The Coalition Man

by Alec Saracen

  Grey Hawk examined the latest data feeds. An annotation had appeared: 84% probability of CLTN-175-220108 model match. She followed the link and saw that 'CLTN-175-220108' was a Coalition drone whose computer core had been salvaged on Brye a year ago.

  “Coalition?” she murmured. The match probability wavered around 85% for a few seconds, dived to 72%, then started climbing again until it reached 96%.

  “Coalition,” Red Wolf said. “Almost certainly.”

  “Why would the Coalition try to kill one of their own?” Grey Hawk said, then answered her own question. “Because Zhai is working against their agenda.”

  “Looks like it. It explains why they didn't go after Chang.”

  Grey Hawk sorted through the logic of factions in her head. “So – Chang probably wants to join the Coalition. Zhai’s faction wants to stop him. Other factions want to stop him.”

  “This is powerful knowledge,” Red Wolf said. “We need to play this carefully.”

  Carefully, but decisively, Grey Hawk thought. But you don't need to hear that.

  “Looks like Zhai is in our column, then,” she said instead. “Our interests match up.”

  “They do. Keep him alive.”

  Grey Hawk glanced up at the sun, blazing down through a shifting maze of leaves overhead which revealed only momentary glimpses of blinding light.

  “That,” she said, “I can do.”

  14

  Zhai wondered if it was possible to get used to assassination attempts. This was his third.

  The first had been an archaic rocket-propelled grenade launcher attack on his armoured car on Naro years and years ago, which had bent and buckled the metal and given Zhai a splitting headache. Miraculously, nobody had died.

  The second was over Morin, six years back, when Ceq had proven her mettle by lunging for the controls of their VTOL and yanking the craft out of the path of an incoming ground-to-air missile. Zhai, clinging white-knuckled to the armrests as the world whirled sickeningly around him, had actually seen the missile flash past outside, its exhaust scorching the window. Those black trails still stained his dreams from time to time.

  Ceq had saved him twice more since then, both times in that one night of madness in Star City, but neither could truthfully be called an assassination attempt. When it came, Zhai preferred the threat of imminent death to be random rather than directed personally at him. But he was in the wrong line of work for that.

  Sleep had evaded him since the attack, and the hypnotics he'd eventually resorted to as dawn fumbled its way over the horizon had done nothing but knock him out for a few hours. He had awoken exhausted.

  It didn't make sense to him. Of all his brushes with death, this was easily the least spectacular. All he had known were the sudden twin impacts of Ceq and the stage, the crack of the wayward shot punctuating the two, and the chaotic rush of security personnel which had broken on the stage like a tidal wave and washed him into a waiting car. It had happened too fast to process at the time, though individual snapshot instants had developed slowly in his mind like archaic photographs. Ceq diving towards him, mouth set in a grimly determined line. Chang ducking behind his podium. The glare of sunlight overhead as Zhai was hauled to his feet. Nothing extraordinary. Nothing horrifying.

  So why couldn’t he sleep?

  He had broken into his emergency coffee, a muscular blend of three High Summer-grown beans which was like drinking liquid electricity, and it was just about keeping him together.

  At the window, now reinforced with quadruple bulletproof sheets that distorted the view so much Zhai felt like he lived inside a soap bubble, Harod and Ceq were watching government VTOLs sweep across the city, mechanical hornets swarming around their disturbed nest. Harod shook his head and stepped back.

  “They're not happy,” he said.

  Zhai grunted and set his empty mug down on the table. “Would you be?”

  Harod shrugged. As he walked towards the couch where Zhai sat, he stumbled over the edge of the carpet. The embassy was starting to take shape, with most of its furniture now in reasonable places, but the thick green carpet on the concrete floor didn't quite stretch across the whole room.

  “Fuck off,” Harod spat at the uncooperative flooring, and slumped in the chair to Zhai's right. He was taking the attempt on Zhai's life worse than Zhai himself. By the look of him, he hadn't slept either. “Twins. Yes, I'd be happy. Someone was in the perfect position to kill Chang, and they went for you instead. If I were Chang, I'd invite you to every fucking event I could think of as his official bullet magnet.”

