The Coalition Man

by Alec Saracen

  Perhaps she was genetically predisposed to withstand the cold. As her name suggested, she was of old Wenric stock, which manifested as ash-pale skin and incandescent blue eyes, a splash of vivid colour in a round white face framed by a bob of fine silver hair. She was short, not much taller than Zhai, which had the effect of further concentrating her essence. Ever since he'd seen one of the vanishingly rare birds in a private zoo on Lao Dao, Zhai had thought of her as very like an owl. Wherever you went, her gaze followed.

  She was sitting at her desk, wearing a smoke-coloured sweater and tapping methodically at a projected screen angled before her. As Zhai approached, she waved at one of the chairs in front of her desk, not looking up. Ceq and Sam waited by the door, accustomed to fading into the scenery.

  “Zhai,” she said, in her diamond-tipped Armenaiakon accent. “Well. Here we are again.”

  Zhai inclined his head. “Always a pleasure, Hilde,” he lied.

  Sekkanen kept tapping. Doubtless she had four or five other matters to attend to. “You've seen the video,” she said. By her standards, that had been protracted small talk. “You know the implications. Dark days ahead. For all of us.” She hit one last key, activating the security shroud which would make them indistinct and inaudible to Ceq and Sam, then sat back and let her face relax – slump, almost – in a way Zhai hadn't seen in decades. “Twins,” she said.

  Zhai smiled sympathetically, covering up his perturbation. Emotional honesty from Sekkanen? The apocalypse really was near. “Not our finest hour, is it?”

  “No.” A pause, a moment for her to rake those hard blue eyes over him. Sekkanen was forever re-evaluating even her allies, a ruthless habit which had kept her in office all those years. “I'm not stepping down just yet,” she said, after a moment. “That's what they want, because they know that now is when I'm needed most. But I can't cling on for long. That much is beyond obvious. I've failed us all.”

  “None of us thought they had the votes for war,” Zhai said. Conversations with Sekkanen were always full of thems and theys, the names left unsaid. If you didn’t instinctively know whom she meant, what were you even doing there?

  Sekkanen shook her head. “It was on my watch that they found those votes. I was stupid. Complacent. Decades of Consolidationist majority, and I let it slip away. No, this is on me, Zhai, and I think we both know that. The instinct is there to stay and try to claw it back, but...” She shrugged. Zhai felt a new chill. Even today, he hadn’t expected even a hint of self-doubt from the snowy queen of the Consolidationists. “I followed my instincts, and look where it led us. If I'd known, I would have surrendered the majority once or twice over the decades, let them feel like they were relevant, then won it back with the next appointments. I was greedy. All those years in opposition radicalised them. I beat the Devvies by turning them into Revvies. All our good work undone with one idiotic war, and now we're lurching towards another.”

  Zhai had known Hilde Sekkanen for almost exactly forty years, first as her student at Alleker University, then as a subordinate, a colleague, an equal, and now as a subordinate once more. They had never quite been friends. Zhai wasn't convinced Sekkanen had friends. She had allies, confidants, trusted supporters, yes, but true friends were an unacceptable luxury. A weakness. Now, though, the mental fortress had opened its gates. That was what was happening, Zhai realised: Sekkanen was defeated. It wasn't just a setback, or a lost battle in a larger war – this was the big one, the campaign collapsing, the empire disintegrating. The white flag hoisted on the parapet.

  Zhai felt very, very old.

  Sekkanen tipped her head back and stared at the ceiling.

  “It's yours if you want it,” she said, without looking at him. “The leadership. I wouldn't advise it, not at your age, but you could probably muster the support with Nouridh-Salter's help. People remember what you did for us.”

  “No,” Zhai said decisively. “No. Not me. There's not enough fight left in me these days. Find some kid with fire for blood and let them have it.”

  “Wise,” Sekkanen murmured. “I don't envy my successor.” Her eyes slid down and met his again. “Besides, there's work for you yet.”

  Zhai's pulse quickened. “You mentioned that I should make arrangements.”

