Ready for the tense meeting that could well decide their survival, Sullivan Gold stood on the deck of his cloud harvester, wearing his best clothes. As for any formal business meeting, he had shaved, trimmed his hair, freshened his breath, and mentally prepared for this encounter. He wished Lydia could be there to straighten his collar and give him the final okay on his appearance.
Kolker told him he looked fine.
The green priest had already sent several messages and updates to his colleagues on the telink network, and they eagerly waited for news to relay to the Hansa. Nahton in the Whisper Palace had informed the King and the Chairman, but despite their tension and attention, Sullivan was on his own. The EDF could never send military aid here swiftly enough, nor would they want to risk a direct clash with the Solar Navy. No doubt the Earth government would not respond at all until they saw how he handled the situation.
Sullivan cleared his throat, hoping he wouldn’t need to call in the cavalry. It was so embarrassing to need to be rescued.
A colorfully plated Ildiran shuttle emerged from the looming flagship warliner and made its way ponderously over to them. Sullivan dried his sweaty palms on the fabric of his warm jacket. “Here we go, Kolker. It’s all up to us. A chance to make a good first impression on our unexpected neighbors.”
Distracted, the green priest removed his fingers from his ever-present treeling. “Sorry, Sullivan, what was that? I was concentrating on telink, telling everybody what was happening here.”
“I thought you already did that.”
“I was explaining that nothing new had occurred. Your Chairman is also listening eagerly.”
Sullivan sighed. “Until now, life aboard our cloud-harvesting station was routine enough to allow for superfluous conversations, but not anymore. I need your full attention until this is resolved, Kolker. We can save our memoirs for later.”
The green priest’s abashed smile disarmed Sullivan’s annoyance. “I will limit my communications . . . to the essentials.”
Eventually, almost fifteen minutes earlier than scheduled—on purpose?—the Adar’s shuttle approached. The Ildiran vessel passed through the cloud harvester’s atmosphere-condensing field joined by a flurry of strong breezes, followed a stream of bright guidance lights to an appropriate landing pad, and set down. Sullivan’s face was flushed, his cheeks burning in the brisk air. He fixed a smile on his face, as bright as if he were about to have the most important job interview of his life.
As the scrollwork hatch of the alien shuttle opened, Sullivan stepped forward to greet the two Ildirans. One, tall and proud and more than handsome by Earth standards, wore a meticulous military-style uniform. He spoke before Sullivan could utter a word of welcome. “I am Adar Zan’nh, commander of the Ildiran Solar Navy. As you requested, I have brought Hroa’x, my chief skymining engineer.” The second man had broader shoulders, shorter arms, and blunt facial features; he glanced around at the Hansa skymining equipment with intense curiosity.
Sullivan reached out his right hand. “Well, this is my first meeting with an Ildiran. I sure can’t wait to tell my grandchildren about it.” He hoped the comment would humanize him to the Ildiran military commander. Humanize him? He had to start thinking from a new perspective. “Uh, I apologize if I don’t know your traditions and acceptable behaviors. We like to extend a greeting by shaking hands. Like this.”
Zan’nh reluctantly accepted Sullivan’s grip. His reply was pointed. “It is our tradition not to set up skymines where we are not invited.”
“Yes, well . . . sorry about that. It was an unintentional oversight. A terrible misunderstanding.” Sullivan turned away, clearing his throat. “Shall we talk inside the observation gallery, where it’s warmer? I think we can find some drinks or snacks that you Ildirans might enjoy. A Hansa skymine isn’t really the place for haute cuisine, but we’ve done our best. It’s a social necessity.” He realized he was babbling, and stopped abruptly.
Intrigued and preoccupied, the alien mining engineer ran his eyes over the industrial equipment, scanning the process machinery as if comparing every detail to his own designs. Hroa’x moved forward to get a closer look. “Ildirans need to go about skymining here on Qronha 3. I wish to get my own facility started. There is much work to do. Adar, when can we go back to get to work? How long will this discussion take?”
Zan’nh made a gesture for patience. “You can begin soon, Hroa’x. This is a necessary meeting, and it will take as long as it needs.”
Carrying his potted treeling in the crook of his elbow, Kolker led the way into the enclosed cloud-harvesting facility. Though Sullivan had never intended to hold board meetings or staff convocations on the cloud harvester—it was a rushed construction, not meant to be a full-fledged facility—the Hansa designs did include one large chamber complete with a long table and broad windows that looked out upon the clouds.
The green priest set his heavy pot on the end of the table and took a seat beside it. Without waiting for anyone else, he touched the thin trunk, and his lips moved silently as he sent a new report through the telink network. The Chairman would be eavesdropping, no doubt.
Sullivan paid more attention to his two important guests. Before the Adar’s arrival, he’d hurriedly asked the galley staff to set out a variety of dishes, some of them following Lydia’s own recipes. No one aboard the cloud harvester knew whether Ildirans preferred sweet confections or savory snacks. What would impress them? Sullivan also set out several liqueurs, a pot of hot tea, and a pitcher of plain water, as well as a bottle of syrupy Passover wine that his wife had insisted he take with him.
“I tried to provide a variety,” he said to Zan’nh, indicating the refreshments with a flourish of his hand. “Please, take what you like, or ask questions. What would you prefer?”
Sullivan took a seat at the side of the table, but the miner kithman remained standing, pacing the room and gazing out the window. “I would prefer to begin skymining,” Hroa’x said. “Soon.”
Zan’nh let out a faint but long-suffering sigh. “Patience, Hroa’x.” He took a seat at the head of the table.