  Zhai let out a quiet laugh. “Wouldn't be a bad idea.”

  “Fucking Peck,” Harod said.

  “We don't know it was her.”

  “Oh, yes we fucking do. Who else?”

  “Liberation?” Zhai suggested half-heartedly, thinking of the atmospheric streaks of light that had heralded the inevitable coming of the Liberators, there to muck things up for everyone. “We know they're on the ground now. Or maybe it was my Naroese fan club. Or Chang himself.”

  “I know it's her, Zhai,” Harod said. “So do you.”

  “I know someone wants me dead. Nothing more.” Zhai glanced at the door. Captain Umbiba, standing guard there, was trying very hard not to look their way. “Something to add, captain?”

  “No, Ambassador,” Umbiba said too quickly. Zhai raised an eyebrow, and Umbiba relented. “Well – Ambassador – I don't like hearing these accusations against a fellow SSA operative without evidence.”

  Zhai sighed. “I'm afraid you'll just have to get used to the idea, captain. Your agency is part of the Coalition, which means it's a nest of snakes. Do not delude yourself. You and Peck are not on the same side.”

  Umbiba nodded stiffly. “I will operate under the assumption that we are, Ambassador, until given concrete reason to believe otherwise.”

  “You'll follow orders,” Ceq said at the window, without turning. “And the orders are: don't trust the bitch.”

  Zhai waved a hand at Ceq's back, quietly impressed. “You heard the woman, captain.”

  Ceq had been resolutely opposed to Zhai's appearance in public with Chang, and Zhai had to admit that she'd been right. Four times, now. Four dead Zhais if not for Ceq.

  Four times in six years. It was too much for anyone, let alone an old man like him. Retirement was starting to look more appealing.

  “Yes, Ambassador,” Umbiba said, his voice cold and professional. “I did.”

  Zhai glared at him, but the captain just stared straight ahead. Fantastic. A soldier who wasn’t just aggressive, but passive-aggressive too.

  “Still no word from Chang, I take it,” Harod said after a moment.

  “Nothing,” Zhai said.

  Harod pursed his lips and drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Trouble in the house of Tor, then.”

  “Looks that way. Heads are going to roll. Or are rolling already.”

  “Auspicious start to independence.” Harod stared off into the distance for a moment, a familiar gleam slowly coming into his eyes. “A thought occurs.”

  Zhai knew that look. Politics were afoot. “Do tell.”

  “Chang never got to announce that he would apply for Coalition membership. If he does it now, it'll look very strange, what with the Coalition ambassador nearly having his head blown off.”

  Zhai winced. “Enough talk about my head. I see your point, though. The equation has changed.”

  “You're all over the news, no matter how hard the official channels try to spin attention away from you. It's not about 'the Coalition' as an abstract actor any more. It's about Ambassador Gumeigo Zhai, who happens to represent the Coalition.”

  Harod was delicately tiptoeing his way towards the point, so Zhai crashed through it like a human cannonball. “And I'm a hateful son of a bitch.”

  “Well. Yes. Or at least it's very easy to paint you as one. Roshi Comet and TruthTeller are having a field day already. Imagine what they'll do when Chang makes t
he announcement.”

  Zhai made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a growl. “Sekkanen knows what I'm good for.”

  Throughout that exchange, Zhai had grown more and more conscious that Ceq was watching them over her shoulder, a quizzical frown on her face. But she knows, he thought. She must know. There's no way she could have worked for me for six years and not know.

  Is there?

  Ceq hated politics, and seemed to have the same contemptuous disregard for history that Zhai had for teenage pop stars with numbers and currency symbols in their names. Ceq was a creature of the concrete and the immediate, and anything else might as well not exist to her. It was ignorance, but a kind of elective, almost admirable ignorance. For the first time in six years, it began to dawn on Zhai that it might even extend to his own past. To Naro.

  His ruminations were interrupted by Sam, who burst into the room like a gazelle in flight, tripped over the carpet, and banged his knee on the table.

  “Good morning, Sam,” Zhai said.

