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Jeremiah Glenn slapped both hands on the table, startling the other negotiators. The Friskie delegate yelped in surprise, then growled, lips lifting off perfect white teeth. "We may as well break for the evening, ladies and gentlebeings," said Glenn, then continued silently, I only took this job a month ago, and I already want to strangle half my co-workers. "I can't imagine us making any more progress tonight. We reconvene tomorrow morning after the courier shuttle docks. Maybe someone will bring us good news in the mail for a change." Around the long table, men and women and others pushed back their chairs.
"I say we continue," said the Friskie negotiator. Black ears lay flat against his furry canine head. He leaned forward, putting his formidable snout in Glenn's face. "We have not yet settled right of free passage for my people."
"Muzzle it, Beowulf," muttered the man next to him. "That kind of talk only stirs up more trouble."
"We haven't settled right of free passage for anyone yet," said Cleopatra Brook. She leveled a gaze at her opponent across the table; Glenn nodded. "Let's get out of here before we all kill each other. The cleaning crew will complain to the station commander if they have to mop blood and fur and scales off the floor in here." A few people chuckled, and the group dispersed.
Cleopatra watched them go: the Friskie delegate Beowulf who wanted to keep his people safe, though not many humans even considered the genetically-engineered Husky dogs to be people; his ally Jhon Starkley, who always supported the Friskie faction Friends of Man on the grounds that they posed less danger than the heroic Sirius League or the radical Sons of the Wolf; Licia Blaine, a Purist to her non-existent heart, constantly lobbying for the benefit of "certifiable" humans at the expense of everyone else; Dannl Patrick, who only wanted to make money; the enigmatic Davincy -- peace at all costs; Black Rosaleen with her extra breast, who spoke for the mutant humans and didn't mind fighting to get what she wanted; Gunny Travis for the militia, who liked fighting to get what she wanted; and the one genuine alien, a reptilian creature they called Copper because no one could pronounce the broken-steam-valve hiss of its name. Like Cleopatra herself, her opponent Jeremiah Glenn worked for station administration -- but he favored separatist paradigms where she preferred cooperative efforts. At least not all the factions onstation deigned to send delegates, or could agree on delegates to send.
Tired from arguing all day, the delegates drifted by ones and twos into the station's best restaurant. It was already crowded and growing noisy. Violins haunted the background, thin shadows of sound in the restaurant's corners. An eclectic array of odors poured from the kitchen, some enticing, others nauseating. I hate nonhuman cooking, Glenn mused as he entered.
Brook claimed the last available booth and ordered gr'ath, a favorite Friskie dish based on fish. I suppose I may as well test his off-duty style, she decided, watching Glenn search in vain for a seat. He may not have old Spider's connections, but at least he doesn't scream at people all the time. "Care to join me, Mr. Glenn?" she called over the noise.
"I suppose." He sat down and keyed up the menu on the table viewscreen.
"Chef program overloaded," said the computer. "Please hold your order until further notice."
"Damn." Glenn stared out over the shuffling crowd. Beowulf and Starkley already had their food and showed every sign of enjoying themselves. Davincy didn't even have a seat yet; he still stood in line, waiting for some earlier diner to finish and go home. "Now what?"
Brook shrugged. "You wait until the smartwaiter asks for your order, of course. If you want something to do in the meantime, turn on the holoprojector and play a game."
"This viewscreen has a holoprojector? You must really have good tech on this station. I grew up on a tramp freighter where we never knew where our next load of air was coming from." Glenn twiddled with the controls.
Feeling me out, thought Brook. He wants to see how I react, if I look down on tramps like most folks do. "You must have excellent skill at improvisation, then," she said. My turn. "I, on the other hand, grew up in an R-and-D laboratory." Let's see what he thinks of techies.
"Research and detonation, huh? I probably cut my teeth on some of your rejects," said Glenn. Why would a techie go into negotiation, and on the coop side at that? I thought they all worked for us, so they can play off one faction against the others to get the best prices, he mused. "Now, I just hope I can keep this station's supply lines open."
