Fire with Fire, Second Edition

by Charles E Gannon

  “Holy shit, the wheels just came off the bus.” Wasserman stood as he said it, knocking over his chair.

  Caine glanced over to check on the yellow quatrefoil—just in time to see it wink off.

  Downing’s comment was sotto voce, but the tone was similar to Lemuel’s: “Bloody hell: Sigma Draconis. It means they’re our closest neighbors. By far.”

  Elena nodded at no one. “Which is why our expansion made them so nervous.”

  Caine mentally reconstructed the starfield they had all studied in the holotank. “It also means they have systems from which they can strike several of ours, including our naval facilities at Barnard’s Star. And that is only one shift away from Ross 154: Earth’s only connection to its main colonies.”

  “And now they’re pissed and won’t talk.” Wasserman grabbed his chair, threw it back upright. “Great. What happens next, I wonder?”

  “More of the same.” Elena pointed across at the Ktor delegation. “Look.”

  For the second time in one day, the water heaters were slowly but steadily rolling out of the gallery. Wise-Speech’s image half-rotated, apparently preparing to join the rest of his colleagues. “We regret that we must join the Arat Kur in their protest. We are serving official notice of our departure from these proceedings. We furthermore feel that they may not be legitimately resumed until hearings have determined whether the actions of the Custodians are grounds for their dismissal. We wish all our colleagues good fortune and safe travels.” He rolled away; the connection closed.

  Caine looked over at the Hkh’Rkh; there seemed to be a rather heated debate in process, one which Yaargraukh was apparently losing, though not for lack of effort.

  Durniak leaned her mouth on her steepled fingers. “What will come of all this?”

  Visser shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe an unofficial summit where they will manage to bury this hatchet.”

  “Unlikely.”

  “I agree, Mr. Downing. But if not, then the Accord must either remain split, or be forcibly reunited.”

  “By which you mean—”

  “War. Look.”

  Yaargraukh had reentered the communication node of the Hkh’Rkh gallery. “I bear the words of the First Voice of the First Family, and they are these: that the Dornaani have dishonored him and the Hkh’Rkh by refusing to acknowledge his authority in this place, and have dishonored themselves by breaking the rules of the Accord. The Hkh’Rkh agree with the Arat Kur and the Ktor that redress is needed before further discussions are acceptable. Accordingly, we, too, turn our backs upon this Convocation.” By the time he finished speaking, he was the last of his species in the gallery. He looked over at Caine, nodded, left.

  Who in turn looked at Visser. “Well, now it’s up to us: leave or stay. Fish or cut bait.”

  As Visser looked around the room, Caine followed her eyes from face to face: the outcome of the silent vote was obvious. Visser nodded at him.

  Caine entered the communications node again. “Alnduul, the delegation from Earth stands ready to continue with the agenda, or informal discussion, at the pleasure of the Dornaani and the Slaasriithi delegations.”

  Alnduul bowed very low. “We note the continued participation of the Earth delegation and both commend and thank them for their decision to continue under these difficult circumstances.”

  Caine smiled, nodded, but felt a cold knot growing in his gut. Unless I’m very wrong, the circumstances are going to get a lot more difficult before they get better.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  MENTOR

  Downing looked up as Hwang came into the module’s conference room and said, “Signal incoming. Holographic. I’ve sent pages to everyone else.”

  “Thank you, Ben.” Richard checked his watch: two hours since the Convocation had ended, one since he had sent his requests to Alnduul. “Ben, please open the channel. And resend those pages, if necessary.”

  Hwang aimed his palmtop at the holotank and clicked a button—just as the rest of the delegation started filing in, scanning for seats.

  Downing noted that Elena was not among the group: neither was Caine.

  ODYSSEUS

  “Just a moment, Elena.”

  She stopped, but did not turn toward him. “Yes?”

  Christ: what the hell did I do now? He took the three steps needed to draw alongside her. “Look, I’ve been trying to find a moment to talk with you—”

  “We’re needed in the conference room. Now.”

