Ambassador 1_Seeing Red Page 16

  “You haven’t been told?”

  “No. I know nothing. All I knew was that I’d have accommodation, and I assumed that would be on the ground floor.”

  “You are unhappy that gamra gave you better accommodation?”

  “The quality of the accommodation is not the issue. Didn’t you see my fund balance back there at the ledger? That’s all I have. There is no way I’ll be able to pay for the accommodation, and for the staff.”

  A frown made her eyebrows bristle. “Maybe someone is lending it.”

  “Yes, but whoever lends me accommodation will want something in return. That’s why I want to know whose apartment it is. Who is spying on us?”

  She blinked, still frowning. “I don’t know. I thought it wise to make you aware of the equipment. It may not be used for a reason in particular. As far as I know, all apartments are bugged this way. I don’t know who owns the apartment.”

  “And I don’t believe that.”

  She blinked. “The only thing I know is a name, a local I think, someone who is not in the assembly. The apartment is registered in the name of Renkati. I have no idea who this person is.”

  I tried hard, but didn’t entirely succeed, in stifling my Earthly anger. She had known the name of the owner all along. How very Coldi.

  “To me, the name alone is an answer, even if you don’t know who the person is.”

  A short silence. She looked down. “My apologies, Delegate.” Back to formal pronouns.

  I touched her then, lifted up her chin until her eyes met mine; a Coldi gesture of forgiveness. “I said to call me Cory. I understand what you’ve been taught. Only the full reply will do, but listen: giving me the name would have told me that whoever owns the apartment, it’s not anyone I know. I don’t know why I was put in here or even if it’s important, or if the listening equipment is routine, but one thing we do know: this is not a routine situation. I am sure this is not a standard job for you either. My boss was murdered. The person you replace has either been framed for the crime or arrested on the basis of discrimination. Delegate Akhtari seems to think someone is after me. Every bit of information, no matter how incomplete, is valuable to me, and it should be valuable to you. We are stuck in the same shit together.”

  She winced; I had used the word orro, meaning the putrid contents of the latrine in army desert camps, drawn from Nicha’s extensive vocabulary of Coldi swear words. She said nothing, blinking several times.

  I let out a breath. “Thayu, I want you to find out who this person is, who is listening to me, and with whom they’re allied.”

  “I will do that, Delegate. I’m sorry for the misunderstanding. I will try to do better.”

  I lifted up her chin again. “I told you to call me Cory.”

  She gave me a blank look.

  I cursed myself for much of the way back to the apartment. This was not going well. How could I make her understand that I couldn’t, just couldn’t, be as close to her as a normal zhayma relationship demanded?

  Eva would not understand that the reassuring pats on the head didn’t mean anything, or weren’t supposed to mean anything, but reminded me of Inaru, or . . . awakened memories I thought I had forgotten. So many things I had never told Eva. How could I not adore anyone whose eyes were so incredibly beautiful? How could I not gaze and marvel?

  It wasn’t right. I didn’t want to be touched by her, and when she got a feeder, I didn’t want to share my thoughts with her.

  With Nicha, it had been easy. Nicha grew up in London; Nicha understood.

  And now Thayu thought she failed me, and this whole mess was my fault. I, who had lived under the illusion that I understood Coldi so well. That I could handle cultural differences. That I could separate intimacy for bonding and intimacy for love.

  And I couldn’t.

  I wanted Nicha back.

  As I stepped into the hall, Devlis ran out of the darkened hub room. “Delegate. Someone has been most insistent to contact you.”

  “Someone?”

  “I don’t know who it is.”

  Danziger. Hope flooded me. “What did you tell them?”

  “I couldn’t tell them anything. They don’t write Coldi.”

  In a few steps, I was in the hub room. I sank into the chair, still warm from where the young man had been sitting. “Where is the message?”

  Devlis bent over the control panel and dragged out the message from behind other projections.

  It was from Eva. I knew I shouldn’t feel disappointed, but I did. Why was Eva the only person writing to me?

