The Android's Dream

Chapter 10

Around the Common Confederation, the Nidu were not taken especially seriously as a military power. There are 617 officially recognized nations within the CC—a "nation" being understood as a sentient species' home world and its various approved and recognized colonies. (There were no CC nations with more than one sentient species. In a world with more than one sentient species, one species would wipe out the other or others long before it developed starfaring technology—no exceptions ever recorded.) Of these 617 officially recognized nations, Nidu currently ranked 488th in terms of power of military projection.

This ranking becomes even less impressive when one remembers that 60 nations of the Common Confederation field no military at all, for various reasons including economics, moral philosophy, and in the case of the Chawuna Arkan, a religious requirement to be rapturously passive in the face of extraplanetary invasion. Nidu's relatively woeful ability to wage war stemmed from an indifferent national economy of limited productiveness due to an entrenched but tremendously inefficient caste system, underperforming colonies, a lackluster history of technological innovation, and a military of questionable competence that had been defeated in seven of its last eight major engagements, and "won" the eighth on what most military historians considered a particularly shameful technicality.

Be that as it may, were the Nidu inclined to threaten the Earth and its colonies, it would stand an excellent chance of doing real damage. As lowly as the Nidu were in the rankings, Earth was ranked even lower: 530th, and only ranked that high because the Fru had recently lost their flagship Yannwenn when its navigational crew, used to working in native Fru measurements, inputted incorrect coordinates into the Yannwenn's new navigational computers, which used CC standard measurements. It popped into n-space and was gone forever, or for the 3,400 years it would take to reach the position within the Horologium Super-cluster where it would eventually resurface. Which was close enough to forever for everyone on the Yannwenn.

It wasn't that humans were terribly incompetent warmakers or that they lacked technical or economic drive. However, as a provision of joining the CC, the Earth government (which due to the realities of global power at the time meant the government of the United States speaking for the Earth with the rest of the planet screaming its collective head off in righteous and well-deserved outrage) agreed to field only a token extraterrestrial military force in exchange for protection by a coalition of CC nations, primary among them being the Nidu, during the Earth's probationary membership period. That period ended 40 years ago; since that time, Earth had largely relied on mutual-protection treaties with allies (again most prominently the Nidu) to cover its ass while building up its forces.

Given another 20 years, Earth would easily equal the Nidu in terms of military power, and 20 years after that would be well in the middle ranks of the CC's militaries. Here and now, however, it was playing a game of catch-up.

One thing the Earth lacked, for example, was a military ship that came close to the power of a Nidu Glar-class destroyer, the destroyer which was almost entirely responsible for whatever military power ranking the Nidu possessed. The Glar-class destroyer was a superior warship for its size and relatively modest cost—possibly because it was designed and built not by the Nidu but by the Hamgp, ranked 21st in military effectiveness and renowned across the CC for their ship design—and Nidu had spent a significant amount of its gross domestic product to get eight of them.

If a Glar-class destroyer showed up on Earth's doorstep and decided to make trouble, there was very little the Earth could do to stop it. Anything short of relativistic speed missiles or projectile weapons would be blasted away by the cruiser's defense network; beam weapons would be effective for only the short period of time it took the cruiser's offensive weapons to hone in on the source and destroy it.

As for the Earths own fleet of ships, military analysts once ran a series of simulations to see how long Earth's naval flagship, The UNES John Paul Jones, would last in a slog-out with a Glar-class destroyer. The good news was that in one simulation, the Jones lasted sixteen whole minutes. The bad news was that simulation assumed a random and near complete power loss on the destroyer. Given the Hamgp love of multiple redundant systems in the ships they designed, this was not a likely scenario.

One Glar destroyer would be bad; two would be a nightmare. Two of the destroyers working in concert could flatten most of the populated areas between New York and Boston in a few hours, or in even less time if one of the destroyers was carrying a "planet cracker," Nidu's signature weapon of mass destruction: a shaped-energy charge designed to crack the crust of a planet to release the pressurized, molten rock underneath. After all, there's no need to build in expensive, planet-maiming amounts of destructive power when a little physics and a reasonably accurate map of the crust of a tectonically active planet will do the work for you.

Less than an hour after the cruise ship Neverland broke Earth orbit, carrying Creek and Robin toward Caledonia colony, the two Glar-class destroyers the UNE Defense department had been tracking also broke orbit in near simultaneous departures: The Lud-Cho-Getag from Dreaden, Nidu's oldest colony planet, and the Jubb-Gah-Getag, the latest and most advanced Gtar-class destroyer, from frozen Inspir, the Nidu colony closest to Earth. These two ships of the line accelerated out from their planets' gravity wells to a place where space-time was just flat enough for the n-drive to get its grip. Then with a quantum heave, both destroyers popped out of real space, into the largely theoretical soup of n-space, untrackable, their destinations unknowable.

They weren't the only Glar-class destroyers on the move.

Bob Pope glanced up over the report. "I'm reading that six Glar-class destroyers all jumped into n-space within an hour of each other," he said.

"Yes, sir," Phipps said.

"Including the two on our little watch list," Pope said.

"That's correct," Phipps said.

"And that we have no idea where any of these six are headed." Pope tossed the report lightly down to his desk. "So right now three quarters of Nidu's military strength is simultaneously headed for an unknown destination the morning after our operatives failed to get the Baker woman, and she and Creek disappeared. What are the chances of coincidence here, do you think?"

"What do you want to do?" Phipps asked.

Pope glanced up at his assistant and then gave out a short barking laugh. "Shit, Dave," he said. "I want to hide under my desk. I've got to go to President Webster and tell him how we're going to possibly defend ourselves from six Glar-class destroyers. And I have to let him know we knew at least two of them were gearing up to move days ago. If I have my job at the end of the day, I'll be a happy man."

