Chapter 3

Went much better this time,I must say. Downright encouraging is what I’d call it. It’s one bloody big ship. Long and lean, as if their railgun that heaves those iron blocks is the heart of the ship and the rest is merely an afterthought tacked on.

The thing I find curious is something said by my first officer—here, he needs a glass too after flying his Stinger ship around her. Being a ship’s pilot, he knows a bit about orbital mechanics and the like. Can’t say as I’ve given it much thought, not with how my Lagrange can was never designed to move.

He says in order to launch a thousand-kilo steel rod with a gigaton of force…

Was that it? Two? Right.

Yes, it should throw even the heaviest ship out of orbit. To throw an entire handful of bolts struck him as even more curious because that ship of theirs sat stable as a rock the whole time.

Well, the major’s a good chap and spotted the way the old Aquitna did it. He circled us around their boat and there it was just like he’d said—a small slot down between their engine nozzles. Their ship is a dual gun. It fires a bolt of iron forward at the same instant it fires a smaller one at much higher speed out the back. One punches through a can, the other launches out of the solar system in a big hurry. Hate to be the poor git who bumps into that during an interstellar passage, but it keeps the ship in place ever so neatly.

Oh, yes. They did answer your question.

You know, built up quite a rapport with Katrain—their liaison to me—once she and I spoke with the same lingo. Her English had this lovely accent, seemed familiar though I couldn’t pin it down really. Wonder quite where she downloaded it from. Charming lady, other than being party to destroying us and all. Definitely not their leader, kept apologizing for the destruction and then being cut off by some superior each time. Quite taken with her you know. Probably some six-armed drooling aberration with a hard shell or snakeskin, but nice voice. Nice manners.

Oh, your question. They spell the color of the Alice: g-r-i-s. Funny way to do it, she’s as grey as a summer afternoon. You warned me not to correct them so I didn’t.

French, you say?

There’s a dead language for you. Are there even any of them left anywhere? Seems like a half-century or so back the whole country relocated out into the belt somewhere, hollowed out one of the asteroids. Ceres maybe, moved inside, and closed the door behind them. Typical Frenchies from what I understand of their history. Always passing laws forbidding contamination of their language and their culture and the like.

They left right after the G-Cube replaced the old ’Net?

Didn’t know the Global Gestalt Grid was why they left in such a huff. Yes, I suppose it would make it tricky to keep your language intact with the G-Cube about, even the first generation of it. At least that spared them the Colony War and the IndiaBeam Madness. Savvy buggers.

But what’s that got to do with the Aquitna?

But if the Aquitna are the Frenchies, I don’t see why they left us alive. Of course, if they were space aliens, can’t see much of why they did either.

To see how our technology has advanced over the last century?

Not much as long as they steer clear of the IndiaBeam and don’t try going through the Australian Shield. Come to think of it, nothing so tricky about that ship of theirs. We could build the same if we had all those resources from hollowing out an asteroid and nobody to disturb us for a couple handfuls of decades.

A trade, you say?

You take care of the Aquitna threat and you can have any damn trade you chaps and lasses would like.

Go stupid and delay the Aquitna?

Oh, “dumb” as in silent. Guess I can do that well enough.

Two days?

Might be a little tricky.

Sick?

Never been sick a day in my life.

Oh, I see where you’re going with this. Cough. Cough. Yes, just might be coming down with something. Perhaps just one more small snootful of whisky to take with and keep me warm while I have a lie down.

French, you say?

So this Katrain with the lovely voice perhaps is lacking in the six-arm and snake-skin department. We did rather hit it off.

What?

No. Can’t say I’d mind that one bit. No sir.