Maximum Warp
Chapter 9: A Matter of Honor

Janet gave me a long, long look. A head-to-toe inspection, with particular attention to the state of my hair, makeup and attire, as I walked across the lobby to where she was silently fuming.

“Will wonders never cease,” she drawled. “It appears that virgins may wander unmolested. Right here — in the heart of the Stata Symbol!”

I stopped, the echo of the click-click of my heels still sounding in my ears. I found myself standing in front of her like a misbehaving schoolgirl, ankles together, knees together, eyes downcast. “I’m sorry, Janet.”

“What. Were. You. THINKING!!!!” She didn’t get up.

“That we were so close . . . . and I don’t like to lose.”

“Some things you only get to lose once, you idiot!” She took a deep breath and launched into a detailed, colorful, and embarrassing recitation of my many flaws, past, present and yet to come, a positively Dickensian declamation.

I didn’t say anything.

Finally, even Janet ran out of expletives, colorful metaphors and obscure references to both nineteenth century literature and fifty years of popular culture. Given her background and encyclopedic memory, that took a considerable amount of time. She gave me another long, sour, searching look before saying, “Alright. You aren’t fightin’ back. What gives?”

“Because you were right. . . . And because I was scared.”

“What?!” She sounded incredulous.

I began to understand why my overuse of that query had occasionally irritated people. My statement didn’t seem strange to me, under the circumstances. So I asked, “Why what?”

She got to her feet. “Well first, I don’t think you’ve ever admitted that I was right about anything, even though I’m generally right about everything. And second . . . ‘cuz I can’t imagine you have enough sense to be scared of me.”

I shook my head. “Not you. Him. I was scared. I’ve never been scared . . . or, not like that.”

“What did he do?” Her question positively pulsed with menace.

I hadn’t run those risks just to have it all blow up. “He signed the agreements. And he didn’t touch me. But if he had tried something, I realized — really realized — that I couldn’t possibly stop him. That I was . . . ” I forced myself to grind out the last word . . . “powerless.” I was surprised to find myself shaking.

Janet’s eyes filled with sudden understanding, and her voice was soft. “So . . . you maybe learned something?”

“Oh yes!” I lifted my chin. “I learned just how much I hate to lose!”

* * * *
It had been a stressful day and a long one; we had to deal with setting up the escrow account (the bank manager’s expression, when we pulled $50,000 in cash out of a glorified book bag, was priceless), and westbound rush-hour traffic on the Mass Pike was insane. Relations between us were still tense, so we just went straight to our respective beds when we got back to Janet’s house.

I woke to the smell of eggs, bacon and coffee. Some of the best, most wonderful smells in the world. But I couldn’t bring myself to get out of bed.

Eventually an exasperated or impatient Janet knocked on the door. “Aren’t you up yet?”

“Go ’way,” I grouched.

Instead, she poked her head in. “C’mon, Jessica,” she coaxed. “I’ll even apologize . . . for bein’ right. The most deadly of the seven deadly sins.”

I gave her a baleful stare. “Janet, I feel like shit. I can’t possibly think about food. I’ll be up in a while. Maybe. If I don’t die first.”

She came and sat on the side of my bed. Very mom-like I suppose, though my memories of my own mom were pretty hazy. “What’s wrong?”

“Told you,” I grumbled. “I feel like shit.”

“You look like shit, too,” she agreed without any noticeable sympathy. “So it’s not all in your head, if that makes you feel any better. But do you have, like, ya know . . . symptoms?”

“Head hurts, body feels weird. And I’ve got . . . I dunno . . . muscle spasms? . . . in my nether region.”

“Oh,” she said.

“No!!!” I said, as the import of her knowing look hit me.

“There’s always a bright side,” she said, soothingly.

“Don’t tell me . . . .”

“Yep. You’re not pregnant.”

