Freeman seemed strangely calm now. “I understand your point of view, Captain. Tell me, though; what is the acceptable risk to protect the Earth? The entire Sol system?”

Brooks was caught off-guard. “If you mean that studying the embrion could save lives, then-“

“What would have happened if Michal Denso would have survived?” Freeman asked him suddenly. He was back to his strange calmness.

Brooks hesitated. “I believe-“

“No, Captain! Not your beliefs! What can you say, with absolute certainty, would have happened? Can you say that this . . . baby leviathan would not have simply left? Can you say that it might not have tried to communicate? After all, if Apollonia Nor’s words are to be fully believed, then she had made first contact with a Leviathan!”

Brooks did not know what to say at that moment. He believed fully that the Leviathan would not have been friendly, or even neutral. Its mere presence would have caused untold harm, and probably killed hundreds of millions.

Probably.

“I do not truly know for a fact,” he had to say.

Freeman turned away from him, looking to the panel.

“And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the problem here. This . . . this is the question of our age. What are Leviathans? Can we communicate with them? Can we co-exist? Can we even understand them?”

He gestured to Brooks, and the smile on his face was calm, almost empathizing.

“And as poor, brave Captain Brooks has said, we do not know.”

He turned and began to pace. His hands folded behind his back. “In light of all that has been uncovered, I cannot say truly that I know what would have happened either. And it is terrible – this is my job. My duty is to understand this aspect of our reality – an aspect terrifying in its power. Things that dwarf even the gods of ancient civilizations in their strength. Beings that, it is not hyperbole to say, can shake the very foundations of a world.

“We need to know, members of the tribunal. I took a calculated risk ordering the embrion kept alive. That it failed . . . is a tragedy. Perhaps not as great as could have been if Captain Brooks’s fears turned out to be true. Perhaps they would have. But should a Leviathan appear in the Sol System, as nearly occurred recently – or perhaps Enope or Dulea – would we wish then that we had succeeded in taking a risk at MS-29?”

He shook his head. “To wish too much on different outcomes of the past is folly however. I must . . . drop all of my charges against Ian Brooks. For whatever choices he made that violated my orders, it is true that he was there, and I was not. It is true that what occurred seems to be beyond our current understanding. I cannot honestly say that he could have known what . . . strange events would have taken place in the strange place that Apollonia Nor went to. Where . . . the embrion was killed, it seems.

“But it had to be investigated, did it not?” he implored the tribunal. “Given the importance, we had to be sure. At least – as sure as we can be. We have to understand our reality, it is a matter of our continued existence.”

The Tribunal, the whole room, was silent, watching the man.

Brooks understood now, on some level, how he got away with so much. He was someone Brooks hated, yet he had a charisma, a way of filling the room with his presence and beliefs, making them all seem simply true.

And he had just dropped the charges – charges that, Brooks hated to admit, he seemed close to sticking.

“Tribunal members, Assessors, Chairman . . . We must know more. And we can.”

Freeman raised his head, his eyes settling upon Kell in the stands.

“It would be very helpful, Ambassador, if we knew what you knew.”

Brooks realized in that moment, with mounting horror, that none of this was about him, or his supposed failure to follow orders.

This was about Kell and the Shoggoths.

Freeman had picked Brooks because he was known to have been a detractor against his career advancement, making it seem an extension of that. But now, by dropping the charges, he could appear reasonable. And instead shift the blame for the situation, and the loss it entailed, onto Kell.

Kell had either walked into the trap, or been forced into it. He had claimed the death of Denso was at his hands – to protect me, Brooks thought bitterly.

All of this was to strong-arm them into telling more, being more involved.

“You knew, before anyone, what the embrion was,” Freeman said to Kell. “You knew how to kill the being that even Dr. Urle could not. When will your people consent to share their information? We do not hide knowledge, Ambassador, jealously guard it against each other! Open information sharing is a vital founding tenet of the Sapient Union. So when will you follow this? When will the rules of our great union finally apply to your people?”

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Kell watched Freeman with flinty eyes. “We are incapable of imparting things that you cannot understand, Director.”

Such a statement would sit well with no one, Brooks thought. But Freeman carried on a different tact.

