Maximum Warp
Chapter 19: Profit and Loss

“Come on, Janet! You love flying!” The note of desperation in my voice was not, I thought, helping my case.

“Not this time. I’ve had a hard day, ya know?” She grinned wickedly, no doubt reflecting on her strenuous afternoon exercise. “Troi’s offer of a genuine bed is too good to pass up, and Worm and company’ll keep watch for us. We’ll be fine ’til morning. . . . Besides. Three’s a crowd and you know it!”

“You, Troi and Daichi are all staying at her place in Sterling. Correct me if I’m wrong, but that’s three people!”

She just shook her head, shit-eating grin firmly affixed to her face. “Nice try, girl. Now stop. You just faced down the KGB – well, the FIS, but whatever. Met with the freakin’ President of the United States. Again. Oh, and survived bein’ shot at. Also again. You can handle Justin Abel.”

“That’s different! You know it is!”

“You mean that a Prof so calm in battle, even her armor doesn’t rattle, faces a lawyer petrified with fright?” Janet’s singing was surprisingly tuneful.

Also, annoying. “Janet!”

“Right!” she replied. “But, not good, Jess. I know you’re confused and conflicted about your feelings, but the last thing you need is training wheels or a chaperone. You’ve spent enough time in that new body of yours that it won’t completely overwhelm your sixty-year-old brain – unless you want it to. Which you might. And if that happens . . . well, that’s why I got you supplies.”

I turned scarlet. She’d insisted that we walk into a CVS in Ballston that was open late, and she’d shocked me by buying several packets of condoms. I had at least succeeded in steering her to the self-checkout area!

It was getting on toward midnight now and we were both hound-dog tired. On top of everything else, I’d spent half an hour on the phone with Luther Corbin, filling him in on the situation with Grant and the odious sonabavich Raskolnikov (though, consistent with how the People had asked me to treat the Chinese offer, I did not divulge the Russian trade proposal). Not only that, I still had work to do when I got to the ship. It was time to stop stalling. “Okay. I’ll go. But I’ll get you back for this, Janet Seldon!”

“That sounds like fun!” She gave me a hug and whispered in my ear, “Go on now. Get the job done, and have fun doin’ it!”

I stepped back and took a deep breath. “Beam me up, Worm. And drop the illusion.” As I floated up into the sky, I thought, I will never get used to this!

Moments later, I was back in what Justin called the “foyer” of the alien ship, though I thought of it as the hold. My strappy sandals had no sooner hit the deck than I was wrapped in a powerful embrace.

“Jessica! Damn it! Would you stop trying to get yourself killed!” Justin’s voice was deep and, in the moment, husky.

I was, finally, in his arms! All of my resolve melted in a heartbeat. I rested my head on his shoulder and wrapped my arms around his chest, splaying my hands across his broad back. He felt so good. Warm and solid and strong . . . . I felt myself shaking as the events of the day caught up with me.

He stroked my hair with his right hand while his left, motionless, rested low on my back, holding me anchored in place.

Not that I wanted to go anywhere.

He moved first, placing a strong, capable hand on each of my now slender shoulders and moving me back gently. Just far enough that he could look into my eyes.

We were separated by inches. I could feel the heat radiating from his body. See the care and concern in his dark eyes. The longing that he had tried so hard to bury. That we both had. Finally – finally! – he bent, his lips parting . . . .

“Excuse interruption, Attorney Justin Abel. Jessica James. Elder Mission Leader to you speak wishes. But . . . perhaps . . . you require first time to ‘vody-oh-doh-doh?’”

GODDAMMIT!!!!!!! Couldn’t we at least vody-oh?

We both leaped back, startled and – at least in my case – a bit embarrassed. “No, no. That’s quite all right, Ensign,” I said, hurriedly. “Ah . . . interesting choice of phrase. Archaic, in 2022.”

“Says the woman who quotes Chaucer.” Justin lips – which I had come that close to kissing! – quirked into an ironic smile.

“Doesn’t everyone?” I asked, innocently. With a sigh, I turned back to Worm. “Anyhow – yes. I very much want to talk to the Elder.”

Sounding suddenly animated, Worm said, “Come, we must bustle!”

Justin snorted. “Oh good. I like bustling.” Sounding resigned, he added, “Lead on, Ensign.”

“Walk this way,” Worm said.

I followed Worm out, heading to the area of the ship that the aliens had given the appearance of the bridge from the original Star Trek. I was very conscious of Justin’s presence at my back.

“Looks like the gang’s all here,” I said when we entered. “Don’t you guys ever rest?”

“Sleep we do,” Worm said. “Perchance to dream, we do not.”

The Elder in the Captain's chair began to speak, and I waited for the Siri translation to kick in. Eventually, the speakers in the cabin began. “Jessica James. We grow ever more concerned. In the brief time you have been gone, another human attempted to terminate your sentient state and you and Professor Seldon required numerous optical illusions just to survive. Is the irrationality of your species contagious?”

After the day I’d had, I could see his point, though I had no intention of saying so. “No, sir. It is simply that your arrival, with the potential advantages trade with you might secure, exacerbates existing tensions among different sub-groups of our species.”

Behind me, Justin said, “People don’t really talk that way, you know.”

“No.” My syntax tended to slip into “distinguished professor” mode when I was tired. “But they think that way.”

“Uhhh . . . the ideas . . . maybe?” Justin responded. “But I don’t imagine most people use those words even in their heads!”

