Fire with Fire, Second Edition

by Charles E Gannon

  Trevor read the glowing words. Other than the highlighted names, they didn’t mean much to him. A few systems—such as Luyten 726-8—he had only seen on military navigational charts and tables. They had been visited once, maybe twice, to serve as routing alternatives in the event that main-line systems were interdicted or had to be avoided. But other than that, he didn’t know much about the other systems, except they were all relatively close.

  Elena asked the first question. “Those star names—did you have to do some kind of translation, or—?”

  Caine’s smile was sly. “Nope. That came from them.”

  “So they already knew what we called all these stars. Interesting.”

  “Yes. I’d say with each passing hour, we’re finding more and more evidence that we’ve been pretty thoroughly monitored prior to contact.”

  Downing poked at his palmtop: the list shrank down and zoomed backwards, displaced by a slow swirl of bright particles at the center of the ’tank. Another jab and they stopped rotating.

  Durniak came to stand by Downing. “So that is a map of the systems we are permitted?” He nodded.

  Visser stared at the star map then looked over at him. “Is this bad?” she asked.

  “Most of it is just disappointing. We ignored the systems that are not highlighted for a very good reason.”

  “Which is?”

  “They are mostly M-class stars or white sub-dwarfs.”

  Durniak nodded her understanding. “Fewer planets, and almost no chance of finding any with biospheres. Gray worlds only.”

  “Exactly. But there is one serious problem: a very significant omission from the list of allowed stars.”

  Visser nodded. “70 Ophiuchi.”

  Trevor looked at the list again. Good God, they’re right.

  Opal cocked her head. “And why is it so important that 70 Ophiuchi is not on our ‘Mother-may-I’ list?”

  Downing shrugged. “Because we have a colony in that system.”

  Opal nodded. “So we went off the reservation there.”

  “Yes.”

  “So what are we going to do?”

  Visser smiled. “You ask direct questions and are not afraid of direct answers: you are good to have with us, Major. Come, we will think on it together before I go to meet the Dornaani.”

  Opal smiled and set off with Visser. As she passed behind Caine, she gave the back of his left bicep a quick squeeze. Trevor looked away, wished he had done so a moment earlier. But, of course, he was going to see everything she did.

  Because he was always watching her.

  ODYSSEUS

  The door into the Dornaani ship—an iris valve—dilated. A smooth corridor—the walls curved up gently from the floor and arched subtly overhead into a ceiling—yawned before them. Caine waited: they hadn’t worked out an entry order. Caine had presumed that Visser, as ambassador, would take the lead. But she seemed very still—almost rigid. Another second went by: Oh, what the hell—

  Caine stepped through the round portal, did a quick sweep with the atmosphere analyzer. The green light never wavered. “The air is okay; actually, less CO2 and marginally fewer contaminants.” As if the Dornaani had brought them all this way to either murder them with toxins or asphyxiate them through incompetence. But protocols are protocols . . .

  Visser stepped over the low lip of the valve, eyes slightly lowered. As she drew abreast of Caine, she glanced up with a quick, faint smile. Caine understood the look as thanks, responded with a smile of his own. Visser’s broadened in response before she moved further into the Dornaani ship with her usual assertive stride.

  Downing came next, followed by Elena. Behind them, still in the airlock, Opal stared at Caine without blinking. “You four be careful,” she whispered, still looking at him.

  Caine raised his hand in farewell, just before the panels of the iris valve contracted with a swift, breathy hiss. He turned; found the others waiting for him. The milky walls stretched away into a dim haze. Uncharted territory: “Here be dragons”—or what might be stranger and more dangerous still.

  Elena studied the walls as they moved forward. “Any idea where we’re going?”

  “Nope. The Dornaani simply asked us to—”

  “Please,” interrupted a new voice, apparently speaking from the ceiling, “continue forward for twenty meters. You will find another portal. Place your hand on the round panel beside it.”