"So do I," said Brook. My word, we have something in common! Of course, our methods of obtaining it may prove mutually exclusive, she thought. "Speaking of lines, what games do you play?"
"Poker, of course. Checkers, mancala, go, chess. Anything with dice." Glenn paused. "What do you play?"
"Cribbage, rather than poker -- a Friskie friend taught me. One that I can't pronounce, that Copper likes ... and chess." Brook grinned. "The chef program probably won't clear for a while. Care for a quick game?"
"Just to pass the time, of course," Glenn said.
"Of course," Brook agreed, and selected chess on the game menu.
"Please state desired parameters," said the computer.
"Classic," said Brook.
"Machiavelli Prime," said Glenn.
They looked at each other. "I hate Machiavelli Prime," said Brook.
"I hate Classic," said Glenn. "How about Modern Machiavelli?"
"Let me clarify: I hate Machiavelli. I prefer something more straightforward," said Brook. All that bluffing and backstabbing depresses me. It reminds me too much of my job. Maybe Glenn likes that part. It just gets in the way of my strategy, she grumbled to herself.
Glenn said, "I prefer something more challenging than Classic." I can take her. Nobody with any real skill plays Classic anymore, he gloated silently. Well, maybe the chef program will clear soon so we can eat.
Brook thought for a moment. "Would you consider a 4-D variant?"
"On a flat board," Glenn countered. "I don't like layered games." But I love a quick pounce from hiding. I can phase out several pieces at once and make her forget their positions with a little fancy maneuvering on the board, he thought.
"Classic chess with the 4-D phase-out rules, no extra boards, no warp," Brook proposed.
"Done."
"Done. Computer, process last stated parameters." They both leaned over the table as the black and white figures took shape. Random chance assigned white to her side, black to his. Brook kept her composure, not allowing her thrill at even this small victory to show. Glenn spread his hands, offering her the board. She locked her gaze with his and nudged a pawn forward.
Glenn blinked and looked down, then matched her move. When he lifted his eyes from the board, he met hers. "I always play to win," he said.
Without breaking eye contact, Brook phased out a pawn. "I don't."
Why play, then? thought Glenn. He surveyed the board, weighed his choices for a moment, then phased out one of his own pawns. Again he found Brook waiting for his gaze to come back up. The opening unfolded smoothly at first, at least on the board. Glenn found Brook's steady gaze unnerving. How does she do that? he wondered. Finally he tilted his head slightly as he moved a knight into play, and caught her quick glance down at the board. A heartbeat later her eyes leveled with his once more. Bizarre habit.
Brook flicked another pawn forward, setting up an odd pattern as if to work her pawns in some sort of herd. She kept more of her pieces on the board than Glenn did, using the phase-out option rarely. Instead she took full advantage of this opportunity to assess him as a person, rather than an obstacle. He responds to people more than Spider ever did, she realized. Spider had contacts, but rarely made contact. Glenn seems more ... perceptive, I think. He believes in separatist reality, not separatist rhetoric. That could prove harder to crack.
"Why do you keep staring at me like that?" Glenn finally asked.
"I play a lot of cribbage with Friskies."
"What does that have to do with anything?" Glenn moved a bishop into the center, intent on castling his king as soon as possible.
"If you can stare down a Friskie, you can almost always beat her," Brook said, "and not just at cards." She responded to his center attack by consolidating her support pattern.
"I never heard that before," he said. Is that how she makes Beowulf back down at the negotiating table? Glenn wondered. He always argues more with me. Glenn captured one of Brook's pawns, which opened a neat path for his minor pieces. She advanced yet another pawn, responding to his thrust almost casually. Glenn watched in astonishment as her "net" contracted smartly to one side, supporting the head pawn and throwing his center attack off balance.
"I never heard it either," Brook said. "I learned it by playing with them on a daily basis." Out came Glenn's queen in a bold move. Brook captured one of Glenn's pawns, and suddenly his queen had nowhere useful to go as a phased piece reappeared in a strong position. He held back a sigh. "You pick up all sorts of useful things that way."