I returned my attention to the Elder, who was listening as Siri translated our words into what sounded like clicks. “If you have spent time with Ms. Harris and Professor Kurokawa, you will know there is more to our species than the foolishness you’ve witnessed from us concerning your trade proposal.”

Siri translated his reply. “The members of your species are most unlike each other. It gives us concern . . . but . . . also, as you suggest, some scope for individual excellence. We must consider this, during our rest time.”

Rest time! Just hearing the words made me want to lie down. Instead, I said, “I think I have a strategy to bring our negotiations to a close quickly and without further . . . ah . . . unpleasantness.”

“Sock it to me,” Worm said brightly.

“That would be a most welcome change,” the Elder added. If he were being ironic, Siri’s bland cheerfulness masked it.

“We have offers now from representatives of three countries,” I explained. “Two were provided by telephone, one to me and one to Mr. Abel. I also have a telephone number for Mr. Corbin, representing the United States. I want to send a text to all three contacts, setting out conditions for finalizing their bids.”

“I do not understand ‘conditions,’” said the Elder.

“I can help with that, Elder,” Justin said. “What did you have in mind, Jessica?”

I sketched out my idea.

Justin thought for a moment before saying, “I like it. Give me a minute with my client, okay?”

I turned to go, but he stopped me. “No need for that. Guess what? They have a high-tech ‘Cone of Silence!”

“A what?”

He just shook his head, smiling. Then he started speaking, head turned toward the Elder in the Captain’s chair, but I couldn’t hear any sound. They spoke back and forth several times. With every passing moment, I felt my eyelids grow heavier and heavier.

“Jessica?”

I blinked my eyes back open. “Yup. Here!”

Justin looked concerned. “The Elder is good with the idea. Do you want to draft it in the morning when you’re fresh?”

I shook my head. “Not if we want their bids by noon. Let’s get it done now.”

“Okaaaay . . . if you’re sure.” He sounded dubious.

The Elder Mission Leader began to speak again. Siri’s voice took up the translation. “Your idea pleases us. When you get the bids, we will need you to evaluate them.”

Worm elaborated. “Justin Abel our interests guards. You must your own kind protect. Capisce?”

It was what I had expected, but it was good to have it out in the open. “Capisco,” I replied.

“I do not this understand,” Worm replied.

“I understand,” I translated.

“Of course. You it said. But I did not you understand.”

I nodded, forgetting that the nonverbal communication probably didn’t help much. “I understand that you didn’t understand when I said I understood, but . . . .”

Worm cut me off. “But that is what you said not.”

Justin intervened. “Nevermind, Ensign. I’ll explain later. All that matters is that we both understand who we are representing.”

“Whom,” I muttered, futilely.

Justin and I left the “Bridge” and went back to the room the aliens had set aside for him.

“I’m an idiot,” I said. “Of course, Worm doesn’t speak Italian.”

Justin laughed. “But I bet he watched The Godfather!”

“Where, no doubt, there was lots of telling other people to understand things, and very little understanding, right?”

He thought a minute. “Sounds about right.”

I shook my head. “We sent all of that out into space. On purpose. Like advertising for humanity. It’s a wonder they decided to stop by.”

He sat at the desk and fired up a laptop. “Okay,” he said. “Give me a minute to set up an email account for the return messages, then we can get down to business.”

I smiled. “Is that a proposition?”

“More of a sly suggestion,” he responded, with a rakish grin.

I sat in the other chair and got my thoughts together, battling exhaustion to at least a draw. When he was ready, we kicked ideas back and forth, then language. After the better part of an hour, I had a series of group texts. I was confident, for once, that they would not generate any “reply all” responses, since the recipients were Yuri Raskolnikov, Luther Corbin, and Chen Yǔháng, the Chinese official who had contacted Justin.

“Gentlemen:

You have each submitted proposals for trade with The People on behalf of your governments. To ensure that the process is fair to all parties, the People ask that each government that wishes to have an offer considered take the following two steps, by the specified deadlines:

(1) Submit the offer in writing by no later than August 2, 2022 at 1700 hours UTC, to [email protected]. Specify, in your offer, the following:

(a) The amount and quality of the HEU you intend to offer and the coordinates for the location where The People will take delivery;

(b) As precisely as possible, what you are asking the People to provide in exchange.

(c) Any conditions attached to your bid.

(2) Move the amount of HEU specified in your bid to a location that is open to the air by no later than August 2, 2022 at 2330 hours UTC, and leave it there for twenty-four hours. The People will inspect the materials using remote sensors to ensure compliance with quality and quantity specifications in your bid.

IMPORTANT ADDITIONAL NOTES:

First, understand that the People can transport twenty metric tons of HEU and prefer to depart fully loaded.

Second, I have been asked to evaluate the bids and make a recommendation to the People for their consideration. My recommendation will be based on the greatest good for the greatest number. Bidders may contact me at this number with any questions concerning the bidding process between 1300 and 1700 UTC. Bidders may, but need not, include narrative with their bid explaining any elements.

Finally, and most importantly: ANY attempt to affect the bidding by bribery, violence, threats of violence or any other improper or unconscionable means will result, not only in disqualification, but in forfeiture of your bid, without warning or compensation. Please note: This is NOT an invitation to get creative.

Jessica James
Emissary

I was so tired my fingers were fumbling the keystrokes. Justin took pity on me and handled the transcription to my phone and out, breaking up the message into eight texts. I saw him send the first . . . the second . . .

* * * * *

Diddle loo-do, diddle loo-do, diddle-loo-do!

