Fire with Fire, Second Edition

by Charles E Gannon

  Thanks for the pat on the head; next you’ll be giving me a cookie—“Have Dornaani Custodians ever landed on any of our planets?”

  “Yes.”

  Now, let’s find out who else has been poking around our backyard. “Have Ktoran Custodians ever landed on any of our planets?”

  The pause was marked. “They have received no such orders or authorization, and we have received no such reports.”

  Hmm—not a “yes,” but not a “no,” either. “Has a species ever been considered for membership which ultimately did not become a member?”

  “No.”

  “So the Custodians know of no races other than the ones that are presently in the Accord?”

  Alnduul’s fingers fluttered. “There is historical record of other races. However, there has been no official contact with them—if they still exist—since the institution of the Accord. Therefore, knowledge pertaining to these races is the province of those species which have retained records of their contacts with these other species.”

  Tell your non-Custodian Dornaani pals to expect a tidal wave of questions on that topic. And now, the key question—“Other than the Custodial report to the Accord, is there any condition under which it would have been legal for the Custodians to share information about Earth with any member state?”

  “Absolutely not.” Ah hah. “Even the Dornaani Collective is not allowed such information, despite the fact that it is the member state charged with Custodianship.” Alnduul’s lids half-closed. “We trust that this answer provides additional context to several of the inquiries that were addressed to your delegation earlier today.”

  Visser smiled. “Ja, he has confirmed that the Arat Kur have obtained information illegally.”

  Wasserman snorted. “He all but winked.”

  Caine wondered how much time they had left before the other member states relayed their responses to the twenty questions. No time to waste. “Why was Earth not contacted prior to, or shortly after, our entry into the 70 Ophiuchi system?”

  Alnduul’s thumbs opened downward, longer fingers waving listlessly, fitfully. “The Custodians’ Human Oversight Group received conflicting field reports regarding your interstellar expansion. This resulted in a very late first report to the Accord, which then debated—for two years—over delaying your hearing in order to combine it with that of the Hkh’Rkh. By that time, your race had not only visited but commenced the settling of 70 Ophiuchi. I cannot say more without revealing—” Alnduul held up his hand in what seemed to be a universal “stop” gesture. “The member states have all submitted their responses to your questions. We must consider your inquiry of the Custodians to be ended. I have also been asked to inform you that the Dornaani member state has been pleased to answer all your questions in detail.”

  —Well, no surprises there—

  “Now please open your channels to the other member states.”

  Caine nodded at Thandla. Wise-Speech and the green and yellow quatrefoils returned.

  Alnduul spread his arms. “The delegates of the member states will now respond to the inquiries of the delegation from Earth.”

  Wise-Speech managed to produce a tone at once apologetic and sympathetic. “The Ktor delegation welcomes the keen human interest in our species. Indeed, their questions are so far-ranging and pregnant with greater implications, that we cannot answer them in the sterile format necessitated by these proceedings.”

  Damn: strike one—

  “We would welcome an opportunity for more expansive, less rigidly structured discussions.”

  “‘Let’s talk over drinks.’” Wasserman’s paraphrase even got a smile out of Visser.

  Vishnaaswii’ah began a moment later. “The Slaasriithi also feel that, given the diverse questions posed by the human delegation, we would prefer not to proceed until their species has a more complete concept of us.”

  God damn; strike two—

  “Accordingly, we shall send our response in the form of a primer, used to associate our very young with our history, our language, our planet, our polity.”

  Wasserman rolled his eyes: “See Dick run. Run, Dick, run.”

  “This primer,” continued Vishnaaswii’ah, “and the supplemental materials, are an excellent foundation from which to develop further lines of inquiry. We hope you are not offended that we offer this in place of direct answers to your inquiries.”

  Caine raised his voice over Wasserman’s sardonic guffaw. “We will look forward to receiving your primer, Vishnaaswii’ah. And we take no offense: we are thankful that you took it upon yourself to furnish us with what you feel is the best and most helpful first exposure to your race.”

