Fire With Fire-eARC

by Charles E Gannon

  Caine heard breath sucked in hard and sharp between clenched teeth: Trevor. Downing and Visser seemed to be engaged in a frowning contest. Wasserman sprawled back, stuck his tongue so far into his cheek that it looked like he had dislocated his jaw: “Well, that wasn’t very friendly.”

  But Alnduul proceeded without responding to Wise-Speech’s sharp—if oblique—rebuke: “The legitimacy of the World Confederation of Earth is recognized. Member states may now submit general inquiries to the human delegation.”

  A long pause. The voice of the Slaasriithi, Vishnaaswii’ah, emanated from the blinking green quatrefoil: “Has the human delegation prepared an encyclopedic self-reference for distribution to interested species?”

  Caine nodded. “We have. We had thought the appropriate time to offer it was in today’s final step—that reserved for unofficial inquiries.”

  “Your conception of protocol is correct. If you feel it is a fair and thorough almanac of your species, then we feel no need to ask any specific questions at this time. Rather, we shall compile a list of queries occasioned by our perusal of your self-reference.”

  “That seems quite prudent.”

  Wise-Speech’s simulated voice followed quickly: “The Ktor elect to follow the same procedure, in the interest of shortening the official portion of these proceedings.”

  Hwang wiped his glasses. “Sounds like he’s had enough for one day.”

  Alnduul gestured up at Caine and Visser. “The Convocation now invites questions from the human delegation. In the interest of brevity, please do not ask more than twenty questions of any given member state.”

  Caine, standing outside the sending circle, smiled ruefully. “Never thought I’d be playing twenty questions again.”

  “Yeah, well, this time, you’re playing for keeps.” Lemuel was not smiling.

  “True enough.” Caine moved forward into the communication node again. “Alnduul, honored delegates, we have prepared our questions beforehand, and elect to submit the same twenty questions to each member state. Transmitting our questions now.” Caine nodded to Thandla, who pressed a virtual button on the touch-sensitive control screen, and leaned back.

  Downing broke the silence. “Bombs away.”

  Trevor looked over at him. “Which set of bombs are we dropping, anyway?”

  “Given the arm’s-length attitudes we’ve encountered today, we decided on sticking with the basics: where they’re from, what they’re made of, how long they’ve been puttering about the stars, when they joined the Accord, which stars are on their allowed pathway of expansion. And of course, a few key questions on the state of their technology. We’ll use it all to construct a timeline, an astrographic map, project their capabilities.”

  Elena cocked her head. “And culture and language—?”

  “We will get to that in the unofficial information requests, Ms. Corcoran.” Visser had started to pace from one side of the gallery to the other. “Such sociological data are crucial. But with only twenty questions, we must secure key strategic data first.”

  Wasserman looked up. “Speaking of strategic data, if the Arat Kur—and the other member states—were playing by the rules, they shouldn’t be able to do any more than listen from the edge of our space. And that means that all their information about Earth should be at least nine or ten years old, since that’s the number of light-years between the outer edges of the zone they’ve reserved for us, and the nearest other stars. So if the leak isn’t from that Dornaani report—”

  Downing nodded. “Then someone has been eavesdropping from just outside our home system. Or even inside of it.”

  “And to get to Earth, they would have to violate a lot of our other systems first—and be able to do it on the sly.”

  Visser looked from Wasserman to Downing to Caine. “You are all assuming that the exosapients, like us, have to start their shift from a solar system. If they don’t, or if they have shift ranges of fifteen or twenty light-years—”

  Wasserman jumped in. “If the Arat Kur can pull off stunts like that, then we’re so screwed it hardly matters.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that would mean that their technology is so far beyond ours, that we’re just a bunch of grunting Neanderthals compared to them.”

  “Which is possible.”

  “Possible,” commented Elena, “but I think not.”

  “Why?” Visser asked.

  “Because the Arat Kur seem worried about us. Genuinely worried. Don’t misunderstand me; I, too, suspect that they might be cat’s-paws for another member state. But I also believe that their objections to our candidacy reflect their own fears.”

  Downing nodded encouragement. “Go on.”

  “Uncle Richard, they are being rude to us. Pointedly and unnecessarily rude. And that behavior has clearly surprised the Dornaani, which suggests that it is not typical for the Arat Kur.”

  Visser was staring at her. “So what is the significance of this?”

