“These are the quarters for lower-ranked crewman and soldiers, and are the smallest standard size” replied Hsien, “this one happens to be unoccupied at present.”
The Admiral looked even more surprised. “And how many did you say you had all told?”
Hsien considered. “Currently, this ship has about eight thousand ship’s crew, one thousand marines, two hundred fighter pilots and shuttle crew, a diplomatic corps of fifty, and one hundred civilian support staff.”
Neem did some math. Nine thousand three hundred and fifty at least, and this was the smallest size of cabin! It was becoming clearer and clearer just how the vast available space was used on these ships. The comfortable accommodations, the recreation and entertainment rooms they’d passed, the wide spacious corridors, the immense storage chambers that served no purpose but to hide weapons, they all used energy and added mass without adding fighting effectiveness.
These Elder ships were impressive, Neem thought, but it had been a long time since they’d fought a war.
From there, Hsien directed them back to the central tramway, and they went a good long distance through portions of the ship that Hsien told them held more weapons batteries, then quarters for senior ranking crew and for passengers, still more weapons, and finally came to its end at the communications and navigation center and the command bridge.
The communication and navigation center was a vast room with rows of computer stations along either side and above on a balcony level. Uniformed Elders filled every one. In the center was a holographic map of the galaxy, like the one Neem and Jat had seen earlier, but far larger.
Hsien stood near the center of the room, sweeping his arm around him to catch their attention. “Here, we conduct navigation, including calculations for the next wormhole jump, and keep in touch with galactic communications through our satellite network. The large three dimensional map you see is continuously updated as astronomical objects move, ships travel, and as events develop.”
Looking at the huge, infinitesimally detailed hologram, Neem looked ready to bounce in place. “You mean, you keep a live real time map of the galaxy, including ships, and… planetary events?”
“As current as we can. Keep in mind that communications move at the speed of wormhole travel,” replied Hsien. “Astronomical objects and ships en route through wormholes we can predict mathematically, other events we update as we get them.”
The command bridge was through a final pair of heavily gilded and decorated doors. It had a panoramic view of the sky in front, above, and on the sides. Large video panels displayed views invisible directly from the bridge deck. Elders staffed spacious computer stations around the edge and in two central rows. Slightly further back on a raised platform were what, based on their shoulder boards and the more elaborate decoration of their uniforms, were senior officers. Captain Fitzgerald sat on a large, raised rotating chair in the center of the platform, overlooking all.
Hsien gave an overview of the work that went on at the bridge. The delegation listened with varying levels of interest and understanding, except for Neem, who thought that he shouldn’t be surprised that the bridge was vast as well. His mind, always multitasking, began to consider how much more he could fit into less space. He thought of placement of work stations, angles of vision…
His reverie was interrupted by Hsien, speaking directly to him “Everyone is forming up to leave now, if you would please follow me.”
They turned back, boarded the tram, had a swift journey back to the launch bay, and, as the golden afternoon faded to evening blue, and the lights of the city below came on to match those of the ships above, an uneventful flight down.
When they were safely on the surface and away, Neem turned to Jat.
“They didn’t ask to see my notepad, or search us to see if we’d recorded any sensitive information. Even as scientists, I don’t think they take us that seriously, don’t think we can really understand how their technology works.”
Jat had a cryptic look on his face. “Oh, don’t I know it!”
16
The members of the starship delegation left the tarmac and found themselves mobbed by politicians, dignitaries of all stripes, and a vast noisy swarm of journalists.
“Right. Forgot about that!” said Jat, “Neem, you better let me handle this.”
They entered the maelstrom. Breathless questions followed, so thick they could only sometimes make out individual voices, let alone words. There were request for interviews, televised appearances. Jat took it in stride. Neem began to feel overwhelmed.
“Jat, we’ve got to get out of here.”
“Won’t happen quickly,” Jat replied, voice to Neem’s ear, “You’re famous now, too. Absolute minimum, the President is going to want all of us for a photo op. After that, I can use my reputation for being random and rude. We’ll get security to cover us, keep these guys back, and get going. People will expect me to do something like that instead of interviews. I’ll give them some of what they want later.”
Neem looked at him with amazement,
“So all the… things you do… they aren’t absentminded like me?”
“They are as natural to me as you. I’m just aware that I’m doing them. Keeps me free. Gives me an edge. Makes things fun.”
And the crowd roiled around them.
///
Some hours later, President Vhel was still basking in the positive publicity of the successful delegation to the starship. He sat at a long conference table with his assembled advisors. He stood up to address them, looking slightly above the level of their eyes.
“Thank you all for coming. Today’s highly successful events open many, ah, doors for the vision we all share. I think it is clear now that our guests, the Elders, share this vision. Imagine! They too want a world free of war, poverty, pollution, unrestrained growth, and destructive competition.”
“Better still, they want help us achieve it. But for this to succeed, we must help them. Right now, despite certain errors, public perception of the Elders is, on the whole positive.”
