Silence. Then Durniak shrugged. “I will propose ideas as—how do you say it?—as devil’s advocate. So: if we show interest in the Ktor’s proposition tonight, how does this benefit us?”
Hwang ticked off the benefits on his fingers. “We would be allied with the most aggressive species. They will place few or no limits on expansion, which means we can maximize our power and territorial reach. They are willing to give us access to advanced technology. We also seem to be their preferred partners: they are contemptuous of the Hkh’Rkh, dismissive of both the Slaasriithi and the Dornaani, and are willing to let the Arat Kur be overrun by us. So they seem to be suggesting that we would enjoy a special relationship with them.”
Wasserman nodded. “Pretty compelling reasons.”
Elena stared at him. “You trust them?”
“Christ, no; Wise-Speech is a lying sack of shit. And why would he be any less likely to sell us out than he would the Hkh’Rkh or the Arat Kur? But we’re looking for the positives of joining him, right?”
Elena shuddered and nodded.
So did Durniak. “It may be a dangerous thing we would do if we choose not to side with the Ktor. The Custodians tried to keep us from having to make binding decisions—but it is happening otherwise to us.” Tired, distracted, her facility for English was starting to erode.
“But it’s the wrong choice. We all know that—don’t we?” Elena looked around the group.
Thandla shrugged. “At least we would be choosing our own fate. And being friends with the most dangerous species means we have protected our world from them. Also, their preference for our cooperation might indicate that we have enough power that they will genuinely feel safer having us as their long-term allies. So, as long as we remain strong, we need not fear betrayal.”
Caine shook his head. “Look, let’s be realistic about what advantages we clearly don’t have going into this showdown tomorrow. We are still utterly ignorant of the other star-faring races in this region of space, and even if we read and study all night, that will not have materially changed by tomorrow morning. Next, we have little to no idea of the real political interactions among them: just a few hints and innuendos that might be misinformation, and a few implied promises that might be just so much hot—or very cold—air. And we are, with the possible exception of the Hkh’Rkh, technologically inferior. So what assets can we really bring to any relationship with these other powers?
“If we choose the mercenary route—assuming the Ktor even mean what they say about allying with us—we become collaborators in an illegal attempt to subvert or destroy the Accord, either by war or political pressure. Either way, we wouldn’t be doing that because we believe in it, but because we are scared.”
“Yeah.” Lemuel’s voice was tired. “But what other options—or strengths—do we have?”
“We have the option to do the right thing, to follow the process as the Dornaani outlined it, which means, ultimately, supporting the Custodians and the rule of law. And I think that the strengths we bring to that relationship are greater, and ultimately offer greater protection, than the gutless sycophancy we’d bring to a partnership with the Ktor.”
Downing frowned. “And what strengths would we bring to an alliance with the Dornaani?”
Caine looked him in the eye. “Courage. Versatility. Perspicacity. And, most important, integrity.” Half of which you seem to lack.
“Let’s hope you’re right.” Downing was looking at his watch. “Ten minutes to midnight.”
* * *
Ten minutes later, Caine was sitting at the communications console in the hab module. The other nine members of the delegation were crowded into corners, in between banks of monitors, perched upon chairs that had been appropriated from other rooms. No one spoke.
On the console, a green light came on. Thandla, sitting alongside Caine, checked his watch and nodded. “Incoming signal. Tight beam.”
Caine raised his right index finger, looked around the room. “Are we all agreed?”
Stares became nods. Caine nodded in response, turned back to the console. He pressed a button well to the left side of the blinking green light. It—and all the monitors and gauges on the console—went dark.
“Powered down,” announced Thandla.
Visser sighed, arms clutched tight against her chest. “It’s done. Let us get to bed. We have an early day.”
As everyone else headed to the exit—Elena was gone before Visser had finished speaking—Opal headed toward Caine. Her smile was wide, but a bit tentative. “Heavy day,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“But not too heavy?”
He looked down into the pecan-colored eyes, tried to chase away an after-image of wider, green ones that had been burned into the retina of his imagination. He leaned close, so he could concentrate on her, not the imaginary green eyes. “No: not too heavy,” he answered.
He felt her arms go up either side of his back. “Good. No reason to lose tonight worrying about tomorrow.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
ODYSSEUS
“So—are you worried?”
Caine glanced at Trevor. “Me? No,” he lied.
The other galleries became transparent—except for the Arat Kur’s and the Slaasriithi’s. Alnduul’s voice announced the outcome of the second day’s first item of business: “The Accord is pleased to announce that its member states have unanimously elected to extend the Hkh’Rkh an offer of membership, and will expect a formal response at the next Convocation, to be held in one year’s time.”
First Voice rose, his spine-fur almost touching the ceiling of his gallery’s canopy. “As First Voice of the First Family, I give my formal response now. The Hkh’Rkh accept this offer.”
Alnduul made a waving gesture. “We acknowledge, but cannot recognize, your acceptance at this time. It must wait until the next Convocation. Now, we call for a vote on the membership of—”
The yellow quatrefoil winked on. “Uh oh,” Trevor sat up. “Here it comes.”
