“I read your paper on the implications of contact with the Vesy,” Captain Naiser said to Professor Nordstrom, once he’d introduced his crew. “It was quite provocative.”
“Thank you, Captain,” the Professor said. “Unfortunately, I was not permitted to interview you before writing my paper.”
“There’s little to add that didn't go in the reports,” the Captain said. “They’re not human, really, and that’s the important issue.”
Joelle nodded. “We have some experience with non-human minds already, Captain,” she said. “The dangers have been noted and logged.”
“And we have more space for mistakes,” Colonel Mortimer added. “The Vesy, quite simply, do not pose a threat to us.”
“Not physically,” Professor Nordstrom said. “However, it cannot be denied that contact with them may do us considerable social and political damage.”
Joelle smiled, rather ruefully. “Captain, can I suggest we eat first? We’ll be here all night if he starts to discourse on the dangers.”
“Of course,” the Captain said. He signalled a steward, who came forward pushing a large trolley of soup bowls. “We can stay here all night afterwards, if you wish.”
The soup tasted faintly of carrot and coriander, Joelle discovered, as she sipped it thoughtfully and studied the crew. Commander Howard - she’d taken the precaution of skimming through the personnel files during the flight to Warspite - looked calm and composed, while - beside him - Lieutenant-Commander Rosenberg appeared to be bored, although she was doing a good job of hiding it. Joelle couldn't help a flicker of sympathy; she’d always hated ceremonial dinners as a junior representative, when she’d been too junior to be allowed to talk, but too senior to be left in her quarters. Beyond her, the Chief Engineer had finished his soup and was muttering quietly to an officer she didn’t recognise. The stewards removed the soup bowls as soon as they were finished, then started to bring out the next set of dishes. They might have lacked the polish of the Foreign Office’s catering staff, she noted absently, but they were efficient.
“That tasted better than I expected,” Grace muttered.
“Remind me to discuss the definition of diplomacy with you later,” Joelle muttered back. It had been a long time since she’d tasted military food, but she didn't remember it with any fondness. “They brought this up from Earth for us.”
Grace looked embarrassed, which faded quickly as she dug into her roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. It wasn't something the average person on Earth would enjoy very often, not now; Joelle couldn't help a twinge of guilt as she recalled that rationing was still in place over large tracts of Britain. Hell, one of the reasons more and more people were emigrating to Britannia or Nova Scotia was that there was no rationing there, as well as more room to breathe. It probably wouldn't last indefinitely, she was sure, but there were definite advantages to getting in on the ground floor.
“This is very good,” she said, addressing the Captain. “Your crew are excellent cooks.”
“Thank you, Ambassador,” the Captain said. “Turning military rations into something edible requires an above-average cook.”
Joelle had to smile as she finished her dinner, then allowed the stewards to take it away and bring a large pot of tea. There would be no coffee tonight, not if she wanted to sleep. The sooner she got used to sleeping on the cruiser, the better. It was something she’d learned from her mentor, back when they’d travelled to Tadpole-Prime.
“I don’t see how contact with the Vesy could cause political damage to us,” Commander Howard said, once the dishes were cleared away. “Professor?”
Professor Nordstrom cleared his throat. “If you will pardon a slight digression,” he said, “all human affairs are governed by strength. A stronger ... ah, person could have his way with a weaker person, no matter how his victim felt about it. Internationally, a stronger nation can get what it wants from a weaker nation, as they have the strength to impose their will.”
He took a breath, then leaned forward. “There was a period in human history where we preferred to pretend that wasn’t true,” he continued. “We tried to convince ourselves that it was immoral for strong countries to pick on weaker countries ... and then that the strong country was always in the wrong. The Age of Unrest was a direct result of our failure to ensure that weaker countries knew, if you will pardon the expression, their place. They believed themselves immune to punishment because the strong chose to bind themselves with their own decency.”
“The strong picking on the weak is called bullying,” Commander Howard said, dryly.
“Yes, but only if the victim doesn't deserve it,” Professor Nordstrom said. “If a weaker country is hosting a terrorist camp that poses a threat to a stronger country, is it bullying for the stronger country to destroy the terrorist camp, no matter where it is located?”
He shrugged. “It is important to note,” he warned, “that the Vesy are primitive compared to us. There will be a very strong temptation to use force to get what we want from them.”
Joelle couldn't disagree. She’d worked in both gunboat diplomacy - practiced against countries that were too weak to pose a threat - and actual diplomacy with the Great Powers, where outright conflict would probably result in mutual annihilation. There was no patience for negotiating with weaker countries, countries inhabited by people too stupid to realise the true cause of their problems. If they caused trouble, they got walloped. It had been the way of things since the Age of Unrest had swept aside a great many illusions.
