by Allen Steele
“With respect to my colleague from the Western Hemisphere Union,” Sir Ian began, soft-spoken and calm, “my government believes that his concerns have been rather overstated. In fact, to put matters as bluntly as he did, they’re completely and wholly without merit.”
More murmurs from the delegates. Sir Ian let it pass. “When the Alabama left Earth,” he went on, “it was hijacked by a group of political dissidents led by its captain, the late R. E. Lee. This, too, is a matter of historical record. In doing so, they effectively dissolved all political ties to the United Republic of America…and therefore, by extension, to its successor, the Western Hemisphere Republic. So the WHU has no legal claim upon the Alabama, its crew, nor any of its passengers.”
Chris gently rapped his knuckles against the desk; Carlos shook his head at him, but he was having a hard time keeping a straight face. “The fact that the Alabama has failed to establish radio contact with Earth is a simple matter of physics,” Sir Ian continued. “Given the limitations imposed by the speed of light, the first transmissions from the Alabama won’t be received for another”—he paused to check his notes—“five years, eight months, twenty-eight days, ten hours, and some-odd minutes and seconds.” He paused. “That’s a back-of-the-envelope calculation,” he added dryly. “Sorry I can’t be more specific, but my watch seems to be a bit off.”
Laughter rolled across the room. Sir Ian allowed it to die down before he went on. “Granted, five ships from the Union Astronautica have also visited the 47 Ursae Majoris system, but since their radio signals have yet to be received, either, there’s no way to ascertain their own territorial claims.” More laughter, and Amado’s face turned red, but Sir Ian chose to ignore this as well. “However, our own intelligence reports indicate that the Union’s efforts to colonize Coyote were anything but peaceful. Heavily armed Union Guard soldiers were aboard the very first Union Astronautica vessel, along with colonists who had been selected largely by public lottery, as was the case with every WHU starship. In fact, the last ship sent to 47 Ursae Majoris was primarily military in nature, its mission undertaken by the Union Guard upon the recommendation of the Council of Savants…and I don’t think this body needs to be reminded of the threat posed by the Savants before they were abolished.”
More murmurs. Everyone surely remembered what the Savants had once planned for the rest of humankind: selective genocide, with the ultimate goal of reducing the global population. Yet Sir Ian wasn’t done yet. “Therefore, any resistance the original colonists may have offered was justifiable. It was occupation by the Western Hemisphere Union that was unlawful, not their revolution. And once the Union Guard was defeated twenty-one years ago, and its forces sent back to Earth, the colonists set about forming the Coyote Federation as a free and democratic society.”
Sir Ian gestured toward Carlos. “The very fact that they elected this man to be their president speaks well of their society. They chose neither a terrorist nor a tyrant, but instead one of their own…a common man who’d taken up arms to fight for their liberty. And I think we should respect them for this.”
Carlos sat up a little straighter; he was no longer gripping my hand, but instead gazing at Sir Ian. I glanced at Amado; he should have considered himself lucky that a floater wasn’t focused upon him just then.
“Therefore,” Sir Ian continued, “it’s the opinion of the European Alliance that the U.N. Space Treaty doesn’t apply to the Coyote Federation since, from the very beginning, its colonies dissolved their connections from the governments of Earth. By much the same token, it should also be allowed to reestablish those ties, this time as an independent entity, free to negotiate matters of trade and immigration with whomever it chooses. My government is proud to act as its intermediary to the United Nations, and hopes to sponsor its eventual membership to the General Assembly.”
Again, voices rumbled across the vast hall, as delegates quietly conversed with each other. The Secretary-General let it go for a few seconds, then pounded his gavel and called for adjournment. Hearings would continue tomorrow morning; until then, he’d be available to hear any motions for mediation. For now, the General Assembly was in recess.
It took nearly an hour for Carlos, Chris, and me to make our exit; we found ourselves surrounded by diplomats and their aides. The last I saw of Ambassador Amado, he’d gathered his notes and stalked from the hall. He’d made his best shot, and blown it.