"We wanted to rile up the waters," Phipps said.

"Not six destroyers worth," Pope said. "Christ. Think about it, Dave. Warming up two destroyers in the bullpen is a message. We can finesse a message. We can make it work for us. Six destroyers simultaneously jumping into n-space to points unknown is something more than a message." Pope tapped his desk in irritation, then pointed to the report. "You get that from Hunter?" he asked. Hunter was the head of the UNE CIA.

"We did," Phipps said.

"What do his boys say? Did the Nidu suddenly get into a shooting war with someone else?" Pope asked.

"No, sir," Phipps said. "One of their Nidu analysts said it might have something to do with the coronation—maybe the destroyers are going to be part of the ceremonies. But none of the other analysts concur. They don't know what the hell is going on."

"What do our boys say?" Pope asked.

"They don't know what the hell is going on, either," Phipps said.

Pope tapped at his desk again. "Where is Webster?" Pope asked.

"He's in South Dakota, getting a tour of that flood damage," Phipps said. "He's going to be back this evening. He's scheduled a briefing for six-thirty: him, Vice President Hayden, Hunter, you, and Heffer."

"Heffer," Pope said with a snort. "We're in a world of shit, Dave. But that's nothing compared to where Heffer's going to be."

"What is this?" Jim Heffer asked Narf-win-Getag, who had presented him with a folder in his office.

"This, Mr. Secretary, is a copy of the lawsuit the Government of the Nidu Nations and Colonies has filed against the Government of the United Nations of Earth," Narf-win-Getag said. "It has already been filed with the Common Confederation District Court here in Washington along with a request by the Government of Nidu to expedite the case and issue a quick summary judgment in the matter."

Heffer took the folder but did not open it, passing it instead to Javna, who began reading it. "I assume this is in regards to the matter of Ms. Baker," he said.

"It is regarding the entity that possesses DNA, yes," Narf-win-Getag said, sitting in the chair in front of Heffer's desk. "I regret to say that your assistant has been less than entirely helpful in locating it and presenting it to us to take part in the coronation ceremony, now less than a week away. So unfortunately we feel it necessary to escalate the matter in the courts."

"With all due respect, Mr. Ambassador, I don't know what it is you hope to achieve," Heffer said. "Ms. Baker is a human being and as such has rights. While I can assure you that we are indeed doing all we can to bring her in and procure her help, we can't kidnap her and force her to take part in the coronation. And unless she's committed a crime on Nidu soil, which she hasn't, I don't see what claim Nidu has to attempt to extradite her. Common Confederation law is crystal clear on this."

"And if it were human, you'd be correct, Secretary Heffer," Narf-win-Getag said. "However, it is not, and therefore, you are not."

"I don't follow you," Heffer said.

"The entity is, in fact, a hybrid," Narf-win-Getag said. "It possesses human DNA, yes, but it also possesses a substantial amount of DNA from the Android's Dream sheep—nearly twenty percent of its DNA, if I recall correctly."

"And what of it?" Heffer said.

"The Android's Dream DNA is the exclusive property of the auf-Getag clan, which is by extension the government of Nidu. It was provided to Nidu by the Earth government as part of an overall treaty between our two nations. The treaty specifically invests all property and use rights in the Nidu government, with any unauthorized use of the DNA, commercial or otherwise, subject to penalties and confiscation. The one loophole here applies to the inadvertent crossbreeding of the breed and exempts animals whose genetic makeup is one-eighth Android's Dream breed or less. But in this case, the breeding is clearly not unintentional, and the entity has more than the exemptible percentage of DNA. This treaty was ratified by the Congress of the Common Confederation and therefore the agreement supersedes national laws of both Nidu and Earth. As a point of law—well-established law, I might add, of the highest legal entity both our governments acknowledge—the entity is our property. It is ours."

"It is a she, and she is a citizen of the United Nations of Earth," Heffer said.

"But before it was awarded the rights and privileges of your citizenship, its genetic material was stolen from its rightful owner, being the Nidu government," Narf-win-Getag said. "The treaty is very clear on the issue of ownership, Mr. Secretary, and rather unfortunately it does not make specific exemption for the possibility of the genetic material being commingled with the genetic material of a potentially sentient species. It is the position of my government that our property rights to the entity legally supersede your government's potential claim regarding the citizenship of the entity. In any event, we have simultaneously filed suit asking the court to provisionally rescind the citizenship of the entity pending determination of its status as Nidu property, and of course to rescind it permanently if the court agrees it is our property."

"This is ridiculous," Heffer said. "No court is going to rule that a sentient being is property. And whether you choose to call her 'it,' or not, Mr. Ambassador, there's no doubt she is a sentient being."

"No doubt at all, Mr. Secretary," Narf-win-Getag said. "However, you are once again-—and I beg your pardons-incorrect in your assumptions. Humans are relatively new to the Common Confederation, which existed before your species was scratching pictures of bison into cave walls. There have been Common Confederation courts of law for just as long. And while it may be unfamiliar to you, there is indeed case law supporting our claim. I refer you to Agnach Agnach-u v. Ar-Thaneg Corporation, adjucated in the CC annulis 4-3325. I believe that would have been right around the time your Hammurabi was handing down his code."

"Ben?" Heffer looked over to Javna.

"I remember it from law school," Javna said. "It's a canonical intellectual property case. If I remember correctly, Agnach-u was a programmer of some sort, and developed a program it claimed was sentient. Ar-Thaneg was its employer and claimed the program as work product, but Agnach-u claimed that since it was sentient, Ar-Thaneg couldn't own it. The courts ruled against Agnach-u. But I don't know that it's on point. The property in question was software, not genetic material, and there was never agreement as to whether the program was sentient or not. It passed some tests but failed others. As a precedent, it's a reach. It's a long reach."

