Fire With Fire

Visser nodded. “Of course. What changes do you wish to make?”

“We prefer higher humidity and slightly higher temperature. However, while wearing this suit, I will be comfortable with approximately eighty-five percent humidity at thirty degrees centigrade.”

One of Downing’s eyebrows raised slightly; he tugged open his collar. “By all means.” Caine imagined him in a pith helmet and found the image an apt-and deserved-parody.

As Alnduul manipulated controls embedded in the table, Caine noted the profoundly sloped shoulders: evidently streamlined for arms-tucked swimming, but reaching overhead had to be awkward, at best. The short, high chest was perched upon an abbreviated abdomen that tapered quickly into what, in a human, would have been an absurdly waspish waist. Short and powerfully muscled “thighs” winnowed down into long, thin lower legs, which ultimately flared out into wide, spatulate duck-feet. In silhouette, Alnduul presented a broad parody of the female hourglass figure-but with fingertips that came down well beneath the knees, immense feet, and a total absence of hair. Even so, it was a more humanoid shape than any envisioned by the most optimistic predictions of xenophysiologists.

The room was already becoming warmer; Caine felt the first bead of sweat form at his hairline. He tugged open his collar, watched as Visser and then Downing went forward to shake Alnduul’s hand. They smiled, introduced themselves, muttered something low and congenial, were the very pictures of human decorum. And that’s the problem.

Caine stepped forward, tucked his elbows in against his floating ribs, rotated his arms out like stunted wings, spread wide his fingers. Alnduul seemed to stare for a moment, then his gills audibly popped open and he returned the gesture. Caine bobbed his head slightly. “Is it proper for me to wish you enlightenment?”

Alnduul’s nictating lids cycled slowly and his speech was measured, deliberate: “It is always appropriate for one sentient to wish another enlightenment. You do us honor. What is your name?”

“I am Caine Riordan.”

“Ah.” It was a confirmatory sound, as if Alnduul had just received the expected answer to his question. “And you are here in what capacity, Caine Riordan?”

Well, this was as good a time as any for introductions. “I am here as this delegation’s negotiator and-er, spokesperson.”

“So you are the leader of the delegation?”

“No, that would be Ms. Visser, our ambassador.”

“So your job is to communicate, not to deliberate?”

Caine was trying to figure how best to answer the question when Visser stepped in: “Mr. Riordan is our primary communicator, but he is also one of our most important advisors and plays a crucial role in our deliberative process.”

Caine turned to look at Visser, who once again crinkled her eyes at him. Good Christ, have I just been promoted? And is that a good thing or not?

Then she continued: “And this is Ms. Elena Corcoran, who is our specialist in xenocultural signification and semiotics.”

Elena stepped forward-Caine tried not to notice her dramatically long legs-and made the splay-fingered gesture. She carried it off with a sweeping grace that made it seem balletic.

“Enlightenment unto you, Alnduul.”

“And you, daughter of Nolan Corcoran. We are pleased you have come and that you sit at this table. Your father was much-appreciated-by us.” From the way the statement had begun, Caine had expected the concluding qualifier to be that Nolan was someone the Dornaani “admired,” rather than “appreciated.”

If Elena noted the same peculiarity, she did not reveal it: “I am happy to learn this. My brother-who is also here-and I both wondered at your request for our presence. How did you know our father?”

“How could we not? He was a famous human-and I foresee that his fame will grow, not diminish.”

“So you knew of him through monitoring our broadcasts?”

The nictating lids closed slowly, did not open immediately. “Let us speak of this later. I would invite you all to be seated, if you feel comfortable doing so.” Alnduul made a gesture with his fingers that looked like streamers waving in the wind. “Where is the rest of your delegation?”

Caine looked at Visser, who nodded. “After some discussion, it was felt that it would be difficult to keep our conversation focused if we had ten persons here. So the other six members of our delegation will be listening, and sharing their input, by radio, assuming we can make a connection through your hull.”

“Your radio will be allowed to operate. We are observing a similar protocol. Many are listening, but I shall be the only one speaking. Indeed, my role here is akin to yours, Caine Riordan.”

Caine smiled. “Perhaps. But I do not have your authority.”

“I have less authority than you might suspect. I am not at all among the first voices of the Dornaani.”

“Then why were you chosen to speak for your people?”

“Why were you made negotiator?”

“Because I am-supposedly-the member of my species most familiar with contacting exosapients.”

“My situation is analogous.”

“You specialize in first contracts?”

“Not exactly: I specialize in humans.”

“As a scholar?”

“That too. But mostly as an-an administrator.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“We-the Dornaani-are the Custodians of the Accord. Among us, I am one of those responsible for overseeing the Custodial policies and activities that involve your species.”

Caine sensed Visser’s posture become more erect. He did not need her prompting: “Does this mean that you are also the one who will determine whether or not we may become a part of the Accord?”

“Proffering membership in the Accord is determined by vote of all the Accord member states. Matters which involve interactions between the Custodians and your species are reviewed by the Custodial group of which I am a member.”

Caine felt a vast, significant silence at the end of Alnduul’s explanation. “And may we reasonably hypothesize that you are the primary advisor and senior expert in that group?”

Alnduul’s lids nictated several times, ultimately remained open: “This would be an extremely reasonable hypothesis.”

Well, I guess we’d better not piss you off.

Alnduul had positioned himself at the convex center of the crescent table. “Let us start with any questions about our contact with you to date, or the accords. We shall conclude with an overview of the protocols and itinerary of the upcoming Convocation of the Accord. Please begin.”

Caine checked the list on his palmtop. “Our delegation’s first item is more an observation than a question. We found it…curious…that we did not receive copies of the accords until an hour before we shifted to this location.”

Alnduul half-lifted one long hand. “We believe that first contact should emphasize unconstrained experience, not detailed analysis. Consequently, we encourage you to use your first Convocation to explore the Accord not as abstract dicta on a piece of paper, but as a living entity. You are here to witness the Accord in action: how else could you reasonably decide whether or not you wanted to be a part of it?”

Visser shook her head. “But-with respect, Alnduul-had we been given a few months of lead time, had you relayed the accords along with your invitation, we could have examined them-and any relevant precedents and interpretations-more closely.”

“And had we sent you the accords ahead of time, it would only have served to give your many leaders enough time to make something very complex out of something that is very simple. They would have succumbed to endless abstractions and hypothesizing and would have paralyzed themselves-would they not?”

Visser was smiling now. “Unquestionably.”

“It is the nature of organizations: the larger they grow, the more ponderous they become. I imply no criticism: to use a saying from one of the nations of your planet, one should not expect an elephant to scamper like a mouse. An organization large enough to govern a planet cannot also be flexible enough to react easily to new ideas or situations.”