Glenn stalled for time. "I never cared much for nonhumans, so I don't spend much time with them," he said while he studied the board. "I bet you miss a lot of important nuances, not watching the board." Two of his pieces would soon reappear.
"On the contrary," Brook said as she captured his knight, "I see everything important from here." Her gaze remained locked with his. She studied the subtlest signs of his frustration, so that she could recognize them at the negotiating table later on.
Glenn grumbled and attacked with a rook.
"Chef program clear," the computer announced. "Do you wish to place an order now?"
"Yes," Glenn said. "Computer, select falafel, main course platter." He stared at the board, trying to decide whether to consolidate his current position or press forward. Brook kept sliding past him, driving her head pawn deeper into his ranks. He decided on attack, threatening her heavy pieces.
Just then Brook's gr'ath arrived. She picked one up and started to eat, still watching Glenn while she considered her next move.
"You eat dog food?"
"You eat rabbit food," Brook shot back, jibing at his vegetarian order. She abandoned her drive, protecting her flank instead, and the support network proved harder to assault than Glenn had expected.
"At least it's human rabbit food," said Glenn, unaware of the oxymoron. "I don't like the way you keep sticking up for the nonhumans. You must know it only makes trouble; you've lived on this station for years."
"My experience tells me to look after everyone's interests," Brook said. "If you keep favoring one faction over the others, they gang up on you." A flurry of action ensued which cost them both several major pieces and more pawns. Phased minor pieces reappeared and wiped out even more material. White came out with a slight advantage. "See what I mean?" She gestured at the board. "I support my troops."
Glenn dove in and captured her remaining rook. "Not very well," he said.
But Brook only cocked an eyebrow at him and responded with a cunning series of moves that mangled his flank without costing her a single piece.
"On the other hand, I leave myself free to attack," he said, putting her in check. She eeled out of it on the next move. Glenn's falafel arrived and he ate without paying much attention to the food, now focused on the game. He discovered that he enjoyed the swift repartee of conversation that went with it.
"If you keep attacking, you never have time to build anything solid," Brook countered.
Glenn paused. A chill crept down the back of his neck. "You know something you didn't bring to the negotiating table."
"Doesn't everyone?" Brook's queen swept across the board and disappeared, phased out in a complicated maneuver.
"I suspect," Glenn said, taking advantage of the queen's absence to harass Brook's king. "A lack of information can cause ... misunderstandings."
"It usually does," Brook said. She waited. A phased piece reappeared in the midst of Glenn's attack on her king, creating havoc. "A lack of understanding can also cause misinformation."
Glenn abandoned subtlety. "Just what the hell do you know, Brook?" he snapped.
"Temper, temper," she said. "A good negotiator never loses his composure." She picked up another piece of gr'ath. "By the way ... check."
"What?" Glenn looked at the board and quickly rescued his king. Then he looked again. "You left me that out on purpose," he accused. What does she want? She must be up to something, he thought. She said she doesn't always play to win.
"Maybe." Brook considered her options carefully. Spider would have taken dreadful advantage of this situation, she thought. Would Glenn? I need to know more. "Here, try one." She offered him the last of her gr'ath, a little patty fried golden brown.
Glenn stared at it dubiously. Maybe if I humor her, she'll tell me, he decided, and nibbled at it. "Not bad. Have some falafel?"
"Don't mind if I do." Brook crunched her way through the crispy shell. "Thank you." At least he has an open mind, she thought. I need support on this or it will never work. Here goes everything... "What would you do if I told you that space pirates around here prefer a free-for-all to slipping through a free-passage zone?"
Glenn choked on a mouthful of gr'ath. "That makes no sense at all," he protested when he could speak again.
"It does if they run in disorganized bands," Brook explained. "Where you come from, the lower tech level forces the pirates to organize just to steal enough to survive. Organized, they can slip a delegate into most negotiations and win themselves a free ride. Here in the Rhombus we hold the better technology, so they operate only in small, scattered groups. They can't break a blockade. A free-passage zone lets us protect friendly shipping." She reached out and moved a piece, revealing a discovered check for her in-phasing queen. "You're still watching for pirates among the delegates."