"Not so long a reach as your assistant would have you assume, Mr. Secretary," Narf-win-Getag said. "The ruling is neutral on the issue of the nature of the property. It doesn't matter what the property is, merely that it is property. The ruling ultimately was awarded to Ar-Thaneg on the grounds that as the property on which the program was created was owned by Ar-Thaneg, Agnach-u had no standing to bring the suit in the first place."

"In other words, it was awarded to Ar-Thaneg on a technicality," Javna said.

"Indeed," Narf-win-Getag said. "But for the Nidu, a very useful technicality, as it's clear DNA belongs to us."

"There's the matter of the human DNA, which does not belong to you," Heffer said.

"As I've mentioned before, the treaty between Nidu and Earth doesn't address how the DNA is used, merely the circumstances in which the DNA belongs, unambiguously, to my government. I assure you, Mr. Secretary, that if you can find a way to extract the human parts of the entity and let us keep part, then you are welcome to the human portions."

" 'Take thou thy pound of flesh, but in the cutting it, if thou dost shed one drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods are confiscate,'" Heffer said.

"Pardon, Mr. Secretary?" Narf-win-Getag said.

"The Merchant of Venice," Heffer said. "A play by Shakespeare. The character Shylock strikes a bargain to take a pound of flesh from another man, but if he spills the man's blood by doing so, he loses everything. It's the story of another crisis brought on by a contractual dispute, Mr. Ambassador."

"How droll," Narf-win-Getag said. "I must see it sometime. But I must impress on you, Mr. Secretary, that a crisis is indeed what this is. The agreement concerning sheep is nestled within a larger and more comprehensive treaty between our two peoples, a treaty which is the primary document concerning relations between our nations—the document at the heart of our peoples' friendship. If the courts rule for Nidu, and you cannot or will not produce the entity, then the UNE will be in violation of the treaty. The government of Nidu will then have the right to declare all agreements associated with the treaty null and void, and sue for renegotiation. Nidu is by far the Earths largest trading partner and military ally, Mr. Secretary. I don't have to tell you what sort of impact the renegotiation of our friendship will have on Earths economy and its standing and security within the Common Confederation. And I hate to think what it will do to your government."

"Mr. Ambassador," Heffer said. "Are you aware that this morning six of Nidu's destroyers went into n-space near simultaneously?"

"Is that so?" Narf-win-Getag said, mildly.

"That's an unusual occurrence. And provocatively timed, considering this suit here," Heffer said. "If you don't mind me saying so, Mr. Ambassador, destroying a decades-old friendship between our nations on account of one person seems to be an excessive reaction."

"I can't tell you how pleased I am to hear you say that, Mr. Secretary," Narf-win-Getag said, and rose from his seat. "Hopefully such a sentiment on your part means that you will be motivated to reacquire our lost sheep, and we can all move forward without further distress to our long and intimate friendship. In the meantime, however, and purely as a precaution, our lawsuits are moving forward. Given the extreme time sensitivity of the suit, I would imagine that we'll get the hearing expedited—in fact, I wouldn't be entirely surprised if there's a preliminary hearing by this time tomorrow morning. And so, I leave you to prepare. Mr. Secretary, Mr. Javna. Good day."

"The Merchant of Venice?" Javna asked, after Narf-win-Getag had left.

"I did drama in college," Heffer said. "So sue me. And tell me you know where this woman is."

"I know she was with Harry at the Arlington Mall last night," Javna said.

"Oh, yes, the Arlington Mall," Heffer said. "Which reminds me to let you know how delightful it is to have Arlington County Police and the US and UNE FBI and the DC Port Authority Security Agency banging down our door asking why a State Department employee was involved in a public shootout. Not mention every media outlet from Boston to Miami."

"I'm sure the other guys started it," Javna said.

"This isn't funny, Ben," Heffer said. "And it's getting less funny by the minute. You said that this Creek fellow would handle everything under the radar. Shooting up the Arlington Mali and killing people is not under the radar."

"All the eyewitness reports say that Harry wasn't the one who started shooting," Javna said. "Whatever happened, he was defending Robin Baker. He was working under the radar. Whoever is working against us were the one to made mis happen."

"You don't have any idea where he is now. Where they are now," Heffer said.

"No," Javna said. "I left him a message to get low last night and told him to wait until I sent for him."

"Well, try locating him now, if you don't mind," Heffer said.

Javna pulled out his communicator and tried to connect. "It's no good. The system says his communicator is off the system, and I'm getting no response from his home connection. I would imagine all his equipment has been impounded by the police."

"No messages?" Heffer asked.

"I'll check," Javna said.

Heffer's executive assistant entered the room with a blue slip of paper and handed it to Heffer.

"We've got a court date," Heffer said. "Bright and early tomorrow morning at eight forty-five. I want you to handle this, Ben. Time to exercise that law degree of yours. Dig up what you can on this precedent and then bury that lizard with it. 'Hammurabi,' my ass."

"Odd," Javna said, still looking at his communicator.

"What?" Heffer said.

"I just got a text message from Dave Phipps over at Defense," Javna said. "He wants to have lunch and discuss 'our mutual friend.'"

"You don't have mutual friends?" Heffer said.

"I try not to have mutual friends with him," Javna said.

"You should have lunch with him," Heffer said.

"Yeah, I should," Javna said. "And double up on the antacid."

"Here you go," Dave Phipps said, handing Javna his hot dog.

