Chess With a Dragon (12 page)

“Yes,” said Yake. “Trade.”

“What advantage is in . . . trade?”

“The advantage in trade is that there is no disadvantage.”

“Is our customary contract
not
.”

“That's right. It's ours. We have a special contract for dealing with mammalian species. Don't you?”

The Rh/attes' whiskers twitched. They looked to each other, touching their cowls and chittering softly within the dark little cathedrals they formed.

At last, the Rh/attes turned forward again, and the sixth Rh/atte spoke simply. “Information you have. Information accept we gladly. Information we have. Information accept you gladly.”

Yake exchanged glances with the others. They looked hopeful. Yake motioned them to keep quiet and turned back to the Rh/attes. “I have a question.”

“Is?”

Even as he began to ask it, he already knew the answer. Why hadn't he seen this before? “You're working for the Dragons, aren't you?”

The Rh/attes merely stared at him. Finally, the first one said, “Is question with answer expensive, yes. And interesting too. Wish you to ask it?”

“No. No, thank you.”

“So,” said the first Rh/atte. “This is how trade works. Is works. Now ask we the question. Negotiations here are beginning or ending? Yes?”

“Beginning,” said Yake. “You Rh/attes may be vermin, but you're
our
vermin.”

“Mutual is feeling,” agreed the Rh/attes.

The Ambassador from Terra looked exhausted.

He looked old.

Not like the Old Man. But like an
old man
.

For the first time, Yake began to feel sorry for the strain he must be putting on his boss.

The Ambassador accepted Yake's report without expression. He laid the folder on his desk without looking at it.

“Is everything all right, sir?”

“As well as can be expected, I suppose,” the Ambassador said. “I haven't been sleeping well, Yake. I don't think you understand the size of the bills that you and your committee have been running up.” He massaged the knuckles of his hand as if merely to move caused him pain. “What are you downloading anyway?”

Yake had expected this question. He was prepared. “Sir, at the suggestion of the Rh/attes, we're doing some research into the past five hundred years of treaties and negotiations in which the Dhroo have participated.”

“Mm, yes,” said the Ambassador. “I don't suppose I can argue with that; but you are turning into a very interesting problem, Yake. You're either going to be the greatest hero in history—or the greatest incompetent. And I'm the guy who has to give you enough rope so we can find out which. I would feel much better if you had some
tangible
results to report.”

“Yessir. Uh, we have found one thing; but you're not going to like it very much.”

The Ambassador sighed. He straightened himself and faced the younger man. “I can handle it, Yake. Go on.”

“Well . . . it's the InterChange, sir. Um . . . we thought it was a—a cross between a Federation and a Library. A place where species could exchange information about each other.”

“It's not?”

“No, sir. It's not. We were wrong about the government functions of the InterChange. It's not a government at all. It never was intended to be. It's a—” Yake looked embarrassed. He looked at his feet. “We should have figured it out a long time ago, but we just kept assumed that the old assumptions were true because nobody ever questioned them. The, um—the InterChange is really a—a gigantic Monopoly game. A kind of a cross between a Poker Club and a pyramid scheme.

“You see, we thought that we were buying the book of the month from an interstellar library; that was what the Dhroo suggested; so we just kept downloading it as fast as we could—everything there was to know about all the other important species. Those other species knew
better. We were buying poker chips! Information to use in the game!
Against them!
So they're all suspicious of us. We have no friends in this universe. Sir.”

The Ambassador sank down into his chair. He looked ashen. “That
is
bad news, Yake.”

“No, sir. That's not the bad news. This is—”

“It gets worse??!!”

“Sir? Are you all right?”

“I will be. Give me a moment.” The Ambassador slipped two small pills into his mouth and took a drink of water. He coughed into his handkerchief for a moment, then looked to Yake again.

“Sir, if you'd rather—”

“No. I'd
rather
go to the gallows with my eyes open, Yake. Tell me the rest.”

