Here we stand, p.69
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Here We Stand, page 69

 

Here We Stand
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  “Well, we could agree to avoid each other.”

  It was hard to gauge her tone. The translation didn’t convey it at all. Sometimes the vocabulary and grammar were correct, but the inflexion and emphasis were meaningless, like reciting a list of words in order that made sense to the eyes when read, but sounded strange when spoken aloud. That was understandable. It was also enough to make the speaker understood. But Nir-Tenbiku needed to know if Ingram was cutting the discussion dead, making a suggestion, or even being light-hearted.

  “Will Kugad and the Protectorate leave you alone, though?” he asked. “They’re looking for their ship, and they’ll find you eventually. Whether you want to be found or not, your presence changes a great deal.”

  “Yes, I realise that,” Ingram said. “May I check I’ve got accurate information? The teeriks tell me your elected government was overthrown by an internal coup and Jatt was effectively handed over to Kugin control for commercial gain. There was no actual invasion. Is that correct?”

  “It is,” Nir-Tenbiku said. “Now we’re preparing to remove the illegitimate government and restore independence.”

  “You think you can defeat Kugad, then. Because that’s who you’ll be at war with once you oust the Protectorate.”

  Ingram wasn’t as ignorant as she claimed. He was glad she understood the ramifications.

  “If the people of Jatt want to be liberated,” he said, “then we have no other option but to take on the Kugin. This is my life’s purpose. I can’t turn away from it.”

  “And if the people are happy with the situation as it is?”

  “I would have to respect that. But I would also want proof that they truly felt that way.”

  “Aren’t the other countries on Dal Mantir worried about their neighbours being occupied by Kugad?” Ingram asked. “I would have expected the Kugin to claim the entire planet. Or have they already done that?”

  “No, it’s only Jatt,” Nir-Tenbiku said. “We have the mineral resources and other assets Kugad needs. And as far as the Kugin are concerned, they were invited in by the Common Welfare Party. Jatt is the largest and strongest nation on Dal Mantir. The rest are smaller, poorer nations that can’t or won’t unite to help us. There’s no benefit in it for them.”

  Ingram was silent for a moment. A little crease appeared at the top of her nose, then vanished. “I’m trying to find a parallel in our own history to understand this better,” she said. “On my world, we’ve seen our own governments sell out their citizens for personal gain, although never to a hostile force from another planet. The personnel here are from different nations on our homeworld, and most of their countries have been invaded or surrendered to foreign interests at some time in their history, mine among them. So we understand your strength of feeling. But we don’t want to get involved in other civilisations’ wars. We have colonies to build. We’ll respond robustly to attacks or encroachments on our territory, but we’ll remain neutral unless we have a very good reason not to be. An existential reason.”

  At least she’d confirmed Opis wasn’t the humans’ homeworld. They hadn’t been overlooked for years. They were newcomers.

  “If you want to establish more colonies, that will bring you into contact with other civilisations sooner or later,” Nir-Tenbiku said. “It’ll be very hard for you to remain invisible.”

  “We’ll face that if and when it happens. But I’m surprised you came here after I asked you not to. Why did you risk it?”

  “Why didn’t you open fire as you said you would?” Nir-Tenbiku asked.

  If volume and increased circulation were signs of agitation in humans as they were in Kugin, Ingram showed neither. She was completely calm. Her true voice in the background hadn’t changed — not as low as Marc’s, but a little lower than Nir-Tenbiku expected from the translation — and all he could sense was a steady pulse that hadn’t altered since they’d entered the room.

  “We didn’t fire on your ship because we were curious,” she said. “We have very little experience of other intelligent species. You didn’t sound like the Jattans we’d heard about.”

  It was impossible to judge an entire species from a few individuals, but Nir-Tenbiku knew restraint and calculation when he saw it. Frightened creatures fled or attacked when they encountered something new. Those that were confident they could defeat threats paused to assess what they were dealing with.

  “So what had you heard about Jattans?” he asked. “The Protectorate, I assume.”

  “That they were dangerously headstrong and got themselves killed by rushing into battle.”

  Nir-Tenbiku found that funny. “Someone’s given you a very accurate assessment of the Protectorate’s officer class, then. They don’t teach discipline any more, not even in school. It’s amusing that their reputation precedes them.”

  “You seem to have a different philosophy.”

  “Our lawful government, the Halu-Masset, is the duty of the old families of Jatt,” Nir-Tenbiku said. “We accept our lives will be spent in the nation’s service. That requires us to learn self-discipline.”

  “I can understand that.”

  “Do humans have that kind of traditional duty?”

  “I’m the eighth generation of my family to serve in the Royal Navy,” Ingram said. He noticed her voice this time because it had changed. It was quieter and softer for a moment, enough to distract him from the Jattan stream. “My choice was entirely voluntary, but I never considered any other career. It had to be done.”

  “General Marc tells me you’re known for winning battles and destroying cities.”

  Ingram’s mouth twitched and the corners of her eyes creased. Then she showed her teeth, so he knew he’d said something she liked.

  “I destroyed the enemy,” she said. “But I’m still not sure what we won.”