I caught a glimpse of Sir Ian. The ambassador left the Assembly Hall without any fanfare; for him, this was just another day’s work. But just before he left, I caught his eye. He smiled at me and nodded, and I blew him a kiss.
Thank you, Ambassador. You may have just saved my world.
A hoverlimo took us back to the European Alliance embassy, where we remained for the rest of the day. Yet Carlos and I had little chance to relax. All afternoon, we received visits from various U.N. delegations, each wishing to privately discuss the details of our trade and immigration proposals. The embassy staff allowed us to use a ground-floor parlor near the ballroom for our meetings; Carlos and I sat in armchairs near an ornate fireplace warmed by the holographic projection of burning logs as, two or three at a time, various diplomats and their aides were ushered in to see us.
Every one of them was willing to recognize the Coyote Federation as a sovereign entity, and nearly all were willing to join the European Alliance in cosponsoring Coyote’s induction to the United Nations. However, in return for their support, they all wanted certain concessions to be made. The potential for future colonization was the biggest concern. Nearly everyone objected to our insistence that immigration be limited; they saw no reason why their countries shouldn’t be allowed to ship as many people as possible to a world that was largely uninhabited. Others were reluctant to accept our stipulation that new colonies would be nonmilitarized; they argued that they needed to protect themselves from their neighbors. Several were less than enthusiastic about having to abide by the terms of the Liberty Compact; they wanted to export their own forms of government, in effect turning their colonies into miniature copies of their home countries.
And there were dozens of questions. What were Coyote’s most temperate regions? Which continents and islands had the greatest reserves of natural resources? What was the potential for mining? Were there any rare substances? Was the native animal life dangerous? Were the indigenous plants edible? Who would control access to the rivers and channels? Had anyone yet explored the polar regions? How did we maintain agriculture during the long winters? Had we yet considered building an international spaceport? And, most importantly, was there anything we’d told the last delegate who’d walked in here that we weren’t telling them?
So on and so forth, with one ambassador after another coming forth to smile, bow, make noises about how much they respected our courage and pioneer fortitude, then try to wiggle out of us a bargain that would give them an edge over their rivals. Carlos listened patiently to each one; I took notes and occasionally offered a comment or two, while Chris quietly stood off to one side. We offered as much information as we could, except about what we’d discussed with the last delegation with whom we’d met, and conceded nothing but vague assurances that we’d take their issues into consideration. The fine art of diplomacy: take as much as you can, surrender as little as possible, and attempt to make friends or, at the very least, prevent anyone from declaring war.
The last light of day cast long shadows through the windows when we finally put quits to the whole ordeal. We’d received over a dozen dinner invitations, but we’d accepted none; all Carlos and I wanted to do was return to our suite, have a shower and a quick bite to eat, then crawl into bed. My skull pounded with a headache, and Carlos complained that his lower back was sore from having bowed so many times; Chris was the only one of us who didn’t seem to have any trouble adjusting to the higher gravity.
We were in no mood for more visitors, so when an embassy aide stuck his head through the door and told us that Morgan Goldstein h
ad just arrived, Carlos was on the verge of an ill-tempered reply before I cut him off.
“Yes, we’ll be glad to see Mr. Goldstein,” I said. “Please show him in.” Carlos scowled at me, and I held up a hand. Five minutes, I mouthed, and he gave an exhausted shrug. Five minutes. What difference could that make?
Goldstein entered, casually dressed in a charcoal overcoat and a dark brown sweater. This time he wasn’t alone; he was accompanied by a tall, heavy-set gent with long blond hair and a thick beard. Clearly a bodyguard. He and Chris warily gazed at each other, two warriors sizing up a possible adversary.
“Mr. President, First Lady…” Goldstein smiled. “Or are you tired of hearing that all day? I can call you something else, if you prefer.”
“You can call me anything except…” Carlos sighed, rubbed his eyelids. “Naw, forget it. I’m already late for dinner. You want to call me Carlos, go right ahead. I don’t care.”
“Carlos, then.” Goldstein nodded, and looked at me. “And I take it I can call you Wendy? And you, Mr. Levin…is it too much of a familiarity if I called you Chris?”