“Yes, sir. It's this. No matter how bad you think it's been—well, it's worse than that. We've also been wrong about the library part.”

The last of the color drained from the Ambassador's face.

“Sir? Do you want me to call the Dr.—?”

“No, no—please, go on.”

“Sir, I really—”

“Yake!”

“Yes, sir. Well, uh—We've never understood how big this library really is. We're dealing with over two thousand different interstellar species—just those who are registered. Plus the records of four thousand more who can't afford to join. Plus the records of several thousand
retired
species as well. The complete records of each and every one of those species—some of them with over a half million years of recorded art and history and science—are stored in the InterChange. Everything they've ever seen or learned. Every planet they've ever visited, charted, explored.

“The library of the InterChange is so big and vast that not even the InterChange itself has any idea how big it is. If we had started downloading the index to the index a hundred years ago, we still wouldn't even be half through! And that's an obsolete index! Sir, the InterChange is out of control. Nobody has a handle on its information any more—not even the InterChange itself. The best that anyone can do any more is dip into it like a mathematician browsing through the Mandelbrot.”

The Ambassador blinked. “The Mandelbrot? That's an infinite object, isn't it? Surely, the InterChange can't be that vast—”

“It might as well be, sir. Even if we put a billion human beings on the job, our species still wouldn't live long enough even to catalog what's available, let alone download it. Do you see what I'm saying? There may or may not be an answer to any question you might possibly want to ask in the tanks of the InterChange—but there's no way anyone is ever going to locate it for you. It's lost in the stacks. The InterChange itself is lost in the stacks.”

“But it works!” The Ambassador tried to protest. “The evidence is all around us—”

“No, sir. The evidence is all around us that the InterChange doesn't work. That's how the Rh/attes survive. They're information specialists. They find and identify the information that's immediately useful to a species. I don't know how they do it. If I did, we wouldn't need them, would we? The Rh/attes are the real InterChange here. They're providing the service! The InterChange can't.”

“You're saying that the InterChange is useless? Oh, my God.”

“Practically useless, sir. Those races who can afford the services of the InterChange know how futile it is; and those who don't know, run up incredible debts in the process of discovery. And none of the member species wants to change the system because they're afraid they'll end up worse off. It's the most incredible con game in the galaxy because even the con men who created it can't get out of it themselves anymore!”

The Ambassador sagged in his chair. His expression was stunned. “Then that means that . . . everything we've done here is wasted—Yake, I take it back. They're not going to hang you. They're going to hang me.” He wiped his face with his handkerchief and looked up at Yake hopefully. “Is there anything else?”

“No sir.”

The Ambassador sighed loudly. “I was hoping . . . against all hope, of course—that you might have found a direction. Do you think the Rh/attes can offer us any immediate help?”

“I don't know, sir. They don't offer information. You have to ask them the right question, and then be prepared to pay the price for the answer. They're very much like the Dragons that way. Cheaper, but still very enigmatic. I think, sir, that it's very much a matter of asking the right questions. From the way that the Rh/attes have been acting, I'd guess that they know
something
—”

“I'm afraid to ask how much that something will cost.”

“Um. I probed, sir. They said what they say about all their answers. The information is valueless. It's what we might do with the information that creates value.”

“Yes.” The Ambassador thought for a moment. “I tell you what. Let's start with a simple question.” He reached across his desk for a folder marked EYES ONLY. “Here, try them on this. Ask them why this negotiation broke down.”

Yake took the folder. “Which one is this, sir?”

“The walking plants. The ones who were looking for a gardener. They spend the summer walking around, they put their roots down for the winter and meditate. They went into heavy debt to establish a colony on a new world, only to discover that there's some local predator that likes their flavor. It attacks them during their dream-time—peels back the leaves, scoops out and eats the living brains. These plant-creatures are conscious the whole time, but unable to do anything about it, so it's a very terrifying thing to them. They brought in another species, some kind of insect-race to help; the Ki!Lakken, they look like praying mantises; but they've totally failed to control these things.

