by Ian Douglas
“I see.” He gestured. “Won’t you be seated? Please.”
If his greeting had been untraditional, his office was purely old Japanese. The walls were paper, the floor bare wood with woven tatami to sit on. His desk was large, but only centimeters tall, high enough to work at while seated cross-legged behind it. Even so, the desk contained all of the technological amenities, including a built-in interface panel, a holoprojector, a computer touchboard, even an old-fashioned vidscreen, folded down into the surface.
The ambassador was informally dressed in silk lounging pajama slacks and a light robe, and Katya had the impression that he was not used to receiving official guests at this hour of the morning. She waited as he walked behind the desk and lowered himself to his tatami.
He considered her for a moment. “Proper etiquette would demand that the two of us talk for an hour or so, exchange pleasantries, and carefully avoid the real issue of why you are here, Senator. I, for one, have an extremely full schedule today and would much rather dispense with the formal courtesies. I suspect you would prefer that as well?”
Katya raised her eyebrows. “I would. I’m surprised that you—”
“That I would act abruptly? Ignore the amenities? Act, in fact, like a typical New American?” He sighed and shook his head. “Ah, well, perhaps that is the price I pay for living out here on the Frontier with you. Believe me, if I were receiving you back in Kyoto, you would find me every bit as stuffy and as formal and as indirect as you could possibly imagine!”
Katya laughed. “And perhaps I’m beginning to understand why you were appointed as ambassador to the Confederation.”
“I presume, Madam Senator,” Mishima said, “that you wish to discuss the recent events on Kasei.”
“No, Your Excellency. As a matter of fact, I do not. At least, that is not the primary reason I asked to see you. There is something new that has come up, something far more important, that threatens the existence of both the Imperial Hegemony and the Confederation.”
Mishima’s eyes widened slightly. “Ah. Then am I to assume it has to do with the DalRiss fleet now orbiting this world?”
“Yes, sir. I imagine your TJK people have been keeping you briefed.” Mishima said nothing, neither confirming nor denying her statement but waiting quietly for her to continue. “These vessels are among those that left nearhuman space twenty-five years ago, shortly after the Second Battle of Herakles.”
“There was talk,” Mishima said, “of their home star going nova. Not that it had, but that it was going to soon.”
“Soon, in this case, may mean a thousand years. Or ten thousand. Or even another million. I have a feeling the DalRiss simply think about planets, about worlds, in a different way than we do.”
He nodded. “I know that the ecosystems of their two worlds, out in Alyan space, were ravaged by their war with the Xenophobes. That could have something to do with it.”
“Possibly, though as I understand it, the planetary Naga on GhegnuRish was rebuilding the ecosphere for them. Certainly, one reason for their exodus seems to have been their desire to find new life. Well, they did.”
Mishima listened quietly as she described the meetings with the downloaded mind and memories of Devis Cameron. It felt strange to Katya to sit there discussing Dev in cold, almost clinical detail, recounting his experiences at Nova Aquila . . . and beyond, within the strangeness of the Galactic Core.
When she’d completed the story, she handed Mishima a tiny strip of lucite, within which was embedded a computer’s digital recreation of Dev’s memories. “This is a recording of everything that Cameron saw, both at Nova Aquila and on the other side of the gate, at the center of the Galaxy. Some of it is a bit, well, disjointed.”
“I can imagine,” he said, accepting the strip. “Such an experience . . .”
“The civilization he calls the Web is unlike anything we know. Some of us believe—at least, some of our research so far suggests the possibility—that the Naga may be descended from them in some way, that the original Naga might have been scouts or even advance engineers. They might have been sent out into the hinterlands of the Galaxy to prepare the way for the Web, but something went wrong. Maybe they lost their programming or some critical piece of instruction. It’s even been suggested that the Naga are a kind of cancer, Web cells that began to reproduce outside of the control and guidance the Web normally provides.
“But now the Web is expanding into our part of the galaxy. They’re only a thousand light years away.”
