“Questions are never indiscreet; answers sometimes are.”

–Oscar Wilde

“And there has been no sign of them?”

“No, sir.”

“Lovely.” Ziah Solis sighed. “You’re sure they didn’t die on the ship?”

“Kir was very clear on that, sir. They haven’t moved it, but they’ve scanned it thoroughly. I can tell you how many bacteria are still alive on it if you’d like.”

“No, Navarchos Bass. But thank you. You’ve got it staked out, I assume?”

“They can’t get off Titan without it, unless they find a way to hijack a shuttle.”

“Yes, well, I wouldn’t put it past them. The little beasts seem to be outsmarting us so far.”

“Sir, what’s our endgame here?” Aertimus asked.

“Pardon me?”

“How does this end? Are we transporting Maj. Nejem back to Archavia? Should we add another ship to patrol besides the Minatar? And while they’re no military threat, what do we do if the humans should decide to attempt a fight?”

“The last answer is simple. Destroy them.”

“Aye, sir, but at this point, it’s like shooting sarbies in a barrel. If images of us blowing up unarmed human ships gets out, the optics are going to be terrible. The legislature might act.”

“That only happens if the legislature is informed, and they have not been as of yet, Navarchos. Nor do I have any plans to do so.”

“Sir, is that in accordance with the law? Aren’t we supposed to notify the legislature in cases of potential First Contact?”

“Yes, Navarchos, but we have not attempted First Contact. Nor shall we.”

“Aye, sir,” Bass said, looking thoughtful. “Sir, I think we need a firmer hand on the wheel at Titan Station right now. Clearly, the humans have something planned, and as you said, they’ve been outsmarting us so far.”

“Agreed. What are you thinking, Aertimus?”

Bass leaned back. “Sir, I would like to bring the Xifos and the Gyfjon in to the Sol system. I will go to Titan and personally take command until this is sorted out.”

Solis looked at Bass, trying to read him. He did not fully trust the Gama Fleet commander on this matter; however, Bass had given him no reason not to trust him. Solis had been monitoring transmissions from the Xifos, just in case, and it was clear that even when he called his parents to check on his children, Aertimus Bass was betraying not a hint of the situation. Moreover, Bass’s performance record was exemplary; he had not earned two comets by betraying the Empire. Certainly, he had played fast-and-loose sometimes while in command, but what good captain doesn’t?

No, no matter his family ties, Bass had earned a little rope; it was up to him whether he hung himself with it or not.

“Agreed, Navarchos. Alert me when you have moved your flag to Titan Station. And let me know the instant the humans are found. Solis out.”

“He’s playing you,” the scholar said as the connection was closed.

“Dr. Gernhatt, you are accusing a flag officer of sabotage; do you have evidence of that?”

Tobin Gernhatt sighed as if lecturing a sub-standard pupil. “I’ve dealt with his sister, Solis! She’d been brainwashed by that little twerp Freeman, and you can’t tell me he isn’t pulling the strings on the whole family by now.”

Solis rubbed his temples. He was beginning to regret bringing Gernhatt on. It wasn’t that he disagreed with Gernhatt’s policy recommendations – clearly, there was no reason to bring humans into the Empire. They were pets, and where they weren’t pets, they were savages. Put a savage on a starship, he’s still a savage. Better to confine them to Sol Earth, for everyone’s sake, and make certain that their rapid technological development stopped dead.

But Gernhatt was not content with that; to him, humans were a mortal threat, capable of hypnotizing Titans into doing their bidding, while building a superweapon that could destroy the universe. Gernhatt had some arguments that were persuasive, but far too often, he veered off into pure conspiracy theory.

“Doctor, I find it difficult to believe that Hussel Bass is under the control of Niall Freeman, convincing as he may be. Aertimus Bass has done nothing thus far without my permission, and has followed my orders precisely.”

“He keeps arguing with you; if it was up to him, he’d make First Contact.”

“Yes, but it is not up to him, Doctor. It is up to me. He is allowed to disagree with me in private, so long as when he goes onto the bridge he carries out my orders. Now, should he fail to carry out my orders, I will relieve him and turn temporary command over to Lemm Tam, at least until I can get someone reliable out there. Even if he does betray us, I am prepared.” Solis tented his fingers.

