Fire With Fire

Visser nodded. “Thus the size constraint you placed upon the delegation.”

“Yes. And also the short notice and lack of advance documents. For, given the opportunity to inspect the accords, your government would have encumbered you with all manner of constraints and objectives and questions and conditions. Indeed, they would not have sent your group at all.”

“I do not understand.”

Downing leaned forward. “If I may: I believe Alnduul is suggesting that, because the blocs did not have the opportunity to create a policy in advance, they had to choose a delegation that would be flexible, versatile, and unperturbed when dealing with unknown situations and species.”

Alnduul’s eyelids nictated slowly. “Precisely.”

Caine checked his palmtop, moved on: “Our next question concerns the Twelfth Accord. Specifically, why is radio and high-power microwave broadcasting prohibited?”

“Primarily, to ensure the normative maturation of young cultures.”

“You mean, you are trying to protect them?”

It was Elena, not Alnduul, who answered: “It’s simply an extension of their rules regarding first contact. They are attempting to ensure that any young culture-including ours-has the chance to develop without advance knowledge of exosapients. To learn too early that one is not alone in the universe would almost certainly have a profound sociocultural effect.”

Alnduul’s nictating lids closed, then opened slowly. “Just so.”

“But what of new races who are using radio before they are contacted for membership? Such as ourselves?”

Alnduul’s fingers spread wide: “Most species sharply limit their use of high-power broadcasts long before they venture out into space. Indeed, only one other member state has failed to do so.”

“Which one?”

“I may not say. It is unlawful for any member state of the Accord to provide information regarding any other member state.”

Caine leaned forward. “I’m curious: why do most races terminate radio transmissions before they achieve spaceflight?”

“There is no single answer to such a question. But suffice it to say that not all species await first contact before they begin to speculate upon the possibly dire consequences of sending signals-intentional or inadvertent-out into space.”

Caine shook his head. “So we spent almost two centuries showing everyone else how stupid we were.”

“Let us say that you revealed yourselves to be ingenuously optimistic.”

Caine allowed himself a small, ironic smile. “You are quite the diplomat, Alnduul.”

Again, the slow close of the eyes, but this time, a ripple distressed the small, perpetual moue of a mouth. “I thank you.”

Caine smelt sandalwood coming closer, just before Elena whispered, “I think that was amusement.”

“Looked like it.” Caine considered his list of questions-and decided to ignore it for a moment. “Alnduul, our next question concerns one of the extraordinary conditions mentioned in the Twenty-first Accord.” Downing looked up suddenly. Caine pressed on. “It indicates that the Custodians will intervene in the event of an ‘impending and probable destruction of a biosphere.’ I take it you are not referring to supplanting indigenous life, but wiping it out summarily. As occurs with weapons of mass destruction.”

“Yes: this is the intent of that clause.”

“Earth must have come awfully close on that one about one-hundred-fifty years ago.”

“We were poised to intervene on several occasions during that period. And it occurred at a difficult moment for us: our monitoring resources were overtaxed at that time. Indeed, this was what compelled us to revise the Eighteenth Accord to allow a sharing of monitoring duties.”

“So we were monitored by another race, also?”

“Rarely, but yes.”

“So, back then in the middle of the twentieth century, were there any unplanned or planned contacts made with humans?”

Alnduul’s lids nictated closed, then opened just a sliver. “That is a topic for another time.”

Uh-huh; I’ll bet it is. But now it was time to return to the list-and arguably its trickiest question: “Alnduul, we noticed that the accords seem to be written with the presumption that all who apply for membership will receive it. But what would happen if we were not offered membership? Or if we declined it?”

Alnduul’s gill flaps shut with a soft slap. Caine didn’t need Elena’s input-“A negative reaction, possibly a rejection or deep concern”-to interpret the Dornaani’s reflex.

“The Accord would decide upon a policy for dealing with you as a non-Accord state.”

“But what if one of our interstellar neighbors decided to seize our systems, wasn’t interested in waiting for an Accord policy? The accords are silent on independent actions taken by a member state against a nonmember state.”

Alnduul’s gills pinched even tighter against his neck. “There is no precedent, so I cannot speculate. It would be a very undesirable turn of events, and we would mitigate strongly against it. However, the accords do not abridge the political autonomy of the member states, nor constrain their freedom of action, except with regard to each other.”

Now it was Downing who jumped in with a topic of his own spontaneous creation. “I understand that you cannot reveal information pertaining to other member states, but since you are permitted to disclose information regarding your own, I wonder if I might ask for the location of the Dornaani sphere of influence?”

Alnduul’s gills rippled faintly, once. “I must refuse your request. Even though I am personally inclined to answer.”

“I am perplexed: why withhold this information?”

“All information is intelligence. Once you are a member state, you are entitled to certain limited information on all states: for instance, you must know the location of each member state’s homeworld.”

“Why?”

“Because attacking a member state’s homeworld will trigger a sharp Custodial intervention, as outlined in the Twenty-first Accord. So, if you are to observe such constraints, you must know the worlds to which they apply.”

“So how does our knowing the Dornaani homeworld put anyone else’s at risk?”

“A member state could legitimately-if speciously-contend that by prematurely revealing our astrographic siting to you, we have contributed to your ability to deduce theirs. By process of elimination.”

Downing smiled sardonically. “So by knowing where you are, we know where they are not.”

“Yes.”

Caine felt the break in the pace of Downing’s line of questioning, took back the initiative. “While we are on the topic of astrographic locations, we have a question about the allowed pathways of expansion outlined in the accords. Specifically, do all species receive fifty-eight systems, with the same general mixture of stellar classes and planets?”

“Unfortunately, there is no simple answer to your query. However, I will attempt to furnish you with a crude overview.” The center fingers on each of Alnduul’s hands rose slightly. “We attempt to balance the number of stars available to each race, maintaining proportionality of type and sequence. We make every effort to ensure that there is no astrographic overlap between the current member states and the developmental pathways that are held in trust for possible future member species. This was the case with your developmental pathway; it remained off- limits to other races so that you might have the sole use of it.”

Caine nodded, looked down the list of worlds, then the list of further questions-and then his eyes returned to the list of worlds. They settled on 70 Ophiuchi. He was supposed to ask about that next. But his attention was instinctively drawn to a different planetary name, a name that was dragging him away from the line of safe inquiry toward one that was potentially quite perilous. In the next moment, Caine realized that his instincts were actually pulling in the same direction as his conscience. Alnduul might be conducting a subtle test here, to see if they’d have the nerve-and integrity-to ask about this other system. Caine realized he’d have to take a chance in order to find