Ambassador 1_Seeing Red Page 14

  “Delegate? Muri?”

  Someone stirred at the door, one of the young men I had posted outside; he had used the local term for sir. “Some visitors . . . here . . . for you.” Interesting choice of pronouns, those informal ones. Not on purpose, certainly. The owner of the apartment obviously saw no need for correct formal Coldi pronouns.

  “Let them in.”

  “They . . . already inside. They want . . . see the Delegate now.”

  Trouble.

  Thayu glanced at me as I rose. “Do you want me to come?” That was a very intimate you she used.

  I signalled yes, appreciated her support, and as we crossed the hall, regretted not having a feeder, because feeders were most useful in situations like this. There was really no alternative: I knew I would have to get one, and deal with the consequences of her intruding in my personal thoughts and memories. And explaining it to Eva.

  Five people waited in the living room. Three guards stood silhouetted against the light that came in through the window. Coldi. Armed. Both couches had been pushed back into their former v-formation. On one couch sat a woman and, facing her, a man, both Coldi. I’d seen both of them before, but never this close. Delegates Ayanu and Sishaya, ambassador and vice ambassador of the Asto delegation.

  Trouble indeed. In big fat capital letters.

  But wait—there were only five. That meant there had to be someone else. Two delegates each with two guards.

  Indeed as soon as I walked into the room, the missing guard materialised from next to the door. He had his charge gun out of its bracket and held it, casually, pointing at the floor.

  In my living room.

  The woman, Delegate Ayanu, said, “You accuse Asto of this attack on your president? What is your basis?” Her speech, harsh and abrupt, rattled with accusatory pronouns.

  Good morning to you, too.

  I stopped a few paces inside the door. With both couches occupied, there was nowhere for me to sit.

  So today’s business was intimidation, huh?

  In Coldi society, she would be my superior, and I should greet her as such: looking down, my arms by my sides.

  Gamra protocol didn’t require this deference, but lines between gamra protocol and that of the individual member entities blurred often, and if people wanted to impress or schmooze Coldi delegates, they usually adhered to Coldi customs.

  Not me. Not today.

  I quietly met her gaze, darker than Thayu’s. Like a lot of middle-aged Coldi women, she carried a fair amount of weight, with soft fleshy arms protruding from her tunic.

  “I do not accuse Asto of anything.” And that was a goddamned royal I.

  “Then what is this?” She signalled and the guard behind her placed a reader on the couch next to her and hit a button. A projection sprung up.

  A sweaty-faced man sat at a table in a courtyard, fiddling with the hem of a dirty shirt. His hair, limp and grey, hung down the sides of his head like bits of greasy string.

  With a sick feeling I recognised the image: the dramatic last scene from the movie about Seymour Kershaw. The fake-Coldi Asian man, the fake setting, the Jacaranda tree, the fake gun. The Coldi man shooting Kershaw.

  Bang, bang.

  The projection went black.

  In the room, harsh eyes met mine, six pairs of real Coldi eyes that said explain. Thayu behind me was probably thinking much the same thing. She had a right to be angry. They all did.

  If I ever met that movie producer I’d kick him all the way to Mars.

  “I think the Delegate misunderstands.” Back to a neutral I now. “I’m sure the Delegate can see that the attacker is not a real Coldi man.”

  “Then what is the value of this?”

  I glared at the rolling credits.

  The movie had been filmed in some studio in Italy and a number of companies with Italian-sounding names had been involved in it.

  “The value of this movie is entertainment, nothing more.” Not story because that could be interpreted as lie. Not recount because that could also mean history.

  “Entertainment.” She snorted. “Surely the people of your world don’t tell untruths for the sake of offending others. This . . . movie is a load of propaganda.”

  Another word I’d been avoiding.

  “It is not.”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  I attempted to explain. “The educational value of this type of entertainment is not in the learning of facts, but in the exploring of possibilities. It is about asking the question: what if history had been different?”