“You know,” Gernhatt said, “he might have a point.”

“What – do you think I should tell the legislature?”

“We are acting outside the letter of the law. If it comes out….”

“Dr. Gernhatt, you do not understand the politics of this. If I tell everyone that the humans have initiated First Contact, it will throw everything into chaos. All of a sudden we lose control of the situation. Better to keep things clamped down, keep ourselves in control.”

Gernhatt looked thoughtful. “Yeah, you’ve got a point, Navarchos. You don’t want this coming down to a referendum, I’ve seen it, the humans are too persuasive if people start paying attention to them.”

“I don’t know about that, Toba. But I do know that if we give the legislature the chance to fail, they’ll take it. Better we keep this quiet. For now.”

* * *

“Civilian Cruiser Galatea calling Titan Station, code orange, repeat, Cruiser Galatea, Three-Vazha-Ashay-Zhe-Strike-Tay-Ashay-Rhombil-Strike-Zero-Zero-Two, calling Titan Station, code orange.”

Rixie leaned back, and waited.

“Galatea, this is Titan Station. What is your distress?”

“We have a destabilized warp field, showing asynchronous fluctuations. We’ve tried to get it to stabilize, but no luck; request permission to land for repairs.”

“Affirm, Galatea, we’re currently at Amber status, is there any way you can divert to Azatlia Alpha?”

“Negative, Titan Station, this has been getting progressively worse over the past six light years, we don’t think we can trust the field not to collapse completely between here and Azatlia.”

There was a long pause from the other end. A very long pause. Finally, they came back on.

“I don’t know that we can help you, Galatea. Divert to Azatlia Alpha.”

Rixie’s eyebrows shot up. “Well,” she said to Sorcha, who was sitting in the co-pilot’s seat. “Didn’t see that coming.”

“Do we need to wreck the ship more?” Alex asked. He was currently piloting from the human-sized auxiliary helm, which sat atop the main helm. “I can wreck the ship more if we need to.”

“I know you can, and I’m sure you’d love to try, but no,” Rixie said. “You just need to know the rules of the game.”

With that, she punched comms again and said, “Titan Station, unless you’re at double-black, you have to allow a ship that’s declared code orange to land. That’s per regulation 422.349. If you don’t, you can be imprisoned or fined. That’s you, personally, not your C.O.”

There was an extremely long pause.

“Galatea, we’re allowed to request a bond, to ensure that you’re not falsely claiming distress.”

“Understandable. How much?”

“Ten million. Direct transfer, not credit.”

“Ten million? Are you out of your mind?”

“That’s per the C.O.”

“Ridiculous. Do you know who I work for? Did you check my registry?”

“Yes, appears you work for Pryvani Tarsuss. She’s good for it.”

“I’m a pilot, for the Emperor’s sake! I can’t just call up Pryvani Tarsuss and ask for ten million in cash!”

“Sorry, then; don’t know as we can let you land.”

“All right,” Rixie said. “I’m going to try to get approval for this. It may take a while. I would appreciate if you could at least reduce it to seven figures.”

There was a pause. “I can go to nine million. No less.”

“Well. Awfully generous. All right, I’ll get back to you. Galatea out.”

Sorcha looked at Rixie with shock. “Why didn’t you just say yes? I have twenty-two million sitting in petty cash right now.”

“Because, if I just say yes, they’ll figure something’s up,” Rixie said. “They’re not idiots. A shuttlecraft pilot shouldn’t be able to get that kind of money easily. Not even from a notoriously ditzy, free-spending heiress.”

“I can wreck the ship more if it would help,” Alex said, adjusting his bearing.

“I know, Alex, and no, please don’t. We’ll just wait a few minutes, and call them back. Trust me.”

They waited a few minutes, and called Titan Station back.

“All right,” Rixie sighed, as the same comms operator came back on. “I can do five, and put up the title for the ship. It’s a Regulus IV; blue book has it at fifty-four million.”

“That’s not nine million in cash.”

