6: THE DIPLOMATS

...It soon became apparent that the Democracy had taken on the proportion of a Frankenstein monster unleashed by Man upon himself. Almost every galactic office of influence was held by nonhuman races, and Man found himself dealing from a position of weakness heretofore unknown to him. To retain what political and economic power still remained, the diplomats took on new powers and functions, becoming not merely ambassadors but actual policy makers, as in the case of...

—Man: Twelve Millennia of Achievement

...Never one to take setbacks lightly, even those that occurred as a result of a galaxy-wide enfranchisement and the subsequent democratic restructuring, Man soon developed his Diplomatic Corps. Ostensibly they were ambassadors of goodwill whose sole purpose was to make new allies and iron out misunderstandings with old ones, but in actuality...

—Origin and History of the Sentient Races, Vol. 8

Eleven hundred years, reflected Hermione Chatham-Smythe, was a long time to be without glory.

She looked at one of the viewing screens as her ship sped through space, and a thousand million stars blurred into one huge sparkling curtain. Some of those stars Man had lost, others he still held. But he hungered for all of them, hungered so greatly that he could almost taste them.

The empty, gnawing lust was not new. Man had felt it before, had probably been born with it. And like a strong young giant, he had stalked across the galaxy, grasping at all within his reach. But in his youthful eagerness, he had grabbed more than his hand could hold, and bit by bit it began slipping away. Where once he had held twelve thousand worlds in his hand and reached for more, now he possessed a mere nine hundred, and had been seeking, for fifty generations, only to regain what had formerly been his.

The worlds were valuable in and of themselves, but were even more valuable as a symbol, a testament to Man's primacy.

And Man would get them back. Even now, with his back to the wall, he dreamed not of survival, but of laying claim once again to his galactic birthright. Success wouldn't come as easily as it had in the heyday of the Republic, but it would be built more carefully this time, more solidly; it would be built to last as long as Man himself.

And Man planned to last a long, long time.

The first steps were simple: Man consolidated what holdings remained to him. Bit by bit he began expanding again, but never did he move on to a new world or system until the last one was made secure. And always in Man's mind was the knowledge that pitted against him was an entire galaxy, a galaxy he had helped to unite in opposition to his claim upon it. It was a galaxy that, in whole or in part, still needed his trade, his science, his drive. But it was also a galaxy that was no longer playing by Man's ground rules.

Which, sighed Hermione, was whereshe came in.

She flicked an intercom device beside her and spoke into it. “Much longer?”

“About two more hours,” replied the pilot. “Are there any final orders concerning our approach?”

“Not if our information was correct. As soon as we're close enough to see or sense what's going on, come to a dead stop.”

She turned back to the viewing screen. Somewhere up ahead was her destination, the site of a very minor little war between two very minor little races. And the powers-that-be on Deluros VIII (Earth had not been abandoned, but the bureaucracy had long since outgrown it) had decided that one or both races needed a friend. At least one thing Kipchoge Ngana had predicted two millennia ago had come to pass: Although Man's military and economic power was minimal compared to that portion of the galactic races that were arrayed against him, he was still the single most powerful race around. Which meant, of course, that as long as his relations with other races were on a one-to-one basis, he was usually able to call the shots.

Just under two hours later the pilot informed her that they were entering the system that housed the Ramorians’ home planet. Hermione sent for Commodore Lucius Barnes, her young, super-efficient military adviser. “Does our basic information check out?” she asked when he arrived.

“Pretty much so,” replied Barnes. “Ramor is not too different from Earth: about ten percent smaller, slightly higher oxygen content, rotates on its axis once every nineteen hours, solar year seems to be about 322 days or thereabouts. Theoretically, at least, they speak Galactic-O.”

That last was a relief. No single language could be accommodated by all the varied races of the galaxy, but great strides had been made in the field of communications, foremost of which were the development of Galactic O, C, M, G, and N, the letters standing for Oxygen, Chlorine, Methane, Guttural, and Nonclassifiable. Almost ninety-five percent of the sentient races breathed either oxygen, chlorine, or methane, and one couldn't expect a crystalline methane breather to be able to produce the same explosive sounds as a carbon-based oxygen-breather, and so on. So five forms of Galactic had been developed, and most of the races were capable of speaking in at least one of the variations. There never had been, and probably never would be, a translating mechanism that would instantaneously, or even slowly, translate the sense of every native language, but every galactic traveler possessed an incredibly miniaturized T-pack which could give immediate translations of Galactic. No more than one race in five even knew of the existence of the Galactic languages, but even that percentage made the traveler's work much easier.

“Can we assess the situation yet?” asked Hermione.