  “But it never happened any different.” Trust Coldi bluntness to misunderstand my intentions. Curse Coldi to come in here unannounced, while I was unprepared to argue my case.

  The credits had finished. At the end one single line remained on the black background. Dedicated to Amoro Renkati, whoever that was.

  Their guard shut down the recording. Delegate Ayanu’s gaze never wavered from mine.

  I said, “I agree with you.”

  Up went the eyebrows again.

  “I am pretty sure it didn’t happen like this, but we need to face the truth: no one knows what happened to this man because his body was never found. This movie tells us how it might have happened.”

  “You contradict yourself. You just said this is unlikely to have happened. So why tell it like this? It’s a lie.”

  “It’s not, because it was never meant to represent the truth.” I would make a comparison with dreams, but Coldi didn’t talk about dreams; they were regarded as embarrassing. They did, however, have a high regard for history.

  “For example, you could make a movie about a part in the history of Asto that isn’t clear, or a part where one little difference would have changed everything.”

  She frowned, but said nothing, so I went on, “For example, a movie could show what would have happened if the meteorite that struck Asto thousands of years ago didn’t wipe out all larger inhabitants.”

  “But it did,” she said, her face stiff. And the Coldi race had risen from the ashes, people now known to have been engineered for survival by the race that had inhabited Asto and had spread humanity across the universe.

  “Yes, I know, but that’s beside the point. What if it hadn’t? What would it have meant? Say if for argument’s sake the meteorite had been smaller and it hadn’t struck where it did, and there hadn’t been a shift in surface temperature, and Aghyrians had survived in large numbers, then Asto would look very different today, wouldn’t it?”

  Her face hardened.

  “This is not a joking matter.”

  “I agree, it is not.” Shit. Bad move, Mr Wilson.

  “Then tell me, why are we talking about this?”

  “To illustrate my explanation. Someone tells an alternative sequence of events. A story. Not true. Our culture does that all the time.”

  Her face remained hard. “So . . . someone can say just about anything, make a movie like this, and then when people get angry about it, they say it’s not real. How do you even know which way it’s intended?”

  “By the way it’s presented.” But plenty of people on Earth seemed to have trouble with just this dilemma. When networks like Flash become involved, lines between fact and fiction blurred. Allegations were raised, and never retracted. Rumours spread, and never stopped doing the rounds.

  Delegate Ayanu’s finger went up a fraction.

  The guard hit another key on the reader and the image displayed a copy of the World Newspoint report, with Delia’s comments.

  Delegate Ayanu gestured at the screen. “This person clearly says we are responsible. She is someone of authority, is she not? Where does she get her information other than from a movie you say isn’t true? A recount.”

  “Entertainment, not recount.”

  “There is nothing entertaining about this nonsense. If you are right, why does this woman seem to think it is true?”

  I couldn’t tell her of the security report Danziger had shown to me, about th
e red light. “There is some evidence, which I’m not at liberty to discuss without my president’s approval.”

  She snorted. “We had no hand in the attack. Why even should we want this man dead? This president of yours. He’s nothing to us. He dies, you replace him. We don’t care. If we don’t get an apology and the Exchange isn’t opened so that our people can get out—”

  “Delegate, forgive me, but I urge restraint. This is a volatile situation. It is in gamra interest to prevent further violence. I’m sure you would agree.”

  Hard eyes met mine. “No. I do not agree. Asto does not stand for having its citizens held to ransom without reason. We agree to nothing less than a full apology. Convey that to your authorities. If we are polite, we might honour their silly blockade of the Exchange for a short while. However, in order to remain polite, we will need some demands met. Four days. If your authorities’ response at zhamata doesn’t please us, we’ll see about breaking the blockade our way.”

  Before I could reply, she rose and strode out of the room, her male colleague and the guards trotting after her like little doggies.

  11

  OH HELL. I suppose that wasn’t unexpected. Worse, I agreed with everything she said. Whatever had caused the emergency council to instate the blockade, it had made things far worse than they needed to be.

