Fire With Fire-eARC

by Charles E Gannon

  Alnduul’s nictating lids cycled slowly and his speech was measured, deliberate: “It is always appropriate for one sentient to wish another enlightenment. You do us honor. What is your name?”

  “I am Caine Riordan.”

  “Ah.” It was a confirmatory sound, as if Alnduul had just received the expected answer to his question. “And you are here in what capacity, Caine Riordan?”

  Well, this was as good a time as any for introductions. “I am here as this delegation’s negotiator and—er, spokesperson.”

  “So you are the leader of the delegation?”

  “No, that would be Ms. Visser, our ambassador.”

  “So your job is to communicate, not to deliberate?”

  Caine was trying to figure how best to answer the question when Visser stepped in: “Mr. Riordan is our primary communicator, but he is also one of our most important advisors and plays a crucial role in our deliberative process.”

  Caine turned to look at Visser, who once again crinkled her eyes at him. Good Christ, have I just been promoted? And is that a good thing or not?

  Then she continued: “And this is Ms. Elena Corcoran, who is our specialist in xenocultural signification and semiotics.”

  Elena stepped forward—Caine tried not to notice her dramatically long legs—and made the splay-fingered gesture. She carried it off with a sweeping grace that made it seem balletic.

  “Enlightenment unto you, Alnduul.”

  “And you, daughter of Nolan Corcoran. We are pleased you have come and that you sit at this table. Your father was much—appreciated—by us.” From the way the statement had begun, Caine had expected the concluding qualifier to be that Nolan was someone the Dornaani “admired,” rather than “appreciated.”

  If Elena noted the same peculiarity, she did not reveal it: “I am happy to learn this. My brother—who is also here—and I both wondered at your request for our presence. How did you know our father?”

  “How could we not? He was a famous human—and I foresee that his fame will grow, not diminish.”

  “So you knew of him through monitoring our broadcasts?”

  The nictating lids closed slowly, did not open immediately. “Let us speak of this later. I would invite you all to be seated, if you feel comfortable doing so.” Alnduul made a gesture with his fingers that looked like streamers waving in the wind. “Where is the rest of your delegation?”

  Caine looked at Visser, who nodded. “After some discussion, it was felt that it would be difficult to keep our conversation focused if we had ten persons here. So the other six members of our delegation will be listening, and sharing their input, by radio, assuming we can make a connection through your hull.”

  “Your radio will be allowed to operate. We are observing a similar protocol. Many are listening, but I shall be the only one speaking. Indeed, my role here is akin to yours, Caine Riordan.”

  Caine smiled. “Perhaps. But I do not have your authority.”

  “I have less authority than you might suspect. I am not at all among the first voices of the Dornaani.”

  “Then why were you chosen to speak for your people?”

  “Why were you made negotiator?”

  “Because I am—supposedly—the member of my species most familiar with contacting exosapients.”

  “My situation is analogous.”

  “You specialize in first contracts?”

  “Not exactly: I specialize in humans.”

  “As a scholar?”

  “That too. But mostly as an—an administrator.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “We—the Dornaani—are the Custodians of the Accord. Among us, I am one of those responsible for overseeing the Custodial policies and activities that involve your species.”

  Caine sensed Visser’s posture become more erect. He did not need her prompting: “Does this mean that you are also the one who will determine whether or not we may become a part of the Accord?”

  “Proffering membership in the Accord is determined by vote of all the Accord member states. Matters which involve interactions between the Custodians and your species are reviewed by the Custodial group of which I am a member.”

  Caine felt a vast, significant silence at the end of Alnduul’s explanation. “And may we reasonably hypothesize that you are the primary advisor and senior expert in that group?”

  Alnduul’s lids nictated several times, ultimately remained open: “This would be an extremely reasonable hypothesis.”

  Well, I guess we’d better not piss you off.

  Alnduul had positioned himself at the convex center of the crescent table. “Let us start with any questions about our contact with you to date, or the accords. We shall conclude with an overview of the protocols and itinerary of the upcoming Convocation of the Accord. Please begin.”

  Caine checked the list on his palmtop. “Our delegation’s first item is more an observation than a question. We found it…curious…that we did not receive copies of the accords until an hour before we shifted to this location.”

  Alnduul half-lifted one long hand. “We believe that first contact should emphasize unconstrained experience, not detailed analysis. Consequently, we encourage you to use your first Convocation to explore the Accord not as abstract dicta on a piece of paper, but as a living entity. You are here to witness the Accord in action: how else could you reasonably decide whether or not you wanted to be a part of it?”

  Visser shook her head. “But—with respect, Alnduul—had we been given a few months of lead time, had you relayed the accords along with your invitation, we could have examined them—and any relevant precedents and interpretations—more closely.”

  “And had we sent you the accords ahead of time, it would only have served to give your many leaders enough time to make something very complex out of something that is very simple. They would have succumbed to endless abstractions and hypothesizing and would have paralyzed themselves—would they not?”

  Visser was smiling now. “Unquestionably.”

