Jacob walked into my office at 0701, a manila folder under his left arm and two coffees in a cardboard carrier in his right hand. He set the carrier on my desk. He set the folder beside it. He did not sit down.
"Drew."
"Jacob."
"Investors, Drew. Not friends."
He had said it once before, on the night of the signing, with his hand on my shoulder. He said it now without the hand and without the lean-in and at a register that was Jacob's morning-briefing register and not Jacob's late-night register. Selmak was present in the way Jacob held the folder — a half-degree of formality that was not Jacob's.
I opened the folder. Three names. Three faces in the small black-and-white surveillance plates Tok'ra intelligence used for Serrakin commercial-council profiles. The three were senior commercial-council members. The Tok'ra had documented each of them, in the last eleven months, putting questions to three different non-Serrakin trade partners about Ancient propulsion schematics — specifically Lantean-generation, specifically the kind of schematic an AI-of-Ancient-substrate would have on file.
I read the dossiers. I sat with the folder open on my desk for a long count.
"How fresh."
"Three weeks on the oldest. Eight days on the most recent. The most recent is the one in the middle." Jacob tapped the middle photograph. The man was older than the other two, his eyes narrow, his clan-mark just visible at the collar. "He's the one who's asking it nicely."
"Selmak."
Selmak's voice came up out of Jacob's throat, slower and deeper.
"We have not yet shared this folder with the council. We will not, unless you ask us to."
"I'm asking you not to."
"Then we have not."
Jacob's posture settled. His own voice came back. He picked up one of the coffees, set it in front of me, and took the other for himself.
"You're going to talk to Kaleb today," Jacob said.
"This afternoon."
"You want me there."
"No."
"Good answer." He drank. "You want me here when you come out."
"Yes."
"I'll be on the base." He turned for the door. He paused. "Drew. He's not Ba'al."
"I know."
"He's not your friend either."
"I know."
The conference room at 1528 had one overhead fluorescent that strobed at one point seven hertz. AURORA-7 had not corrected it because I had asked her, an hour ago, to drop into low-power background mode for the duration of this meeting. The strobe sat at the periphery of my vision. I counted it without meaning to.
Kaleb arrived at 1530 exactly. No engineers. Robes in the same muted grey-green commercial register. He sat. I sat.
"Why are you really here," I said.
He smiled. The smile reached his eyes again. He let it.
"That is a more direct opening than I had expected, Director."
"It saves us both an hour."
"It does." He folded his hands on the table. The fingers were long and the nails were trimmed neat. "Very well. I assume you have triangulated my engineer's offer to your sergeant. I assume you have intelligence — from a source I will not press you to name — that three of my council colleagues have been asking about Lantean-generation propulsion schematics. I assume the conclusion you have drawn is that the Serrakin commercial council is interested in acquiring such schematics by whatever means."
"Yes."
"Yes." He nodded once. He took a slow breath. "Director. We have asked, yes. We have not received. We will not ask again unless you would consider offering. I am here because asking once is commerce, asking twice is something else, and we are commercial."
I let the sentence land. I let it sit. The strobe ticked. I counted four pulses.
"My engineer," Kaleb said, "made the offer at P7X-445 without authorization. That was a misjudgment on her part. I will speak to her. The offer is withdrawn."
"Withdrawn after the fact."
"Withdrawn after the fact." He inclined his head. "I will not insult you by claiming the misjudgment was not foreseeable on my part. I select my engineers. I am responsible for what they say."
I drank the coffee Jacob had brought. It was lukewarm and good and not from the SRD office.
"Five sentences," I said.
He waited.
"No schematic sharing. The naquadah supply continues at agreed rates. Joint engineering proceeds on the Earth fleet redesign with no additional access. Walter Harriman audits all Serrakin engineer movements going forward, on-site and on-base, and we will not pretend he is not auditing. The alliance terms get a six-month review clause that I can trigger unilaterally, and the trigger does not require cause."
Kaleb did not speak for a count of four.
He smiled again. The smile was different.
"Five sentences," he said. "And you have asked for nothing for yourself."
"I have asked for the alliance to continue."
"Yes." He inclined his head. "Director Ramsey. You are easier to negotiate with than your superiors might have warned you."
I drank from the coffee. I did not let the rim shake against my teeth. I set the cup down.
"Thank you," I said.
"You will draft the review-clause language?"
"By tomorrow."
"I will sign it as soon as you send it." He stood. He smoothed the robe. He extended his hand across the table. I took it. "Director. We will be more useful to each other this way than we would have been the other way."
"Yes."
"My engineer will not be on P7X-445 next rotation."
"That's between you and her."
"It is, yes. But you will see the change. I wanted you to see it."
He left.
The fluorescent strobe ticked. AURORA-7 stayed in low power. I counted to thirty. I counted to sixty. I did not stand up.
Drew.
"Yes."
The Tok'ra defector intelligence that Ba'al has been buying. The intelligence on you. He is also selling it to the commercial Serrakin. That is what Kaleb told you with the sentence about your superiors.
"Yes."
The threat surface is wider than the file Jacob brought you this morning.
"Yes."
I stood up. I picked up the empty coffee cup. I walked the cup down the corridor to the recycling bin without speaking to anyone.
I did not sleep that night. I lay on my back at the apartment with the streetlight coming through the blind and AURORA-7 idling at the back of my skull and the Tok'ra-defector-intel-reaching-commercial-Serrakin sentence repeating in my own voice, not hers, because she had not said the sentence aloud and I was now the one carrying it.
Janet did not know.
I had walked from the conference room directly to my office. I had drafted the six-month review-clause language and sent it to Kaleb at 1814. I had eaten an SRD-cafeteria sandwich at 1840. I had called Janet at 2007 and told her I would be at the apartment tonight, not at her place, and that I loved her, and that work was busy. She had said I know, and I had said I know you know, and she had said go to sleep, Drew, and I had said I'll try.
I had not tried.
The phone was on the bedside table. The Hammond draft was sitting in the office on a different desk than mine, because Hammond's secretary had moved it there for the morning, because Hammond had taken pity on me and pushed the draft review back to the day after tomorrow. The Tollan vote was in four days. The Serrakin engines had been on Earth for six. Janet did not know about Kaleb.
I closed my eyes. I did not sleep.
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