“No, Sanjay, buying ourselves time by masquerading as a Ktoran ally still won’t enable us to close the tech gap between us and them quickly enough. And I doubt we could have conned them, anyway: trying to out-lie professional liars rarely works. Besides, if we were cowering in the Ktor’s kennel, they’d probably turn right around and remove the only folks who might be able and willing to intervene if the Ktor do decide to eat us instead of keep us as pets: the Dornaani and the Slaasriithi.”
“Who’ve done nothing to help us, so far,” added Visser.
Caine shrugged. “I suspect it’s in their nature to avoid conflict as long as possible.”
“You mean, until it’s too late to help,” Wasserman sneered. “And I just love the way they’ve rewarded our fine, upstanding morals. Using your analogy from the other night, we took the higher road and played the part of Churchilclass="underline" we stood up to the bad guys. Except it turns out that the Dornaani have happily taken on the role of Chamberlain and have hung us out to dry, trying to preserve ‘peace in their time.’”
“That could be what happens,” admitted Caine, “but I think the possibility that the Dornaani might fail us is a whole lot lower than the probability that the Ktor mean to consume us.”
Visser’s smile looked labored, broken. “You are trying to be kind, Caine, but we failed. The fault is ours.”
“Failure and fault are two different things, Ambassador.” Caine leaned toward her. “You came here expecting a tea party and found yourself in a diplomatic death match. It was already half over, with the long-term pros jockeying for their final positions. We didn’t even know the boundaries of the ring, much less the rules-and we didn’t have the power or the knowledge to change the outcome.”
Downing smiled. “So what you’re saying is, there’s no shame in losing a rigged game. True enough, I suppose. But did we have to lose by such a margin? From a security perspective, we have utterly failed our planet.”
Caine looked up, spoke slowly. “That depends upon how you define ‘security,’ Richard: do you mean ‘survival at any cost’-including slavery-or ‘living as a self-determining species’? If by security you mean nothing more than physical survival, then you’re right: we failed. We had another option: we could probably have survived as slaves.”
“Slaves?” Opal sounded horrified.
Caine shrugged. “If we had to fight off the Ktor alone, I’m pretty sure the endgame would be thralldom or extinction.” He looked around the group. “But if by security you mean preserving our speciate right to what a bunch of guys in wigs once labeled life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, then you all made the best choice you could.”
Visser shook her head, closed her eyes. “And so that is the report I’m to make to the world leaders: we didn’t like the certainty of remaining alive on our knees, so we chose the possibility of being killed on our feet?”
Caine shrugged. “That’s the report you have to make, because that’s what we did. If they blame you for choosing that option, then they’re not worthy to be our leaders. And then thank God we were here instead of them.”
Downing checked his watch. “There are some last practical matters to address. The group that is going straight home in this module will not be going directly to Earth, but out to the Belt for debriefing. Your cryocells will be-”
Le Mule sat far back in his chair, arms folded. “No way,” he snapped.
Richard curbed his annoyance. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me. But I’ll say it again, with emphasis: no fucking way. When I came on this mission, I didn’t agree to sell my body-or soul-to the guvmint, so they sure as hell can’t keep shuttling me around from one windowless hole to the next. And now cold sleep, too? Why? The Dornaani brought us here without it, so why-?”
Downing rapped his knuckles on the table: Wasserman flinched, shut his mouth with a snap. “If you haven’t noticed, Alnduul has intimated that he will help us in ways that exceed the comfort level of his superiors. And, possibly, exceed his own authority.”
“And your point?”
“My point, Mr. Wasserman, is that putting the passengers in cryocells gives him a much freer hand to help us.”
“Huh?”
“Bozhemoi!” exclaimed Durniak. “Truly you do not see? Alnduul has made it clear that he is on our side. So much so that he might do more than just ship us home.”
“Like what?” asked Opal.
Downing steepled his fingers. “I suspect he intends to put a covert payload inside our own cargo containers in this module. He can’t put it on the Dornaani ship that is taking the second group to Barnard’s Star: too much chance that his own people will stumble across it.”
Trevor looked eager. “So you’re saying that he wants our people in cold cells so they won’t see him load the ‘special cargo’?”
Downing shrugged. “I’m saying that if Alnduul intends to do anything that exceeds his authority, he can’t tell us openly. And if our passengers aren’t awake to see what he does, then they can’t leak any information about it-even to Alnduul’s own people. Plausible deniability, and all that.”
Visser nodded. “Mr. Downing is right. We shall go into cold sleep at once.”
Wasserman threw down his dataslate. “Look, you all do what you like, but I’m still not climbing into a refrigerator bound for a grubby little rock in the Belt, where so-called experts will ask us the same questions over and over again. Hell, there’s no reason we can’t go straight to Earth, write our reports, and submit them when-”
Elena’s voice was quiet. “You know that’s no substitute for a live debrief, Lemuel. And you’re not the only one who wants to go straight to Earth; I’ve got a thirteen-year-old son who hasn’t seen me in almost two months, now. But remember what’s at stake. We might be talking about the fate of our planet.”
“Look, I don’t have to-”
“Lemuel.” It was Caine; although his face was still pale, his voice was firm. “The. Fate. Of. Our. Planet.” Then he was staring at the wall again.
Le Mule looked like he was about to say something, then glowered at the floor.
Visser rose. “So who is traveling on the module to Earth, and who is going on to Barnard’s Star, Mr. Downing?”
“Most of you will be going directly to the Belt, where Major Patrone will brief the military authorities. Trevor is one of the two people coming with me to brief the flag officers at Barnard’s Star II C.”
Visser stared at Downing, surprised. “Who is the other person accompanying you?”
Opal came erect. Downing was careful not to look in her direction. He looked at Riordan, instead. “I’m afraid that you’re coming to Barney Deucy as well, Caine.”
Caine closed his eyes. Then he nodded.
Downing barely concealed his surprise: although battered and dazed, Riordan’s reaction should still have included some outcry against yet another violation of his personal freedom. But silence? Downing had a fleeting anxiety that Caine had been more seriously injured by the explosive decompression than anyone guessed…
But it was time for seven of them to enter their cold cells, and the other three to board the Dornaani craft that would take them to Barnard’s Star. Downing turned off his dataslate. “Any more questions? If not, we should-”
Alnduul’s image faded back into existence. “All is in readiness,” he affirmed with the slightest incline of his head.
Visser stood very straight. “We thank you, Alnduul.”
“I have done nothing other than perform my duties to you.”
“Okay, then,” Opal said, after glancing quickly at Caine-a glance so brief that Downing was fairly sure he was the only one to notice it. “Since you’ve only been doing your job up until now, I’d like to impose by asking you just one personal question.” Every member of the delegation stared at her.
Alnduul’s inner eyelids blinked rapidly twice. “This is-uncommonly direct of you, Major Patrone.”