  “It is the nature of organizations: the larger they grow, the more ponderous they become. I imply no criticism: to use a saying from one of the nations of your planet, one should not expect an elephant to scamper like a mouse. An organization large enough to govern a planet cannot also be flexible enough to react easily to new ideas or situations.”

  Visser nodded. “Thus the size constraint you placed upon the delegation.”

  “Yes. And also the short notice and lack of advance documents. For, given the opportunity to inspect the accords, your government would have encumbered you with all manner of constraints and objectives and questions and conditions. Indeed, they would not have sent your group at all.”

  “I do not understand.”

  Downing leaned forward. “If I may: I believe Alnduul is suggesting that, because the blocs did not have the opportunity to create a policy in advance, they had to choose a delegation that would be flexible, versatile, and unperturbed when dealing with unknown situations and species.”

  Alnduul’s eyelids nictated slowly. “Precisely.”

  Caine checked his palmtop, moved on: “Our next question concerns the Twelfth Accord. Specifically, why is radio and high-power microwave broadcasting prohibited?”

  “Primarily, to ensure the normative maturation of young cultures.”

  “You mean, you are trying to protect them?”

  It was Elena, not Alnduul, who answered: “It’s simply an extension of their rules regarding first contact. They are attempting to ensure that any young culture—including ours—has the chance to develop without advance knowledge of exosapients. To learn too early that one is not alone in the universe would almost certainly have a profound sociocultural effect.”

  Alnduul’s nictating lids closed, then opened slowly. “Just so.”

  “But what of new races who are using radio before they are contacted for membership? Such as ourselves?”

  Alnduul’s fingers spread wide: “Most
species sharply limit their use of high-power broadcasts long before they venture out into space. Indeed, only one other member state has failed to do so.”

  “Which one?”

  “I may not say. It is unlawful for any member state of the Accord to provide information regarding any other member state.”

  Caine leaned forward. “I’m curious: why do most races terminate radio transmissions before they achieve spaceflight?”

  “There is no single answer to such a question. But suffice it to say that not all species await first contact before they begin to speculate upon the possibly dire consequences of sending signals—intentional or inadvertent—out into space.”

  Caine shook his head. “So we spent almost two centuries showing everyone else how stupid we were.”

  “Let us say that you revealed yourselves to be ingenuously optimistic.”

  Caine allowed himself a small, ironic smile. “You are quite the diplomat, Alnduul.”

  Again, the slow close of the eyes, but this time, a ripple distressed the small, perpetual moue of a mouth. “I thank you.”

  Caine smelt sandalwood coming closer, just before Elena whispered, “I think that was amusement.”

  “Looked like it.” Caine considered his list of questions—and decided to ignore it for a moment. “Alnduul, our next question concerns one of the extraordinary conditions mentioned in the Twenty-first Accord.” Downing looked up suddenly. Caine pressed on. “It indicates that the Custodians will intervene in the event of an ‘impending and probable destruction of a biosphere.’ I take it you are not referring to supplanting indigenous life, but wiping it out summarily. As occurs with weapons of mass destruction.”

  “Yes: this is the intent of that clause.”

  “Earth must have come awfully close on that one about one-hundred-fifty years ago.”

  “We were poised to intervene on several occasions during that period. And it occurred at a difficult moment for us: our monitoring resources were overtaxed at that time. Indeed, this was what compelled us to revise the Eighteenth Accord to allow a sharing of monitoring duties.”

  “So we were monitored by another race, also?”

  “Rarely, but yes.”

  “So, back then in the middle of the twentieth century, were there any unplanned or planned contacts made with humans?”

  Alnduul’s lids nictated closed, then opened just a sliver. “That is a topic for another time.”

  Uh-huh; I’ll bet it is. But now it was time to return to the list—and arguably its trickiest question: “Alnduul, we noticed that the accords seem to be written with the presumption that all who apply for membership will receive it. But what would happen if we were not offered membership? Or if we declined it?”

  Alnduul’s gill flaps shut with a soft slap. Caine didn’t need Elena’s input—“A negative reaction, possibly a rejection or deep concern”—to interpret the Dornaani’s reflex.

  “The Accord would decide upon a policy for dealing with you as a non-Accord state.”

  “But what if one of our interstellar neighbors decided to seize our systems, wasn’t interested in waiting for an Accord policy? The accords are silent on independent actions taken by a member state against a nonmember state.”

  Alnduul’s gills pinched even tighter against his neck. “There is no precedent, so I cannot speculate. It would be a very undesirable turn of events, and we would mitigate strongly against it. However, the accords do not abridge the political autonomy of the member states, nor constrain their freedom of action, except with regard to each other.”

  Now it was Downing who jumped in with a topic of his own spontaneous creation. “I understand that you cannot reveal information pertaining to other member states, but since you are permitted to disclose information regarding your own, I wonder if I might ask for the location of the Dornaani sphere of influence?”

  Alnduul’s gills rippled faintly, once. “I must refuse your request. Even though I am personally inclined to answer.”

  “I am perplexed: why withhold this information?”