  “I know. This will only take a second.” And then Caine realized that while he knew what he wanted to say, he had no idea how to start. “About the other day, at the reception—”

  Her eyes strained toward the conference room. “Don’t worry about it. That was just a bit of nonsense. That sort of thing always happens when you’re busy meeting a few new species over cocktails and canapés. Happens to me all the time.” She turned and smiled—carefully—at him. “Don’t give it another thought. I haven’t.”

  He almost believed her. “Well . . . I’m glad you’re not offended or—bothered.” Now he wondered if he believed what he was saying. “I also wanted to say that I’m sorry if, on some other occasions, I have—that is, I find myself . . .” His mouth remained opened, but no words came out.

  She closed her eyes and said, “Are you trying to apologize for staring at me?”

  “Uh—well, yes. I mean, I really didn’t realize I was doing it. Not most of the time, that is. I—it’s just that—that—”

  “Your eloquence renders me speechless.” She smiled. “You too, apparently.” She opened her eyes, but once again, they were aimed up the corridor toward the conference room. “I have to leave,” she said. Without another word, she did.

  Caine watched her walk quickly away, wondered how he had wanted the conversation to resolve, while simultaneously realizing that this outcome did not feel right. Not at all.

  MENTOR

  After days of becoming accustomed to Dornaani technology, their own holotank’s image of Alnduul seemed grainy and crude. Downing spread his arms and fingers out. “Enlightenment unto you, Alnduul. Thank you for responding to my message.”

  “I am sorry I was not able to do so sooner. The events of this day have necessitated much discussion among our delegation.”

  “And with the other races, I’ll warrant.”

  “Sadly, only the Slaasriithi—and of course yourselves—are responding to our messages, at this point.”

  “I am sorry to hear that.” Downing cleared his throat. “Alnduul, besides changing the itinerary for our return to human space”—he ignored the surprised stares from various members of the delegation—“I would be grateful to learn, from both the Dornaani Collective and the Custodians, what kind of defensive assistance we can expect, if it becomes necessary.”

  Another Dornaani materialized next to Alnduul’s image: it was Glayaazh.

  Downing inclined his head. “Third Arbiter, we are honored that you have joined the conversation.” And dismayed that you were apparently eavesdropping.

  “I am honored to be welcomed into it. I may speak for the Collective. Ask what you wish.”

  Elena entered, flashed Downing a brittle smile, and sat.

  Downing kept his focus on Glayaazh. “Third Arbiter, although we are under the protection of the Custodians, we do not know what shape that protection will take. Furthermore, knowing so little about our potential adversaries, we do not know how best to prepare our own defense. This leaves us uncertain as to our role in this situation.”

  Glayaazh seemed to wave at the walls. “Your role is whatever you decide it to be.”

  Visser stepped forward, her brow ruler-straight. “Third Arbiter Glayaazh, with respect, that is a most ingenuous comment. Just yesterday, you were waiting to see whether or not we would lie, or accuse the Arat Kur of having illegal access to information. You were hoping, very much, that we would do neither of these things. And knowing your hopes, we declined to do either. Now I a
sk you: given that our support of you has earned us the enmity of other members of the Accord, can you not at least give us some understanding of the potential foes we might face, and the deeper disputes that lie beneath today’s friction?”

  Glayaazh’s mouth puckered tight. “I regret that I cannot do so, Ambassador Visser. Nor can we send an official delegation to Earth, as you requested earlier.” Glayaazh waggled her fingers downward. “To do so could be interpreted as a de facto confirmation of your membership, which would only exacerbate the frictions in the Accord. And frankly, we fear more for the repercussions upon you, rather than any which we might face.”

  Downing saw Visser bristling, stepped in quickly. “Third Arbiter, allow us to remain on the topic of Earth’s safety for one moment longer. As my delegation’s security specialist, I must inquire: will you be monitoring our borders? If not, and if they are violated, how would we inform you?”