“Sullivan Gold, my father is the Mage-Imperator, and my predecessor, Adar Kori’nh, sacrificed himself to clear Qronha 3 of the hydrogues so that Ildirans might skymine again. Ildirans. Kori’nh’s memory will live in the Saga of Seven Suns. I will make certain of that. Why do you feel justified in claiming the spoils of that victory?”
Sullivan grasped the significance of the commander’s concern. “I . . . realize that your predecessor had no intention of achieving his victory so that humans could take advantage of the opportunity.”
“Cease your operations here, pack up your equipment, and return to Earth. You do not belong on Qronha 3.”
Sullivan spread his hands on the table. “Now, let’s not be too hasty, all right? Aren’t the Hansa and the Ildiran Empire good friends? Don’t we share a common enemy in the hydrogues? Our Earth Defense Forces have fought bravely and sacrificed themselves against the hydrogues, just as your valiant Adar did. With the attacks on our colony worlds, we’ve suffered plenty, too—and we did not ask for this war any more than you did.”
Zan’nh’s answer was quick and cold. “Humans ignited the Klikiss Torch and destroyed a hydrogue homeworld.”
“Well, you know it was never our intent to incite hostilities—and we’ve done everything humanly possible to atone for that mistake. Look, I’m just a skyminer trying to do my job.”
“As am I—but I can’t get started yet,” Hroa’x said impatiently. “These are old matters and irrelevant ones.”
“You bet they are,” Sullivan agreed with the gruff miner. He smiled reassuringly, attempting to increase his charm. “Say, neither of you has sampled any of the food or drink.”
“We do not require hospitality. And your food may not be perfectly compatible with our biochemistry.”
Sullivan covered his frown. Refusing hospitality? Did they fear poison? He nibbled on a piece of cheese. “Maybe the Hansa made a brash and ill-advised decision to send a cloud harvester here without first obtaining permission from your Mage-Imperator. I can see why you’re upset. I wouldn’t want someone setting up a business in my family’s backyard, either. But this is a huge planet, after all—what does it hurt? We meant no harm, nor have we caused any that I can see. Our presence in no way hinders your efforts to produce as much ekti as you can. The sky is certainly big enough for both of us. Besides, isn’t there safety in numbers? We could help each other in the event of an emergency.”
“Help each other . . . in what way?” Zan’nh asked. “These facilities could never successfully defend against a hydrogue attack, alone or together.”
“Well, no, but other emergencies could happen, right?”
Hroa’x was impatient. “We waste time. Why squabble over boundaries that do not exist? Human cloud-harvesting activities will not diminish the hydrogen supply here. Instead of this discussion, I could be setting up my facilities. That is my priority. Diplomacy wastes too many valuable working hours.”
Sullivan suddenly saw something in the young Adar’s expression and realized with a flash of insight that Zan’nh wanted to resolve this standoff as much as he did. He was looking for a neat and acceptable end to the crisis.
Sullivan continued to smile, hoping the initial tension had begun to dissipate. “Please, Adar, let’s not make this into a conflict. How about this—Ildirans can set up as many ekti factories as you want, and I give you my word of honor that we’ll stay out of your way. Our efforts won’t hinder you at all.”
At the far end of the table, Kolker stroked his treeling and continued to report everything.
Sullivan pressed: “The Hansa needs the fuel as much as you do—in fact, it was another Ildiran, an Adar like yourself, who gave us the designs for your stardrive in the first place. Nobody had a problem with that. Surely you wouldn’t deny us the ability to fly our spacecraft?”
Zan’nh seemed as hard a negotiator as Sullivan. “If you were to remain here, on an Ildiran world that we have made safe for skymining, it would not be without a price. The Mage-Imperator would require a tax of some sort.”
Sullivan saw an opening for negotiation, the first move in the bargaining game, and he seized it. “Perhaps I could offer a small percentage of the ekti we produce.” Taking the initiative, he poured a glass of water for each of them, judging the other beverages to be questionable.
The Adar had still said very little, sitting rigidly upright; Sullivan wondered how much of it might be an act. In a conspiratorial tone, he said, “Look, we haven’t been bothered by the hydrogues so far—but we may have only a limited time before that happens. We should all work hard to harvest as much ekti as we possibly can before it’s too late.”
“What sort of percentage do you offer?” Zan’nh asked. “I must take back something acceptable to my Mage-Imperator.”
Sullivan had never known Ildirans to be overly greedy, nor did they seem to have experience at haggling, since they were all connected by an odd sort of telepathy. So he took a chance and initially suggested an insignificant fraction of the cloud harvester’s output, an exploratory gesture to open negotiations. To his surprise, Zan’nh accepted it immediately. Sullivan would definitely score points with the Hansa for this! In his heart, he knew that the Solar Navy commander had been more concerned with finding an honorable solution than making a profit.
“Very well. I’m glad that’s settled. We really should be friends through all this.” Sullivan reached out to shake the Adar’s hand again. “If we’re agreed, then we can all get to work. I’ll send a portion of our next cargo load directly over to your facilities.” Unconsciously, he wiped a hand across his sweaty forehead. “I’d like to celebrate our new spirit of cooperation. Would you be interested in—”
Hroa’x cut him off, turning to Zan’nh. “If our mission here is complete, Adar, must we waste further time? We should return to the warliners now and see to our sky harvester. I still have much to do before it is running at full capacity. Much to do.” The miner kithman turned his blunt-featured face to Sullivan. “These negotiations will become moot the moment the hydrogues return. Why waste another second?”
Zan’nh nodded. “And make no mistake, the hydrogues will return.”