Fate and Destiny

by Storm

 

Thanks to Christy for coming up with a name for Admiral Starke that pretty much explains why he prefers to go by Jiggs. And also a disclaimer: this is not our own Earth Prime, but an alternate universe, so analogs to real people from the corresponding time period in our own reality may or may not be as depicted here.

 

 Harriman Nelson sat alone on the observation deck, a glass of scotch in his hand, away from the strained Thanksgiving celebrations in process through the rest of the boat, watching a pair of curious freshwater otters looking in through the windows watching him. He had to smile at some of their antics - but at the same time their appearance reminded him of the Dawimhlar and his current dilemma. A knock on the hatch frame interrupted his brooding thoughts.

 

Turning in his chair, he beheld the thin sandy-haired form of his Security chief, Philip Haggen. He waved the man in and gestured to the bottle on the tray on the table to one side of the observation deck.

 

“The crew is wondering where you got to, Harry,” said Haggen, pouring himself a small shot before slumping into a chair in the corner by the windows.

 

Nelson sighed. “Second guessing myself, Philip.”

 

Haggen shrugged; it was clear he knew what Nelson was speaking of. “You did what you thought was right at the time.”

 

“But it’s going to cost us Patterson - and probably Chip as well. Hell, Philip, I’m still not sure the rest of us can go home and really be safe.”

 

Haggen cocked his head to one side for a moment as if contemplating his friend and employer, as well as his statements, then replied, “Had me a little conversation with Scathach this morning before she left for the Pumpkin Battle Ceremony.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yep. You know they got spies back on earth?” The question was rhetorical; they both knew that the Dawimhlar not only did, they had had such people in place for centuries - if not millennia. Nelson simply nodded in response. “Well, they’ve started their own little campaign against Tobin and company. All kinds of embarrassing little secrets are coming to light. They’ve also had one of their boats masquerading as Seaview - nobody back there knows that we’re off the planet.”

 

Nelson straightened up in surprise. That had been the one detail he couldn’t figure out how to counter. “How? The acoustic signature of a boat is unique.” Especially Seaview’s. Only she had ducted twin impellors for propulsion. The Russian boats that had twin screws sounded very different.

 

“Apparently they’ve got some way of masking their own signature and broadcasting another. And yeah, I’ll bet they’ve done it before.”

 

“Huh.” Nelson looked thoughtful. “So what are they trying to accomplish?” he asked, though he had a pretty good idea of their goal.

 

“To make the extremists look like fools - and jealous of you.”

 

Nelson snorted. “Both of those things are true.”

 

“Yes, but not everyone realizes how much of their attack on you and the Institute is fueled by it. But now the people who count are coming to comprehend just how ridiculous the accusations that have been made are.”

 

“So things are looking good that we can go home?” asked Nelson hopefully.

 

“Most of us,” admitted Haggen. “Patterson is staying. He is one of them after all. And with his cover blown, so to speak, it would be really dangerous for him to go back.”

 

Nelson nodded. Patterson had already informed him of his decision to stay. “And Chip?” he asked softly.

 

Haggen looked down and studied his hands for a moment before answering. “I don’t know. Even though he’s your second cousin, he‘s too close to the Dawimhlar to be considered anything other than a security risk at home - at least for now. So even if he did go back, I suspect you’d be forced to remove him as XO, maybe even relieve him of any duties at the Institute as well, in order to otherwise maintain the status quo. But you couldn‘t just cut him loose either - it would probably get him killed. Especially since Horton is still on the loose and we don’t know who his other contact was. I don’t think Chip would be happy ashore anyway.”

 

Looking back up at Nelson, he soberly concluded, “It might be best all around if he did stay here.”

 

Nelson sighed and set his glass down on the table. “And some of my enemies would take him staying behind as confirmation he was a spy for them all along. The fact that he’s my cousin may be a problem for me as well, but the circumstances of it … well.” He shrugged ruefully. “Water under the bridge. I’ll have to wait and see how that aspect of it plays out.” He picked his glass back up and swirled the remnants of his drink around before polishing it off with one last swallow. Setting the empty glass down, he rose to his feet to pace. “Lee and I briefly discussed the issue yesterday, but I think we need to talk some more about it. The decision on how he would want to handle replacing Chip - if it comes to that - will be mostly his choice.”

 

“Speaking of Lee, I also feel that ONI will probably drop him as an operative.”

 

Nodding thoughtfully, Nelson commented, “I can’t say the prospect of that dismays me. I’ve felt for some time that someone in ONI - probably at the instigation of Tobin - has been trying to get Lee killed.”

 

Haggen grimly agreed and added, “It’s also possible - even likely - that the Navy may want their missiles and torpedoes back. Seaview will be vulnerable if they do.”

 

Nelson smiled tightly. “I’ve got some options there. Experimental weaponry that we can install ourselves. I have no intention of leaving us open to attack. However, I think we can arrange to keep the torpedoes - and getting rid of the missiles wouldn’t bother me. I never wanted Seaview to be a boomer in the first place.”

 

“What if your silent partners decide they want their money back?”

 

This time Nelson’s smile was positively feral. “I might just have to see how they would like explaining it to Congress - and the media.”

 

Another light tap at the hatchway interrupted. Both men turned to find Seaview’s captain Lee Crane standing in the hatchway.

 

Harriman Nelson reached for another glass from the sidebar and offered it to the captain. Crane reached over and hesitantly took it. He was still feeling the effects of the potent Dawimhlar beer he’d had earlier that evening.

 

“So now what, Admiral?” he asked, seating himself as Nelson poured two fingers of scotch from his personal stash into the glass.

 

Nelson shrugged as he sat the bottle down and returned to his seat. “Now we wait for President Carter to be sworn in so we can go home.”

 

“Just like that? Do you really think it’ll be that simple?” Skepticism colored Crane’s voice.

 

Nelson swirled the amber liquid around his own glass while he contemplated the question. Sighing, he took a sip before he answered. “No, I don’t think it’ll be that simple. But Pat has already told me he’s staying here - and I suspect that they’ll try to persuade Chip to stay as well. For his own safety, if nothing else.”

 

“You think Tobin’s friends would go after them even if Carter tells them to lay off?” It was obvious to Nelson that Crane had been worrying over that himself - and not just about Pat and Chip.

 

“Yes, I do. And even in the best of circumstances, Carter can only serve eight years.”

 

“So once he’s out, if they can persuade the new president we’re a threat, we’re right back where we started,” was Crane’s glum assessment.

 

“Essentially, yes. So we’ve got a minimum of four years to convince enough people otherwise,” responded Nelson.

 

“If we can,” muttered Haggen from his corner. The comment drew a sharp glance from Nelson and a rueful smile and salute with his glass from Crane.

 

“Yeah, that’s going to be the bitch, isn‘t it,” murmured the captain, taking a sip of the fiery liquid. Closing his eyes, he seemed to be savoring the taste as a moment of silent contemplation settled on the observation deck.

 

After a moment he sighed and straightened in his seat. “By the way, what were you and Haggen talking about just before I came in?”

 

Nelson remained silent, prompting Crane to lift his head and look over at his CO quizzically. The Admiral was staring down into his glass of scotch as if trying to divine the answer in the slowly swirling liquid. He finally looked up at the captain and smiled ruefully. “Pretty much what we just discussed about going home, and about Chip and Pat. But…,” he trailed off for a moment and grew silent.

 

Finally he continued, “I find that I’m unsettled myself about some of the things we’ve learned the last few days. I thought I had come to grips with it, but…” He trailed off again with a sigh.

 

Crane gave a short, ironic laugh. “Well, I’m glad to see I’m not the only one who’s having difficulty wrapping his mind around it all.”

 

“Don’t get me wrong, Lee. I think they’re telling the truth about who they are and where they’re from. And some of it has echoes in human legend and mythology. It’s just that… well…”

 

“It blows everything Christianity has taught for the last two millennia out the window,” stated the captain bluntly. “Not to mention most of the rest of the major religions of the world. And pretty much all of human history as we thought we knew it.”

 

Nelson winced. “Something like that. It takes some major adjustments in thinking. When I‘m face to face with one of them, it all seems perfectly rational, but when I‘m alone, doubts come rushing back. My Catholic upbringing comes raging out in revolt, I suppose.”

 

Crane snorted and ran a hand through his dark hair, leaving it in disarray. “I can almost understand where Tobin and his cronies are coming from. Almost. But they’re idiots. If they start a war with any advanced alien race, let alone the Dawimhlar, we can’t possibly hope to win.”

