by John Scalzi
They weren’t the only Glar-class destroyers on the move.
Bob Pope glanced up over the report. “I’m reading that six Glar-class destroyers all jumped into n-space within an hour of each other,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” Phipps said.
“Including the two on our little watch list,” Pope said.
“That’s correct,” Phipps said.
“And that we have no idea where any of these six are headed.” Pope tossed the report lightly down to his desk. “So right now three quarters of Nidu’s military strength is simultaneously headed for an unknown destination the morning after our operatives failed to get the Baker woman, and she and Creek disappeared. What are the chances of coincidence here, do you think?”
“What do you want to do?” Phipps asked.
Pope glanced up at his assistant and then gave out a short barking laugh. “Shit, Dave,” he said. “I want to hide under my desk. I’ve got to go to President Webster and tell him how we’re going to possibly defend ourselves from six Glar-class destroyers. And I have to let him know we knew at least two of them were gearing up to move days ago. If I have my job at the end of the day, I’ll be a happy man.”
“We wanted to rile up the waters,” Phipps said.
“Not six destroyers worth,” Pope said. “Christ. Think about it, Dave. Warming up two destroyers in the bullpen is a message. We can finesse a message. We can make it work for us. Six destroyers simultaneously jumping into n-space to points unknown is something more than a message.” Pope tapped his desk in irritation, then pointed to the report. “You get that from Hunter?” he asked. Hunter was the head of the UNE CIA.
“We did,” Phipps said.
“What do his boys say? Did the Nidu suddenly get into a shooting war with someone else?” Pope asked.
“No, sir,” Phipps said. “One of their Nidu analysts said it might have something to do with the coronation—maybe the destroyers are going to be part of the ceremonies. But none of the other analysts concur. They don’t know what the hell is going on.”
“What do our boys say?” Pope asked.
“They don’t know what the hell is going on, either,” Phipps said.
Pope tapped at his desk again. “Where is Webster?” Pope asked.
“He’s in South Dakota, getting a tour of that flood damage,” Phipps said. “He’s going to be back this evening. He’s scheduled a briefing for six-thirty: him, Vice President Hayden, Hunter, you, and Heffer.”
“Heffer,” Pope said with a snort. “We’re in a world of shit, Dave. But that’s nothing compared to where Heffer’s going to be.”
“What is this?” Jim Heffer asked Narf-win-Getag, who had presented him with a folder in his office.
“This, Mr. Secretary, is a copy of the lawsuit the Government of the Nidu Nations and Colonies has filed against the Government of the United Nations of Earth,” Narf-win-Getag said. “It has already been filed with the Common Confederation District Court here in Washington along with a request by the Government of Nidu to expedite the case and issue a quick summary judgment in the matter.”
Heffer took the folder but did not open it, passing it instead to Javna, who began reading it. “I assume this is in regards to the matter of Ms. Baker,” he said.
“It is regarding the entity that possesses the Android’s Dream DNA, yes,” Narf-win-Getag said, sitting in the chair in front of Heffer’s desk. “I regret to say that your assistant has been less than entirely helpful in locating it and presenting it to us to take part in the coronation ceremony, now less than a week away. So unfortunately we feel it necessary to escalate the matter in the courts.”
“With all due respect, Mr. Ambassador, I don’t know what it is you hope to achieve,” Heffer said. “Ms. Baker is a human being and as such has rights. While I can assure you that we are indeed doing all we can to bring her in and procure her help, we can’t kidnap her and force her to take part in the coronation. And unless she’s committed a crime on Nidu soil, which she hasn’t, I don’t see what claim Nidu has to attempt to extradite her. Common Confederation law is crystal clear on this.”
“And if it were human, you’d be correct, Secretary Heffer,” Narf-win-Getag said. “However, it is not, and therefore, you are not.”
“I don’t follow you,” Heffer said.