  “As I stated in the last session, your status as a provisional member puts us in a very awkward and unprecedented position. Since you are no longer a protected species, we are precluded from taking preemptive steps.”

  “We understand your dilemma, but we hope you will also understand ours. Not only do we lack the absolute security of a protected race, we also lack any useful knowledge regarding the Accord’s other races. This places us in an extremely vulnerable position.”

  “Agreed.” She looked toward Alnduul.

  His inner eyelids flickered once and he nodded. “We will maintain limited contact with your leaders. In the event of a clear and imminent threat, we will provide compensatory assistance.”

  “Alnduul, this is hardly an—an optimal strategy,” Downing sputtered, seeing Caine slip into the room.

  Glayaazh’s fingers were waving slowly. “Your words suggest that you presume war is impending. This is a hasty presumption, and to act upon it might convince others that you intend to wage war against them. We counsel you to be patient, and not to assume the worst.”

  Then you don’t know much about the job and mind of a defense analyst, Glayaazh, old girl. “Your approach is ethically admirable, Third Arbiter, but still does not answer the question my superiors will—rightly—want answered: what will you do to aid us if we come under attack from other powers?”

  Glayaazh folded her long-fingered hands. “Let us speak frankly, if hypothetically. Any attack on you would certainly trigger intervention by the Custodians. If that intervention is resisted, the ensuing conflict would probably follow the fracture lines of the Accord’s present political impasse. The Dornaani Collective and Custodians would contend with the Ktor, the Slaasriithi with the Arat Kur, and yourselves with the Hkh’Rkh. In each pairing, the Accord forces enjoy a decisive technological advantage. Is this not sufficient reassurance against such an attack?”

  “Perhaps,” allowed Downing, “but your analysis is crucially dependent upon the pairings you’ve proposed. What if events unfold differently? For instance, it seems to me that the Slaasriithi tend to be diffident. If, in a true conflict, they failed to engage the Arat Kur vigorously, what would keep the Arat Kur from mounting a first attack on our worlds?”

  Glayaazh blinked once and turned away. “Your words are wise. Such a course of events must not be allowed. This we resolve.”

  “So you might resolve, but what will you do?”

  “For now, we will do nothing that could be construed as a military provocation. However, if any other state moves in a manner that could be interpreted as a prelude to hostilities, we shall so inform you and be prepared to intervene.”

  Wasserman tossed his stylus down on his dataslate. “So, in plain English, you’re not going to do anything.”

  “If the only action you deem important is military, then you are right: at this time, we are currently disposed to do nothing.”

  Wasserman glared at the faces which were glaring at him. “Great allies you’ve picked, folks.”

  Glayaazh’s image pointedly looked away from Wasserman and back to Downing and Visser. “Mr. Downing, Ambassador: we regret that we cannot offer concrete assurances at this time. But your behavior at these proceedings speaks well of your maturity and appreciation of rule of law, even under the most adverse circumstances. We shall not forget this.

  “And now, this conversation must end: we will be recovering your module and intership coupler from the docking hub shortly. The transit to your new destination—Barnard’s Star—will commence soon thereafter. Again, on behalf of both the Custodians and the Dornaani, we wish you fair travels, and hope that we shall meet soon again to resolve your candidacy.”

  “We hope the same.”

  Glayaazh vanished. Alnduul, who seemed vaguely troubled, remained behind a moment longer to offer a carefully practiced nod to the rest of the delegation, and then faded.

  Hwang turned towards Downing. “Barnard’s Star? Why there?”

  Downing folded his hands. “After the results of this Convocation, it is now imperative that we return to Earth by that route.”

  Durniak’s forehead was as furrowed as a washboard. “Why?”

  Visser raised her chin. “We are returning via Barnard’s Star because the combined fleets there must be placed on alert and receive a full briefing as soon as possible. Containing a potential invasion depends upon retaining control over the Barnard’s Star system.”

  Opal frowned. “And why is that?”