 

“I know, Lee. And the Dawimhlar have shown extraordinary restraint in dealing with humanity over the course of their history. Makes you wonder what they see in us.”

 

A light tap at the hatch interrupted for a third time, prompting a grunt and rolled eyes from Nelson and a chuckle from Haggen, while Crane snorted a laugh into his glass.

 

“Enter,” called Nelson, not bothering to rise.

 

Jamison poked his head in. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

 

“Come on in, Jamie,” said Nelson, beckoning him to enter and have a seat. “We were just discussing some of the things we’ve learned lately.”

 

“Bemoaning might be a better description,” added Crane, saluting the doctor with his glass. Haggen laughed dryly from his corner.

 

“I can relate to that,” said Jamison as he accepted the glass of scotch the Admiral had poured for him. “I came by to tell you that Scathach sent a message asking permission for Chip to go with Pat to visit some of Pat’s family on,” he fumbled in his shirt pocket for the note, “Seethahn? I’m not sure if I said that right.”

 

Nelson nodded and reached out to accept the note. Glancing over it, he then handed it to Crane. “It’s probably best that they be away from the boat until the crew settles.”

 

“I agree,” Jamison, promptly responded. At the others questioning look, he told them, “There’s been a couple of fights between Pat’s friends and some of the other crew. The men are really on edge - they’re scared they may not ever get home again. And today is Thanksgiving - they‘re spending the holiday on a planet none of them ever thought they’d see in their lifetime - and it was supposed to be spent at home with their families.”

 

“Whereas Pat is almost home and has family and friends here,” noted Crane.

 

“That’s about the size of it.”

 

“Anything else we should know about?” asked Nelson.

 

“Well….” Jamison hesitated, eyeing Crane uncertainly.

 

“If you’re looking at me like that, it must have to do with the Dawimhlar,” muttered Crane. There was no heat in the statement though; the scotch had begun to perceptibly mellow him out, which had been Nelson’s intent.

 

Jamison arched his eyebrows and gave Nelson an amused glance. “I found out a little more about that odd looking fellow Hulor we met aboard Soese. And his two sisters.”

 

Crane paused with the glass halfway to his lips. “And?”

 

“He’s a first generation human-Dawam hybrid. And before you ask what a Dawam is - I found out all Dawimhlar are Dawam hybrids with at least some human blood in them - and most of the people here that look wholly human are part Dawam as well. The Dawam, as I understand it, are the marine hominids that the Dawimhlar were originally.”

 

Nelson could only shake his head in stunned amazement as Crane and Haggen nearly choked on their scotch. “Well, that rather definitively answers any questions about their being related to humanity. In fact, it begs the question of just what is human. Not to mention why they don‘t act quite human even when they look like us.”

 

“The religious fundamentalists are going to have a cow,” breathed Crane.

 

“And probably the calf too,” commented Jamison wryly as he sipped at his glass.

 

“Wait a minute,” said Haggen from his corner, “if all Dawimhlar are hybrids, how did Hulor get to be a first generation cross?”

 

Nelson turned back to Jamison with a questioning look. “Jamie?”

 

“I asked that. Apparently at some point early in their history there was a … disagreement … on how to handle the problem with the Ku‘k. Some of the Dawam decided they wanted no part of technology and dispersed to the farthest reaches of Earth. It was only in Earth’s nineteenth century that they finally rejoined their hybrid brethren.” The doctor took another sip of his scotch. “From what I understand, they all settled on Bawn, which of all the Dawimhlar worlds is the most like Earth of the last Ice Age. So there are still a few Dawam that live and practice their original lifestyle and culture.”

 

“If it’s the most earth-like, why did the Dawimhlar settle Lar?” Crane asked.

 

“I asked that too,” said Jamison. “Bawn was a badly damaged world that had to be repaired to be habitable. They only got it back up and running about six thousand years ago - and it took them centuries to accomplish. Lar was finished and settled ten thousand years ago.”

 

“Ah. That answers more than one question,” noted Nelson. “I’d wondered just how smoothly their transition from stone age to space age went. It’s somewhat comforting to find that they aren’t perfect after all.” That got a chuckle from the others.

 

“And that’s not all.” Jamison paused at the wary look that appeared on all three men’s faces. “There are other hominid species from Earth living in enclaves on Dawimhlar worlds - especially Bawn. Species we thought were extinct or myth - and some I’ve never heard of.”

 

Crane held his glass out to Nelson. “I think, Admiral, that on that news I need another shot.”

 

“Add one for me, Harry,” chimed in Haggen, holding out his glass as well.

 

“Are you absolutely sure, Jamie?” asked Nelson.

 

“Oh, yes. I had a rather interesting conversation with a Neanderthal doctor about medicine with the aid of an interpreter. The Dawimhlar apparently brought their ancestors with them when they left earth for the stars. To keep them from going extinct.”

 

Nelson rubbed at his forehead. “This is going to really upset the applecart. No wonder they want to proceed carefully with any contact. All of human history is going to need to be rewritten - it certainly proves evolution beyond any doubt. The general population is definitely not ready to learn this.”

 

“But it does explain why they tolerate human foibles - they’re partly us.” Crane looked like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry over the revelation.

 

Nelson snorted. “That’s never stopped humans from slaughtering each other.”

 

“They are a much older civilization than we are,” noted Jamison thoughtfully. “What else do we know about their early history? Beyond what we saw today about their battles with the K’uk, that is. They could have been a lot more like us at one time - and managed to mature beyond the worst of humanity’s flaws. And you might note that when the Ku‘k attacked them the second time - they had war machines and an army. Primitive by today‘s standards, but still….”

 

“They were or had been at war with somebody,” breathed Crane as realization set in.

 

“I haven’t had the opportunity to discuss a lot of ancient history with Scathach yet,” said Nelson thoughtfully, “but it goes to the top of my list. It’s clear to me that they could have simply eradicated us at any point in the last thirteen thousand years - and didn’t. Even with their religion and their kinship, there must still be other reasons.”

 

Nods of agreement came from Jamison, Haggen and Crane.

 

*********

 

Harriman Nelson stood on Seaview’s flying bridge sipping at a cup of coffee and watched the Dawimhlar city of Tholus stir from its slumber. Morning here was different from any place Nelson had ever been before. What passed for the sky simply brightened; there was no sunrise as such. That part, he reflected, was because the city was entirely subterranean, and never went completely dark, even during what was the local night cycle.

 

The fact that they ran on Mars time - not quite a 25 hour day - was also just different enough to throw off his internal clock.

 

Noise behind him alerted Nelson to the presence of someone else ascending the ladder to the bridge. He turned his head to see the dark head of his captain appear at the hatch.

 

“Mind if I join you, Admiral?”

 

“Come on up, Lee. I was just taking in the sights.”

 

The snort he got in answer told him that Crane was in an edgy mood this morning. Probably, he reflected from a bit too much scotch the evening before on top of what Haggen had told him was probably some of the most unusual beer in the solar system. He was feeling the effects of the scotch himself.

 

Crane came to stand beside him, a mug of coffee in his hand as well. He cast a jaundiced eye across the lake at the Dawimhlar submarines floating in the calm water.

 

“So what happens today, Admiral?”

 

“I suppose,” Nelson responded slowly, “that we decide if we want to go on to their capital world or not.”

 

Crane sighed deeply. “Part of me,” he admitted, “would like to see it for myself. And part of me would like to run screaming back to earth.”

 

Nelson gave him a wry grin. “I can certainly relate to that, Lee.”

 

“So what…” Crane trailed off, staring at a figure that had come to stand on one of the stone piers, talking to one of the water taxi boatmen.

 

Nelson turned to see what Crane was staring at. “Lee?” he prompted.

 

Crane gave him a look that was a mixture of apprehension and resignation. “You remember me telling you about Daig’ar? Well, unless I’m mistaken, that’s him now. And it looks like he’s coming here.”

 

And indeed the elderly Dawimhlar was. He had seated himself in the small boat, which was now heading across the gap between the shore and Seaview.

 

Nelson arched an eyebrow. If what Lee suspected was correct, Daig’ar held a position here much like his own. Which meant that anything Daig’ar told them could be taken as having come straight from higher authorities.

 

“Admiral Nelson, Captain Crane,” the Dawimhlar called as he approached, “Permission to come aboard?”

 

Nelson and Crane shared a look. “Permission granted,” Crane called down. Whatever was up, they might as well get it over with.

 

By now two of Seaview’s sailors had appeared on deck and lowered a ladder down for their visitor. Daig’ar made his way carefully up onto the deck as Crane and Nelson came down from the bridge to greet him.