  Yes, Nir-Tenbiku could do business with this alien. There would be things that separated them and things he’d never understand, but there was common ground where it mattered.

  “So you’ve come here to expand your empire.”

  Ingram sat back a little further in her seat. “I’m going to be completely open with you, although there’ll be subjects we can’t discuss for security reasons,” she said. “If I give you my word, I stand by it. But my duty is to defend this settlement, and everything I do flows from that. So if we aren’t willing to get involved in local conflicts, Primary, what do you want from us? We won’t help Kugad or the Protectorate to attack you, unless you become a threat to us, and we won’t attack them unless we’re attacked first. You have my word on that. We don’t want to loot or conquer your world, and I personally sympathise about the loss of your sovereignty. Is that enough reassurance to make your journey worthwhile, though? Did you really just come to establish diplomatic relations?”

  Nir-Tenbiku dipped his head politely. “I’m grateful for that much.” It was what he’d asked for, no more and no less, a friendly relationship. He only had himself to blame for not starting with his ideal scenario and negotiating something more realistic from there. “It would be better if we could both find some mutual advantage, though.”

  “I think you’ve come for the ship,” Ingram said. “Especially now that you’ve seen it.”

  Nir-Tenbiku was encouraged that she’d brought it up. Perhaps she was carefully approaching her own demands.

  “Yes, the ship would be put to good use in liberating Jatt,” he said. “But it’s not mine by right. It belongs to the Protectorate. I’d be commandeering it — stealing it — but I don’t feel that’s truly immoral. We’re already at war with them, even if no shots have been fired.”

  “Gan-Pamas came here to retrieve the ship,” Ingram said. “Who did he think he was going to seize it from?”

  Nir-Tenbiku hadn’t actually thought about it from that angle. “He didn’t know about your presence here, so he probably thought he would only be dealing with the teerik commune that stole it.”

  “And he thought they wouldn’t fight to keep it.”

  Nir-Tenbiku couldn’t imagine where this was going. “What use would they have for a warship, except as transport?”

  “I’m trying to understand why you would hesitate to take the ship from us, but not from them, except that we might put up a fight.”

  “And we also don’t want a conflict with you.”

  “But what would you have done with the commune?”

  He still wasn’t sure he’d understood the question. “It’s hard to say, but we certainly wouldn’t have returned them to Kugad. We have good reason to avoid the Kugin, just as you do, and teeriks are valuable. They know a great deal about the Protectorate’s defences, so perhaps Gan-Pamas thought he might take them with him as he did with Lirrel. Personally, I would weigh their skills and knowledge against the difficulties of keeping them. The Kugin can handle them, but some regard them as an abomination. Very few people outside the military community ever encounter them, of course, so this is the opinion of a small number.”

  Ingram did that brow-creasing expression again. “Why would someone call them an abomination?”

  “Gan-Pamas believed they were the consequence of science abandoning morality.”

  “Sorry, I still don’t understand.”

  “They’ve been bred to perfect more efficient ways of killing, and they seem content with doing that. And there must be limits on how much we interfere with the order of the natural world.”

  “That makes them much the same as the human defence industry, then,” Ingram said. “So perhaps we’re abominations too. We do fight to win, Primary. I’m sure you do as well.”

  It was a complex subject and Nir-Tenbiku wasn’t confident that the translation was coping with it. He’d have to explain more carefully. “We do, Captain, and I don’t blame teeriks for what the Kugin have made them,” he said. “They can be violent and destructive as individuals, but I can’t hold them responsible for that either. I blame those who made them that way.”

  “I understand,” Ingram said, nodding. “They’re slaves. They don’t have a choice.”

  Nir-Tenbiku wondered if he’d still failed to make himself clear. “Slaves?”

  “Most human societies don’t have slaves,” Ingram said. “Some still do, but most cultures regard it as immoral to treat another human as property and it’s banned by law. This is why I’m having difficulty understanding your intentions regarding the teeriks. They’re not enslaved here. They’re free to do as they please.”

  Suddenly it all made sense. “Oh, teeriks aren’t slaves,” he said, then struggled to find a concept that Ingram would understand. “They’re not people. They’ve been bred to assist. They’re highly intelligent, but they’re animals.”

  Ingram blinked a few times, staring at him. Humans had highly contoured faces and the complexity and mobility of hers distracted him. He didn’t know if he’d offended her, shocked her, or just failed to make himself understood again.

  “Do you mean actual animals?” she asked. “Pets?”

  Nir-Tenbiku wasn’t sure what a pet was. The word wasn’t translated, but actual animals seemed clear.

  “I think so,” he said. “Not people.”

  “Do you count Kugin as people?”

  “They’re barbarians, but yes.”

  “I think I mean something like hebudi, then,” Ingram said, as if she was uncertain about the pronunciation. “Kugin keep hebudi as companion animals, according to the teeriks. I don’t know exactly what a hebudi is, but we’d call them a pet.”

  Now Nir-Tenbiku was getting somewhere. He’d seen some of the expatriate Kugin carrying long, very slim creatures that looked like exotic fur scarves and fussing over them like they were children.