“A thousand light years. That’s still so far. Over ten times the distance from New America to Tamontennu,” he said, naming a colony world on the far rim of the Shichiju from 26 Draconis.
“These . . . these people have already traveled from the Galactic Core to Nova Aquila,” Katya pointed out. “A distance of some twenty-six thousand light years. And they could be much closer than that. There are other novae in that direction that are closer.”
“According to your story, however, they have been in the vicinity of Nova Aquila for some thousands of years already. Long enough to have found us, if they were looking for other intelligence. And these other novae in that region—”
“May or may not be the result of their activities, and if they are, the Web has been there for thousands of years as well. I know. But don’t you see? They couldn’t have known about us before. We’ve only had radio now for, what? A little over six hundred years? Physical evidence of our existence—our radio noise, the heat signatures of planetary civilizations—won’t reach Nova Aquila for another six centuries yet. Or maybe their closer outposts picked up our radio signatures but didn’t recognize them for intelligence. The Web is that different from us.”
“And if we’ve learned anything about space,” the ambassador said thoughtfully, “it is that it is very, very deep. A million shining civilizations could be out there, all hidden from one another by the dark and the emptiness.”
“The danger, the terrible danger of this situation, Excellency, is that they almost certainly learned all about the Shichiju, all about Earth and humanity, when they took the probe Cameron sent into the Galactic Core. We have to assume as much. We don’t know what happened to the probe after it launched its message capsule, but considering how much we learned about the Web in its brief encounter, we can suppose that the Web learned at least as much about us. The fact that the original Dev Cameron and the DalRiss waiting at Nova Aquila were then attacked certainly suggests a major shift in their perceptions of the DalRiss fleet.”
“Yes,” the ambassador said. “Invisible one moment, a target the next. That certainly is a shift in their perceptions. Strange.” He shook his head. “They never tried to communicate? Or to even respond to the DalRiss signals?”
“Never. For them, communication is a strictly interior process. It doesn’t seem to have occurred to them, ever, that there was anyone outside of themselves to talk to.”
Mishima was silent for a long time, thinking. Katya sat quietly, unwilling to rush the man. It would be better if he came to the same conclusion she and the others had earlier, but by his own path.
“Exactly why are you sharing all of this with me, Senator? Somehow, I doubt that it is in any sense of altruism. Not after Kasei.”
“No. No, sir, it’s not. Ambassador, I will be quite honest with you. The raid on Kasei was a deliberate act on our part . . . on my part, I should say, because I had a lot to do with the initial planning of it. We know that the Imperium has developed a means of communicating faster than light. We were afraid that this technology, when put in place, would result in our little Confederation being rapidly gobbled up again. Our imperative, sir, was survival . . . and I find it difficult to apologize for that.”
“There is no need.” He smiled. “Tell me, Madam Senator. Do you know of Miyamoto Musashi?”
“No, sir. Except that he was a Japanese military expert.”
“Among other things. Twelve hundred years ago he wrote the Book of Five Spheres, i
n which he discusses the philosophy he calls ‘Art of the Advantage.’ ” Mishima closed his eyes. Perhaps he was downloading part of a text. Perhaps he was using his native memory to recall something often reviewed. ” ‘It is critical to attack resolutely where enemies are not expecting it; then, when their minds are unsettled, use this to your advantage to take the initiative and win.’ ” He opened his eyes and looked at Katya steadily, searchingly. “That is from his Fire Scroll, one of his five spheres. It justifies the surprise attack as a legitimate means of gaining advantage in war.”
Katya took a deep breath. “I have no reason to expect you to believe me, Excellency. Especially now, after the attack. But our operation on and around Kasei was not intended as a sneak attack leading to a general war.”
“So.” His voice hardened suddenly. “You expect us to ignore what happened there? To let you steal our secrets and kill our people and walk away unpunished?”
“I expect nothing, Excellency. Perhaps your people and mine can . . . talk. Work things out. We could pay reparations for the damage we did on Kasei. I don’t know what my government would agree to.