  “All information is intelligence. Once you are a member state, you are entitled to certain limited information on all states: for instance, you must know the location of each member state’s homeworld.”

  “Why?”

  “Because attacking a member state’s homeworld will trigger a sharp Custodial intervention, as outlined in the Twenty-first Accord. So, if you are to observe such constraints, you must know the worlds to which they apply.”

  “So how does our knowing the Dornaani homeworld put anyone else’s at risk?”

  “A member state could legitimately—if speciously—contend that by prematurely revealing our astrographic siting to you, we have contributed to your ability to deduce theirs. By process of elimination.”

  Downing smiled sardonically. “So by knowing where you are, we know where they are not.”

  “Yes.”

  Caine felt the break in the pace of Downing’s line of questioning, took back the initiative. “While we are on the topic of astrographic locations, we have a question about the allowed pathways of expansion outlined in the accords. Specifically, do all species receive fifty-eight systems, with the same general mixture of stellar classes and planets?”

  “Unfortunately, there is no simple answer to your query. However, I will attempt to furnish you with a crude overview.” The center fingers on each of Alnduul’s hands rose slightly. “We attempt to balance the number of stars available to each race, maintaining proportionality of type and sequence. We make every effort to ensure that there is no astrographic overlap between the current member states and the developmental pathways that are held in trust for possible future member species. This was the case with your developmental pathway; it remained off-limits to other races so that you might have the sole use of it.”

  Caine nodded, looked down the list of worlds, then the list of further questions—and then his eyes returned to the list of worlds. They settled on 70 Ophiuchi. He was supposed to ask about that next. But his attention was instinctively drawn to a different planetary name, a name that was dragging him away from the line of safe inquiry toward one that was potentially quite perilous. In the next moment, Caine realized that his instincts were actually pulling in the same direction as his conscience. Alnduul might be conducting a subtle test here, to see if they’d have the nerve—and integrity—to ask about this other system. Caine realized he’d have to take a chance in order to find out, which meant asking—

  “What criteria do you use to determine if a primitive protected race needs to have a pathway—or world—set aside for it?”

  Caine felt Downing’s fast, reflexive lean toward him: he’d probably have tackled me bodily if this wasn’t first contact. Visser looked up quickly; her mouth had sagged open. Took you a second longer, Fraulein, but you see where I’m going. She winced and put her hand over her ear: even so, Caine could hear Wasserman’s tiny, muted voice shouting: “Oh, Jesus Christ. Riordan—!”

  But Alnduul did not seem to intuit or heed the potential discomfiture in the human delegation. “For a species to be given ‘protected race’ status—and therefore, have worlds reserved for its use—it must demonstrate sapience, or the imminence thereof.”

  “What would happen if the Custodians—uh—missed detecting a race requiring such protection? What if it was first discovered by another starfaring species, which had already colonized the world in question?” Caine heard chairs squeaking, fingers drumming, and more Lilliputian outcries from Visser’s earpiece: they all knew where he was heading now. But this is the right—and the smart—thing to do—

  “It is hard to imagine how such an oversight would occur,” Alnduul answered. “Sapience leaves clear marks of its presence.”

  “But if it did occur?”

  “We must end this line of inquiry, unless it has immediate pertinence. Tasking the accords to respond to every hypothetical situation can only—”

  “I beg your pardon, but my
question is not hypothetical.”

  Alnduul paused. “Indeed?”

  Visser tugged sharply at Caine’s elbow and hissed in his ear: “Don’t you dare tell them about—”

  Caine didn’t stop: “I feel it is our responsibility to bring such a possible oversight to your attention.”

  Alnduul stared. And repeated: “Indeed?”

  “Yes. After we had established several colonies on the third planet in the Delta Pavonis system, we discovered various artifacts indicating prior, and possibly persistent, sapient inhabitation. We eventually confirmed a relatively small group of this race is still extant.”

  Alnduul was silent for a long time. Then his gills flared and rippled. “This is known to us, Mr. Riordan.”

  The nervous chair squeakings to either side of him stopped. Hah: thought so. “Then why was this world on our pathway of allowed expansion? I would have expected it to be excluded—along with others held in trust for those sapients.”

  “A reasonable deduction. And a most reassuring display of self-declaration and good faith not specifically mandated or required by the accords. However, the situation on Delta Pavonis Three is a special case: there has been no oversight.”

  “But how—”

  “Mr. Riordan, I cannot share the specifics of the case with you. And I may not do so until Earth receives and accepts Accord membership. To do so would be to violate the Accord’s confidentiality protocols.”

  Violate the protocols? That would logically mean—“So some other member race is somehow connected to the sapients on Dee Pee Three? And therefore, you can’t discuss the situation without violating your Custodial restraints upon sharing information that pertains to other member races?”

  Alnduul’s gills flared outwards with a pop: a signal of surprise? “A most stimulating conjecture, Mr. Riordan. But I cannot respond to it, either.”

  “Of course he can’t,” whispered Downing. “Not without revealing it to be the very reason he can’t respond—thereby confirming what you asked in the first place. Well played, Caine: very well played indeed.”