Michael Swanwick's Periodic Table of Science Fiction

Rubidium

85.4678

Glass Beads

At first glance, the system appeared to be full of comets. Rooster-tails

of light flared everywhere and in every direction, as if the inner worlds

were under cosmic bombardment from all sides. But spectrophotometer

readings revealed the "comets" to be pure ionized rubidium. "Which means

what?" the War Captain asked.

"Ion drives, ma'am," I said. "Rubidium can be a liquid at room

temperature, and it's easily ionized. This system's occupied. By

primitives."

She swore. "My orders are to disassemble the planets, build a ring of

exotic matter around the sun, and convert this system to an Entelechy

Gun."

"The natives aren't going to like that, ma'am."

"Damn it, my career's on the line here! Open negotiations with them, find

out what they want for their system, and then give it to them!"

So I did. The locals were a handsome young octopedal race with twin

brains and the ability to perceive across three-quarters of the

electromagnetic spectrum. I made contact, explained what we wanted, and

sat down to haggle. Three thousand years later, it was done.

"What did you have to pay them?" the War Captain asked when I returned.

"Star travel, immortality, a cultural upgrade to Class Three

civilization, the meaning of life, and their choice of any three galaxies

within a five billion light-year radius."

The War Captain stared at me for a long, unblinking moment. Then she

snorted and turned away.

"Well, at least you didn't give them anything valuable!"