 

“Captain.” Daig’ar gave Crane a short bow, then turned to Nelson. “Admiral Nelson, I am Daig’ar, as I expect your captain has already told you. Is there somewhere we may speak privately?”

 

Nelson simply nodded. “Will the observation deck do?”

 

“It is up to you, Admiral.”

 

“Then shall we go down?” Nelson turned to lead the way.

 

It did not take long to escort their visitor down. Daig’ar cocked his head to one side as he stood briefly in front of the view ports and grinned.

 

“Every captain, including Scathach, swears that you never saw one of their boats, so this must clearly be a case of great minds thinking alike.”

 

Nelson harrumphed, drawing a chuckle from Crane. This was something they’d discussed when Chip had first told them what the Sahllar looked like.

 

“So what can we do for you, Daig’ar?” he asked, getting to the point.

 

“As to that, I am here more as a messenger. You government has issued orders for you and Captain Crane to appear before the Joint Congressional Intelligence Committee by Monday.”

 

“Monday?” said Nelson incredulously. “This is the Friday after Thanksgiving. Congress is normally gone for the holidays.”

 

“Our sources tell us that Tobin has managed to raise such a state of alarm that many of the members of the committee stayed in Washington to try and find out just what is really going on.” He gave them a shrug that seemed to say that he found it as peculiar as they did. “I am also instructed to tell you that our Imperial Governor for this system has instructed me to tell you that we will back you up in whatever you desire, up to and including revealing ourselves to your government.”

 

Crane blew out his cheeks. “Scathach must have called in a lot of favors for that one.”

 

Daig’ar blinked and looked at them oddly. “Called in….?” He paused, seemingly taken aback for a moment. “Admiral, Scathach is the Imperial Governor for the Solar System. Did she never tell you?”

 

Nelson felt like he’d been hit with a board - but it suddenly made a lot of things make sense. He’d wondered how a mere sub captain could get away with what she had, but if she was the ultimate authority in the system… Another thought occurred. “How long?”

 

“Almost forty earth years.”

 

Lee leaned in, incredulous. “You mean she was the Governor when that business with Smith started?”

 

Daig’ar nodded.

 

“Are all your Governors that … unconventional?”

 

Their answer was a peal of laughter. “That depends on your definition of unconventional, Admiral. Scathach perhaps pushes the boundary a bit, but that kind of caring and personal involvement is something we like to see in our government officials. After all, she just got tapped to be the next Empress.”

 

“She’s royalty?” Nelson was thunderstruck.

 

On this Daig’ar shook his head. “We do not have royalty as you understand the concept, Admiral. We choose our Empress - or Emperor - from those who have an acceptable record in the government. Frequently they are or have been Governors, but it is not a requirement - and our Constitution actually prohibits anyone closely related to the current Empress from succeeding to the crown. Ergo, royal bloodlines do not exist here - and there is no nobility class either. After a suitable candidate is chosen by the current Empress, then the people vote on whether or not that choice is acceptable.”

 

“So it’s not a done deal,” noted Crane.

 

Daig’ar shrugged. “In all our history, the Heir has been rejected only twice, so it’s probably as close as it gets.”

 

“How does Scathach feel about all this?” wondered Nelson out loud.

 

“Oh, she has been trying to find excuses to decline the honor. That is why she will almost certainly be confirmed - she truly does not want the job - and we found long ago that those who pursue that kind of power are the ones most unsuited to wield it honorably. But her sense of duty will not let her do less than her best once she has it.”

 

Crane and Nelson looked at each other wide eyed. This sort of personal involvement with the highest levels of Dawimhlar government was something they had not expected. It threw a whole new layer of complexity into the affair - and it revealed yet another difference in the way the Dawimhlar thought and acted from humans.

 

“Anyway, I’m assuming you will go meet with your Congress?” It was more of a statement than a question, but Nelson nodded affirmation. “Then should we need to reveal ourselves, two have volunteered - Captain Taharqa Hauer and Faileas of Khonsu.”

 

The two Dawimhlar represented the extremes in the physical appearance of their species. Nelson wasn’t sure if that was wise, but there was no question some of the more paranoid would look on not being told that some of the Dawimhlar could pass for human as a plot. Captain Hauer would likely freak them out far worse than Faileas, simply because he looked human - a white skinned, blond haired Caucasian type human. One of them in other words. He wasn’t sure if they would even register the fact that he commanded a heavy cruiser capable of obliterating Earth from the face of the universe.

 

“What about Seaview?” Crane wanted to know.

 

“That is entirely up to you,” said Daig’ar, “but… if it were my decision ... I would leave the boat and crew here and take only your Flying Sub.”

 

Nelson pursed his lips in thought and considered the idea. It would certainly keep both his crew and his submarine safe should things go pear shaped. Not to mention his sister and all of his civilian employees who had fled with them aboard Seaview. He also had no doubt that should the worst come to pass that Scathach would see to it that both they and those who had remained on Earth either found safe places or refuge among the Dawimhlar. He looked questioningly at Crane, but his captain was already nodding in agreement.

 

“That sounds like a good plan to me,” he told Daig’ar. He paused. “Are you coming?”

 

Daig’ar shook his head. “Scathach asks me to return to Seethahn - it is my home - and keep a discrete eye on your Mr. Morton.”

 

“Is there a problem with him going there?” asked Lee, concern in his voice.

 

“No. It is only to ensure that he receives all the support he might require. And to keep me out of trouble,” Daig’ar admitted to them. “I suspect Scathach was concerned that I might volunteer to go to Earth with you, so she requested that I personally look after Chip. So I pledge to you, any damage done to him will be no more than what you yourselves have suffered from what you have learned about us and Earth’s real past.”

 

Nelson had to stifle a snort of laughter at that answer. “So when were you wanting to us leave?”

 

“Scathach is of the opinion the sooner the better. A delay will only make your enemies whisper that you had to come from ‘elsewhere’ - which, while technically true, would not be true in the spirit they will try to spin it.”

 

There was that, Nelson admitted to himself. “How quick can we be back?” He knew the trip here had taken almost half a day, but that had been because Captain Hauer had taken the time to flyby both Venus and Mercury.

 

“Less than two hours. We are of the opinion that it might be wise to go ahead and show up this evening on the committee chairman’s doorstep - literally - before Tobin and his allies have the time to lay traps or spread more untruths.”

 

Nelson rubbed at his chin. A response that quick, especially if they arrived in FS1, would certainly throw consternation into his enemies - and most likely not give them time to prepare nasty surprises. “How long ago did the order for us to appear go out?”

 

“Perhaps twenty minutes ago. I came right over as soon as Scathach got the message. And before you ask, we were expecting something like this, so she had already asked for volunteers.”

 

Crane laughed. “If we show up on their doorstep within three hours’ time, they’ll have to either assume that we never left Earth - or you people have some very fast ships. Either way, it will hopefully throw a wrench into Tobin‘s plans.”

 

“I agree. Go get your dress whites, Lee. We need to be dressed to impress.”

 

Daig‘ar cleared his throat, drawing their attention back to him. “Admiral, you might consider taking one or two of your own people to watch your Flying Sub while you are away from it. To avoid theft or sabotage.”

 

Crane and Nelson looked at each other. “Kowalski,” they said in unison.

 

“And me,” came a voice from the hatchway. They spun to see Haggen stepping into the room, Kowalski on his heels. “Sharkey had a feeling something was up when Daig’ar came aboard and wanted to speak to you privately.”

 

“How much did you hear?” asked Nelson. He was both annoyed - and relived.

 

“Enough to know you’d have come knocking on my door soon enough.”

 

Nelson shook his head but simply said, “Get your flight jackets then. And Ski, put on a suit.”

 

“Yes, sir,” responded Kowalski as he turned to vanish out the hatch.

 

“We need to brief Bobby and Sharkey,” said Crane, “Let them know what is going on.” He looked rueful for a moment before adding, “I probably need to speak to the rest of the crew as well. I guess it’ll be closer to four or five hours to DC.”

 

“At least,” agreed Nelson. “But I think as long as we are there today, an hour or two either way won’t matter much.”

 

**********

 

The Dawimhlar heavy cruiser Soese hung once more in geosynchronous earth orbit, shielded from both electromagnetic and visual detection by electronic and energy shields. Admiral Harriman Nelson fidgeted with the collar of his dress whites as he waited on the cruiser’s bridge for the shuttle carrying the Flying Sub and a small courier boat to get ready to depart. Beside him Captain Hauer was giving last minute instructions to his First Officer; the captain was going down with them in the shuttle so that if his presence was required, it would only take a few minutes for the large shuttle to drop the courier boat that would speed him and Faileas to DC.

