Ambassador 2: Raising Hell (Ambassador: Space Opera Thriller) Read online

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  Ambassador

  2: Raising Hell

  by

  PATTY JANSEN

  CAPRICORNICA PUBLICATIONS

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  RAISING HELL

  A CAPRICORNICA PUBLICATION / 2014

  UUID# C322F610-7B08-11E3-981F-0800200C9A66

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Copyright © 2014 by Patty Jansen

  Cover Design by Tom Edwards

  Editing and Formatting by:

  E-Q UALITY PRESS

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

  http://pattyjansen.com

  The name E-QUALITY PRESS and the logo consisting of the letters “EQP” over an open book with power cord are registered trademarks of E-QUALITY PRESS.

  EQPBooks.com

  PUBLISHED IN AUSTRALIA

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  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  About the Author

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  Chapter 1

  * * *

  THE WORDS “just a small party” were probably the misnomer of the decade, and I had known this the moment they were out of my mouth. Thayu smiled at me and shook her head, as if she wanted to say, Is anything you do ever small?

  I just smiled back.

  It was our sort-of-wedding, after all. Of course Coldi don’t marry but take out contracts, and of course we’d already had a ceremony in Auckland with my relatives and a celebrant. That wasn’t officially a wedding either, because Thayu didn’t hold any legally recognised citizenship on Earth, but we held a party for my family anyway. Then we’d had a slightly larger party at the Exchange in Athens for all our colleagues. And now we were having one in Barresh.

  Just a small party, I insisted, and that was when Thayu laughed.

  I looked around at all the people.

  Naturally, we’d invited Thayu’s brother Nicha, who lived with us anyway, and sat at the far end of the table.

  Of course we had to invite Thayu and Nicha’s father, Asha Domiri, never mind that he happened to be in command of the air force of Asto, the largest and most populous gamra world. Of course he brought some personnel and his customary guard as per protocol. They ensconced themselves in the hall and in my apartment’s communication room, watched, in turn, by my staff in regular command of these rooms.

  His presence in my apartment, being a non-local military leader, required me to invite local dignitaries, just to make sure I wasn’t discussing inappropriate subjects, such as invasions of third party entities. I didn’t really want them there, but I managed to get away with inviting two of the least obnoxious councillors. Neither of them were bad, as long as you didn’t count the Barresh Council’s propensity to be somewhat combative about the suggestion that they had a hand in the establishment of subversive groups that had recently threatened the peace, which, um, was a legitimate accusation, because the Barresh Council was not the most vigilant of governing bodies. These gentlemen loved their relaxed ways and long lunches.

  Those round-waisted men were safely tucked away on the couch, and I’d entrusted Yaris, a local member of my valued staff, with the task of keeping them there. For some reason both of them had brought their daughters. Well actually I knew the reason, because native Barresh society was still pretty patriarchal and their fathers probably hoped that their daughters would meet some influential men here on the island that held the gamra headquarters that was normally off-limits to them. Those very men I was trying to keep their fathers away from.

  Except the councillors probably hadn’t expected that two of the three most influential guests were women, which the girls’ fathers were trying to keep their daughters away from in turn, lest the girls get ideas into their minds, but it seemed it was already too late for that.

  I could see the girls ogling Margarethe Ollund, who was one of those women becoming more graceful with age. She was immaculately attired in a rich ochre dress—don’t ask me the type; I know nothing about women’s clothes — but it contrasted with her pale freckled shoulders and neck, which held nothing more than a string of pearls. Her hair, now more grey than blond, was swept up in some sort of bun, with a few curls escaping on both sides of her ears.

  Being dressed in a colour other than gamra blue and gold, she stood out in a very elegant, heart-stopping way. She was regal. She was stunning. And as new president of Nations of Earth, she would be powerful. Of course people watched her.

  She had been allocated the spot next to me at the main table, not in the least because I was the only local person in the room she could talk to.

  I’d known her for a long time of course, since she used to come to my father’s house when we lived on Taurus and both he and she were in the administration. Never mind I’d been fifteen then.

  I’d contacted her again as soon as I heard her name come up in the election campaign for the presidency of Nations of Earth. Out of all things, Danziger had hired me to assist him with the off-Earth part of his campaign, but my heart had been with Margarethe. She’d be a terrific replacement for Sirkonen.

  She’d been elected last month, and had expressed gratitude for my indirect support without which, she assured me, the balance of off-Earth votes would never have swung the pendulum in her favour. Sore subject. Maybe Danziger had expected to win with me on staff, as if my appointment would heal all bruised toes that he’d stomped on.