The hated noise woke me from a deep sleep. I was lying on top of the bed – Justin’s bed! He was nowhere to be seen.

Diddle loo-do, diddle loo-do, diddle-loo-do!

What effing time was it? I appeared to be wearing yesterday’s clothes – sans shoes – but I didn’t even remember getting into bed!

Diddle loo-do, diddle loo-do, diddle-loo-do!

The phone, unfortunately, was on Justin’s desk. I stumbled out of bed and grabbed it. “Hello?”

“Good morning, Professor,” Luther Corbin greeted me.

“If you say so,” I replied grumpily.

“Oh, I do. I do indeed!” He sounded disgustingly cheerful. “We received your text and will give you a timely response, I assure you. But I wanted to let you know that both Ms. Dunlop and Dr. Singh have been apprehended.”

That woke me up. “Really?”

“Ms. Dunlop took a flight from National to Denver and met up with Mr. Singh in the Denver airport. They had made arrangements to take separate flights out of the country from that hub, but we were there in time.” He sounded very pleased.

“And . . . Mr. Grant?” I asked, almost afraid to find out.

“No news on that score,” he replied. “And, I will be honest with you, Professor. I’d be surprised if we apprehend him. He is far, far more capable than Singh or Dunlop. So capable that we never suspected him. I never suspected him. But we have informed the Russian ambassador that Mr. Raskolnikov has been ‘pinged.’”

“I’m sorry, what?” I asked.

He chuckled. “My fault, Professor. My fault entirely. That’s diplomat-speak for ‘persona non grata.’ We know he was a recipient of your text, so he can stay until the bidding is resolved. But he needs to be on a flight home by the end of the week.”

“Thank you for letting me know, Mr. Corbin. It’s a huge relief,” I said gratefully.

“To me as well,” he replied. “Nonetheless . . . I still recommend that you remain hidden, or with the aliens, until this is resolved. We have dealt with the known threats, but it’s the other sort that tend to get you.”

“Roger that,” I said with feeling.

“Well, you'll be hearing from me in a few hours. The President asked me to tell you that he thought your text message was inspired, and has every confidence in your integrity and judgment.”

I thanked him and rang off. I was finally able to look at the clock on my phone. 8:15 a.m. D-Day, H-Hour minus 3.75.

I needed a change of clothes, but once again – dammit all! – they were elsewhere. Either still at the safehouse, or else at the Hay-Adams. But not here. At least I had my purse, so I was able to fix my face and do something with my hair. My sandals were by the bed, so I slipped them on and went back to the hold in search of the bathroom.

As I stepped into the next chamber, I was startled to see Janet, Troi Harris and Daichi Kurokawa rise up, apparently from the floor, then settle gently on their feet. I wondered how the People managed that!

Janet spotted me right away. “Morning, Jessica. How’d ya sleep?” She was grinning, sure enough, but looked . . . off.

“Very much like a goddamned baby, if you follow me,” I growled.

She snorted and shook her head. “Damn, girl!”

“And as for it being a good morning,” I added, “I’ll note there’s no coffee!”

“That’s where you’re wrong, woman!” Troi walked over, and I saw she had a YETI mug with her. “I was going to make espresso. But Janet said you’d want more liquid.”

“All generations shall call you blessed,” I said fervently. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“You might want to save a few of those blessings for Averil Livingston,” Janet said. “She had your things collected and dropped at the site where they picked all of you up yesterday morning. So all you have to do is give your friend Worm the word, and you should have a change of clothes.”

Relief!!! “Oh, thank God!”

“Yeah, well. Him, too, I guess,” Janet replied.

Dr. Kurokowa had been looking at me shyly. “Janet told us about what happened yesterday. She said you took no hurt, but . . . getting shot at is no joke, even when they miss. Are you all right?”

“I am,” I said. “I was just tired and grumpy, but the three of you have cured me of that.”

“Where’s Justin?” Janet asked.

“I assume he’s with the People,” I responded. “I haven’t seen him since we sent out our communique last night.”

Janet patted my arm. “Well, sleep’s a fine thing, too. I s’pose. I hear it keeps you healthy’n all. And if you haven’t got your health, then you haven’t got anything.”

I growled at her, then turned to Troi and Daichi. “What’s on your agenda today? More discussions?”

“That’s the plan,” Daichi said. “Ensign Worm indicated that they were very interested in continuing our conversations while we still can. And of course, we’ll take whatever we can get.”

“There are a couple things you should know, too.” Troi was frowning slightly. “The whole crew has been awake from the time that they first came into our star system and confirmed that the source of the transmissions they had detected in deep space were still active. Probably ten weeks or so. The Elders will need to rest soon, which I think means they need to start sometime in the next three days. The sleep will last for weeks. That’s the reason for the compressed time table. The Mission Leader wants to wrap up everything and leave orbit before turning things over to Worm and his two contemporaries.”

That explained a lot, certainly. “That’s very helpful,” I said. “Anything else?”

Just then Worm came in and greeted us all. “Kurokawa-hakase, Troi Harris. The Elders ready are. Professor Seldon, welcome to join as well are you.”

Janet shook her head. “Thank you, Ensign. I’ll stay with Jessica. I’ve got something I need to discuss with her.”

“Of course,” Worm said.

“Ensign,” I said. “I hate to ask, but apparently Dr. Livingston was kind enough to pack some clothing for me and leave it on the hilltop where you picked us up yesterday morning. Would it be possible to retrieve it?”

He pondered for a moment. “We move the ship will need. Recovery fifteen minutes believe I.”