It was the beginning of three fun-filled days of mystical exploration. All the joy, the mystery of being reborn as a woman! I felt so close to Janet. To every woman ever born. I was, indeed, going where no man had gone before, and it was awesome.

Alright, that’s bullshit. It was awful, and I hated literally every bloody minute of it (and every literally bloody minute of it, too!), and I cursed the damned termites that had done this to me, and cursed God above for having done this to women more generally, and cursed Janet for no longer being subject to it.

Janet said I was barely spotting.

I cursed her again.

She warned that it could be worse in later iterations; this could turn out to be nothing more than the ladypart equivalent of a throat-clearing, prefatory to a full-blown Wagnerian Opera of guts, blood and drama.

I dug into my memory and found curses in old English and Hochdeutch. They knew how to curse!

But I did get through it, somehow, and on the fourth day I even made breakfast to apologize to Janet for having been a complete and total bitch for the entire period. Pun very much intended.

“Every damned month, huh?”I asked her, without much hope.

“It’s less predictable when you’re young,” she replied philosophically. “Might be as little as three weeks or so between periods at your age.”

Go not to literature professors for counsel, for they are wicked and think they’re funny.

We had a good breakfast despite Janet’s fun at my expense. At the end of the meal, though, we had to address a sensitive subject. On the off chance that something happened to her — something like, for instance, getting arrested when James Wainwright failed to arrive for the Fall semester — Janet wanted me to be able to get access to cash. Going to multiple branches of her bank over a period of a week, she had withdrawn virtually all of the money — not just all the money I had transferred to her, but her own money too. We hadn’t discussed it in advance.

“I’m not sure what’s crazier,” I said. “The fact that you’ve got all this cash, or the fact that you’re carrying it around in a backpack!”

“Just five thousand in the backpack. I put the rest in a safe deposit box at Florence Bank. In fact, why don’t we take a little drive after we clean up.”

I thought we were going to the bank, but instead Janet drove around in circles for a while, then stopped at a McDonalds.

Janet’s very definitely not a food snob (or a snob of any sort), but this was unlike her. “You got a hankering for a happy meal? We just ate?”

“I love the smell of nuggets in the morning,” she said conspiratorially. “It reminds me of acne.” She opened the glove compartment and pulled out what appeared to be a rock. The underside had a piece that slid out to expose a key hidden in a recess. “This is a key to the safe deposit box.”

She closed the compartment then carried the rock to the base of the McDonalds sign, where she put it with a few other rocks.

“Janet,” I said as she got back in the car, “Wouldn’t that be safer at your house? I understand being a bit paranoid, but this is crazy!”

“There’s another copy at the house, in the drawer where I throw all the unidentified keys I’ve collected over the years. This is a ‘just in case’ kind of thing.”

“You used to be such a sensible woman,” I complained.

“When?” she replied, indignant.

“Yeah, good point,” I conceded.

“Better! You’re a guest in my house, don’t go insultin’ me like that!”

* * * *
Three more days passed. We were going more than a bit crazy. We hadn’t heard from the termites, we hadn’t heard from Professor Grimm, and we had nothing better to do than worry. To distract ourselves, Janet was showing me how to use a moisturizing face mask. As a result, I wasn’t fit to be seen when the doorbell rang.

Janet’s house isn’t large, so I had no trouble hearing what was going on from my bedroom.

“Officer Wolf. How nice to see you again,” Janet said dryly.

“Professor Seldon, I’m here to execute a search warrant on these premises for information relating to the disappearance of James Wainwright.”

“Ain’t you the proper Lord High Executioner? And I’m guessing you’ve got a little list, too.”

“A warrant, Ma’am. For today, you’re not on it. Interfere, and you will be.”

“But Professor Wainwright hasn’t disappeared.”

“I’m not buying it. The judge didn’t buy it. End of the day, I doubt a jury’s gonna buy it either. But if your smooth-talking lawyer wants to give it a shot, he’s welcome to try.”

“You’ve got no evidence of any crime!”