  Downing answered. “Because with the Arat Kur sphere somewhere in the vicinity of Sigma Draconis, Barnard’s Star is on their most direct route of approach to Earth. Barnard’s Star is also only one shift from Ross 154, which is the real gateway between Earth and all our colonies and outposts on the Green Mains. If we lose the Ross 154 crossroads, our space will be cut into two halves. So, since the warning needs to be sounded in both directions, Barnard’s Star is the best place to start it off.”

  Downing checked his watch. “According to the information Alnduul transmitted, we’ll be leaving in less than two hours. If you have any last messages or tasks to attend to, this is the time.”

  ODYSSEUS

  Caine and Yaargraukh looked out at the stars together, enjoying another long silence. Like the others, it was comfortable, companionable—but it was also heavy with the surety of ending. Caine nodded at the spacescape. “Looking at these stars is like looking out to sea when a storm is approaching. It’s calm where you’re standing, but you can see the edge of the tempest.”

  Yaargraukh pony-nodded. “It is the same on my planet, though we are not so fond of the water.” He turned to face Caine. “You do me a very great honor inviting me into your module, Caine.” He glanced at the flags of Earth’s five blocs and the Confederation flanking the gallery window. “We have banners such as these, as well. It shames me that I am no longer able, or even allowed, to extend you an invitation to our module to see them. Or to have made a feast to repay your own.”

  Caine shook his head. “No surprise, there—and no fault of yours, Yaargraukh. Besides, your honesty and your openness is lavish recompense for our feast. What gifts could do us more honor?”

  The top-heavy Hkh’Rkh turned his barrel-shaped torso to face out into the sea of stars once again. “As we prepare to leave, the First’s retinue already speaks of challenges and glory and new lands. I am not sure it matters to them which challenges or what glory or whose lands shall sate their appetites—but this day, they could feel the blood rising inside them. It sang to them and, in their hearts, they sang back. And so, now that the song has started, it must be finished. Yet, as I sit and listen, I cannot help but think that—had it been left to us, to you and I—the song might have been very different indeed, a better song.”

  “One with less blood in it?”

  Yaargraukh’s neck oscillated. “Perhaps. But, at the very least, one with more honor. The blood—that was ready to flow before any of us arrived here. I have sat at parley tables where the purpose was not to make peace, but to instigate war. So it was here, I think.”

 
“I think you are right, Yaargraukh. Perhaps you can make First Voice hear that wisdom.”

  “Caine, understand: he knows this already. He is no fool. But he hungers for deeds of honor, and he believes that the Dornaani are weak and incapable of leading. He sees resolve in the Ktor.”

  “And the other races?”

  “They are deemed akin to those they follow. I think he hoped that you would also turn your back upon the Convocation, but you did not, so he is satisfied that he now knows humanity.”

  “Knows that we are also weak and incapable of leadership?”

  “So he thinks.”

  “And what do you think, Yaargraukh?”

  The Hkh’Rkh let a long breath out though his nose; there was a faint sound of warbling phlegm. “I think that First Voice of the First Family has much more to learn about humans. And I do not think he will like the lessons.” He straightened, stepped back from the observation glass. “We end as we began—with truths that are the beginning of an enduring bridge between us.”

  This time, having skimmed the Hkh’Rkh self-reference, Caine knew the word to use. “Honor,” he said in Hkh’i.

  Yaargraukh nodded somberly. “Honor,” he repeated. “It is sadness to me that we seem destined to fight before our bridge is built.”

  Risking one of the few phrases he had learned in Yaargraukh’s language, Caine asserted, “If it is so, then it will be a waste of the blood of the brave.” The axiom was more provocative in Hkh’i: a core proverb, Caine had determined that its closest human translation would be analogous to “It would be the desecration of heroes, even as they march to their deaths.” It was an accusation of heinousness that bordered on atrocity.

  Yaargraukh stopped nodding, stared a long time. Caine wondered if he had gone too far, but also felt that—for both his race, and himself—it had been the right thing to say. Because it was the simple truth.