—and found himself face to face with a water heater on wheels.
Chapter Forty-Seven
ODYSSEUS
Caine stared at the Ktoran environmental tank. Wondered when they’d get around to chasing me down. But he said: “Greetings. I am sorry, but since your tanks are identical, I have no way of knowing who you—”
“Of course. It is I, Wise-Speech-of-Pseudopodia. I thank you for your invitation to this gathering, Spokesperson Riordan: it is quite pleasant. And my thanks go to you as well, Ambassador.”
Caine turned: Visser had approached from behind, with Wasserman and Durniak in tow. “Our pleasure, Wise-Speech-of-Pseudopodia. We are sorry that we had no way of knowing what foodstuffs you might enjoy.”
“Do not be troubled. Ktoran biochemistry is radically different, so rather than share food this evening, we must take our pleasure in the sharing of ideas. And information.”
A baited hook, trailed in deep water. Caine nodded: “Those are, after all, the lifeblood of diplomacy.”
“Well put, Mr. Riordan. May I express my appreciation of your professionalism—all of you—during today’s rather trying proceedings. It was not what you were expecting, I am sure.”
Downing’s voice arose from the other side of Wise-Speech. “I’ll allow that it was a bit of a surprise.”
“Yes. We—the Ktor delegation—feared that this might arise. Particularly when we perused your dossier: the question of whether your World Confederation ensures universal representation provided the Arat Kur with a serviceable point of disputation.”
Visser folded her arms. “Apologies, Wise-Speech-of-Pseudopodia, but I was not under the impression that the Ktor were sympathetic to the objections of the Arat Kur.”
“Indeed, we are not. Please: do not misconstrue my comments as suggesting that you are without grounds for claiming authority over your worlds. As you will come to know, Ktor can hardly be called a state or polity at all. We despair of the homogeneity of intent and action that seems to be the legitimizing desideratum for other races. Yet this does not stop us from claiming a practical authority over those systems in which we exert primary influence.”
“I see—but then what is your point?”
“Merely this: when sovereign states insist upon deriving their authority from the consent of the governed, troubling inconsistencies inevitably arise. Indeed, the model of rulership through nation-states seems to be in disarray, and therefore in decline, everywhere—even on Earth.”
Wasserman slipped into the group. “Just what do you mean by that?”
“Consider the difficulty your Confederation has in claiming that it is adequately representative. Even if the challenges recently presented by Indonesia’s call for a sixth bloc are only half-hearted, other nations—particularly those of the Pan-Islamic sphere and Africa—have started entering into agreements that challenge the legal boundaries between national and corporate states. For instance, as we understand your laws, CoDevCo’s recent land purchases now allow it to claim nationhood.”
Caine did some fast current-events mathematics: how long ago had CoDevCo made those purchases? The answer came back quickly: the Ktor could not have gained that information through legal means.
Durniak was looking down her nose at the beaded sides of the life-support canister. “CoDevCo was ceded small wastelands in Namibia, Yemen, Uzbekistan and one island in Pacific Ocean, belonging to Borneo. This makes it a nation?”
“Ms. Durniak, what determines the right of statehood, of sovereignty? Does the right vest in ownership of terrain? If this is the primary criterion—and it does seem to be central to all Earth’s legal definitions—then how is CoDevCo not a nation? Its lands—whatever you may think of the areas and the means whereby they were acquired—are not held through a lease, nor as a loan.”
“And you’re telling me that in your opinion—or that of the Ktor—this makes CoDevCo a national entity?”
The water tank rotated slightly in Wasserman’s direction. “Please be calmed. I have not the temerity to attempt to tell you anything. It is time that will tell you and your people what all this means. But it is evident to us that this matter is already stimulating major debates over the definition of statehood.”
“Perhaps, but a company can’t simply buy itself statehood, just by permanently acquiring a tract of land.”
“If its employees elect to be its citizens, what is to prevent CoDevCo from claiming precisely this?”
“Well, those employees can’t be said to be participating in their own governance. And even if we were to ignore that, how is a corporate board a government?”
“How is it not? The UN and World Court recognize monarchies and dictatorships as nations: why not a corporation? Furthermore, unlike autocracies, the corporation recognizes private property, and even has a representative dimension.”
Visser frowned. “What kind of representation are you talking about?”
“Shareholder meetings—particularly if all employees are given the option to take part of their pay or benefits as company stock.”
“Okay,” conceded Wasserman, “but then the right to vote isn’t inalienable: it’s a commodity.”
“According to our very limited observation, it seems that, for much of your world’s population, this distinction would be a quibble at best, a sophistry at worst. A vote is a vote: its philosophical validation is of little importance to the overwhelming majority of those who are vested with that small share of political power.”
Durniak’s voice was decidedly hostile. “So you would urge us to recognize CoDevCo as a nation?”
“We are indifferent to the outcome. We merely note that the unanimity of will that you propose as the validation for your World Confederation is not so unanimous after all. And I am less than certain that CoDevCo is genuinely interested in being recognized as a nation-state. Indeed, I speculate that the megacorporations do not wish to become nations themselves; they merely wish to exert more influence over the international blocs.”