“You miss the part where I said the judge didn’t buy it? I’ve got a badge and a warrant, and all you’ve got’s an argument for another day. Stand aside, Ma’am.”

I grabbed my phone and made an urgent call.

“This is Justin Abel . . . .”

“Justin, it’s Jessica . . . .”

“I can’t take your call right now, but if you leave your name, number, and a brief message I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

Dammit! Voicemail! “It’s Jessica James. Officer Wolf is at Professor Sheldon’s house executing a search warrant. Please call!”

“If it isn’t Miss Rabbit,” said the Wolf at my door.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing!” I hollered, started. Bad enough he was in the house, but he caught me wearing nothing but a nightie, a sweet nothing of a dressing gown, and a face full of mud. I was ripped!

“My duty,” he replied with a slow smile.

“The sacrifices you make! Will you kindly step out of my room so I can get dressed?” My tone was icy.

“And hide or destroy evidence? Mais non, petite lapine.”

French? French was nothing. Anyone could learn French! “Numpty scunner! Bawheed! Faugh!!!”

“What?”

“Leck mich am Arsch!”

He gave up. “I’m not here to trade . . . whatever you’ve been spitting at me. I’ve got a warrant and I’m going to execute it, and if you interfere I’ll arrest you and take you downtown just as you are!”

It was, under the circumstances, an effective threat. “Rummaging around in a lady’s dressing room?” I asked scornfully, mentally thanking Janet for showing me the movie. “What are you looking for, Mr. Wolf? Well, never mind. You just do your executing. Don’t mind me if I do a little recording!”

I held up the phone. But . . . I had never actually used the camera. I wasn’t sure what to do. So I just held it in what I hoped was a suitably threatening manner.

Which is when the doorbell rang a second time. “Good evening, Ma’am,” I heard from the doorway. “Wayne Knight, Treasury Department. I’m here to ask you a few questions about some recent banking activities.”

“Oh, fine! Search away!” I said, pushing past the officious Officer Wolf and going into the hallway, my useless phone still in my hand.

“Why don’t you come in,” Janet was saying to the new arrival.

“Maybe because he doesn’t have a warrant?” I suggested.

“Jessica, hon, you look a bit underdressed for entertainin’ important visitors,” Janet said.

“A bit late for that,” I growled.

From the door, Mr. Knight said, “Really, I’m just here to ask some questions.” He saw me and his eyes bugged. He found somewhere else to look with almost frantic alacrity.

“Step into my parlor,” Janet said.

Knight stepped inside hesitantly, trying desperately to keep from glancing my way. It was almost comical.

I decided not to make his job any easier. “Can I get you something, Mr. Knight? Tea? Coffee? A moisturizing mask?”

“N-n-no, thank you, ah, Miss,” he managed, moving towards the couch like he was walking through the valley of the shadow of death.

Janet watched the show with a sardonic smile. “Isn’t it your duty as a knight t’sample as much peril as you can?”

“Excuse me?” Knight asked weakly, as his buckling knees dropped him onto the couch.

But Knight had barely settled on the couch when someone hammered on the door.

“Oh, fine, I’ll get it,” I said before Janet could get up. “Modesty’s surely a lost cause tonight anyway!”

I pulled the front door open with a jerk, surprising an imposing man with a completely bald head just as he was about to hit the door again. “If you say anything about knockers, you’re a dead man!” I growled.

“What?” he replied, sounding fatuous. But he recovered quickly and added, “Earl Grant, Department of Homeland Security.”

“Mr. Grant,” I said, “it seems like it’s law enforcement appreciation day at the Seldon household today, and we’re booked up. Would you like to take a number?”

Our voices carried to the living room, and the arrival of this new visitor was apparently enough to rouse Mr. Knight from his peril-induced timidity. “What are you doing here, Grant?” he asked, getting up and moving towards the door.