Glenn backed his king to safety inside a flight square. She knows this area better than I do, he conceded to himself. Experience gained in one place can be worse than useless in another, what with all the factions so fractious and half of them not even recognizing the other half. I never even heard of the Sirius League before I came here -- crazy Friskies, running around like vigilantes -- or, fair's fair, met anyone as loyal as that Beowulf. Brook plays a mean game of chess, better than I expected for as straightforward as she plays. But can I trust her? "What do you suggest?" he asked finally.
"Take the deal Jhon proposed this morning," said Brook, "but spread it out. Offer a safe lane for all friendly shipping. Take the shrinkwrap off Gunny and the fighters. You can tell the pirates apart from the merchants because the pirates will sneak in on a wrong vector, and if Gunny puts her ships in the right position she can pick them off."
"The business sector will scream like a hull breach over the competition," Glenn said. "They don't want non-certified goods onstation."
"Remind Dannl Patrick that a free-passage zone runs both ways. He can get his ships clear out of the Rhombus if we get everyone to agree. That opportunity ought to shut him up," Brook said. "With trade improved, we can afford to accept help from the Friends of Man -- even people who don't like working with Friskies will put up with it for enough profit."
Glenn nodded slowly. "It makes a certain amount of sense, but I disagree with your underlying assumptions. We should stick to our own kind, Brook." He gestured at the chess board, black and white pieces now in a face-off. "Everybody should."
Brook scattered his formation with a brisk move. "I disagree with your assumptions too." She paused. "That doesn't preclude our working together."
The direction of her gaze does not necessarily indicate the direction of her thoughts, he reminded himself. She watches me while she plans her next move. Why? She tells me facts I could have found out on my own while she plans ... something else. Glenn began a patient reconstruction of his forces. "I refuse to do anything geared towards furthering your cause. Factions can't stay together long enough to do any real good, and when they break apart they fight worse than ever."
"If you let the factions play fast and loose with each other, I guarantee they will treat you the same way," Brook said. The endgame dallied as they maneuvered in search of advantage. Play to win, and you give your opponent a handle on you. He knows your goal; you become predictable to him. That puts you in his power. Play a game for its own sake, or play to observe your opponent, and you open up whole new opportunities, thought Brook. She let Glenn fence her into a seemingly dangerous position. "We must maintain at least a minimum of control inside the Rhombus, or risk a breakdown of our borders."
"How do you propose to fend off the factions fighting inside the borders?" Glenn asked, trying to decide which of three possible moves to employ. "We don't have enough ships to police them all. I refuse to overload our militia."
"If we hold a safe passage from here to the edge of the Rhombus, we no longer need to police the other factions. They can't cut into our trade then, and they never bother attacking the station because of its stronger defenses; they'd rather hack at each other anyway." Brook kept him pinned with her gaze. "Let them squabble. It keeps them busy. The ships we don't assign to them, we can give to Gunny for squashing pirates."
"That sounds ... dreadfully divisive for a woman of your cooperative values," said Glenn.
"I believe that people of different cultures can and should work together for common goals," Brook said, "but those who don't want to usually manage to wreck it for everyone else. Right now, they play us off against each other. As long as you and I disagree, the delegates don't have to settle on anything."
Is this what I missed earlier? Glenn wondered. "Elaborate on that." He moved in, pressing Brook's king again. Her unwavering gaze still bothered him, but he had to acknowledge its efficacy. I really want to meet the Friskie bitch who taught her that, he realized.
"Unless we come up with something completely fair and agree on it, they can stall us indefinitely by allying in little voting blocks just too big to break -- which they will do the moment we propose a universal safeway. Licia Blaine will insist on restricting it to "certifiable" humans only, Rosaleen and Beowulf will insist on including their people, and the two sides will deadlock." Brook sighed. Do I dare trust him with this? He might decide to get close to the nonhumans, learn their ways, use that knowledge against them, she fretted. If I don't ... deadlock, still. She flitted her king back out of harm's way. "They used to pull shit like that with me and Spider all the time."
