Because this wasn’t a war. Not officially. Not even among the two native races. Tigeries and Seatrolls had fought since they evolved to intelligence, probably. But that was like men and wolves in ancient days, nothing systematic, plain natural enemies. Until the Merseians began giving the Seatrolls equipment and advice and the landfolk were driven back. When Terra heard about that, it was sheer reflex to do likewise for the Tigeries, preserve the balance lest Starkad be unified as a Merseian puppet. As a result, the Merseians upped their help a bit, and Terrans replied in kind, and—
And the two empires remained at peace. These were simple missions of assistance, weren’t they? Terra had Mount Narpa by treaty with the Tigeries of Ujanka, Merseia sat in Kimraig by treaty with whoever lived there. (Time out for laughter and applause. No Starkadian culture appeared to have anything like an idea of compacts between sovereign powers.) The Roidhunate of Merseia didn’t shoot down Terran scouts. Heavens, no! Only Merseian militechnicians did, helping the Seatrolls of Kimraig maintain inviolate their air space. The Terran Empire hadn’t bushwhacked a Merseian landing party on Cape Thunder: merely Terrans pledged to guard the frontier of their ally.
The Covenant of Alfzar held. You were bound to assist civilized outworlders on request. Abrams toyed with the notion of inventing some requests from his side. In fact, that wasn’t a bad gambit right now.
“Maybe you can return the favor,” he said. “We’ve lost a flitter in the Zletovar. I’m not so rude as to hint that one of your lads was cruising along and eyeballed ours and got a wee bit overexcited. But supposing the crash was accidental, how about a joint investigation?”
Abrams liked seeing startlement on that hard green face. “You joke, Commander!”
“Oh, naturally my boss’d have to approach you officially, but I’ll suggest it to him. You’ve got better facilities than us for finding a sunken wreck.”
“But why?”
Abrams shrugged. “Mutual interest in preventing accidents. Cultivation of friendship between peoples and individual beings. I think that’s what the catchword is back home.”
Runei scowled. “Quite impossible. I advise you not to make any such proposal on the record.”
“Nu? Wouldn’t look so good if you turn us down?”
“Tension would only be increased. Must I repeat my government’s position to you? The oceans of Starkad belong to the seafolk. They evolved there, it is their environment, it is not essential to the landfolk. Nevertheless the landfolk have consistently encroached. Their fisheries, their seabeast hunts, their weed harvests, their drag nets, everything disturbs an ecology vital to the other race. I will not speak of those they have killed, the underwater cities they have bombed with stones, the bays and straits they have barred. I will say that when Merseia offered her good offices to negotiate a modus vivendi, no land culture showed the slightest interest. My task is to help the seafolk resist aggression until the various landfolk societies agree to establish a just and stable peace.”
“Come off that parrot act,” Abrams snorted. “You haven’t got the beak for it. Why are you really here?”
“I have told you—”
“No. Think. You’ve got your orders and you obey ’em like a good little soldier. But don’t you sometimes wonder what the profit is for Merseia? I sure do. What the black and red deuce is your government’s reason? It’s not as if Saxo sun had a decent strategic location. Here we are, spang in the middle of a hundred light-year strip of no man’s land between our realms. Hardly been explored; hell, I’ll bet half the stars around us aren’t so much as noted in a catalogue. The nearest civilization is Betelgeuse, and the Betelgeuseans are neutrals who wish emerods on both our houses. You’re too old to believe in elves, gnomes, little men, or the disinterested altruism of great empires. So why?”
“I may not question the decisions of the Roidhun and his Grand Council. Still less may you.” Runei’s stiffness dissolved in a grin. “If Starkad is so useless, why are you here?”
“Lot of people back home wonder about that too,” Abrams admitted. “Policy says we contain you wherever we can. Sitting on this planet, you would have a base fifty light-years closer to our borders, for whatever that’s worth.” He paused. “Could give you a bit more influence over Betelgeuse.”