 

Nelson cast a sideways glance at Hauer. When they’d told him the cruiser’s captain had been chosen as one of the Dawimhlar representatives, he’d privately questioned the wisdom of it. Now, having seen Hauer in the blue and green kilt, fish-scale bronze colored breastplate and leather sandals (and the bronze helmet!) that was the Dawimhlar Navy dress uniform, he’d revised that opinion. He’d thought before, having only seen the captain in his shipsuit, that he could pass for human - something he knew would freak out the paranoid fanatics on Capitol Hill. Now he realized that was untrue. Hauer simply had too much blond fur on his body to be anything but Dawimhlar; it just didn’t show much above his neck. And that didn’t even begin to address the matter of his webbed toes. No, no one looking at Hauer in this uniform would think he was human.

 

“Are you ready, Admiral?”

 

Nelson harrumphed testily. “As ready as I will ever be.”

 

“Then let us join the others in the launch bay.” With those words Captain Hauer led the way off the bridge into the elevator. It was only a matter of minutes until they were boarding the cargo shuttle; Nelson parted company with Hauer to make his way to the Flying Sub as Hauer headed to the shuttle’s passenger lounge to join Faileas.

 

The drop was smooth. It was only as the shuttle entered the lower atmosphere that there was any buffeting, but even that was light. Hauer had given instructions for a slow, stealthy entry. It wouldn’t do to be shot at - or start a nuclear war - on the way down.

 

They could feel the shuttle slowing to a stop and coming to hover; the big bay door in the side opened to reveal a stormy night sky. They were now at an altitude of less than two hundred feet, just above the surface of the Atlantic, twenty miles off the Delaware coast. Their sources had informed them that several of the intelligence committee members - including the Senate chairman - were having a small dinner party with Admiral James Holloway III, Chief of Naval Operations, whose family home was in Annapolis. An additional guest was ComSubPac, Harriman’s old friend Admiral ‘Jiggs’ Starke. That was FS1’s destination.

 

It was fortunate Admiral Holloway’s house had a big back yard.

 

The intercom crackled to life. “Flying Sub, Shuttle One. Hovering, ready to launch.”

 

Crane reached up and thumbed his throat mike. “Shuttle One, Flying Sub, launching.”

 

The captain brought the throttles up and FS1 obediently lifted, then moved forward out the hatch. As they began to buffet in the wind of the storm, he increased power and brought FS1 around to head for the shore, still staying low. From their current location it was about eighty miles to Admiral Holloway’s house. Flying time ought to be about twenty minutes at their current speed; Crane was staying well below FS1’s top speed to help conceal her identity should they be picked up on radar.

 

The miles seemed to creep by, but eventually Nelson pointed to a large two story home on a corner lot in one of the exclusive neighborhoods. “There, Lee. Can you set down in the back?”

 

Crane banked FS1 to circle around while he eyeballed the space available. “Looks like it, Admiral. Be a bit tight if we want to leave space for the courier, but still doable.”

 

“Then let’s be about it.”

 

**********

 

Admiral Jedediah Iggleston Starke, better known as ‘Jiggs’, was faced off with the senior Senator from California when he heard the familiar whine of FS1 over the drumming rain. He unconsciously looked up; a feral grin appeared on his face as he saw the sound catch the ears of everyone else in the room, bringing all conservations to an abrupt halt. There were looks of surprise and consternation as quick whispers carried the identity of the noise source around the room. As it became obvious the object in question was making a landing in the back yard, there was a mad rush for the back of the house. Faces crowded into the rear windows as they were treated to the spectacle of FS1 landing vertically in the pool of her own spotlights.

 

Starke chuckled at Holloway. “Told them Harry’d be here.” Holloway simply shook his head and stepped to the back door. Throwing it open, he stood waiting for the Flying Sub’s occupants to make their appearance.

 

He didn’t have to wait long. Two white uniformed figures in raincoats exited the craft from the rear hatch and strode in lockstep towards the house. It was clear that the shorter figure was Nelson; the taller was equally unmistakably Commander Crane. As the pair came to a halt on the doorstep and saluted, Holloway simply motioned them on in. A navy steward silently appeared at his elbow to take the officers’ raincoats as the assorted congressmen and military officers looked on in silence.

 

“You weren’t due until Monday,” growled Holloway as soon as they had entered the dining room.

 

“And hello to you too, James,” responded Nelson, earning a snort in return. “We decided that waiting wouldn’t really be useful - and a quick return might keep things …. simple.”

 

Holloway gave him a narrow-eyed look, but then had to acknowledge the truth of the statement with a slight nod.

 

“Anybody in your Flying Sub?” the CNO wanted to know.

 

“Kowalski and Haggen.”

 

“None of Morton’s … friends?”

 

Nelson shook his head. “James, they have far better ways of getting around.” Ears could be seen to prick up at that reply.

 

“Speaking of Morton, where is he?” Starke had sidled up beside the trio.

 

“Still recovering,” growled Crane, giving some of the assorted congressmen hard looks; more than one flinched from his hostile glare. Even Holloway’s mouth hardened into a thin line at the reminder of the treatment Morton had received at the hands of his own government.

 

“I suppose I should have expected that.” He gave the crowd in the dining room an assessing look, then turned back to Crane and Nelson. “Have you eaten dinner yet?”

 

Nelson and Crane gave each other a questioning look. “Actually, we haven’t. We hadn’t planned on coming to DC this soon, so we had to rush to get here,” responded Nelson.

 

Holloway pointed towards the table. “Eat, then we’ll talk.”

 

**********

 

As Nelson obediently headed to the table, Crane at his heels, he was relieved to see Starke follow, since that meant he had at least one firm ally. And since the CNO hadn’t immediately ripped his head off, maybe Holloway was in his corner as well. He wasn’t entirely certain where most of the politicians stood, but this might be a good place to start finding out. He’d be willing to bet dollars to donuts that at least half of them were in Tobin’s pocket - at least as long as it looked like it might be of some political benefit to them.

 

Holloway’s wife guided them to seats at one end of the table as the steward cleared away used plates. Starke plopped himself down in the seat next to Nelson, blocking any of the congressmen from attempting to speak to Nelson or Crane privately.

 

Nelson leaned over and asked, “So how bad is it, Jiggs?”

 

His old friend snorted. “Not as bad as it could be. All kinds of interesting tidbits have surfaced about Tobin and his associates. You wouldn’t have had a hand in that would you?”

 

Holloway had come up behind them as the steward returned with filled plates and clean silverware. “I was wondering that myself, Harry.”

 

“I didn’t have anything to do with it,” responded Nelson with a tight smile. “Chip’s childhood friends, who call themselves Dawimhlar, by the way, have their own ax to grind with Tobin. The battle of words is their doing.”

 

“Dawimhlar, huh. And what do the Dawimhlar want with earth?”

 

Nelson shrugged. “Nothing, James. They’ve had starflight for almost thirteen thousand years now. If they wanted this planet - they’d have never left it in the first place.”

 

The gasps from those nearest the table told Nelson that he’d been overheard, just as he intended. Holloway and Stake both looked at him in disbelief.

 

“Harry,” asked Jiggs incredulously, “are you saying they’re from earth?”

 

“Originally. They’ve been gone a long time. A very long time.”

 

Anything anyone else would have asked was interrupted by Holloway’s wife returning. “James, the President is on the phone.”

 

Holloway snorted a laugh. “Well, that didn’t take long. If you gentlemen will excuse me…” He looked at Nelson and Crane. “Harry, not a word more. You either, Crane.” He gave the politicians in the room a ‘command’ look that made more than one step back a pace, then followed his wife from the dining room.

 

Nelson sighed and looked down at his plate of roast beef and vegetables. “I have a feeling we need to eat fast, Lee. It might be the last time we get to eat for a while.” Crane, however, was already digging in. Nelson followed suit while the rest of Holloway’s guests circulated at the far end of the room, not daring to countermand the CNO’s order - not when they knew the President was on the phone with him.

 

 The call only lasted a few minutes. Holloway came back in looking thoughtful.

 

“Finish your dinner, Harry. The President is sending a car for the four of us. Probably thirty minutes or so.”

 

“Four? Who‘s the fourth?” asked Nelson, expecting the other to be the committee chairman.

 

“Jiggs.”

 

Nelson and Starke both blinked in obvious surprise and shared a perplexed look.