  “Boss, we just got word from the government,” Sam said, hastily tucking his shirt back in as he hobbled towards the couch. “They're, uh, they're outside.”

  “Outside what?”

  His assistant gestured jerkily. “The front door!”

  “The whole government?” Harod asked, frowning. “I'd have settled for a fruit basket and the deputy governor.”

  Zhai glared at him. “Shut up. Sam, explain.”

  Sam took a deep breath. “There's a government representative outside the embassy right now, asking to come in and talk to you.”

  “And they didn't tell us they were coming?”

  “No!”

  Zhai groaned, fumbled for his mug, and downed the rest of the coffee, hoping it would prepare him for whatever lay in store. “Better show them in, then.” He glanced around at the disarray. “My office, I think.”

  His personal office had been a top priority for the makeshift decoration effort. It hadn't come out too badly. The cream-coloured carpet actually fitted the room, and the smartpaper on the walls transformed concrete into faux wood panelling. The ceiling was still bare. Zhai squeezed behind his desk, his brand new chair squeaking beneath his weight, and awaited his visitor.

  He expected either some no-name mid-level government functionary or, failing that, Jon Weiv, who seemed to be Chang's go-to domestic dogsbody. Instead, the woman who stepped through the door to his office was–

  “Marshal Hactaur?” Zhai said uncertainly, standing up to greet her. It was her. The face and uniquely dark skin tone were unmistakeable, yet somehow her hair had changed from the military crop of a few days ago to two bunches of shoulder-length braids. She wasn't in uniform, either. Instead, she was wearing dark trousers and a plain white shirt, the sleeves rolled up in the heat to reveal wiry, muscular forearms. Inevitably, she was taller than him.

  She laughed politely at his confusion. “Not yet, Ambassador,” she said, extending a hand to Zhai. “Violet Hactaur. Central Intelligence Command.”

  Zhai shook it. The ‘Central Intelligence Command’ wasn’t a name he recognised. He suspected they were so new they probably didn’t even have business cards yet. Mockhurst's lot with a fresh coat of paint, no doubt. “My apologies. The family resemblance is striking.”

  She smiled. “You should see my sisters.”

  “In what capacity are you here –” Zhai said, trailing off as he realised she had avoided giving her job title. He settled for a lame “Miss Hactaur.”

  “Please, call me Violet, Ambassador. This is – well, let's call it an official visit.” Another smile flickered across her lips. She looked like an amused lizard. “With a twist of personal interest.”

  “Ah, that old cocktail,” Zhai said. He wedged himself back under his desk. “Please, take a seat.”

  Violet relaxed nonchalantly into a chair, crossing her legs. Zhai regarded her with a critical eye. She really was the spitting image of Parys Hactaur, right down to the indeterminable age. The marshal could have been anywhere between thirty-five and sixty, and Violet could have been as young as twenty and as old as forty. She had to be a daughter. The only cast-iron distinction he could make was that Violet's nose had once been broken, and was slightly crooked.

  But the similarities stopped at the physical. Parys had come across as blunt, humourless, and ruthlessly direct. Violet, meanwhile, immediately exuded casual, amiable confidence, which Zhai found deeply suspicious. He never trusted friendliness in strangers, and sometimes not even in friends.

  “How can I help you – Violet?” Zhai said. Wheels turned within his mind. He could already tell this was more than a governmental mea culpa. New pieces were clacking on the board.

  “First and foremost, we owe you an apology.” Violet leaned forward, resting her elbows on her thighs and her chin on her clasped hands. Her dark eyes had a smooth warmth that Zhai found disconcerting. “The attempt on your life yesterday was an inexcusable security breach and a failure of intelligence. Rest assured, we will spare no expense or effort in finding your would-be assassin.”

  He wasn't sure exactly how, but Zhai recognised the coded message in her overly formal diction: let's talk properly. He tapped his watch, activating his local security shroud, and Violet grinned. White teeth gleamed.

  “Thanks,” she said. “Nice to have a little privacy once in a while.”

  Zhai nodded. “Indeed. We're off the record now – though the embassy is secure already.”

