“Then why did we make the deal?” Wilson asked.

“We were told to think of it as a ‘loss leader,’” Schmidt said. “Something that gets the Farnutians through the door so we can make better deals later.”

“Fantastic,” Wilson said. “I can look forward to getting spit on again.”

“No,” Schmidt said, and settled back into his chair. “It’s not us that will be coming back.”

“Oh, right,” Wilson said. “You get all the crappy diplomatic missions, and once you’ve done the scut work, someone else comes in for the glory.”

“You say it like you’re skeptical,” Schmidt said to Wilson. “Come on, Harry. You’ve been with us long enough now. You’ve seen what happens to us. The missions we get are either low-level or ones where if they fail, it’ll be easy enough to blame it on us, rather than our orders.”

“Which kind was this one?” Wilson asked.

“Both,” Schmidt said. “And so is the next one.”

“This brings me back to my question about my karma,” Wilson said.

“You probably set kittens on fire,” Schmidt said. “And the rest of us were probably there with you, with skewers.”

“When I joined the CDF we probably would have just shot the hell out of the Farnutians until they gave us what we wanted,” Wilson said.

“Ah, the good old days,” Schmidt said sarcastically, and then shrugged. “That was then. This is now. We’ve lost the Earth, Harry. Now we have to learn to deal with it.”

“There’s going to be a hell of a learning curve on that one,” Wilson said, after a minute.

“You are correct,” Schmidt said. “Be glad you don’t have to be the teacher.”

III.

I need to see you, Colonel Abel Rigney sent to Colonel Liz Egan, CDF liaison to the secretary of state. He was heading toward her suite of offices in the Phoenix Station.

I’m a little busy at the moment, Egan sent back.

It’s important, Rigney sent.

What I’m doing right now is also important, Egan returned.

This is more importanter, Rigney sent.

Well, when you put it that way, Egan replied.

Rigney smiled. I’ll be at your office in two minutes, he sent.

I’m not there, Egan returned. Go to the State Department conference complex. I’m in Theater Seven.

What are you doing there? Rigney sent.

Scaring the children, Egan replied.

Three minutes later, Rigney slipped into the back of Theater Seven. The room was darkened and filled with midlevel members of the Colonial Union diplomatic corps. Rigney took a seat at one of the higher rows in the room and looked across at the faces of the people there. They appeared rather grim. Down on the floor of the theater stood Colonel Egan, a three-dimensional display, currently unlit, behind her.

I’m here, Rigney sent to Egan.

Then you can see I’m working, she replied. Shut up and give me a minute.

What Egan was doing was listening to one of the midlevel diplomats drone on in the vaguely condescending way that midlevel diplomats will do when presented with someone they assume is below their station. Rigney, who knew that in her past life Egan had been the CEO of a rather substantial media empire, settled in to enjoy the show.