  Visser cocked her head to one side. “What accent is that? And what gender?”

  Downing smiled faintly. “I can’t make out the gender. And I would say there is no accent at all. Does sound a little nasal though, so I’m guessing that he—or she—was taught by a Yank.” Downing shot an amused glance at Caine.

  Who wasn’t really in the mood to smile at any of Downing’s jokes. “There’s the portal.”

  This iris valve was somewhat smaller in diameter—just sufficient for average human height, so Caine stooped a bit as he grazed his fingers across the saucer-sized pad. The panels scalloped away from the center point, retracting back into the walls, floor, ceiling. Visser glanced at Caine, crinkled her eyes slightly, then stood slightly straighter and briskly stepped over the threshold. Caine followed, resolved to be ready for anything.

  Chapter Forty-One

  ODYSSEUS

  The one thing Caine hadn’t been prepared for was the anticlimax of the moment. The room was a plain white ovoid, all the fixtures of which reprised a curvilinear motif—except for one gray rectangular table furnished with four black chairs. Across from it was a crescent-moon table. Standing squarely between the two tables was, evidently, a Dornaani.

  Caine, having girded his loins for a profoundly alien being, had not been prepared for yet another conventionally arranged biped. The Dornaani—not quite one and a half meters tall, raised long arms and long fingers into the air slowly. “Please feel free to look at my form: be certain you are comfortable before you come closer.”

  “Should we? Come closer?” Caine had spoken before he realized he should measure his words carefully now: he wasn’t flying by the seat of his pants in the jungles of Dee Pee Three anymore: he was an official negotiator. Whatever that meant.

  The being’s fingers widened further. “You may approach if you wish. Indeed, with the exception of this meeting, you may elect not to see, or even directly hear, any exosapients at all. It is our intent to minimize any shock that might arise from your first encounters with alien species.”

  Caine inclined his head slightly. “We thank you for that accommodation. However, our delegation was selected, in part, for our receptivity to unfamiliar situations. Accordingly, we look forward to having as much direct contact with other species as is possible.” And gather more intel in the process.

  The Dornaani inclined its own head in response. “We welcome this. It is not our custom to shake hands, but we know that it is yours. If it will make you feel more comfortable to do so, I am happy to comply.”

  Caine was surprised by the next voice: Elena’s. “What is your customary greeting?”

  The Dornaani’s upper arms drew in somewhat, the forearms went out at right angles from the body: the fingers—three very long tapers directly opposed by a rather stubby digit—splayed wide, like rays emanating from the ends of the sinewy arms. “‘Enlightenment unto you.’ It is an auspicious beginning, that you ask of our ways. However, we shall use your ways and language, for now: whereas we are accustomed to sentient species other than our own, you are not.”

  Elena seemed ready to add something—possibly what she read about my experiences with Mr. Local on Dee Pee Three—but Downing put a hand on her arm and responded. “That is very considerate.”

  “It is simply prudent. You may call me Alnduul, you may gender me as male, and you are free to ask any questions. You may also approach and inspect my form in greater detail, if you wish.”

  Caine approached, reflecting that, after the Pavonians, the Dornaani hardly seemed alien. The two large, slightly protuberan
t eyes appeared pupilless at first—until Caine realized that a nictating inner eyelid was currently in place. The diminutive mouth seemed set in a permanent moue—until Alnduul lifted a wide-mouthed bottle of water to it. The mouth everted into an unsightly sucking protrusion, seeking the neck of the bottle much the way a tapir’s short trunk would snuffle after fodder. Caine repressed a shudder as small cutting ridges reminiscent of a lamprey’s clicked lightly against the container. Alnduul’s nose was almost nonexistent; a single nostril perched over the bony promontory that housed the mouth.

