by Cara Bristol
“What is it you do with Aym-Sec, Beth?” Vincere asked.
“Ms. O’Shea is our new logistics coordinator,” Carter answered. “She’ll be part of the team handling security for the Summit.”
“So you’re in charge of the equipment,” he said.
“That’s correct.”
“Have you been to Luna Center before?”
“No, this is my first time.” In preparation for the Summit, she’d studied virtual renditions, but those hadn’t prepared her for the grandeur of the real thing. Located in Mare Tranquillitatis, the Sea of Tranquility, the massive, multipurpose domed structure was an architectural, astronautical wonder. Part theater, part sports stadium, it looked like a crystal palace. Visible from space, Luna Center appeared even larger from inside. The glass dome soared so high overhead, it disappeared, leaving the blue-and-white orb of Terra unobscured.
“I’ve been fortunate to visit most of our member planets.” Vincere motioned to the flags and statues erected in the lobby. “The most desolate celestial body offers something positive to recommend it, but this facility on Earth’s moon is awe-inspiring. It’s the perfect venue for the Summit…”
A small, slight man scurried toward their group.
Vincere waved him over. “Cornelius, come meet Mr. Carter Aymes, the director of Aym-Sec, and his logistics coordinator, Ms. Beth O’Shea.” He glanced between them. “This is my aide, Cornelius Corvalis.”
The aide’s handshake was limp and sweaty.
“Beth?” Carter nudged her in the ribs again.
Why did he keep poking her? “Nice to meet you,” she said to Cornelius, checking the urge to wipe her palm on her tunic.
“So, is this your first visit to Luna Center? Have you had time to check out the facility?” Vincere asked.
“No, we just arrived,” she answered.
The secretary general looked at Beth. “If it’s all right with your boss, perhaps I could give you a tour? Show you where the Summit will convene, where sidebar meetings will be held, the banquet, the gala.”
Perfect! That’s what they’d been hoping for. “Thank you. I would like that,” she responded, but when she glanced at Carter, he frowned. “Wouldn’t I?” she said.
“Yes, but I need a minute alone with you first.” He beckoned and nodded at the others. “Excuse us a moment.”
He moved a distance away to stand beside a huge hologram resembling a horse with antlers. Yacuni. Xenia. The identifier spelled out the species and the planet of origin.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered. “Isn’t this what we wanted? For me to distract the secretary general so Mikala could meet with the others?”
“That’s not it. What I want to know is, are you all right?” He surveyed her face.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“How’s your head?”
She’d experienced a few twinges, but nothing major. “Fine. Why?”
“You…spaced out.”
“No, I didn’t—what do you mean?”
“Mikala had her hand out there for a while before you shook it.”
Had she made a faux pas? Was there a time limit to shaking hands? Like you had to do so within so many seconds or risk insulting the person you were meeting? “You’re used to all of this.” She gestured at the grand lobby. “It’s new to me. I met the president of Terra United and the secretary general of the Association of Planets. I’m a little starstruck.”
“You didn’t let go of the aide’s hand. You kind of hung onto it.”
The sweaty-palmed wonder? “I don’t think so,” she disagreed, quite certain. “I made it as brief as I could while still being polite.”
He didn’t look convinced, but he said, “Well…as long as you’re all right. You have your PerComm?”
“Right here.” She patted her side, wondering where he kept his communication device. His uniform fit neat and trim on his frame. Maybe he carried a mini model? They manufactured them small enough to be worn on the wrist like Vincere did, but Carter didn’t wear one of those, either.
“Contact me if you need me. Keep Vincere busy as long as you can. When you finish the tour, ping me, and I’ll come find you.”
“Got it.” It felt good to have a purpose, to assist in a concrete way. She started to return to the group then halted. “Thank you for not telling Mikala I’m a clone. For covering for me.” She hoped she wouldn’t encounter too many more people who’d mistake her for Liza.
“Mikala knew my father. Liza and I met in her class. I wouldn’t violate your privacy by sharing your personal information unless I had a critical reason. It’s your choice who to tell and when.”
“It’s…awkward. People…judge clones differently. They see me as something other than human.”
“You are human,” he said huskily. The simple comment uttered in his rough tone stirred all kinds of emotions it shouldn’t. She caught herself before she swayed toward him. What it would be like to be held in his strong arms, to be kissed, to move together as one, to hear his gravelly voice whisper senseless, passionate words? Her face burned, and she tore her gaze away before she did something stupid. He’s my boss. He’d be out of my league if he wasn’t my boss. “Thank you. I’d, uh, better get the tour started now.”
They rejoined the group. Cornelius had disappeared.
“All set?” Vincere smiled.
“I’m ready. Cornelius won’t be joining us?”
“No, he has his own work to attend to, so it will be just you and me.”
She could have sworn she’d heard Carter’s teeth snap together but knew it was her imagination. “I appreciate you taking time out of your busy schedule to give me a tour, Mr. Vincere.” She smiled, hoping her grin looked open and friendly and not sneaky.
“It’s my pleasure, but please call me Benson or Ben.”