  Cory, I’m scared. The press, World Newspoint and Danziger’s people are saying a lot of horrible things about you. Ever since you left our street has been blocked off. The place is swarming with journalists. They want information, as if Dad can give that to them. No one in Athens is willing to speak to the press. Nicha has been arrested. Some people are saying how you might have something to do with Sirkonen’s murder because you disappeared. I don’t believe this at all, of course, but I worry. Now there are rumours that you have been kidnapped in Barresh. Please Cory, let me know how you are.

  I stared at the text.

  I had sent her messages. “You disappeared”? What had happened to the contribution I had written for Word Newspoint yesterday?

  I pushed Eva’s letter to the side and opened the Exchange link.

  As I scrolled through the World Newspoint service, my first thought was that they hadn’t put the statement up at all. Eventually I found my long letter . . . in the fucking opinions section? I linked to the many comments attached to the article, half of which, or at least the ones I read before my eyes clouded over with anger, seemed to doubt the authenticity of my message.

  If you are really Mr Wilson, some loudmouth said, maybe you could tell us why these aliens are dictating the terms to us.

  Someone else said, I hope the police are reading this. You do understand that impersonation is a criminal offence and that electronic mail is traceable?

  I scrolled down further—

  No. I must write to Eva first. Tell her that I had written to her and ask her if—

  Nothing from Danziger or Delia or Amarru. Nothing from Nixie Chan about Nicha.

  Who had been blocking my messages?

  I breathed out, closing my eyes.

  I could almost hear Eva’s voice, Work, work, work. Do you ever think about anything else?

  The truth was, and I might as well admit it, I didn’t. I was my work, totally committed to the project that had grown from a small suggestion I had made to Sirkonen many years ago. I lived the project, I breathed it. I might be stuck here forever because of it, but if I didn’t believe in it, then who else would?

  Not World Newspoint obviously. Not Nations of Earth, who seemed to have cast me adrift like a malfunctioning satellite. Who was blocking my messages?

  I had to answer Eva.

  I opened a blank message screen on another patch of air and slid the thought sensor behind my ear. No typing—thank the heavens.

  Dear Eva,

  That sounded stupid. Delete.

  My love,

  No. The whole technologically-enabled universe was watching me. Delete.

  Eva,

  Not ideal, but heck, I’d think of something more endearing before I hit send.

  I stared at the blank page. Saw Eva’s face as she had kissed me goodbye, not knowing that I’d leave, saw the silhouettes of her parents in the hall of her house, always watching what she was doing. Her street blocked off, her house besieged by journalists. She would be terrified.

  I remembered how I had first met her, at a Victorian ball organised by a group of wives of Nations of Earth ambassadors. I had happened to be visiting from Athens, and had been invited along to the matchmaking ball by someone in Delia’s office, a girl who had long since left, and had probably had an eye on me and who knew I was looking for a woman after my painful break-up with Inaru had been publicised. Instead, I had become enchanted by the d
aughter of the Polish ambassador, and had dived headlong into a quaint society of dinners and balls, public morality and abstinence before marriage. Far removed from the New Colonist society of which I had been a part since I was ten. Ichi and ata-ichi.

  Eva, with the innocent brown eyes.

  The message was still as blank as ever.

  Thayu sat in the corner of the room. A slight frown made the hairs of her eyebrows stand up. Inaru used to look just like that, and then the next thing she’d say something hilarious and break into laughter.

  Would Thayu have the same wry sense of humour? I’d seen some of it yesterday.

  Damn, I was supposed to be writing to Eva.

  What would I write? I couldn’t, couldn’t write her a fake good-news letter. With everyone watching, I couldn’t tell her the truth either. I have no money and it looks like Nations of Earth no longer want to know about me.

