The Human Division #1: The B-Team Read Free Page A

said.
    “I would at least like to have poured the flagon on someone’s head,” Wilson said.
    “That wouldn’t have been very diplomatic,” Schmidt said.
    “And spitting in our faces is?” Wilson’s voice rose slightly.
    “Yes, because that’s how they cement their deals,” Schmidt said. “And they also know that when humans spit in someone’s face, or pour water on someone’s head, it doesn’t mean the same thing. So we devised something that everyone agreed was symbolically acceptable. It took our advance team three weeks to hammer that out.”
    “They could have hammered out a deal where the Farnutians learn to shake hands, ” Wilson pointed out.
    “We could have,” Schmidt agreed. “Except for the little fact that we need this trade alliance a lot more than they do, so we have to play by their rules. It’s why the negotiations are on Farnut. It’s why Ambassador Abumwe accepted a deal that’s a short-term loser. It’s why we stood there and got spit on and said thank you.”
    Wilson looked toward the forward part of the shuttle, where the ambassador sat with her top aides. Schmidt didn’t rate inclusion; Wilson certainly didn’t. They sat in the back, in the cheap seats. “She got a bad deal?” he asked.
    “She was told to get a bad deal,” Schmidt said, looking toward the ambassador as well. “That defense shielding you trained their people on? We traded it for agricultural products. We traded it for fruit. We don’t need their fruit. We can’t eat their fruit. We’re probably going to end up taking everything they give us and stewing it down to ethanol or something pointless like that.”
    “Then why did we make the deal?” Wilson asked.
    “We were told to think of it as a ‘loss leader,’” Schmidt said. “Something that gets the Farnutians through the door so we can make better deals later.”
    “Fantastic,” Wilson said. “I can look forward to getting spit on again.”
    “No,” Schmidt said, and settled back into his chair. “It’s not us that will be coming back.”
    “Oh, right,” Wilson said. “You get all the crappy diplomatic missions, and once you’ve done the scut work, someone else comes in for the glory.”
    “You say it like you’re skeptical,” Schmidt said to Wilson. “Come on, Harry. You’ve been with us long enough now. You’ve seen what happens to us. The missions we get are either low-level or ones where if they fail, it’ll be easy enough to blame it on us, rather than our orders.”
    “Which kind was this one?” Wilson asked.
    “Both,” Schmidt said. “And so is the next one.”
    “This brings me back to my question about my karma,” Wilson said.
    “You probably set kittens on fire,” Schmidt said. “And the rest of us were probably there with you, with skewers.”
    “When I joined the CDF we probably would have just shot the hell out of the Farnutians until they gave us what we wanted,” Wilson said.
    “Ah, the good old days,” Schmidt said sarcastically, and then shrugged. “That was then. This is now. We’ve lost the Earth, Harry. Now we have to learn to deal with it.”
    “There’s going to be a hell of a learning curve on that one,” Wilson said, after a minute.
    “You are correct,” Schmidt said. “Be glad you don’t have to be the teacher.”

III.
    I need to see you, Colonel Abel Rigney sent to Colonel Liz Egan, CDF liaison to the secretary of state. He was heading toward her suite of offices in the Phoenix Station.
    I’m a little busy at the moment, Egan sent back.
    It’s important, Rigney sent.
    What I’m doing right now is also important, Egan returned.
    This is more importanter, Rigney sent.
    Well, when you put it that way, Egan replied.
    Rigney smiled. I’ll be at your office in two minutes, he sent.
    I’m not there, Egan returned. Go to the State Department conference complex. I’m in Theater Seven.
    What are you doing there? Rigney sent.
    Scaring the children, Egan replied.
    Three minutes later,