“Then try, Ambassador! That is all we ask! Perhaps it is true. Perhaps this would be quantum mechanics before an ant, but without the attempt, we cannot know. We must know. Or the next Terris . . . might be Earth.”

He stabbed the question towards Kell with a jab of his finger, but Kell did not flinch.

“Yes, we encountered what you call a ‘Leviathan’ recently,” Kell said calmly.

“And it was heading for Earth, was it not?”

“Yes. Until it was dissuaded.”

“And if it should happen again?”

“Then we will deal with it then. Humanity and my kind, together.”

“We may not succeed next time. We all know how close Captain Brooks came to failure, however long the odds must have been. We cannot count on heroic actions to save the heart of our civilization! All we ask, Ambassador, is that you work with us! How can this be impossible?”

“It is not possible for me,” Kell replied.

One of the other Shoggoths stood. It was strange to behold, its body not as fully formed as Kell. It was as if a mannequin was alive – the uncanny valley effect of its presence was disturbing, and as it spoke its mouth did not move in a way that made it seem as if it was truly talking; only mimicking the action of a moving mouth.

“You may call me Gress,” the being identified itself. “On behalf of the Shoggoth Council, I second the Ambassador’s claim. This is not possible for him.”

“Then, Councilor, perhaps another one of your people? Or another ambassador?”

A pregnant silence filled the room. The Shoggoths in the gallery seemed to shift, subtly. The discomfort grew.

“We will . . . consider your request,” Gress finally said.

“And that’s it? You will ‘consider’ it?”

“We do not say this lightly,” Gress replied sharply. “Shoggoths do not lie, Director. When we say this, it is a solemn promise.”

“Your people do not lie, it is true. But I fear they also do not always tell the truth. Nevertheless – thank you, Councilor.”

A touch of a smile came to Freeman’s face. Every eye was trained on him, and Brooks felt that he was loving every moment of this.

“I believe that we have made great strides today towards the continued protection of our shared homeworld.”

Kell stood. “This is a mistake. You do not know what you are doing. You wish to understand, without knowing the consequences. Until now, your ignorance has been your shield – to be so unimportant, so beneath notice that you have remained safe.”He raised a hand, pointing his finger accusingly at Freeman.“If you scream for attention, you will get it, Director.”Kell turned, and marched for the door. The Shoggoths, all but Gress, rose and followed him, moving swiftly to catch up. Brooks did not know if it was solidarity or what, but . . .

Even though the chill of their presence diminished, the room felt less safe than it had been a moment before.

----------------------------------------

From the viewing gallery of Korolev Station, Brooks could look at Earth, the Moon, or the stars.

He chose the latter, staring out at the expanse of darkness, lit by tiny lights. Some of them moved; stations in the solar system, orbiting the Sun or Earth at distances still beyond the comprehensible.

Beyond them, the stars, in distances so vast that kilometers no longer even made sense to measure them.

From the surface of the homeworld, with the naked eye, he could recall that the furthest visible star was Cas, almost 40 quadrillion kilometers away.

It staggered him, awed him, enticed him.

And terrified him.

The incredible distances of utter emptiness, hostile to all life like him, was not all that lay out there. Stars and black holes were not the only objects to fear.

Out there were monsters.

A shiver went down his spine.

He heard the door open softly behind him, and recognized the footfalls of Admiral Vandoss without having to turn.

“Admiral,” he said by way of greeting, the formality seeming appropriate right now.

“Captain,” The man replied, stepping up next to him.

It had been four hours since the tribunal had concluded. The whole event dropped, as Freeman had withdrawn his charges . . . No settlement on his actions, no denouement for the whole thing. Perhaps some still questioned his actions, but none apparently wanted to continue the event with all that had come out.

What a perfect end for Freeman, Brooks thought. He’d been a pawn, played right into the Director’s hands. Questions had been raised about his performance that would not be settled now, forever leaving a question over his conduct.

And Freeman had achieved his true aim, it seemed; forcing the Shoggoths to share what they knew. Or at least one further step along that route.

He knew that the short-sighted might see Freeman as having gained little, but in reality change operated on long time scales. The idea was put out, in front of major governmental figures; the Shoggoths were holding back. They knew more, they had admitted it, and were aware that their conduct was questionable. That they would ‘consider’ the request was merely a formality before they eventually gave Freeman what he wanted.