  “Teeriks work for people rather than keep them amused,” he explained. “I wouldn’t describe them as pets, although their owners care a great deal for them.”

  “Oh. I see. They’re working animals, like our dogs, then. The four-legged creatures you saw outside.”

  “Are they animals?” Nir-Tenbiku had misread that as well. “I thought they were another intelligent species allied with you.”

  “No, they’re animals as well,” Ingram said. “They were wild predators that evolved alongside us and we domesticated them. They’re highly intelligent, and loved dearly by their owners, but not as intellectually advanced as the teeriks.”

  At least they now had a common reference point he could work with. “So teeriks are valuable working animals. But not slaves.”

  Ingram now seemed much more interested in the teeriks than in her potential enemies in Kugad or Dal Mantir. “Do you know where they came from originally?”

  “Gan-Pamas tried to ask Lirrel about that, but he didn’t know. I don’t think anyone does.”

  “Not even the Kugin?”

  “It’s not a subject I’ve ever discussed with them.”

  “Do you have any contact at all with Kugin?”

  “Rarely. There’s a small community in Esmos who want to avoid the attention of their government, but we keep ourselves to ourselves out of necessity.”

  “Thank you for the clarification,” Ingram said.

  “Have you had problems with your teeriks?”

  “Nothing like Lirrel.”

  “Ah.”

  “They argue with each other sometimes.”

  “How long has your base been here?”

  “It was built around seventy years ago. I’m not sure what that equates to in your system but the translation will have rendered the time in your units.”

  Nir-Tenbiku recalled Gan-Pamas’s message and how he suspected the humans had been in contact with the runaway commune for some time before they stole the ship. “And how long have you known the teeriks?”

  “A relatively short time.”

  So she wasn’t going to tell him. It didn’t matter, not for now. He didn’t intend to press her on the teerik issue because it wasn’t worth alienating her over that when he had a much bigger plan. What did matter was that the Protectorate weren’t aware of Opis or the human presence here. The time seemed right to ask her for a favour and see what she required in return.

  “I do have a question,” he said. “Would you consider renting facilities to us?”

  Ingram looked at him for what felt like far too long. Perhaps he’d missed a cue and was expected to say more. Other species’ eyes were always the most alien thing about them, and human eyes were no exception. They were almost patterned, with little stripes and flecks in different colours, but what stood out about Ingram’s were that she’d stopped blinking. He had no idea what it meant.

  “What do you mean by facilities?” she asked.

  “An area of land, nothing more,” Nir-Tenbiku said. “It could be on the other side of the planet and no inconvenience to you.”

  “And what would you want to do with this land?”

  “Create a temporary base to hide from the Protectorate until we’re ready,” he said. “They almost certainly know we’re based in Esmos, and they daren’t target us there, but it’s a challenge to keep our fleet hidden.”

  “Can your vessels land, or would they be parked in orbit?”

  “The smaller ones can land. We need somewhere to maintain them and accommodate crews, too.”

  “So you want to build an operating base.”

  “We have no ambitions to occupy any of your planet, Captain. Our sole aim is to return to Dal Mantir and reclaim Jatt.”

  “Actually, I’m more concerned about our neutrality being compromised,” Ingram said. “On my homeworld, neutral countries allow both sides in a conflict to enter their territory, provided they abide by that country’s laws, and don’t carry out hostile acts against each other there, or else they bar both of them.”

  It wasn’t a refusal. It sounded like a question, which meant there was still room for further manoeuvre. Nir-Tenbiku pressed on, encouraged.

  “In theory, your neutrality would only be tested if the Protectorate or the Kugin asked for a similar arrangement,” he said. “Which I assume hasn’t happened, because they’re unaware you’re here.”

  “It also assumes they’ll respect our laws and recognise our neutrality,” Ingram said. “But I understand they won’t. Especially as we have their ship.”

  “And their teeriks.”

  “Indeed.” Ingram showed her teeth again. “If you were me, would you take the risk?”

  “There must be something we can offer you in exchange.”

  Ingram spread her arms a little as if she was indicating the width of the room. “We have a world full of raw materials here.”

  “Technology, then? Intelligence?”

  “We have a source of intelligence on the Protectorate. Can you provide information on Kugad? We already have a comprehensive database of their military capability.”

  That obviously came from the teeriks, so she’d have all the classified information on the Protectorate as well. Nir-Tenbiku had to buy some time without lying.

  “I think we can provide that,” he said. “We have loyalists in useful positions. The Protectorate has to stay aware of Kugad’s activities, and it’s something that’ll concern us more as we approach our mission.”

  “Interesting.”

  “And if the Protectorate thought we were behind the disappearance of their ship rather than yourselves, it would solve a diplomatic problem if you ever had to have contact with them.”

  Ingram seemed to be thinking about it. She said nothing for a while, then looked away for a few moments.

  “Here’s my problem,” she said. “Hosting your operating base would put this settlement at risk. I can’t think of anything that would justify exposing the civilian population here to more danger. My main concern at the moment is making sure we can repel hostile action, and it doesn’t sound as if you can help us with that. Attacks are hypothetical, and Kugad — or the Protectorate — might never trouble us. But we’ll deal with them if they do.”

 
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