“Defensive capability,” Gruonoshe interrupted. “Surely?”
Sal did his best to move his helmeted head in an acknowledging nod, straining his neck muscles in the high gravity. “Defensive capability, as you say,” he said. “If we were able to share some of your knowledge of—”
“Weapons technology is not something we are going to share,” Gruonoshe said crisply.
“We could say we wanted to,” Yawiyuen told them. “We could even mean it — you might argue us round, somehow, to said point of view — but those who control the weapons themselves would not permit it.”
“Well, can we perhaps talk to them?” Saluus asked.
Yawiyuen bobbed over his seat. “No.”
“Why would that be?” Sorofieve asked.
“They don’t talk to aliens,” Yawiyuen told them bluntly.
“They barely talk to us,” Gruonoshe admitted.
“How might we be able to—?” Saluus began.
“We are not the Mercatoria,” Gruonoshe said, interrupting Saluus again. This was not an experience he was used to. He could see how it might get annoying. “We are not the Mercatoria,” the Dweller repeated. He sounded indignant. “We are not one of your states or mercenary- or irrationality-inspired groupings or forces.”
— Bit of stress there, Sal heard in his ear.
“If I may,” Chief Seer Meretiy began. The Seers were under instruction only to take a part in the talks when they felt there was some sort of basic misunderstanding taking place. Meretiy obviously felt that was happening now, but he didn’t get a chance to take his point further.
“What is meant, one believes,” Yawiyuen said, “is that things do not work with us the way that they work with you. We are delegated to speak to you, and what we take from here will be shared with all who wish to take notice. We are not in a position to order other Dwellers to do or not do certain things. No Dweller is, not in the hierarchical sense that you may be used to. We can share information. The information regarding the approach of the Starveling Cultists has been made available to whoever it may concern, as was the information regarding the build-up of Mercatorial forces immediately prior to the unfortunate incident which took place within C-2 Storm Ultra-Violet 3667. Those in charge of the relevant defensive systems will doubtless have taken note of said information. That is really all we can share with you. Our colleagues in charge of the defensive systems would not consider talking to outsiders and there is no precedent for sharing, lending, leasing or giving such technologies to others.”
“You talk of your colleagues in charge of the defensive systems,” Sorofieve said. “But who is in charge of them?”
— And so to the point.
Yawiyuen gave a little bob-shrug. “Nobody is.”
“Somebody has to be,” Sorofieve insisted.
“Why?”
“Well,” Sorofieve said, “how do they know what to do?”
“Lots of training,” Yawiyuen told him.
“But when? When do they know what to do? Who directs them, who decides when it’s time to stop talking and start shooting?”
“They do.”
“They do?” Sorofieve sounded incredulous. “You let your military decide when to go to war?”
— Our sub-master hasn’t done his homework, has he? Sal sent to Liss.
— He may have read, she replied. — He didn’t believe.
Saluus had done as much research as he could into the Dwellers. Amazing how little he’d known. He was smart, well-educated and extremely well-connected and yet he’d been near-shamed by how little he’d known about the creatures that his own species shared the system with. It was as though, having realised how little the Dwellers were concerned with or cared about them, Ulubine humanity had decided to pay them back in the same coin. And this in a Seer system, with more inter-species contact than any save another half-dozen or so similarly favoured, scattered through the galaxy. Yet even here most people didn’t know or want to know much of anything about the Dwellers. There was a large minority who did, but they were seen as slightly embarrassing — nerdy alien-fans. Facing the threat they were, desperately needing the Dwellers’ help, how short-sighted they all seemed now.
And reading up on Dweller society proved the truth of one old cliche for sure: the more you learned, the more you realised how little you knew. (An image of the planet, Liss had suggested when he’d first tried to articulate this feeling; unending depths.)
“Of course our military decide when we go to war,” Gruonoshe said, calm again. “They’re the experts.”
“I think that, if I might be allowed to ‘butt in’,” Chief Seer Meretiy said from his gascraft, “the point at issue is our different ways of looking at our two societies’ military capacity. We -that is, humans, and perhaps one might even presume to speak in this for the whole Mercatoria — regard our military as a tool, to be used by our politicians, who of course rule in the name of all. Conversely, our Dweller friends regard their military as an ancient and venerable calling for those with the relevant vocation, an institution to be honoured for its antiquity which has, almost as an afterthought, the duty of defending Dweller planets from any outside threat. As such, they are like what one might term a ‘fire brigade’, and a volunteer fire brigade, at that, for which no political clearance or oversight is required for it to spring into action, you see? Their raison d’etre is to respond as quickly as possible to emergencies, no more.”
— Fuck me, that actually made a sort of sense, Liss sent.
Just those first two words, delivered in her voice, with her so close behind him, gave Sal the start of an erection. He wondered how strong gravity had to be for hard-ons to become impossible.
“Fire brigades have… leaders, captains, don’t they?” Sorofieve said plaintively, looking from Meretiy to Saluus. “We might talk to them. Mightn’t we?”
Yawiyuen did the little bob-shrug again. “Absolutely not.”
“But we need to!” Sorofieve almost wailed.
“Why?”
“That thing even looks fast,” Guard-General Thovin said, gazing out at the sleek, dark ship from one of the requisitioned liner’s viewing galleries. The stars swung around them. “It have a name?”
“Hull 8770,” Saluus told him. “The military will give it a proper name when it’s time to hand it over. Though it’s a prototype, probably not suitable for full military service.”
“Desperate times,” Thovin said, shrugging, picking something from between his teeth. “Probably get used for something. Even if it’s just a missile.”
That’s what you think, Sal thought. “We haven’t quite got to that stage yet,” he said. They were alone. Thovin had suggested a stroll through the mostly empty ex-civilian ship.
“Think we’re wasting our time here, Kehar?” Thovin swung round to look at Saluus, his near-neckless head raised and tilted to him.
“Talking to the Dwellers?”
“Yes. Talking to the fucking Dwellers.”
“Probably. But then our friend Fassin Taak is probably wasting his time — if he’s still alive — looking for this Transform that probably doesn’t exist.”
“He was your friend, wasn’t he?” the Guard-General said, eyes narrowing. “Old school pals. Right, isn’t it?”
“Yes, we went to school and college together. We’ve kept in touch over the years. Matter of fact, probably the last bit of R and R he got before delving into Nasq. was at my house on Murla.”
“Straight to Guard academy for me,” Thovin said, changing tack again and looking away at the dartlike ship floating in space just outside. “That your escape route, is it, Kehar?” he asked innocently.
Not quite as stupid as you look, are you? Sal thought. “Where to?” he asked, smiling.
“The fuck out of harm’s way, that’s where,” Thovin said. “Keep your head down during the Starveling occupation. Return when it’s safe.”