“Thank you, Ensign. Thank you very much. Is Mr. Abel with the Elder Mission leader?”

“Affirmative. Join you soon will.”

Worm, Daichi and Troi went off, leaving Janet and me by ourselves. “What’s up, Janet? You sounded pretty strange, there.”

“You mean, apart from bein’ on an alien space ship, and boppin’ a Russian spy, and havin’ you shot at all the time?”

“Yeah. Apart from all that. But give me a minute, would you? I need to take care of some business.” I stepped behind the curtain and sat on the ship’s version of a toilet. At least this time I was prepared for the rush of warm liquid and air that hit my extremely sensitive private parts when I was finished. Of course, tickling my nether regions reminded me of some business that had been left very much unfinished last night . . . .

Just as I was finishing up, Justin came into the hold and greeted Janet. “Good morning, Professor. How are you?”

“Well, no one’s tried to arrest me this week. ’Course, it’s only Tuesday,” she replied.

I pulled back the curtain. “Good morning,” I said, leaving off names. I wasn’t sure whether he was Mr. Abel or Justin this morning. I wasn’t so sure who I was either. I just knew that my name was spelled f-r-u-s-t-r-a-t-e-d!

He looked more awkward than I had seen him before, but he managed a “good morning” that was cheerful enough. “We’re short a chair in my room, but it’s probably still better than here,” he offered. “Shall we?”

So we went back into his room. Janet took a chair and, while Justin offered me the other, I declined. “I’m more flexible than either of you, these days.” I sat cross-legged on the bed, grateful that I’d had enough sense to wear pants. I looked at Janet. “Okay. Out with it!”

“Troi let me borrow her computer last night,” Janet replied. “I checked my email for the first time since I dumped my normal phone . . . . There was a message from the President.”

That made no sense. “Why would President Taryn send an email?”

She shook her head, a smile playing on her lips. “No. Ain’t you gotten all high ’n mighty! President Coleridge.”

At Justin’s inquisitive look, I said, “The guy who replaced Joy Grey as President of Gryphon. Appointed just after the end of the academic year.”

“Right,” Janet said. “Well . . . apparently he wasn’t appointed to find a way to solve all of our problems. The Board hired him to close us down.”

“What!” I was stunned. Sure, we’d been warned. But, the powers that be on the Board of Regents had been giving those sorts of warnings every few years for almost as far back as I could remember. I always figured it was just another way to soak a few extra dollars out of wealthy alumni.

“The College won’t even be reopening for the fall term.” Janet sounded as shaken as I was, and she’d had time to digest the news. “Last year’s enrollment drive fell too far short of goals. Again. And projections for the future look worse, ’cuz so many kids held off havin’ babies durin’ the Great Recession. So they’re refundin’ everyone’s money . . . and lettin’ all of the staff go. Everyone!”

Gryphon College had been our home for thirty years. Our colleagues, our community . . . wiped out in a heartbeat. Our students, left without a place to go, less than two weeks before classes were set to resume. Some of them just a couple credit-hours from their degree.

I found myself remembering graduation day, just ten weeks ago. The faculty leading the procession in full academic regalia. The splash of crimson from the Harvard alums and blue from the Yale mixed with the ranks of black robes, the hoods, the piping. Flags snapping in a stiff May breeze . . . Pomp and Circumstance . . . . President Grey, as always, feisty, principled, funny – “all Irish and half fey,” as she liked to say – giving her last commencement speech . . . .

All of those bright, young scholars that Dean Deveroux was always babbling about would probably find another place. Might take a while – it was a tough market – but they would survive if they were half as good as she thought they were. For now.

But people like me, like Janet, like Deveroux herself? No. There would be no other pastures for us. Teri “The Dream” Weaver, poet and philosopher . . . Walt Byron, the historian, who might know more about the age of Diocletian than anyone on earth . . . Janson Davies, the George and Clara Michaels Distinguished Professor of Art History, who made a point of attending every faculty meeting high as a jumbo jet . . . and on, and on, and on. Eminent scholars, mostly in their sixties and seventies. All their learning couldn’t protect them from demographic changes. Who would hire them now?

No one.

“I suppose everyone can go work at Sears,” I said bitterly.

“’fraid not,” Justin said. “They went belly-up years ago. Where’ve you been living?”

“Bastards,” I snarked.

“Sears sucked anyway,” Janet replied. “Nasty, nasty work.”

“Kodak, then,” I suggested.

Justin looked pained. “Uhhh . . . .”

Diddle loo-do, diddle loo-do, diddle-loo-do!

Screw them! I thought savagely. All of them! I needed a moment with my friend.

Diddle loo-do, diddle loo-do, diddle-loo-do!

Dammit I had made a commitment, and it was, I reminded myself, important. I found my phone and looked at it.

Janet looked at me and nodded.

“Mr. Chen.” I wanted to snap and snarl like a coyote deprived of a kill. To let this man know what I thought of his schemes and his confederates, his thugs and assassins. But I bit back on the bile that wanted to escape. I had set the terms of this call. I needed, one way or another, to honor them.

“Emissary Jessica James. I am speaking on behalf of my country. Of my people. We are preparing a response to your message from last night. You said you would base your recommendations on the ‘greatest good for the greatest number.’ What do you mean by that?”

“Mr. Chen, I am sure you are familiar with the utilitarian principle, and I doubt you called to discuss philosophy.” And tough shit if I’m wrong about that, because I’m not gonna do it anyway!

