Ambassador 1_Seeing Red Page 15

  Thayu sat at the bench, staring at a projection.

  A street in a city. People in uniform talked to a group of others, several of whom seemed agitated by the way they waved their hands, angry even. A row of buildings rose in the background. Pink stone, white sky. Asto, her home world.

  A Coldi voice blared in the room, “. . . the groups that demand an answer to these allegations. The Atmospheric Institute has assured the Conclave that nothing unusual has happened. They have equally assured the people on the news channels that rain does occur and has been recorded previously.”

  The projection now showed a different street between blocky buildings. In the sky, dark clouds built. Wind whipped sand around corners. Fat drops of water fell on hot pavement. First one, then another. Then it started pouring.

  People ran out of houses, drenched in seconds. Children played barefoot in the rivers of mud.

  Thayu whispered, “Rain.”

  “I’m sure it rains sometimes.”

  Her black eyes fixed mine. “It doesn’t rain in Beratha. In all my life, I’ve never seen it rain in Beratha.”

  Increased rainfall. Elsi Schumacher. Sirkonen’s datastick. I felt for my pocket with the back of my hand, but of course I wasn’t wearing a jacket at all, and I had been wearing the clothes Eirani had given me. I had taken off my jacket the day before yesterday. In the bathroom. And Eirani had walked out with it.

  I ran to the bedroom, but couldn’t see the jacket anywhere. I couldn’t remember having seen it yesterday either. What was wrong with me? I should never have been so careless. Shit, shit, shit.

  I ran downstairs. Eirani had gone out for groceries, or so said the young man in the kitchen. He couldn’t look for my jacket in the laundry, since it went out each morning.

  I groaned, hoping the jacket hadn’t gone, too. I told him I wanted the jacket, and the contents of the pockets, back immediately.

  He would ask about it immediately. Oh, and did the Delegate want manazhu?

  I said yes, since it seemed the only thing I could keep down. I slouched back, where Thayu stood at the top of the stairs, tension on her face. “An important matter?”

  I glanced at the ceiling, wishing to hell I knew who listened to us. “Could be.”

  Sirkonen had given it to me as something I might find useful, in a meeting in which nothing else of importance was said.

  Thayu called me. She stood in the door to the communication room, light from the hall silhouetting her athletic build.

  I jolted out of my state of dozing behind the inactive controls. “What is the matter?”

  “You have an appointment with the uniform fitter.”

  For crying out loud. War was about to explode and she worried about a uniform?

  “We must also visit the Trader Ledger today to set up your account.”

  That was true; I had to check if any kind of payment had come in, in case someone sent me a bill for the apartment and staff. And appearance was going to be important at zhamata.

  I pushed myself off the seat and almost fell with sudden dizziness. “Let me make myself presentable.”

  I stumbled to my room. My clothing had arrived there yesterday, and Eirani had put my clothes on the shelves in the walk-in alcove that functioned as a wardrobe. I went in there, found a clean shirt and the infusor band. Got the box of capsules. My hand hovered over the little vials. The top compartment were the ones to increase my body temperature. I was meant to keep taking them for a few more days until my adaptation balanced and my body could deal with the heat without medication. The bottom compartment contained the capsules that lowered my body temperature, and I was meant to have finished them in Rotterdam. As it was, there were two left, and I clicked both of them into the infusor. Maybe they’d kill my raging fever. Damn, damn it.

  Also, no one seemed to have turned up my electric shaver, so I took the razor into the bathroom and applied Eirani’s stinging soap to my face.

  I felt a bit better when I re-joined Thayu, but still shivery and altogether not clear of mind.

  “You’re not looking healthy,” she said.

  “Just tired.” I rubbed my stinging cheeks, which felt like glowing beacons. I’d have to ask Eirani what had happened to my shaver.

  “It’s not good to be working all the time.” Thayu’s face showed concern. “You must go out.”

  Out. Enjoyable strolls in the tropical air.

  “How can I? I’ve heard almost nothing from Nations of Earth. Nothing from the president or Nicha.”