  “Nothing is secure, Ambassador. Especially today.” Zhai raised an eyebrow, inviting her to continue. “The governor is – restless.”

  Heads had rolled, then.

  “I don't blame him,” Zhai said. “A question, though.”

  Violet opened her palm. “Ask away.”

  “The government is in chaos. They've just declared independence. There's been an assassination attempt on a foreign dignitary standing ten paces from the governor. And there restructuring has already begun – I've never heard of the Central Intelligence Command, Violet, and yet here you are representing it.”

  “The Alliance Intelligence Agency has been renamed in the light of recent political developments, yes,” Violet said, a faint smile playing on her lips. “I don't hear a question, Ambassador.”

  Zhai leaned back. “Why are you here?”

  “Because nobody else is,” Violet said, sitting back. “What use is a foreign ambassador if nobody talks to him?”

  You're not meant to be here, Zhai thought, keeping his face impassive. You've slipped through the net, and you're using the cover of the chaos to talk to me, one on one. Why? What game are you playing?

  My own, Violet's eyes seemed to reply.

  The encounter was slowly waking Zhai up, but he was painfully aware how sluggish his mind was at the moment. He couldn't puzzle Violet out. He was operating under the assumption that she was on Parys Hactaur's side, whatever that side was, but even that was uncertain. It was as good an avenue to explore as any.

  He'd been suppressing yawns every minute or so, but he let the next one through. “My apologies,” he said. “I'm afraid I had a rather stressful day yesterday.”

  Violet smiled sympathetically. “Our fault, Ambassador. We owe your bodyguard, big time.”

  “As do I,” Zhai said. In the brief pause that followed, he seized the opportunity to change the direction of the conversation. “You really do look like your mother. Almost identical.”

  “We are,” Violet said. “Genetically speaking, anyway.”

  Zhai frowned. “You're a – clone?”

  “Yes.”

  “And your sisters?”

  “Them too.” Violet grinned. “We're a modern family.”

  Four bloody identical Hactaurs, Zhai thought morosely. “That's very interesting,” he said, trying to strike as neutral a tone as possible.

  “It is, isn't it?” Violet scratched thoughtfully at her ear with bitten fingernails. “Just a hint of megalomania to the whole thing. The Separation Day d
inners are a thing of beauty.”

  Zhai chuckled. “I bet.”

  “I'll introduce you to my sisters some time. I'm sure they'll be at the independence celebrations. You can get us all mixed up at once.”

  Zhai hesitated for an instant, wondering about these celebrations. He assumed that some sort of independence gala was forthcoming once the blockade came down and the galaxy at large dispatched its ambassadors to Tor, but made a mental note to investigate further.

  “What do they do?” he asked.

  “My sisters?” Zhai nodded. “Rose is an army colonel. Lilac works for the Ministry of Information.”

  “Rose, Violet, and Lilac,” Zhai murmured. “Very floral.”

  Violet pulled a face. “Parys never was good at names. We used to have a dog called Killer when I was kid. Sweetest thing you've ever seen. When he died, we got another one. Also called Killer.”

  “At least she reserved 'Killer' for the dogs and not her daughters,” Zhai said, smiling.

  Violet shrugged. “You joke, Ambassador, but...”

  “She sounds like an interesting woman.”

  “I like the way you use 'interesting',” Violet said, suddenly looking stern. “In your mouth, it sounds a lot like 'fucked-up'.”

  Zhai fumbled uselessly for words for a moment, then watched Violet break into another broad grin. “Just joking, Ambassador. Sorry. You should have seen your face. I agree, though. She is – interesting.”

  “She's raised a very successful crop of daughters,” Zhai said. Violet used words like shoulders, nudging him off-balance. Care was called for. “All in different branches of government, too.”

  Violet met his gaze unflinchingly. “Yes. We're – usefully dispersed.”

  Usefully, Zhai thought. Now that had been a pointed word. Usefully for what?

  A coup. If Parys needed it, she'd have support in the intelligence services, the propaganda department, and even in the army, not to mention her own air force.

  Talk about family planning.

  In the shadows of Zhai's mind, a very good reason for Violet to pay this visit edged into the light.