by Alec Saracen
Violet followed his gaze and snorted. “Take a guess.”
Zhai tipped his head. “Hm. Competitive?”
“Ding-ding-ding, give the man a prize.” Violet looked back at him, a sardonic smile on her lips. “Or don't. It's like spending every moment of your life competing in the Universal Games, and winning bronze or silver every time.”
Zhai nodded sympathetically. “Tell me about your sisters.”
“They can tell you themselves,” Violet said, and headed for her family. Zhai sighed and followed. He’d been clumsy there.
“Of course, independence is just the start of a long road,” he said, tracing the thread of the conversation back before it was too late. “One wonders, where does it lead?”
“The question on every Torian's lips,” Violet said over her shoulder.
“President Chang thinks he knows the way,” Zhai said. “So does Grigori Thier. So do a few others. We're starting to run out of directions.”
Violet sighed. “Thier is a thorn in everyone's side, Ambassador. Whatever way he proposes, it's not the one we need.”
“A few million people might disagree there,” Zhai said out of the corner of his mouth. “Marshal Hactaur! How pleasant to see you again.”
They had reached Parys, who had been deep in hushed conversation with two copies of herself. The marshal looked up in irritation, which quickly became rigid seriousness.
“Good evening, Ambassador Zhai,” she said curtly. She wasn't drinking the wine, and only one of her daughters was. Violet had orange juice.
“Let me introduce my sisters,” Violet said cheerfully. “This is Rose–”
“Colonel Hactaur,” Rose said, extending a hand to Zhai and shooting a murderous glance at Violet. Zhai had thought Violet was Parys's spitting image, but Rose was a carbon copy. Her army dress uniform was a plain dark green while Parys's was powder blue and festooned with ribbons, but if they had switched clothes Zhai would have struggled to tell them apart. They even had the same haircut, trimmed down to a centimetre's black fuzz. The only difference was Parys's age, and even that was barely visible.
Zhai shook her hand. Rock-hard grip, as expected. Tor was not a world of limp wrists. “Ambassador Zhai of the Coalition.”
Rose nodded stiffly, managing to look like she was standing at attention even at a party. Even Parys was more relaxed. If Parys really had been trying to create a perfect replica of herself, Rose wasn’t a bad attempt.
“And Lilac,” Violet said, turning to the last Hactaur. Lilac Hactaur was visibly different to her sisters and mother, all of whom had similarly muscular military physiques. She was hardly overweight, but next to them she looked plump, the extra fat softening the razor-edged Hactaur cheekbones. Lilac wore her hair in a bob of narrow dreadlocks, and had opted for a long cream-coloured dress that set her further apart from her family. Of the four of them, only Violet looked at ease in a social setting, though at least Lilac was drinking.
“Good evening,” she said, in a voice quieter and softer than Zhai had come to expect from the mouth of a Hactaur.
Zhai echoed her words, and they shook hands. For once, Lilac's grip wasn’t vicelike.
“You work in information, I'm told,” he said.
Lilac nodded, hiding a small smile. “Though I won’t take offence if you call it propaganda. It is what it is.”
“What is it they say? The greatest sin of the propagandist is to believe their own lies,” Zhai said.
“So I've heard.”
Zhai gazed into Lilac's reserved eyes, suddenly wondering if she was the real brains behind the Hactaur clan. Could he calculate the family dynamic from what little he'd seen? He was wary of jumping to easy conclusions, but if he had to guess, Parys and Rose formed one bloc and Lilac and Violet another. Everything was coming up cold war.
As always, he needed more information.
“I'm afraid the curiosity will kill me if I don't ask,” Zhai said. He pointed in turn to Rose, Lilac, and Violet. “Eldest, middle, youngest. Well?”
“We're that transparent, huh?” Violet said, grinning.
Zhai shrugged. “Just a hunch.” And now that he knew, little domestic scenarios invented themselves in his head. Rose's and Violet's roles in the drama were simple. Rose, the eldest, the favourite, Parys reflected in a younger form, which gave her a degree of second-hand power – but always second-hand. Violet, the youngest, rebellious, convivial, forced by her youth to rely on her wits, something of an outsider. That left Lilac. It was easy to imagine her being run over roughshod by her wilful siblings and mother, the forgotten middle sibling – but the more Zhai looked at her eyes, the more he convinced himself that there lurked behind them a deep, quiet, manipulative intelligence. There was so much power in being ignored, in working quietly and precisely from the shadows.
