Tausson and Carterra stepped out of the shuttle, onto the bright green grass of the Capitol Building's lawn. A group of five people stood outside to greet them, and Tausson chided himself for his disappointment that the dark-haired woman wasn't among them.

"Commander Corwin," said President Freeland, stepping forward and extending her hand.

Tausson had seen this behavior on the Culture Report, and did the same, gripping her hand firmly, though keeping his gloves on.

"Welcome to Earth," she said.

He nodded, releasing her hand. He extended a closed fist, then opened it to show his bare palm. "On Relica," he said, his voice echoed by the translator on his sleeve, "when you meet someone for the first time, it is customary to lift a handful of the surrounding soil and offer it to the other." He gave a pointed look to the manicured grass at their feet and forced a smile as he said, "However, I dare not mar the obvious effort that went into this terrain."

The President gave a soft laugh, then turned away. At first Tausson was offended at the dismissive gesture, but then she bent over and took a handful of the dirt beneath some nearby flower bushes, and returned, offering it to him. The gesture of goodwill was touching, and he found himself wondering if perhaps this President would be a good candidate after all, despite the confusing breeding preference.

Smiling -- sincerely, this time -- Tausson accepted her offering. With a small bow, he said, "The soil is within us. We are within the soil."

The President returned his bow and turned to gesture to a man with hair almost as silver as Tausson's skin. "This is Caleb Grant, Vice President of the United States."

Tausson stepped forward and offered his hand in the customary Earth greeting. The Vice President, hardly coming up to Tausson's shoulder, gave him a wide smile and grabbed Tausson's hand with both his own, bobbing them up and down the entire time he spoke. "Very pleased to meet you, Commander, very pleased. It's an honor to be among the first to greet someone from another planet to ours, and I hope we are able to solve this asteroid problem without any headaches. I'm sure we'll be able to solve it. We just need to put our heads together and think about this reasonably."

Still gripping Tausson's hand, the Vice President gestured to the two men in black suits standing behind him and the President. "No need to worry about these two gentlemen. They're Secret Service -- our own personal security detail, charged with keeping Nelle and I safe. They won't be in the meeting, though. We trust that your intentions are honorable. We have complete faith in your desire to help us."

With a curt nod, Tausson released the man's hand and stepped back.

Introducing the final human, the President said, "Major General Garner Willoughby, Director of the United States National Aeronautics and Space Administration."

With skin as dark as the soil the President had offered, the Director smiled kindly and greeted him.

Tausson returned to First's side. "Carterra Arrat, First of the Cosmic Vessel Irral," he said, as she gave a slight bow.

The President bowed also, then gestured towards the building. "The rest of Earth's leaders are assembled and awaiting our arrival. Shall we begin?"

"Every moment that passes is one less that your people have to evacuate," said Tausson, nodding to her to lead the way.

After only a second's hesitation, the President strode towards the glass doors, followed by Director Willoughby. The Vice President grinned at Tausson and Carterra, gesturing for them to precede him.

The President led them to the same room she had been in when he spoke with her from his vessel. The walls were lined with screens filled with the same dignitaries from that earlier conversation, but Tausson's eyes glossed over them, locking on to the dark-haired woman who was getting up from her seat at the long table that ran down the center of the narrow room.

Rather than the straight, angular figure of the President, hers was curved, reminding him of the wide ripples of steel that ran down his prized antique war sword. Her hair, the color of rich Relican soil, was coiled around her head like a crown. While she had appeared stern and cold on the conference footage, there was an air of nervousness about her now, and a flush in her cheeks.

"Tierney."

Tausson detected the slight reprimand in the President's voice.

"Madame President," said the woman, a subtle apology. Then, though she kept her body turned slightly away from them, she leveled her brilliantly dark eyes on Tausson and said, "Commander. My sincere apologies for my tardiness. I meant no disrespect."

His chest tightened, and once again he wondered at the unfamiliar feelings this alien woman was evoking within him. She was nothing more than a frail human, but something about her made him stumble for words.

"None taken," he said. Her gaze moved to the translator speaker in his uniform, and Tausson foolishly wished she could understand his language, so her eyes wouldn't leave his.