  “Nicha will be fine.” She slid the front door open, letting in a cool breeze and the scent of humidity from the waterfall.

  I stopped and stared at her, more irritated perhaps than I should have been. “How do you know that? Do you know him? Do you know what he’s facing?”

  She just inclined her head.

  I didn’t know why Delegate Akhtari had appointed Thayu to this position, with her knowledge of spying and communication. Was I starting to see bogeymen around every corner?

  Think, Delegate, be reasonable. The trouble was, I had some difficulty doing that right now. It was hard enough walking. I focused on the guard’s back. Down the gallery, down the stairs.

  The fitter’s workshop was on the ground floor of the hall. Hundreds of uniforms, all with at least some blue, lay sorted on shelves. Tunics, robes, sashes, scarves, trousers. Never had I seen so much blue in one place.

  While the fitter took my measurements with a piece of white tape, I glanced around the shop. “What do you advise?” Damn, I wanted to go back and crawl in bed.

  The man mumbled with the tape between his lips, “The display rack over there. We have plenty of sizes for the Delegate to try on. If the fit is not correct—” He took the tape out of his mouth; he blushed. “You know, because we’ve never had anyone of the Delegate’s race here before, then we will make changes.”

  Never had anyone of the Delegate’s race before? What did that make Seymour Kershaw? An orangutan?

  Come to think of it, I had never seen pictures of Kershaw in local dress. In even his latest photos, his hair had been short. Kershaw had never had a zhayma.

  I had met Seymour Kershaw only once, at a party organised on Taurus for the swearing-in of the new governor-elect. Earning a bit of pocket money behind the bar, I had taken note of how much he drank, and how much louder his laughter became as the night progressed. A favourite with the ladies, a charismatic man.

  Is that Seymour Kershaw? I remembered my Damarcian stepmother Erith exclaiming when I, my father and Erith walked home after the party.

  My father had said yes, and then Erith had shaken her head and mumbled something about gamra not being happy with him.

  Half-distracted, I pulled a simple sleeveless tunic from the rack. The fabric was thin like gauze and when I draped it over my arm, my skin shone through. Was this acceptable?

  Thayu stood at the entrance to the shop, legs apart, hands on hips. She wore a temperature retaining suit, and her silver-clad arms protruded from under her tunic. The fabric showed a slight bulge at her thigh, and a metallic glint.

  Monitoring equipment? A gun? Nicha never carried a weapon.

  Telaris leaned against the doorpost; Evi had come into the shop, but his eyes were focused on the plaza outside.

  None of them was going to be much help in choosing. I should have brought Eirani, for all the hostility that would have evoked from Thayu.

  “That would be an appropriate choice,” the fitter said behind me, and his voice startled me.

  I held the tunic up, and couldn’t see myself in something so . . . revealing.

  “Does the shop have something with longer sleeves?” I was no athlete and there was no need to advertise that fact.

  “Yes, there are various other designs.” The man proceeded to pull out four other tunics, some with sleeves, some not. None came with matching trousers, so I would have to buy those separately. Not blue—only senior delegates wore full blue dress.

  Bewilde
red, I glanced at Thayu, but her attention was elsewhere: on a man who walked past her into the shop.

  He was at least a head taller than me, carried his height without stooping or looking reedy. His uniform was all blue: a shimmering tunic and trousers in a slightly darker shade. A thin cloak, like an academic gown, hung from his shoulders. His chest and collar bore gold-coloured ornaments.

  Not an ordinary delegate, this one.

  He bowed, first to the uniform fitter, and then to me. His eyes were brown like beach sand, lighter than hazel and not vivid enough to be yellow.

  “I’m here to pick up my order,” he told the fitter in accentless Coldi.

  Yet he definitely wasn’t Coldi. Too thin, and too tall, his eyes deep-set, not flat and single-folded, like the Coldi, Asian-like eyes. His hair was night-black without the peacock gloss, hanging loose over his shoulders.