* * * *
Beth led Vincere away. Carter preferred to think of it like that and not the other way around. Please call me Benson or Ben…
“Well, that was fortuitous. Vincere or his aide or both have stuck to me like Arcanian tar since I got here,” Mikala murmured.
Had he fed a lamb to the wolf? Just because Vincere had no history of sexual misconduct, didn’t mean he couldn’t start some. Cy-Ops had profiled him as honest but naïve, open-minded to a stubborn fault, charming and engaging, dedicated to his work. Carter didn’t find much charming or engaging about the man. “She volunteered to keep Vincere busy.” He gnashed his teeth. Smarmy bastard.
“Is she all right?”
“Yeah, why do you ask?”
“She seemed to almost blank out there for a moment. Once with me then with Cornelius.”
So it hadn’t been his imagination! “I think she was just feeling out of her element, and somewhat in awe of you,” Carter said. He hoped that was all it was.
“I’m embarrassed to have mistaken her for Liza, but they’re identical.”
“You think?”
Mikala arched her brows. “You don’t?”
He shrugged. “Zygomatic twins do share physical features, but I see more differences than similarities.” Beth was a unique person. The way she carried herself, flipped her hair, the inflection in her voice, her reserved smiles. Shy, except for the leading one she gave Ben. What was that all about?
“Okay, right.” Skepticism laced Mikala’s voice. “What a coincidence she’d come to work for you. Or did Liza encourage her? What’s she doing these days?”
“Liza died.”
Mikala sucked in a breath. “Died? When? How?”
“Almost fifteen years ago. An accident on the safari she went on.”
“I had no idea. Did you know?”
He shook his head. “Not until I met Beth.” He exhaled. “You make any headway with the AOP?”
Mikala grimaced. “Not as much as I’d hoped. Benson has a sixth sense for showing up at the right time. It’s not my intention to disparage the man. He means well.
He truly does. But his policies won’t lead us in the right direction. I’m trying to suggest the ambassadors analyze the information, consider what’s happened in the past and where current policies will lead in the future, and vote accordingly, but it’s awkward when he’s standing right there.”
She lifted her shoulders. “I doubt I can sway enough votes to change the outcome of this Summit, but if I can wake people to the seriousness of the situation, maybe by the next one or the one after that, the AOP will take action. I just hope it will be soon enough.”
“Well, sooner would be better than later, but Cy-Ops can keep Lamis-Odg in check until then,” he said.
“It seems impossible one tiny nation planet could conquer an entire galaxy. A hundred years ago, Lamis-Odg people lived in tents in the desert and believed in sand demons. Now, they have space stations, fighter craft, MEDs, and the technology to wipe out their neighbors. The only thing remaining the same is their belief in sand demons.”
“Iwani.” He nodded. “Who will attack them if they don’t follow their god’s commands to eradicate the nonbelievers of the galaxy, which means anyone who isn’t Odgidian.”
Mikala shook her head. “How can they not see none of it is real, that their primitive ancestors created mythological beings to explain natural phenomena they didn’t understand. Has anyone ever seen an iwani?”
“Well…” Carter said. “Two of my cyborgs who infiltrated Lamis-Odg encountered one in the desert.” His male/female cyborg team, Sonny Masters and Amanda Mansfield, had almost been killed.
Mikala’s jaw dropped. “They’re real?”
“As real as robots. Iwani are manufactured sand demon bots.”
“You’re joking!”
“Wish I were,” he said. “My agents destroyed the bot but brought back a sample. The material predates Lamani, but how far back, is anybody’s guess. My agents were able to determine the mechanical serpents are programmed to rise out of the dunes at specific intervals and kill whatever happens to be in the vicinity. Sightings and killings reinforce the myths.”
“There must be people who realize what they are.”
“I doubt anyone gets close enough to see. When an iwani appears, people don’t stick around to examine it.”
“It’s the ultimate icon—it offers proof of faith while ensuring the people don’t look too closely at it,” Mikala commented. “Religions throughout history have employed icons to strengthen the belief of their followers. Faith alone is group think ideation without physical manifestation. An icon provides believers something concrete to focus on, something they can see and touch that is the same for everyone.”
Carter nodded. “The Odgidian religion manipulates fear and hope, threats and rewards to maintain its following.”
“Their beliefs have always been strange, but they didn’t used to be a threat,” Mikala said. “They kept to themselves and didn’t bother anybody.”
“Their religion created a culture of isolationism. They’ve always believed the Great One favors them and them alone, so they saw no reason to interact with anyone else.”
“What changed? What caused them to go on a terrorist rampage?” she mused.
“Lamani. The people believe he is both the living embodiment of their god and his prophet. He’s convinced them his visions instruct them to smite the doubters and dissenters.”
“Why does a god need his creation to do his dirty work? He could wipe out infidels with a solar flare or an asteroid.” Mikala snapped her fingers.
“That kind of logic is only obvious to the nonbeliever,” he said. “Cy-Ops profiling indicates Lamani is a cunning opportunist, a manipulator who turns his people’s beliefs against them to appease his hunger for power. For him to believe he’s a god would make him insane, but someone mentally unbalanced wouldn’t have the wherewithal to execute such tactical terrorism. His attacks have been strategic, focused, and probably planned years in advance.”