  Margarethe would take office in February. So when Thayu and I held a party for my family in Auckland, which happened to be around Christmas time, I contacted her by way of congratulating her and asked if she would like to visit my headquarters at gamra in Barresh, and she said yes.

  So there she was, sitting at our table in her splendid gown.

  Even though she was not yet here in her official capacity, gamra protocol afforded her four guards, who were in the hall, and I’d employed two translators so she could freely communicate with all the people who’d invited themselves and whom I hadn’t been able to refuse entry.

  Gamra Chief Delegate Joyelin Akhtari was one of those people. I suspected she had imposed her invitation upon us because she was curious about Margarethe, seeing Danziger had made such a mess. My relationship with her wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t warm either. She was aloof and kept things close. Moreover, on a very basic primordial level, I didn’t trust her. She had played games with me when Danziger was being an arsehole last year. Second
ly, she was Aghyrian, and Aghyrian technology had been used in the murder of President Sirkonen, which had necessitated the election. A different group had been convicted of the murder, but personally, I was convinced that Sirkonen’s death had suited the Aghyrians well enough.

  Chief Delegate Akhtari had brought an assistant who sat next to her, who appeared to be recording notes, something I didn’t like but couldn’t prevent; I’d have my own set of notes from the listening equipment in the room’s back cupboard—something I only turned off on very private occasions. There were also Delegate Akhtari’s usual guards—four Aghyrian soldiers half a metre taller than me with weightlifters’ shoulders—in the hall with all the other security personnel.

  The Delegate herself sat opposite us, looking more like a hawk with advanced age, asking Margarethe questions which had more thorns than an African Acacia. Questions which, when the other guests allowed me to listen, Margarethe deflected with a skill I judged adequate, but I dearly wished that this conversation wasn’t taking place here and now, where I could not give it the attention it deserved. Who knew how many future conflicts were being seeded between these two hyper-powerful women over the dinner table?

  Margarethe was the de-facto leader of the second-most populous single inhabited world—which wasn’t even a member of gamra —and it seemed that both parties were finally waking up to this reality. If Earth decided to swing a bat, it had the capacity to put some major runs on the board very quickly.

  Delegate Akhtari had more years of experience than Margarethe had been alive. With her silver curtain of gossamer hair, she looked like an ancient fairy queen, but the similarities stopped there. Underneath the regal appearance was more than a hundred years’ worth of hard-nosed political experience, and who knew what else.

  Over the past few months, I had used some of my off-time to read up on the Aghyrians, and I had to admit I didn’t like what I saw. About two hundred years ago, they’d started using aggressive breeding programs to get their numbers back from the brink of extinction. They had recombined much of their scattered genetic variability thought lost after the Aghyrians had been almost wiped out by that meteorite that had struck Asto. Most importantly, they had money and a lot of it.

  And there was another one of them in my living room, that damn Trader representative, Marin Federza, who had wriggled himself into a seat next to Delegate Akhtari and seemed to be trying to get her attention. I wondered what he wanted to talk about. And I had no idea how he had managed to get into this private party. Then again, I’d left the invitations to Eirani, who was bustling about with dishes and trays, voluminous hips wriggling and looking very happy indeed. She had a big heart and as a local, welcomed everyone. I would have to talk to her about that. Again. Not that it made much of a difference. And I hated talking to Eirani like that, because she was very valuable to me. But she tended to let every man and his dog into the apartment.

  Ezhya Palayi, Chief Coordinator of Asto, was someone I had wanted to invite. I had considered him somewhat of a friend after the crisis following Sirkonen’s murder, for which Asto had initially been blamed. He sat at the other head of the table and was talking to Melissa Hayworth, the outspoken and rather belligerent Flash Newspoint journalist who had—to my horror—come with Margarethe. At the moment, she seemed to make all the right gestures and look in the right directions. You did not look a superior in the eye. We didn’t adhere to that custom in Barresh, but if faced with someone of that calibre, it seemed prudent to adhere to their customs. Many people on Earth decried the custom as demeaning, but at least Melissa understood it. Her Coldi stepfather must have told her, and for once, she wasn’t making a fuss. She probably recognised a journalistic opportunity. I would have to talk to her about how far that information could travel, but for the time being, that side of the table was safe. Unlike that where Delegate Akhtari was still drilling into Margarethe and the latter was acting or pretending innocence.

  As Eirani came to serve me, she gave me a broad smile.

  “Busy enough now?” I asked. She always complained that the apartment was too quiet.

  “Oh, Delegate, don’t you tease me. The kitchen staff has been working for days. Do try the fish. The new cook has made it.”

  She held the platter under my nose and I helped myself to little portions of as many different dishes as I thought polite to eat. Eirani had been very pleased with herself that she’d managed to snag this new cook, who was said to be somewhat of a local sensation.