  “Just a moment. Excuse me.” The fitter scrambled to the other side of the shop, fumbled in a cupboard and pushed a wrapped parcel across the counter.

  The man took it, gave a curt thanks and headed back to the entrance. When he was almost out the door, he hesitated, again turning his gaze on me.

  “Delegate.” He nodded at the tunic in my hand. “Delegate, if I may be so impudent, I believe that the short sleeves are out. If merchant Hadri wants to get rid of his stock, he can do so without preying on unsuspecting new delegates. Wearing short sleeves will make a person look out-of-touch. The hem of the tunic needs to be below the thigh and the elbow-length sleeves are very trendy at the moment.”

  The fitter made some spluttering noises.

  I inclined my head. “Thank you. In all truth, I am new and I do not know much about the latest trends.” Nothing, in fact.

  An expression came on his lips that could be a smile, or maybe not, since I was lost as to what type of person this was. “We all know who you are, and merchant Hadri knows this, too. But you must forgive me. I better introduce myself. Marin Federza.” He held out his hand in an Earth-style greeting.

  “Cory Wilson.” I held up my hands, clumsily. “I’m afraid I’m indisposed. You know our customs?” Most gamra cultures did not shake hands.

  “My grandfather taught me.” He paused and then continued in Isla, “It seems that was a useful skill.” Accentless.

  One thing I had learned early in interactions with gamra people: never assume that no one understood me, whatever language I spoke. Most delegates were fluent in at least one other language besides their own, if not two or three, but to hear Isla spoken this well surprised me, hell, more than surprised me. Not many non-Coldi came to Earth. Certainly no one I knew who hadn’t grown up on Earth spoke any Earth language this well. Those languages were of no import in the scheme of things at gamra.

  “Forgive my rudeness, but you represent. . . ?” Also in Isla.

  Thayu scrambled to attach the translator to her ear.

  “The Trader Guild.”

  Ah. Reason clicked into place. Traders travelled a lot and knew many different languages. Now the unusual dress code also made sense. Traders had their own uniforms. The Trader Guild was a government without a country, but older than gamra itself.

  I inclined my head and went back to Coldi. “Forgive me, Trader Delegate. I didn’t realise.”

  “We don’t tend to be loud. We just get the work done.”

  “You have regular contact with Earth?”

  “I’ve been there, a few times. Interesting place.” His face showed no emotion.

  I laughed away my unease. A few times did not justify his total command of Isla, and I didn’t know what else to ask, without being rude for no reason.

  Marin Federza nodded at the tunic still draped over my arm. “I better let you choose your uniform. I will see you again when zhamata meets. I believe your speech will be popular. A lot of delegates are talking about it.”

  “I bet they are.” Damn that Asto delegate and her pressure.

  “I am looking forward to it.” He stepped closer to me, enclosing me in a scent of musk-like perfume. “Delegate, I want to say that we support you in this matter that has upset Nations of Earth. If you air your entity’s concerns, we will support your vote, if it comes to that.”

  “Thank you, Delegate.”

  “We want to solve this peacefully.”

  “Sure.”

  “I will see you then.” Marin Federza bowed and strode to the shop entrance.

  Thayu watched him, the listening device attached to her ear. Her face showed no emotion.

  As he walked across the plaza, the realisation came to me: like Delegate Akhtari, Trader Marin Federza was an Aghyrian, the original inhabitants of Asto who had almost been extinct.

  I also had a feeling his meeting me here had been no accident.

  After I finished ordering the uniforms, Thayu took me to the Trader Ledger. The gamra financial organisation occupied a freestanding building in the middle of one of the courtyards. The outer walls made entirely from glass, it looked like a giant crystal cube, strangely out of place in this stately complex with its ochre-walled buildings, mosaics, carved columns, arched entranceways and nary a right angle.

  I had been to the office before, but as I stepped into the cooled air and padded onto the soft carpet of the light-filled hall where couches stood around low tables, the whole atmosphere obtained a new meaning. This was the office of gamra’s most important financial institution, and it belonged to the Trader Guild. No other entity had commercial representation within gamra headquarters.