“The contract looked like a natural for us; but when our people entered the room, the Fn-rr—that's what the plants call themselves—froze up and refused to talk. They curled their leaves in horror. And burned our negotiating team on the spot. We've filed a protest, of course—”

“Of course. Who was on the team?”

“Chandra. Hernandez. Bergman.”

“Damn. They were good players.”

“Save your grief. They were stupid. They went unarmed. We have a choice here, Yake. According to the rules of the InterChange, the Fn-rr have to pay us for the loss of our three negotiators, plus an insult fee. It's a pittance; it's worthless to us.
Or
. . . we can demand the satisfaction of a re-negotiation. On our terms. I want to find out why they did it. That contract could have been useful. I think they were set up somehow—probably by the Dhroo.”

“Why do you think that?” asked Yake. “It sounds right, but what evidence do you have?”

The Ambassador lifted a flimsy off his desk. He passed it over to Yake. “We've been served with a Notice of Acquisition. We have less than thirty days to demonstrate our intention
to make good our information debt or the Dhrooughleem will take possession of us. For the record, the Dhroo have already worked sixteen species into early retirement. That's why I think the Dhroo are trying to kill our chances at any other deal—and if we can prove it, then we can file a grievance against the damn slugs. That will at least buy us some time. So. Do you think the Rh/attes can find out anything here?”

“I dunno,” admitted Yake. “But I'm willing to try it.”

“Good. Just one suggestion.”

“Sir?”

“Make sure your team wears their sidearms from now on.”

“Yes, sir.”

When Yake asked the question, the Rh/attes started giggling.

It was a particularly nasty sound.

Yake waited patiently for several moments, then spoke up with just the slightest hint of annoyance. “Are you going to let us in on the joke?”

“Joke, you are,” replied the first Rh/atte.

The second Rh/atte added, “Vermin you call us; but vermin you are too!”

The third Rh/atte wrung its bony fingers and pointed. “Gardeners the Fn-rr need to protect themselves. They see you; they see not the answer, but the problem!”

And all the Rh/attes started hissing and chittering together again. It was one of the finest jokes they had ever heard.

Yake turned around and looked at Nori and Madja and Anne, mystified. “Does anyone understand this?” They shook their heads.

“Missing a colony, are you?” the fourth Rh/atte asked. “Nineva Sector perhaps?”

Yake looked to Kasahara. “Nori?”

Nori nodded. “Yes, but—that was over two hundred years ago. Long before we knew about the InterChange.”

“Ahh. . . .” said all the Rh/attes together.

“What was that?” asked Yake.

“That was answer expensive. Given freely,” replied the fifth Rh/atte.

Yake wanted to glare at Nori, but held himself back. Instead he said, “Not given freely at all! We expect you to give us an answer of equal value.”

The Rh/attes exchanged glances, then huddled together in conference to discuss that thought. Yake fumed.

Madja touched him on the shoulder then and he asked impatiently, “What is it?”

She whispered in his ear. “How do the Rh/attes know about our lost colony?”

Before Yake could answer her, the Rh/attes broke out of their huddle. The sixth Rh/atte spoke quietly. “This is why you are stupid, Earthman. There are only nine mammaloid species in the InterChange. The rest are equivalents of life forms you would call reptiles or insects or sea creatures. What is the difference most profound between mammals and the others?”

Yake shrugged. “We bear our young live. We suckle them. We care for them.”

“Precisely. Mammaloid species raise their young. Other species not need to. Not on scale same. They reach adulthood quickly and without need for training and programming. They do not recognize mammaloids as capable of intelligence anyway. Why should they recognize what
happens to mammaloid young when the young are not raised by parents? They see vermin. The Fn-rr see vermin. Who would see otherwise? Who would
know
otherwise?”