“This leads to a second point,” Professor Nordstrom added. “There is a tendency amongst a certain kind of people to believe that the wiser folks should act as parents to the unwise folks - and you should have no doubt in which category they place themselves. They see themselves as the parents and everyone else as the children - and, in doing so, assert the right to dictate how people live their lives. Indeed, before the Age of Unrest, there were entire organisations and charities that, with the best of intentions, set out to inflict their so-called wisdom on so-called primitive societies. The results were rarely pleasant.”
He met Howard’s eyes. “The weaker societies were often devastated by the influx of bad wisdom,” he said. “But the stronger societies lost the wisdom to question the rightness of their actions. Being charitable was seen as a good thing in itself; there was no awareness that charity had to be tailored to local requirements or that the ultimate intention needed to be weaning the weaker societies off charity. There was no feedback system that allowed them to actually measure the success of their acts. Nor did they have any real understanding of the societies they were trying to improve. Their ... idealised view of the locals prevented them from actually understanding them.
“In short, they acted like bad parents, alternatively scolding the child and preventing him from having to face the consequences of his mistakes.”
“They believed in the concept of the noble savage,” the Captain said, slowly.
“Precisely,” Professor Nordstrom said.
He looked down at his cup of tea, then back at the Captain. “We could teach the Vesy so many things, Captain,” he said. “But they would grow into cheap copies of us, at best, with all the virtues of their society destroyed. And we would see that as a good result, so we would not hesitate to do the same to another alien race, should we encounter one.”
Grace snorted. “But why should we leave them in squalor?”
Joelle smiled, inwardly. She’d picked her staff for their differing ideas in the hopes it would give her multiple different viewpoints ... and, it seemed, she’d succeeded magnificently.
“They can always get themselves out of squalor,” Professor Nordstrom pointed out, dryly.
“They can't,” Grace said. She took a breath. “If the reports are accurate, life on Vesy is nasty, brutish and short. We could make their lives so much better simply by introducing a few ideas and concepts to them. Don’t we have a moral duty to assist those less fortunate than ourse
lves?”
“But how long would it be,” the Professor asked, “before you started telling yourself that you always knew better than them? That you knew what was good for them and anyone who disagreed was merely being short-sighted?”
Grace glowered at him. “If I see a child living in squalor, it would be my duty to help,” she said, flatly. “Does that change when the child isn't human?”
“You might be taking a child away from loving parents,” the Professor pointed out. “Or you might be committing yourself to look after the child for the rest of your life.”
He paused. “I understand your argument,” he admitted. “There is a certain emotional impulse to help the less fortunate. But, at the same time, we have to be careful what we teach them to do. Simple measures against disease, as you suggest, would cause a population boom, which in turn would put a strain on their ability to feed their people.”
“And an expanding population might start waging war on its neighbours for living space,” the Captain said, quietly. “Your decision to cure diseases for them might kill more people, in the long run, than the diseases.”
“It happened,” Professor Nordstrom said. “There were other problems caused by meddling in purely human affairs. One problem that repeated itself, time and time again, were attempts to feed the hungry by shipping in food from more productive countries. Would you like to guess what happened?”
He went on before anyone could answer. “In some cases, the food was seized and used to feed armies,” he answered his own question. “But in others, it completely destroyed the profit motive for producing food locally. And so, when the outsiders lost interest in supplying food, there was no one there to take up the strain and the entire population plummeted sharply.”
“But we have to try,” Grace insisted. “You’re saying it’s immoral to interfere, while I’m saying it’s immoral not to interfere.”
“We would need to let their society adapt to each new introduction,” Professor Nordstrom said, bluntly. “However, it wouldn't be too long before we were trying to steer their society ourselves, without regard for what they wanted. And that leads to another problem.”
Joelle had to smile. “Another problem?”
“A more serious problem,” Professor Nordstrom told her. “When you were a child, your parents looked after you, helped you through your problems and disciplined you when you were naughty. They cooked for you, cleaned for you and ensured you never had to face any real long-term consequences for bouts of random naughtiness. Being a child isn't really like being an adult.
“Now tell me; would you enjoy having someone treat you as a child, now, or would you resent it bitterly?”
He was right, Joelle knew. It had been a long time since she’d fled the nest, and she still loved and honoured her parents, but she wouldn't want them running her adult life. The thought of being told what to do and what not to do at thirty years old was thoroughly unpleasant. If her parents had been able to control her life, she knew she would have resented their meddling bitterly. Hell, she’d resented them telling her what to do at thirteen.