 

“Did he say why?” asked Nelson.

 

“He said that he wanted to hear from one of your friends to balance your enemies.”

 

“Did he now?” murmured Nelson, looking thoughtful. “That sounds like he’s wondering if listening to only Tobin’s crowd was a mistake.”

 

The sudden dismayed whispers from the back of the room brought Nelson’s attention back to his present situation. He picked his fork back up and began to eat his dinner with great deliberation, while a faint smile played around his lips. Scathach’s plan might have saved his bacon - and all with nothing but the truth. He could see now that relations with the Dawimhlar were going to be very interesting for humanity.

 

It might even force them to grow up.

 

**********

 

Admiral Harriman Nelson stood once more in the Oval Office, but the hostile reception committee of before that had been headed by the Secretary of Defense, Donald Rumsfeld, was conspicuously absent. This time President Ford was accompanied only by two Secret Service agents, while Nelson had not only Lee Crane, but Jiggs Starke and Admiral Holloway to back him.

 

The President got up and approached him with an almost sheepish expression on his face. “Admiral Nelson, I owe you an apology for the disrespect with which you were treated the last time you graced the halls of the White House.”

 

Nelson was taken somewhat aback. An apology? Just what did the Dawimhlar have on Tobin? “Ah… apology accepted, sir.”

 

Ford gave a wry chuckle. “You are wondering at the change of heart, I suppose. Let’s just say that the details of the depth of Admiral Tobin’s dislike of you has been pointed out to me by a great many people whom I have the greatest respect for - and the realities of an interstellar war pointed out by people whose business it is to know those things.”

 

“I see,” said Nelson, while his mind raced furiously.

 

“So I suppose the question now is - what do your Commander Morton’s friends want from Earth?”

 

Nelson sighed. “Mr. President, the Dawimhlar want nothing from us but for us to be good neighbors.”

 

The President blinked in surprise. “Good neighbors? They’re our neighbors?” He seemed to think on that for a moment, then asked, “And just how close do you mean by neighbors?”

 

Nelson had debated the answer to this question with himself, because he knew it would be asked - and had finally sought the advice of Captain Hauer and Faileas. They’d both told him the same thing. Tell the truth.

 

“Mars,” he told the President, “and they inhabit nine planets across seven star systems.”

 

“Mars?” There was a mingling of dismay and outrage in the reply. “Are they Martians - or did they take one of the planets in our solar system?”

 

 Crane coughed politely, drawing their attention his way. “Actually sir, they are originally from Earth. And it was their solar system long before it was ours.”

 

“What?!” The president froze in utter astonishment. Even the Secret Service agents were looking at Crane in shock.

 

“They are originally from Earth, Mr. President,” repeated Nelson, bringing heads swiveling back to him. “They are, in fact, related to us biologically in that they are hominids in the same genus as we are. Homo maritimus instead of Homo sapiens.” The fact that they were now a hybrid species was something Faileas and he had also discussed - and decided to not mention for now.

 

Jaws dropped all around the room.

 

“How?” demanded Ford, a question echoed by both Starke and Holloway.

 

Nelson considered, aware that at this point every ear in the room was waiting for his answer. Finally he said, “The Dawimhlar were originally a closely related hominid species who turned to a marine lifestyle during the first of the Ice Ages. They lived much like sea otters but never quite finished a complete transition to the sea, because about fifteen thousand years ago they found themselves the victims of … plunderers, I suppose is an appropriate word, who went by the name of K’uk. They then came close to being wiped out as collateral damage in a war between the K’uk and another interstellar civilization.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure a human society would have survived that big of a shock to their culture, but the Dawimhlar decided to meet their enemies in the next battle in the sea of stars rather than earth’s oceans.”

 

“So they are a warlike species?” Holloway asked.

 

“You’d think so, but no. Turned out they’d actually won the last battle with the K’uk in an attack during what was the Dawimhlar iron age. When they got to the stars they discovered their enemies were more than a thousand years dead.”

 

“But why did they leave?” came the plaintive question from Starke.

 

Nelson looked around the room and said slowly, “The last of the Ice Ages was ending and sea levels were rising. By then their science was more than advanced enough to tell them that in a few millennia earth would be too hot for them. So they sought out new worlds locked in permanent ice ages rather than try to terraform this one. And emigrated their entire civilization.”

 

There was a moment of stunned silence.

 

“How many of those worlds had inhabitants when they arrived?” asked the President.

 

“None. The first world they settled was ninety-seven percent covered in water and orbited an orange-red dwarf that had been a flare star in its youth. The second world was more earth-like, but had suffered a catastrophic asteroid impact a few centuries before they discovered it. That one they had no choice but to terraform in order to settle it - it was nearly uninhabitable as it was. The next two were twin water worlds too young to have evolved advanced life forms. After what they went through, they weren’t about to be hypocrites in their dealings with other intelligent species.”

 

“And you believe them?”

 

Nelson looked President Ford dead in the eye. “I’ve seen these people, seen their tech, talked to them. I’ve no reason to not believe them.”

 

“Seen their cities?” came a quieter question.

 

He laughed. “One of them, yes. And I can say that sunrise on Mars is impressive from the top of a volcano fifteen miles high.”

 

There was a look of envy on Holloway’s face. “Damn, Harry,” he said with a wry note in his voice, “no wonder Tobin is so jealous. You get to have all the fun.”

 

Nelson shook his head. “It comes with a price, James. Some of my people may choose to not come back.”

 

President Ford bit his lip and looked away. “I guess you’re talking about Lt. Commander Morton, aren’t you?”

 

“Yes,” said Nelson bluntly. “Is it going to be safe for him to come home?”

 

“First, answer me - was he working for them?”

 

“No.” Nelson ran a hand through his hair. “Are you aware of what happened to his mother and sister?”

 

“Yesss,” said Ford slowly, “but what has that got to do with these… Dawimhlar?”

 

“Everything,” said Nelson. “Some of them befriended him as a child and tried to save his mother and sister. That they failed upset them greatly. They’ve simply been keeping an eye on him all these years to make sure he was okay.” He sighed. “I won’t pretend that they don’t have agents here - because they make no pretense that they don’t either. Morton just isn‘t one of them.”

 

“And their government just let them do this?” asked Holloway skeptically.

 

“Well, not exactly.” Crane looked at them ruefully and said, “We only found out ourselves earlier today that one of the Dawimhlar involved at the time was - and still is - their Imperial Governor for the Solar System.” He shook his head before adding, “And Heir to the Crown.”

 

“They have an Emperor?” Ford was aghast.

 

“Empress - and it’s a constitutional monarchy,” answered Nelson. “It’s quite unlike anything on Earth in that the Heir cannot be a blood relative of the current ruler - and the succession has to be approved by the vote of the citizens.”

 

“This actually works?” asked Starke in amazement.

 

“For them it does - and has for almost fifteen thousand years now.”

 

“Fifteen thousand….. My God,” murmured the President in shock.

 

“Anyway, that’s why it happened. Chip Morton had the good fortune to befriend the one person who could bend the rules to protect him.”

 

Silence settled on the Oval Office as the President, Holloway and Starke digested what they’d just learned. Finally President Ford shook himself and walked back behind his desk to sit back down. As he leaned thoughtfully on his elbows he motioned the others to sit, which they did gratefully.

 

As Nelson stretched out his legs with a sigh, he asked almost casually, “Would you like to meet some of them?”

 

The president lifted startled eyes to meet Nelson’s. “They want to open formal relations?”

 

“No. What they were wanting to do when things got … out of hand… was open informal behind the scenes talks. They are of the opinion that the general population probably isn’t ready for knowledge of Earth‘s true history to become public, but since we are sending probes to Mars - which they‘ve lived on now for almost thirteen thousand years - that the governments should know. I suspect this decision was made after the Soviets managed to land a probe squarely on top of the landing bays doors for one of their smaller cities - and they were forced to destroy the probe to avoid premature discovery.”

 

Holloway gave a strangled laugh. “So that’s what happened…” He shook his head. “What about Venus?”

 

“Venus,” said Nelson dryly, “is every bit as hellish as the Soviet’s Venera showed it to be. Even the Dawimhlar say no thanks to that one.”

 

“Informal talks.” Nelson could see that Ford was contemplating the potential benefits and problems. But there really wasn’t a lot of choice. With the Dawimhlar firmly ensconced on Mars for thirteen millennia, that particular issue wasn’t going away and humanity was just going to have to learn to live with it. The only real question at this point was whose name was going down in the history books as having been the first official contact in the 20th Century.