“Making sure you don’t screw up a delicate situation,” Grant said repressively. He pushed past me with barely an “excuse me, Miss,” then confronted Knight. “We’re taking charge of this matter.”

“Under whose authority?” Sure enough, Knight was puffing out his chest.

“The Secretary of Homeland Security himself,” Grant replied.

“Oh, I’m so impressed! The Treasury Department has only existed for . . . I don’t know . . . a couple centuries longer than that dog’s breakfast of agencies you call a ‘department!’”

“We’re the frontline defense for national security!”

“That and a few bucks’ll buy you a latte — and guess whose department controls the bucks, buttwipe!”

“Aha!!!” cried Officer Wolf, who emerged from my room brandishing a wallet. My wallet, which unfortunately contained the only ID I possessed. The one that identifies me as James Wainwright. “What have we here?”

The federal agents looked at him.

“A wallet?” asked Grant.

“Is this a trick question?” Knight added, sounding a bit whiny.

“Who are you, and what are you doing here,” Wolf blustered. “I’ve got a warrant to search these premises!”

“Grant. Homeland Security.”

“I report to the Secretary of the Treasury — the senior service! — and he reports only to the President!” barked Knight.

Officer Wolf said, “Sweet. But I report to Sergeant Bane of the Northampton Municipal Police. He pisses on presidents and shits bigger’n both of you!”

They were almost chest-to-chest, arguing about precedents and jurisdiction and what-all, though the vocabulary seemed a bit low for such arid and esoteric subjects. My phone, still in my hand, began to buzz. When I saw who it was, I gently touched Janet’s arm and steered her through the front door that Grant hadn’t bothered to close. The sounds of the argument followed us.

“I think I’ll go for a little walk now,” Janet said under her breath.

“Ensign Worm,” I said, answering my phone as we got outside. “How nice of you to call. Would you happen to be nearby?”

“Affirmative, Jessica James,” his flat voice replied.

“Would you mind if we conducted our conversation on your ship?”

After a moment, he replied, “We can that do.”

I got a firm grip on Janet's arm. “Two to beam up!”

Our feet left the ground. Janet grinned fiercely and said, “Exit, stage . . . Fright!”

We were probably 100 yards above the house, vanishing into the evening twilight, when Officer Wolf came through the front door, followed by the two federal agents. From high above, their scurrying made them look like ants when their nest is disturbed.

Or maybe termites.

“Beamin’ worked different on Star Trek,” Janet said, as thoughtfully as is possible while being pulled effortlessly through the air.

“Is that a complaint?”

“No, no. Got no great desire to have my atoms scattered and reassembled or whatever. Besides . . . this is kinda fun. Regular E-Ticket ride.”

We were now pretty high up, and the nylon of my nightie and dressing gown did nothing to keep out the chill. But a rescue was a rescue. I wasn’t going to complain until I turned into a pulchritudinous popsicle.

Janet saw that I was still holding my phone. “Hey, girl, how ’bout a selfie, huh?”

“No photos!” I shivered, and mostly not from the cold. “The only reason I’m not losing it right now is that the termites have no conception of human aesthetics.”

“You still look pretty good . . . from the neck down.”

“Gee thanks!”

With startling suddenness, our view of Northampton vanished as a door soundlessly slid shut beneath our feet. We hovered over it for a moment before being gently lowered to a surface that felt, to my bare feet, like Velcro. A hatch of some sort opened some thirty feet in front of us.

“Shall we?” I said.

“Hell yeah. This is way more fun than Madagascar.” As we walked towards the hatch, Janet added, “‘Course, I am missin’ the lemurs.”

I smiled. Maybe she was just putting on a brave face, and inside she was as nervous as I was. But somehow I doubted it. If Janet had to go somewhere, she would, by God, go boldly!