  “And our thanks for your patience and gracious response. I think, upon close consideration, you will find the text and the supplementary materials quite—illuminating.”

  Caine looked around the gallery; Elena was the only other one who had apparently noted the faintly stilted diction of the last comment. She looked at him, eyebrow raised: “Why mention the supplementary materials twice? Why mention them at all?”

  He nodded. “And why emphasize that they would be ‘quite illuminating’ upon ‘close consideration’? That sounded like a surreptitious prompt, to me.”

  Downing nodded. “Yes, but right now, let’s hear what the Arat Kur have to say.”

  Caine felt the delegation’s eyes turn, along with his, to the blinking yellow quatrefoil. Ten seconds later, they were still waiting.

  “Speaker-to-Nestless Zirsoo, there may be a problem with the communications equipment; we are not receiving your responses.”

  “The communication equipment is operating properly. We decline to respond to your questions.”

  Strike three—a blind miss—and out. Not a single question answered.

  Alnduul folded his hands. “The human delegation has received all formal responses.”

  Caine stepped closer to the image of the Dornaani. “Alnduul, we would like to ask a question.”

  “Yes?”

  “Have member states elected not to answer the formal questions of candidate races before this?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many questions have been declined—in toto—over the course of all the prior candidacy hearings?”

  Alnduul folded his hands more tightly. “Two.”

  Caine turned to face the others. “Yep. We’re in deep shit.”

  * * *

  After the long silence that followed, Visser’s voice sounded very tired. “So, any ideas what we should do now?”

  Elena looked over at Caine—inquisitively, tentatively—before suggesting, “We could have a party.”

  The room was more silent than before. At the words “have a party,” Hwang commenced looking sidelong at Elena, as if assessing her for signs of impending mental collapse. Wasserman’s reaction was even worse: he smiled, kindly and a bit crestfallen, as if he’d just learned that a favorite sibling had been diagnosed with dementia.

  But Elena kept looking at Caine—and then he understood. “Yes—of course.”

  Durniak’s head snapped back. “We should have a party? Now?”

  Elena’s hands were suddenly as lively as Alnduul’s. “No, no—not a party for us. For them. A diplomatic reception.”

  “So that’s our show of strength and resolve? They insult us, and in return, we feed them?”

  Caine turned toward Wasserman. “No—she’s absolutely right. And not just on the level of communications, but tactically.”

  “Pardon?” Downing’s eyebrows were raised.

  “Sun Tzu; always do what your adversary won’t anticipate. Always find fields of engagement that minimize your weaknesses, maximize your strengths. Always strike them where they are most vulnerable. And Elena’s suggestion accomplishes all those things.”

  Visser nodded. “Yes, of course. Today, almost all the member states either dismissed us or attacked our credentials: the last thing they will expect is a social invitation.”

  Downi
ng smiled. “And, being the diplomatic victors of the hour, the Arat Kur can hardly reject an invitation without also making themselves look like utter cads. They’ve got to be gracious in victory—or they come away looking petty and ungenerous.”

  Durniak was frowning. “What if the other member states do not care how they look? So we give a party. Some do not show. Others say ne kulturny, shrug, and turn their backs. How does this help us?”

  Elena nodded. “It might not. But I think it will, at least with the Dornaani. And perhaps more importantly, I think it could be very important in our future relationships with the Slaasriithi—and the Hkh’Rkh.”

  Visser squinted at Elena: “Important in what way?”

  Elena leaned back, collected herself—and Caine had the impression of an organist surveying all the keys, pumps, stays, and pushes before starting a complex concerto. “Firstly, I suspect that those two member states are the ones most likely to be undecided about us. The Slaasriithi, in particular, seem not to be a part of the Arat Kur’s ploys—”

  “Even though they also refused to be seen, and refused to answer our questions.”