 

Apparently Ford had come to the same conclusion. “I guess putting it off isn’t going to make them go away is it?”

 

“I’m afraid not Mr. President.”

 

“Thirteen thousand years… It boggles the mind.”

 

“Tell me about it,” muttered Crane, drawing attention back to himself.

 

“You said something, Commander?” inquired Holloway.

 

Crane shook his head, but answered. “I had the opportunity to visit Tholus - their planetary capital city for Mars - and just simply walk the streets. The sheer age of the place has a palpable presence. It makes even the most ancient cities on earth seem like they were built yesterday. It reminds me a lot of Petra, since it‘s carved out of solid rock.” He gave a small laugh. “I spent an evening in a pub that was older than any city on earth, drinking beer that was aged for fifteen years in casks like sherry, talking to not just Dawimhlar, but real aliens. The pilot of that ship Admiral Nelson helped escape was there; he thanked us for keeping the situation civilized.”

 

“Civilized.” Ford sighed. “Admiral Nelson, now that I know more about what really happened - and how dire the consequences of a screw-up really are, I’m glad that incident was resolved like it was. I really would hate to be the American president who got Earth blown away over a misunderstanding.”

 

“That, Mr. President,” said Nelson with feeling, “is something we can both agree on.”

 

Ford gave him a wry smile. “How long would it take them to send someone?”

 

Nelson and Crane looked at each other, which prompted a dry laugh from the President. “That fast, huh. Well, if they are that ready to go, we might as well go ahead.”

 

“Only if you are really sure, Mr. President. They are in no particular rush - after all, they aren’t going anywhere.”

 

Ford gave another deep sigh. “And there’s no need to delay either.”

 

“True,” admitted Nelson. “Do you want to meet them here or somewhere else?”

 

The President turned to his Secret Service and said, “Well?”

 

The agents exchanged looks. “Here, Sir,” said the senior agent.

 

“So how do we get them in without anyone noticing?” Ford inquired. “A starship landing on the White House lawn probably wouldn’t go unnoticed.”

 

“Ah, the Flying Sub is still at Admiral Holloway’s house, Sir,” said Crane. “With the admiral’s permission, they could transfer from their shuttle there and use it. We left two of our people with FS1.”

 

The President looked at Holloway, who just rolled his eyes and commented, “Like your little yellow monster won’t be noticed either, Harry. But at least most people know it‘s from Earth.”

 

“Then contact your people, Admiral, and let’s get this back on track,” ordered the President.

 

**********

 

Admiral Nelson stood by a window with the President at his side, watching as Kowalski made a perfect landing at one edge of the pad Marine One used. White House security was on alert; all they knew was that VIP’s were coming in. No one outside of Admiral Holloway, Starke, a handful of Secret Service, the Chief of Staff and the Secretary of State - the redoubtable Henry Kissinger - knew that President Ford was about to make history by being the first Western Head of State of a major power since the Roman Empire to receive a Dawimhlar delegation.

 

Two cloaked figures exited the Flying Sub and met with two Secret Service agents. A radio crackled and the group of four continued up the walkway, coming into the White House on the side that faced away from Pennsylvania Avenue. Since it was Friday night on a holiday weekend and the rain was trying to turn into snow, few people were about, but those who were would likely be keenly curious on just what the Nelson Institute’s Flying Sub would be doing landing at the White House at this hour.

 

As the group vanished from their vantage point, the President turned to lead the way into the Diplomatic Reception Room. He’d explained to them that he’d rather err on the side of formality than risk insult. Nelson had smiled and agreed, but privately felt that at this point the Dawimhlar were just happy to have avoided a serious incident that might have derailed peaceful relations with the US for years - if not decades - or even worse, resulted in some idiot in Congress agitating for war. He knew a couple of Congressmen who were just that damned brainless.

 

By the time Nelson and the rest had arranged themselves, the two Dawimhlar had arrived. Captain Hauer had lowered his hood, revealing his long blond hair, neatly trimmed beard and startling blue eyes, but Faileas was only lowering hers as she entered the doorway.

 

Everyone but Nelson and Crane stared as she handed her cloak to one of the open mouthed Secret Service agents. Having seen robes made from this odd shimmering fabric before, Nelson wasn’t surprised by the rippling iridescent rainbow sheen of blues and greens. They were very similar to those the Empress had worn during the ceremonies on Mars. No one in the White House however, had ever seen anything like either the garment in question or Faileas’ dark sable fur and mane and her jade green streaked amber eyes.

 

 Jaws dropped even lower as Captain Hauer slipped his cloak off, revealing the archaic looking kilt and breastplate beneath - and his abundant blond body fur. He had his helmet tucked under one arm as he stepped forward and gave a slight bow to the President. Faileas nodded her head.

 

“Mr. President, may I introduce you to Faileas of Khonsu, Envoy of her Imperial Majesty Toshira of Lar’apat, Empress of the Dawimhlar Amalgamation, and Captain Taharqa Hauer, commanding the heavy cruiser Soese,” intoned Nelson formally. “Envoy Faileas, Captain Hauer, may I present to you President Gerald Ford, Secretary of State Henry Kissinger, White House Chief of Staff Dick Cheney, Chief of Naval Operations Admiral James Holloway and COMSUBPAC, Admiral Jedediah Starke.”

 

It was only because he had been around the Dawimhlar for the past few days that Nelson noticed the flicker of deep disapproval by both Faileas and Hauer at the mention of Cheney’s name. He found that interesting, since he didn’t much care for the Chief of Staff himself; he’d have to ask later just why they disliked the man as much as he himself did. His own personal dislike stemmed from the fact that Cheney had been on his previous ‘reception committee’- and appeared to be one of the leaders along with Rumsfeld.

 

“Mr. President, Mr. Secretary,” said Faileas, echoed by Captain Hauer. After a pause that was so brief Nelson almost - but only almost - thought he‘d imagined it, Faileas looked at Cheney and said, “Mr. Cheney,” in a tone that was so neutral that he almost twitched. It was clear to him that there was a history of some sort there beyond what had happened to Morton. He saw Kissinger’s eyes narrow - the Secretary of State had sensed the distaste as well - and Nelson knew there would be hard questions later as to just why the Dawimhlar had a seemingly personal dislike of Cheney. “Admiral Holloway, Admiral Starke.”

 

 If it happened that Cheney had known the Dawimhlar existed before the note and hadn’t informed the President, Nelson suspected somebody’s head would roll. On the other hand, it could just be that they held him to be largely to blame for the entire fiasco that had ensued after Nelson had been persuaded to pass his note from Scathach to the President. Either way, it was now clear to Nelson that full relations between the Dawimhlar and the US government weren’t going to happen soon. There were too many paranoid right-wing Neocons in the halls of power for it to work just yet.

 

He couldn’t help the mental sigh. Up to this point he’d cherished hopes that the events of the past week had been an aberration; now he feared that they were an ominous precursor of things to come. He also was coming to understand why the Dawimhlar had wanted to talk to him privately - and not the President. Showing FBI Agent Murray Ogg that note had been a huge error in judgment; letting Ogg talk him into passing it to the White House an even bigger one.

 

He sighed again as he wondered how long it would take to undo the damage.

 

President Ford motioned for everyone to sit; Nelson gratefully sank into a chair. Once everyone had settled, the President cleared his throat, bringing all eyes to him.

 

“Envoy Faileas, Captain Hauer, I feel like I need to apologize for the rocky start to relations between our people.”

 

Faileas inclined her head. “You are most kind, Mr. President, but the failure was not yours. No apology from you is necessary.”

 

Ford brightened even as Kissinger gave Cheney a quick dark sideways look. Nelson struggled to keep a grin off his face. It was clear that the Chief of Staff was going to be the one catching flak once the meeting was over. And he should, thought Nelson; without his stupid attitude things would have gone smoothly and Seaview wouldn’t be sitting on Mars right now with his crew wondering if they‘d ever get home.

 

And Chip Morton wouldn’t be in hiding on the Dawimhlar world of Seethahn - and Patterson wouldn’t be staying behind with his mother’s family no matter how things turned out here. Which reminded him. He needed to find out if there had been any problems for the O’Briens back in Kansas. One more thing to add to his to do list.

 

A brief moment of awkward silence settled over the room, but Kissinger headed it off by asking, “Envoy, that is a most intriguing fabric. Is it natural or synthetic?”

 

Faileas smiled at him. “It is a natural silk. We call the creatures that make it se’anathurra; they are native to Farish, one of the twin water worlds in our Lawsar system. I believe you know the star as Sigma Draconis.”