“No, but I’m betting my ship that my ship is damaged; if it isn’t, you get to arrest me and keep an undamaged ship worth five times what you asked. And if you think being arrested is going to be worse for me than losing one of Pryvani Tarsuss’s yachts, you’re cracked.”

There was a very, very long pause.

“Very well,” the comms officer finally said. “Transmit the payment, and follow the exact bearing we give you, do not deviate. Titan Station out.”

“They’re in a good mood,” Rixie said. “All right, Alex, my turn.”

“I handled takeoff just fine. See what I have to put up with, Sorcha?”

“Hardly fair,” she said, with a smile.

“Yes, you did,” Rixie averred. “And if they see a human handling the landing just fine?”

“Okay, okay, fine. I do forget that the non-racists among you guys are the minority. Helm is yours, Rix.”

* * *

Captain Lauryna Gwenn slammed her fist into the side of the console and rubbed her temples with her free hand, staring off at the wall of the Gyfjon’s ready room. “Why in the name of the Emperor does Navarchos Bass want us in the Sol Terra System?” She tried to keep her voice down, lest she frighten the timid junior officer who had handed her the pad showing revised orders from Gama Fleet command.

“I…I don’t know, ma’am,” said Nom Zinter, shifting uneasily. Captain Gwenn had earned her reputation as a relatively laid-back, casual commander; it was unusual to see her this worked up.

Lauryna handed the pad back to him, and smiled at the young, fresh-faced officer. “Is this your first deep-space mission, crewmate?” she asked, her tone a bit more familiar.

“Aye, ma’am,” he said.

Gwenn chuckled. “What’s your name, crewmate?” She smiled, warmly.

“Junior Crewmate 3^rd Class Nom Zinter, ma’am!” He tried to show himself to be the perfect model of a modern junior crewmate. “Communications and information technology, ma’am!”

Gwenn let out a soft laugh at the eagerness of the answer. “Settle down, crewmate, you don’t have to shout it.” She sighed. “Lesson of the day, Junior Crewmate Zinter, is that whenever you’re in the middle of something important, Navarchos Bass will send you some completely random order sending you off anywhere but where you need to be,” she was mostly sarcastic, and just a little bit serious.

Nom stayed at attention, not sure if he should laugh or not.

Gwenn smiled. “Lesson two – one Navarchos Bass taught me, come to think of it – when your captain makes a joke, you laugh.”

Nom cracked a smile.

“All right, send back a message acknowledging receipt, advise we’ll rendezvous with the Xifos at Neptune as ordered.”

“Aye aye, ma’am!” said Nom, clicking his heels together.

“And Mister Zinter…ease up a bit. You’re in deep space, not the academy. We run just a bit looser out here.” Gwenn waited a full minute before delivering a sharp, “Dismissed, Crewmate!”

Zinter jumped at that, and skedaddled out of the ready room, as Gwenn chuckled, taking a sip of soda. “Ah…fresh out of the academy. You’ve gotta love it.”

* * *

Tatenda and Viktor trudged across an enormous market, largely deserted. They kept to the walls, like bugs, or mice; the metaphor did not strike either as particularly amusing.

They had seen enough of the owners of this station to discover what Ted had – that the resemblance between Hala’s captors and humans was striking, save for the rather significant difference in scale.

“It challenges so much,” Viktor said, quietly. “We must have a common ancestor. It suggests the panspermia theory must be right. Given the fact that the DNA of E. hsuensis is in fact DNA….”

“Doctor,” Tatenda said, quietly, “I am quite as fascinated as you, but I believe we will need to find cover, try to get in touch with the Lem. We have been walking for some time; this market will open soon enough, and when it does, we do not want to be caught out. The first time was close enough.”

They had come very close to being found – a young woman, maybe 19 or 20, had seen them and gasped. Had she not been all the way down the corridor….

“Over there,” Tatenda said, pointing to a slightly rusty grate in the floor by the snack bar. “There’s an access panel. We can lie low, try to get our bearings.”