"Commander Corwin, First Arrat," said the President, moving to stand beside the woman. "This is Tierney Dawson, my Chief of Staff."

"It's an honor to meet you both," Tierney said, nodding in acknowledgement to each of them. Her voice was deeper, more soothing, than the President's.

"Have a seat," said President Freeland.

Tierney returned to the seat beside the head of the table, which was where she had been during the conference. Tausson started toward the seat directly opposite from her, but the President said, "Commander, would you care to sit here?" She pulled out the chair at the head of the table.

Tausson considered rejecting the offer as a show of deference, but found the prospect of being so close to Tierney too tempting. Perhaps it would be an insult to refuse such a show of generosity?

"Thank you, President Freeland," he said.

Tierney started to stand, offering her seat to the President. Tausson could barely contain his relief when the President refused, sitting between her and Director Willoughby.

As the rest took their seats, the door burst open and another man rushed in. Tausson jumped up, knocking his chair over at the unexpected intrusion. First had done the same and now stood shoulder to shoulder with him, their backs against the wall. There was always the possibility of a species turning hostile at this juncture in the first contact process, hoping to counter the Relicans' advanced technology with sheer numbers and take them hostage. Less experienced Relican Squad members may have engaged preemptively at this apparent ambush, but though both of them kept their hands hovering over their uniform sleeves, ready to call for their defenses if needed, neither Tausson nor Carterra engaged.

"Spade!" the President barked, rushing in front of the late arrival. Extending a placating hand to them, she said, "Commander, First, I apologize for this intrusion. Our staff are rarely so ill mannered. There is no need for alarm."

With a nod to First, Tausson stepped away from the wall.

"This is Jonas Spade," said President Freeland, introducing the man with the sun-colored hair. "He is the Vice President's Chief of Staff."

Eyeing the fallen chairs, Mr. Spade stepped forward. "So sorry about all the fuss," he said, as Tausson accepted his offered hand. "I was delayed by someone who has no respect for decency."

"Or discreet entrances, it would seem." Tausson smiled to show that he was joking. The Vice President let out a guffaw, and President Freeland's small smile was full of relief, but Mr. Spade's eyes hardened despite his belated smile, and he promptly ended their handshake.

"Shall we finally begin?" asked one of the heads of state on screen.

"Indeed," said Tausson, returning to his seat. First sat to his right, beside the Vice President, and Mr. Spade took the next seat over. Addressing all who were listening, Tausson said, "I know you have questions. I am here to answer them. Proceed."

Perhaps they had expected a longwinded speech, but experience had taught him that even if he gave them a brief history of the Relicans and how the Squad had come into existence, he would still be inundated by questions. Best to cut to it, giving them only the information they asked for.

"Where are you from?" asked a flabby man on one of the screens.

"I am from Relica, central planet of the system of Relica, 68,121 jumps from Earth."

"Jumps?" asked Director Willoughby.

Tausson looked questioningly at First. He didn't remember seeing an equivalent in the Culture Report.

"Our unit of measurement for long-distance space travel," she said. "I believe it's closest to your light year?"

The Director's eyes widened, and several of the listeners onscreen began murmuring to one another.

"Your people are unequivocally more advanced than ours," said Vice President Grant, nodding deferentially.

"What of the asteroid you claim is going to hit our planet?" asked another man onscreen. "What do you know about it?"

"It is a class three NPO -- near planetary object," said Tausson. "Class threes are too large to be destroyed, even at this juncture, as the shower of debris would be just as catastrophic. Humanity has been identified as sufficiently advanced to merit relocation on a replacement planet. If you wish your species to continue, as we do, we must begin as soon as possible."

"How can we know any of this is real?" demanded a woman onscreen with hair as black as Carterra's that came down to her chin. "Everything we've seen, from the fake transmission signal to the gibberish online, can be explained. Meanwhile we've seen no proof of any asteroid."

"Details on the asteroid were included in the data we sent you."

The room fell silent, and few of the dignitaries would meet his eye.

"We have been unable to decode your data, Commander," said President Freeland.

"Decode?" Tausson turned to First. "It wasn't supposed to be a secure wave."

"My apologies," said the President, "poor choice of words. I mean to say that, while are able to read your data, it is too advanced for any of our scientists to understand."