“The entity is, in fact, a hybrid,” Narf-win-Getag said. “It possesses human DNA, yes, but it also possesses a substantial amount of DNA from the Android’s Dream sheep—nearly twenty percent of its DNA, if I recall correctly.”
“And what of it?” Heffer said.
“The Android’s Dream DNA is the exclusive property of the auf-Getag clan, which is by extension the government of Nidu. It was provided to Nidu by the Earth government as part of an overall treaty between our two nations. The treaty specifically invests all property and use rights in the Nidu government, with any unauthorized use of the DNA, commercial or otherwise, subject to penalties and confiscation. The one loophole here applies to the inadvertent crossbreeding of the breed and exempts animals whose genetic makeup is one-eighth Android’s Dream breed or less. But in this case, the breeding is clearly not unintentional, and the entity has more than the exemptible percentage of DNA. This treaty was ratified by the Congress of the Common Confederation and therefore the agreement supercedes national laws of both Nidu and Earth. As a point of law—well-established law, I might add, of the highest legal entity both our governments acknowledge—the entity is our property. It is ours.”
“It is a she, and she is a citizen of the United Nations of Earth,” Heffer said.
“But before it was awarded the rights and privileges of your citizenship, its genetic material was stolen from its rightful owner, being the Nidu government,” Narf-win-Getag said. “The treaty is very clear on the issue of ownership, Mr. Secretary, and rather unfortunately it does not make specific exemption for the possibility of the genetic material being commingled with the genetic material of a potentially sentient species. It is the position of my government that our property rights to the entity legally supercede your government’s potential claim regarding the citizenship of the entity. In any event, we have simultaneously filed suit asking the court to provisionally rescind the citizenship of the entity pending determination of its status as Nidu property, and of course to rescind it permanently if the court agrees it is our property.”
“This is ridiculous,” Heffer said. “No court is going to rule that a sentient being is property. And whether you choose to call her ‘it,’ or not, Mr. Ambassador, there’s no doubt she is a sentient being.”
“No doubt at all, Mr. Secretary,” Narf-win-Getag said. “However, you are once again—and I beg your pardon—incorrect in your assumptions. Humans are relatively new to the Common Confederation, which existed before your species was scratching pictures of bison into cave walls. There have been Common Confederation courts of law for just as long. And while it may be unfamiliar to you, there is indeed case law supporting our claim. I refer you to Agnach Agnach-u v. Ar-Thaneg Corporation, adjucated in the CC annulis 4-3325. I believe that would have been right around the time your Hammurabi was handing down his code.”
“Ben?” Heffer looked over to Javna.
“I remember it from law school,” Javna said. “It’s a canonical intellectual property case. If I remember correctly, Agnach-u was a programmer of some sort, and developed a program it claimed was sentient. Ar-Thaneg was its employer and claimed the program as work product, but Agnach-u claimed that since it was sentient, Ar-Thaneg couldn’t own it. The courts ruled against Agnach-u. But I don’t know that it’s on point. The property in question was software, not genetic material, and there was never agreement as to whether the program was sentient or not. It passed some tests but failed others. As a precedent, it’s a reach. It’s a long reach.”
“Not so long a reach as your assistant would have you assume, Mr. Secretary,” Narf-win-Getag said. “The ruling is neutral on the issue of the nature of the prop
erty. It doesn’t matter what the property is, merely that it is property. The ruling ultimately was awarded to Ar-Thaneg on the grounds that as the property on which the program was created was owned by Ar-Thaneg, Agnach-u had no standing to bring the suit in the first place.”
“In other words, it was awarded to Ar-Thaneg on a technicality,” Javna said.
“Indeed,” Narf-win-Getag said. “But for the Nidu, a very useful technicality, as it’s clear the Android’s Dream DNA belongs to us.”
“There’s the matter of the human DNA, which does not belong to you,” Heffer said.