“Whatever suits you.” Chris didn’t take his eyes off Goldstein’s strongman; I noticed that his hand had risen to the lapel of his jacket. “If he’s packing a gun, though, he’s going to have to wait outside.”
“Mr. Kennedy doesn’t wait outside for anyone.” Yet Goldstein turned toward him. “Mike, if you’ll kindly divest yourself of your weaponry, I think it’d go a long way toward instilling trust in our friends.”
Kennedy hesitated, then opened his overcoat and carefully withdrew a small, chrome-plated handgun from a shoulder holster. A particle-beam laser; he laid it on a nearby table, then slowly stepped away. Chris picked it up, unclipped the power-pack, then put it back on the table. Kennedy nodded, then picked up his gun and put it back in his holster. Professional courtesy; Chris wasn’t disarming his counterpart, just making sure that he couldn’t do any harm.
“Glad we’re past that.” Carlos relaxed a little; he reached for a glass of water on the side table next to him. “Mr. Goldstein, you’re going to have to forgive us, but—”
“Call me Morgan, please.”
“Morgan, we’ve had a long day. Wendy and I would rather—”
“Of course. I have no intention of imposing upon you more than necessary.” Removing his coat, Goldstein walked to the chair where dozens of delegates had seated themselves; for a moment, I thought he was going to sit down, but instead he tossed his coat on the chair. “You’re worn out. I don’t blame you. For what it’s worth, though, you handled yourselves in an exemplary fashion. I couldn’t have done it better myself.”
Carlos and I exchanged glances. Who the hell did he think he was? “Thank you,” I said. “If that’s all, then…”
“Well, no. Not quite.” Goldstein clasped his hands behind his back. “First, I’ve taken the liberty of having a local caterer deliver dinner to your rooms. Nothing too elaborate, I assure you. Just a little better than the soup and sandwiches the embassy kitchen would offer.”
Carlos raised an eyebrow. “We appreciate that, but—”
“Please. Consider it a token of my admiration.” Goldstein walked away, rubbing an imaginary speck from his eye. “You know, that really was a remarkable performance. I have to admit, in fact, that I may have underestimated you. I thought you might have been out of your league, but instead you showed remarkable grace under pressure. And having Sir Ian come to your rescue like that…” He chuckled. “Outstanding. My compliments on a fine maneuver.”
“It wasn’t a maneuver,” I said coldly. “We didn’t ask Sir Ian to defend us. He did that by himself.”
Goldstein darted a sharp look in my direction. “Really? That wasn’t prearranged?” Carlos and I both shook our heads, and now it was his turn to be surprised. “Even more remarkable. I didn’t think the old duffer still had it in him.”
I was quickly getting annoyed. “Mr. Goldstein…”
“The other reason I came,” he went on, as if I hadn’t spoken, “is to offer a little advice. My sources tell me that Patriarch Amado has met with the Secretary-General and requested mediation.”
This was unexpected. “What does that mean?” Carlos asked, as we glanced at each other.
“That means, tomorrow morning before the General Assembly reconvenes, you’ll meet informally with Farouk, Marcos, and Sir Ian. I don’t know the specifics, but I’m willing to bet that Marcos knows that any further attempt to claim Coyote as Union territory is pointless, and that he should try to offer a compromise before his country gets left out.”
I almost laughed out loud. Last night, Amado had treated Carlos and me as if we were a couple of hicks. This morning, he’d gone so far as to openly accuse Carlos of being a terrorist. Now that he saw which way the wind was blowing, he wanted to make a deal. Politics…
“Sure, we can compromise,” Chris said. “I’ll bend over if he gets down on his knees, so he can kiss my…”
Mike Kennedy apparently forgot he was supposed to be a bodyguard, too, because he guffawed. He and Chris took one look at each other, then they both broke up. Moments like that are infectious; a second later, everyone in the room was howling with laughter, with Carlos and me holding on to one another for support and Goldstein half-collapsed against a table. One of the embassy staff opened the door to peer inside; seeing what was going on, he hastily slammed the door shut. And that just set us off again.