  Elena folded her hands. “It may be an unwarranted—a humanocentric—generalization, but when one group perceives itself to be in conflict with another group, the members of the first group tend to dehumanize the members of the second group.”

  Durniak nodded. “War propaganda. Racism.”

  “Exactly. But that is the extreme case. The far more common variety of this is a daily dynamic in every culture: being snubbed. That’s what the Arat Kur have been doing to us.”

  “And why is that important?”

  Elena turned to Visser. “If they were so much more powerful than us, then they would not bother to snub us. Think back on all those British novels that were obsessed with class tensions: a nobleman could freely chat with a tradesman. Why? Because his position was so much greater that his status was unthreatened by associating with the lesser being. But—”

  Caine smiled. “But the middle classes would stick up their noses and snub the tradesman. Because they were still close enough to his level that any suggestion of intimacy with him threatened to lower their status by dint of association.”

  “Exactly.”

  Visser was frowning, but not at Elena. “So you are saying—”

  “I know it seems circuitous, but I believe that the Arat Kur’s rudeness, even hostility, suggests that they see us as possible rivals. And that suggests that they can’t have the immense technological edge that would allow them to shift about the cosmos without having to obey the same laws of physics that we do. If they did, the worst we would experience from them is benign indifference.”

  Downing sat, hands on knees. “It’s only a hypothesis, but a bloody good one. However, we’re going to need more information in order to push this deductive process further along.”

  Visser nodded. “Very well. So how do we go about doing that?”

  Caine coughed politely and looked around the room: all eyes were trained on him. He shrugged: “Well, here’s what I was thinking—”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  ODYSSEUS

  Alnduul’s image stood with hands folded as Caine stepped closer. “Alnduul, just a moment ago, we detected a crucial oversight on our part: we neglected to send questions to one other important group.”

  “If you refer to the other candidates, the Hkh’Rkh, they are not yet a member state, and so your inquiries may only be made informally, at the end of today’s official proceedings.”

  “Alnduul, the Hkh’Rkh are not the group to which we wish to address our questions.”

  Alnduul’s inner eyelids slowly closed. “I am perplexed. There is no other group.”

  “With respect, there is: the Custodians.”

  Alnduul’s mouth seemed to squirm. “I remain perplexed: you are obviously aware that the Dornaani are the Custodians. Answers to your questions on the Dornaani sphere are currently being crafted by Third Arbiter Glayaazh.”

  “Alnduul, the questions we would ask the Custodians are different than those we would ask the Dornaani.”

  “How so?”


  “We have asked the Dornaani questions pertaining to their history. But if we were to wish information on the history of the Accord itself, it seems only right to ask the Custodians. And I must believe—since Custodianship is not a permanent position—that the Dornaani and the Custodians are separate political entities. Or is the voice and will of the Dornaani the same thing as the voice and will of the Custodians?”

  Alnduul’s lids slowly cleared his eyes: the pupils were fixed upon Caine. “None before have made such a distinction when submitting their questions.”

  Caine felt several retorts and appeals rush up like an incipient, reflexive shout. Trusting instinct, he pushed them back down—and waited.

  Alnduul’s eyes did not waver. “However, it is an apt distinction. And perhaps more necessary now than in the past.”

  Behind him, Lemuel’s “We’re in!” drowned out a chorus of relieved sighs, all from outside the sending circle.

  Alnduul gestured to himself. “I shall be the one to answer your questions. You may proceed.”

  “Before beginning, we wish to clarify: the Custodians may not withhold information pertaining to their own activities, is this correct?”

  “Fundamentally, but there are two key exceptions.”

  “Which are?”

  “Until you are conferred membership, we will not indicate the existence of, nor discuss any of our activities involving, any protected species.”

  “Understood. And?”

  “And, if in answering your questions regarding our activities as Custodians, we would be forced to disclose information on other member states, we must decline to answer.”

  “We assumed so. However, did you not, during our first contact, indicate that another race had been recruited to augment the Custodians in a variety of routine functions?”

  “This is so.”

  “So we may also ask questions regarding the performance of those functions as well, correct?”

  A pause. Gotcha. But maybe you’re glad we’ve found this loophole—

  “You may.”

  “By extension, then, we may ask the identity of these auxiliary Custodians?”

  A longer pause. “We have never considered this particular line of inquiry. However, revealing any of the activities of a member race would violate the race-privacy protocols of the accords.”