“The Arat Kur must insist that before the vote on the human candidacy may be called, a matter of territorial violation must be addressed.”
Visser came to stand alongside Caine. “Just as the Ktor told us: 70 Ophiuchi.”
Alnduul was pressing on. “We must remind the Arat Kur delegation that this matter is on our agenda for the afternoon—the agenda that was unanimously agreed to.”
Zirsoo’s voice sounded somewhat ragged. “The Arat Kur originally agreed to that agenda based on the presumption that there would be no vote, since the human dossier would surely be rejected on the first day. Since that did not occur, we are compelled to raise this issue now. The humans’ violation of their permitted pathway of expansion is clear and unequivocal. They must agree to vacate the 70 Ophiuchi system before the Accord can justly vote on their candidacy.”
Visser nodded at Caine, who stepped into the communications node. “We wish to extend our greetings and apologies to the Arat Kur delegation. However, we must point out that we entered 70 Ophiuchi before we were contacted, and thus had no knowledge that we were violating your space.”
“We acknowledge this; the fault is not with you, but with the Custodians. However, we insist that the border correction is mandated before human candidacy is resolved.”
Alnduul held out his arms. “This cannot be. I remind the Arat Kur delegation that neither the Accord nor the Custodians are empowered to discuss, much less mandate, Earth’s territorial policies until it has been confirmed as a provisional member.”
Zirsoo’s voice was singularly flat. “Then the Arat Kur member state must call for an immediate suspension of the proceedings of this Convocation, until the following three issues have been resolved.
“Firstly, the failure of the Custodians to convene the Accord to consider the question of human membership before the humans settled the system they designate 70 Ophiuchi.
“Secondly, the failure of the Custodians to suspend these proceedings pending an i
nvestigation into the failings and prevarications in the human government’s legitimacy documentation.
“Thirdly, as a consequence of the preceding, an investigation into whether the Dornaani should be allowed to continue as the Accord’s Custodians.”
Alnduul rose to a fully erect posture. “These charges will be considered for inclusion on next year’s Convocation agenda. However none of them are grounds for suspending the proceedings of this Convocation.”
After a long pause, Zirsoo’s voice announced, “It seems you refuse to hear us. Under these circumstances, we cannot participate in this stage of the Convocation’s proceedings. Accordingly, we shall withdraw.”
“With apologies, we must become involved.” The voice came from Wise-Speech’s image. “There is only one way to end these disagreements, because there is one common thread that binds them together. The fault does not lie with the Custodians, or with the humans, or with the Arat Kur. The culprit here is not a living creature but a document: the insufficiencies of the accords themselves.
“Consider how all these insufficiencies are brought into sharp relief by the current crisis concerning 70 Ophiuchi. The Custodians are empowered to censure member states that refuse to comply with the accords. However, there is no definition of the punitive dimensions of such censure. There is no legal mechanism whereby the Accord may address possible abuses of power by its Custodians. And there is no way to convene an unbiased commission to promulgate the necessary corrective emendations to the accords themselves, since the Custodians have the procedural right to ban such initiatives as groundless obstructions.
“That none of these quandaries have answers indicates that it is not the members of the Accord, but the accords themselves, which are flawed. Therefore, before further action can be undertaken, the accords must be subjected to thorough review and revision.”
Alnduul’s fingers flexed briefly. “There is wisdom in your words, but they fail to address the procedural precedents under which we operate. We must first complete the agenda we jointly agreed upon, and do so under the guidelines which were in place when today’s agenda was passed. Accordingly, I must now call for the vote on human membership.”
“The Ktor abstain. And we lodge a further protest over the illegal exclusion of the Hkh’Rkh member state.”
“As do the Arat Kur: we, too, abstain.”
“Vishnaaswii’ah of the Slaasriithi?”
“We are distressed by the disharmony of this Convocation. We see merits to both sides in the procedural debate. However, it seems to us that the human Confederation—while new and imperfect—has not substantively misrepresented itself. We feel that a call for an investigatory commission on the matter is overzealous.”
“Hmmm,” Downing muttered with a nod. “The Arat Kur won’t like that.”
Durniak matched his nod. “A gentle slap in face, but a slap in face, even so.”
Vishnaaswii’ah was concluding. “Therefore, we find no reason to doubt the humans’ self-representation, or their basic veracity. Consequently, we find no juridical basis for setting aside today’s agenda. We vote to offer the humans membership in the Accord.”
In the central half-dome, Glayaazh stood. “The Dornaani, also, vote in the affirmative.”
Alnduul nodded as Glayaazh resumed her seat. “All votes have been recorded. This closes—”
First Voice’s bellow drowned out Alnduul’s attempt to close the proceedings. “The Hkh’Rkh abstain and we add our voices to those of the Arat Kur and Ktor in calling for a revision of Accord protocols and policies, particularly those which facilitate the dictatorial behavior of the Custodians.”
“The statement is duly noted, but the Hkh’Rkh vote is ineligible at this time, and so, not recorded. The final vote is two affirmative, two abstentions—”
“Three!” roared First Voice of the Hkh’Rkh. “Three abstentions!” The thin veneer of his accommodation to pluralistic process was almost gone.