"Thanks," Javna said, taking it. "You know, Dave, the Defense Department pays hundreds of dollars for hammers and toilet seats. It seems like it should be able to spring for something more than a hot dog from a stand on the Mall."

"How can we?" Phipps said. "All our money is in seats and hammers. Anyway, the Pentagon's not paying for your lunch today, I am."

"Well, in that case, it's a meal fit for a king," Javna said.

"Damn right," Phipps said, taking his hot dog from the vendor and handing him his cash. "That's a Kingston's Bison Boar hot dog you're eating there, Javna. No ground-up pork sphincters for you. And all the condiments you can stand. I'll even spring for a soda."

"Well, shit, Dave," Javna said. "Keep this up and people will say we're in love."

"Not likely," Phipps said, taking his change and grabbing two Cokes. "Come on, let's sit." The two men angled toward a bench and ate silently for a minute, watching joggers run past on the Mall.

"Good dog," Phipps said, after a minute.

"No sphincters," Javna agreed.

"I've got a funny story about Bison Boar," Phipps said. "I got it from Kingston's Pentagon supplier. He said that when Bison Boar came on the market, there was a rabbinical debate about whether Jews could eat it."

"Well, it's pork," Javna said. "At least it's partly pork. Isn't it?"

"That was the question. The Torah forbids eating meat from animals with cloven hooves, but someone pointed out that technically speaking, Bison Boar didn't come from an animal with hooves, and in fact it didn't really come from an animal at all. It came from genetically spliced and sequenced DNA that was tweaked to produce muscle tissue in a vat. One of the animals the DNA came from had split hooves, but the other one didn't, and since there never was an actual Bison Boar animal, no one knew whether theoretically the animal would have split hooves or not."

"They could look at the corporate mascot," Javna said.

"They did, apparently," Phipps said. "It wasn't helpful. It wears boots."

"Fascinating," Javna said. "What did they decide?"

"They didn't," Phipps said. "Eventually one of the rabbis pointed out that the Torah was silent on the subject of DNA splicing, so what they were doing was just speculation. Kind of the Jewish equivalent of arguing whether how many angels could dance on the head of a pin. So the question wasn't whether the meat was from a cloven-hooved animal or not, but why they were arguing about it in the first place."

"Smart man," Javna said.

"Well," Phipps said. "He was a rabbi."

"Does this story have application to our situation," Javna said, "or are we just making lunchtime chit-chat?"

"I have an idea here, and I want you to tell me what you think of it," Phipps said. "Let's pretend we're on the same side and talk like we might want to keep our jobs longer than the end of the week. What do you say?"

"I think that's a tremendous idea," Javna said. "You first."

"Over the last couple of days you might have noticed you had some difficulty accomplishing a particular task you've been working on," Phipps said.

"Now that you mention it, yes," Javna said.

"I imagine that you'll find from here on out your difficulty will be alleviated," Phipps said. "And before you ask, let's just say that while we over at Defense believed it was in our strategic interest to have your department fail in its task, the facts on the ground have changed substantially in the last several hours."

"You mean six Nidu destroyers up and vanishing into n-space all at the same time has got your balls in a clench, too," Javna said.

"I wouldn't have put it that way, but yes," Phipps said. "Defense and State have different ideas on the desirability of staying close to our good friends the Nidu, but at this point we'd rather stay close than go toe-to-toe."

"There is the little problem that we don't know where the object of our task, as you delicately put it, is at this particular moment."

"I'll get that information for you," Phipps said. "But it's going to have to wait until after Webster's briefing tonight. There are people I need to talk to first. Projects I have to close down."

"The sooner I can get it, the happier I am," Javna said. "But I don't imagine this sudden inter-departmental cooperation comes at no cost."

"No cost," Phipps said. "Just a favor. If anyone asks, this little squabble between our departments never happened."

"Who do you imagine asking?" Javna said.

"You never know," Phipps said, between a mouthful of hot dog. "The press. A Senate committee. An independent investigator. Whoever."

"Just to be clear," Javna said. "And to avoid any comfortable euphemisms here on our nice little park bench, Defense spent the last week trying to fuck up our relationship with our closest ally—which worked, incidentally, and I have court date tomorrow morning to prove it—and to put the cherry on top, you attempted to kill a member of the State Department, who is, incidentally, a very good friend of mine. And I suspect that you would have killed an innocent woman as well if you could have gotten away with it And you want me to just forget about it."

Phipps nodded and slugged back some of his Coke. "Yeah. That's pretty much our position, Ben. Just forget about it."

"It's kind of a hard thing to forget, Dave," Javna said. "Especially with most of the Nidu battle fleet probably bearing down on us. And even if we decide to forgive and forget, someone's going to have to take the blame."

"I've got someone to blame," Phipps said. "And as an added bonus he is actually guilty."

"Nice to see the Defense Department subcontracts for attempted murder, too," Javna said.

"Look," Phipps said. "When all this is over, you and I can go in a back alley with a couple of beers and a couple of lead pipes and have it out, all right? But right now we're having a 'hang together or hang separately' moment. So if it's all the same, I'd like to stay focused on the task at hand. I'll help you find your pal and his girlfriend. In return, we all make like we're friends. Under oath, if necessary. That's how this is going to work, if it's going to work at all."

"Fine," Javna said. "But I need that information tonight. Tonight, Dave. I've got to go into court tomorrow and try to keep every treaty between Nidu and Earth for the last several decades from becoming null and void. Knowing where our lost sheep is will go a very long way in keeping that from happening."

"Deal," Phipps said, and took a final bite of his hot dog. "What's the suit about, if you don't mind me asking?"