  Sekkanen nodded. A measure of steel returned to her eyes. “We're not helpless just yet. They've got their First Circle majority, but we can hold our own in the other four with crossbench help – the Third included, though only by a hair. I've cut a few deals, traded some favours, called in some old debts.” A smile flitted across her lips with the cold velocity of a polar gale. “Taken out a loan or two.”

  She glanced down at her screen and dashed off a couple of quick commands. The display transferred to the surface of her desk, resolving into a simplified 2D map of the Void, with planetary nodes marked in various colours. The sprawling Coalition, in red, dominated one side of the map, with the more densely congregated worlds of the Confederation and Alliance in blue and yellow blobs on the other side. The animated expanse of the Wrath Storm roiled ominously in between them. On the fringes, Liberation, the Siren Protectorate, and the Federated Star Nations were in green, purple, and orange, while the independent worlds scattered around were black. Star City was marked with a white diamond. A hollow circle marked Home.

  “Here's where we stood a month ago,” Sekkanen said. “All our information is at least a week out of date, but here's how far we know our V-navy has advanced.” She flicked a finger, and the yellow of the FPA retreated more than two thirds of the way across its previous borders. Zhai counted sixteen worlds prised from their grip, coloured an uncertain grey. The borders had been pushed right up to the Low People's system and Star City.

  One world, nestled between the Void storms that delineated the narrow trade corridor between the Coalition and the former Alliance, had gone red.

  Zhai’s gut tightened. “Bayard's come over already?”

  Sekkanen nodded. “They voted to request accession four days ago. Word came on the last courier, so it’ll be public within the hour. The syndicates rammed it through – they're anxious to get trade flowing again. It hasn't come up in the First Circle yet, but it'll go through. Today, most likely.”

  Bayard, trade capital of the galactic south-east, the Alliance’s most coveted jewel – back in Coalition hands at last. A small part of Zhai approved. “That's a real feather in the Devvies' cap.”

  “And the Revvies'. The way things are going, you won't be able to see the cap for the feathers before long.”

  Zhai glared at Bayard's red circle, as if he could change it back by sheer force of will. It remained resolutely red. If Bayard had split from the Alliance and come over to the Coalition by itself, he'd have happily welcomed it and its enormous trade revenues into the fold, but there was more at stake than a few GDP points now.

  “How far are we going?” he asked. His eyes strayed to the five core Alliance worlds clustered far to the galactic west.

  “At a guess, all the way to Morette,” Sekkanen said. Zhai imagined Coalition flags flying over the Alliance capital, and shook his head numbly. “There might be some support for leaving a rump state, I suppose. Satterkale isn't saying much, though I can feel him gloating all the way across the station.”

  Zhai snorted at the image. Nobody could gloat like the Developist leader. “No doubt. What's next?”

  Sekkanen indicated the expanse of orphaned Alliance worlds. “They won't all be as easy as Bayard. Most of them will have to hold a referendum.”

  “And most of them can fake the results. Though I take your point: that's still time and effort.”

  “Precisely. We have breathing room. Bayard's the only one to declare independence so far, and I'd say we have two weeks at least before the next domino falls.”

  “So our priority is keeping them up as long as possible,” Zhai said, nodding.

  “Cue the Third Circle,” Sekkanen said. “We're sending extraordinary embassies to every ex-Alliance world.”<
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  “That's a lot of ambassadors.” Zhai started working out which seasoned diplomats weren't already on assignment. It was a short list.

  Sekkanen seemed to share his concerns. “Unfortunately, most of them are going to be political Devvie appointments with strict orders to push for rapid integration. We can't do anything about that, so I've picked my battles carefully.” She reached out and tapped an icon. “I’m sending you to Tor.”

  Everything Zhai knew about Tor buzzed through his mind in an instant. It wasn't a lot. The vast majority of his active diplomatic career had played out under the shadow of the FPA-Coalition cold war. He'd visited Morette during his training thirty-five years ago, but that was the one and only time he'd set foot on an Alliance world. Tor wasn't a power player in the FPA, though nor was it some hopeless provincial dead end like Guohai or Bauchsis. It was a solid middle-ranking planet, inevitably politically sidelined by its distance from the Alliance core worlds in the galactic west, but certainly not irrelevant. As far as he knew, there were no atmospheric hazards like Pinnacle's vast clouds of toxic fungal spores or the obliterating winds of Castiam, no terrifying indigenous life like Ichorion's titanic reptiles or the predatory spider-scorpion things which still lurked in the untamed wilds outside Armenaiakon's major cities.