 

“Silk? They’re insects of some sort?” asked Ford.

 

“No,” responded Captain Hauer, “they are warm-blooded mammaloids similar to monotremes.” At the briefly puzzled looks he added, “Primitive egg laying mammals like platypuses. These spin silk nests to hide from predators and protect their eggs. Since they are vegetarians, they proved to be relatively easy for our ancestors to domesticate.”

 

“And the color?” asked the President, clearly fascinated.

 

“Natural,” Faileas assured him. “The silk is difficult to dye, so we bred them to get different colors. The wild ones have silk mostly in shades of green, brown and black.”

 

“So this silk is common among your people?” asked Kissinger.

 

“Silk cloth itself is, but not this particular color. This is the color of the Imperial Government. Non-iridescent solid colors are the most common, with greens and blues the most popular. The iridescent shades in any color are rare and expensive.”

 

Nelson could see Kissinger turn a questioning look to the blue and green plaid of Captain Hauer’s kilt. “That doesn’t look like silk.”

 

“It’s not,” replied Hauer. “This pattern dates back to our Iron Age here on Earth. It’s woven from the dyed soft undercoat of a long-haired equine species we domesticated very early in our history. They are extinct now on Earth, though still common on our worlds.”

 

“Se’apall,” murmured Nelson in a sudden flash of insight.

 

“Indeed, Admiral.” Hauer grinned. “Though their full name is se’apallge’h’chiti. You can see why we shortened it.”

 

That brought a laugh all around.

 

“Does that have a translation?” asked Nelson curiously.

 

“Ah. Furry grazer with no horns. To distinguish them from chiticse’apall - furry grazers with horns - which you know as musk ox. They both inhabited the same sort of habitat,” explained Faileas.

 

“Arctic tundra,” noted Holloway thoughtfully. “Your people were from regions most humans found too cold, weren’t they.”

 

Faileas inclined her head in a nod of affirmation to the CNO. “Indeed we were, Admiral Holloway. The coastlines of ice age northern seas. Earth today has very limited areas that we would be completely comfortable in.”

 

Nelson could see the easing of tension in the President and all the others - except for Cheney. It was obvious he was a lost cause and there was still trouble to come there. Nelson couldn’t help but be thankful that there was slightly less than two months left in Ford’s administration. Hopefully the President - and the Secretary of State - could keep the man from doing something terminally stupid during that time. He reflected on that for a moment. Even if President Ford said it was okay to come home… maybe, just maybe, Seaview should dawdle for a while yet on Mars, at least until he could be certain that Ford wasn‘t going to be convinced to change his mind again.

 

Besides, part of him really wanted to see Lar, the current Dawimhlar homeworld.

 

It was the shouting in the hallway outside that snapped his attention back to the present. Ford and the others had gone silent, faces puzzled, staring towards the door, while Cheney…. Nelson’s eyes narrowed. The man quickly wiped a smirk off his face when he realized that Nelson was looking his way. Nelson caught Captain Hauer’s eye; the captain gave him a small nod indicating that he too had seen the look on the Chief of Staff‘s face. Whatever the ruckus was, Cheney had a hand in it.

 

As Nelson focused on the noise, he recognized one of the voices. Tobin. He almost groaned out loud.

 

The doors to the Diplomatic Reception Room flew open; the Secret Service agents reached for their guns. They hesitated when the one of the people entering proved to be the Secretary of Defense, Donald Rumsfeld, and looked to the President for direction. He waved them to put their guns away, but the look on his face was thunderous as he rose from his chair. The others rose with him, apprehension on their faces.

 

“Donald, Admiral Tobin,” snapped Ford in a voice thick with fury, “what is the meaning of this?”

 

“I’m trying to keep you from making a mistake,” Rumsfeld barked back, advancing into the room. “I…” He and Tobin suddenly came to an abrupt halt, staring. It was clear from their expressions that neither he nor Tobin had realized that there were Dawimhlar present.

 

“Mr. Secretary Rumsfeld,” said Faileas in a voice that almost purred, “Admiral Tobin.”

 

Color drained from both men’s faces. Being confronted by the very beings they’d worked so hard to convince others were a danger to Earth appeared to have left both men speechless. It was all Nelson could do to keep a straight face; from the corner of his eye he could see Crane struggling to smother a laugh as well. Holloway and Starke looked on with expressions of stunned amazement that warred with outrage at the discourtesy - and worry over what might happen next.

 

As for Faileas… She advanced on Rumsfeld and held out her hand. He had to either grasp it or be obviously discourteous - and risk a diplomatic incident. Under the glare of the President’s eyes, his defiance could be seen to drain away. He had no option but to reach out and helplessly shake her hand. “I…” he started, then trailed off, forlornly looking at Ford and Kissinger.

 

“Better,” grunted Ford. “Donald, this is Envoy Faileas and Captain Hauer from the Dawimhlar Amalgamation. They are our neighbors.” Ford put a heavy emphasis on the word. “It is in our best interests to be neighborly, don’t you think?”

 

“Yes, Mr. President.” What else could the man say?

 

It was more than Tobin could take. Nelson saw the color surge into the other admiral’s face and a wild look appear in his eyes. But before he could reach out and stop the other man, Tobin was in motion.

 

“NO!” he shrieked and sprang towards Faileas, grabbing Rumsfeld to shove him aside. As the Secretary of Defense stumbled sideways and the Secret Service agents once more grabbed for their guns, Captain Hauer took a step forward - and threw his bronze helmet straight at Tobin’s head.

 

It connected with a resounding THUMP and bounced away. Tobin staggered to an abrupt halt, swaying unsteadily on his feet for a brief instant, then his eyes rolled back and he collapsed like a sack of wet cement at Faileas‘ feet. Everyone froze for a few breathless seconds before turning startled eyes from the sprawled form of Admiral Tobin to Captain Hauer, who only looked back at them with an unruffled expression on his face.

 

Faileas sniffed, breaking the stunned silence, bringing all eyes abruptly back to her.

“I am made to think, Mr. President, that this one has mental issues.” She pointed with her chin at Tobin. “Unfortunately, these things happen in every species, including our own.” There was an almost inaudible sigh of relief around the room as Faileas let humanity off the hook for Tobin‘s outburst, deftly diffusing what could have been a fatal diplomatic faux pas - and a casus belli for interstellar war. “Perhaps you should call a doctor in to see to him.”

 

President Ford’s face was grim. “I most certainly will, Madam Envoy.” The look he turned on Rumsfeld could have seared holes in solid stone. He turned to his senior Secret Service agent and sourly told him, “I supposed you’d better call for medical help. If he’s still breathing, that is.”

 

The junior agent leaned down to check and gave them a nod that confirmed Tobin was still among the living. Kissinger made a motion that caught the President’s eye.

 

“If we are going to bring in more people,” said Kissinger, “Perhaps we should move to another room.” He looked at Faileas. “If Madam Envoy has no objections, that is.”

 

“I have none,” she answered. “It seems to be an excellent notion to me.”

 

“The library?” suggested the Secretary of State.

 

Faileas and the President both simply nodded. Nelson bent and picked up Captain Hauer’s helmet, which had rolled to a stop at his feet, and solemnly offered it back. Hauer gave him a short bow, but Nelson could see the odd Dawimhlar sense of humor dancing in the Soese’s captain’s eyes as he tucked the object in question back under his arm.

 

Nelson wondered if he ought to cringe.

 

As the junior Secret Service agent went for a doctor - and some back-up - President Ford led the way out of the Diplomatic Reception Room and down to hallway to the library. Once inside, Kissinger shut the doors behind them. The President motioned to them to all be seated; Rumsfeld, who had been swept along by the senior Secret Service agent, remained standing until Ford gave him a hard glare. Gulping, the Secretary of Defense hastily took a seat beside Admiral Holloway.

 

“I must humbly apologize for what just happened, Madam Envoy,” said the President with a rueful look on his face.

 

Faileas smiled at him. “There is nothing to apologize for, Mr. President. We have known for a long time that Admiral Tobin was - loosely wrapped, if you will pardon the colloquialism. But I think you begin to understand why we were wishing to be discrete and start the process of contact with someone like Admiral Nelson. He had already interacted with another space-faring species and acquitted himself favorably.”

 

Ford sighed. “In hindsight, that now seems obvious.” He sent another brief glare in Rumsfeld’s direction, making the Secretary of Defense cringe - and included the Chief of Staff in that glare as well. “I’m inclined to agree with you that for now, future contact should be through Admiral Nelson and the Nelson Institute. And this is not to be bandied about in public.” He glanced over at Kissinger, adding, “Unless you have any objection?”