“But your response hints at the crux of our dilemma,” Chen replied smoothly. “You are a follower of a different philosophical tradition. A western tradition. Why should that tradition have pride of place here? By what right do you sit in judgment over a country that has both the largest number of people, and the oldest civilization, on earth?”

I thought about that. It didn’t take long. “Pure blind luck, Mr. Chen. The aliens ran into me, and for whatever reason they’ve decided to trust me. I can’t claim to be a Confucian scholar, but I expect I’m capable of evaluating a simple trading proposal.”

“Yes, in your arrogance, you ‘expect’ that. But you have no idea of what is important in the civilization and culture of my country!” My, my. Chen was getting testy.

But I wasn’t in a terribly good mood myself. “Prolly not. You’ll need to do the best you can, Mr. Chen. The instructions did specifically permit you to add narrative explaining any elements of your bid that you think will warrant it. I’ll be sure to pass it along if I can’t follow it. Or even if I can.”

“You couldn’t understand us unless you learned our language, studied our culture and history, read our scholars!”

“Really?” My resolve to be good was wavering. “Gee, I’m sorry to hear that. I’m a bit pressed for time today. Tomorrow’s not looking much better.”

“You make jokes?” His voice radiated incredulity.

“The aliens have a hard deadline, Mr. Chen,” I said. “We’re all going to have to do the best we can in the limited time we have available.”

My comment did nothing to calm his anger. “Unacceptable! The matter should be referred to the U.N. Security Council! And this notion that we have to put our HEU out in the open, where the alien devils can simply take it! Absurd!!”

“Stop whining.” I was done coddling him and my voice was cold. “Yesterday you tried to have me killed. You considered that ‘acceptable.’ Before that your spy tried to have me arrested for espionage. You didn’t think that was ‘absurd.’ Well guess what? The aliens use a different rule book, and they’re in a position to enforce it. Sometimes you have to roll the hard six . . . without loading the dice.”

“You see! So much for your pretense of being even handed!”

I laughed at him. “It’s not fair unless you get to cheat? Please. I’ve told you the rules and the standard. I will follow them, scrupulously. The aliens, as well, are honorable. But you don’t have to believe any of that. If you don’t like the game, don’t play.”

He hung up on me. Boring conversation anyway.

Justin was giving me a sardonic look. “Having a little fun there?”

I shook my head. “Not really. All of them, though – the Chinese, the Russians, the Americans most of all – aren’t used to hearing ‘take it or leave it” from someone who can make it stick. I’m really hoping that all of us learn from the experience. We need to wake up and get our shit together.”

He smiled. “That sounds like a rationalization. You enjoyed telling him to fuck off.”

“Hey, don’t knock rationalizations,” Janet said. “I need two or three juicy ones to make it through an average day. Most people do.”

“I’m with you,” he responded. “Lawyers need closer to a baker’s dozen, and that’s on a good day. As in, ‘a day they are trying to be good.’ Happens almost every February 29th.”

“Okay, I did enjoy it. A bit. But he reminded me of a Gryphon Don, Justin.” I looked at Janet, and unexpectedly felt tears blur my vision. “Of all of us, really. So full of our own importance. Heaping titles and honors on ourselves. Distinguished professor of this, or eminent scholar of that. Vivat academia! Vivant professores! Semper sint in flore! Rulers of our own little kingdom, oblivious to how dependent we all were on the indulgence of the whole damned world. And how little it would take, to bring it all down.”

Janet nodded. “I see what you’re sayin’. However important we all think we are, the People could make our civilization disappear tomorrow just by droppin’ rocks on us from space, and there’s nothin’ we could do to stop them.”

“You know they aren’t like that,” Justin argued.

“Of course not,” I said. “But don’t you see? We’re just relying on the kindness of strangers. This time, we lucked out. The People aren’t like that. Next time we might not be so lucky.”

Janet, bless her, had brought tissues. “Better get your voice back under control,” she warned. “I somehow doubt the Russians’ll be any happier than the Chinese.”

Nor was she wrong. I did, indeed, get a call from Yuri Raskolnikov, who – unsurprisingly – spoke perfectly unaccented English when he wanted to. He blithely pretended that he hadn’t offered to bribe me or injure Janet half a day earlier, and instead treated me to a lecture on the importance of Russia to world civilization, how it was a bulwark against godlessness, beset on all sides by the predations of the decadent and feckless West. I even heard the part about the Third Rome.

I’m SUCH a lucky girl.

By the end, my monosyllabic responses finally convinced him that he was no Willie Lohman. He ended the call.

At some point while I was enduring Raskolnikov’s Russian Rhapsodies, Janet went back into the hold and got the package that Averil had put together for me. Justin took off for a bit, promising to find a way to get us all some food.

I got changed.

D-Day, H-Hour minus one.

Janet and I talked about the end of Gryphon, after a hundred twenty-three years. But whatever might be said about the hole that abrupt ending had torn from our lives, it made our immediate futures simpler.

“Poor Officer Wolf – Now how will he know whether James Wainwright disappeared?” Janet said.

I nodded. “Which will complicate his efforts to claim you killed me. I think.”

“Hopefully he won’t go all Inspector Javert on me.”

I smiled. “How did you get pigeon-holed in early American Literature? It’s like you’ve read every book, seen every movie, heard every song.”

“They had to put me somewhere.” She shrugged. “No such thing as a Professor Without Portfolio!”

