Part 3 (2/2)
He shut his eyes in concentration, a finger marking his place in the report. How likely was it for such
ultrasensitive night vision to have evolved on a planet with several moons?
He didn't know, but that's why the commission had a biologist.
A delightful aroma-basil and rosemary? Kyle speculated-wafted down the State Department hallway. It was, happily, no longer considered necessary to fast in front of the aliens. One week into the commission's existence, a commissioner had fainted midsession. An amused amba.s.sador, upon learning the cause of the commotion, insisted that the F'thk did not consider it rude for the humans to dine whenever they wished. The aliens themselves needed to eat only once for each of their days, about thirty Earth hours. Rather than impede progress by suspending meetings for meals, they would be happy to continue while the humans ate. Really.
A group of commissioners and F'thk strolled slowly down the hall toward one of State's many dining rooms. Kyle's stomach rumbled as they approached the food, though from nerves rather than hunger. He was, for the first time, deviating from the visitors' explicit wishes. His right hand, hidden in his pants pocket, fondled a tiny ultrasonic beacon; the gadget, when triggered, would pulse once at a frequency to which a previous test had shown the aliens unresponsive. The isolation of a suitable frequency had required some experimentation-it had turned out that the F'thk communicated among themselves by modulated ultrasound, using a language human scientists had made zero progress in a.n.a.lyzing.
The hall narrowed where two china closets had been retrofitted. Behind the wooden doors on both sides of the cramped pa.s.sageway were the newest and most sensitive ultrasound imagers that money could buy. A F'thk named Ph'jk was in the lead; as he entered the s.p.a.ce between the hidden instruments, Kyle squeezed the hidden signaling device.
It happened too fast to register. Ph'jk reared up on his hind legs, las.h.i.+ng out with his front hooves at the right-hand doors. K'ddl galloped forward, squeezing into the narrow s.p.a.ce to shatter the doors to the left. Within seconds, slas.h.i.+ng claws and pounding hooves reduced wood and electronics alike to splinters. Ignoring the sparks and wisps of smoke rising from the wreckage, the F'thk continued wordlessly into the dining room. Splintered wood crunched beneath their hooves as they crossed the wrecked area. Dazedly, the humans followed.
H'ffl set a claw, talons retracted, on Kyle's shoulder and squeezed. ”Information is a trade good,” he said. ”We trust you will not attempt again to steal it.”
* * * Kyle wiped a swatch of condensed steam from his bathroom mirror. The long, hot shower hadn't done much for his shoulder or his mood; he scowled at his bruised reflection. A sore shoulder was all he had to show for yesterday's escapade.
The ultrasound equipment had been ruined beyond hope of recovery of any internal images of the aliens. Should've networked the d.a.m.n machines, he thought, hours too late. The data would've been out of their reach before they had the chance to react.
Or maybe not. Over his first cup of morning coffee, he called the commission staff desk to confirm his suspicions. Pa.s.sive sensors also hidden in the hallway had revealed three other ultrasound sources to have been present: each of the F'thk had apparently carried a jammer. It wasn't a big surprise: the immediate response proved that they'd been carrying detectors; why not jammers, too?
He'd brooded all night for nothing. There had been no lost opportunity to have spirited away stolen imagery by network before the alien reaction. Sighing, Kyle headed to his office and the staff's overnight report on the incident, at once eager and reluctant to read what else he'd missed.
* * * The private-sector commission members had largely disappeared with the opening session's TV lights-to return when the cameras did. Glory came of being named to the commission, not in serving on it. Staffers were more than happy to fill in for the vacant members.
The latest gathering in the committee room resembled the colloquium of scientists, engineers, and policy makers he'd expected in the first place. For at least the hundredth time since joining the administration, he decided Britt was dumb like a fox. He was also, to Kyle's unspoken chagrin, sitting in today-bosses have prerogatives. So far, Britt had been a silent observer.
”Here's what we've got.” Kyle gestured at nothing and no one in particular. ”Clean, essentially limitless, fusion power, the technology for which they'll swap before they leave in return for downloads from our public libraries-if we've voted to join the Commonwealth. They will sell only to governments, who can then license fusion to power-generation companies. Their reasoning is that government control will minimize disruptions to the economy.
”Point two. If a . . .””Wait,” called Darlene. ”Why not license fusion just once, through the UN?”Fred Phillips from Commerce rolled his eyes. ”Give it a rest. The Galactics choose not to deal with the UN, and they don't want to talk about it. Besides, I like the precedent: we have far more to d.i.c.ker with
than most countries.”
”And it doesn't strike you as odd that a galactic commonwealth, talking planetary members.h.i.+p, is practicing national divide and conquer?”
”Objection noted,” interrupted Kyle. He agreed with Darlene, but knew no one else did. Majority
opinion, led by Commerce, was that bypa.s.sing the UN eliminated a human cartel. Just shrewd business.
”Point two. If a majority of nations,” he gave Darlene a warning look, ”ask to join the Commonwealth, the F'thk say they'll submit Earth's pet.i.tion. Members.h.i.+p, as far as any of us can tell, appears simply to regularize the trade relations.h.i.+p.”
Krulewitch from MIT spoke without looking up from his palmtop computer. ”I thought we were still
being evaluated.”
”We are.” Kyle fidgeted with the laser pointer someone had left on the lectern. ”The pet.i.tion will be accompanied by their own report about our suitability.”
”Then isn't the fusion-for-library-access trade a conflict of interest? And they won't let us send our own
amba.s.sador?””Yes, and no way. Not only can't we send an amba.s.sador, we can't set foot on the landing craft, let alone the mother s.h.i.+p.” Kyle rubbed his cheek ruefully. ”I've asked for that privilege a dozen times. They always change the subject.”
”Antimatter production?” asked Krulewitch.
”A flat no. K'ddl suggested that a species stuck on one planet shouldn't use the stuff.” Playing the Galactic, Kyle changed the subject, ignoring the MIT physicist's knowing grin. K'ddl's answer rubbed salt in a still open wound. ”Point three: lots of loose ends and seeming contradictions, none of them
having any obvious bearing on whether this august body recommends a US vote for joining the Commonwealth.”
He rattled off some of the more vexing observations. The apparent overconservatism of the mother
s.h.i.+p's lunar parking orbit. The ducking of most questions. The unwillingness to let human biologists examine the F'thk. The inexplicably good F'thk night vision. The absence of trace toxins around the F'thk, despite the claimed toxicity of their food. The failure of air filters to capture any hint of the F'thk organic chemistry. The . . .
”They're playing countries off one against the next,” piped in Darlene.
”Point four,” called out an undersecretary from Energy. She gave a nasty edge to her voice.
Kyle set down the borrowed pointer. He paused to make eye contact with everyone in the room. ”Three
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