“Or maybe control them.”
Wise-Speech rotated back toward Caine. “Perhaps. I cannot comment on such a precise and detailed speculation.”
Caine smiled slowly. “Strange, since you seem to be well-informed on the precise details of our other political issues.”
“In addition to the Custodial report and the reference you provided yesterday, we have long been attentive to your omnidirectional broadcasts. They have provided us with a most stimulating perspective on your species—”
Nice dodge—and pure bullshit. Parthenon was only six months ago, but you’re dozens of light-years away. However “stimulating” our news might be, it still doesn’t travel faster than the speed of light . . .
“However, this is all tangential to the main issue that motivates the Arat Kur objections to your dossier. I doubt they are truly concerned with the legitimacy of your government.”
“Oh? Then what are they concerned with?”
“Why, your expansion into 70 Ophiuchi, of course.”
Of course. “Tell me, Wise-Speech-of-Pseudopodia, doesn’t that last assertion of yours imply the location of another member state?”
“Surely, you have already deduced this yourselves. Consider: the Dornaani and the Hkh’Rkh have revealed their spheres of influence in their self-references. The Slaasriithi primer will no doubt do the same. And our seat of authority is quite distant, in the system you label 58 Eridani. Thus you know where all the races are—with the sole exception of the Arat Kur. So, when the matter of your entry into the 70 Ophiuchi system arises tomorrow, will you be surprised to find that it is the Arat Kur who raise the issue? Will you have any doubt whose border is threatened by that expansion?”
“You sound as though you are not very concerned by this issue.”
“The specific violation? No: why should we be? It is not our border. But as a general principle, the Ktor feel that the dictatorial ‘pathways of approved expansion’ are in urgent need of revision. If not
elimination.”
Elimination? Here’s the reason behind all the discord, rearing its ugly, Accord-splitting head at last.
Wasserman had shouldered into the front rank. “Why? Why eliminate the territorial restrictions?”
“I do not insist that they must be eliminated, but it is one possibility. At the very least, the process of adjudicating and adjusting the lists must be changed. The Arat Kur are also correct in insisting that the accords themselves must be revisited. We too often rely upon implicit understandings and vague precedents that only the Custodians may interpret or construe. This is unacceptable.”
“And if the Custodians resist these appeals for change?”
“Then we will be compelled to take our own counsel and act as we will.”
“You mean, ignore the permitted pathways of expansion?”
“Yes.”
Visser looked sideways at Downing, who was already staring at her. An unmistakable line was being drawn in the sand. Caine cleared his throat: “If you’re right about the Arat Kur—that their concern is to remedy our ‘unlawful’ intrusion into 70 Ophiuchi—then wouldn’t they support the accords? In short, wouldn’t they insist on leaving the current constraints unchanged?”
“An astute observation. For sake of argument—and only that—let us project the endgame of a confrontation between the powers that desire change and those which do not. Among those powers that you reasonably believe will support the status quo—the Dornaani, the Slaasriithi, and the Arat Kur—the Slaasriithi can be made to stand aside quite easily. They find combat singularly aversive. We would of course provide our allies—particularly a technologically adept race such as yourselves—with improvements in space technology that you could quickly copy. With these improvements, and with the Hkh’Rkh as your eager foot soldiers, you could swiftly defeat the Arat Kur while we defeat the Dornaani.”
“And what if the Slaasriithi—seeing the Arat Kur attacked and overrun—also take up arms in support of the current settlement limits of the Accord?”
“This should be of little worry to you. As you will learn soon enough, Arat Kur and Hkh’Rkh space completely separate your sphere from that of the Slaasriithi. So it would be the Hkh’Rkh alone who would be vulnerable to attacks from the Slaasriithi. In truth, the damage to them might well be considerable.”
“Which doesn’t seem to trouble you very much.”
Wise-Speech paused. “Let us speak frankly. The Hkh’Rkh would prove excellent wartime allies, but they are largely ungovernable. If attacked by the Slaasriithi, they would be glad for your assistance. I also suspect—although they would never admit it—that they would eventually look to you for leadership. Already, there is great promise for friendship between you.”
“Why do you say this?”
“Because I have observed your interactions this evening. And because you are both warlike species.”
The mild bluntness of Wise-Speech’s characterization of humanity was more unsettling than its content. Caine sought a contradiction: he felt a cool chill at the back of his skull when he realized that he wouldn’t find one because Wise-Speech was right.
The Ktor did not pause. “The Arat Kur and Slaasriithi would lose this hypothetical war because they are not warlike races. The Dornaani would not be able to intervene, because they would be too late to help the Arat Kur, and because they are at great remove from the Slaasriithi. Most importantly, they would be compelled to guard their borders against us—and we are far more numerous than they. So the outcome of this unnecessary war would be identical to the outcome of the peaceful dissent we propose. Foreseeing what we have outlined here, the Dornaani will ultimately agree to the desired changes. The price of peace—either on the battlefield or in the council chambers—will be that the Accord shall be recast in a more practical mold, a mold which better fits our shared vision of energetic expansion.”
“So you do not see war as inevitable?”