“Well . . . There was Dr. Grey,” I replied. And it was true. A polymath with the heart of a lion and the soul of a poet, she’d held our crazy, brilliant, bickering faculty, our rambunctious students, and our dyspeptic alumni together for two decades. Over the occasional grumblings of various regents and deans, she had also taught classes on an eclectic and unpredictable range of subjects whenever the whimsy had taken her.

“Nobody puts baby in a corner,” Janet said fondly, recalling a quote Grey had occasionally used to squelch her detractors.

“The Irish Rover,” I agreed. It was a nickname some long– (and easily) forgotten dean had intended to be derogatory, but which she’d made a badge of honor. “They should’ve asked you to fill her shoes.”

Janet laughed. “As if! Teachin’ kept me young. Dialin’ for dollars woulda sucked the life outta me.”

“Come on!” I teased. “You couldn’t sell wealthy donors on the glories of supporting institutions of learning?”

She shook her head. “It was a damned good gig, Jessica – for me, anyway. Comfortable. But we’ve done more in the past two months than we did in the last thirty years. Maybe we should have been out here all along.”

“Well . . . I won’t miss curriculum committee meetings, that’s for sure,” I said, looking for the silver lining. “Or Dean Deveroux.”

“Parents’ weekend!” Janet shivered in horror.

“Quants,” I contributed.

“In linguistics? Seriously?

I nodded. “Those killjoys are everywhere. Like termites.”

“There’s a place for ’em. I guess.” Janet sounded dubious.

“Then they should find it . . . and stay there!”

Janet chuckled. “It was an illusion, wasn’t it? Had its moments, though.”

“It surely did.” I smiled, remembering.

The first offer came at seven minutes before the deadline, from the Chinese. Russia’s offer came two minutes later. At 11:59:25 I got the email from Corbin.

“What’ve we got?” Janet asked.

“China increased their offer to six metric tons and decreased their demand to twenty-five youthening shots. It looks like there’s a lengthy explanation of how this will permit the continuity of leadership that is essential to ensure China’s stability through its period of development. As well as a shorter explanation for why China’s stability is critical to the world as a whole.”

“If China ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy?” Janet sounded skeptical. “I’m guessing the Russians stood pat?”

I shook my head. “Interestingly, they dropped the demand for the one youthening shot. But it’s otherwise the same: Twenty tons of weapons-grade uranium for either the stealth tech or the tractor-beam tech. Oh . . . and a dissertation on Russia’s valiant struggle against secularism and the decadent West. I think they might have left out the part about . . . wait. Nope. They didn’t. Yeah. Russia as the Third Rome.”

Janet guffawed. “Read the room, bitches!” She saw me hesitating. “What are you waitin’ for? What’d Corbin say?”

“I’m almost afraid to find out.”

“Come on, even their original offer was better than what China and Russia put on the table!”

“I know,” I said. “That’s what I’m afraid of. Is that really the best humanity can do?” Only one way to find out. Quit stalling! I opened the email and scanned it. My shoulders sagged.

“Well?!!!” Janet was practically hopping out of her seat.

“They’ve done it, Janet. They’ve done it! Twenty metric tons for the battery tech. They get the intellectual property rights, but subject to the condition that the formula and process must be shared, free of any charge, fee, or royalty, with all people. And, every human is expressly recognized as a third-party beneficiary of the agreement. The only hold-back is that they want to announce all of it at the Conference of the Parties of the Rio Climate Convention in November.”

Janet looked stunned. “I’ll be dipped in shit and slow-roasted. You did it, Jessica.”

”We did it.”

She shook her head. “No. This was all you. Your idea. Your crusade. I was just along for the ride – Water Rat to your Mr. Toad. I’ve never had so much fun.”

“Wait – I remember that story,” I said. “Wasn’t Water Rat the sensible one?”

“I’m plenty sensible!” she replied stoutly.

“No, you’re bat scat crazy, as your star-turn in The Spy Who Shagged Me demonstrated.” I was overwhelmed by a flood of emotions. Relief . . . joy . . . wonder . . . lingering sadness . . . and under all of it, through all of it, deep affection for this incredible person who had found me, stupidly trembling at the idea of becoming a woman, and had pushed me out of myself, then insisted on sharing every step of the journey. I crushed her in a hug as tears flooded down my face. “But you’re also pretty amazing. For a water rat.”

“”You say the sweetest things.”

Enter Justin, with food. He looked at us both and shook his head. “Either the news is really, really good, or very, very bad!”

“It’s good. It’s good!” I said, pulling myself together. “And I’ll even tell you about it – if you feed me first!”

He laughed, and handed each of us a sandwich, with a small flourish. “A little pulled pork. Now . . . tell me!”

Around mouthfuls of food (damn, that place was good!), I summarized the three proposals. When I was done, I said, “I’ll encourage the People to read all three proposals themselves, including the narratives. But my own recommendation isn’t hard.”

Justin smiled. “Yeah, no suspense on this one. Not when the alternatives are the ‘Third Rome’ and ‘Long, Long, Long Live the Son of Heaven!’”

“I’ve worn dresses with higher IQs,” Janet said. “Why’d they even bother?”

“I kind of wonder why neither of them tried for the battery tech,” I said. “They knew – courtesy of my conversation with Singh and Livingston, which Grant was around to hear – that I thought it was a big deal for humanity. It met the criteria in a way that their proposals didn’t.”

“Not much downside,” Justin said. “They knew the Americans were bidding for the battery tech, and based on the initial proposal they knew the U.S. government would try to license it if they were successful. Neither country hesitates to violate our IP rights when it suits them. So why not take a shot at getting what they really wanted instead? No sense giving up their HEU for something that they could steal if we won the bidding.”

