Sylvia sharpened her smile and was rewarded with a small, almost invisible recoil on the part of the Protector-Commander.
“If the Kozun Hierarchy believes they are at war with the United Planets Alliance, they have forgotten how the UPSF makes war,” she told him. “They have a dreadnought and a few dozen escorts. Two carrier groups would probably be overkill against their entire fleet.
“So, if we were actually at war, we would send three.”
The shuttlebay was silent, and Sylvia wondered what her escort was making of her diplomatic approach to matters. She knew Drifters, though, and it was easy to get lost in byzantine bullcrap negotiating with them.
She’d spend that time when she spoke to the Council, but there was no point to it with the Protector-Commander. She needed a decision from him now, so she would push.
And since most soldiers only had so much patience for that same bullcrap, she suspected it was working.
Third-White-Fifth-Gold laughed behind their mask.
“Come, Ambassador,” they told him. “Join me for a drink while I arrange your appointments. I am curious as to how your efforts in this Sector have fared.”
“Gladly. I must remind you, though, Protector-Commander, that nothing is free,” she replied. “That kind of intelligence costs more than a drink.”
Chapter Three
The garden ships at the center of the Drifter Convoy were, Sylvia suspected, far less defenseless than they looked. Nonetheless, the ships with their massive transparent domes were hidden away behind every other ship in the Convoy.
That made them the safest place in any Drifter Convoy and the home of the political leadership of the fleet. Shaka’s shuttle wasn’t even allowed to approach the garden ships. Sylvia made her trip to her audience aboard a Drifter shuttle, though her GroundDiv escort was permitted to come with her.
More black-masked-and-robed soldiers greeted her as she left the shuttle, escorting her into the main area of the garden ship.
Even for Sylvia, a child of actual planets, the garden ships were stunning to look at from the inside. The core transparent dome was two kilometers across, and every square centimeter of the surface area was covered in plants.
The vast majority of the vegetation was edible, and even the decorative plants provided oxygen for the rest of the Convoy. The most efficient food crops from the ten thousand stars of the Kenmiri Empire had been gathered there to serve the Drifters. Passageways lined in more decorative—though likely still fruit-bearing, Sylvia suspected—trees cut through the dome toward the center.
Glow lamps were suspended above them, each sector getting different amounts of light, heat, humidity…every part of the climate and ecosystem of the immense starship was controlled to the utmost degree possible, and there would be decks upon decks of hydroponics beneath them as well.
Here, the Convoy was far enough from the local star that the glow lamps were necessary. In a different system, the garden ships would be orbiting closer to the sun and positioned to use natural light to reduce their power draw.
Each ship of the Convoy attempted to be self-sufficient, but the garden ships made up for any shortfall while also providing food surpluses the Convoy could trade. They were custom-built, each one a unique and stunningly impressive achievement.
The center of this particular ship’s dome was a circle of trees that rivaled the California redwoods some of her ancestors had imported to Russia’s Epsilon Eridani colony. The giants on Eridani were only a century and a half old…but without knowing how quickly these trees grew, Sylvia had to guess that they were at least as old.
Which meant the ship she was standing on had been built at least that long before. The Drifter Convoys had been around for a long time.
She was led through that ring of trees into a shaded circular amphitheater that descended toward a central stage. The benches weren’t full, but the dark red robes of the occupants said all she needed to know.
While Sylvia was certain the Drifters were perfectly willing to shift robes and masks to confuse outsiders, the colors and styles all meant very specific things. She doubted they would do so without purpose, so those dark red robes told her she was looking down at the Council of Ancients of Blue Stripe Green Stripe Orange Stripe.
“Approach, Ambassador Sylvia Todorovich of the United Planets Alliance,” the robed Drifter standing on the central stage instructed in Kem. “You have requested an audience with our Ancients.”
They gestured at the figures seated on the benches around them.
“We have gathered to hear your words. We do not do this for every supplicant, Ambassador, but the deeds of your people have earned this respect. You will be heard.”
Sylvia gestured for her guards to wait at the circle of trees and proceeded forward. Each bench was a shallow step down from the one above it, the metal of their construction a reminder that they were aboard a spaceship.
As she approached the central stage, she realized that only about half of the figures on the benches were actually there. The rest were holographic projections, the virtual presences of Ancients on other ships scattered through the Convoy.
Most of the Ancients, aside from any other role the Convoy put on them, also served as captains of their own ships. They were busy people—but they had made time for her.
Sylvia concealed a smile. Blue Stripe Green Stripe Orange Stripe was making a big deal of the favor they were doing for her, but there was another read to it: they knew how much the UPA could do for them.
Or…do to them.
Sylvia joined the Drifter on the central stage, looking up at the small crowd around her. Blue Stripe Green Stripe Orange Stripe’s Council of Ancients had thirty-two members. One of them was Protector-Commander Third-White-Fifth-Gold, seated at one of the farther benches.
That was probably a sign of their lack of seniority in the Council.
“Has the Protector-Commander briefed this Council on the request the United Planets Alliance has sent me to deliver?” she asked.
“You wish us to intercede between the La-Tar Cluster and the Kozun Hierarchy,” the Ancient on the stage with her summarized. “The intent is clear, though the details of what you would have us do remain unknown.
“So, too, do the details of how our Convoy would benefit from this arrangement, beyond the unquestionable indirect value of peace,” the politician continued.
Sylvia studied the stranger’s mask carefully, committing it to memory. Even if the Ancients didn’t give her names, the patterns of blue whorls across a silver mask that the Drifter wore would be unique. Only Duty Masks were shared, and no Ancient would wear a Duty Mask to a gathering of the Council.
“I presumed that it would not be necessary for me to give the full details to the Protector-Commander to be granted access to this Council,” she told blue-whorls-on-silver. “If this Council is prepared to consider it, I will lay out the proposal in full measure.”
Kem was not a liquid language at the best of times and the formal phrasing preferred by the Drifters made it even more stilted. Sylvia knew the dance, however, and she knew she needed to give the Ancients the appearance, if not the truth, of complete control of this meeting.
“Very well,” blue-whorls-on-silver told her. “You may present to this Council.”