“The point is, your Empire and my Confederation are at the brink of another war right now. The first shots have already been fired, and all that remains is the actual declaration.” She shrugged. “Maybe in these enlightened times, we don’t even need that. But by chance, we now know of another threat, a threat to both of us from outside. We would be stupid—suicidally stupid—to continue our war with one another when the Web could already be on its way here.”
“You are suggesting that we work together, then. Empire and Confederation.”
“I am suggesting that the threat posed by the Web is one best faced by Man. All of us together.”
Again, Mishima was silent. When he spoke again, his voice was so soft that Katya had to lean forward to catch the words. “Dobyo ai-awaremu.”
“I beg your pardon, Excellency?”
He shifted on his tatami. “An old Nihongo saying. A proverb. ‘People with the same disease share sympathy.’”
“We would say, ‘Adversity makes strange bedfellows.’”
“More like ‘Misery loves company.’ ” He rubbed his chin. “So. The, the duplicate of Dev Cameron, the one that visited the Galactic Core. It would have known how to find human space?”
“Yes, sir. It . . . he knew everything the original did. He was with the DalRiss as a kind of navigator, remember.”
“Tell me, Senator. This Dev Cameron. He was awarded a high Imperial honor once, if I am not mistaken.”
Katya was surprised. That was old history indeed, from before the Revolution. “He was awarded the Teikokuno Hoshi,” she said. “The Imperial Star. It was given to him by the Emperor himself—the last Emperor, not the one on the throne today.”
She felt that it was important that she emphasize that. It was rumored that the Men of Completion had had a hand in the death of the Fushi Emperor, that the Raiden Emperor—the current Emperor—was their puppet. If there were some enmity between the Raiden Emperor’s people and those favored by the Fushi Emperor, she wanted it out in the open now.
“He was awarded the Star for his original contact with the Naga,” Mishima said. “I remember.”
That was a surprise. “You were there?”
“A minor functionary at the court.” A shrug. “It is not important. What is important is that Cameron-san was a brave man, and one not afraid to take a chance in order to reach out and communicate with another species, another civilization. If he sees a threat here in this . . . what did you call it? The Web. If he sees a threat there, it should be taken seriously.”
“Dev never did mind taking chances,” Katya said.
“And he has been living with the DalRiss and Naga all these years? Remarkable!”
“He’s . . . changed. A lot.”
“I am sure of it. To have no human contact at all save that in his memories for so long . . . ” He paused, looking at Katya with bright interest. “Would it, I wonder . . . be possible for me to talk to him?”
Katya and Dev had discussed the possibility already. If it would help convince Mishima that they needed his help . . .
“Certainly, sir. He would be delighted to speak with you.”
“And you want my assistance in . . . what? Stopping the Imperial Navy from counterattacking New America?”
Katya felt an uncertain stirring of fear. “Are you saying they’re about to counterattack?”
He sighed. “I will tell you the truth, Madam Senator. I don’t know. Any communication between Earth and New America takes over a month at least, as you know well. And I would not necessarily be informed of the Navy Department’s plans. Quite the contrary, I should think. But it is certainly a possibility.”
“If they do, Excellency, we will defend ourselves.”
“That is to be expected.”
“But don’t you see the pointlessness of it all? You attack. We defend ourselves. Then you escalate. Then we escalate. And all the while, the Web is growing closer. Stronger. We must do more than call off this war. We must become allies. Work together. Beat this threat . . . together.”
“What you suggest is difficult. Very difficult.”
“Not if we use reason.”
“Reason.” He shook his head sadly. “Muri no toreba don hikkomu.”
“Another proverb, Excellency?”
“Yes. ‘When illogic prevails, reason gives way.’”
“It doesn’t have to be that way.”
“And you have worked in government long enough to know that such things have a certain inertia all their own. It will be difficult to lower the barriers we have worked so hard to raise between us.”
“Try, Excellency. As I will try with the Confederation Senate.”