  “True, Dr. Thandla, but they were always very polite and suggested that more complete communication would be forthcoming. The Hkh’Rkh are new, like ourselves, and could hardly have come with any preconceived notions—”

  “Unless the Arat Kur got to them first.”

  She looked at her brother. “And if that’s the case, Trev, then the Accord is more sham than substance. Fully half the current or prospective members would be actively involved in subverting its basic principles. How long do you think it will last, if that’s the case?”

  Trevor met her gaze. “I didn’t say I think it will last. In fact, if you were taking bets—”

  Downing stood. “Agreed—things are looking shaky all around. But I think Elena’s making some excellent points. The greatest remaining strategic prize is the good opinion of those races which may be undecided about humanity, particularly since the decision upon our membership is to be made tomorrow. So, if the Arat Kur accept our invitation, we have an opportunity to learn about them; if they do not, they have shown themselves to be aggressive and unfriendly in formal council, and rude and inconsiderate in informal interaction. And in contrast, we will come across as patient, congenial, forgiving—”

  “And weak.” Wasserman leaned forward. “No member state is going to ally with us against another because someone turned up their nose at our appetizers. Christ, it’s just a party.”

  Caine tried to keep his smile from becoming ironic. “Just a party? Lemuel, where do you think most politicking is done, where most deals are made? At meetings? No: on the side. Meetings are for show; the real action is taking place over drinks. Wars are won, land ceded, truces made in the time between the crudités and the canapés. Besides, Elena’s plan has another upside.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The Ktor. Remember what they said?”

  Wasserman smiled. “Yeah, that they would welcome ‘an opportunity for longer, less rigidly structured discussions.’”

  “Precisely. They asked for an invite, so we’re sending them one. And I think they’re the ones we really need to talk to.”

  Visser frowned. “Why?”

  Downing jumped in. “Because they’ve got their fingers—maybe tendrils—in almost all of the issues that involve us. They’re the surrogate Custodians who may or may not have visited our systems. They want to talk with us, but not briefly or in public. They don’t challenge our legitimacy but they make trouble when the Dornaani try to put aside the Arat Kur objections to it. And their seniority and technology is second only to the Dornaani.” Downing shook his head. “We have to talk to them before tomorrow’s decision. They know it. They made sure of it.”

  “You’re saying—?”

  “That they orchestrated many of today’s events? I’d lay odds on it.”

  Visser raised an eyebrow. “So you think they’ll come?”

  Caine stepped toward the communication node: “There’s only one way to find out—”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  ODYSSEUS

  “You’re sure you’re okay?” Opal was on the way out of the reception hall.

  Caine looked up. “Why?”

  “Because you look like shit, darling.”

  “Tough day at the office.”

  “Sounded like it, from where I was sitting. And I’ll be happy to be back at my boring post for most of this evening.” She looked around at the platters that had already emerged from the serving alcove: buffalo carpaccio and kibbe nayyeh sans bulgur—Elena’s best guess at what the Hkh’Rkh would consider delicacies. Opal wrinkled her nose at the raw meats.

  “Finger food,” Caine explained.

  “Road kill,” she countered. “Look, take it easy: you’ve been working too hard, running on fumes.”

  “I’m fine—fine.” No one was looking; he ran his palm into and around the taut arch that was the small of her back.

  Her eyes sprang wide, as if he had pinched her. “Caine—not here!” she remonstrated. But her smile—and her quick half-step closer to him—said otherwise.

  “You’re such an old-fashioned girl.”

  Her smile faded, replaced by a look that was more intent. “Yeah, sure. Demure. Passive—” her next half step brought the tip of her right breast into faint, split-second contact with his left upper arm “—Uninventive.”

  He smiled and looked away. “We’ll see about that—later. Now, get out of here.”

  “I hear and obey, mighty one—at least until you try to last a minute with me on the mats.”

  What came to mind was not karate. “Or on some other flat surface.”