Now I get to see what she kept under the table, thought Glenn. "Suppose we put forth the universal safeway proposal," he said, "and the other delegates fall in as you say. Then what?" Glenn edged closer with a rook.
"Then you and I cast our votes together and break through the deadlock," said Brook. "This station always posts one cooperative and one separatist as the lead negotiators. Any interest can put up a candidate; business and militia always do. So can any nonhuman faction with personnel onstation; not all of them do, though. Look at the Friskies, for instance -- Sirius League must have half a dozen Heroes here, but they never field a delegate, so all we get is Beowulf from the Friends of Man. Regardless of the total mix in delegates, a joint vote by the two leads always passes. Usually, people just scream at each other until someone gets tired and gives up. Nobody can go to the stationmaster, either; if you bother him with anything less than an emergency, he throws you off your seat and tells your faction to appoint someone else." She launched a quick squabble on the chessboard that turned one of her pawns into a new queen. Glenn could not get through her other men in time to blockade it.
"Does it now." Glenn lifted his eyebrows. "Nobody mentioned this to me."
"No surprise," said Brook. "Spider and I never agreed on anything."
"We do?"
"I think so."
Glenn backed her king into an awkward position. "Go on."
"I could live with some peaceable divisions in the world. I could also live with a certain amount of divisiveness, as long as it doesn't jeopardize what I've built here," Brook said. "I believe you could accept a little mingling on the way to such divisiveness." She sheltered her king at the cost of her queen. "Our underlying beliefs may conflict, but for the moment some of our stepping stones overlap. A safe-passage zone accessible to all would help me consolidate cooperation on this station, but allow you to knock apart your worse-than-useless alliances among the outer factions."
Glenn nodded, thoughtful. Acceptable potential, he decided, and moved his rook. "Check," he said. He did not add 'mate' although he could see no escape for white. "Now how do I handle that Friskie delegate when I tell him that he has to share the lane with Purists who'd love to take potshots at his friends? For that matter, how do you suggest I keep Gunny from potting them herself?"
"Simple," Brook said. "When Beowulf challenges you, stare him down. Don't break eye contact until he gives in or looks away. As for Gunny, accept the offer made by the Friends of Man; she can't turn down extra soldiers after yammering all week about how shorthanded she is, and she won't dare shoot at Friskie ships with Friskie soldiers mixed in with her own troops. She may not like it, but she can't back out of it, either. If we set things up just right, we may even attract a few Heroes from the Sirius League. They dislike working in groups, but if you can promise them a good fight or a good cause, they'll put up with it."
At that moment, a long-forgotten pawn of Brook's returned to the board. She whisked it into formation in a position that would allow her to protect her king all evening, over and over, in the exact same pattern. A smile curled her lips. "Draw," she said happily.
Glenn made a gun shape with his thumb and forefinger, placed the finger against his head, and said, "Bang." I can't believe she salvaged a draw out of this. I just never could quite kill her, he thought. With the game effectively over, he suddenly noticed that the restaurant had nearly emptied as the night flowed away unnoticed. Exhaustion settled on his shoulders, heavy as responsibility. "All right. We'll try it your way. I still consider you a hopeless idealist of a cooperative lunatic, but you play a damn fine game."
"I still consider you a hopeless bigot of a separatist goon," Brook replied, "but in this instance it serves both our interests to agree. For now." She flicked the holoprojector off. "Later on, however ..." She let her voice trail off with a suggestive lilt.
"I look forward to the rematch," said Glenn.
"Breakthrough Combination" copyright 1996 Elizabeth Barrette, first published in Fortress magazine's "chess" issue, revised for web publication August 1998.
Art on this page are from the "Deep Space Mine" set at Moyra's Web Jewels.
The URL for this page is http://www.worthlink.net/~ysabet/specfic/breakthrough.html and it was last updated on October 13, 1998.