance isn’t responsible for what those ships did?” Geary shook his head. “How does that make sense?”
“I guess it makes sense to lawyers,” Lieutenant Iger said. “Maybe we can run some human legal arguments through the translation software the Dancers gave us just to see how they come out.”
“I’m not sure we want to know,” Geary said. He wanted to ask about Varandal as well, whether everything was calm there and his fleet was getting the support it needed. But Iger wouldn’t have the information. No one at Unity would have had it, either. Any ships carrying news from Varandal were probably on their way to Unity right now, “crossing paths” with Dauntless on its way to Varandal. “You and your people get as much rest as you can. There might be a lot of work waiting at Varandal. I’m expecting to allow three months to prepare for the expedition to Midway and then Dancer space, so you should also work out a leave schedule to let all of your people get some time at home before we head out into the dark.”
“Yes, sir,” Iger said, smiling again. “That’ll be very welcome news.”
“And let me know if you and Lieutenant Jamenson want some time off for a real honeymoon,” Geary added. “Eire is supposed to be a lovely world.”
“We expect to have a lot of work awaiting us at Varandal—”
Geary held up his hand to stop Iger’s words. “As valuable as you two are, I’ve never been the type who works valuable people to death because they’re valuable. I think valuable people deserve breaks every once in a while.”
As he headed back to his stateroom, though, he wondered when the universe would grant him, and Tanya Desjani, some time off.
* * *
&nb
sp; DESPITE his recent experiences, Geary couldn’t help but think of Varandal as he’d known it before the war. A century ago, the star system had held a single military orbiting facility capable of servicing at one time three destroyers, or two cruisers, or a single battleship or battle cruiser. Back then, that was enough to meet the needs of a smaller fleet that operated on a lean budget doled out by a government that had a lot of other priorities to deal with. The inhabited planet had been home to a decent and growing population, as well as a slowly developing industrial base.
So it was always a slight shock to him to see Varandal as it was now, with many more defenses, many more orbiting facilities, a score of massive shipyards, and hundreds of warships circling the star. All of those human-made objects in space had needed a lot more industry and population to support them, and the primary world’s population and industry had expanded a great deal to meet those needs. Wartime spending had ballooned the Alliance’s military spending, and even though that balloon had been rapidly deflating elsewhere since the end of the war, here at Varandal the cutbacks had so far only been minor in many places, reflecting the importance of what had become in effect the home star for the majority of the remaining fleet under Geary’s command.
But some signs of the end of the war were visible on his display. Two massive ground forces bases that for decades had marshaled troops before offensives against Syndic star systems were now marked as decommissioned. Eventually, their buildings and their land would be used for some other purpose, but for now the places sat empty and silent where millions of men and women had made temporary homes before battle, temporary homes that in too many cases had turned out to be their last homes after they died on distant worlds.
Similarly, a huge orbiting base that had once housed squadrons of aerospace craft either defending the primary world or readying to be ferried to other stars had been shut down. Dark, cold, and still, it swung through space, awaiting new missions that would probably never come.
He shook off the mood, listening to the routine reports by the bridge watch standers as Dauntless dropped out of the hypernet and back into somewhere.
Boundless Page 13