* * * *
Vincere pointed at the glass-domed ceiling to the white-and-blue orb in the sky. “It gives me the shivers,” he said. “To see Terra from the moon takes my breath away.”
“It’s beautiful,” Beth agreed. Terra represented hope, possibilities. Through the massive viewing windows of the O’Sheas’ satellite, she’d seen the planet in all its blue-and-white glory. Earth had birthed a dream of a better life, had beckoned her to set foot on its soil.
“The secretary general should be impartial and not favor one nation over another, but I have to admit, my home planet holds a special place in my heart,” he confided in a whisper.
“So you’re a native-born Terran?” she asked.
He drew back, looking surprised. “You can’t tell?”
Had she insulted him? She hadn’t meant to! “I knew you were Terran by race, but many Earth citizens are born other places…I’m sorry.”
He touched her arm. “I apologize. I was teasing. You’re smart to not assume. My mother is from the south of France, and my father is from Texas. How about you?” he asked.
With his family background he was probably quite familiar with Terra. She’d studied Earth as much as she could, but had seen little of the planet other than a spaceport, the hotel, and Aym-Sec, none of which counted. “I’m human, but I was born off world.” She stuck to the technical truth.
“Did you live off world long?” he asked as they walked.
“A while,” she said.
“Is this your first trip to the moon?”
It was her first trip anywhere. “Yes.”
He swept his arm in an arc to encompass the facility “This is the grand lobby. It surrounds the inner arena where the general assembly of ambassadors will convene.” They stopped beside a gleaming door as wide as it was high, which was about three times her height. “There are forty doors like this.”
“Forty-two,” she corrected. She’d counted on the schematic.
“I was speaking in generalities,” he said, but nodded approvingly. “You’ve done your homework.”
“It’s my job to know this stuff. Will some of them be locked off or will all forty-two be used during the Summit?”
“They’ll all be used. Luna Center is massive, and I want it as convenient as possible for Summit attendees.”
She keyed a notation into her PerComm. Forty-two doors meant forty-two weapon/gen scan combos, and a human-android team to man each of them.
“Ready to see inside?” He moved to swipe his palm over the wall screen.
“I’d like to walk the perimeter first, if you wouldn’t mind.” One door was pretty much like the next, but the longer she kept him busy, the more time Mikala would have.
He smiled. “Why would I mind a stroll with an intelligent, attractive woman?”
“You flatter me.” She smiled at him but moved quickly to a life-size virtual statue. “What can you tell me about the holos?” The woman appeared solid and real, but when Beth touched the shoulder, her hand moved right through it.
“Each one represents a member planet of the AOP.”
“So they’re not holograms of real people like specific ambassadors?”
Benson shook his head. “No. Each one depicts a typical or generic life form from the planet.” He leaned in close and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “It’s like a cheat sheet. It’s almost impossible to know what every life form looks like, but each planet has its own protocol for how to address one another. To avoid committing a faux pas, members can peek out here and identify the planet of origin.”
“I can see where that would be very useful. This is a good idea.”
“Thank you.”
“It was your idea?”
He shrugged. “My greatest wish is to foster friendship and cooperation. We have big issues to deal with. It would be a shame for one person to insult another with an unintended rude gesture or greeting.”
She peered at the holo. Although the woman had appeared to be human at first glance, now s
he noted her pupil-less solid-black eyes. “She’s a Xenian,” Benson commented, and pointed to the identifier.
He gestured to the adjacent holo of a winged man. “Faria.”
“Wow.” She stared, amazed by the man’s beauty. “It’s like he glows.”
“Their skin is iridescent. I think if we Terrans had met the Farian people before our languages evolved, we’d use the word Farian to mean beauty.” Benson moved on to the next holo. “This woman is Arcanian.” She had six independently moving eyes and web-fingered hands.
“What happened here?” Beth stopped beside a puddle. “We should call the janitorial robos.”
Benson chuckled. “That, too, is a hologram, and it’s not a puddle, it’s a slime crawler.”
So that’s what they looked like. She’d heard of the gelatinous aliens. They moved by oozing, flowing from one place to another. “They’re members of the AOP? Aren’t they nonverbal?”
“That’s no reason to exclude them.”
“What about the Malodonian?” She pointed to the blue being with rough features and a thick neck. “They were ejected from the AOP, weren’t they? Why is a nonmember included?”
Benson’s eyes flashed. “The general assembly ejected Malodonia, but ambassadors don’t have input into which statues I pick. I oppose any act or policy which excludes.” She could hear the anger in his voice. “All life formed from the Big Bang. No matter what our planet of origin, we originated from the same source. Down deep we are all the same; no one is beyond redemption.”
“You’re very open-minded,” she said, but retreated, surprised by the strength of his vehemence.
Instantly, he became a picture of contrition. “Forgive my outburst, for making you uncomfortable.” He raked a hand through his perfect hair, messing it up into an attractive tousle. “I feel deeply, but that gives me no excuse to be rude.”
“No need to apologize,” she said. “You’re committed to your principles.”