  Thayu came out from behind me, wordless, and sank down on the couch just vacated by Delegate Ayanu.

  She folded her hands on her knees and said, not looking at me, “I’ve never heard her so angry.”

  I sat down as well, tension rising in me, knowing that I needed to get onto Danziger to make him understand how serious the situation was, and needed to know what the reasons were for the emergency council’s decision, and why the fuck everyone was stalling on me. I was cold; I felt nauseous.

  She continued, “Why are Nations of Earth so keen to accuse Asto? Is it really because of this movie?”

  “I don’t think so, but . . .” I shrugged, raised my hands, again on the verge of mentioning the red light. “. . . That is the problem. I don’t know. I’m not being told.”

  That gold-flecked gaze met mine. “Your president no longer trusts you?”

  I shrugged again, and couldn’t meet her eyes any longer or bring myself to tell her how close to the truth she might be.

  Taking up Amarru’s offer for a flight out of London might have been the biggest mistake of my life.

  She reached out to touch my hand in that Coldi gesture of comfort, but couldn’t reach.

  At that moment, Eirani bustled into the room with a tray of food. She glanced at us, wordless, volumes of meaning crossing her face. Disapproving meaning, that was.

  “Midday meal.” Her voice sounded like that of a schoolmistress.

  My cheeks burned.

  What the hell had she thought, seeing us almost sharing that intimate gesture?

  Locals in the city of Barresh didn’t marry for love either. For much of the native population, wives were a possession, and although it was outlawed, polygamy was still common. Showing affection in public amounted to loose morals. Oh damn all these different cultures. That was exactly the reason why gamra protocol was so ridiculously formal.

  I rose from the couch to hide my embarrassment and that damned blush. “I’ll have to check . . .”

  I staggered back to the communication room, shivering. My stomach churned like I was going to vomit. A thought crossed my mind that there was a bit more going on inside my body than the discomfort of my poorly balanced adaptation—I ignored the little voice of my subconscious. I didn’t have time to be sick.

  The staff were still at work. Devlis and the two guards sat silent and recorded, listened and read. Translators were going, recorders ran and slotted details of conversations into my work area.

  “You have a list of refugee names,” Devlis said. “I’ve put it in your directive.”

  “Thank you.”

  They didn’t know—they didn’t realise—how bad things were.

  A message had come from Danziger’s office, but it was only from Danziger’s secretary, to say that Danziger would reply as soon as he was available.

  I felt like screaming I need him now but I kept my calm. This reply was better than nothing.

  “You can all go and have a break. There’s food in the living room.”

  While the staff filed out silently, I dropped on the bench. Thayu sat next to me, silent, while I stared at the projection without seeing it.

  “The Delegate is not having a meal?” Eirani stood in the door, carrying a tray with two mugs.

  “Not now, Eirani.”

  “It is time for the midday meal. The Delegate is thin as a reed eel. Not healthy.” She came in, and set the tray down on the first available flat space, which happened to be the edge of the control panel.

  At this, Thayu shot up, “Hey, be careful with the equipment!” She snatched up the tray.

  The two women glared at each other.

  I leaned back.

  Oh. Please. Just. Stop. It.

  A bitter scent wafted through the air.

  My mouth watered. “Is that . . .”

  “Manazhu, yes. The staff went shopping.” Eirani was still glaring at Thayu.

  “Thank you, Eirani. Much appreciated.”

  “Hmph. The staff will have to show the Delegate to appreciate proper food.” Meaning local food no doubt.

  “I would appreciate that, too, Eirani.”

  I took one of the mugs from the tray, and drank, gratefully. The manazhu was a bit weak, but otherwise rich and bitter. It calmed my stomach. “Thank you, Eirani.”

  “There is a midday meal set on the dining table. The Delegate should have a break.”

  She bowed and walked out.

  “She is right, you know,” Thayu said in a low voice.

  “I need to wait for a response from my president.”