"The Nidu claim that Robin Baker is their property because she's got their sheep DNA in her genetic makeup. I have to prove she's more human than property," Javna said. "If I win, she gets to stay a citizen of Earth. If I lose, we're all in some pretty deep shit"

"Human being or Nidu sheep," Phipps said, and chucked his napkin into a trash can. "Now, there's a case for the rabbis."

Javna, who had been about to stuff the last bit of his hot dog in his mouth, stopped. He looked at his dog for a second. "Huh," he said, and then finished off his dog.

"Huh, what?" Phipps said.

"Phipps, I want you to know I think you're one of the biggest assholes it's been my pleasure to meet in my entire government career," Javna said.

"This is what I get for buying you lunch," Phipps said, dryly. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Javna said. "But asshole that you may be, you've just given me an idea for my court date tomorrow. If it works, when you and I go into that back alley, I'll let you have the first swing."

"Well, then," Phipps said. "Here's hoping that it works."

"Ahhhhh," Rod Acuna said, flexing his previously broken wrist. "That's much better. How does it look, geek?" Acuna thrust his arm out at Archie; Archie flinched back involuntarily.

"It looks good," Archie said, and tried to turn back to his computer, which had been acting a bit buggy.

"It should," Acuna said, thwarting Archie's maneuver. "Quick-Heal sessions clear all of it up. Broken bones, torn tendons, even bruises and scrapes. It costs a shitload. But on the other hand, now I don't look like you."

Archie involuntarily touched the side of his face, where an ugly purple welt had formed, a souvenir from getting whacked in the face by the second group of invaders who had snuck into Fixer's shop the night before. Archie knew who gave it to him: Sam. He knew it was Sam because once he had fallen to the ground, stunned by the hit, Sam had come in close, whipped out an electric prod and whispered "sorry, love," in his ear before jabbing the prod into his abdomen and shocking him into unconsciousness. He'd only come to because Acuna kicked him the ribs to get him awake and Takk had hauled his body up the stairs.

Takk now lay on the floor of the apartment's bedroom, suffering from the digestive trauma of thowing up Fixer. The less Archie thought about that episode the better. Acuna had very nearly thrown Archie and Takk out of the van and sped off to get his wounds tended; his body had been severely abused over the last couple of days. Archie didn't know where Acuna went to get fixed up but he doubted it was a regular hospital; he imagined it was some underworld freelancer, like that Fixer character, but with a medical degree. Archie let his mind wander to speculate about an entire economy of underworld specialists and reflected that somehow, through no real fault of his own, he could probably be defined as one of them now.

"The pisser about QuickHeal sessions is they make you itch like a son of a bitch," Acuna said. "I'm gonna go get some aspirin. Come with me, geek. I want to talk to you about something." Acuna wheeled around and went out of the door of the apartment; Archie wearily got up and followed.

He caught up to Acuna at the vending machine in the hall. "don't take this the wrong way," Acuna said, as he fed his card into the machine, "but you really look like hell. I mean, whoever these bastards were did a number on me and even scored a few points off of Takk, which takes some doing. But you really got cracked one." He pressed the button to get his aspirin.

"Thanks," Archie said, glumly.

"You want some aspirin of your own?" Acuna asked. "I'll even get them for you. My treat."

"I'm fine," Archie said.

"Hey, look," Acuna said. "They've restocked your favorite: the white chocolate M&Ms. I'm going to get you some." He jabbed his finger at the "B4" button.

Archie meant to say really, thanks, but no. He got as far as the first phoneme before the pain scraped across his optic nerve, sending Archie to the ground, writhing. Acuna watched him fall.

"Well, isn't that interesting," Acuna said. "Maybe I should get two packages, what do you say?" He jabbed the "B4" button a second time. Archie gasped, lifted his head up, and dropped it back down spasmodically to the concrete, sending a second, lesser and almost comforting flash of pain across his brain pan.

"Who do you work for, Archie?" Acuna said, and dimly Archie realized it was only the second time Acuna had used his proper name.

"I work for the Defense Department," Archie gasped.

"Wrong answer," Acuna said, and jabbed "B4" again. Archie twitched in agony. "I know all of Defense's little spy tricks. This isn't one of them. This is a new one on me. That impresses me, incidentally. I thought I knew all the ways to get a bug into a room and get information out of it. But this really takes the cake. Very nice. Well, except for this part." Acuna hit the button again. Archie vomited and curled up into a fetal position.

"Let me make this real simple for you, geek," Acuna said. "I don't like it when people spy on me. I especially don't like it when people spy on me and as a result one of my missions gets fucked up beyond all recognition. It makes me look bad. I don't like looking bad." He jabbed at the vending machine button. This time Archie, marinating in his puke, merely convulsed. "So you're going to tell me who you work for, now, or I'm going to take this fucking credit card right up to its limit getting it out of you."

Archie whimpered something.

"Excuse me?" Acuna said.

"I said, 'fuck you,'" Archie said, voice trembling.

Acuna smiled and looked toward the vending machine. "You know, each of these M&M bags costs eighty-five cents," he said. "And my credit limit on this card is five thousand dollars. Let's see how many bags that gets us."

Acuna spent $45.05 before Archie talked.

Brian snuck into Archie's computer by doing what Archie had wanted him to do: Letting his system get drilled. It was an inside job: Brian created the driller and had it drill into the system by way of a backdoor Brian opened up, into which he'd deposited the data inside a century's worth of Washington DC yellow pages—encrypted, of course, for extra fun, and formatted to look like personal information files. Archie's driller went in, scooped up the data, and hailed Archie's computer to begin transmitting. As it did so, Brian jammed in instructions that left the port wide open but gave Archie's computer the impression it was closed and secure. Brian was having fun being the smartest computer ever.

