Free Edward M. Lerner by A New Order of Things Page A

of discipline into these meetings.” Whatever had elicited the rebuke was unknowable, radioed to Chung by encrypted channel. Chung’s reply was returned in the same way—but his inexplicable use of a helmet microphone rather than a neural implant allowed eavesdropping. “I don’t care about fuel-cell efficiencies.” (“Controlled anger.”)
    Mashkith addressed only the public comments. “We find merit in your structured approach, Mr. Ambassador.” Mashkith, too, was quietly furious. At himself. He had approved the path through Victorious and the description to be given of their route. Any course through the ship inevitably passed some key subsystem or potential vulnerability he had preferred not to disclose. The cabin now receiving unwanted attention actually contained a key secondary backup comm node, not fuel cells. Walsh was correct: Standard fuel cells in a room that size would not be much of a back-up. But which lie did the human suspect? One about fuel-cell technology or one about how the ship was being described?
    That question must wait; the designated Pashwah-qith had resumed the prepared script. Mashkith still needed to concentrate—even translated, English seemed to require explicit verbs. He hoped in time to become accustomed to it.
    “We have arrived at our conference room. I apologize for the long walk, but we have few rooms tall enough for you.” The centerpiece of the chamber was a newly constructed table. Hard, backless stools allowed the humans to sit despite backpacks and oxygen tanks. In almost one Earth gravity, the unsupported weight hanging behind the stools would be uncomfortable. Distractingly so, was the theory.
    Soon standing crew and seated visitors were almost eye to eye. “Please make yourselves comfortable. My officers and I welcome you aboard. As our species come physically together for the first time, Victorious has earned her name. We have indeed conquered interstellar space.”
    An unattractive bass growl ensued. (“Chung clears his throat. No meaning.”) “We would like once more to express our admiration and appreciation for your great journey. The worlds of the United Planets look forward to a new level in an already long and fruitful relationship.”
    “I propose that we introduce ourselves briefly,” Mashkith said. “If that is satisfactory, Ambassador, will you begin?”
    Chung and his people droned on. Whenever the presentations lagged, Pashwah-qith encouraged them with requests for an additional detail, or drove them to repetition and circumlocution with assertions of difficulties in translation.
    All the while, hidden cameras behind the humans watched their backpack tell-tales. Mashkith watched their oxygen reserves ebb. When encrypted radio traffic ramped up, Mashkith did not need the humans’ codes to understand the gist: time to go.
    Which meant almost time to get to the point.

    What advantage, wondered Art, did this faceplate-to-face meeting have over ship-to-ship broadcasts? The tour had certainly been a disappointment. He was on an alien starship , but all he had seen were tunnels like those in habitats across the solar system. His first attempt to get a little useful information—the blistering reprimand Chung had delivered over a private radio band made clear how impolitic the remark had been—had gotten him nowhere. Now his mission colleagues were extemporizing life stories, although bio files could be zapped across in a moment.
    And why the circuitous route through the ship? The Foremost had said there were few rooms tall enough for humans. But if the goal were to scale things for the Snake crew, why not build the meeting room near the on-axis airlock? Why build a long, convoluted, human-height path that meandered through the ship?
    Arrrgh. “Are you getting anything useful from this?” Art asked Keizo on a private channel. “Please say you are.”
    “These ritualistic ceremonies? Ordinarily I might, for example by interpreting individual