The two men double-timed it to the grate, and dropped down inside. The floor was damp; pipes drip-dropped a bit. Tatenda couldn’t help but notice bits of cloth on the floor, and the remains of what almost appeared to be ancient candy bar wrappers.

“Hm,” he said. “Okay, let’s see if there’s anything down here we can use. Viktor?”

“This might work,” he said, looking at a shard of rotting wood with some rusty wire around it. There was a blade, dulled by time, which came off easily; it looked like titanium, perhaps.

“Funny,” Tatenda said. “It’s at our scale.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Viktor said. He looked at some old plastic bottlecaps that had washed into a corner, a piece of tarnished metal affixed to the wall at just the right height for a mirror. “I wonder if we’re the first ones to end up here.”

“What? Of course we are. No Earth ship has ever been to Saturn.”

“Right, but they have. They look just like us, we probably share a common ancestor. Think about it, Tatenda – nearly every culture has myths about giants. What if they aren’t myths?”

Tatenda sat down; the carbon flight suit and the therm suit kept any water at bay. “Do you think that’s possible?”

“Maybe,” Viktor said, “and as I said, they and we almost have to share an ancestor. Convergent evolution might get a species close to looking like us, but the girl who chased us…if I was 20 years younger and 40 meters taller, I would have been happy to be chased. She wasn’t humanoid. Everything about her – save one very major thing – screamed human.”

“True,” Tatenda said. “And if we discovered a city of tiny people on Enceladus, I have a feeling we would have a hard time staying away.”

“Exactly my point. I’m not saying there are millions of humans roaming the galaxy, but could one or two have happened upon a survey ship or research camp? Almost certainly. This is probably their first stop in and out of Earth. If they found themselves captured, or wandered onto a shuttle, they’d find themselves here.”

“Poor bastard. Wonder what happened to him,” Tatenda said. For despite the incursions by maintenance and wear and tear, he could now see the outlines of the encampment the way it must have been – what, fifty years ago? A hundred? More? “He must have been scavenging. Trying to figure out if he could get home.”

“Yes, well, doubt he got back, but it’s nice to imagine he could have.”

“I hope he didn’t die here, alone. That would be awful.”

“Well…you never know. Maybe he found a giant girl or boy who kept him as a pet,” Viktor said, wryly.

“No chance of that,” Tatenda said, laughing. “We’d make lousy pets.”

* * *

The Galatea followed the directions of Titan Station control to the letter; they had to. Rixie knew damn well that any deviation would kill the entire plan, and force her to explain to Pryvani why Imperial soldiers were asking for the command codes for the Galatea, which Pryvani would take with equanimity, which would just make Rixie feel worse.

Still, one look at the bizarre, sidewinding route that Titan Station wanted them to fly, and it was clear exactly where they weren’t supposed to look.

So as she steered along her proscribed course, Rixie jettisoned a small capsule. It was just two centiunits long, far too small to show up on Titan sensors – and full of human-designed hardware that would orbit the planet twice, gathering as much data as it could, transmitting all the way until it spiraled and burned up. If there was another ship in orbit, they would see it.

They were still at least two hours out, and another few to get through the pad check. She didn’t think they’d be able to get looking around until morning. Sighing, she turned on the autopilot, set an alarm, and dozed off.

* * *

“Okay, almost done. ‘Public.’”

“Public.”

“’Bad.’”

“Bad.”

Ted had been tempted to figure out how to go get Hala immediately, but Tig had talked him out of it; the base had hit its night shift, and this would be the worst possible time to try to slip in unnoticed, or disappear into a crowd. So they’d batted some strategy back and forth, and after realizing that this was going to be really hard, and not really wanting to face up to just how hard, they began talking about their respective lives.

“’Same.’”

“Identical.”

“’Able.’”

“Capable.”

They’d traded stories about their respective academies; Ted told her about flying out of West Point’s air campus in Colorado Springs, and the time he got a bit turned around in the mountains and nearly crashed an F-93. Tig trumped that by noting that once, on a training flight, she had come within two seconds of impacting a small moon. “A moon,” she’d said, laughing. “Not a random asteroid or something. A moon. I have no idea how they didn’t wash me out.”

“’Time’”

“Time.”