Brian had been riffling through Archie's files when Archie's onboard computer cam caught Archie coming through the door, followed by a huge-ass alien that Brian recognized (some part of him did, anyway) as a Nagch. Both them looked like they had just had the shit kicked out of them. If Brian had to guess, he would have supposed Archie and the alien had just gotten back from trying to collect Harry and Robin; it didn't appear as if they had been particularly successful. Archie parked himself in front of his computer and picked along desultorily for a few minutes before putting his head on the desk and falling asleep. Brian went back to his file riffling. When Archie woke up the next morning he seemed to suspect someone had been peeking through his files; he ran a diagnostic and started cruising through his files. Brian played cat-and-mouse with Archie for a few hours, partly to gauge Archie's skills and partly for the amusement factor.

Rod Acuna showed up in the afternoon, full of good cheer, and demanded Archie come with him to get something from the vending machines. Some 20 minutes later the apartment door burst open and Acuna dragged Archie through it, tossed him roughly onto the carpet, and yelled a name that sounded like "Tack." The Nagch suddenly filled the bedroom doorway.

"What, boss?" it asked.

"We're on the move," Acuna said, and pointed at Archie, splayed, semi-conscious, on the floor. "You get the geek watch. If this shitball so much as breathes funny, you eat him."

"Why? What did he do?" the Nagch asked.

"He's been feeding information about what we've been doing to his fucking pals," Acuna said.

"The Defense Department?" The Nagch asked.

"No, you mountainous dipshit," Acuna said. "Some wackjob cult he belongs to. The Church of the Evolved Lamb. They're the assholes that hit us last night."

"I could eat him now," the Nagch offered.

"No," Acuna said, and looked down at Archie. "I need to talk to Schroeder first. He might have questions he wants to ask this fucker. But in the meantime, you do not let him out of your sight Do you understand me? If he takes a dump, he does it with you in the bathroom. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," the Nagch said. "What do I do if he tries to run?"

"Good question," Acuna said. He pulled a folding knife from his pocket, flicked it open, bent down to grab Archie's right leg, and severed his Achilles tendon. Archie let out a whimpering scream and lapsed out of consciousness. "That takes care of that. And especially don't let him near that computer of his. In fact—" Acuna began to stride over to Archie's computer.

Uh-oh, Brian thought. Acuna reached out to the computer. The view from the onboard camera wheeled wildly and then went black.

Jean Schroeder had told Dave Phipps to let himself in when he came by, and Phipps did, coming in through the garage door and walking up the spiral staircase that led into what used to be Anton Schroeder's study and was now the study of his son. Phipps, who had been in the study numerous times, had always found the place creepy, probably because Anton had decorated its walls with ancient spears and swords of Nidu design, and Jean had seen fit to keep them up, and indeed to add to the collection. Both of them apparently derived amusement from being surrounded by the weapons of the enemy.

Phipps found Schroeder at his desk, feet up, reading something from an unbound sheaf of papers. He glanced over at Phipps as he came in. "You're looking twitchy," he said, and went back to his reading.

"Jean, it's over," Phipps said. "I need to know where the woman is. We need to bring her back in."

"Why?" Schroeder said, not looking up from his papers.

"What?" Phipps said.

"Why do we need to bring her back in?" Schroeder said. "You and your boss wanted a little excitement to boost your budgets. I'd say you're getting it. It seems like things are going just swimmingly."

"You're not listening to me," Phipps said. "It's over. The Nidu are responding far more strongly to this missing woman than we anticipated. They've got six destroyers in n-space right now and we suspect they're on their way here. It's stopped being something we can play with. And it's stopped being something I can let you play your own game with, Jean."

"Why, Dave. 'My own game,'" Schroeder said. "Strong words from a man who's been taking bribes from me since the first day of the Webster administration. Do you know how much money I've got in you, Dave?"

"It's past that, Jean," Phipps said.

"$438,000," Schroeder said, loudly, for effect. "To date. That's almost enough for that Nag's Head beach house you've had your eye on. Which reminds me, I have another installment for you."

"Keep it," Phipps said.

Schroeder finally looked over from his paper. "Keep it?" he asked. "Oh, dear. Things really must be out of control. This is America, Dave. People don't just turn down money in America. It's unpatriotic. You could get deported for that."

"Jean—" Phipps began, and then heard a toilet flush from the study's small adjacent bathroom. "There's someone else here?" Phipps asked.

"I'm popular," Schroeder said. "You can't expect me to cancel my previous social engagements just because you have a sudden urge to hang me out to dry."

"I didn't say I was hanging you out to dry," Phipps said.

"Well, of course you didn't," Schroeder said. "No one ever does. But suddenly turning down my cash after taking in half a million of it—when you're so close to that beach house, no less—well. My daddy taught me how to read the signs, Dave. Defense has fucked up and you're looking for someone to blame. And I'm guessing sometime in the last few hours you've personally decided that burying me will save your own ass. Well, Dave, to use your own words, it's past that. Way past."

The bathroom door opened and Narf-win-Getag came out. "I'm leaving the fan on," he said to Schroeder.

"I appreciate that," Schroeder said.

"What the fuck is going on here?" Phipps said.

"By which you mean to say, 'Why, Jean. What are you doing letting the Nidu Ambassador to Earth use your bathroom when he is your avowed enemy?' I have an answer for that. So why don't you sit down for a minute, and let Narf fix you a drink."

"Fix me a drink," Phipps said. Phipps was aware that as an underling, he was well nigh an untouchable class of being by Nidu standards.

"Why not," Schroeder said. "We're all friends here. Isn't that right, Narf."

"It is too true," Narf-win-Getag replied.

"And Narf makes a mean martini," Schroeder said. "So sit the hell down, Dave, and let me explain some things to you."