Just how much of the government's propaganda did she run? Zhai suddenly intuited that much of the official channels' laughable incompetence was intentional.
“You know, I've always been a defender of hunches,” Violet said, with a breeziness that seemed intentionally insincere. She was looking at Zhai and talking to her mother. “Sometimes, you just know you're right about something or someone, and you can't explain it. You say what you feel, not what you ought to say.”
Parys looked at her, then at Zhai with a hardness in her gaze that Rose, a step behind, tried and failed to replicate. Lilac glanced down at her drink.
Zhai's position was coming into focus. Violet had overstepped her boundaries in approaching him directly, because it sure as hell hadn't been on Parys's orders. It felt like he was being introduced to a girlfriend's disapproving family, with the minor caveat that the family was plotting a military coup. Still, the damage had been done, and he hoped Parys was pragmatic enough to work with what she had. Violet hadn't expected to so nakedly reveal the coup when they'd first met, but Zhai had forced her hand – and his own.
Was it too late to switch to Team Cadmer, he wondered? He had enough on his plate without a clone family soap opera.
“Wise words,” he said. “Though there's something to be said for forward planning.”
Violet nodded. “The two aren't mutually exclusive. Are they, mama?”
Parys visibly winced at ‘mama’. Zhai was seeing the cresting waves, but the currents of the Hactaur sea ran deep. “No. We have both.”
“Better than neither,” Zhai said. “Believe me, I recognise people who have what it takes to do well in life.”
He'd been as subtle as a sack of hammers, but he could take no chances with Parys. She struck him as rather literal-minded, far from comfortable with the diplomatic game of double meanings and delicate implications. Zhai had made it plain as day: the Coalition would recognise her government if she pulled off a coup, so it was time to quit the family squabbling and move before someone else jumped the queue.
The marshal glared back at him, which seemed to be her default expression. “A useful skill, in your trade,” she said.
Zhai nodded, ignoring the distaste in the way she’d said ‘trade’. “I'm here for a reason.” His eyes stayed fixed on Parys's, but on either side of her head he saw Lilac throw a warning glance Violet's way and Violet reply with a slight nod. A triptych of Hactaurs. Plots within plots.
Coups within coups?
“But we've kept you too long, Ambassador,” Violet said, stepping in to guide Zhai away. “I'm sure you have other people to see.”
“Absolutely,” Zhai said. A glance over his shoulder showed him Lilac ghosting away from Parys and Rose, which fuelled his surmise about her real power. She had recognised that the five of them all talking together looked suspicious, and had silently taken the initiative to move him on. Parys didn't seem to have noticed Lilac go. She was watching Zhai's back with aquiline fierceness.
“What an interesting family you have, Violet,” Zhai said, once they were clear.
“Very interesting,” Violet said, and veered away from him like a discarded booster rocket, leaving Zhai
sailing back into the crowd.
He picked his way through carefully, planning his next move. He still needed to sound out Aliven Cadmer, but sooner or later he'd have to pay his respects to Chang. Through a gap in the crowd Zhai saw Chang roaring with laughter at a joke young Princess Vash of the Sky Sultanate had made, and decided this moment was as good as any other.
“Oh, Ambassador Zhai!” Chang said, wiping a non-existent tear from his eye. “You know Her Royal Highness, may I assume?”
Vash, who wore the simpler grey robe characteristic of the Sultanate's court, smiled coolly. She was one of the few people in the room shorter than Zhai “The ambassador and I are acquainted.”
Zhai gave a small bow. “I must return to Skyway one day. It's a truly beautiful world.” Run by a ruthless syndicate of self-appointed royals with a narcotics empire stretching from Sebry to Willow, of course, but still a beautiful world.
“You are, of course, always welcome in the Sky Sultanate,” the raven-haired princess said, with a slight quirk of the lips.
Zhai smiled politely at the woman who had allegedly boiled enemies alive. “You are most gracious, Your Highness.”
Vash turned to Chang. “Congratulations again, Mr President. May our worlds find their way to a profitable friendship.” Before Chang could reply, she turned on her heel and walked away.
“What a striking lady,” Chang murmured, watching her go. A moment later, his smile snapped back into position like taut elastic. “Welcome, Ambassador! How good to see you again. I meant to find the time after the … unpleasantness in the square, but–” He blew out his cheeks and rolled his eyes. “I tell you, I've been swamped this past week. Swamped! Reorganising an entire government is harder than it looks.” His expression suddenly turned serious. “Though rest assured, no effort is being spared in the hunt for your would-be assassin.”
