Silence, then Hwang said, “Caine, in the time it takes for me to run to the CIC—”
“Ben, I think it best that we don’t put that kind of message on the intercom. We want to keep this as low profile as possible. All the way under the scuttlebutt radar, if we can. Please go with all speed.”
Caine steadied the gun with his left hand as the door opened and closed.
The Ktor smiled. “You didn’t request olives.”
“All in good time, Ambassador Apt-Counsel.”
“Let us dispense with assumed names as well as appearances. I am Tlerek Sirn of the House Shethkador.”
“I can’t say that I’m pleased to meet you. However, this makes it pretty clear how you were able to influence events on Earth long before the war, before Convocation, even before Parthenon. And not only can you walk among us, you had access to Earth as well, legitimated by the Accord.”
Sukhinin looked at Caine with wide eyes. “Shto?”
“Read the fine print of the delegation’s report, Vassily, and look at the text of the Eighteenth Accord. The current Custodians, the Dornaani, were unable to cover all their duties alone, so they were allowed to tap one additional race for assistance in monitoring and policing new and uncontacted races. That was the perfect cover for their Ktor ‘helpers’ to put ships in our system, to infiltrate agents, to start the Doomsday Rock in our direction—all with complete plausible deniability.”
“Do you still deny this?” Visser asked the Ktor, her voice tightly controlled.
Shethkador raised his right hand in the classic palms-up sign of uncertainty, his middle finger’s oddly long, tapering fingernail raised like a dagger toward the ceiling. “Did I ever deny it? I seem to recall indicating that I was not disposed to discuss it.”
Caine nodded. “Very well, Ambassador Shethkador, we’ll leave that discussion for another time. But unless you want us to discuss your speciate origins openly with the entirety of the Arat Kur—or perhaps, the whole Accord—you will now send your genuine identity codes to the Homenest leadership.”
Sukhinin started, then nodded. “Of course. This zjulik gave them a false confirmation code when he ‘attempted to contact’ them.”
Shethkador stared out at the stars, at Homenest. “I suppose there is little reason to refuse you this accommodation.”
Caine smiled. “And every reason to comply, if you want us to keep your speciate identity a secret.”
Shethkador looked away. “Keeping our identity is of no consequence to us.”
“Lie. If it wasn’t important, you wouldn’t cooperate in any way.”
“You are quite wrong. We stand to lose nothing by having others know our identity.”
“Nice bluff—but I was born on the planet that invented poker. You want that secret kept because what the Arat Kur claim is true: humans are the killer species they fear, the ones in their legends. But it was you—the Ktor—who were still traveling between the stars, who were slaughtering other races before we were even wondering about how to build pyramids. And if the Arat Kur were to learn that, I wonder how they might start rethinking their positive opinion of you, and their negative opinion of us.”
Shethkador turned and smiled—and Caine noticed that there were flecks of blood or red mixed into his eyes’ light amber irises. “You have admirable skills, Mr. Riordan, but remember to be measured in your requests. It is useful, but not essential, that our speciate identity remains undisclosed. If you make the price of your silence too high, you will receive no concessions at all.”
Caine smiled back, wanting to squeeze the trigger. “So it was you—the Ktor—who almost obliterated Homenest.”
“It would seem that way.”
“And the locals on DeePeeThree? Them too?”
Shethkador’s smile broadened. He shrugged. “Who can say?”
Caine pursued. “Don’t be coy. There are no other alternatives.”
“No? There’s always the possibility of yet another group of humans. If two, why not three? Or five?”
Caine shook his head. “Because if you believed that, you wouldn’t suggest it. You give away no useful information. You’d only bring up the possibility of other human enclaves if you thought it would sow uncertainty and confusion into our planning.”
Shethkador smiled back. “Impressive. One point for you.”
“More than one.”
Shethkador’s eyebrows elevated slightly. “Oh? How so?”
“By just now admitting that there are only two groups of humanity, you’ve told me something else. That you have fairly intact records of the actual history of our species, of how it was that we were in the stars twenty millennia ago, who brought us there, and what we were doing, and why. Otherwise you wouldn’t be so sure that there weren’t other groups.”
Shethkador’s eyebrows lowered. “And therefore, you have deduced a third and final piece of information.”
Caine studied Shethkador’s utterly expressionless features and then nodded. “That you’re not going to share the smallest bit of that history with us.”
Shethkador smiled again. “Such a clever low-breed. It would be interesting to examine your DNA.”
Caine tried to suppress—but couldn’t—the shudder that rippled from the center of his spine out in all directions.
Visser had stepped forward and aggressively planted herself in front of Shethkador. “You will do more than contact the Arat Kur homeworld; you will agree to cease and desist from any interference in our affairs. Which is to say, you will now observe the Accords to which you have pledged yourself.”
Shethkador looked down at her; his smile became a mirthless laugh. “As if any of the races do observe the Accords—with the possible exception of the rather inane Slaasriithi. Although I suspect that even they may bend the rules from time to time. Perhaps by providing a few key pieces of data on other races?” His smile broadened; his eyes narrowed into hers.
Christ. He knows that the Slaasriithi passed us intelligence on the location of the Arat Kur homeworld.
Visser blinked. “I would not know anything about that.”
“Of course not.” He nodded, smiled wider still, looked away. “At any rate, I will make no agreement which limits Ktoran freedom of action. And I think you must ask yourself if exposing our identity is truly in your best interests. Have you considered the cost to yourselves? You may see yourselves as different from us, but your history—your very recent history—argues differently.” Seeing Visser’s lowering brow, he shrugged and provided examples. “The active and then passive extermination of the indigenous peoples of three continents; your biosphere held hostage to absolute thermonuclear destruction as a pawn in the game of empires; the death camps of countless regimes while you were in the first flower of your glorious atomic and information ages; and, less than a century ago, your benign toleration of what you called the ‘megadeath.’ What horror have you not perpetrated against yourselves in the recent past? By extension, what horror will you not perpetrate against others, particularly other species whose ways, appearances, biologies are so different and daunting to such rude minds and sensibilities as yours? Will revealing our speciate identity make heroes of you, or to borrow your metaphor, will revealing us tar you with the same brush?”