LITMIR.BIZ

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Koenig said carefully, “if we can use access to the Sh’daar Seeds—meaning through you two—to communicate with the Sh’daar directly. Since you delivered their ultimatum thirty-some years ago, we’ve not been in direct contact. Being able to talk to them might help us avoid needless bloodshed.”

      Not to mention, Koenig added to himself, the extinction of the humans species.

      “It is possible,” Dra’ethde told him, “though it would take time to pass communications from node to node all the way to the old galactic core. We would need to be in contact with another transmission node, however.”

      “Hold up, there,” Koenig said. “What did you just say? ‘Old galactic core’? I’ve not heard that term.”

      “Indeed? We don’t know anything about it either, save that it is what the Sh’daar call their … not homeworld. But the region where their homeworld lies.”

      “Is that the core of this galaxy? What we call the Milky Way?”

      The aliens exchanged a momentary glance of weaving eyestalks. “We don’t know,” Gru’mulkisch said. “It is simply a name. Gu reheh’mek chaash. You would say ‘old galactic core’ or perhaps ‘center of the old galaxy,’ yes-no?”

      The galactic core, Koenig thought, that teeming mass of billions of close-packed stars residing at the heart of the Milky Way, lay roughly 25,000 light years away in the direction of the constellation Sagittarius. It was old, yes—as old as the galaxy, which by best estimates had formed about 12 billion years ago. But why distinguish it as the old core? Or the old galaxy …

      Was Gru’mulkisch suggesting that the Sh’daar had come from a different galaxy?

      That set the hairs at the back of his neck prickling. No one knew quite how large the Sh’daar expanse of space actually was, though intelligence estimates based on interviews with the Agletsch suggested that it embraced something like half of the galaxy—perhaps as much as two thirds, perhaps as little as a quarter. That was big enough … but if they had the technology to travel between galaxies, to come to this one from some other galaxy hundreds of thousands or even millions of light years away …

      What the hell did they mean by “old galactic core”?

      He flagged the term with a mental note. He would forward it to the ONI boys down in Intel and see what they could make of it.

      Koenig considered the two aliens for a moment. First Contact with the Agletsch had occurred in 2312, nearly a century ago, but humans still knew remarkably little about them. The Agletsch as a species were interstellar traders, star-faring merchants, of a sort. Not traders of material goods, of course. One solar system contained much the same in the way of natural resources—water ice, organic volatiles, metals, energy—as the next. Even cultural artifacts—artwork, say, or textiles or gemstones or commercial items of technology—could be carried between the stars far more efficiently as stored patterns of information rather than the original bulk items.

      So the Agletsch traded in information, a kind of universal medium of exchange. And for ninety-three years they’d shared very little about themselves, or about their galactic masters, the Sh’daar. As Koenig understood it, merchants like Dra’ethde and Gru’mulkisch traveled far beyond the borders of their own stellar polities and lived for decades as visitors to other cultures, other civilizations, where they recorded what they could, and determined what, if anything, the new civilization had to trade. One observer had likened them to alien Marco Polos in the courts of alien Khans. Another had once suggested that they were a kind of living Encyclopedia Galactica, slowly accumulating information on all sentient life throughout the galaxy … which they would trade to others in exchange for more such information.

      Had they accidentally let slip that tidbit about the old galaxy? Koenig tried the direct approach. “So tell me … where are the Sh’daar from?”

      Gru’mulkisch twisted her eyestalks in what Koenig had been told was an expression indicating humor—the equivalent of a human smile. “We can’t tell you that, Admiral,” she said. “That data would be extremely valuable, yes-no?”

      “There must be an exchange,” Dra’ethde told him. “We have been asked about this before by your intelligence people. …”

      “And what would you accept in exchange for that information?” Koenig asked.

      “We are not aware of anything you possess worth such an exchange, Admiral,” Gru’mulkisch said. “We regret this … but what you ask is mish’a’ghru. Of first importance, you might say, yes-no?”

      “In fact,” Dra’ethde added, “I regret having mentioned gu reheh’mek chaash at all, and perhaps I was irresponsible in doing so. But since the words will not help you, no harm has been done, yes-no?”

      The phrase translated as “yes-no,” Koenig knew, was what the xenolinguists referred to as an agreement manipulator, a way to get others to agree with you, to be on your side in a conversation, and to disarm any potential hostility. Individually, the Agletsch were more agreeable to talk with than many humans Koenig knew.

      But talking with them tended to lead in unsatisfying circles. Even if the Agletsch translator units perfectly shifted between the English and Agletsch languages, there was a hell of a lot missing on both sides simply because of differences in culture, attitude, and worldview.

      Koenig wondered how much of their professional reticence was due to business considerations, and how much to the fact that both of them carried Sh’daar Seeds that, no doubt, were listening in on this conversation and recording it.

      “We are about to emerge from Alcubierre Drive,” he told them. “I can’t allow you on the bridge or in the CIC, but I’ve given orders to dress the crew’s lounge for external view, and you can watch from there.”

      “Thank you, Admiral.”

      “My senior aide, Lieutenant Commander Nahan Cleary, will be with you. If I have questions of you two, I’ll pass them to him. Okay?”

      “Quite acceptable, Admiral.”

      “And if either of you have insights about what’s happening, I’d appreciate it if you could share them with him. Such information will be considered to be under the terms of your contract.”

      “Of course, Admiral.”

      The two Agletsch had volunteered to accompany America and her battlegroup on this mission as guides—which meant that they were expected to share data with Koenig and his officers without the need to haggle over the informational price of each item. His understanding was that the Agletsch mission on Earth had been “paid” for their services with several exabytes of information drawn from the New Library of Congress in Columbus, and from the British Library in High London. He wondered what, specifically, the Agletsch had learned in exchange for the services of these two.

      No matter. He expected them to deliver.

      “You’re certain,” Koenig said, “that you have nothing to add to your report about this system we’re about to enter?”

      “Quite certain, Admiral,” Gru’mulkisch said. “We know that the system is of importance within the Sh’daar network, but we’ve not been here before. We do not believe it to be inhabited, but cannot tell you if it is defended, or if there is a military base or outpost.”

      “In fact, we hope to acquire profit here ourselves,” Dra’ethde added. “Yes-no?”

      By profit, Koenig assumed the Agletsch was referring to new information, something even the Agletsch did not know.

      “What happened to the Chelk,” Koenig told them, “might well happen to my species. If you two learn anything new, I’ll expect you to share it with us. I will invoke the contract if I must.”

      “We understand this, Admiral.” Gru’mulkisch sounded almost contrite … or possibly cautious,

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