“The Vesy may be primitive, but they are not children,” Professor Nordstrom continued. “I’ve said that time and time again, to everyone who will listen; they are not stupid and they will resent us trying to steer their development into something we would consider civilised. It doesn't matter what intentions we have, it doesn’t matter how much we know that they don't; they will hate and resent us for everything we do for them. And that hatred may eventually find expression.”
He looked around the compartment, warningly. “And how long will it be until we start regarding them as children? One does not hate children. One does not subject children to adult punishment. But one does not consider children mature and responsible either.”
“And so they will rise up against us,” Captain Naiser said.
“They need time for their society to adapt to meet ours on a more equal basis,” Professor Nordstrom said. “I don't think they’re going to get that time, not when so many other parties heading to Vesy.”
“Their society might improve,” Grace said. “We could warn them of the dangers ...”
“There were a number of countries in Africa that were granted access to sex-selection pills for their children,” Professor Nordstrom said. “Those countries were inhabited by people who were culturally inclined to favour male children. They knew the dangers, but they used the pills anyway ... and, thirty years later, fought a series of brutal civil wars over access to women. We could wind up giving the Vesy comparable problems.”
“Then we do our best to come to terms with the other nations,” Joelle said. “We may be able to place limits on what can be shared with the Vesy.”
“It won’t work if one party refuses to uphold the limits,” Professor Nordstrom said. “Smugglers were quite happy to ship pills to Africa after the international charities were formally banned from supplying them.”
“We can prevent smugglers from shipping anything to Vesy,” Joelle said, flatly. She gave the Captain a long look. “We need to discuss the matter later, if you don’t mind.”
The Captain nodded. “I will be happy to meet with you when I’m not on duty,” he said. “Leave a note in my inbox and I will get back to you.”
Joelle nodded. She had a private suspicion that the Captain would set the meeting time to suit himself, but it hardly mattered. It was hard to blame him for resenting her and her staff for clogging up his ship.
She finished her mug of tea, then rose. “With your permission, I will seek my bunk,” she added. By custom, once she was gone the others could leave too, if they wished. She had a feeling that the Professor would stay and chat with the officers, while Grace would probably seek out her own bunk. God alone knew what Penny would do. “I’ll speak to you once we’re underway.”
“Of course, Ambassador,” the Captain said. He rose, too. “And thank you for your company tonight.”
See if you still like me after we start working together, Joelle thought, ruefully. It won’t be easy.
Chapter Seven
“Miss Schneider would like an interview,” Howard said, as John came onto the bridge and took command. “She actually sent three messages, each one with the same request.”
John had to smile. It would be quite awkward when her brother found out she was on the ship, let alone what she’d been doing. “What did you tell her?”
“That you were too busy making preparations for departure,” Howard said. “I think she will probably start bombarding you with requests, again, once we leave.”
John sat down in the command chair and checked the status display. Dashing and Daring had taken up position on each side of the freighters, while Tootal was holding position just in front of them. She wasn't exactly a warship, John reminded himself, but she could give any pirate ship a nasty surprise if one dared to attack her. But then, even the thought of piracy had seemed absurd until recently. How could anyone afford to keep a pirate ship running while raiding worlds and ships on the edge of explored space?
The Russians did it, he thought, sourly. But their ships were breaking down well before we caught them.
“Tell her that I will make time for an interview once we pass through Terra Nova,” he said, finally. “I’ve really been interviewed too many times in the last six months.”
“Yes, sir,” Howard said.
John settled down in the command chair, then inspected the list of updates from Nelson Base. The small squadron was cleared to depart, on schedule, with a hint that if they could leave earlier the Admiralty would be pleased. They were fully provisioned, ready to take the quick route to Vesy, while a handful of other ships would take the longer route. It was irritating that the handful of interstellar liners couldn't use alien-grade tramlines - it meant he had to endure having the Ambassador and her staff on his ship - but there was no way around it. Nothing smaller than a fleet carrier could jump a liner through a tramline ...
He pushed the thought aside and glanced at the crew readiness reports. “The replacements arrived onboard?”
“Yes, sir,” Howard said. “They seem to be fitting in well, based on one day of active service.”
“Keep an eye on them,” John ordered. He cleared his throat, then looked at the communications console. “Lieutenant Forbes, transmit a Prepare to Depart signal to the convoy, with a baseline tag of ten minutes.”
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Gillian Forbes said. “Signal sent.”
John nodded in acknowledgement. Lieutenant Forbes had spent the last five months grappling with the Vesy language database the Russians had amassed and, while no human could speak the language properly, she was sure she could understand Vesy-One. No one, not even the Russians, were sure if there were other languages on the planet or not, although John was inclined to suspect there were. The Roman world had been far smaller than an entire planet and they’d spoken dozens of different languages. But they’d also had Latin as a common language ...
A Savage War Of Peace (Ark Royal Book 5) Page 7