Phipps took a seat in one of the chairs opposite Schroeder. Narf-win-Getag went to the bar, behind where Phipps sat, and, as promised, began fixing Phipps a drink.

"Now, then," Schroeder said. "I'll begin with an observation." He waved at the various Nidu weapons on the wall. "Do you know what all these weapons have in common?"

"They're Nidu weapons," Phipps said.

"Partial credit," Schroeder said. "They're weapons designed, built, and used by ancient members of the win-Getag clan, a scion of which is currently fixing you a martini. For the last several decades, the win-Getag clan has been of minimal rank within the Nidu social hierarchy—no offense, Narf."

"None taken," Narf-win-Getag said. He walked over to Phipps and handed him the drink. Phipps took it and drank.

"Good, huh?" Schroeder said.

"Pretty good," Phipps admitted.

"I use just enough vermouth to coat the glass," Narf-win-Getag explained. "No more." He sat down in the chair next to Phipps.

"Anyway, me win-Getags' social fortunes have been down for the last few decades," Schroeder said. "Which is why the clan occupies diplomatic posts on planets that are of low importance. Such as, alas for us, Earth. But I don't suppose you know the reason for the win-Getags' relative low status."

"Not a clue," Phipps said.

"It is because we contested for the crown," Narf-win-Getag said.

"Exactly right," Schroeder said. "At the time, the Nidu ruler left no heir to the throne. Impotent, although whether naturally or by sabotage is still a matter for discussion. Nidu traditions require a direct-line descendant and a faithful coronation process in order to achieve the throne. If you don't have one or the other, your clan can't succeed and the contest for the throne is opened up to competing clans. I'm right so far," Schroeder said, checking with Narf-win-Getag.

"So far," agreed Narf-win-Getag.

"When the throne is open, naturally certain clans will be in a stronger position than others to contest for it," Schroeder said. "The last time around, two clans were the primary contenders: The auf-Getag clan, which currently sits on the throne, and the win-Getag clan, which does not. Each clan had its supporters both in other clans and among the CC, and there was the usual political intrigue and deal making and, long story short, for various reasons—"

"Assassination and sabotage," Narf-win-Getag growled.

"—including assassination and sabotage," Schroeder granted, "the auf-Getag clan emerged victorious in the race for the crown. As the defeated clan, the win-Getag clan experienced a massive loss of status and station, which is why Narf here is now Ambassador to Earth and not to the CC itself.

"Now, here's a funny wrinkle. In a situation where there's no heir to the throne and a clan is selected to ascend, that clan creates a coronation process, which must be performed exactly in order for subsequent heirs to take the throne. If the heir doesn't perform the coronation process exactly, the throne is open again, and then one of two things happens. First comes an interval period of about five days, in which the first clan to successfully replicate the coronation process can claim the throne. If no clan manages that, then it's back to a free-for-all with all the clans fighting it out. You with me so far?"

"I'm following you," Phipps said. "But I don't see what this has to do with anything."

"I'm getting there," Schroeder said. "And trust me, this is the short form of the story."

"Fine," Phipps said.

"Now," Schroeder said. "Because of the Nidu traditions, the coronation ceremony usually involves something specific to the clan in power, which other clans can't get. Traditionally, this involves objects or secret texts, but when the auf-Getag clan came to power it decided to do something different."

A light clicked on. "The sheep," Phipps said.

"The sheep," Schroeder agreed. "A gift of the Earth government as a way to curry favor with the ascendant auf-Getag clan, along with a computer network designed for Nidu's new ruler, to streamline his grip on power. The computer network is just a network, but the ownership of the sheep belongs to the auf-Getag clan and its royal family exclusively. No member of any other clan can possess the sheep on pain of death and disenfranchisement. What's more, the coronation calls for a live sheep, since the coronation ceremony requires both the DNA of the sheep and a measurement of the brain activity. This helps to make sure no clan shows up with a jug of sheep blood for a coronation ceremony."

"But if someone kills off the sheep, then the coronation ceremony can't go off," Phipps said. "And the Nidu throne is thrown open."

"You got it," Schroeder said.

Phipps looked over at win-Getag. "You're making a play for the throne."

"I am," Narf-win-Getag said.

"Then all this concern about finding the sheep was all just a ploy," Phipps said.

"Not a ploy," Narf-win-Getag said. "I'm the ambassador to my government. My government wants to find the sheep. I simply knew the search wouldn't be fruitful."

"Except it was," Phipps countered. "They found the girl."

"Ah, yes, the girl," Narf-win-Getag said. "And suddenly things became much more interesting. I've been planning—my clan has been planning, I should say—to ascend the throne for decades, biding our time, gathering allies for when the Fehen died and the throne could be brought into play. We knew other clans were doing the same, of course. It was not clear whether we'd be able to ascend, particularly given our unfairly-wrought low status. But suddenly here is a sheep who is also a human—and who is therefore not the property of the auf-Getag family. Someone who offers a quick, clean way to the throne."

"But you're suing to make her the property of Nidu," Phipps said. "Ben Javna's going to court tomorrow to fight the case."

"The property of the Nidu government, not of the auf-Getag clan," Narf-win-Getag said. "Clans have no standing in Common Confederation courts. The auf-Getag clan is hoping that the woman is found before the ceremony needs to be performed, while the government and the auf-Getag clan are one and the same. But if she is not, then any clan could use her to complete the coronation ceremony. If they had her."

"And you have her," Phipps said.

"No," Schroeder said. "This Creek fellow keeps getting her away from us. We know they've gone off planet and we know they left from the DC area. From there it's a process of elimination. There were only so many ships that left last night."

"And what are you going to do with when you find her?" Phipps said.

