The High Art of Diplomacy---Excerpts from the Star Dancers by Jeffrey Caminsky

Excerpted from The Star Dancers by Jeffrey Caminsky, available directly from the Publisher, or from Amazon, or at a bookstore near you.

From Chapter 10

Far east of g’Khruuste, where Ya’Lisha girded himself to endure his Minister’s wrath, Zatar of Ibleiman was facing an ordeal of a different order on the planet Balarium, in the Grand Drawing Room of the Grand Hall of the Grand Alliance.

“So, Zatar,” cooed Drubid, the Glincian Solon, “what then is your real conclusion? What shall we expect you to tell the Council at tomorrow’s sitting?”

Watching from near the food table, Zatsami of Mlantza frowned in silence. Like all Veshnan women, she was used to indulging the male need for attention without taking what they said seriously. Unfortunately, in diplomatic settings like this one, the men and women of other races often listened intently, encouraging boastfulness at the expense of more productive endeavors. Or worse, they actually believed the silliest bits of male puffery. Such nonsense was one of the reasons that Veshnans rarely trusted their men with any undertaking of a delicate nature. Even when the man was as brilliant as Zatar, he was often most successful at getting himself into trouble.

Like this present slice of foolishness: Drubid was perfectly transparent, and his government’s interest in the matter was well known. He wished to drain Zatar’s insights in advance of tomorrow’s session of the Council, to help his delegation frame its position from a stance of reasonableness and draw added support from the ranks of the uncommitted. A child could see as much, but still Zatar pressed ahead, so intent on impressing the Glincian with his mastery of the subject that the need for discretion was forgotten.

Soon, the reception would be abuzz with talk of Zatar’s report on the Terrans, unmindful that Zatar could very well change his conclusions by the time the Council sat the next day. There was, after all, a wide gap between his own professionalism and the Veshnan male’s instinct to assert his dominance. As with all men, the show itself was all, and beyond their preening display lurked a child’s insecurity, which meant that nothing said during a man’s moments of self-importance should be taken seriously. Veshnan women understood this, and were quite happy to let men keep their fond illusions so long as it came to nothing. She could hardly expect sister races to understand the quiddities of Veshnan manhood, however, and the point was near when she could defer intervention no longer.

“Surely, the Solon cannot expect the Council’s own emissary to display favoritism?” Zatsami interjected, ignoring Zatar’s stamping foot. “How can the council’s favorite procurator reveal his thoughts to one and withhold from the rest? No, I am sorry, Lord Drubid, but I must protest. And, of course, Zatar must beg your forgiveness.”

Bowing politely, the Glincian smiled and excused himself. Zatar’s eyes followed him to the entrance to the Banquet Hall, where Drubid disappeared into the crowd. The council’s favorite turned with a fury upon Zatsami, Veshna’s senior solon.

“You seem a most popular man tonight, Zatar,” Zatsami said mildly. “But then, I have never known you to want for companionship.”

Pleasant memories darted between their eyes, and Zatar’s anger soon faded. He even managed a smile, as he realized—after the fact, of course—that the solon’s intervention had spared him even greater embarrassment on the morrow. “I have never seen such curiosity on the eve of Council, Tsami,” he said, “and from all corners of the Alliance. It is as if my report holds some meaning hidden from myself. Only the Crutchtans have not sought my counsel tonight, and I doubt that the reason is a lack of interest.”

Sighing, Zatsami closed her eyes and nodded. Men could be so unthinking, she thought, but Zatar had been gone a long time and re-mastering the nuances of Council politics after an absence always took time. Placing her arm in his, she led him from the Drawing Room out onto the veranda. The stars glimmered in the clear night sky, and a soft breeze blew from the south. The city lights shone like diamonds strewn over the valley below. The view from the hill was magnificent, commanding one of the grandest vistas in all the civilized universe. Yet it was the loneliest vista as well, for aside from the city the planet was uninhabited. The Grand Alliance kept its administrative center alone and isolated, on a world open to none but those with official clearance to visit. Only bureaucrats and diplomats and visiting dignitaries—and their families, once the proper forms were filed and approved—could enjoy its teeming gardens, or swim in its warm, salty seas.

Coming to rest near grRunsti Fountain near the Fidrei Gate, Zatsami turned to face her countryman, concern etched across her face. “You are aware of the divisions within the Crutchtan ranks?”

“I am not long away from the Terrans, where conflict is as natural as breathing. I found myself developing a new sense to detect it. And I have come to wonder whether conflict is any less natural to our Crutchtan friends than to their Western neighbors.”

Zatsami nodded ponderously, and spoke in the lowered tones of one accustomed to the intrigues of diplomacy. “Cra’Jenli and Gal’Shenga are finally joining their battle for dominance in the Imperator’s Palace, and here the Glinci and Atkvalo are casting for allies among the uncommitted. Even as we speak, plans are hatching and forming here and in every corner of the Alliance, all with the purpose of gaining sway throughout the realm. All seek to use the Terrans to their advantage. Your report is critical to everyone, Zatar, though to each for different reasons. And all wish to couch their positions in terms that comport with your own.”

“And Veshna’s position is— ?”

“Our position is not your concern, Zatar. You are charged with the common good, not with advancing the interests of the Motherland. And our policy will likely follow whatever you recommend. After all,” she smiled, “we cannot believe that what benefits all will inure to our disadvantage—particularly since the Council will be looking at matters through the eyes of a Veshnan.”

She took his arm to lead him back into the palace. As they walked, Zatar had time to reflect. He was walking into a swarm of harvestbugs, he thought, a vast host devouring all before them without thought for what might lie ahead. None of them understood the dangers they faced. Not the Crutchtans, nor the Glinci, nor the Atkvalo. Not even Zatsami and the others of his own kind. And Zatar often wondered if he himself understood any better than the rest.

© 2009 by Jeffrey Caminsky