  “Can I sit here while you eat?”

  “You don’t . . .” And then realised that if she didn’t know what it was about, that was my fault. No, she might not know Isla, but translators did a fairly decent job. I sighed. “I’m sorry.” I had to put the cup down, my hands were that sore.

  I must have winced because next thing, she picked up my cup and held it to my lips, and I could do nothing but drink like a small child.

  She was staring at my face.

  I asked, “What?”

  “I heard people say that you grew hair on your face. I’ve never seen it.” She touched my cheek, gingerly, where the hair was already too long; I could feel it catch and rasp under her nails, and I wondered when the hell my shaver was going to turn up.

  When she was so close, she looked like Inaru and Nicha all in one. The soft skin under her ear, silvered by the light from the projection, was very sensitive. Nuzzle that area softly and, if she favoured you, a Coldi woman’s eyes became bright, the cheeks, palms and soft skin at the wrists flushed red with desire. Words were too banal to describe what followed, memories of the first time I had witnessed that ultimate intimacy too precious. I had been fifteen, and I could still smell the scent of gym equipment of the sport hall at Taurus Grammar, the feel of the exercise mat under my sweaty hands. She was a year older than me, the smart, witty, politically savvy daughter of some manager high up in the Hedron Mines. She knew about things; I had been a virgin.

  I turned my head away; the memories, and the smell of Thayu’s Coldi skin, were too much.

  She put the cup down. I reached over and pulled my reader to me, shuffling away from her ever so slightly. “I need to sort out my speech.”

  I didn’t know what I was saying, save that I wanted to clear out the confusion.

  “Delegate Ayanu upset you, didn’t she?” She was damn perceptive to boot.

  I averted my eyes. “The situation is serious.”

  “She tends to bluff. I guess you know that.”

  I shrugged. All Coldi bluffed like hell; peacock hair, peacock nature, the conservatives at Nations o
f Earth would say, but between the Asto ambassador’s rude invasion of my apartment, and the threat posed by Nicha’s father, I had little doubt that the menace was real, no matter how much bluff was involved.

  I had brought up the text of my speech.

  Nice words about being allowed to speak in the assembly.

  Light-hearted paragraphs of the history of Coldi involvement on Earth.

  What a load of rubbish.

  Everything needed to be re-written, and I was running out of time and out of answers.

  I worked hard late into the night explaining the urgency of the situation to Danziger, who still hadn’t gotten back to me. I also sent my agreed column to World Newspoint. While I waited for replies, which didn’t come, I trawled through Amarru’s list of refugee names and after an hour or so, found an entry: Azisha Omi, male, aged four. No other relatives. Oh damn.

  When I finally went to bed, I couldn’t sleep. I still had no answers. It was hot, and when I opened the window to let in some air, Evi and Telaris barged in, guns drawn. I cursed at the harsh light they shone in my face, and sent them back into the hall.

  I don’t need coddling, mashara. The danger is on Earth, not here.

  I slept briefly, but my sleep was disturbed by dreams in which Danziger held Inaru hostage in a ring of fire, and where I burned my left hand trying to rescue her. I woke up, that same left hand throbbing with pain. Yellow ooze had seeped from the bandage into the sheets.

  As I sat up, too quickly, my mouth filled with saliva.

  I staggered out of bed, tripped over the fucking flattened-possum rug, stumbled through the connecting door to the bathroom and made the washbasin just in time. Watery puke went everywhere, two, three times, while I stood hunched over gasping in that can’t breathe, can’t stop puking kind of panic.

  Damn.

  I straightened; I stared at my own mirror image, sweaty, red-faced, unshaven and dressed only in my boxer shorts. There were dribbles of vomit on my chest. I hadn’t eaten much yesterday. I’d forgotten to use the infusor last night; I hadn’t needed it.

  Damn, I had no time for this.

  I cleaned up as best as I could, went back to the bedroom, threw on a shirt, never mind the shaving, and went into the communication room.