He glanced to Vandoss, but the man seemed lost in his own thoughts.

They studied the stars for a time, and the Admiral’s face had a sadness upon it.

“I miss being out there,” he admitted. “You don’t know how lucky you are. I was in my eighties when we first broke the light barrier. You weren’t even born yet, as I recall.”

“No, I wasn’t,” Brooks said. “I was born seven years after E-Day.”

Emergence Day, when the first manned ship had left the Sol System. Later, when they’d met the Bicet, the aliens had told them that they had observed the test, and called it the Emergence of the Climbers – the latter being their term for humans, directly translated, since they had evolved from tree-dwelling apes.

Ever since, even humans had called it E-Day.

They’d had no idea then, what dangers had awaited them. They’d all hoped for alien life, though after the Great Silence of centuries there was little hope of it being intelligent.

But they’d all underestimated just how hard it was for even intelligent species to become space-faring, to develop high technology. For some species it had taken a hundred thousand years of civilization before developing things as advanced as metallurgy.

Others they had met would never have been able to leave their world without help, to wonder at the marvels of the universe.

And not through faults of their own. No intelligent species truly seemed to lack imagination. But conditions, the material realities of their world, were not always kind.

Maybe the universe did not intend for anyone to leave their world, he sometimes wondered. He did not believe in any greater being with a plan . . . but then he had seen greater beings for himself.

Not loving gods, but unfathomable entities, greater than any god humans had dreamed of in long-gone days. They were, according to Kell, beyond life and death. Beings that lived on a scale that humanity could never understand. And they had no love for mankind, not even hate. Humans were . . .

Unimportant.

A part of him wondered if maybe Freeman had been right to force the Shoggoths to share their knowledge.

He felt cold suddenly, and wondered if Kell had joined them, the ambassador’s ghastly presence sucking all heat from a room; but a glance around showed that they were alone on the Viewing Deck.

It was just the realization, he supposed.

They lived, Kell said, because they were so unimportant. But if they became too loud, they would draw the gaze of things that they had no defense against.

“I am worried about what Director Freeman plans to do,” he said aloud.

Vandoss said nothing, the lines on his face tightening, and he stared out at those stars. Their heatless light seemed so much colder than he remembered.

“He caused me a lot of concerns,” Vandoss admitted. “But for all his bluster and failures to follow things as they should be – like going over my head – he does have his moments.”

Brooks wasn’t sure what to make of that, but right now he did not want to inquire deeper.

“I saw the extra fleets when I came in. Are things that serious with the UGR?”

“I don’t think so,” Vandoss said. “They’re clearly behind the coup in Corvus, and I can’t believe they thought they could sneak that one by us. The show of force was a good idea – they’ve been treading more carefully since then. It also conveniently coincided with this. When the fleet has to show the flag, it makes people give us a deal more respect, as they should.”

Brooks hated that it was a political ploy. He understood why they happened, but after recent events, he did not want to think his own branch of service succumbed to the same vices as someone like Freeman.

“So it’s nothing, then? This coup?” he pressed.

“I wouldn’t say nothing,” Vandoss said. “They’re installing a pretty extreme faction into Corus Prime. But they’re unpopular, and I think in time they’ll collapse – fascists are shit at economics as well as basic logic.”

“But if the Glorians were to start anything, are our fleets ready?” Brooks asked.

“Of course they are. Do you think I run a loose ship?” Vandoss laughed. “Their fleets are inferior to ours, and we outnumber them. If they attacked us . . . the only bets would be on how fast they’d fall.”

Brooks did not reply, but he did not like it all the same. It was true; the Sapient Union had vastly more resources and ships than the Glorians. But in space, it wasn’t hard to accelerate a projectile to a speed where armor was little deterrent. Enough Glorian vessels firing enough mass drivers, and SU ships would be holed. There was no hand-waving it away, no defense. A single ship might be able to evade, but when you had fleets . . .

A lot of people would die if conflict broke out again. Even if they were Glorians, those poor stupid bastards were still just further pawns in the hands of heartless sociopaths, thrown to the slaughter at their whim.