  I didn’t feel very hungry, stressed out as I was over this explosive combination of people in the close quarters of my living room. I wanted to speak to Ezhya, since he paid for most of my stipend and I hadn’t spoken to him since Margarethe’s election.

  I drank and ate with automatic gestures. I smiled at Thayu, I made polite conversations, I watched everyone.

  In the middle of this gathered assortment of dignitaries, as the golden light of Ceren’s two suns slanted in through the window, Nicha rose and called for silence. It was the one occasion where he could tell all these dignitaries what to do, and he played the role well. Nicha often moved in my shadow, but today as celebrant, he had his spot in the sun.

  He gestured for Thayu and me to stand at the end of the table closest to the balcony doors, so that the sunlight lit us both. He told us to face each other.

  I had attended contract ceremonies a few times, a few in Athens and a couple here. Normally, this was done on the steps of the new couple’s house. Often it was a mere formality because love was hardly ever a consideration.

  “I am glad to welcome everyone here on this joyous occasion. Gather around, friends, so that we can accompany this couple as far as we can to the task that will be theirs.”

  They were formulaic words, in the formal dialect of Coldi as spoken in the gamra assembly. In our case, the task that will be theirs would have to refer to something other than having children because Thayu was Coldi and Coldi people rarely bred with any other of the human species.

  “We are glad to see them happy with their choice of each other. My sister has been very happy. I also see that our esteemed Delegate has returned home in a somewhat less hirsute condition than when he left.”

  There was laughter in the room, most people being familiar with my constant struggles to find shaving gear—because most gamra men didn’t need to shave—and being bemused by my admittedly somewhat radical solution. In Auckland, I’d had my face laser-treated. I’d been sore and red for a week, and I had to go back twice, and would probably have to go back a few more times, but I was now blissfully beardless. Frankly, I didn’t understand why more men didn’t consider this procedure.

  “We will proceed with the ceremony. You will be familiar with my dear sister Thayu of the Domiri clan.” He nodded briefly to his father. Asha Domiri’s face remained emotionless although he acknowledged the address with a raised finger.

  “My sister is a good match, because she is much smarter than me, she is stronger than me and she can beat me in any arm-wrestling match.”

  There was some laughter at this.

  “Cory Wilson is a good match, because he can talk anyone under the table, he has no idea when he’s outclassed, goes in and wins anyway and because . . .” Nicha’s dark eyes met mine. “. . . because he’s the best zhayma I’ve ever had, who is only feeling his way around with our native Coldi concept and playing off my cues. He’s doing it very well, and I would proudly say that he is the non-Coldi who is closest to understanding us.”

  Come on, Nich’ don’t make me cry.

  He grinned at me.

  “These two people have come together and arranged a contract for their mutual companionship to be ratified in the presence of all those in this room. In presence of all these people, they will now be bonded to each other.”

  We faced each other. While looking into e
ach other’s eyes, Thayu took off her right earring with the blood red stone of the Domiri clan, and I took off mine. Then I slipped the hook to my earring through the piercing in her ear, and she did the same with me. She wore a black dress that left her soft-skinned shoulders uncovered. Close up, she smelled of perfume. My hands were trembling.

  I whispered, “I love you.”

  She whispered, “I love you so much.” In Indrahui, with all its correct fiddly noun inflections, and because it was the only language we both knew that no one here spoke, except my personal guards who were, surprisingly, with the others in the hallway.

  And in a moment, amidst more dignitaries than anyone would be able to drum up for an official function, her eyes were swimming with tears.

  “Thayu, please don’t.”

  I could feel my eyes pricking as well.

  All my failed love affairs, my heartbreak, and my fear that I’d lost her last year flashed through me.

  Crying in public would never do, so I hugged her, feeling her warmth through the dress she wore.

  She sort-of pushed me away, half-heartedly, because half the people in the room would consider any kind of intimacy inappropriate behaviour, and I could almost feel her burning with the need to be alone with me.

  All around us, there was cheering, and toasts, and laughter, and for a moment all politics and jockeying seemed to be forgotten. Even Marin Federza cheered. Asha clapped slowly. My eyes met his.

  Thayu stepped back, having wrestled control of her feelings.

  “I’m yours,” she completed the formal part of the ceremony, replacing all the clauses that specified duration of the contract with, “to the end of time.”

  I repeated, “To the end of time.”

  There were cheers and gasps because Coldi rarely had open-ended contracts, but they would just have to get used to it. It had taken me a lot of negotiation with the man I’d had to buy out of a contract with her, nasty stuff I’d rather forget, but now I was hers and she was mine.