responsibility—upon Richard’s neck. Specifically, had Gaspard heard whispers of a secret organization named IRIS, and was he snooping around to get confirmation that Downing was now its director?
But Downing saw no hint of incisive purpose in Gaspard’s face, and so, felt safe enough to indulge in a genuine smile. “Yes, Mr. Gaspard. It has been a busy time. For everyone in this room. Yourself, not least of all, as I understand it.”
Gaspard’s eyes rolled in exasperation. “ Oui, vraiment. But my seventy- and eighty-hour weeks have not come with the exciting novelties that arise from unprecedented contact with exosapients. Mine has been the same dull routine of politics; only the names have changed.”
“The names of the politicians?” asked Opal.
“Unfortunately, no. The same collection of cut-throats, crooks, and incompetents are still steering our planet’s various ships of state. But the names of everything else—agencies, treaty organizations, even the blocs themselves—are in flux. I spend half my time just trying to discern which new names go with which old institutions. It is utter madness.”
And you spend the other half of your time exercising your considerable gift for hyperbole, Downing added silently. Aloud: “Nevertheless, you and the rest of the Confederation Consuls are to be congratulated. From what I hear, the transition to global coordination—at least on military and industrial matters—seems to be progressing nicely.”
Gaspard snorted. “Simple lies for simpletons. The ‘transition’ is a maelstrom of endless, petty bickering. Do not believe the optimistic analysts or headlines, Mr. Downing.”
“Well, it’s a good thing you know the global state of play better than the rest of the world’s experts,” drawled Wasserman.
Gaspard looked down his lengthy nose at Wasserman. “You may discover, Doctor, that my cynicism, which you presently elect to insult, shall later prove to be an asset for which you are grateful. To be more specific: I do not ‘know better.’ I am merely unwilling to be swayed by what I wish to be true. And since the issue at hand is nothing less than the fate of our planet, I contend it is ludicrous to assess the actual state of our readiness with the same rosy optimism that children adopt when anticipating the arrival of Father Christmas.”
Downing raised a hand. “For now, let’s ignore the political merits of morale-building PR versus pitiless rationalism. We are here for one reason only: to brief you, Mr. Gaspard.”
“Just so. I require your detailed impressions of what occurred at the Convocation, with particular attention to what you learned about the other species of the Accord, and why you believe the meeting ended so disastrously.” Gaspard’s eyes narrowed as he indulged in a thin, unpleasant smile. “I would hear from Dr. Wasserman, first.”
Downing intervened, seeing that Gaspard was spoiling for a fight. “I think a round-robin debrief will not only be faster, but develop a better pool of knowledge for you, Mr. Gaspard, particularly if you’d start by telling us what information you already have.”
Gaspard sniffed, turned away from Wasserman. “Only the basics. That there were five other species present—the Arat Kur, the Ktor, the Hkh’Rkh, the Slaasriithi, and the Dornaani. That the first three of those were not friendly, and that the Arat Kur were decidedly hostile. That the Dornaani are charged with being Custodians, a kind of overseer/peacekeeper duty, as I understand it. And the three unfriendly races—but again, particularly the Arat Kur—were laboring to exploit every possible procedural irregularity to ensure that Earth was denied membership in the Accord. However, their ultimate purpose for doing so remained obscure.”
Elena shifted in her seat. “Mr. Gaspard, having been present for those exchanges, I have to report that their reasons seemed anything but obscure. The Arat Kur, aided by the backroom
But Downing saw no hint of incisive purpose in Gaspard’s face, and so, felt safe enough to indulge in a genuine smile. “Yes, Mr. Gaspard. It has been a busy time. For everyone in this room. Yourself, not least of all, as I understand it.”
Gaspard’s eyes rolled in exasperation. “ Oui, vraiment. But my seventy- and eighty-hour weeks have not come with the exciting novelties that arise from unprecedented contact with exosapients. Mine has been the same dull routine of politics; only the names have changed.”
“The names of the politicians?” asked Opal.
“Unfortunately, no. The same collection of cut-throats, crooks, and incompetents are still steering our planet’s various ships of state. But the names of everything else—agencies, treaty organizations, even the blocs themselves—are in flux. I spend half my time just trying to discern which new names go with which old institutions. It is utter madness.”
And you spend the other half of your time exercising your considerable gift for hyperbole, Downing added silently. Aloud: “Nevertheless, you and the rest of the Confederation Consuls are to be congratulated. From what I hear, the transition to global coordination—at least on military and industrial matters—seems to be progressing nicely.”
Gaspard snorted. “Simple lies for simpletons. The ‘transition’ is a maelstrom of endless, petty bickering. Do not believe the optimistic analysts or headlines, Mr. Downing.”
“Well, it’s a good thing you know the global state of play better than the rest of the world’s experts,” drawled Wasserman.
Gaspard looked down his lengthy nose at Wasserman. “You may discover, Doctor, that my cynicism, which you presently elect to insult, shall later prove to be an asset for which you are grateful. To be more specific: I do not ‘know better.’ I am merely unwilling to be swayed by what I wish to be true. And since the issue at hand is nothing less than the fate of our planet, I contend it is ludicrous to assess the actual state of our readiness with the same rosy optimism that children adopt when anticipating the arrival of Father Christmas.”
Downing raised a hand. “For now, let’s ignore the political merits of morale-building PR versus pitiless rationalism. We are here for one reason only: to brief you, Mr. Gaspard.”
“Just so. I require your detailed impressions of what occurred at the Convocation, with particular attention to what you learned about the other species of the Accord, and why you believe the meeting ended so disastrously.” Gaspard’s eyes narrowed as he indulged in a thin, unpleasant smile. “I would hear from Dr. Wasserman, first.”
Downing intervened, seeing that Gaspard was spoiling for a fight. “I think a round-robin debrief will not only be faster, but develop a better pool of knowledge for you, Mr. Gaspard, particularly if you’d start by telling us what information you already have.”
Gaspard sniffed, turned away from Wasserman. “Only the basics. That there were five other species present—the Arat Kur, the Ktor, the Hkh’Rkh, the Slaasriithi, and the Dornaani. That the first three of those were not friendly, and that the Arat Kur were decidedly hostile. That the Dornaani are charged with being Custodians, a kind of overseer/peacekeeper duty, as I understand it. And the three unfriendly races—but again, particularly the Arat Kur—were laboring to exploit every possible procedural irregularity to ensure that Earth was denied membership in the Accord. However, their ultimate purpose for doing so remained obscure.”
Elena shifted in her seat. “Mr. Gaspard, having been present for those exchanges, I have to report that their reasons seemed anything but obscure. The Arat Kur, aided by the backroom
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