“The First Accord dictates that abstentions are to be construed as rejections. Therefore, the vote is tied.”
“We object,” intoned Wise-Speech calmly. “We hold that, given the acceptance of the Hkh’Rkh, the final vote is two-to-three and membership is, at this point, not offered to the humans.”
Alnduul had not stopped speaking; he continued straight over the top of Wise-Speech. “Accordingly, until such time as a definitive outcome can be reached, the Custodians will outline the particulars of the interim status of the prospective human member state.” He looked toward Caine and the delegation. “Although as Custodians, we could choose to break the tie with a directed decision, we cannot do so without exacerbating the frictions arising from our purported abuse of power. Instead, the question of your membership must be deemed to remain ‘in process’ until such time as all the member states agree to follow the extant voting protocols. At that time, another vote will be called. In the meantime, protections consistent with a provisional membership will be extended to the humans. You are thus protected against aggression and trespass as per the accords, so long as you also constrain your own actions to those permitted therein. We apologize for this unprecedented disruption of your membership process.” He turned slightly. “We also address regrets to First Voice of the Hkh’Rkh.”
Caine saw movement from the corner of his eye: the Hkh’Rkh were leaving, matching the long, angry strides that were already carrying First Voice over the threshold of the iris-valve.
Alnduul droned on. “Unfortunately, no delegate may be recognized as a voting member of the Accord until the membership status of their species is confirmed at a second Convocation.”
Yaargraukh’s eyes met Caine’s; the expression was unreadable. Then the Advocate took one loping step to the exit and was gone.
“We hope that First Voice will not be offended by these procedural rules.” Alnduul’s hope was uttered to an empty gallery; the Hkh’Rkh’s withdrawal was complete.
Alnduul paused for a long moment. “We solicit closing comments relevant to this morning’s business.”
The yellow quatrefoil winked out of existence. A moment later, the green of the Slaasriithi followed.
Wise-Speech rolled back slightly. “Those who can no longer lead effectively should remove themselves from leadership. It is sad, but true.” The connection closed.
Alnduul looked straight at Caine and—with some difficulty—effected a somber nod. His image vanished.
Elena sighed and leaned her forehead on her hands. “How long do you think it’s going to be?”
Visser frowned. “You mean, until we are officially part of the Accord?”
“No: until there’s no Accord left to be a part of.”
* * *
The session’s afternoon business was effectively nonexistent: given what had transpired and the boycotts that were now in place, almost every other agenda item had been stymied. Alnduul reached the end of the paralyzed “to do” list and then stood. “We must issue another directive to the Arat Kur before this Convocation may be officially closed.”
Caine leaned forward. “Heads up; this could be serious.” From behind, there was the clattering rustle of pens and palmtops being laid aside.
Zirsoo’s voice was cautious. “There has been no procedural dereliction on our part.”
“We beg to differ. Although you may decline answering the questions posed by a candidate for membership, you must at least identify your homeworld by system and planet. You have failed to do so. We understand that this may have been an oversight on your part.”
“Like hell it was.”
Caine shrugged at Lemuel’s probably accurate observation. “Alnduul had to add that. He’s a diplomat and he had to play nice.”
“Yeah? Well, that’s no career for me, then.”
Truer words were never spoken. Caine looked at the yellow quatrefoil, felt his stomach clench in response to a sudden, instinctual realization: the Arat Kur have been silent too long. It’s not just tête-á-tête, anymore: they’re
deciding upon a statement—
—Which emanated from the yellow quatrefoil in the form of a different voice, proceeding at the slow, deliberate pace of a funeral march. “This is First Delegate Hu’urs’s Khraam of the Arat Kur WholeNest. The Arat Kur member state categorically refuses to comply with this directive. It is in direct violation of the ruling which protects the informational privacy of all member states.”
“With respect, First Delegate Khraam, the requirements of the Twenty-first Accord take precedence in this matter. As a probationary member state, the humans are subject to the full consequences if they violate this accord. They must therefore have the benefit of knowing which systems, if violated, would compel the Custodians to intervene.”
“Your words dig tunnels in sand; they are meaningless sophistries, crafted to compromise our safety.”
“We must disagree. This requirement—that each species has knowledge of the homeworlds of all other species—ensures that there can be no unwitting violations of the homeworld protections of the Twenty-first Accord. So we must direct the Arat Kur to reveal the location of their home system and world.”
The Arat Kur did not respond. Alnduul’s next gesture was peculiar: he stretched both arms high over his head. It looked awkward and uncomfortable, but was also very evocative. “We ask again: will the Arat Kur comply with the Custodial directive to reveal the location of their homeworld?”
“We will not.”
“Then you compel us to impart this information to the humans without your approval.”
“And I must warn you that your ultimatum leaves us no middle course: you force us to either scuttle back or shatter bedrock. Consequently, if the Dornaani Custodians reveal our homeworld, we maintain that they will have violated our privacy and the accords which ensure it, and must therefore be compelled to relinquish their Custodianship.”
Alnduul did not pause. “We regret that the Arat Kur refuse to identify their homeworld, and so we must reveal it to be the third planet of the system known to humans as Sigma Draconis.”
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