James Carter was no less worried than any of the other delegates arriving at Human-Centauri II's embassy. Representing the entire star system of Sol was a monumental task in itself; the notorious contempt that Alpha Centauri and CN Leonis bore toward Sol's almost-entirely-human make-up didn't help. He narrowly avoided having a war break out at the last summit; the odds of succeeding again were even lower this time.
He entered the conference room at the same time as the other four representatives, eyeing them as feverishly as they eyed him. Holsteader, the Alpha-Centauri-A-III born representative of that same triple-star system, rotated his eye turret until one of his three eyes stared right at him — and, Carter feared, through him. Krammer, representing the leading clan of CN Leonis, was a new face to him, and was pudgy even for an Alpha-Centaurian. The four arms of this meter-and-a-third tall being betrayed his tension. Carter could almost hear what his thoughts must be: "Human scum, how dare your government even think of hiding your arsenal from us!"
At least Ivan Harlbjorg, the president of Sirius, was a human — albeit an enigmatic one. But of all the system leaders gathered there, it was Yukariah Heap, the decades-long president of Human-Centauri, that frightened him the most. Human-Centaurians — particularly Human-Centaurian politicians — had a reputation for sincerity that just didn't make sense from the standpoint of diplomacy. How could you expect to get along with another star system if you told them everything? Yukariah Heap had been at every interstellar summit since Carter had been born, and that gentle Alpha-Centaurian still shook him to his core whenever he was in his presence.
"Holsteader," "Krammer," and "Yukariah Heap." Alpha-Centaurians always did have weird names, Carter figured. Probably because those four mouths of theirs made their real names impossible for humans to pronounce.
In slow, wary steps, the five approached their respective places around the pentagonal conference table. They placed themselves, as usual, at the corners of the table which represented the actual positions of their star systems relative to each other in space. Carter sat to the right of Holsteader, who stood (a sitting human reached about the same height as a standing Centaurian, who can remain standing without tiring) to the right of Krammer, who stood on Yukariah Heap's right, who stood right of Harlbjorg, who sat to Carter's right. Carter wished that this "round table" arrangement had been thrown out of the planning office years ago; he could barely keep an eye on any two of the other delegates at once, much less all four. He felt it grossly unfair, at such times, that Centaurians had omnidirectional vision.
Time to pull out that ace, Carter thought. "You realize, Holsteader, that you're not the only one with an Intelligence program. " He pulled a packet from his inner coat pocket, and let a couple of photos spill out onto the table and unfurl themselves. "These are close-up shots of Alpha Centauri B, about 45 degrees north of its Ecliptic." He glimpsed the desired flinch in Holsteader's mien. "You have an enormous network of collector satellites girding this region. Our image analysts have confirmed that the silhouettes in these photos match the shape of the few positron-collectors you use near Alpha Centauri A. These kinds of collectors can't be used to make electric energy, or deuterons, or even antiprotons; their only known use is for producing ... positrons."
"Are you accusing Alpha Centauri," Holsteader asked sternly, "Of stockpiling positrons for the purpose of creating a Phased Antimatter device outside of the terms of SALTY VI?"
Carter smirked. "No, ambassador. I don't have to accuse you. We've already confirmed that you've created said device." He tossed one more photograph onto the table, the crown-jewel of his evidentiary arsenal. "This," he tapped the photo, "Is less than four terrestrial days old. It's an orbital view of your construction yards near the north pole on Alpha Centauri A-II. Recognize this shadow? 'Cause we did. That . . . is a Hyper-Bomb."
Holsteader leaned its torso forward and arched all three of its eye stalks to glare at the photo. "We always suspected," it said slowly but intensely as it settled back into its place around the table, "That Sol had some kind of espionage operation watching us from our back yard, but we had no idea you'd gotten your surveillance equipment this close without our spotting it."
"We've all seen the pictures of UV Ceti IV," the Russo-Scandanavian steepled
his fingers. "The planet will eventually weld itself back together; it
might even have a stable surface again in only a few hundred thousand years."
Now Carter had to get home . . . across two hyper holes and a billion kilometers of now-hostile Sirian space.
The Pentagon War is continued in chapter 5.
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