I thought about that. “Damn, that’s devious. You’re good at this!”

“‘J.D.’ stands for ‘just devious,’ actually.” He grinned. “Normally we don’t advertise that.”

“Whyever not?” I asked.

“I think Taryn’s pretty smart to give it away,” Janet said. “Between the downsides of trying to enforce a patent and the public relations coup it’ll be when he gets to announce the whole thing at that international conference”

I shrugged. “It’s a benefit, certainly. But not the sort I’d make a fuss about. Do the right thing, and you ought to get some kudos.”

“Be a nice change,” Janet agreed. “Normally, it just gets you crucified. Or flooded with solicitations from worthy charities.”

“Or disbarred, of course,” Justin added.

“That goes without sayin’.” Janet’s smile was tigershark wide.

I forwarded the emails to Justin, who took them to his client for review.

* * * * *

An hour later, Justin, Janet and I met with Elder Mission Leader and Ensign Worm. As usual, the leader used Siri to translate, while Worm continued his efforts to either master the English language or strangle it.

“Jessica James . . . I have reviewed the proposals. Even after running them through our translation protocols several times and discussing them with Worm and Attorney Justin Abel, there is much I don’t understand.”

“Yeah, welcome to earth,” Janet said. “But it’s not your fault, Elder.”

I interjected, “Although I might phrase the matter more diplomatically, I agree with my colleague.”

“What is ‘Confucius?’” the Elder asked.

“In this context, ‘confu-zing,’” Janet responded.

I shook my head. “Again, Janet’s essentially right. Confucius was a profoundly influential Chinese philosopher. But you don’t need to understand him to evaluate the Chinese proposal. Their proposal would directly benefit a handful of people who rule – who govern – a country where over a billion people live, by extending the rulers’ lifespans, like you’ve extended mine. The remainder of their submission consists of arguments about possible indirect benefits of doing so, some of which are loosely based on Confucian ideas. There is no way to verify these claims, and the arguments are inherently self-serving.”

“Anyone who tells you differently is selling somethin’,” Janet added.

“Psst, Janet,” I stage whispered. “They’re all selling something.”

“Yeah, good point,” she laughed.

“Ah,” said Worm. “They are ‘diabolical masterminds.’”

“Uh . . . I don’t know about that,” I said cautiously.

We waited while the translation caught up. The Elder chittered for a bit, then Siri’s voice kicked in. “This, I understand. But the Chinese did not know what they asked for.”

Justin elaborated. “The shot you got, Jessica, was apparently manufactured on the spot after the People did a detailed scan of your body down to the cellular level. A generic shot probably wouldn’t work at all. Or might produce results that were essentially random. The Chinese would probably be pretty put out if President Xi had to be decanted in amniotic fluid because he had regressed to a zygote.”

“Or else they’d throw a party,” Janet said. “Lord knows, everyone else would.”

“They could offer to allow a scan,” I said, trying Justin’s practice of advocating for Satan.

“This would be possible,” the Elder said. “Do you recommend it?”

Before I could answer, Justin shook his head. “Remember when we first discussed the Prime Directive, Elder? I said there were individuals whose extended life might well change the course of human development. The Chinese offer is premised on the idea that extending the lifespans of their current leadership would change our history. They claim the change would be for the better, which I would personally dispute. But I agree it would change it.”

“Our rule must be followed,” Worm said solemnly.

“I would also not recommend their proposal as a policy matter,” I added. “Every leader of humans is tempted to believe they are indispensable. But, as one leader wisely said, the graveyards are filled with indispensable men.”

“This ‘graveyard’ – I understand do not even,” Worm said.

I went into lecturer mode. “It is a custom among some of our people to bury the remains of dead humans in the ground. Areas set aside for this purpose are called ‘graveyards.’”

Worm looked at Elder, who gazed back, seemingly impassively. Finally, Worm said, “Ewwwww!”

Elder chittered and Worm subsided. “Moving right along,” Siri translated. “Please discuss the proposal from the Russian Federation.”

“The Russian proposal is more straightforward,” I said. “The Russian Federation offered more uranium than China because they have more, left over from a period when Russia was larger and more powerful. The President of Russia is currently fighting a war to make his country more powerful again, and seeks to obtain technologies that will aid his war efforts. The direct benefits of the trade would flow to the Russian state. Indirect effects would be substantial, and would adversely affect countries that would prefer not to be dominated by Russia.”

“Including your own?” Elder asked, rather pointedly.

“Correct, Elder,” I said without hesitation. “Very much including my own.”

“I understand do not about ‘Third Rome,’” Worm said plaintively.

“You don’t need to,” I promised. “Truly. Trust me on this one.”

Janet added, “It makes about as much sense as ‘Toga! Toga! Toga!’”

“The Russian proposal is technically feasible,” the Elder said, steering the discussion in a more practical direction. “Not our stealth technologies; they are far beyond your current technological reach. But the tractor beam is not complicated.”

“Also useless is to any current earth civilization,” Worm said. “It requires power too much.”

“You mean, you could accept their offer, give ’em exactly what they ask for, and it would be useless?” Janet asked.

“That’s exactly what he means,” Justin said.

I looked at Elder. At Worm. I couldn’t tell what they were thinking. I thought I knew them, but . . . . “I do not recommend that course.”

“Explain,” the Elder invited.

“’Cuz it’s a dirty trick,” Janet explained with her usual pith.

I nodded. “Exactly. You’ve asked me to protect the interests of my species. It would be a terrible thing for you to provide nothing of any practical value. Especially when you had a good offer that you turned down.”