  At the base of the almost pelicanate mouthflap and jaw arrangement, about where a human’s Adam’s apple would be, there was a set of slits or gills, above which there was a triangular flap: probably a foldable ear. The cranium itself—for there most definitely was one—was very rounded and smooth, and seemed to have a rearward extending shelf, so that if seen from above, the outline of the head would present as a teardrop.

  Caine felt that mental image of a drop suddenly superimpose itself over everything on the Dornaani physiognomy, and even the motif of the room and the ship, and so he understood: “Excuse me, Alnduul. Are the Dornaani native to water?”

  The nictating lids fluttered. “We are. We prefer to rest in water, but as we have evolved, more of our waking activity takes place in air-space. And thus I am reminded: if you agree, I would like to change the room’s environment slightly.”

  Visser nodded. “Of course. What changes do you wish to make?”

  “We prefer higher humidity and slightly higher temperature. However, while wearing this suit, I will be comfortable with approximately eighty-five percent humidity at thirty degrees centigrade.”

  One of Downing’s eyebrows raised slightly; he tugged open his collar. “By all means.” Caine imagined him in a pith helmet and found the image an apt—and deserved—parody.

  As Alnduul manipulated controls embedded in the table, Caine noted the profoundly sloped shoulders: evidently streamlined for arms-tucked swimming, but reaching overhead had to be awkward, at best. The short, high chest was perched upon an abbreviated abdomen that tapered quickly into what, in a human, would have been an absurdly waspish waist. Short and powerfully muscled “thighs” winnowed down into long, thin lower legs, which ultimately flared out into wide, spatulate duck-feet. In silhouette, Alnduul presented a broad parody of the female hourglass figure—but with fingertips that came down well beneath the knees, immense feet, and a total absence of hair. Even so, it was a more humanoid shape than any envisioned by the most optimistic predictions of xenophysiologists.

  The room was already becoming warmer; Caine felt the first bead of sweat form at his hairline. He tugged open his collar, watched as Visser and then Downing went forward to shake Alnduul’s hand. They smiled, introduced themselves, muttered something low and congenial, were the very pictures of human decorum. And that’s the problem.

  Caine stepped forward, tucked his elbows in against his floating ribs, rotated his arms out like stunted wings, spread wide his fingers. Alnduul seemed to stare for a moment, then his gills audibly popped open and he returned the gesture. Caine bobbed his head slightly. “Is it proper for me to wish you enlightenment?”

  Alnduul’s nictating lids cycled slowly and his speech was measured, deliberate: “It is always appropriate for one sentient to wish another enlightenment. You do us honor. What is your name?”

  “I am Caine Riordan.”

  “Ah.” It was a confirmatory sound, as if Alnduul had just received the expected answer to his question. “And you are here in what capacity, Caine Riordan?”

  Well, this was as good a time as any for introductions. “I am here as this delegation’s negotiator and—er, spokesperson.”

  “So you are the leader of the delegation?”

  “No, that would be Ms. Visser, our ambassador.”

  “So your job is to communicate, not to deliberate?”

  Caine was trying to figure how best to answer the question when Visser stepped in: “Mr. Riordan is our primary communicator, but he is also one of our most important advisors and plays a crucial role in our deliberative process.”

  Caine turned to look at Visser, who once again crinkled her eyes at him. Good Christ, have I just been promoted? And is that a good thing or not?

  Then she continued: “And this is Ms. Elena Corcoran, who is our specialist in xenocultural signification and semiotics.”

  Elena stepped forward—Caine tried not to notice her dramatically long legs—and made the splay-fingered gesture. She carried it off with a sweeping grace that made it seem balletic.

  “Enlightenment unto you, Alnduul.”

  “And you, daughter of Nolan Corcoran. We are pleased you have come and that you sit at this table. Your father was much—appreciated—by us.” From the way the statement had begun, Caine had expected the concluding qualifier to be that Nolan was someone the Dornaani “admired,” rather than “appreciated.”

  If Elena noted the same peculiarity, she did not reveal it: “I am happy to learn this. My brother—who is also here—and I both wondered at your request for our presence. How did you know our father?”