“We must not let this opportunity go to waste. Legislation long overdue might now have the support it needs to pass the Council and the Senate. It might be passed, it must be passed. We may at last acquire the necessary powers to, ah, correct the regressive and anarchic legacies of the past.”
“Passing the full range of recommendations by the Elders will be difficult. As a start, we can formulate a memorandum of understanding with them, to prepare the way and shape public perceptions in a positive direction. It is important that we, hmm, smooth the way, so as to minimize disruptions. However, we cannot accept any other final outcome.”
“I await your recommendations.”
Chief of Staff Wimier sat at his place at the President’s right hand. He considered what had just been said, and remembered the additional things he knew, from private conversations with Vhel. He looked across the table at the lean form and unsmiling eyes of Domestic Policy Advisor Tarec, whom he knew was behind the new harder line in legislative proposals, and he wondered what else was NOT being said.
Wimier had long been a man with optimistic ideas about the ability of government to make life better. He had been a supporter of Vhel, despite the latter’s more expansive views on power, since he was a young policy analyst and Vhel an aspiring candidate for the Senate.
Now, he was beginning to have doubts.
///
The following day, Ambassador Margaux himself, with a small retinue of unarmed Elders, was invited to the Senate House. Before the hundreds of assembled Senators and, seated apart, the small circle of Councilors, Margaux stood side by side with President Vhel, and began to speak.
“Honored Senators and Councilors, I thank you for inviting me to this noble house of deliberation. As many of you now know, the leadership of the galaxy has a chamber much like it. On the ancient ancestral home of my people, Earth, the Galactic Central Presidium discusses and decides matters of great import, by
vote, just as you do.”
“We have done so in peace for thousands of years. We have learned many lessons in that time, and have come to share them with you. Only you can decide what is right for your nation, but it is my hope that you begin the journey with us by enacting a treaty of peace, and what my honored friend, President Vhel, advises me is termed a memorandum of understanding.”
“I have come to Tadine first because you have, through your own wisdom, risen from a wide and anarchic land of independent settlements to become the mightiest nation of this world. Now, augment your wisdom with ours, and set an example for all others.”
There was a deafening hum of applause.
After some time, President Vhel spoke, and called for an immediate vote on the treaty and the memorandum. The debate was short and the results decisively in favor. Many senators had not even had time to read, or for their staffs to read, the proposed legislation, but sensing the mood, few had the courage to propose a delay, and fewer still to vote against it.
President Vhel announced his diplomatic triumph in an address watched around the globe.
With the signing of the peace treaty, the Elder fleet moved out to medium orbit. World reaction was immediate and overwhelmingly positive. News media and politicians celebrated a potential crisis averted, and praised President Vhel’s handling throughout.
In the capitals of every nation on Ground, debates began as to whether to follow the example of Tadine. Proud southern statesmen, heirs of imperial traditions, weighed the merits of the treaty against the ignominy of following upstart Tadine. On the vast eastern continent, once the battleground of the great southern powers, Kings, Presidents-for-Life, and People’s Councils considered what such treaties might mean for their independence. In the scattered oceanic nations, offshoots of southern civilization, there was a sense of powerlessness, but hope.
A few days passed.
The Tadine government and the Elders together were making a quick job of restoring the old Zrian embassy, and the Elder delegation was getting settled in. Having gotten approval from Margaux, Tayyis worked with them, training their staff in Tadine, and learning the Elder language.
The Elders offered to help end the flight problems at Capital Airport by constructing a new landing pad on some of the vacant land annexed, but not yet used, at the edge of the airport grounds. They sent down construction equipment of their own, and were working with amazing speed and efficiency. A few enthusiastic politicians, along with the Capital Board of Tourism, were already suggesting the place be renamed Capital Starport.
///
Three ambassadors of southern nations arrived together at the Elder delegation building. They had requested an audience with Ambassador Margaux, and one was quickly arranged. Margaux sat in blue and silver robes on his chair, the hovering platform chair he’d ridden the day of first contact, his chair of office as a full Ambassador of the Galactic Protectorate.
The ambassadors stood before him.
An elderly man in flowing dark green clothing spoke first, in Tadine, “Your Excellency, I am ambassador Vrit Anchaigan of Ishnepura.”
Next was a woman in similar clothing, but black, “Your Excellency, I am Miyi Uyun, ambassador of Aiyara,” her accent in Tadine was very strong.
“And I,” said the last, a tall man in yellow-gold clothes, “Am Nepuran Manakadnar, Your Excellency, ambassador of Jayesthir.”
Margaux, hands resting on the arms of his chair, gave the slightest hint of a smile, “I am honored, your Dignities. How may I assist you?” Margaux had used the southerner honorific for ambassadors, and they warmed visibly at hearing it.
Anchaigan spoke on behalf of the others, “As Your Excellency may know, our nations are those bordering the International Zone, a place our governments set aside on behalf of all nations. We have been empowered by our leaders to offer you a site for your worldwide embassy there, and to provide funding if necessary to assist you in construction.”
Margaux smiled more broadly.