“I make no promises.”
“I understand.”
He sat in silence a moment longer, thinking. Then, abruptly, he stood up. Clearly, the interview was at an end.
Rising, Katya faced the ambassador and bowed. “Domo arigato, gozaimasu, O-Taishisan.”
He shook his head. “I have done nothing yet to earn your thanks, Madam Senator.”
“The thanks are for listening to what I had to say. Despite everything that’s happened.”
“That is what ambassadors do. Among other things. I will talk to you again.”
She hesitated.
“There is something more?” he asked.
“Only, Excellency . . . that it occurs to me that you have, um, special ways of communicating with your superiors back on Earth already in place. Ways that you’ve taken pains to keep secret from us.”
Mishima’s expression was blank, neither confirming nor denying.
“If that is so, Excellency,” she continued, “use them. Please. Before it’s too late.”
Mishima stood there, staring at the door long after it slid shut behind her.
A remarkable woman, he decided. And a worthy adversary.
Seating himself once again behind the desk, he touched a key on the computer console. The vidscreen rotated up and back, exposing its black and glossy display surface. Mishima lay his left hand, palm down, on the interface screen. Like most Japanese, he disliked the idea of aliens resident inside his body and still favored the now old-fashioned technology of nanogrown implants in his brain and hand.
“Code Shiun,” he thought, uploading the command to the embassy’s AI that would access the system. “Violet Cloud. Please activate o-denwa.”
The flat vid display lit up, its surface crackling with snow. It always took a moment or two to warm up the denwa unit. It would have been better, he thought, if the faster-than-light communicator could have been hooked up with a full comm module relay. It would have been like walking again in the gardens of Tenno Kyuden, the glorious Palace of Heaven at Earth’s Singapore Orbital.
The snow cleared on the disappointingly flat, two-D screen, and Japanese kanji characters printed themselves across the display.
&
nbsp; ACCESS GRANTED:
IMPERIAL EMBASSY, JEFFERSON CITY,
NEW AMERICA, 26 DRACONIS
TO
PALACE OF HEAVEN, SINGAPORE ORBITAL,
EARTH, SOL
He uploaded a department name and the name of the man he wished to speak to. Seconds later, a fleshy, overweight face looked out of the screen at him. “Moshi-moshi.”
“Hai, Munimorisama” the ambassador said. “Please forgive the intrusion. This is Mishima.”
Admiral Munimori, arguably the most powerful man in the Empire, more powerful even than the figurehead emperor, nodded. “It must be urgent indeed to use o-denwa.”
“It is about the ryu fleet on its way to New America,” Mishima said. “I believe you may wish to relay new orders to its commander.”
He began describing his talk with Senator Alessandro.
Chapter 20
Death stands at attention, obedient, expectant, ready to serve, ready to shear away the peoples en masse; ready, if called on, to pulverize, without hope of repair, what is left of civilization. He awaits only the word of command.
—The Gathering Storm
SIR WINSTON CHURCHILL
C.E. 1948
Kara had received permission from the Chidori Maru’s skipper to link in during the approach to Highport. She’d heard that something strange was happening in orbit around New America, but what she’d heard simply didn’t sound credible.
She’d had to see for herself, and she was wondering if she even believed it now.
It was sixty-two days since the battle at Kasei. Kara, Sergeant Daniels, and the other two men who’d escaped from the Martian sky-el with her had made it safely first to Xi Bootis, where they’d transferred to the Chidori Maru without incident, then flown straight back to 26 Draconis for the final part of their long dogleg home.
But what was it they’d returned home to?
Ships were gathered in orbit, clustered closely about the Highport orbital station and drifting in a loose cloud that strung out across over a thousand kilometers of space. Most distinctive, perhaps, were the enormous DalRiss cityships, dozens of black, organic, multiarmed shapes in silent orbit amid clouds of smaller vessels, some of human design, many clearly products of Naga programming, jet-black, sharp pointed, and alien.