Fire with Fire

Chapter Twenty-Three

ODYSSEUS

Gaspard was the first to break the long silence. “Mr. Riordan, I wish to return to the less esoteric matter of your experiences on Delta Pavonis Three. It is said that you are the first person to encounter an exosapient-but in fact, you are not: correct?”

“Technically, correct. However, as far as I know, I am the first human to communicate with an exosapient-unless you consider Mr. Bendixen’s shotgun a communication device. In which case, it surely does bear out the axiom that the medium is the message.”

“Er…yes.” Gaspard cleared his throat. “I wonder if you could tell us what happened after your encounter with the Pavonian.”

“Certainly. I decided that I couldn’t risk normal communication channels anymore. So I activated the orbital beacon/transceiver that Lieutenant Brill had given me and called in a Commonwealth military assault boat, which extracted me within the hour. I was flown directly back to Downport, where I spent the next three days preparing for my journey back home.”

“‘Preparing’?”

“Yes, Mr. Gaspard: I suspected that the threat to me would not end when I departed Shangri-La. After my last chat with the head archaeologist, I surmised that well-groomed versions of Mr. Bendixen would be following me all the way back to Earth.”

“Hmm…I recall reading that there was also a final exchange between you and Mr. Helger, just before you spoke to the archaeologist.”

“Yes, that is correct.”

“In which you threatened a great deal more than simple interdiction of traffic and messages.”

“That is true.”

“On what grounds?”

“On the grounds of putting an end to his campaign of xenocide, sir.”

Gaspard moved back an inch: Caine couldn’t tell if it was from his words or his tone. “Xenocide? I’m afraid I don’t understand why you-”

“Then I will explain it-sir. Admiral Silverstein gathered detailed orbital images of Site One immediately after I was extracted. Thermal lookdown showed a number of humans, all in pairs, pushing well north of the main site, and in the direction of my encounters with the locals.”

“Prospectors?”

“I doubt it.”

“What then?”

“Hunters. CoDevCo was trying to finish the program that Mr. Bendixen had started.”

“What program do you mean, Mr. Riordan? I do not follow you.”

Caine was sure Gaspard did, but he wanted it on the record. “They were trying to exterminate the Pavonians, Mr. Gaspard. Before I arrived, it was clear that they had already hunted them like animals and killed them by the dozens. If CoDevCo was going to have a free hand developing Shangri-La, it had to eliminate all evidence that they existed. And once they began that campaign, it became more urgent that they complete the job.”

“Why?”

“Because there was overwhelming evidence that the Pavonians were not merely an interesting species: they were intelligent. Which meant that, in any practical sense of the word, CoDevCo’s crime was not environmental abuse: it was premeditated mass murder. And the only way CoDevCo could cover it up was to get rid of all the evidence and all the witnesses. That meant every single Pavonian-and me. So in my last conversation with Mr. Helger, I mentioned that he might want to consider voluntary cessation of those activities, lest he be brought before the Hague for the equivalent of crimes against-well, not humanity, but intelligent beings.”

“And this worked?”

“The hunter teams returned to Site One. The Pavonians were not molested after that.”

“And so it has been concluded that it was CoDevCo that tried to kill you aboard the Tyne?”

Nolan interrupted. “Mr. Gaspard, that investigation is ongoing and the confidentiality essential to that process precludes discussing it in this forum.” He stood up. “Ladies and gentlemen, our time together has just about come to an end.”

CIRCE

Seated at the same table, in the same sidewalk cafe, the tall man looked up as the same young waiter rushed past. “I will have a few last olives.”

The waiter stopped as if one of his feet had suddenly been nailed to the floor. “Last? You are leaving us?”

“After I finish my work today.”

“Well, I hope you will return.”

The man smiled. “We will see. My olives. Please.”

The young waiter hurried away, scattering two flies off the tabletop with a quick swish of the towel he usually kept draped over his forearm.

The tall man checked his watch, looked up.

Toward the tip of the Sounion headland.

ODYSSEUS

Nolan stuck his hands in his pockets. “I’d like to close these proceedings with a few strictly personal thoughts.” He began a slow-paced orbit around the table. Heads turned with him. “Yesterday’s creation of a true world congress is a laudable achievement-but it was brought about by fear. Fear of war, fear of change, fear of the different and the new. Fear of a universe where we are no longer alone, no longer certain of our future, and not even entirely sure about our past. Sadly, then, it is due to fear that one of the oldest hopes of humanity-world government-has begun to move from being a dream to being a reality.”