“Person.”

“Sentient.”

After a while, Ulala went to sleep, and the conversation grew more difficult; Tigoni understood Martínez just fine, but he was at a loss. Still, they kept at it; Ted could talk, and Tigoni tried to use hand gestures to communicate back. It was hardly efficient, but they enjoyed it just the same. Tig liked hearing Ted talk about his home. The land around Santa Fe sounded amazing – harsh and brutal and beautiful and delicate. She wished there could ever be a chance for her to see it.

“’Year.’”

“Solar cycle.”

“’Thing.’”

“Thing.”

She thought once or twice she might have caught Ted almost flirting; she chided herself for that. Ridiculous. She was projecting her own thoughts onto him. Hardly fair to the guy; he had a mission to fulfill, and she owed it to him to help him. Not to get distracted wondering what he’d look like if he got scaled up to Titan sized.

“’Man.’”

“Man.”

“’Woman.’”

“Woman.”

Ted eventually got around to explaining his own attempts at translating her language. Tigoni believed completely in the equality of all sapient species, and felt certain that humans had the same basic capabilities as Titans, but even she found herself surprised as Ted described the computer that pretty much every human had implanted in them these days, the processors that had been embedded in his arm – paper-thin, impossible to notice unless you really searched for them. He told her he’d been analyzing their language, but it could be weeks before it gave him anything useful. That is, unless he gave it some help. He thought maybe, if he fed it two hundred common words, it would jump start the process.

“’Child.’”

“Child.”

“’World.’”

“Planet.”

“Okay,” Ted said, finally, from his seat on Ulala’s small writing desk. “Here goes nothing. Gool, add to algorithm M1A the preceding words spoken by subject as defined by the word immediately preceding, and resort.”

He watched the completion bar slowly drag itself across his field of vision. “I don’t know if this will work,” he said, “but it would allow your friend to completely bow out.”

The line completed its march, and Ted smiled as it showed no errors. “Gool, headsup, translate using current program, low in field, sans serif, continue to refine based on conversation. Execute. All right,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Go ahead and say something in your language.”

“What should I say?” Tig asked, somewhat amused.

“Talk what must I?” Ted’s computer spat out.

“Were you asking what you should say?” Ted asked.

“Yes! Did it come through correctly?”

“Yes! Right was it through orgasm?”

Ted burst out laughing. “Okay, not quite perfect, but I think at least I’ll be able to get the gist of what you’re saying. If I ask you to repeat yourself, don’t be offended, it’s still learning your language.”

“Impressed I am Colonel Martínez.”

“Nothing to be impressed about,” he said. “I tweaked the program, but it’s standard.”

“Compliment, take. Should.”

“Okay. I’m glad I was able to impress you. So. Tomorrow – what do you think?”

Tig sighed. “Well, I’m not sure. According to Ulala, Hala is being guarded well. If she’d be willing to help you too,” said Tig, hitting the words hard enough that Ulala’s snoring briefly abated, “our odds would be better.”

“As long as you get me close, I should have a chance. Can’t imagine you guys spend much time looking out for eight-centimeter-tall people.”

Tig’s face must have betrayed her. She was starting to say that of course they did, stray humans needed a home, but she managed to choke it off before it came out. Still, Ted saw the short debate behind her mahogany eyes; his eyes widened in turn.

“You do watch out for us,” Ted said.

Tig’s mouth opened and closed.

“We’re not the first humans you’ve seen. There have been others. Haven’t there?”

“You’re the first to get here on your own,” Tig said. “And you should be proud of that. Very proud. But you’re right…there have been humans here. There are humans throughout the Empire.”

“What?!” Ted had been resting, but now he leapt to his feet. “You mean there are human citizens of the Empire? Are they more advanced than us? Is that why you didn’t want us – are we, like, still pre-warp so you can’t contaminate us or something?”

“No,” Tig said, looking down.

Ted swallowed. “What? Are we…like…the assholes of the galaxy? I mean, I know my history. It’s possible.”

“No, that’s not…Ted, I don’t want to tell you how humans live in the Empire. It shames me. It shames us all.”