“Yes, ma'am,” responded Barnes. “There are six planets in the system. Ramor itself has two moons, and the fifth planet, a giant, has eleven. Most of them are colonized, and our spectroscopic analysis indicates that all of them could be mined for iron and some of the rarer metals, which is probably the purpose of the colonies. At this moment, the third and seventh moons of the fifth planet are under attack by what seems to be a rather small expeditionary force.”

“That would be the Teroni,” interposed Hermione.

“What have we got on Teron, ma'am?”

“Chlorine-breathers. Teron is in the nearest star system, some two parsecs away. We once controlled the fourth planet from their sun, but never had any interest in Teron, which is the ninth planet. From what we've been able to determine, Teron and Ramor had an agreement that allowed Ramor to mine the second planet in Teron's system, while the Teroni were given mining rights to the moons of Ramor's fifth planet. We don't know exactly what happened next, but six years ago all mining forces were withdrawn, all embassies closed, and all diplomatic relations broken off. Since that time there have been a number of minor skirmishes between the two races, but no all-out war as yet.”

“Why not?”

“The Teroni would ultimately win, but not without first absorbing some devastating losses.”

“Then why are we in Ramor's system rather than Teron's?” asked Barnes.

“Because,” said Hermione, “it would appear that Ramor is in greater need of a big brother with muscle. Neither system has been willing to trade with Man for centuries, and both have some agricultural goods and rare earths that we need. My orders, which are delightfully vague, are simply to open up a line of trade with one or both of them. How I do so is my own business.”

“And have you any ideas based on what we know?”

“Indeed I do,” said Hermione. “In your considered opinion, how do their military ships stack up to this one?”

“No contest,” came the quick reply. “According to our readout, it would take about twenty of them just to put a dent in us.”

“And you consider there to be little or no difference between the Ramorian ships and those of the Teroni?”

“In structure, they're totally different,” said Barnes. “In capabilities, they're two sides of the same coin.”

“Now, as I understand it,” said Hermione, “the Teroni have a fleet of some fifty-five military ships, while the Ramorians have thirty-two.”

“In that case,” said Barnes, “neither has enough to adequately defend its own system against an all-out attack by the other. Sooner or later, one of the ships would have to get through.”

“I agree,'’ said Hermione. “Which is why they've limited their skirmishes to the mining colonies. It seems to be an unspoken rule of the game that massive attacks and massive retaliations are to be avoided at all costs. Tell me: How many Teroni ships are in the area of the Ramorian moons right now?”

“Sixteen that we've been able to spot; possibly one or two more.”

“That ought to be enough,” mused Hermione. Then: “Would you please open up a line of communication with Ramor for me?'’

A few moments later she was conversing with a man who, if not the head of the Ramorian planetary government, was at least authorized to speak for that personage.

“The shipHaiti , out of Deluros VIII, race of Man, bids you welcome,” said Hermione.

“We bid theHaiti welcome,” came the reply, “and respectfully request its purpose.”

“Too long have our races lived in mutual isolation,” said Hermione, being very careful that she allowed for no misinterpretation of her Galactic-O. “We humbly suggest that the time has come for our races to renew our brotherhood and open our space routes to free trade once again. As a gesture of our goodwill, we bear a cargo consisting of machines that will synthesize artificial fabrics, which we know that your miners will value highly. We ask nothing in return except the right of free trade with you.”

“I am afraid that is out of the question,” replied the Ramorian. “Centuries ago our people had a taste of what free trade with Man means, and the memory of it still stings bitterly. You will not be molested, but you are forbidden to land on any world in our system. We appreciate your gesture of friendship, but we cannot and will not accept this or any other inducement to reopen any form of commerce with Deluros VIII or any other planet housing the race of Man.”

Hermione cut the communication off, then turned to Barnes.

“Ma'am?”

“I think the time has come for a more forceful gesture,” she said. “You say there are sixteen Teroni ships attacking the moons of the fifth planet. Can we destroy about a dozen of them without any great risk to ourselves?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then have the crew do so, and chase the Teroni survivors out of this system in the general direction of their home planet.”

TheHaiti reached the beleaguered moons in a matter of minutes.

With no warning whatsoever it blasted five Teroni ships out of existence before they even knew it was among them.

With theHaiti's speed, maneuvering power, and defenses, the remainder of the job was just a mop-up action. Its armaments—the end product of an arms race that had existed since the first caveman discovered the first femur bone—were devastating, and a few moments’ time saw it chasing the four surviving ships back toward Teron.

“Is there any way we can fake a disabling hit to theHaiti ?” asked Hermione.

“Right now?” asked Barnes.

“Well, before the Teroni are beyond sight and sensor range. Then have the ship limp back to Ramor just fast enough so that they can't overhaul it.”

