The cyborg would survive—there was no way to prevent that—but not for long. IfanaKa’s troopers would see to that. He raised the slug thrower, turned toward IfanaKa, and felt the exoskeleton stagger as .50 caliber slugs tore his body apart. The vehicle shuddered, toppled to one side, and crashed into the ground.
Guards stormed into the tent, and DomaSa barked an order. Slowly, reluctantly, the troopers lowered their weapons. The soldier-diplomat turned toward ChienChu. A wisp of smoke drifted away from the arm-mounted machine gun. “You see my friend? We aren’t as different as you thought.”
The cyborg, who found the thought depressing, was forced to agree. The ensuing negotiations tasted for six local days. Long, seemingly endless affairs punctuated by hail, sun, rain, wind, snow, and combinations ChienChu had never experienced before. North, along with his sort of mutineers, were evacuated to await court-martial. ChienChu, relying on his on-again off-again status as an admiral gave his word that they would be treated fairly. That was relatively easy. The mutual defense pact cum treaty was a good deal more difficult. First came the question of who could and should conduct the negotiations. ChienChu made it clear that while he could help draft a proposal, the senate would have to review it, and the President would need to approve it.
Due to the fact that the third member of the Triad had been killed during an interclan feud and that a replacement had yet to successfully assert himself, IfanaKa and DomaSa would speak for the Hudathan race.
They opened the negotiations by demanding full unqualified freedom for their people. Understandable—but completely out of the question.
Literally dozens of models were discussed and eventually discarded. ChienChu discovered that the Hudathans were dogged negotiators ... never giving ground till the battle had been fully fought and lost. Still, when the process was over, the final draft was very close to what ChienChu had proposed to begin with. It was bound to be, given that his race held most of the cards, and any degree of freedom would be an improvement over what the Hudathans had prior to signing.
The key to the agreement’s appeal, if there was any, would be in the treaty’s clarity and simplicity. The essence of the document was that the Hudathans would resume their status as a sovereign state, would be entitled to a representative in the senate, would be free to engage in nonmilitary commerce with other members of the Confederacy, would pay their fair share of taxes, and, with one significant exception, would be subject to the mutual defense pact. The qualifier, the all important restriction, stated that the Hudathans would not be allowed to build, maintain, or operate a spacegoing navy. The responsibility for transporting Hudathan troops to and from their home planet or colonies, should they be permitted to retain some of the worlds previously under their control, would fall to other spacefaring races such as the humans and Ramanthians. Because without a navy, and the independence that went with it, there would be very little chance that the Hudathans would try their hands at conquest. This was a bitter pill to swallow, one that not only hurt the Hudathan’s pride, and made them dependent on other races. Something their inborn sense of survival argued against. But facts were facts, and DomaSa, who had spent a great deal of time observing the senate, knew that this was the best deal he and his people were likely to get for the next hundred years or so, and it certainly beat the alternative, sitting on Hudatha until their own combative culture turned inward and destroyed them, or the planet was torn apart. Besides, even the most superficial study of human history revealed what extremely short memories they had, a fact that augured well for the future. And so it was that an agreement was reached, that ChienChu and DomaSa returned to space, and that Admiral Dero Delany Kagan IF remained behind.
The marker, which stood alone on the rocky, often windswept plain, was cut from hull metal, and bore the best inscription that ChienChu could come up with. A poet named Carl Sandberg provided the words:
Pile the bodies high atAusterlitz andWaterloo , Shovel them under and let me work—
I am the grass; I cover all.
Chapter 6
Malcom X Speaks
Standard year 1965
Somewhere beyond the Rim, the Confederacy of Sentient Beings
Far out in space, beyond the largely imaginary border that the Confederacy referred to as the Rim, the very fabric of space and time was momentarily altered. Hundreds of ships appeared, glittered like minnows, and swam through the surrounding darkness.
The Hoon’s scout ships detected the other fleet the moment it dropped hyper, issued an electronic challenge, and were answered in kind. Recognition codes were received, analyzed, and validated. Signals were sent, courses were altered, formations were merged, and for the first time in more than two hundred years the fleet was whole.
Whole, but divided, since the original Hoon, which had divided itself into two identical halves in order to cover more space and increase the odds of finding the Thraki, had yet to reintegrate itself. A process of highspeed bilateral updating, which if successful, would result in an artificial intelligence that incorporated all the knowledge and experience each entity had gained during the years of separation. A substantial gain that could lead to a high chance of success.
However, the same minds that had granted the computer the capacity to split itself in two had enacted certain safeguards as well. One such safeguard included a complicated matrix of truth tables intended to ensure that neither of the two halves had been corrupted during their years apart. Neither entity felt any qualms regarding the test, not at first anyway, viewing the process as entirely natural.