  “Allow me to verify that I am accurate in my understanding: is it true that this other race has served as Custodians?”

  A long, long pause. Then: “Yes, they work as Custodians.”

  “Then I do not understand how questions pertaining to them, or their identity, are protected under the accords. The Custodians themselves have no such protections.”

  “No, but the racial identity of our assistant Custodians is irrelevant. Their species of origin does not alter their responsibilities or their performance of them.”

  Caine had foreseen that rebuff: “Alnduul, do you believe that the nature of an observer influences what they observe, and thus, what they report?”

  “Yes: we hold this to be a fundamental tenet of the limits of empirical method.”

  “So do we. So I must insist that the speciate identity of a given Custodial team will ultimately shape the work they do. By inescapable deduction, then, their identity is pertinent to any detailed inquiry into the overall history and performance of the Custodial function within the Accord.”

  “Please excuse me for a moment.”

  No one in the gallery spoke. Alnduul’s “moment” was seven minutes in length. Then: “Thank you for your patience. Although we have no extant policy on this matter, your reasoning is without flaw. In the absence of explicit rulings to the contrary, we hold that you may inquire as to the identity of those who have been solicited to assist us in routine Custodial tasks.”

  “Good job, Riordan.” Lemuel’s mutter was triumphant. Visser was smiling fiercely; Downing only nodded and mused. Elena seemed to be carefully staring somewhere else.

  And now, the 64,000-credit question…“Which member state has been assisting you in Custodial matters?”

  Alnduul’s pause was peculiar in that Caine could not see any reason for it. “The Ktor.”

  Eyes closed, Downing nodded vigorously to himself.

  “May we ask how the Ktor were chosen, and why?”

  Again a long, strange pause. Alnduul’s thumbs seemed to flex downward slightly—

  —and Elena was on her feet. “He’s embarrassed—or apologetic—or annoyed.”

  “Annoyed at us?”

  “No. At himself.”

  Alnduul stood straighter. “I cannot reveal all the circumstances surrounding that choice, for to do so would violate the privacy of several member states. However, I may tell you that the Ktor volunteered to serve in this role. Furthermore, the requirements of Custodianship make it most prudent to solicit help from other member states in descending order of their technical competencies.”

  Downing and Visser exchanged confirmatory nods.

  “Logical,” Durniak whispered. “As the most senior member state after the Dornaani, the Ktor are probably their closest technological rivals.”

  And therefore, Caine thought, even more likely to be the ones behind the Arat Kur obstreperousness. But why? Well, we’ll circle back toward that later—“When was the Accord established?”

  “Approximately seven thousand years ago.”

  The quiet in the gallery was absolute. Caine couldn’t be sure, but it seemed as though some were holding their breath.

  “Are the Dornaani the architects of the Accord?”

  “For the most part, yes.”

  Huh? “There were other architects?”

  “Not at the time of the Accord’s formal institution seven thousand years ago. But the spirit and structure of the accords was borrowed from the founders of an earlier, analogous organization.”

  Just how far back are we talking about? But first things first: “Have there been other members of the Accord?”

  “No.”

  “How long have the Dornaani served as the Custodians?”

  “Approximately seven thousand years.”

  Whoa. “So you have always been the Custodians?”

  “Yes.”

  Hmmmm…“Have other member states expressed interest in becoming the Custodians?”

  “I am not allowed to say: it would imply the official actions or attitudes of other member states, not the Custodians. However, I may say this: the Dornaani are interested in identifying another species that would be willing to serve as Custodians.”

  I could interpret that about twenty different ways—and I don’t have the time now to even ask about one. “Have the Custodians ever had to intervene in wars waged between species of the Accord?”

  “No—not since the accords were established.”

  Well, that was either a big slip—or a big hint. “So, the Dornaani were—at some time over seven thousand years ago—involved in a war against one of the species that is now a member state of the Accord?”

  “We may not answer; your question concerns events that predate the Accord. Consequently, you are inquiring into the history of different species, not the Custodians.”

  “My apologies for overstepping. It was unintentional.”

  “Your apology is noted and appreciated, but unnecessary: it was plain that the question arose from eagerness, not guile.” A pause, a slight rotation of Alnduul’s mouth. “My entire delegation notes your deductive—inventiveness—with interest, Caine Riordan.”

  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.”