  “How could we not? He was a famous human—and I foresee that his fame will grow, not diminish.”

  “So you knew of him through monitoring our broadcasts?”

  The nictating lids closed slowly, did not open immediately. “Let us speak of this later. I would invite you all to be seated, if you feel comfortable doing so.” Alnduul made a gesture with his fingers that looked like streamers waving in the wind. “Where is the rest of your delegation?”

  Caine looked at Visser, who nodded. “After some discussion, it was felt that it would be difficult to keep our conversation focused if we had ten persons here. So the other six members of our delegation will be listening, and sharing their input, by radio, assuming we can make a connection through your hull.”

  “Your radio will be allowed to operate. We are observing a similar protocol. Many are listening, but I shall be the only one speaking. Indeed, my role here is akin to yours, Caine Riordan.”

  Caine smiled. “Perhaps. But I do not have your authority.”

  “I have less authority than you might suspect. I am not at all among the first voices of the Dornaani.”

  “Then why were you chosen to speak for your people?”

  “Why were you made negotiator?”

  “Because I am—supposedly—the member of my species most familiar with contacting exosapients.”

  “My situation is analogous.”

  “You specialize in first contracts?”

  “Not exactly: I specialize in humans.”

  “As a scholar?”

  “That too. But mostly as an—an administrator.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “We—the Dornaani—are the Custodians of the Accord. Among us, I am one of those responsible for overseeing the Custodial policies and activities that involve your species.”

  Caine sensed Visser’s posture become more erect. He did not need her prompting: “Does this mean that you are also the one who will determine whether or not we may become a part of the Accord?”

  “Proffering membership in the Accord is determined by vote of all the Accord member states. Matters which involve interactions between the Custodians and your species are reviewed by the Custodial group of which I am a member.”

  Caine felt a vast, significant silence at the end of Alnduul’s explanation. “And may we reasonably hypothesize that you are the primary advisor and senior expert in that group?”

  Alnduul’s lids nictated several times, ultimately remained open: “This would be an extremely reasonable hypothesis.”

  Well, I guess we’d better not piss you off.

  Alnduul had positioned himself at the convex center of the crescent table. “Let us start with any questions about our contact with you to date, or the accords. We shall conclude with an overview of the protocols and itinerary of the upcoming Convocation of the Acco
rd. Please begin.”

  Caine checked the list on his palmtop. “Our delegation’s first item is more an observation than a question. We found it . . . curious . . . that we did not receive copies of the accords until an hour before we shifted to this system.”

  Alnduul half-lifted one long hand. “We believe that first contact should emphasize unconstrained experience, not detailed analysis. Consequently, we encourage you to use your first Convocation to explore the Accord not as abstract dicta on a piece of paper, but as a living entity. You are here to witness the Accord in action: how else could you reasonably decide whether or not you wanted to be a part of it?”

  Visser shook her head. “But—with respect, Alnduul—had we been given a few months of lead time, had you relayed the accords along with your invitation, we could have examined them—and any relevant precedents and interpretations—more closely.”

  “And had we sent you the accords ahead of time, it would only have served to give your many leaders enough time to make something very complex out of something that is very simple. They would have succumbed to endless abstractions and hypothesizing and would have paralyzed themselves—would they not?”

  Visser was smiling now. “Unquestionably.”

  “It is the nature of organizations: the larger they grow, the more ponderous they become. I imply no criticism: to use a saying from one of the nations of your planet, one should not expect an elephant to scamper like a mouse. An organization large enough to govern a planet cannot also be flexible enough to react easily to new ideas or situations.”

  Visser nodded. “Thus the size constraint you placed upon the delegation.”

  “Yes. And also the short notice and lack of advance documents. For, given the opportunity to inspect the accords, your government would have encumbered you with all manner of constraints and objectives and questions and conditions. Indeed, they would not have sent your group at all.”