“Family disputes are frequently put aside when the neighbors become a threat.” Gaspard smoothed his tie.

“Yes, so they are, Mr. Gaspard. But the wise family learns an important lesson from the experience: that it has the ability to lay aside old squabbles and to forget past hurts and insults.”

Medina of Brazil smiled and brushed his pepper-and-salt moustache. “An apt metaphor, but the purpose?”

“The purpose is to take this as an opportunity for action, Eduardo, not re-action. All our talk has been framed in the anticipation of dire necessities. Defense against extraplanetary exploitation, invasion, even extermination. But what if, when you all meet again, you were to use this unity as the foundation for taking proactive steps for the betterment of our species, our world? Why allow history to characterize Parthenon as a gathering of cunning old wolves? Why not give posterity a legacy of something better: something that will prompt the teachers of our descendants to say; ‘And on that day, they strove to actualize their ideals, even as they prepared for unknown threats.’”

Gaspard released a slow, exasperated sigh. “Impressive propaganda.”

Ching’s response was quiet but swift. “I do not think so, Mr. Gaspard. It is true that we started this meeting with fear in our minds, but who is to say that we may not have something different-nobler-in our hearts as we leave? It is propaganda only if we ourselves are too cynical to believe it.”

CIRCE

He heard the noise of the waiter approaching, did not open his eyes, but let the Sun continue to shine full upon his face. He heard the expected plate of olives touch the tabletop. Then he heard a heavier thud. He opened his eyes, looked down.

A ceramic jug. Just below the rim of its wide mouth, red wine oscillated from side to side.

He looked up. The waiter’s hand-lowering a glass to the table-stopped. So did his smile.

“Just olives. I gave no final order for wine.”

The waiter opened his mouth-but then closed it, picked up the jug, half-bowed himself away from the table in haste.

When he was gone, the tall man smiled and picked up an olive. He rubbed it against his teeth, feeling it slide smoothly back and forth. He pressed harder: the slick skin of the olive began to squeak, like a trapped animal being tormented by a capricious predator. He smiled more widely and opened his mouth…

ODYSSEUS

Nolan walked to his chair before he spoke again. “One of our American presidents stated that a house divided against itself cannot stand. What he knew is that unity is not a tangible object or commodity, not something that can be made or unmade by convening councils and signing accords. It is an idea, and you either subscribe to it in your innermost heart, or you don’t. The trade agreements and military cooperation pacts that you’ve made here will all fall into obscurity and be forgotten. What shall endure is the influence of the belief you take back home with you: that we can collectively protect and better our species-or that we cannot. That belief-and your commitment to it-is what will last, and will determine all our fates.” Nolan sat, the creak of his chair echoing in the high corners of the meeting hall.

Ching lowered his head slightly, as if staring at the table in front of him. After five silent seconds, he began to speak, without raising his head. “Mr. Corcoran speaks a great truth when he points out that we stand at a crossroads in the history not just of our nations, but of our entire species.” He turned his gaze slowly about the table. “Two days of meetings have not changed the world, or us, for the better. But there is nothing to prevent us from deciding that today is the day on which those changes should begin. The wisdom I would offer has been made trite by inclusion in fortune cookies throughout the West, but it is no less true for all of that: a journey of a thousand miles does begin with a single step. Is this the time to commence such a journey? I answer with a Western axiom: if not now, when? And if not us, who?”

Caine was surprised-and misled-by the unprecedented Sino-American solidarity for only a moment before he realized what it really signified: Ching is going to be the first Proconsul. He and Nolan worked it out ahead of time: a public burying of hatchets, and a mutual testimony of faith from the two most culturally disparate of the blocs. And if the Commonwealth and the Developing World Coalition can swear their separate oaths to the same ideal, which of the other three blocs would-could-decline to join?

And Caine could tell, by looking around the table, that the tactic had worked. Scattered nods, thoughtful stares at the tabletop, a few smiles. Even Gaspard, his eyebrows a pair of matched, surprised arches, tilted his head slowly from side to side, as if weighing the merits of a mostly attractive investment.

Nolan stood. “Honored delegates, these proceedings are concluded.”

CIRCE

Using thumb and forefinger, he extracted the fourteenth and final pit from between clenched teeth. He let it fall to the center of the plate: the impact upon the china made a dull musical sound.

The waiter looked up, wary.

“I am finished,” the tall man said. He rose, reached into his pocket, scattered the fistful of remaining euros across the pit-littered plate.

He turned, spied the second story of his duplex above the other buildings, walked in that direction.