"And that the Rooshrike themselves don't get ideas."
Meredith grimaced. "There's that, too."
"A truly great joke," the young Whist said, snapping his ripper claw with a gesture of extreme pleasure.
"A great joke, indeed," the older Whist facing him on the viewscreen agreed.
"Second only to the finding of the Spinneret itself."
"True. And the M'zarch are normally such humorless people."
"We should send a representative to Rooshrike space to see this thing."
The young Whist pondered a moment. "But such an action will have no humor at all to it," he said, touching a control with his leftmost antenna. Above his compatriot's face a map appeared, accompanied by a list of numbers. "The predictor calculates an eighty-nine fraction that the Whissst will take such an action."
"I understand your reluctance, my scion. But you must learn the fact that not all one's actions may be humorous. In this case it is more profitable to have a representative available to observe than to extract a joke from the situation.
Besides"—the older Whist twitched his antennae—"who knows what jokes the Spinneret has yet to offer?"
"True. I would rather take humorous action when dealing with offworlders, but I accept your logic. I will place my calls."
"Good." The screen blanked.
The young Whist wasted no time in keying the first number onto the screen, but even so the monitor informed him there would be a slight delay. Small wonder, with each of his same-year brothers trying to call their assigned less-year kin, each of whom would call five others … and likely other families had received the word and were engaged in similar operations. The pyramid was undoubtedly an efficient way to pass news, but there was no humor whatsoever in its practical application: the lines always jammed.
Still … Gazing at the map, the young Whist brightened. Even if the Whissst were expected to go to Astra, the ships could trace a curve past Rooshrike space and come in from the same direction as the Orspham. A small joke, to be sure; but small was better than nothing.
The line cleared and the summons tone sounded. Settling his claws in the proper posture for greeting a less-year brother, he waited for the other to answer.
On the Pom home world the news went out as a rippling series of sonar waves, amplified at thousands of strategic points along their journey until they reached every reef and wavetop of the mighty ocean. To assemble the people took far longer, even with the speed and tirelessness Poms prided themselves on. The discussion could have been held more simply, of course, via either the sonic amplifiers or the emergency ELF radio equipment. But from time immemorial a Gathering had been the required form for dealing with major issues … and a threat to Pom borders definitely qualified as a major issue.
"It is not a threat to us," the Prime Male insisted, swimming a convoluted path among the assembled Poms as he assessed popular agreement with his point of view. "We need not act. The Humans and their Spinneret are the object of interest.
Pom territory is not threatened."
"Is it not?" the Prime Female countered from her own path. "What of the possible violation of Pom space by aliens? Astra is approachable only through Rooshrike or Pom space, and the Rooshrike are well known as fierce and jealous warriors within their own borders. Will not invaders thus choose to travel Pom space instead?"
"Space is free," the Prime Male insisted. "We have no indication Pom worlds or ships would be threatened."
"See the opportunity for advancement," the Second Female suggested, her path interweaving that of the Prime Female to indicate their basic agreement. "The Spinneret cable has many potential uses, as do the other technologies involved. To purchase from the Humans will undoubtedly prove easier than to purchase from a successful invader."
"To strengthen our border defense thus serves our interests twice," the Prime Female added.
"It is interstellar politics," the Prime Male said. "No concern to Poms."
The discussion lasted nearly a day, but at the end of it over half of the assembled Poms were swimming intertwining paths with the Prime Female. The voting finished, the Gathering was dispersed, and the Prime Male relayed their decision to the messenger ship circling high above the waves.
Within a few days the ships began to gather at the border, sealing off Pom space as had never before been done in peacetime.
From that direction, at least, the Spinneret would be safe from invasion.
For the Orspham there was no disagreement whatsoever. The M'zarch had tried to take Astra, and the Orspham would do all they could to make sure there would be no further attempts along such lines. A diplomatic mission would be sent immediately to the Humans' home world to offer defensive military assistance; a military force would wait just outside Rooshrike space for permission from both Humans and Rooshrike to proceed to Astra.
It wasn't simply the traditional rivalry that prompted such a response. Even the Orspham recognized the M'zarch nose for valuables; and if the M'zarch thought the Spinneret worth risking war with the Rooshrike over, it must be very valuable indeed. Until the Orspham had ascertained the full extent and particulars of this value, it was merely good sense to keep the planet out of M'zarch hands.
The Orspham might be slow, but they weren't stupid.
Of all the races in the area, it was the Ctencri who perhaps saw clearest the full implications of both the M'zarch attempt and its failure.
Mentally replaying the Rooshrike report, First Trader Sen held a semarin vial to his nostrils. A technical act of war, he thought miserably. And repulsed by the Humans through direct use of the Spinneret technology. Military use, right from word one.
It wasn't exactly an unexpected development—all technology could be adapted to warfare, after all. But now the military applications would be uppermost in everyone's minds, and that would complicate sales efforts tremendously. Demand would certainly go up, as no one would want to be caught without weapons or defenses others already possessed. But balancing that would be the climate of tension the Ctencri would have to work in.
And, of course, there was always the uncomfortable possibility that a race with genuine interstellar capabilities would gain total control of the technology. For the Humans to be given adequate defenses without simultaneously providing them with offensive capabilities was going to be a sticky problem, particularly as the Humans couldn't be allowed to suspect they were being treated like rash cubs.
Well. The first thing that would be needed would be faster communication between Earth and her colony. It was strict policy to keep the more advanced star drives away from younger races, but with some maneuvering the plans could
"accidentally" fall into Human hands … No. No, it would be both faster and safer to simply provide them a pair of unarmed courier ships with sealed drives. As free gifts, the First Trader decided; a gesture of goodwill that would subtly put them into Ctencri debt.
The semarin vial was empty, the volatile perfume having apparently evaporated several minutes ago without Sen noticing. Tossing the vial toward the recycler opening, he hummed on the intercom and ordered Secretary-General Saleh to be contacted.
It was an odd feeling, a detached part of Saleh's mind noticed, to be at the same time greatly relieved and absolutely furious. The M'zarch will pay for this, he thought blackly. By all that is holy, they will pay.
With a supreme effort, he choked down his rage, bleeding it off to a halfunconscious pool where it could simmer until the time for vengeance was ripe. He thought in silence for several minutes; then, picking up his phone, he punched President Allerton's secure number.
"I've just received a message from the Ctencri, Mr. President," he said, dispensing entirely with the usual social pleasantries. "A force of M'zarch soldiers has tried to overrun Astra."