“As I’ve mentioned before, the treaty between Nidu and Earth doesn’t address how the DNA is used, merely the circumstances in which the DNA belongs, unambiguously, to my government. I assure you, Mr. Secretary, that if you can find a way to extract the human parts of the entity and let us keep the Android’s Dream part, then you are welcome to the human portions.”
“‘Take thou thy pound of flesh, but in the cutting it, if thou dost shed one drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods are confiscate,’” Heffer said.
“Pardon, Mr. Secretary?” Narf-win-Getag said.
“The Merchant of Venice,” Heffer said. “A play by Shakespeare. The character Shylock strikes a bargain to take a pound of flesh from another man, but if he spills the man’s blood by doing so, he loses everything. It’s the story of another crisis brought on by a contractual dispute, Mr. Ambassador.”
“How droll,” Narf-win-Getag said. “I must see it sometime. But I must impress on you, Mr. Secretary, that a crisis is indeed what this is. The agreement concerning the Android’s Dream sheep is nestled within a larger and more comprehensive treaty between our two peoples, a treaty which is the primary document concerning relations between our nations—the document at the heart of our peoples’ friendship. If the courts rule for Nidu, and you cannot or will not produce the entity, then the UNE will be in violation of the treaty. The government of Nidu will then have the right to declare all agreements associated with the treaty null and void, and sue for renegotiation. Nidu is by far the Earth’s largest trading partner and military ally, Mr. Secretary. I don’t have to tell you what sort of impact the renegotiation of our friendship will have on Earth’s economy and its standing and security within the Common Confederation. And I hate to think what it will do to your government.”
“Mr. Ambassador,” Heffer said. “Are you aware that this morning six of Nidu’s destroyers went into n-space near simultaneously?”
“Is that so?” Narf-win-Getag said, mildly.
“That’s an unusual occurrence. And provocatively timed, considering this suit here,” Heffer said. “If you don’t mind me saying so, Mr. Ambassador, destroying a decades-old friendship between our nations on account of one person seems to be an excessive reaction.”
“I can’t tell you how pleased I am to hear you say that, Mr. Secretary,” Narf-win-Getag said, and rose from his seat. “Hopefully such a sentiment on your part means that you will be motivated to reacquire our lost sheep, and we can all move forward without further distress to our long and intimate friendship. In the meantime, however, and purely as a precaution, our lawsuits are moving forward. Given the extreme time sensitivity of the suit, I would imagine that we’ll get the hearing expedited—in fact, I wouldn’t be entirely surprised if there’s a preliminary hearing by this time tomorrow morning. And so, I leave you to prepare. Mr. Secretary, Mr. Javna. Good day.”
“The Merchant of Venice?” Javna asked, after Narf-win-Getag had left.
“I did drama in college,” Heffer said. “So sue me. And tell me you know where this woman is.”
“I know she was with Harry at the Arlington Mall last night,” Javna said.
“Oh, yes, the Arlington Mall,” Heffer said. “Which reminds me to let you know how delightful it is to have Arlington County Police and the US and UNE FBI and the DC Port Authority Security Agency banging down our door asking why a State Department employee was involved in a public shootout. Not mention every media outlet from Boston to Miami.”
“I’m sure the other guys started it,” Javna said.
“This isn’t funny, Ben,” Heffer said. “And it’s getting less funny by the minute. You said that this Creek fellow would handle everything under the radar. Shooting up the Arlington Mall and killing people is not under the radar.”
“All the eyewitness reports say that Harry wasn’t the one who started shooting,” Javna said. “Whatever happened, he was defending Robin Baker. He was working under the radar. Whoever is working against us were the ones to made this happen.”
“You don’t have any idea where he is now. Where they are now,” Heffer said.
“No,” Javna said. “I left him a message to get low last night and told him to wait until I sent for him.”
“Well, try locating him now, if you don’t mind,” Heffer said.
Javna pulled out his communicator and tried to connect. “It’s no good. The system says his communicator is off the system, and I’m getting no response from his home connection. I would imagine all his equipment has been impounded by the police.”