The pilot did as Barnes instructed, and the Teroni returned to their home planet with the false knowledge that theHaiti wouldn't be able to do too much damage until repairs were made.

Before long, Hermione was once again in communication with the Ramorian spokesman.

“The shipHaiti, out of Deluros VIII, race of Man, sends you greetings and felicitations.”

“Our position remains unchanged,” was the terse reply.

“We do not doubt your sincerity,” said Hermione. “But to prove our own goodwill toward all the people of Ramor, we have recently engaged a number of Teroni ships in the vicinity of the moons of your fifth planet.”

“And?” The radio didn't record it, but Hermione had a strong suspicion that there was a long gulp in there somewhere.

“And we achieved a stunning triumph for the people of Ramor. We flew no colors, so the glory of victory will be credited solely to your planetary government. We trust you will accept this as a further proof of our friendship, and—”

“Did you destroy them all?” came the imperative question.

“Let me consult my figures,” said Hermione, smiling as she allowed the Ramorian spokesman to sweat for an extra minute. “No,” she said at last. “But twelve Teroni ships were totally demolished with absolutely no Ramorian casualties. Four ships did indeed escape, but we have doubtless secured your mining colonies for the foreseeable future.”

“You're sure four of them escaped?”

“Yes,” said Hermione calmly. “We could have hunted them down, but how else would the tyrants of Teron know that they may no longer harass our Ramorian friends with impunity?”

Something resembling a groan came across the radio.

“And now, to further show our goodwill, theHaiti will return to Deluros VIII, and will never again trespass into Ramorian space until such time as you, our brethren, actively pursue a trading treaty. We bid you farewell, and earnestly wish that your Deity may smile upon you.”

She cut communications, and was not surprised to note an immediate attempt to reopen them.

“Wait!” came the Ramorian's frantic supplication. “You can't leave our system now!”

“Why not?” asked Hermione innocently. “We realize that it will doubtless take you time to consider all the implications of our act of brotherhood. We are prepared to wait until you come to us freely and openly. It is not Man's way to apply force of any type.”

“But what if the Teroni return? They still outnumber us!”

“Why would they return?” asked Hermione sweetly. “Not only did we teach them new respect for the forces of Ramor, but they have never previously launched an all-out attack on you.”

“They were never so blatantly provoked before,” said the Ramorian bitterly.

“I feel,” said Hermione, “that your worries are needless. After all, I am certain that the four Teroni survivors were too far away to tell that our ship was severely crippled.”

“Please explain yourself!” came the desperate demand.

“As we were pursuing the survivors, a chance shell exploded against our hull, crippling us. But I'm sure the Teron could not have seen it happen. After all, they were some ten million miles away when it occurred.”

“Their sensing devices have a range of twice that distance!” said the Ramorian. “Now they'll know that it is safe to retaliate against us! They can be here in less than two days!”

“I'm so sorry!” exclaimed Hermione. “The repairs required to make our ship totally efficient again would take less than half a day, but I fear the journey to Deluros VIII, in our present condition, will consume almost a year. If only there were some other place where we might make repairs...”

“Please stand by,” said the Ramorian. The radio went dead for a few minutes, then came on again. “I have been instructed to inform you that you will be permitted to make your repairs on Ramor, or in orbit about us if that is more convenient to you.”

“How charitable of you,” said Hermione. “However, I realize that we have blundered and caused you considerable mental and emotional distress by our meddling. Therefore, I feel it would be unfair to impose on you any further. No, we will follow our original plan and return to Deluros VIII, to repair the ship and await your decision about the reopening of trade.”

“But the Teroni will destroy us!”

“Surely you overestimate them,” said Hermione. “However, if you were to consider an immediate trading treaty, we would, as a further gesture of brotherhood, remain in your star system until such time as the Teroni are convinced that Ramor is virtually invincible.”

Hermione leaned back, shut her eyes, and smiled. It was too bad, she decided, that neither the Ramorians nor Galactic had an analog word for “blackmail.”

Within two hours, Hermione Chatham-Smythe, ambassador-at-large, and the premier of Ramor's planetary government had affixed their signatures to a treaty that once again allowed Man to deal commercially with the inhabitants of the Ramorian system.

After sending the news on to Deluros VIII, Hermione invited the pilot and Commodore Barnes up to her suite for a brandy.

“Where to next ma'am?” asked the pilot.

“It's been quite a long time since we've established a reciprocal trade agreement with any chlorine-breathers in this sector. I'm sure that, given time, we can convince our Teroni brethren of our friendship and good intentions. Don't you agree?”

She smiled sweetly and took a sip from her delicate longstemmed glass.