"Take her," Narf-win-Getag said. "Hide her. Then use her. And if I can't do that, then kill her. Would you like another drink?"

"No thank you," Phipps said.

"Jean?" Narf-win-Getag said.

"Nothing for me," Schroeder said. "But please, Narf, help yourself." Narf-win-Getag nodded and got up; Schroeder turned his attention back to Phipps. "Now you see why we can't let you have her, Dave," he said. "We have our own plans for her."

"No matter what those plans do to the Earth," Phipps said.

"The Earth is going to be fine," Schroeder said. "Its government less so, but that's no great loss. You should know that the government of the Earth is damned no matter what. If the auf-Getag keep the throne, they're going to believe the government of the Earth actively worked to bring their downfall. That's bad news. It'll probably mean a war. If the win-Getag take the throne, they're going to remember that the government of the Earth supported their enemies in their bid for the throne once upon a time. That's also bad news. It will also probably mean a war. The difference here is that if the win-Getag are on the throne, they will be the ones to name an administrator for Earth and her colonies after the hostilities have ceased."

"You," Phipps said.

"Me," Schroeder said. "And what a political masterstroke it will be for the new Nidu government to name as Earths administrator someone with such a long and colorful history of enmity with the Nidu. It'll reassure the citizens of Earth that their government will stand up for their interests. It'll reassure the CC that the Nidu are fair and just conquerors. Everybody gets something."

"Except that in being conquered, the Earth would lose her independent status, her right to her colonies, and her right to be represented in the Common Confederation," Phipps said.

"Details, details," Schroeder said. "Yes. The Earth will lose her representation and the administration of her colonies. But it's only a temporary loss. Narf has assured me that he has no interest in our real estate or in telling us what to do. He can hardly stand humans as it is."

"Present company excepted, of course," Narf-win-Getag said, from the bar.

"So we'll be back to independent status within a decade," Schroeder said. "Mind you, it could go faster if I had help in my administration. Such as yours."

Phipps blinked. "Are you trying to bribe me?" he said.

"No, Dave," Schroeder sighed. "I've already been bribing you. Now I'm trying to buy you outright. A lot of the really good positions have already been filled by my staff over at the American Institute for Colonization, I'm afraid. But I could see my way to letting you run some portion of the globe. I hear New Zealand is nice."

"Listen to you," Phipps said. "You've traded away your birthright for a mess of porridge. You're running a group that's meant to help the Earth and her colonies prosper, not become subjugated by an alien race. I can't even imagine what your father would say to you."

"Well, first, I'm not selling my birthright for porridge, I'm selling it to run the entire fucking planet," Schroeder said, "and that seems like a pretty good deal to me. Second, it was my father and the Nidu ambassador Naj-win-Getag who got the ball rolling on this project forty years ago, so I would imagine he'd be thrilled."

"I don't understand," Phipps said.

"You think something like this happens overnight?" Schroeder said. "Yes, the part with the girl is all improvisation. But everything else about planning to take the throne of Nidu has taken decades. My father was uniquely suited to help the win-Getag clan. He was Earths first Representative to the CC, for God's sake. He knew everyone and everyone knew him. The AIC was the perfect vehicle for Dad to further the goal, to influence generations of Washington hall-crawlers and create an anti-Nidu sentiment that masked his actual agenda of bringing the win-Getag clan to the throne. It worked. It still works, even in the Webster administration. How do you think your boss got his job, Dave? It was one of Dad's last chess moves before he died."

"This is insane," Phipps said.

"I take it that means you're saying 'no' to ruling New Zealand," Schroeder said.

"I'm saying you need to rethink what you're doing," Phipps said. "You're going to hand your entire species over to war and subjugation. That's insane. I can't condone that. Jean, tell me where the woman is and we can all still get out of this with our hides intact. Otherwise I can't guarantee anything."

"Dave," Schroeder said. "You can't guarantee anything, anyway. You have nothing I need. Last chance, pal. Join the club."

"Or what? You're going to kill me?" Phipps said. "Be serious, Jean. If it came to that, I could break your neck while you were still trying to get up off of that chair."

"Oh, yes, you were Special Forces, and I'm just a soft Ivy Leaguer," Schroeder said. "I remember that. You're right, of course. I could never kill you. It would be foolish of me to try. I could never get away with it. But I know someone who could."

Phipps felt pressure a fraction of a second before he saw the tip of the Nidu spear emerge from just below his ribcage.

"Narf, for example," said Schroeder, conversationally. "He has diplomatic immunity."

Phipps grasped at the protruding spear tip and was caught off guard when the second spear came through his abdomen, in a bilaterally symmetrical position from the first. He grasped that one as well and tried to stand up, and looked for a moment like a skier with his poles stuck through his kidneys.

Narf-win-Getag came around from behind Phipps and stood in front of him. "These spears are said to have been used in battle by Zha-win-Getag, the noble founder of my clan line," Narf-win-Getag said. "You should be honored to the upon them."

Phipps burbled up blood and collapsed to his knees, pitched forward, and died. The spears caught in the chair and kept Phipps from falling forward completely.

"You were right," Narf-win-Getag said to Schroeder. "He would have upset our plans."

"I know," Schroeder said. "It's important to know what people are thinking before they do."

"What would you have done if he said he wanted to join us?" Narf-win-Getag said.

"I would have had you kill him anyway," Schroeder said. "He took bribes. He couldn't be trusted."

"He took bribes from you," Narf-win-Getag said.

"Precisely," Schroeder said. "So I know exactly how little he could be trusted." He looked down at Phipps. "That's a shame, though."

"That you couldn't trust him," Narf-win-Getag.

"No, that you had to spear him," Schroeder said. "Now there's blood all over that rug. That shit never comes out."