The other side of the hatch was familiar from my prior trip to the vessel — a replica, or possibly some form of illusion, showing the bridge of the Enterprise from the original Star Trek series. All the bridge stations appeared to be occupied by people in uniforms from the TV show, though Ensign Worm, standing by the center seat, was still in his Cronkite suit and flip-flops.

I acknowledged our hosts. “Elder Mission Leader. Ensign Worm.”

Worm looked at me carefully, his face as usual impassive. “I am your aesthetics understanding not much. Did we make mistake with your face?”

“Ah . . . no. The covering is a skin treatment.” It would also, I hoped, hide my deep blush. “I apologize for our appearance — we weren’t planning on seeing anyone this evening.” Janet, at least, was wearing a bit more than my scanty pink nightie!

“Comms, at least, should be female,” Janet said, looking at the apparent composition of the bridge crew.

“Ah!” said Worm. “We this wondered. It time took to fully understanding this thing. Your species gender split.”

The Elder chittered, and Siri’s voice eventually translated. “Our species does not divide gender. All the People can produce the equivalent of your eggs and sperm. Which, is a matter of season and . . . .”

“I’m sorry Captain, I didn’t quite get that,” Siri’s voice finished.

Worm tried, as usual, to supply a word for the concept that was not translating easily. “‘Preference?’ Maybe, ‘Mood?’”

My interest was piqued. “It’s a periodic cycle?”

The Captain’s chitters translated, “Change is possible in season. Whether it happens? Random. Rare.”

“That’s gotta complicate reproduction,” Janet observed.

“Uranium helps,” Worm said.

“Puts ya in the mood, does it?”

“Oh, yes!” Worm said. His normally flat affect held the faintest note of rapture. He added, “We get no kicks from champagne.”

“You have grapes?” Janet asked.

“What?”

I cut in. “Ensign, I assume you were calling us because you completed your research. Perhaps,” I added, giving Janet a meaningful look, “you could update us on what you’ve determined?”

The guy at the science station responded, though his ‘words’, like the Elder’s, were translated using Siri’s voice. “We have an eighty-seven point three percent confidence level that your species will develop an equivalent energy storage system within a period of time corresponding to five of your terrestrial years, give or take one order of magnitude.”

We looked at them.

They looked at us.

“I was told there would be no math,” Janet said sourly.

Statistics wasn’t exactly my field either. “I think he is saying that it’s pretty likely to happen at some point in the next fifty years.”

“That correct is,” Worm agreed.

“So . . . where does this leave us?” I asked.

“We have idea,” Worm responded. “But . . . We want to Justin Abel consult.”

I rearranged his sentence in my mind. “Oh! I guess . . . I mean, I actually just tried to call him. He wasn’t available, but maybe I can try again?”

The leader interceded. “Please attempt to contact Attorney Justin Abel. We are eager to discuss our thinking with him.”

I called his cell phone but hung up when I got his voicemail again. I tried his office number and got another voicemail. While it was still playing, I got a text. “In a meeting. Can I call in 5?” I sent an affirmative response.

“We should hear back from him in a few minutes,” I told the aliens.

“We can here bring him,” offered Worm.

I blanched. “When I look like THIS!”

“Hush, Jessica, you look fine,” Janet soothed.

“Not from the neck up!”

“Given what you look like from the neck down, Hon, I kinda doubt he’ll be looking anywheres else.”

“I convinced remain we too much tissue to chest and rear added,” Worm said judiciously. “The proportions. . . .”

“STIFLE!” I shouted. Everyone was sufficiently startled to shut up. Knowing the silence was too good to last, I said, as politely as I could, “Elder Mission Leader, would it be possible to have a few minutes of privacy and some warm water? I would be embarrassed to be seen like this.”

Janet added, “Something for her to wear might be nice too.”

When Justin called me back, Janet and I were back in the hatch room. We had gotten the moisturizing mask off of my face and I had changed out of my nightie. The aliens had no difficulty fabricating something for me to wear. Their pattern, unsurprisingly, was the uniform which, Janet informed me, had been worn by a Star Trek character called “Uhuru.”