When the laughter finally wore off, Goldstein ran a hand across his hairless head. “Well, I doubt he’ll go that far, but…” Straightening up, he wiped the smirk from his face. “All the same, I think you should take whatever he offers into consideration. The WHU has enormous clout in the General Assembly, particularly in matters regarding extraterrestrial resources. If you can work out some sort of equitable agreement between them and the EA, then the Pacific Coalition will probably go with it. After that, the nonaligned countries will fall into line.”
“Makes sense.” Carlos was sober again. “So why are you telling us this?”
Goldstein shrugged. “As I told your wife, I’m a businessman. A venture capitalist, if you will. I see Coyote as an opportunity for long-term investment. If the three major powers can come to terms, then I stand to make money.”
“Simple as that, huh?”
“Not quite so simple. If money was the sole objective, I’d be at my estate, sunning myself by the pool and waiting to see which countries sign trade agreements with you so that I can buy stock in the right places.” Again, an offhand shrug. “But after a while, there’s little difference between having ten billion and having a hundred billion. A few more toys, that’s all. And eventually, time catches up.”
Goldstein went silent for a moment, as if reflecting upon thoughts to which we were not privy, until he finally went on. “So that’s it. Dinner, and a word to the wise. Please take it as is. Mike?”
Kennedy picked up Goldstein’s overcoat, held it open for his boss. “One more thing,” Goldstein added, as he pushed his arms into the sleeves. “As I said before, I have a gift for you. If Marcos offers you a trip to the Union…and I have no doubt he will…please take him up on it. However, allow me to provide the transportation.”
“We’ll keep it in mind,” I said.
“Please do.” A bow, and then he turned away. “Very well, then. Good night. Enjoy your dinner.”
The door closed behind them, and we let out our breaths. For the first time in hours, we were alone. Or at least in the physical sense; I had little doubt that the parlor was bugged, and EA intelligence operatives were listening to everything we said.
“So,” Carlos said. “Do we trust him?”
I said nothing, but instead raised my hand, twisted my wrist back and forth. Maybe. Maybe not.
The Mediation Room was a small chamber adjacent to the General Assembly Hall; a round mahogany table dominated the room, beneath a circular stained-glass ceiling fashioned to resemble the zodiac. Marcos Amado was al
ready there when we arrived, along with a senior aide; he offered a formal bow to Carlos, Chris, and me, but said nothing until General-Secretary Sadat and his aide showed up a few minutes later, with Sir Ian Rutledge and a senior consul right behind them.
A few more bows, then everyone took their seats: the Patriarch and his aide directly across the table from Carlos, Chris, and me, with Sadat and his aide to our right, and Sir Ian and his consul to our left. A summit meeting. Yet even though Carlos and I were prepared for another fight, we didn’t get one. As Goldstein predicted, Amado had apparently realized that any further attempt to claim Coyote as Union territory would be futile; his best hope now was to try to bargain with us.
So he laid his offer on the table. In exchange for WHU recognition of the Coyote Federation, he wanted assurances that the European Alliance would be granted hyperspace passage to the 47 Ursae Majoris system, and also that the Union would be allowed to establish a new colony on a previously unsettled landmass, along with sovereign control of its government.
We were willing to let the Union establish a new colony, but Carlos was reluctant about letting it have its own government. Social collectivism had already been tried on Coyote, and the results had been disastrous: thousands of immigrants reduced to virtual slavery, while a select few had enjoyed the fruits of their labor. As a result, the Liberty Compact was based upon democratic principles; the colonies that made up the Coyote Federation had already accepted this standard as the foundation of our government. Therefore, if one colony embraced collectivism, it couldn’t be allowed to join the Federation, and we didn’t want to have a colony that posed a potential threat to the others.
The Secretary-General pointed out that the United Nations didn’t endorse one social system over another. If the U.N. were to legally recognize the Coyote Federation, then it would have to exempt Coyote from the terms of the 1967 Space Treaty; this meant that the Liberty Compact couldn’t be enforced upon new colonies established by nations on Earth. However, he quickly added that, if the immigration controls were put in place and outside military forces were prohibited on Coyote, then the other colonies shouldn’t have anything to fear from one that embraced social collectivism.