  Besides, there was no need to alarm her. Eva was safe with her parents. Eva might be upset by a picket line of journalists outside her house and some malicious gossip, and yes, I knew that was not very nice, but her father knew about potential risk involved in these types of situations. He had security staff at his disposal. There was no need to say, Look, Mr Zbrowsky, it might be wise if you kept your daughter away from anyone you call a “chan” for a while. She might be a target for kidnapping.

  Would Asto do that, if they were really involved in the whole mess? That was not at all the style of the Asto military. Never discount anything, of course, but in the history I had read of Asto, their policy was shoot first, ask questions later. OK, so let’s just presume they had shot. Where were the questions?

  Oh, confound it. My mind was wandering all over the place. I needed to think about this letter, and I didn’t feel comfortable with both Devlis and Thayu watching me like cats before a mouse hole.

  I grabbed my reader, pushed myself from the chair and strode out of the room, across the hall, through the sitting room. I opened the doors to the balcony and stepped into the hot midday air. The heavy scent of tropical flowers enveloped me. I leaned on the railing, looking out over the marshland that glittered in sunlight like a bath of mercury. A few flat-bottomed boats travelled lazily along the channels between the reeds. For a moment I pictured myself in such a boat. Nicha sat opposite me and on the floor stood a picnic basket. Way out beyond sight, following the currents across the marshes, the delta ended in a sand spit where the water tasted like liquorice and waves crashed on the shore. Waves perfect for surfing. On the other side of the island city, where the escarpment met the marsh, there was a lagoon surrounded by lush forest where water steamed in pools of pink and orange.

  I’d seen pictures.

  When all this trouble was over, I should find the time to see these things for myself. With Nicha.

  A bench stood in the corner of the balcony. A tree in a planter box cast dappled shadows over the wooden seat. I sat down and balanced the reader on my lap. A sting reminded me that I was favouring my right hand today, and that simply picking something up with my left hand required bending the fingers, and that was just too painful. At least I could stop shivering here.

  I tucked the thought-sensor behind my ear.

  So what could I write to Eva?

  I have arrived safely and everything is fine.

  No. Delete that. I was not on a holiday; she knew that.

  I just want to say I’m fine, and have arrived safely, contrary to what the gossip press might say.

  Oh, it wasn’t just the gossip press, and language like this sounded too stiff. I wasn’t writing a political document. Delete.

  Eva, don’t worry about me, no matter what people say. I am fine, and starting work here in Barresh. No one has kidnapped me. Not entirely true, but what the heck, I had a start. There are reasons why I had to come here quickly, and in time, those reasons will be revealed. No, scratch that, try again. I can’t tell you why I had to come here so quickly. There are reasons which I didn’t know when I left your house. I wish it had been different.

  I have been given a very large apartment here overlooking the water . . . and I carried on a bit about the accommodation and the city, and imagined she would still like to come, but had no idea how that would ever come to pass, or at least not in the near future. Not unless I could convince Danziger that continuing the position would be a good idea, and he didn’t seem inclined that way at the moment.

  I sat back and read over my efforts, intensely dissatisfied. I was dying to ask her what was going on with Danziger, but that would upset her and would make me look desperate. People were watching this link. The whole section about the apartment felt like crap. The apartment wasn’t mine; I couldn’t even pay for it. Maybe the people watching the link would get the message and transfer the money.

  Wishful thinking.

  I concluded with Love, Cory and then sent it before I could change my mind. And then I felt awful because I should of course have asked if she had looked at wedding dresses yet, since that would be the most important thing on her mind. It was just that . . .

  Get married? In a madhouse like this?

  I couldn’t offer the kind of life I wanted to give Eva, and I surely wasn’t going to rely, no matter how temporarily, on her father’s charity, suffering his I told you those chans are bad news looks.

  Nor was I going to take a desk job at Nations of Earth.

  But to stay here, I needed money. With the code I’d been given at the Ledger, I logged onto my account, not that anything had changed there. As soon as the bill came for this apartment, I’d be in deep trouble. Either I would have to borrow money, or acknowledge that I was indebted to whoever owned the apartment, whoever they were and whatever leverage they would hold against me.

