were always present, people either sent here by various interests ranging from commercial to political—his chief of security, Dortland, had given him a small watch list—or persons born here and ambitious for advancement they couldn’t get under his administration: his personal list of the latter ilk started with one Lyle Nazrani, who had his financial fingers in the new station construction, who was high up in the banking industry, and who’d raised hell about the arena contractors and a dozen other issues in the new station construction, anything to get on the news. There was a man who’d lose no time getting a private interview with Mr. Ambassador Gide, and Reaux was equally determined not to let that happen.
Say what Earth would, however, and no matter what politicking might advance some party on Earth or some ambitious idiot on station—the ondat presence had a major say in matters on Concord, too. The ondat always had a major say at Concord, and might just very easily decide, for at least a decade, that they viewed Concord as still within their sphere of territory, in which case . . .
In which case the shadowy presence that existed within their sealed section might pull that section off, as they had done, once and twice in the worst times of Concord’s history, when the whole fragile peace had nearly shattered. Let Earth remember that, if Earth wanted to interfere with Concord’s smooth running. The Fo r g e o f H e a v e n • 6 7
ondat might suddenly move in a warship and exert a greater power over Concord administration and over what ships came and went, all Earth’s ambitions be damned, and never mind the local human economy. That had happened more than twice—economic disaster, from which Concord had taken decades to recover.
And no one wanted to think of a situation that might cause that quiet presence, that sometimes amusing, sometimes sinister presence, to wake up and become actively involved. They lived with the ondat . Concorders saw the sleek, frighteningly massive ships that slid up to the station at irregular intervals and did their business, saying nothing, having no intercourse with any human. They knew that, beyond the walls of that independent section, something lived that veiled itself in shadow, in ammonia-reeking murk, and carried on inquiries that made no human sense . . . no one played politics with the ondat . That was the very point of Concord’s neutral existence, was it not?
And, pressed to the wall, faced with a threat, as he’d reminded himself last night in the throes of the tax records—he did have good relations with the ondat, with (the only name they knew) Kekellen. Earth would be well-advised, would it not, to leave that situation undisturbed?
Kekellen had sent him a message yesterday through the symbol translator: Ship Earth? Meaning, roughly, What in hell’s this untimely ship doing here, and should we care?
His own linguists had replied: Ship Earth unclear word. Reaux talk this ship. Talk Kekellen soon.
Soon.
Well, that was a stall, no question, and sufficient to the day the trouble thereof. Those pesky abstracts like soon, if, and why had taken the linguists and the ondat ages to work out. He ordinarily hated it when his experts used abstracts to Kekellen. Stick to solids, he’d say. Keep it concrete, especially if it’s an emergency. Don’t seem to promise things.
We have a situation with the ondat, he could legitimately say, however, carefully citing that message. Keep it quiet, please, Mr.
Ambassador Gide.
That was the ultimate power of a Concord governor, after all, wasn’t it, the ultimate argument for keeping Earth’s fingers off 6 8 • C . J . C h e r r y h
Concord politics—the ominous foreign presence that sat, cocooned in its own segment of Concord Station, occasionally insinuating its robotic errand-runners past what had once been a tightly sealed barrier. The ondat had, in the last century, breached whatever moderate quarantine had once
Say what Earth would, however, and no matter what politicking might advance some party on Earth or some ambitious idiot on station—the ondat presence had a major say in matters on Concord, too. The ondat always had a major say at Concord, and might just very easily decide, for at least a decade, that they viewed Concord as still within their sphere of territory, in which case . . .
In which case the shadowy presence that existed within their sealed section might pull that section off, as they had done, once and twice in the worst times of Concord’s history, when the whole fragile peace had nearly shattered. Let Earth remember that, if Earth wanted to interfere with Concord’s smooth running. The Fo r g e o f H e a v e n • 6 7
ondat might suddenly move in a warship and exert a greater power over Concord administration and over what ships came and went, all Earth’s ambitions be damned, and never mind the local human economy. That had happened more than twice—economic disaster, from which Concord had taken decades to recover.
And no one wanted to think of a situation that might cause that quiet presence, that sometimes amusing, sometimes sinister presence, to wake up and become actively involved. They lived with the ondat . Concorders saw the sleek, frighteningly massive ships that slid up to the station at irregular intervals and did their business, saying nothing, having no intercourse with any human. They knew that, beyond the walls of that independent section, something lived that veiled itself in shadow, in ammonia-reeking murk, and carried on inquiries that made no human sense . . . no one played politics with the ondat . That was the very point of Concord’s neutral existence, was it not?
And, pressed to the wall, faced with a threat, as he’d reminded himself last night in the throes of the tax records—he did have good relations with the ondat, with (the only name they knew) Kekellen. Earth would be well-advised, would it not, to leave that situation undisturbed?
Kekellen had sent him a message yesterday through the symbol translator: Ship Earth? Meaning, roughly, What in hell’s this untimely ship doing here, and should we care?
His own linguists had replied: Ship Earth unclear word. Reaux talk this ship. Talk Kekellen soon.
Soon.
Well, that was a stall, no question, and sufficient to the day the trouble thereof. Those pesky abstracts like soon, if, and why had taken the linguists and the ondat ages to work out. He ordinarily hated it when his experts used abstracts to Kekellen. Stick to solids, he’d say. Keep it concrete, especially if it’s an emergency. Don’t seem to promise things.
We have a situation with the ondat, he could legitimately say, however, carefully citing that message. Keep it quiet, please, Mr.
Ambassador Gide.
That was the ultimate power of a Concord governor, after all, wasn’t it, the ultimate argument for keeping Earth’s fingers off 6 8 • C . J . C h e r r y h
Concord politics—the ominous foreign presence that sat, cocooned in its own segment of Concord Station, occasionally insinuating its robotic errand-runners past what had once been a tightly sealed barrier. The ondat had, in the last century, breached whatever moderate quarantine had once
Similar Books
