Hwang ticked off the benefits on his fingers. “We would be allied with the most aggressive species. They will place few or no limits on expansion, which means we can maximize our power and territorial reach. They are willing to give us access to advanced technology. We also seem to be their preferred partners: they are contemptuous of the Hkh’Rkh, dismissive of both the Slaasriithi and the Dornaani, and are willing to let the Arat Kur be overrun by us. So they seem to be suggesting that we would enjoy a special relationship with them.”
Wasserman nodded. “Pretty compelling reasons.”
Elena stared at him. “You trust them?”
“Christ, no; Wise-Speech is a lying sack of shit. And why would he be any less likely to sell us out than he would the Hkh’Rkh or the Arat Kur? But we’re looking for the positives of joining him, right?”
Elena shuddered and nodded.
So did Durniak. “It may be a dangerous thing we would do if we choose not to side with the Ktor. The Custodians tried to keep us from having to make binding decisions—but it is happening otherwise to us.” Tired, distracted, her facility for English was starting to erode.
“But it’s the wrong choice. We all know that—don’t we?” Elena looked around the group.
Thandla shrugged. “At least we would be choosing our own fate. And being friends with the most dangerous species means we have protected our world from them. Also, their preference for our cooperation might indicate that we have enough power that they will genuinely feel safer having us as their long-term allies. So, as long as we remain strong, we need not fear betrayal.”
Caine shook his head. “Look, let’s be realistic about what advantages we clearly don’t have going into this showdown tomorrow. We are still utterly ignorant of the other star-faring races in this region of space, and even if we read and study all night, that will not have materially changed by tomorrow morning. Next, we have little to no idea of the real political interactions among them: just a few hints and innuendos that might be misinformation, and a few implied promises that might be just so much hot—or very cold—air. And we are, with the possible exception of the Hkh’Rkh, technologically inferior. So what assets can we really bring to any relationship with these other powers?
“If we choose the mercenary route—assuming the Ktor even mean what they say about allying with us—we become collaborators in an illegal attempt to subvert or destroy the Accord, either by war or political pressure. Either way, we wouldn’t be doing that because we believe in it, but because we are scared.”
“Yeah.” Lemuel’s voice was tired. “But what other options—or strengths—do we have?”
“We have the option to do the right thing, to follow the process as the Dornaani outlined it, which means, ultimately, supporting the Custodians and the rule of law. And I think that the strengths we bring to that relationship are greater, and ultimately offer greater protection, than the gutless sycophancy we’d bring to a partnership with the Ktor.”
Downing frowned. “And what strengths would we bring to an alliance with the Dornaani?”
Caine looked him in the eye. “Courage. Versatility. Perspicacity. And, most important, integrity.” Half of which you seem to lack.
“Let’s hope you’re right.” Downing was looking at his watch. “Ten minutes to midnight.”
* * *
Ten minutes later, Caine was sitting at the communications console in the hab module. The other nine members of the delegation were crowded into corners, in between banks of monitors, perched upon chairs that had been appropriated from other rooms. No one spoke.
On the console, a green light came on. Thandla, sitting alongside Caine, checked his watch and nodded. “Incoming signal. Tight beam.”
Caine raised his right index finger, looked around the room. “Are we all agreed?”
Stares became nods. Caine nodded in response, turned back to the console. He pressed a button well to the left side of the blinking green light. It—and all the monitors and gauges on the console—went dark.
“Powered down,” announced Thandla.
Visser sighed, arms clutched tight against her chest. “It’s done. Let us get to bed. We have an early day.”
As everyone else headed to the exit—Elena was gone before Visser had finished speaking—Opal headed toward Caine. Her smile was wide, but a bit tentative. “Heavy day,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“But not too heavy?”
He looked down into the pecan-colored eyes, tried to chase away an after-image of wider, green ones that had been burned into the retina of his imagination. He leaned close, so he could concentrate on her, not the imaginary green eyes. “No: not too heavy,” he answered.