“I would be delighted to accept such an honor, but I must consider the safety of my staff. Your nations have not yet signed treaties of peace and understanding with the Galactic Protectorate.”
“There are difficulties, Your Excellency,” replied Anchaigan. “Our people are… reluctant to answer to what they see as Tadine’s call. It would be… easier if you were based in the International Zone.”
“I have become familiar with the worthy histories of your nations and their civilizing mission, Dignities, and I can well understand,” replied Margaux, “perhaps we can come to an understanding.”
The others smiled in grounder fashion, and waited expectantly for his next words.
“My sincere thanks for your offer of funding, but it will not be necessary. We have the resources of the galaxy to draw on. What we could use is sufficient space and security to operate properly as an embassy. This building is small, and opens directly onto busy streets.”
“If you were to provide us a plot of land large enough for a secure compound with a perimeter wall, as well as complete autonomy to construct the complex on our own, including elements that might be confidential, we would be happy to convert our current location to a national consulate, and commit to relocating our embassy to the International Zone. Provided of course that in return, your nations sign the treaties.”
“Your Excellency, I believe it can be done,” said Anchaigan, and the three ambassadors touched their hands to their foreheads.
///
World leaders were not alone in their debates about the wisdom of acceding to the requests of the Elders. Their people carried on their own, whether permitted by law in their countries or not. In some eastern nations the debate was carried on with riots and guns. In more stable places, conversations went on in every café, hotel, workplace, street corner, park and home. Discussions went on in news digests, by phone, and on the nets. Battle lines were being drawn.
On one side were ranged internationalists, pacifists, idealists who believed in a perfectible humanity, opponents of private enterprise, ecologists, futurists dreaming of handling advanced alien technology, and a smattering of cultists who saw the Elders as a higher order of being, here to save the mortals of Ground.
On the other were an even more varied array of nationalists, military leaders and businesspeople in the arms industry, believers in individualism and autonomy, capitalists, skeptics who feared the motives of the aliens, and religious zealots who feared the aliens as demons.
As the days went on, and the Elders showed no sign of anything but benevolence, their supporters grew in numbers and confidence, and their opponents began to dwindle.
17
Among the skeptics, six were gathered at Haral Karden’s beach house, four hundred kilosteps southwest of the Tadine capital. It was a beautiful evening, a gentle wind blew off the sea, the sun sank through golden clouds against a purple sky, and the clean wood of the beachside deck was packed with too many chairs around a small circular table.
“I think this might be our last chance to meet in person for a while,” said Karden, as he raised a drink in toast to his friends.
“You got that right,” said Harker, “I’ve got a business to run, and from where this conversation is going, a lot to do.”
“Good thing the rest of us are just taking naps then!” said Jat.
Harker shot him a mock-angry look, “Professor Darex Jat, son, if you weren’t a really good and famous scientist, you’d be a really bad and out of work comedian.”
Jat did not look abashed.
Karden stood up. Light filtering through the window of the little house framed him in silhouette. The others turned.
“We all agreed that we had to do something about the takeover that is clearly coming, and that we had to do so before it became too late. We had quite a number of theories, but relatively little knowledge of the actual capabilities and specific intentions of the Elders. I think we know now.”
“If we don’t agree to becom
e docile colonial subjects on what will amount to a worldwide plantation, however comfortable, they are prepared to force us.”
“The last few days have been most productive. I suggest we each recap what we’ve discovered or done during them, not a mass of data, but the key things we’ve found. Then, tonight, let us form a plan as to what, if anything, we can really do.”
A moment passed, the waves washed behind them in the endless rhythm of ocean and shore. There was no such peace on land. The air around the deck seemed to almost crackle with suppressed tension.
Neem spoke up. “I think a lot of people have spent the last few days feeling overwhelmed by their technological advantage, and no doubt, it is huge.”
“Those ships of theirs are built with lots of redundancies - multiple reactors, engines, warp drives, repair systems and self-contained and powered life support sections. They have energy shields, not infinitely powerful ones, but smartly supported by multiple generators around the ships. Overall, they are tough, built to last and don’t have any catastrophic weaknesses.”
“But there are a lot of things they don’t do as well as they could. Their ships are designed to intimidate, to deal damage against targets on the ground, and to knock out things coming at them from below, like missiles or fighters. I don’t think they are as well made to deal with enemies already in space.”
“That isn’t all. Some of their practices are really inefficient. A lot of power output goes to things that don’t contribute to combat effectiveness. They’re designed as much for the comfort of the crew and passengers, like cruise ships, as for fighting. It makes sense for them I guess since they don’t have any real enemies to face in a stand up fight. But, I could put the same number of weapons, or at least the same firepower, in something a fraction that size.”
Viris spoke up. “Uh, Neem, you could, IF you could build a spaceship AND if you had their weapons!”
“Give me time.” replied Neem with confidence, “I took a lot of very good notes while I was up there. In some ways, the core elements of their technology aren’t THAT far ahead of us, just a lot more refined.”
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