"Yes," I nodded. "Though at the moment there's only one Seeker there to keep an eye on."
"And...?"
I shrugged. "So far things seem to be going all right. Shepherd Zagorin is exhibiting some subtle changes, but they seem to be mainly adjustments to the thunderhead presence. There's no indication that they're subverting her or anything like that."
Rybakov glanced at Eisenstadt; peripherally, I saw his nod of agreement. "For the moment we'll assume you're right," she went on. "So. If they're so cooperative and friendly, explain why they didn't tell us about the Invaders sooner."
I winced. "We don't actually know they're deliberate invaders—"
"You can practice turning the other cheek on your own time," Rybakov cut me off. "Just answer the question, and save the moralizing for your religious friends."
"I was answering it, Governor," I told her, fighting back my own irritation. "I was trying to suggest that the thunderheads may not have said anything about them because they themselves may not see it as an invasion."
She snorted. "Ridiculous. What do they think they're coming for, a picnic?"
Eisenstadt cleared his throat. "It's possible they've examined both the ships and their passengers and concluded they won't be wanting Spall," he said. "We think it likely they did the same with us before they first started guiding us through the Cloud."
"The fact remains that, unlike the Invaders, they let us in," Rybakov countered. "Or are you going to suggest the Invaders were offered the same Deadman Switch approach and were turned down?"
"The Invaders may not have Mjollnir drive," Eisenstadt pointed out. Just as I was doing with the aliens, he was clearly trying to give the thunderheads every possible benefit of the doubt. "We won't know until we can take better pictures and see if the ships are equipped with the necessary hull lacings."
Rybakov grimaced. "All right, then, let's try it from another direction. According to the report you filed when you first asked for a Solitaran zombi, the thunderheads were offering to show you the Cloud generator. They lied about that; what's to say they aren't lying about other things, too?"
"Yes, well, we wondered about that too," Eisenstadt said, embarrassment seeping through his professionalism. "If you go back and check the tapes, you find that the thunderheads promised to take us to the origination—their word—of the Cloud. 'Origination,' my dictionary tells me, is something that gives origin to, or something that initiates. I assumed at the time that they meant the generator of the Cloud; what I gather they actually meant was the reason for the Cloud's existence."
"In other words, as a protection from invasion," Rybakov snorted. "As I said."
Eisenstadt glanced at Freitag. "Again, not necessarily, Governor," Freitag said. "It's possible that they're maintaining the Cloud in order to protect us."
Rybakov opened her mouth, a retort ready... closed it again as her sense turned suddenly thoughtful. "Uh-huh," she said at last. "Well, that's hardly a flattering thought—rather reduces our role here to something like pets or valuable wildlife."
"Or an equally valuable scientific study," Eisenstadt offered. "That might explain, too, why they hid their sentience from us for so long."
"Perhaps. Hardly an improvement over being pets, to my mind." She frowned into space for a moment. "Didn't they say at your first contact that they didn't have any interest in studying us?"
"What they actually said was that they had no desire to learn any more about us," Eisenstadt corrected her. "If they already had seventy years of such studies behind them, they would hardly need any more."
Rybakov snorted gently. "Again, a strictly truthful statement that nevertheless manages to mislead. I don't like the pattern I see forming here."
There was considerable irony in such a complaint coming from a professional politician, but Eisenstadt had the sense to pass up the obvious barbs. "At least they seem reluctant to tell out-and-out lies," he shrugged. "Don't forget, too, that they've already demonstrated respect for human life. When that shield—what was his name, Gilead?"
"Mikha Kutzko," I supplied. A pang of guilt poked in under my concentration; I'd hardly thought at all over the past few weeks about what might be happening with him and the others on the Bellwether.
Eisenstadt nodded. "When Kutzko did his little experiment to see how fast the thunderheads could learn, they could presumably have tried to kill him instead of going after his needler."
"Protecting their scientific experiment," Rybakov said sourly. "—yes, I know, Doctor, it's better than being considered enemies," she added as Eisenstadt started to speak. "Anyway, the issue of thunderhead perceptions is low on the priority list at the moment. What's important is how we're going to deal with the Invaders. Any ideas, Commodore?"
Freitag waved a hand uncomfortably. "I've done a couple of preliminary scenarios, but none of them is especially promising."
"What's the problem, the speed they're making?"
"Basically. You have to remember that they're doing twelve percent lightspeed; that's thirty-six thousand kilometers a second. None of our weapons has the slightest chance of even tracking something that fast, let alone connecting with it."
"What about shooting at them from the front?" Rybakov asked. "We know what their course is, after all."
"Wait a moment," I objected. "Isn't this a little early to be thinking about shooting at them? We haven't even tried to talk to them yet."
All three looked at me; Rybakov with impatience, Freitag with an almost guilty impatience, Eisenstadt with genuine regret. "The problem, Gilead," the latter said, "is that their speed also pretty well precludes any kind of communication. We'd have to use high-density pulses, fired from close range the instant they passed, and signals like that are notoriously sensitive to the sort of electromagnetic fluxes they've got operating."
"But surely they know how to compensate for that," I argued. "I mean, they must have some way of watching ahead of them, at the very least."
"I'm sure they do," Freitag said, his discomfort putting gruffness in his voice. "But they'll be watching out for cometary masses, not pulsed radio signals. And besides..." He seemed to brace himself. "It might not be a good idea to tip them off that we're even aware of them. It would lose us any advantage of surprise we might still have."
I looked at him, feeling the blood draining from my face. Look at them, lurking to ambush me, violent men are attacking me, for no fault, no sin of mine... "You can't do that," I said quietly. "It would be nothing less than mass murder."
"It's called survival," Rybakov said sharply.
"Since when?" I demanded. "This isn't some sudden, split-second assault we have to react to—they're not even going to be here for, what, ten years?"
"More than that," Freitag grunted. "Somewhere along the line they'll have to flip their ships over and start decelerating; depending on what kind of thrust their engines can handle, it could be anything from twelve to twenty years before they arrive."
"Which means that everyone involved will have plenty of time to weigh the alternatives," Eisenstadt told me soothingly. "I presume, Governor, that 'everyone,' in this case, will be people other than us?"
Rybakov nodded. "The Patri will almost certainly want to set up a commission to examine the situation and make recommendations." She turned to me. "Your job, Benedar, will be to continue assisting in the thunderhead study. That is, if Dr. Eisenstadt still needs you."