“Wouldn’t be so good for your species either,” Janet observed. “We certainly wouldn’t welcome your kind back.”

“We may never pass this way again,” Worm observed, his syntax and intonation suggesting a quote.

“Nonetheless, Ensign Worm,” I said. “Nonetheless. When I was here with Doctor Livingston, you wondered whether our species had honor. Does yours?”

The Elder chittered. “Enough. I was interested to see whether your reasoning matched ours on this. I am satisfied. Moreover . . . even if the Russia Federation could use the technology, we would not intervene in an an intraspecies dispute. It is not our way.”

I nodded. “So you see why I recommend the American proposal. It’s not because I’m an American myself, though I am and I’ve never been prouder to be one. I begged the U.S. government to make a proposal like this. One that would, unequivocally, benefit all of our species, right now. Accept it, and this first meeting between our species will . . . .”

“ . . . live in ‘famy,’” Janet finished. “‘’Cuz that’s gotta be the exact opposite of infamy. English bein’ logical and all.”

“I do not this understand,” Worm said.

“Nevermind,” I laughed. “Low humor. Again. We would remember your species well, and with honor.”

The Elder and Worm chittered at each other for a moment, and Siri did not translate their words. Finally, though, the leader returned his attention to me. “On behalf of this Mission, I accept the American proposal.”

I felt tears welling up again. We did it! We really did.

Justin said, “There are some details that will need to be worked out. If this agreement is going to be kept under wraps for a couple months, I’ll want it all in writing with multiple originals that can be securely stored in undisclosed locations.”

I nodded. “Makes sense to me. I’ll contact Corbin and let him know. But it might be good if you talked to their lawyers directly on the legal stuff. I’d just be in the way. With your permission, Elder?”

“Make it so,” he replied.

I pulled out my phone and called Corbin.

“How are your feet this fine day, Professor?” he answered.

“What?” Then I remembered our earlier conversation. “Oh! Right! . . . They’re beautiful, Mr. Corbin. Just beautiful!”

There was a pause on the line, followed by a deep rumbling noise in basso profondo. Corbin was laughing. “Well done, indeed, Professor.”

I said, “The leader of the mission accepted your proposal verbally just a moment ago. Their lawyer would like to have a formal agreement drawn up, though. Just to dot the i’s and cross the t’s.”

“Understood,” he replied. “And agreed. We’ve actually got Ms. Shakon working on a draft right now. She is . . . very good.”

We agreed that Shakon would work directly within Justin to finalize the text, and ended the call cordially. Corbin sounded almost jovial.

I relayed my conversation to the people – and The People – in the cabin, ending with: “They’re on board, and Mr. Corbin sounds delighted. He put Shakon on drafting the agreement.

“What’s Shakon?” asked Worm.

”Standing at the Crossroads!” Janet exclaimed.

“What?” I asked, startled.

“Huh?” Justin was equally stumped.

“I do not . . . “ Worm began.

I stopped him. “A misunderstanding. Toni Shakon is a “who,” not a “what.” She is one of President Taryn’s lawyers.”

“He more than one has?” Worm asked, inquisitive as always.

“More than a brigade, I think,” Justin answered.

“But she’s very good,” I said, hoping to return to the issue at hand. “I think it’ll move fast.”

Justin smiled and shook his head. “There’s ‘fast,’ and there’s ‘lawyer fast.’ They aren’t too closely related to each other.”

“Lollygaggers!” Janet shook her head ruefully.

“We do not much time have,” Worm warned.

“It’ll be done in time. I can promise you that much,” Justin replied.

The Elder was looking at me and chittering. Eventually Siri kicked in. “Jessica James . . . we are almost finished, and, it appears, almost successful. Assuming that the agreement is finalized and the exchange timely effectuated, have you given thought to your payment?”

“A fair day’s wage for a fair day’s work, just like the Ponderosa,” Worm added, remembering our earlier words.

“Wait – hired hands got killed on that show,” Janet said.

I seemed to recall having the same thought.

“I observed that did,” Worm said. “Strange it was. We would not that practice follow.”

“I’m so glad,” I said dryly. Then I smiled. “From the day I really accepted what had happened to me, and decided to try to take on this mission, there’s only been one thing I wanted. Just one more shot.” I looked at Janet. “For the best friend anyone ever had.”

Janet was – for once – speechless.

But the Elder was not. “No, Jessica James.”

I spun to face him, angry words forming on my lips. No? After everything we’ve done? Everything we’ve been through? NO?

But Siri continued to translate the Elder’s words. “There is no need. Professor Janet Seldon has done ample service herself. If she desires a shot such as we gave you, she may have one.”

Janet finally squeaked out, “What???”!!!”

Caught completely by surprise, I laughed, and laughed, and laughed some more as tears of joy streamed down my damned-near perfect face. “Which what?” I asked her. “Do you intend that as an adverb, an adjective, a pronoun? An interjection, perhaps?”

She growled at me, “Have I ever mentioned that you use your tongue purtier than a $20 whore?”

It didn’t matter. I just laughed harder. “Yeah. I think you have mentioned that before. Once or twice.”

Elder chittered again. “Do you have any other thought for how we might repay you, Jessica James? We acknowledge that, should this deal be successful, our debt to you is great.”

That was enough to still my laughter, though the smile on my face lingered. I hadn’t ever thought beyond asking for a shot for Janet. But . . . .

Just like that, I had the answer.

To be continued. Conclusively.