“We believe that the Arat Kur would withdraw their objections to human membership if they felt their borders were truly secure. Which would certainly be the case if the Arat Kur could be placated with assurances that you will expand away from their sphere. But that can only happen if the expansion limits are rescinded.”
“And the Hkh’Rkh?”
“The Hkh’Rkh can be made to observe the Arat Kur boundaries if we provide them with the shift-drive technology they need to open up their expansion sphere in directions that are currently inaccessible to them. With each member state free to pursue unrestricted expansion, we will all have tranquility and prosperity.”
“‘Peace in our time,’” Caine muttered.
“My apologies: I did not hear your words.”
“I did not mean them to be heard. My colleagues and I will need to discuss this.”
“Of course.” Wise-Speech began to wheel away, halted. “Naturally, we must have some indication of your interest before the Convocation resumes tomorrow. We will send a tight beam signal to you at the time you call midnight. If you return the signal, we shall know that you are interested in working with us to achieve a peaceful solution to these unfortunate frictions. I wish you a pleasant evening and thank you for your hospitality.” He rolled to the door, where, joined by his three compatriots, he took his leave.
The last of the guests—the Hkh’Rkh—offered a farewell salute to Trevor and followed the Ktor. As Trevor came toward Caine, he grinned. “So, were you having fun with Mr. Water Heater?”
Caine grimaced. “Loads. And you?”
“The Hkh’Rkh sure don’t have a lot of variety in their conversation. Honor. Conquest. Family. More honor. Treachery and punishment. Honor. Tactics. Still more honor. Oh, and did I mention that they like to talk about honor?”
“We get the picture. Sounds like bushido on steroids.”
“Yup, just about. I’m heading back to the barn and relieving Opal. Try not to dance on the tables.”
“We’ll contain ourselves somehow.”
Thandla emerged from the main alcove as Trevor ducked around the corner. Hwang stared down at the deck. “Wise-Speech certainly made an interesting—and damning—slip.”
“What do you mean?”
“His reference to the sixth bloc initiative and Indonesia. The Ktor can’t have known that yet—not legally.”
Caine shook his head. “That was no slip.”
“What do you mean?”
Downing sipped his glass of water. “Caine means that Wise-Speech wanted us to realize that the Ktor are not only aware of the state of affairs on Earth, but are determined to get what they want, even if they have to break a few rules—or a few necks—to get it.”
“And what makes them think we won’t report them to the Dornaani?”
“Frankly, I don’t think they care if we tattle. They’re trying to determine if we will support them, or if we will support the Dornaani. If we respond to their signal at midnight, they’ve got their answer. If we run and tell the Dornaani—again, they’ve got their answer.”
Visser looked at Caine. “And what do you think of their proposition to us?”
“I think that Wise-Speech is Ribbentrop and we’re getting to choose whether we’re going to play the part of Neville Chamberlain or Winston Churchill.”
Wasserman frowned. “Sorry; not up on my history.”
“Long story made short: Britain’s Chamberlain tried to appease Germany before World War Two, agreeing to look the other way while the Nazis gobbled up chunks of the continent. All to avoid war.”
“Some great plan: look what happened.”
“My point exactly—and I think that’s the lesson we should remember right now.”
“You mean, we should side with the Dornaani?”
“Yes.”
“Who want to hem us in?”
“No, Lemuel. The accords set limits. And the Dornaani have given clear indications that the time may be ripe to redefine or even reduce those limits. But they are also trying to follow the law.”
“Look: the Dornaani may be somewhat elusive, and they’re not exactly the life of the party, but they’ve risked losing their official validation as Custodians over the principles—and integrity—of their duties. And if they lose that validation, what happens next? War? Or do the Ktor create a new Accord with new rules? And what do the Dornaani do if the Ktor’s new Accord violates the limits set by the Dornaani Accord? Do the Dornaani go to war—start hostilities to enforce compliance to a set of restrictions that are no longer recognized by the majority of species? I think that the Dornaani, despite their technological edge, have become the underdogs—and the wronged party—in all of this.”
Visser nodded. “And the Ktor smell like wolves.”
“Actually, they smell like ammonia.”
Caine, along with everyone else, turned to stare at Thandla. “What do you mean, Sanjay?”
“The Ktor must be native to a very cold environment: the heat exhausts of their cooling system were extremely obvious. From what I can gather, they must exist at less than minus eighty degrees centigrade.”
“How can that be?”
Hwang shrugged. “It’s theoretically possible. Goes along with the ammonia his chemical sniffers picked up: methane and hydrogen fluorine are two low-temperature alternatives to carbon as a potential basis for life.”
Visser, arms folded, stared at the floor. “We are fortunate to have this information, but we do not have the time to consider its significance at length. For now, we must simply prepare ourselves for tomorrow, for the vote on whether we are to be offered membership or not.”
“Sounds like we’ve got another choice to make before then.” Lemuel stuck his hands in his pockets, looked around the informal council circle. “What do we do when Wise-Speech calls us at midnight? Because if we don’t pick up the phone and make nice, I think it’s pretty clear he’s going to vote against us tomorrow.”
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