  And Marin Federza, whom I had just met, represented them, represented this entire building with its wood panelling and glass walls, with its luxurious carpet and polished wood tables surrounded by soft chairs; he represented all the employees, dressed in Trader red, a bright carmine, who worked quietly at their desks, modern holo-projectors before them.

  Thayu led me towards an employee who beckoned, and then bowed as we took seats opposite the table.

  I gave my name and details, and the employee brought up my account.

  There had been a modest transfer as part of my gamra advance. Not a great amount. Not enough, I thought, to pay for the accommodation when that bill appeared.

  “Is there anything else? I’m expecting an advance to come in from Nations of Earth.”

  The man used his eyes to give a command. More figures hovered in the air; he shook his head. “Nothing as yet.”

  Damn Danziger. What was going on?

  “Could it be that the transfer is held up because new accounts need to be set up?” My first stipend was meant to have gone in at the signing of the handover.

  “It could be . . . but in that case the hold-up is at the other end. Any transfer affected anywhere at any of our offices is available immediately. That is our service guarantee.”

  I blew out a breath. The money simply wasn’t there. Right—I reordered the six office staff in my mind—I had to reserve one person to chase up the funds more aggressively for a few days. If I had a few days, because right now, I had nothing to pay them, and someone was sure to turn up with a bill.

  12

  WE MADE OUR WAY back to the apartment along the tree-lined waterfront. Delegates clad in various amounts of blue sat on benches, quietly discussing or reading. The windows of the administrative offices of gamra subdivisions looked out over the marshland. A lazy harvester floated in a field, sunlight glinting off its beetle-like back and the surrounding water. Locals waded through the paddy to load bags onto a flat-bottomed boat.

  In the distance, the main island of Barresh basked in sunlight. Pink-flowered trees spread their crowns over the roofs of the blocky mansions of the old families. The white dome of the council building protruded from a mass of green.

  The air was heavy with humidity and the scent of wet mud.

  I felt Thayu’s presence next to me without looking. The warmth radiating from her pricked my skin, even in the bright morning sun; I hovered between wanting to step away and wanting to get closer. If she had been
Nicha, we would have touched in some way, one of those wordless Coldi gestures. A hand on the shoulder, a tickle in the side, a pat on the head. Just to confirm that yes, I’m still here. I still support you.

  I halted and walked onto one of the eating-house terraces, if simply to step away from her, to have an excuse not to touch her, and put a table between us.

  We sat down under a large tree, and I studied the branches for listening equipment.

  Dappled shadows fell over her face, each with one yellowish and one bluish edge, an effect of the binary suns. It gave her eyes a soft look.

  Those gorgeous eyes. I had dreamed of Inaru again last night. Was this bewitching woman going to leave me in peace?

  The guards had stopped at a few benches that lined the edge of the terrace. For security, I guessed. Evi unclipped a reader from his belt and used his thumb to flick through the screens.

  A small beep signalled the arrival at our table of a serving robot, a circular column about half a metre across, on three sturdy wheels. The top part swivelled so a screen faced us.

  “Any idea about the specialties of this place?” I asked Thayu.

  “The chilled juice isn’t bad.”

  I went through the robot’s menu, making sure that whatever juice I ordered from the selection was suitable for both of us. Even that simple action brought memories—asking for lists of ingredients from restaurants when I took Inaru somewhere away from the Coldi community. As afterthought, I added two lots of yellow-coded juice for the Indrahui guards, who sat, silent and observant, watching every movement on the terrace.

  The robot accepted my code and ambled into the building. Silence lingered.

  Eventually, she asked, “Is there a problem?”

  I said, in a low voice, “I’d like to know who is going to pay for my accommodation. Is anyone paying you?”

  Thayu frowned at me. Her gold-speckled eyes reflected the blue sky. “I get my usual stipend.”

  I presumed the money came directly from gamra headquarters. “What about the apartment? How much am I being charged for that?”