  Politically, he was completely in the dark. Internal Alliance politics were notoriously opaque. Most decisions emanated out from the core worlds to be imposed on and by the beleaguered local administrations. FPA governors lasted about as long as ancient Ocran emperors, resulting in stultified political dynasties on some worlds and chaotic chains of backstabbing and infighting on others. Tor was one of the latter, and Zhai couldn't even remember who the current governor was. It was entirely possible the position had changed hands since the last intelligence update.

  “I would be honoured to accept the post,” he said, with as neutral an inflection as he could manage. He hadn't begun to sort out his feelings about going to Tor, and he had no intention of letting Sekkanen read them before he'd processed them himself.

  “If I thought there was even a chance you'd turn it down, I'd have offered it to Nouridh-Salter,” Sekkanen said. “I know you, Zhai. Always so eager to strike out for new frontiers, leaving the rest of us behind to do the tedious work of keeping the world spinning.” She raised her whisper-fine eyebrows. “Here's your escape hatch.”

  Zhai stayed silent for a moment. Sekkanen’s assessments always landed with the stony thud of objectivity. She wasn’t wrong.

  “What will my legal status be?” he asked.

  Sekkanen nodded, clearly expecting the question. “Unclear–”

  “–which means non-existent,” Zhai finished.

  “Effectively, yes. Tor is still officially a member world of the Free Planetary Alliance. They won’t formally open diplomatic relations with us without declaring independence. Your title will be Ambassador, but do not count on diplomatic immunity. I won't lie to you, Zhai–”

  Well, Zhai thought, that was a lie right there.

  “–it'll be dangerous. Alarche had better be on her toes.”

  Zhai glanced through the security shroud at the indistinct shape of Ceq. “She's never failed me yet.”

  Sekkanen smiled thinly, displaying a narrow glint of ice-white teeth. “It only takes one failure. There'll be a Special Security Agency force assigned to you, but a small one. This isn't a full mission. Of course, we don't have an embassy there. You'll have to work out of hotels or government buildings.”

  The posting sounded less and less appetising by the second. “Just how many of us are there going to be?”

  “No more than eight.” Sekkanen paused. “SSA included.”

  Zhai sucked air through his teeth. “That's not an embassy, Hilde. That's not even a delegation. That's a joke. An insult, to Tor and to me.”

  Sekkanen's glare decapitated his protests. “It's all our political capital will buy. Our reserves are dwindling fast.” She glanced down at her watch. “This isn't technically approved yet. The vote for extraordinary embassies will go up before the First Circle at 1400, and the Third Circle will vote on its appointments as soon as it passes. You'll leave as soon as you can, before they can move against you. You have your pick of staff, but keep your numbers to an absolute minimum.”

  “Eight people's less than the minimum, and you know it.”

  “Needs must. Last time you were complaining you had too many staff.”

  “There's a middle ground!”

  Sekkanen’s smile was a crust of snow bridging a deep chasm. “There's no middle ground left for us, Zhai. It's the edge of the precipice or nothing.”

  “Then I want Harod,” Zhai said.

  Sekkanen raised a slender eyebrow. “Do you indeed? Just for company, I’m sure.”

  “He's been to Tor.”

  “Decades ago.”

  “Still valuable.”

  “He's valuable here.”

  “There's your calculation, then,” Zhai said. “Where's the greater reward? Of course, it's up to you.”

  Sekkanen stared at him, her eyes ablaze with the cold equations of politics, then slowly nodded. “All right. He's yours, for the time being. If he accepts.”

  “Oh, he will.” And if he doesn't, Zhai thought, I'll drug him and dump him in the cargo hold.

  “Yes,” Sekkanen mused. “He will, won't he? This sinking ship is shedding its rats.”

  It was said with enough humour to blunt the barb, but not enough to draw out the sting. Zhai winced internally, and avoided reminding Sekkanen who had been captaining that ship as it drifted towards the jagged Devvie-Revvie rocks. He had sketched enough of the charts the Solids steered by to know he was not blameless.