Ted struggled to decipher the translation. “I’m…are you saying you’re embarrassed of the way humans act?”

Tig shook her head violently. “No! Not at all! I have known many. They are kind and warm and gentle…I am embarrassed of Titans.”

Ted cast a wary eye her way. “Why?”

Tig groaned. She did not want to tell him this. But she was starting to really like him. And she owed him the truth. “We keep you…as pets. I’m sorry, Ted. It’s wrong. And there are many people like me who know it is wrong. But we do.”

Ted’s eyes opened wide, in horror. “So you…you think of me like…like some kind of dog…or gerbil.”

“No!” Tig knelt down, to get her closer to Ted’s level. He didn’t want to look at her, and she couldn’t blame him. “Col. Martínez. Ted. You and I are equal. I don’t know if that translated, but…I see you as a person.”

“Have you ever owned a human pet?” he said, looking up at her accusatorily.

Tig blushed deeply, and looked down.

“That’s a yes, isn’t it?”

Ted turned. He looked shattered. “We thought we were going someplace. That we were getting close to such great things. Just a bunch of damn mice.”

“You are not!” Tig said, tearing up, trying to figure out how to make him hear her. “Gorram – I need you to understand. We are awful. Ted, I am bad. Ulala is bad. We are bad. You are good.”

Ted looked at the beautiful, billboard-sized face, full of anguish. He didn’t get it all, but he got enough to understand that she felt bad. Not nearly so bad as he.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Martínez said. “We probably are fools compared to you. Little goofy teeny tiny people. At least we amuse you.”

“Ted….” Tig started, but he just turned and waved dismissively. He was very tired. He had been up for over 24 hours, and he’d just found out the pretty giantess he was starting to really like probably thought of him as a nice Boston terrier.

“I need to rest,” he said. “I can leave if you’d like.”

“You stay here,” Tig said, simplifying to make sure the translator got it. “I will help. Ted. I will help.”

Ted couldn’t even look at her; instead, he laid down, and though miserable, he was so exhausted that he still managed to fall asleep.

Tig watched him until his tiny chest began to rise and fall in steady rhythm, blinking back tears of fury and embarrassment over the injustice of her world.

She wandered over to her bunk, and laid down, staring at the ceiling. She had to make this right. For Ted, for Major Nejem, for the humans everywhere. She just had to figure out what must be done, and she would do it – and damn the cost to herself.

* * *

“This is outrageous. How are we just finding out about this?” The European president was fuming; the information the Americans had just presented was the damn key to this entire incident. How dare they sit on this?

“I agree,” said Yanaev. “We demand an explanation.”

“Madam President, Mister President, I can only apologize,” President Martin said, evenly. “I found out about this twelve hours ago. I agree, I wish I’d had this information earlier, but you may note that I’m sharing it with you now.”

“Still,” the Secretary-General said. “I am surprised that other nations did not know about this.”

“That, Mr. Secretary-General, is because other nations did.”

“Pardon me, Premier Lǐ?”

Lǐ Wáng straightened his glasses, and smiled genially. “As soon as I received the initial briefing from President Martin, I asked the MSS what information we had on this creature. Apparently our spy agency had detailed information from 1994 on. What’s more, we know that we discussed this with the Russian, Vietnamese, and French governments, and that several more were known to know.”

The room was silent. Lǐ added, quietly, “I suppose I should apologize for spying….”

Martin chuckled. “Premier Lǐ, I think it’s safe to say that there are several yottabytes of data about China from the 20^th and 21^st centuries in the vault at the CIA. Not to mention the 22^nd century.”

“And the reverse is true, of course,” Lǐ said with a smile. “Now is not the time for diplomatic obfuscation.”

“All right, fine. So what do we do with this?” President Xylander asked. “Do we alert the Lem?”

“Obviously,” Martin said. “They need to know. Have they heard back from the landing party?”

Admiral Harwell shook his head.

“Very well. Admiral Harwell, can you give this information to Shang Xiao Xú? And apologize on my behalf for not giving it to her sooner?”

“Of course, Madam President,” he said. He did not add that there was an apology that he owed Xú as well.