They reached the main building and were shown into a large, if spartan, meeting room, containing office chairs around a gray table, and the flag of the Republic of Espenia hanging on one wall. Secretary Corris, whom Hilo recognized from media photos, was already in the room, engaged in a conversation with another man that Shae whispered quickly was Ambassador Gregor Mendoff. The secretary and ambassador broke off their discussion and came over to shake hands. Quire Corris was a typical broad-chested, blue-eyed Espenian man who Hilo thought looked almost the same as Mendoff, without the mustache. Like many Espenians, he spoke animatedly, barely pausing long enough for the translator standing at his elbow to finish relaying his words, but there was also a certain reserve in his manner, a calculating, mercenary quality in his frank gaze. It wasn’t that the Espenians were greedy, precisely, Hilo thought, but they always seemed to be holding back some human warmth, shrewdly considering how to make the deals to get what they wanted.
Chancellor Son and a handful of other members of the Royal Council were also present. “Kaul-jen,” said Son, saluting him. If Secretary Corris and the other Espenians were surprised at either the Pillar’s youth relative to the other men in the room, or the deference paid to him by the official head of government, they were careful not to show it.
Besides the leaders of No Peak, there was one other individual in the room wearing jade: General Ronu Yasugon, senior military advisor to the Royal Council, and perhaps the only person in Kekonese government who could be said to be an exception to the ironclad cultural and legal prohibition against jade in political office. This one violation was deemed acceptable because, like medicine, martial education, and religious penitence, joining the Kekonese military was one of the few ways for a Green Bone to honorably renounce clan oaths and pledge loyalty to another calling. Unlike those other professions, however, jade-wearing individuals could not go into military service straight after graduation; they were expected to spend at least one year as a Finger. The clans made certain that most of the young jade talent went first to them; after a certain period, less promising Fingers were subtly or not-so-subtly encouraged to serve their country in uniform. General Ronu was an exception; he’d left the Mountain as a junior Fist to begin a military career eighteen years ago, and he wore more jade than most officers—a watch with six stones set into the steel band. He saluted Hilo, and the Pillar touched his forehead in greeting. “General.”
When everyone was seated, Secretary Corris began the meeting by talking about what a pleasant and productive visit he’d enjoyed, and thanking the government and the people of Kekon for being such generous hosts. He spoke at length about the importance of Kekon-Espenia relations and the premier’s commitment to continued strengthening of the political, economic, and military alliance between their two nations. “As different as our history and cultures are, we have one crucial thing in common,” said Corris, pausing to allow the translator to catch up. “A fierce sense of national pride and independence, and an equally fierce loyalty to our friends and allies.”
Those were at least two things, not one, Hilo felt like pointing out, but Ambassador Mendoff nodded and smiled in agreement, and the Kekonese listened politely to the foreigner’s hyperbole. Corris cleared his throat and said in a graver tone, “As you know, gentlemen—and ladies,” he added with a quick glance at Shae, “the Republic of Espenia has committed considerable resources to defending the sovereignty of Shotar against Ygutanian expansionism. Unfortunately, at this point in the campaign, it’s clear that we still have a long way to go to win the war in Oortoko.”
This was a rather significant admission. The Espenians, ever confident in their military might, had anticipated victory in Oortoko within a year. The eastern Shotarian province, however, was proving to be a difficult battleground for them. The terrain was hot, arid, and mountainous with plenty of places for the rebels to hide their camps and blend in among the civilian population. The ROE was unparalleled in the world in naval strength and also boasted a massive quantity of ground troops and bombs, but they were not accustomed to guerrilla warfare against entrenched enemies.
Colonel Deiller spoke up. “Due to the nature of the military engagement, small, nimble, special operations teams are proving the key to success in the Oortokon conflict. The physical and extrasensory advantages afforded by bioenergetic Kekonese jade allow our elite forces to operate with greater precision and effectiveness, thus minimizing civilian casualties.”
Hilo’s eyes narrowed in impatience. Was this entire meeting another of the foreigners’ attempts to persuade Kekon to sell them more jade? Shae had already made it clear to Mendoff and Deiller that the Kekon Jade Alliance would not be increasing quotas.
Secretary Corris raised his hands. “Now, I understand the issue of jade exports has been discussed at length before, and although my government is disappointed we can’t see eye to eye, we appreciate the pressures you face from prevailing public sentiment about the preservation of your natural resources. What we haven’t fully discussed yet is the potential for Kekon to provide military support in Oortoko.”
A frisson of discomfort traveled through the Kekonese side of the room. Chancellor Son leaned forward and placed his ample elbows on the table. “Secretary,” he said, speaking slowly for the translator, “we’re honored by your visit and we value the relationship between our nations, but you must understand: We are a small island nation. We’ve never committed aggression against other countries. In fact, as General Ronu can explain, our military is not designed for such things.”
Ronu was sitting slightly behind and to the left of the chancellor. At the sign that he’d been given permission to speak, he straightened and said, “We maintain a modest force of sixty thousand active-duty personnel to defend Kekon’s surrounding waters, airspace, and borders.” It was, indeed, a small number even for a country of only twelve million people. The military was accorded nominal respect, but hardly considered a vital national institution by the Kekonese.
“I think that’s rather understating the matter, isn’t it, Chancellor?” said Ambassador Mendoff, once Son’s and Ronu’s words had been smoothly relayed into Espenian. “Your official army includes several thousand personnel equipped with bioenergetic jade. And your real combat strength lies in the civilian population. When you take that into account, it’s no exaggeration to say you have the largest reserve force of jade-enhanced soldiers in the world.”
The discomfort deepened. Chancellor Son tugged at the collar of his shirt and glanced at Hilo, who was the only other person on the Kekonese side seated directly at the table in a position to speak with the same authority as Son. Slightly behind and to either side of him, Hilo could sense the aura of his Weather Man crackling with wary vexation and the rumble of displeasure from his Horn. The Espenians were astute—they understood that Kekon’s actual fighting capability was to be found in the ranks of the Green Bone clans—but their arrogance was staggering and offensive.