As he passed among these trophies he began to notice that the furniture might also be originals; each piece appeared to be a genuine Louis XIV antique. Which made his mind return to the receptionist. If everything else in the room was original, a sincere possibility, a true collector would require some extraordinary level of originality for the receptionist. It only followed. He glanced surreptitiously her way, but was, frankly, stumped. As her console chimed she looked up and noticed the covert glance; it obviously affected her less than a puff of wind.
“The Ghin will see you now, Mr. Worth.”
He stepped through the slowly opening doors and into shadow. Across a cavernous office was a desk the size of a small car. Behind the desk, silhouetted by the limited light from the curtained windows, sat a figure that could be mistaken for a human.
“Come in, Mr. Worth. Be seated,” said the Darhel in its sibilant tones, gesturing languidly at the seat across from it.
Mr. Worth walked slowly across the office, trying to focus on the silhouetted figure. Since First Contact, the Darhel had been everywhere and nowhere. They were, apparently, either in person or represented at all important governmental meetings and functions. They seemed to understand that more business is decided over canapés than in all the meetings in the world, but usually they were either swathed in robes for protection against the strong Earthly sun, or represented by paid consultants. Mr. Worth realized that he was about to be one of the fortunate few who saw one face-to-face.
Still unable to get more than a hint of saturnine head shape, Mr. Worth sat in the offered chair.
“You might, as the saying goes, be wondering why I asked you to come here today.”
The tones were so mellifluous, Worth felt himself caught in a sort of spell. He shook his head. “Actually, I was wondering how you got my number at all. Very few people have it and as far as I know it is not recorded anywhere.” He steeled himself against the sound of the Ghir’s voice, waiting for a response.
“It is, in fact, recorded in at least three databases, two of which we have ready access to.” The figure shook slightly in what might have been laughter in a human. There was a faint acrid smell, sharp and ozonelike; it might have been breath or a Darhel version of cologne.
“Oh. Would you care to illuminate?”
“Your number, and a general, shall we say, job description, is recorded in CIA files, Interpol files and a database belonging to the Corleone family.”
“That is most unfortunate.” He made a mental note to discuss his data security with Tony Corleone.
“Actually, I should say they did record that datum. There are now certain inaccuracies.” There was a pause. “You have no comment?”
“No.” Worth had noted that there were times to keep one’s mouth firmly shut. He suddenly decided that this was one of those times.
“The Darhel are a business concern, Mr. Worth. As in any business concern, there are issues which are soluble and those which are insoluble. There are also issues which, while soluble, require a certain subtlety of approach.” The Ghir paused, as if choosing his words very carefully.
“And you would be interested in retaining my services to… deal with these subtleties?”
“We would be interested in retaining services,” the Darhel said, very carefully. There was another quiver from the figure.
“My services?”
“Were you to submit invoices for reasonable expenditures,” another shudder and a pause. The Darhel seemed to shake itself and took a long, deep breath. Then he continued. “If someone were to submit invoices for reasonable expenditures, in the interests of resolving issues related to Darhel interests which might come to light, either through casual conversation with Darhel or through your own intelligence,” there was another pause. After a moment the Darhel continued, his cultured voice now strained and squeaky. “There would be fair remuneration.” The sentence ended on a high strangled note. The Darhel turned its head to the side and shook it hard, breath shuddering.
Mr. Worth realized that his new, employer? client? control? was not just unwilling, but virtually unable to be specific.
“And these would be submitted how? And paid how?” Being circumspect was one thing, but business was business.
“Such details are for others to determine,” the Darhel responded, breath shuddering. “I take it that is agreement,” it continued, sharply. There was a note of anger in its voice.
“To what?” asked Worth. “When did we meet? I don’t think I’ve ever talked to a Darhel. Have I?”
“Ah, just so.” The figure drifted forward and there was a sudden gleam of teeth. Worth shuddered at their resemblance to a shark’s. “So glad not to do business with you, Mr. Worth.”
Worth’s eyes widened as the figure was revealed.
The Chief of Procurement, Army of the People’s Republic of China, Shantung Province, tapped a pen on his documents as he related to his superior, Commander of Forces, Shantung Province, the facts that had just come to light. One of his junior officers, during preliminary discussions related to production and procurement, had hit a stumbling block. Believing that it was a problem with the AID’s translation — such things had happened before — he questioned his Darhel opposite number closely and at length. The elfin Darhel had an almost amazing ability to steer conversations away from problem areas but finally, after referring to both an Indowy technician and a Tchpth science-philosopher, the junior officer broke off negotiations and composed a long report. This report and an expansion composed by the major’s superior were now in the marshal’s lap as he reported the bad news.
“I am, perhaps, remiss in my understanding. How can they have no industrial capacity? I have seen their ships. Where do these AIDs come from?”
“It is a question of translating the word ‘industry.’ They produce phenomenal products, wondrous spacecraft and these attractive helpers, but each item is hand crafted; they have no concept of assembly line manufacture. Do not think of assembly lines as a technology; they are a philosophical choice not a strictly mechanistic development. Furthermore, production by assembly line creates a fundamental need for planned obsolescence or else the assembly line, by its own efficiency, would fill the needs of everyone in the market and be forced to shut down. So, our industries here on Terra continually create new products to fill the production capacity and, to an extent intentionally, produce products that use less expensive materials and do not last as long.
“Yet the flip side to industrial, and by that I mean assembly line, production is that individual items can be produced quickly and at relatively little cost. That is why everyone is forced to use it.” He stopped and considered his choice of words.
“There is, however, another way. We are sure now that the Federation is both highly structured and largely stagnant. I can refer you to the appropriate papers…”
“I’ve seen them,” said the marshal, picking up a pen in turn and beginning to twirl it between his fingers. He gazed out the window at the towering sky scrapers of China’s fourth-largest city and wondered how they could possibly defend it if the Galactics could not build a fleet in time.
The chief of procurement nodded his head. “There is a strong degree of specialization in this Galactic ant colony.” He again stopped and considered how to say the next item.
“Our place, it would seem, is to be soldier ants. The Indowy, those greenish dwarf-looking bipeds, are the worker ants. They create high technology at an almost instinctive level. Their tolerances are so exact that the products look as if they were made in a factory. And each product is made to last a lifetime. Since each product is handcrafted and is designed to last for two or three hundred years, each one is incredibly expensive. It may take a single Indowy a year to produce the Galactic equivalent of a television. The cost is comparable to a year’s pay of an electronic technician or electrical engineer. The sole exception seems to be AIDs, which are manufactured using mass processes by the Darhel. There is apparently also a shortage of rejuvenation nannites developing for the same reason.”