“No messages?” Heffer asked.
“I’ll check,” Javna said.
Heffer’s executive assistant entered the room with a blue slip of paper and handed it to Heffer.
“We’ve got a court date,” Heffer said. “Bright and early tomorrow morning at eight forty-five. I want you to handle this, Ben. Time to exercise that law degree of yours. Dig up what you can on this precedent and then bury that lizard with it. ‘Hammurabi,’ my ass.”
“Odd,” Javna said, still looking at his communicator.
“What?” Heffer said.
“I just got a text message from Dave Phipps over at Defense,” Javna said. “He wants to have lunch and discuss ‘our mutual friend.’”
“You don’t have mutual friends?” Heffer said.
“I try not to have mutual friends with him,” Javna said.
“You should have lunch with him,” Heffer said.
“Yeah, I should,” Javna said. “And double up on the antacid.”
“Here you go,” Dave Phipps said, handing Javna his hot dog.
“Thanks,” Javna said, taking it. “You know, Dave, the Defense Department pays hundreds of dollars for hammers and toilet seats. It seems like it should be able to spring for something more than a hot dog from a stand on the Mall.”
“How can we?” Phipps said. “All our money is in seats and hammers. Anyway, the Pentagon’s not paying for your lunch today, I am.”
“Well, in that case, it’s a meal fit for a king,” Javna said.
“Damn right,” Phipps said, taking his hot dog from the vendor and handing him his cash. “That’s a Kingston’s Bison Boar hot dog you’re eating there, Javna. No ground-up pork sphincters for you. And all the condiments you can stand. I’ll even spring for a soda.”
“Well, shit, Dave,” Javna said. “Keep this up and people will say we’re in love.”
“Not likely,” Phipps said, taking his change and grabbing two Cokes. “Come on, let’s sit.” The two men angled toward a bench and ate silently for a minute, watching joggers run past on the Mall.
“Good dog,” Phipps said, after a minute.
“No sphincters,” Javna agreed.
“I’ve got a funny story about Bison Boar,” Phipps said. “I got it from Kingston’s Pentagon supplier. He said that when Bison Boar came on the market, there was a rabbinical debate about whether Jews could eat it.”
“Well, it’s pork,” Javna said. “At least it’s partly pork. Isn’t it?”
“That was the question. The Torah forbids eating meat from animals with cloven hooves, but someone pointed out that technically speaking, Bison Boar didn’t come from an animal with hooves, and in fact it didn’t really come from an animal at all. It came from genetically spliced and sequenced DNA that was tweaked to produce muscle tissue in a vat. One of the animals the DNA came from had split hooves, but
the other one didn’t, and since there never was an actual Bison Boar animal, no one knew whether theoretically the animal would have split hooves or not.”
“They could look at the corporate mascot,” Javna said.
“They did, apparently,” Phipps said. “It wasn’t helpful. It wears boots.”
“Fascinating,” Javna said. “What did they decide?”
“They didn’t,” Phipps said. “Eventually one of the rabbis pointed out that the Torah was silent on the subject of DNA splicing, so what they were doing was just speculation. Kind of the Jewish equivalent of arguing whether how many angels could dance on the head of a pin. So the question wasn’t whether the meat was from a cloven-hooved animal or not, but why they were arguing about it in the first place.”
“Smart man,” Javna said.
“Well,” Phipps said. “He was a rabbi.”
“Does this story have application to our situation,” Javna said, “or are we just making lunchtime chit-chat?”
“I have an idea here, and I want you to tell me what you think of it,” Phipps said. “Let’s pretend we’re on the same side and talk like we might want to keep our jobs longer than the end of the week. What do you say?”
“I think that’s a tremendous idea,” Javna said. “You first.”
“Over the last couple of days you might have noticed you had some difficulty accomplishing a particular task you’ve been working on,” Phipps said.
“Now that you mention it, yes,” Javna said.