  No, I’d best try to pre-empt that situation. I’d look for work independent of my position, so that if Nations of Earth wanted to play the standoff game, I could hold out.

  A job.

  Surely, gamra had a fair share of rich people in need of a translator to iron idiocies out of mechanical efforts.

  The Trader Guild for example. I had a vision of myself sitting at a desk, writing a letter. Dear Kazakhstani rebel leader, the shipment of arms ordered by you is now underway. . . .

  I buried my face in my hands and groaned.

  And yelped with pain. It was as if someone slashed a knife across my left palm. For a while I sat there, breathing deeply.

  When I looked up, Thayu stood at the door. She said nothing while she came out, crossed the balcony and sat down in the sun, her legs flat on the hot pavement. I remembered painfully how Nicha did this, too, soaking up heat. A very Coldi thing to do. Nicha said it made his body temperature rise by a few degrees. He said it was pleasant. Coldi could drop their body temperature to as low as 40 degrees, but Nicha said that around 45 degrees was much more comfortable.

  Sunlight caught in Thayu’s glittering hair, leaving her face in shadow. Her gaze flicked to the reader on my lap. “She is the woman of your contract?” We were back to friendly pronouns.

  “Yes.”

  As far as I knew, Coldi female officials who had a male zhayma usually had a contract with the same person. Someone like Amarru, whose “husband” worked in permit processing. People at the Exchange had gossiped about their relationship a lot, since Amarru had re-signed for no less than ten years. Heavens above, could they actually be in love with each other?

  “Eva is . . . worried about me.”

  “When does your contract with her start?”

  “When I was scheduled to visit.”

  “After that, would she come here?”

  “That was the plan.”

  I stared at her arms, soft and yellow-skinned, trying to decide if her voice gave away any emotion. I had no doubt she had come into my apartment expecting a sexual relationship with me. Was she disappointed or glad that it was not going to happen?

  “What were the conditions of the partnership?”

  What a typically Coldi question. �
��There are no conditions.” Other than do not fool around with others. “Our partnerships are for love, and for life.”

  “You must care a lot for her, then.”

  The lack of emotion in her voice disturbed me. “Do you have any family?”

  “My father.”

  “What about. . . ?” I couldn’t help my gaze straying to her breasts. She had a child, somewhere.

  She shrugged. “He lives with his father.”

  “How old?”

  “Four.”

  That would make her about my age, counting in gamra years, unless she meant four in Asto years, which meant that either she was older than me or she had been very young when she gave birth.

  “Do you ever see him?”

  “No.” She gazed out over the marshlands. A muscle twitched in her jaw.

  Damn, I shouldn’t have asked.

  When I had been with Inaru, I had always felt that our relationship wasn’t serious for her, that Coldi treated family relationships like paper wrappers: useful until you got to the lolly in the middle. Even in Nicha, I had never felt he actually loved his mother, nor had I felt Nicha would form a steady relationship with a woman. I hadn’t thought Coldi had a need for this sort of thing.

  I had been wrong.

  I rose from the bench, and put a hesitant hand on her shoulder. “You have the right to have one more child.” I was not so foolish as to suggest that she contact the father to see her son. The contract was finished; he was out of her life. That was the Coldi way.

  “No. My father has already arranged a contract. It’s worth a lot. I wouldn’t have the funds to . . .”

  I swallowed hard. That was where my relationship with Inaru had faltered. I could keep her, she had said, if I paid out the other man. To which I had replied that I wasn’t about buying people and she could either come with me if she loved me, or not at all.

  And she had run away.

  I stared unseeingly over the marshlands. In my mind, I saw her on the beach of a Greek island—I had forgotten which one. She laughed at faces I pulled after eating bits of mushroom from her picnic basket. I could still feel the burning on my tongue from trying just that tiny little piece of red-coded mushroom. I could smell the hot-stone scent of her skin, hear her deep-voiced laughter. Feel her heat on my naked skin.