The boots were every bit as impractical as I had thought. And Roddenberry must have run out of his budget for fabric.

Still, I was delighted not to be conducting delicate negotiations in my delicates. Even if the termites were wholly uninterested.

I answered the call formally. “Good evening, Mr. Able.”

“Ms. James — I just listened to your message. Are you both alright?” He sounded very concerned, which was . . . strangely gratifying.

“We are, but there have been a few developments since I left my message. We have some . . . distant visitors who would like to confer with you. You’d need to . . . ah . . . take a short flight.”

He caught on immediately. “Would I be meeting you there?”

“We’re both with them,” I confirmed.

“Give me three minutes to get to a good location.”

“Roger,” I said. It’s so good to deal with professionals.

A few minutes later, Justin joined us both in the “Bridge” simulation. He looked around, a delighted expression on his mobile face. “You’re better than re-runs!” When he saw me, though, he looked surprised. “Have they recruited you?”

“What? Oh! The ‘uniform.’ No, I just didn’t have anything to wear.”

“Uh . . . got it.”

“Attorney Justin Abel,” Worm said. “We want consult to have. About scope of our rule.”

Justin looked at him, at the Elder, and finally at both of us. “I’m not sure I can help you,” he replied.

“What?!!” I was shocked.

The Elder chittered at him, and Siri translated. “We wish to get your opinion on application of our Rule to battery technology. Your questioning at our last meeting was helpful.”

“Justin,” I said, “this is important!”

He held my gaze long enough to quiet me, then turned his attention back to the Elder. “With respect, Elder, I was asking those questions on behalf of my clients, Professors Seldon and James. I owe them a duty, a loyalty. I can’t advise you on the same matter unless your interests are aligned with theirs. Perfectly aligned. And . . . they may not be.”

“This is no time for lawyer games,” Janet growled.

Justin shook his handsome head. “It’s exactly the time for them, Professor. Ethical rules that only apply when stakes are low aren’t worthy of the name.”

“I understand this much not,” Worm said.

“If I advise you on the application of your rule to a particular fact pattern,” Justin said, “you have to be confident that my advice is given solely with your interests in mind. Your interests, as you understand them. Otherwise my advice is meaningless.”

The Elder chittered. “We are just trying to understand the scope of a rule. It is the same, isn’t it, regardless of who is asking the question?”

“I can only say, Elder, that the contrary hypothesis forms one of the primary reasons for the existence of my profession.”

“Where you stand depends on where you sit,” Janet said, a touch sourly. “Lawyers!”

“Justin,” I said softly. “I understand. But . . . If we fired you, could you advise them?” There was a part of me that hoped he would say “no;” in a short time, I had come to rely heavily on his advice. But this was important — very important.

His eyes had widened at my question. “Is that really what you want? Both of you?” His voice was as soft as my own, and conveyed deep concern.

“Elder,” I asked, “Can Professor Seldon and I have a moment to confer privately?”

They made the hatch room available to us again, with assurances that they would not monitor or record our conversation. So far, they had given me a clear impression of being very honest about such things.

“Damn, girl,” Janet said when we were alone. “We actually find a pink unicorn and you’re gonna let him go?”

“I can’t think of another way to get past this hurdle. I’m open to any ideas you might have.”

“But we don’t even know if the technology works,” she countered.

I shook my head. “I think we do know.”

“Huh?”

“We know why Wolf showed up. We know why Knight showed up, too. But there’s only one reason DHS would have gotten involved.”

Janet thought about that a minute before her face assumed a truly murderous expression. “That WEASEL! That stupid, pompous, contemptible WEASEL!!!”

“Janet . . . “

“Patrice should never, EVER . . . “

“JANET!!!”

She paused. Looked at me. “Don’t you try to make excuses for him, Jessica!”

I took a deep breath. “I was kind of hoping for this, actually.”

