"It seems to have caught hold of me. Are you familiar with her?" I asked.
"With Tanner?" Her face glowed. "Yes! One of the most fascinating characters of the period."
"She started out as a pacifist," I said. "And ended up in the war. What happened? Do you know?"
Quinda crossed one leg over the other and bent forward energetically. I could see Tanner would be a favorite subject. "She was never a pacifist, Alex. She felt the war was unnecessary, and wanted to see a serious attempt made to negotiate. The Sims weren’t much interested in that approach."
"Why not?"
"Because they believed any attempt at conciliation, while the mutes had the upper hand—really had the upper hand—would be interpreted as a sign of weakness. Against a human opponent, they’d have been right. But against the mutes, maybe not. Tanner knew as much as anyone did then about the enemy, and she thought they could be talked to."
"How did she end up in Sim’s navy?"
"That’s easy. Somehow, she got to Sim, I don’t know how, and persuaded him to let her try to negotiate with the mutes. The fact that he went along should tell you that she was reasonably persuasive."
"But obviously things didn’t work out."
"He agreed to let her meet with the mute commander, Mendoles Barosa.
"The site was a crater on an unnamed moon in a fringe system that neither side cared about. Tanner was the only one the Confederates had who’d traveled among the mutes, the only one who could communicate with them, and, most important, the only one who could guard her thoughts against them.
"Sim and Barosa circled overhead while she met with a mute negotiator. Tanner reported later that she and the mute envoy were very close to working out an agreement within the restrictions Sim had imposed on her, when she learned that the mutes would accept no deal that did not include the surrender of Christopher Sim for assorted barbarities and war crimes.
"They got nowhere on that issue, and Sim broke off the meeting. The mutes responded by attacking, and occupying, two nominally neutral worlds which had, in reality, been supporting the Dellacondans with weapons, crews, and money. A lot of people died. And Tanner was left feeling responsible for it all.
"She reacted by throwing herself wholeheartedly into the common defense. Maurina Sim, in her diaries, says that Tanner never forgave the mutes. And that no one prosecuted that war with a more unrelenting fury."
It was well into the early morning when we climbed into the skimmer and started back across the city. We were both tired by then, and the conversation dwelt on trivialities. I could see that her thoughts were far distant. At the end of the flight, as we circled down onto the roof of her apartment complex, I brought her abruptly back into focus: "Quinda, I spoke with one of the Ashiyyur yesterday. In person."
All the warmth drained from her face. "You’re not serious," she said, in a voice that was deadly flat.
I hesitated, confused by her reaction. "Yes," I said, my own temper going up a notch or two. "One of the people from the Maracaibo Caucus."
"Alex, you didn’t really do that." She radiated shock, anger, disappointment.
"Why not?" I asked. "What’s wrong?"
"My God, Alex," she whispered. "What have you done?"
XI.
We frequently refer to Imarios' revolt as "fateful," presumably in the sense that, without it, these two centuries of unremitting hostility and occasional war would not have happened. But consider the rough technological balance between the two cultures, their mutual expansionist tendencies and assumptions of destiny, and the personal antipathy inevitably experienced by individuals of either species in the presence of the other: how could it have been otherwise? If ever two societies were intended by nature to confront each other, and to settle the issue in Darwinian combat, those two societies are Ashiyyurean and human.
"AND YOU DID not ask her to explain why she was upset?"
"No, Jacob. She didn’t really appear to be in a mood to respond to questions."
"I see one connection. Remember the claim that Artis Llandman’s expedition was destroyed by the machinations of the Ashiyyur. It appears to me that your Quinda Arin is concerned that you may have exposed information of consequence."
"But what? I don’t know anything."
"I would say she thinks you do. In any case, I have some news. We may be able to get more information on Tanner. Maybe find out what she was doing during the missing years. Please attend the monitor."
The lights dimmed, and a message formed:
ANGI54IY66133892Ir 261 MARNET PLACE, TEUFMANOIL
MR BENEDICT. I HAVE MATERIAL ON LEISHA TANNER THAT YOU MAY FIND OF INTEREST. I AM IN POSSESSION OF A CERTIFIED COPY OF HER JOURNALS COVERING THE YEARS 1202-1219. I WILL NOT COPY THE DOCUMENT, NOR WILL I ALLOW IT OUT OF MY HANDS. IF YOU ARE INTERESTED IN EXAMINING IT, WITH A VIEW TO PURCHASE, PLEASE RESPOND TO ROUTING CODE ABOVE.
HAMEL WRICHT
"It came during the night. It’s a response to a general query I sent out several days ago. But somebody’s going to have to go get it."
"Why? Let’s just link in and get a look at it."
"I’ve already suggested that." Jacob flashed a second message on the screen, the gist of which was: YOUR SUGGESTION WOULD EXPOSE THE ARTIFACT TO POSSIBLE COPYING. REGRET I CANNOT COMPLY.
"That doesn’t make sense," I said. "We could only copy what we could see. It wouldn’t be much."
"Do you wish to send another message?"
"I’ll talk to him myself."
"He’s not on the net, Alex. You can’t reach him directly. Except maybe on the transcom."
"Do it," I said. "Where’s the closest terminal?"
"At a hotel in Teufmanoil. I expected you would wish to respond, so I’ve already tried them. They say the address is outside town somewhere and they’d have to send someone out to get him and bring him in. They don’t sound anxious to do it."
"A recluse," I grumbled. "Is this something other than the Notebooks? Did she keep journals, too?"
"Apparently she did," offered Jacob.
"All the writing she seems to have done, it’s a wonder she had time for anything else. Find out how much Wricht wants for the thing, and buy it."
"Alex." Jacob adopted a tone that suggested he was about to talk sense with me. "Artifacts of this nature, as you very well know, are inordinately expensive. And there’s quite a good chance it isn’t even legitimate." The message blinked off. "I don’t wish to tell you your business—" he said.
"Thank you, Jacob. Where’s Teufmanoil?"
"In the Sulyas."
He couldn’t entirely hide his amusement. The Sulyas are halfway around the globe. "Okay," I said. "I’ll go see him."
"Good," said Jacob. "I’ve booked the late afternoon flight."
I crossed two oceans, and landed about midnight local time at Wetherspur on the eastern flank of the Sulya Ridge. It was quite cold, high in the northern hemisphere. When I stepped out of the intercontinental, the air was literally heavy with frost. It was like walking into a wall.
I caught an airbus and, by morning, I was in Teufmanoil. It was a resort town, a skiing village. Despite the frigid weather, the snow on the slopes was thin. The sun was bright in a cloudless sky, and the streets were packed with people on their way to the slopes.