 

Kissinger shook his head. “No. Given how badly things went off track with even a limited number of people having knowledge of your existence, I agree with the President that for now, the fewer that know, the better.” He too gave Rumsfeld and Cheney a scowl.

 

“In that case,” responded Faileas with a dignified nod, “my mission is successful. I thank you on behalf of my Empress, my nation and my people.”

 

“You are most welcome, Madam Envoy.” Ford turned his look to Nelson and said, “Admiral, bring your submarine and people home - including Lt. Commander Morton. I will personally see to it that all charges and pending investigations are dropped against you and all your people.”

 

“Thank you, Mr. President,” Nelson answered gravely. He refrained from asking who was going to pay for damages to the Institute’s buildings and infrastructure; Faileas had already told him that the Dawimhlar Amalgamation had agreed to stand good for the money if he couldn’t get his own government to reimburse him for repairs. Besides, he didn’t think now was a good time to bring up the subject of money.

 

There didn’t seem to be much left to discuss and the hour was getting late. It was also obvious that Ford and Kissinger were eager to bend both Cheney and Rumsfeld‘s ears - if not other pieces of their anatomy. Nelson and the Dawimhlar made their farewells; Faileas and Hauer donned their concealing cloaks as the Secret Service escorted the six of them back to the Flying Sub. Holloway and Starke chose to accompany them rather than take the government limo back to Holloway’s house in the worsening weather. As they boarded, Kowalski rose and let Crane replace him at the controls. Nelson settled into the co-pilot’s seat as the others buckled up in the extra seats that had been installed before FS1 departed from Mars.

 

Crane brought the power up; FS1 quickly lifted into the thickening snow and set a course to Admiral Holloway’s back yard some twenty-five miles to the east.

 

Admiral Holloway turned to Faileas with a sigh. “Madam Envoy, I know the President said to keep this under wraps, but I had a house full of guests when you landed your shuttle and transferred to FS1; there’s no way that lot is going to keep their mouths shut on something this juicy.”

 

“It was actually a small courier boat, rather than a shuttle, Admiral, but they never saw or heard it,” said Hauer dryly, “All they saw was FS1 taking off. It can probably be assumed that at that point most thought the ‘show’ was over for the night and that FS1 was merely going to fetch you home because of the snow. Our surveillance shows that most of them have already left.”

 

Holloway stared for a moment at Soese’s captain in surprise. Finally he shook his head. “So who is left?” he asked, “or do you know that?”

 

“We do,” Hauer told him with a slight smile, “Senator Alan Cranston, the Committee Chairman and Alexandr Zateyev, the Soviet Ambassador.”

 

Holloway closed his eyes and sighed again, more deeply than before. “You people are scary,” was his only comment, which drew a snicker from Crane. Holloway gave him a brief glare in return, then turned back to Hauer. “Captain, how much does that brass helmet of your weigh, anyhow? And why do you still wear something that … that…”

 

“Archaic looking?” finished Hauer for him. “It is dress uniform only for certain formal occasions.” He laughed wryly. “This is actually far more modern - and comfortable - than it looks, Admiral. The breastplate, greaves and armguards are not really bronze, but a lightweight bulletproof composite with a temperature controlled lining. The helmet is bronze, but has both the composite and temperature liner. We have, unfortunately, on more than one occasion in the past, had to use a helmet just as I used it today - a cloth cap just isn’t sufficient to bludgeon an attacker into submission. And being a practical people, that which works we prefer to keep. Besides,” he added, “it’s cool. Very much warmth and an individual of my species faces heat stroke.”

 

Holloway and Starke both turned their eyes to Faileas, who was wrapped from shoulder to ankles in silk. She smiled back. “An environmental skin suit under the robe. We really are adapted to temperatures much cooler than you.” She cast a glance at the front window of FS1. “You’ve no idea how tempting it is to strip down and go roll in the snow.”

 

Holloway shuddered. “Each to his own. I’d invite you in for a late dinner, but…”

 

“We appreciate the sentiment, Admiral, but the less time we linger dirtside, the less chance for things to go, as you say, pear shaped.”

 

“What about you, Nelson?” Holloway turned his attention to Harriman, who also shook his head.

 

“I’m not keen on meeting Senator Cranston just yet - and I certainly don’t want to fence with Ambassador Zateyev.”

 

“Can’t say as I blame you, there. So how are you going to do this a second time? Land in the back yard again?”

 

“I think not,” said Faileas. “There has already been too much…traffic, if you will. People are going to be looking when FS1 lands this time. Especially your neighbors. So I believe that we need to find a field or clearing and touch down just long enough for Captain Hauer and I to transfer to the courier without creating a …scene.”

 

“Got a place in mind?” asked Crane from the pilot’s seat.

 

The two Dawimhlar consulted briefly. “I believe there is a suitable area coming up now. If you like the courier boat can lead us in,” said Hauer.

 

“I like,” said Crane; no sooner had the words left his mouth than the courier boat’s lights flashed in the darkness ahead. Holloway and the others turned to look at the Dawimhlar.

 

Faileas sniffed. “Seriously, Admiral, did you think we would go into such a meeting without being wired for sound and video? If things had gone wrong, it might still salvage relations between our worlds to know how and who was responsible. Besides, this is a historic occasion. Such should, if possible, be recorded for posterity.”

 

“Fair enough,” admitted Holloway.

 

“And Admiral Nelson,” said Faileas, “I know you just said you didn’t want to talk to Senator Cranston, but someone must, before Cheney or Rumsfeld. And we do need to reach out to the Soviet government before any rumors they or their cohorts might start get there as well. Given that, we would like you to represent us in this matter. With your permission, of course, Admiral Holloway.”

 

The three admirals all shared looks.

 

“Harry,” said Holloway after a moment of thought, “as much as it pains me to admit it, she’s right.”

 

Nelson sighed. “It pains me too,” he said. “But given how much damage that lot has already done, we probably do need to be up front on this and get ahead of them. How much do you want me to tell them, Faileas?”

 

“As much as you feel they can handle, Admiral - especially Zateyev.” She reached into a pocket in her robe and pulled out a small silvery object the no larger than a matchbook. “You can call us on this. Just flip the cover open and you will be automatically connected to Soese. Captain Hauer or I will take your call.”

 

Nelson reached out and gingerly took the device. “Do you expect trouble?”

 

“No, but it is best to be prepared. And they may wish proof of what you are telling them. This will provide that. And you can also call us when you are ready to return to Seaview.”

 

Holloway’s brow furrowed for a moment at the last statement, then he dryly asked, “Do I really want to know where your boat is right now, Harry?”

 

FS1 settled to the ground, briefly delaying an answer. When the little craft had stabilized, Crane and Nelson both looked at him and said almost in unison, “Probably not.”

 

Holloway shook his head briefly and then laughed. “Then I won’t ask you if she‘s on Mars. No wonder nobody could find her.”

 

By now Kowalski had unbuckled and opened the rear hatch. Faileas and Hauer stepped out with a farewell wave and walked away into the swirling snow towards an ovoid of soft light that was the only clue revealing the location of the courier boat. The two Dawimhlar climbed the steps into the small spacecraft as the passengers aboard FS1 watched silently. The hatch slowly closed, in much the same fashion as a small passenger jet‘s, shrinking the opening and finally cutting off the interior light completely, allowing the small vessel to completely vanish from sight. It was only when they felt the wake rock FS1 that they could be sure the courier boat had lifted.

 

The radio crackled. “Captain,” came Hauer’s voice, “we are clear.”

 

“Lee,” said Nelson, “Let’s be on our way.”

 

FS1 lifted into the blustery winter sky once more and finished the few remaining miles to Admiral Holloway’s house. As Lee expertly set the craft down in the back yard, Nelson could see a couple of faces in the windows, while Holloway’s wife and steward stood framed by the light from the open back door. Crane spooled down the engines and looked ruefully over at Nelson. He hated having to interact with the political types at the best of times; Nelson knew without having to ask that Crane would have rather had teeth pulled than to have to walk back into Admiral Holloway’s house.

 

A hand dropped on his shoulder. “Harry,” said Holloway, “we may as well get it over with.”

 

“I know,” sighed Nelson in response. “But I have a feeling it’s going to be a loooong night.” He and Crane shared another look, but they both dutifully unbuckled their safety harnesses and followed the CNO into the snowy night.

 

Sometimes duty could be a real pain in the ass.