“Now I’m convinced. The girl juice pickled your brain.”

I decided not to engage on that point. I didn’t think she was right about that, but by definition I wouldn’t know. “He’s on the President’s Science Advisory Board. Confidentiality agreement or no, if that battery was as good as advertised, he would tell the appropriate federal authorities. He’d almost have to.”

“First Abel. Now Grimm. I’m surrounded by ‘honorable men!’”

“Janet . . . We needed a contact inside the government. Grant’s a start.”

“Yeah. I guess. I’m still gonna strangle that weasel when I see him again. And you can bet your plush tush that I’m gonna see him.”

I decided I wasn’t going to fight that fight either. Besides, I wasn’t positive I didn’t agree with her. “So we’ve got a place to start, but we need to be able to make an offer. And they won’t give us what we’re looking for without assurances from Justin.”

“Yeah, go figure. . . . Their civilization’s survived without lawyers for longer than our species has been sentient, and within days of meetin’ one, he’s indispensable!”

“I know,” I said soothingly.

“They’re totally fucked now, you know that? Their civilization will never recover.”

“I’m confident they’ll manage,” I said. “Really, I’m more worried about you. Your legal troubles look like they're just starting.”

Janet looked thoughtful. “About that . . . . I think I’ve got an idea. You want to ask Justin to join us for a minute?”

“Okay,” I said, sounding dubious.

“Trust me,” she responded.

That didn’t give me a warm and fuzzy feeling, but I went out and brought Justin in.

“How ‘bout this,” Janet said without preamble. “We fire you with respect to anything related to trade negotiations with the aliens. But you’ll still represent me on anything related to the ‘disappearance’ of Professor Wainwright or whatever Knight was bitchin’ about?”

Justin thought a minute. “I’ll still need conflict waivers from all parties, but yes . . . I could advise the aliens on the offer and contract issues under those circumstances. Ms. James, do you want the same carve-out?”

I shook my head. “I’m afraid Janet’s the suspect. I don’t even exist, officially. So let’s just have you represent Janet on the limited issues.”

“Okay,” he said. “There’s a whole lot of stuff I’ll need to memorialize in writing when we’re back on the ground, but I think we can proceed in the meantime. If you’re both sure you’re okay with it?”

Janet and I both gave him a formal, verbal okay.

He took a deep breath, then broke out in a huge, boyish grin that took years off of him. “Let me go confer with my new clients!” And off he went.

“What have we done?” Janet moaned.

It was probably an hour later before the door opened and we were invited back on the “bridge.” The Elder in the center seat spoke, and Siri’s voice calmly announced, “Trading this technology would not, we think, violate our rule, based on Attorney Able’s analysis.”

Or, I thought irreverently, on the attorney’s able analysis. Justin had come through!

“Your species is used to thinking in shorter time increments than ours, Professor Seldon. Professor James. Fifty years is nothing in the life of the People. Even Worm is older than that.”

Justin said, in a dangerously bland voice, “In three hundred years or so, no-one will be able to demonstrate whether this deal made any difference at all. So it’s entirely consistent with the Prime Directive. Properly understood, of course.”

Personally, I thought that was a strange way to read their ‘prime directive,’ but it was a damned convenient one — for both sides. Quelling the excitement that was rising up inside me and attempting to project calm, I said, “I must confirm one more time that, if we have this formula, we will have both the raw materials and the manufacturing capability needed to replicate it.”

Science guy said, “With our formula, we calculate you could commence large-scale manufacturing within four months.”

I thought about that.

Worm looked at me carefully. “Not Poker, Jim. Chess. And . . . your move.”

I got the point, if not the reference. “I understand, Ensign. Elder. But our next steps, with our own authorities, will be a bit complicated.”

Justin’s smile was predatory. “We’re gonna want a lot of U-235. A lot!”

“What have we done?” Janet moaned. Again.

. . . . To be continued. Honestly.