  Instead, Zhai simply shrugged. No sense denying what they both knew: once the dust settled, they were both finished.

  “Assemble your troops, Zhai,” Sekkanen said. “Your mission is simple: prevent Tor from entering the Coalition, by any means necessary.”

  “Any?”

  “Within reason.” Sekkanen flicked an errant strand of hair over her ear. “You're a reasonable man, after all. Your methods are your own. Simply prevent Tor from signing the Charter. If we can put a stop to rampant Coalition territorial expansion, maintain a buffer of worlds between us and the Confederation, perhaps we can push the next war out of our lifetimes.”

  “Playing for time,” Zhai said. “I can do that.” All too well, he thought.

  “Time isn't a panacea,” Sekkanen said, “but it's one of the few things not on their side. Don't underestimate that.”

  “I won't.” Zhai sighed and shifted in his seat. “I can't believe the Alliance is gone.”

  “I know. It doesn't seem real, does it?” Sekkanen said. She waved a hand over the FPA's former territory. “This new weapon of ours – as if by magic, it’s all gone. What can you and I do in the face of nuclear fire?”

  “Sit in the rubble and try to put a few things back together.” Zhai watched the Wrath Storm graphic as it curled endlessly in on itself. “I just – I don't know. It's so damn easy to lose sight of everything and obsess over Circle caucuses and votes and all the rest of it. That's what seems real to me. The actual effects – an abstraction. We blow up the largest star nation to have ever existed, and it's just – gone. Like a dream. Colours change on a map, and I wonder if the Alliance ever really existed.” Zhai rubbed his eyes wearily. Sekkanen watched him in silence. “I can't stop thinking about that scoreboard they put up at the end of the video. Like we're supposed to be happy that we killed – what? Six, seven thousand people?”

  “Six thousand is nothing compared to the deaths we're going to see,” Sekkanen said. “Look at the big picture, Zhai.”

  “I am,” Zhai said, “I am, but we can't use that as an excuse to look away from the smaller pictures. We’re better than that.”

  Sekkanen's eyes glittered as they bored into Zhai's. “Keep your eye on the future, Zhai. The present isn't worth thinking about.”

 
; “Perhaps you're right,” Zhai said uneasily, though he couldn't make his supposed agreement sound more than half-hearted. Sekkanen never held back in an argument, and he could feel himself drifting towards her crosshairs. Or vice-versa. Or both.

  Sekkanen's face softened a little, a gesture which only worried Zhai further. “Just do your job, Zhai. Put together your team and pack your bags. I don't know what the situation's like on Tor, but I trust you to steer it our way. Keep them independent, or at the very least slow their accession down.”

  Zhai nodded. “If it can be done, I'll do it.”

  “Good.” Sekkanen stood up, which was Zhai's cue to leave. “This is probably going to be your last posting.”

  “I know,” Zhai said. He managed a smile. “End of the line.”

  “They won't be able to ignore your service. You can expect a generous honour when you retire.”

  Zhai snorted. “After Naro? I'll be lucky if they don't strip me of citizenship.”

  “You hurt them at Naro, true, but they respect that. It's the game we play, and you played it well. Besides, it's traditional. Give your enemies a good send-off, because if you don't, their friends will return the same treatment to you.” She extended a hand, and Zhai took it. It was cold and bony, which made his feel self-consciously warm and pudgy. “Forget about Naro. Your priority is Tor.”

  They shook, once.

  “Good luck,” Sekkanen said. “This is a roll of the dice. Even if you succeed, it quite probably won't matter. But let's go out on a high note.”

  Zhai nodded, and Sekkanen switched off the security shroud. He turned and left without looking back.

  “It's Tor,” he said to Sam, as they passed the deskbound glare of Kaudorang and returned to the corridor. “We have permission to take Harod if he wants to come, which he will. I'll handle that. Other than that, we've got about two slots left.”

  Sam's eyes popped. “Two?”

  A humourless grin split Zhai's face. “Two.”

  “Twins. For – for a whole embassy?”