Tausson couldn't believe it. The most primitive cultures they'd relocated could at least understand basic jump theory, even if they didn't have the technology to build it. Had Control been wrong? Was this culture not sufficiently advanced enough to merit relocation? A glance at First revealed that she was thinking the same thing. But they were already there. It was too late to turn back.

"I will have my Trajectory Officer available for any questions to assist with the... decoding of the data. However I assure you, there is an asteroid that will enter your sphere of detection in fifteen days' time, and obliterate life on Earth fifteen days after that."

As he surveyed those around him, he fought the urge to look at Tierney, though he felt her eyes on him. She was no farther from him than First, yet the space between them felt epic, a chasm that something within him begged him to cross.

Tausson's eyes landed on Mr. Spade, who was staring not at him, but at Tierney. For a brief second Tausson was jealous of the man who could gaze so freely at her. But then he saw the contempt, the disdain in his face, and his jealousy morphed into a simmering rage, a need to defend Tierney from this malevolence.

"This is ridiculous," said the same black-haired woman. "You show us footage of a shuttle landing on the White House lawn, create a fake language, and put some makeup on, and we're supposed to believe it's not all just Hollywood special effects? This is an outrageous lie being perpetuated by the American government to distract us from the cyberattacks against us over the past year!"

"I assure you --"

The President tried to speak, but she was cut off by more outbursts by other officials agreeing with the woman.

"We have yet to see any real proof!" one man shouted.

"This is a waste of time and a distraction!" echoed another.

Tausson stood, and the room went quiet. "As First stated at our previous conference, we welcome up to five humans at a time to visit our ship and see for yourselves that we are who we say we are. I invite you now to accompany me to the Irral, for a tour and further discussion."

"I'll go," said Director Willoughby without a moment's hesitation, though his face was grave.

Both the President and the Vice President accepted the invitation at the same time, and as they looked across the table at each other, Tausson noticed the chill that passed between them.

"May I speak with you, Madame President?" asked Vice President Grant. The two of them stepped away from the table and spoke quietly.

Tausson snuck a glance at Tierney, half-panicking half-praying that she would accept the invitation. The longer he was in her distracting presence, the more certain he was going to say or do something that could endanger their mission. And if something went wrong this time, he wasn't sure he could live with himself...

"Commander Corwin."

The President's voice cut through his dark thoughts. "I will remain here, while Vice President Grant joins you," she said, though she clearly wasn't pleased with the decision.

"I look forward to touring your vessel, Commander," said the Vice President, grinning as he returned to the table.

As she sat back down, President Freeland said, "My Chief of Staff will also go," and put a hand on Tierney's shoulder.

Tausson's heart thumped against his side, but the sensation could have been from fear as much as from joy.

"Three Americans," scoffed the black-haired woman, "that's convenient."

"Will you accept our invitation, Madame...?" asked Tausson.

"I am Jing Zhou, Minister of National Defense. I see no reason to play along with this farce."

A woman sitting beside her, with the same hairstyle and stern face, whispered something in her ear. Minister Zhou's face darkened, but then she sat up straight and said, "I will go to your spaceship to expose this absurd lie."

"I also will go," said a man with a smooth, round voice, and skin that matched the color of Tierney's hair.

"Let us adjourn, then," said Tausson, nodding to First, who stood and spoke into her sleeve.

"Trajectory, transmit."

"Squad, First. We've been monitoring the wave and have the coordinates."

"Convey," ordered First.

"Wait," said the Vice President, "we're going now?"

"There's no time to waste," said Tausson, probably a little harsher than he should have. Anxiety, excitement, hope, and terror were all rushing through his veins at the thought of Tierney being aboard the Irral, and it was difficult to keep his manners in check.

"How --" Minister Zhou's words were cut short as her body dematerialized onscreen.

As Tausson felt his own body deconstructing, he at last gave in to his yearning to give Tierney his full attention, hoping the conveyance would mask his desire. Her eyes were closed, her dark, shimmering lips pressed tightly together as her body disappeared.

Tausson's last thought before the black nothing of the conveyance overtook him was the memory of the two women on the sightscreen touching lips, and the sudden, intense desire to do the same to Tierney.