Fire With Fire

Three make any sense? If that civilization fell twenty thousand years ago, it doesn’t seem plausible that four or five brand-new interstellar species could have risen up since then.”

Caine shrugged. “Maybe they didn’t.”

“What?”

“Maybe the first bunch of exosapients didn’t all die out-in which case today’s exosapients would have some overlap with the ones who were running things about twenty thousand years ago.”

Downing nodded sharply. “Caine is absolutely right. Indeed, without such an exosapient collective constraining the colonizing activities of its members since then, new species would have no chance to develop independently, either on their homeworld or beyond.”

Trevor snapped his fingers. “Sure. Otherwise, all the green worlds we’ve colonized in the last eight years would have already been filled with the other exosapients. Unless we are way the hell out in some interstellar backwater, why would they have left all that nice green real estate alone, unless it had been set aside for us?”

Opal nodded. “Like property held in trust for when we ‘come of age.’”

Caine shrugged. “That’s the theory. And that’s all it is: a theory. But it does account for what we know of this area’s past, and what we see in its present.” And it could be that our rapid push outward also triggered this invitation: maybe we’re about to cross over some neighbor’s property line. Maybe we already have…

“We may be walking into a very complicated situation,” Elena said quietly.

Downing sighed. “Exactly. But as long as different powers exist, so too will rival interests, and therefore, many of the basic rules of foreign relations and realpolitik should continue to apply.”

“And when do we get to learn if that hypothesis is accurate, Uncle Richard?”

“We are due to arrive at preset coordinates-ten AU above the ecliptic out near Saturn’s orbit-in sixteen days. That means we need to depart tomorrow.”

MENTOR

Opal was the first to break the stunned silence. “So we’ve got only two weeks to prepare?”

“The convocation will be very simple, and very brief. We have not even been given any advance guidelines.”

“I’m not talking about guidelines. I’m talking about being ready for-” Opal stopped, at a loss for words.

“For facing the unknown, the outre?” supplied Downing.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

Downing shrugged. “The Dornaani indicated that we don’t need to actually meet-or even see-any of the exosapients except them. Also, the other races are sending cross-species liaisons who have become experts in several of our languages and cultures in anticipation of this event.” Downing looked around the table. “Besides, all of you, and the other members of the delegation, tested low-very low-on the xenophobia index.”

Apparently in response to the puzzled expressions, Elena expanded upon the topic. “The xenophobia index was originally a test for anthropological field workers-usually buried inside another test-to measure how aversive they’d find unfamiliar conditions. Some people are so xenophobic that they freeze up just going to an authentic foreign restaurant; others thrive best when plopped down in a wholly different culture.”

“Well, I never took any test like that,” grumbled Opal.

Downing smiled faintly. “Major, when you were recuperating from your liver surgery, do you remember that vocational survey you filled out?”

“Yeah. Wait. Are you telling me…?”

“That test told us a great deal more about you than your long-term work preferences. A great deal more.”

Opal looked up from under sullen brows. “Still. Only two weeks to prepare?”

Trevor raised a finger. “Actually, Uncle Richard, I’ve got my own problem with that two-week time frame. If my math is right, two weeks is not enough time to make a stationary rendezvous. We won’t be able to get there and also counterboost enough to come to a full stop. However we slice it, we’re either going to be late, or we’ll be hitting the target point at a pretty decent velocity.”

Downing nodded. “The Dornaani simply requested that when we reached these coordinates, we were not traveling any faster than zero-point-two C.”

Trevor’s eyebrows rose. “Wow. Sounds like we’ve got a lot of questions to ask the Dornaani.”

Downing’s lips quirked. “And we have only a few days to choose and prioritize them, Trevor. For now, let’s just get a good night’s kip.” He started moving his many papers back into folders.

The others exited, Opal lagging, waiting for Caine, who smiled and held up a pausing finger. He turned toward Downing. “You knew this day was coming, didn’t you?”

Downing looked up from his papers. “No. Not me.”

Caine remembered Sounion, remembered the last look on Nolan Corcoran’s face. “So-Nolan knew.”

Downing looked away. “I’m not sure…but I think he suspected we might find ourselves in this situation. And that we’d need you. Again.”

“So you guys never planned to cut me loose at all, or help me piece together my lost hundred hours. You just wanted to keep me dangling, forcing me to choose between living out on Mars, where I’ve got almost no access to information, or down on Earth, in easy reach of IRIS.”

Downing closed his eyes momentarily. “Caine, I’m sorry. Yes, we hoped you would continue to work for us. As to having access to the right information-well, you chose to come up here; you weren’t exiled.”

“So you’re telling me you do have information on the one hundred hours now? That you can help me?”

“Caine, it’s not that simple. It was Nolan who kept all the relevant files, who knew where they were and how to access them. But when he died, well-”

“Oh, I see. You can’t help me because Nolan’s gone. Blame it on the dead guy. Very original.”

“Damn it, Caine, it’s the truth!”

“The truth? Since when has anyone connected with IRIS ever cared about the truth?”

“Caine,” Downing pleaded. “This is not how it was supposed to be. But I can’t undo the past, and I can’t get information from dead men. All I can tell you is that we need you. Again.”

“Well,” said Caine, turning to leave with Opal, “thanks to the President, you and IRIS have me. Again.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

ODYSSEUS

As soon as Caine got the news, he bolted out of his stateroom, across the corridor, and into Opal’s berth. She looked up with a big smile. “And to what do I owe-?”

“The Dornaani are here-and we’ve got pictures.” He put his hand on her firm upper arm, drawing it gently towards him: a dancer’s cue to “follow.”

They left the delegation’s hab mod at a trot, dodging around the stacked cargo bins and duffle-bagged supplies that were still being loaded into it. As they cleared the end of the luggage-slalom, Caine saw Lemuel Wasserman crossing the T-intersection ahead of them. Caine grabbed Opal’s hand, pulled her in the direction Wasserman had gone.

She almost stumbled, looked at Caine: “What? Where are we going?”

“Wherever Wasserman goes.”

She looked ahead as Lemuel disappeared around a corner. “Follow him? Why?”

“Because he’ll have the inside track on where to see the first sensor results.”

“But that will be the bridge-”

“Don’t bet on it. This corvette is rigged for spec ops. There’s a section amidships which has a couple of unlabeled rooms. And I bet he’s heading toward them.”

“You’re thinking a passive sensor suite?”

“I’m thinking the works: passive, active, every spectrum you can think of and more. The intel folks knew they