  Her smile returned. “Flat surface? No imagination.” She headed for the exit, turned, flashed a grin that was also a leer and a promise, and then went around the corner.

  Visser, Thandla, and Downing entered from the same spot, escorting close to a dozen Dornaani, several of whom were carrying what looked like immense wooden bowls. The Dornaani immediately dispersed into the room: the humans headed straight for Caine.

  “What’s with the bowls?”

  “Think of them as fruit baskets, sent with the regrets of the Slaasriithi.” Downing surveyed the selection of highly spiced fish dishes that the Dornaani had requested.

  “So you heard from them?”

  Thandla nodded. “They would not explicate why they declined to attend. But they were very polite, very profuse regrets. Very like my great-aunts.”

  “And what’s in the bowls?”

  Downing stood aside as Hwang—chief chef along with Elena—swept past with four new trays of food. “I was serious, Caine: the bowls are filled with fruit. From their homeworld.”

  “And have we—?”

  Thandla nodded. “One sample of each removed. Scanned for soil residues, but it looks like they’ve been sanitized.”

  “Better than nothing,” agreed Downing.

  “And then there’s what our guests unintentionally leave behind—hair, dried skin, saliva, wastes.” Caine shrugged. “I don’t see how they can object to us collecting it for analysis. But I think our real priority has to be learning more about the intentions of these races—and we may not have a lot of time left in which to do that.”

  “I think this is twice I hear you suggest that there may be little time to ask questions.” Durniak had approached from the other direction, rubbing at a stain on her blouse. “Why do you say this?”

  “Because I think this meeting could come apart. Which means we could have a fuse burning in terms of how much time we have to get information. Which reminds me: any word from the Arat Kur?”

  Downing shook his head. “Not a whisper. But look who’s coming to dinner.”

  Several of the Ktor suspension tanks were rolling ponderously through the entryway. Visser unfolded her arms. “Mr. Downing, Mr. Riordan, let’s welcome our guests.”

  Caine stared at the tanks. “I prom
ised I’d help arrange the trays as Hwang and Elena bring them out. I’m sure the Ktor won’t miss me.”

  Visser’s head leaned sideways. “Or is it you who will not miss them?”

  Caine shrugged. “We’ll see.”

  Visser nodded, headed toward the doorway with Downing. Caine straightened out the trays; Durniak trailed behind: her duty—drinks—had been swiftly concluded. Beyond water, there wasn’t much that any of the species had cleared for consumption. “How much of our food can they eat?”

  “The Ktor passed on everything: not surprising, given they’re in a fully sealed environment. The Dornaani seemed interested in lightly cooked and highly spicy seafood—particularly chowders or pastes, but they didn’t seem to have any concern about digestibility. The Hkh’Rkh were pretty easy to plan for: Elena consulted the encyclopedic self-reference they exchanged for ours—she’s now our resident expert on them—and confirmed that they process complex proteins almost exactly the same way we do.”

  “Meaning—?”

  “Meaning that we’re serving them a buffet of buffalo steaks—very rare—raw meats, sashimi, asiago cheese, goat’s milk, chocolate truffles, chateauneuf-du-pape, stout.”

  Durniak stared. “We brought goat’s milk?”

  Caine smiled. “Yeah. Go figure.”

  “They seem to like strong tastes.”

  “Yes, Elena and Ben were warned to avoid serving anything that’s bland.”

  “It seems like they’ve succeeded.” Durniak said with a departing smile.

  Seems so. Now where the hell is the Hkh’Rkh delegation and the—

  “Here. Hold this.” The command came from behind.

  Caine turned—and found himself staring into glass-green eyes. He almost dropped the plate that Elena thrust into his hands. He looked down to see what was on it—and looked back up quickly. She had changed into evening wear: a sleek black dress with a plunging and—due to her figure—dramatic neckline. I’m looking down again—and I’m staring. He looked up again quickly.