Zhai had to admire the ambiguity of the phrase. Was no effort being spared from the investigation or for the investigation? He suspected the latter. It would suit Chang rather well if Zhai made a sudden exit and was replaced by someone more open to Torian accession to the Coalition, and the lack of official contact since the incident was a resounding 'we don't care' to Zhai's ears. Chang was probably delighted to have someone else targeted by assassins. He couldn't act against Zhai himself, but Peck could.
“One would hope so,” Zhai said.
The president's smile returned. Chang's expressions changed too quickly to be sincere, Zhai noted. “We'll have more to discuss in a few days' time,” he said significantly.
“You haven't made an official announcement of the blueprint for Tor's future yet,” Zhai said. “I wonder, why is that?”
“Oh, people are all stirred up at the moment,” Chang said, waving a hand. “Emotion's running high worldwide.” Funny way to describe borderline civil war, Zhai thought. “Tor's not ready to hear it yet – but cooler heads will prevail, and people will listen to reason.”
Are you really that sure of yourself, Mr President? Because if you are, Zhai thought, you're in for a rude awakening.
“Heads only seem to be getting hotter,” Zhai remarked. “I can only imagine how ResTore–”
“ResTore is a criminal organisation,” Chang said sharply, all his good humour gone in an instant.
Zhai bristled at the interruption, but quickly composed himself. “An influential one.”
“Tor will not bow to the whims of domestic terrorists.”
“Your government may not, Mr President, but the people of Landing seem to be bowing very low indeed.”
“A minor concern, and one which will shortly be dealt with.” Chang looked like he was about to launch into a rant, but he was interrupted by the timely arrival of Lipal Sarma-Phung, carrying two flutes of sparkling wine. She passed one to Chang, and Zhai did not fail to notice the way her hand brushed gently over his as she did so.
Did nobody ever tell Chang not to fuck his deputy? Or Sarma-Phung not to fuck her boss, for that matter? Not a good idea for either of them.
“Good evening, Madam Vice-President,” Zhai said, raising his glass to Sarma-Phung.
“Ambassador,” she said, with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. “I'm afraid I need to borrow the president for a moment.”
“He's all yours,” Zhai said, deploying a pointed ambiguity of his own, and turned to Chang. “Congratulations on your independence. May it be a long and prosperous era for Tor.”
“Thank you,” Chang said, his tone making it perfectly clear that Tor's independence was going to be very short-lived if he had anything to say about it. He disappeared off with Sarma-Phung, who was already murmuring something in his ear.
Zhai stood still for a moment. He checked his watch. Dinner was due to start in five minutes, which left him time for one more conversation. Cadmer it is, he thought.
As he made his way across the room to where Cadmer was visible in his dress uniform, he caught sight of Lissa Esmerski in the corner of his vision, closing in like a shark on a hapless swimmer.
Oh no, he thought.
She was gunning right for him. Zhai had a trick or two up his sleeve, learned the hard way from long, fruitless events stuck talking to someone tedious, but someone who actively had it out for him was a different story. Esmerski had seen him looking, and he could have sworn he'd seen her smile. Blood was in the water.
Evasive manoeuvres were called for.
Zhai feinted right then ducked left behind the enormous form of the Blackwood ambassador, then spotted an opportunity as old Oph Dastroix, the Naumier ambassador, bustled past him wearing an expression of intense concentration and carrying four brimming glasses. Predictably, he was already drunk, though it never seemed to dull his notoriously sharp mind – or tongue. Zhai held up his glass as if in greeting, though he was really watching Esmerski's approaching reflection in the crystal. At the perfect moment, he trod hard on the hem of Dastroix's robe. Dastroix yelped in surprise and stumbled badly, spilling all four glasses all over Esmerski and the Telestris ambassador. Muffled exclamations of indignation followed him, but the confusion bought Zhai time to escape Esmerski's clutches.
Sorry, Oph, old boy, Zhai thought guiltily. I'll send you a crate or two of wine for your next birthday. If you see another.
Cadmer was peering over the crowd at the commotion. He'd been talking to Jon Weiv, but Weiv was drifting away, and Zhai saw an opportunity to interpose himself. By the time Weiv turned back, he'd been replaced.
Marshal Cadmer looked down at him like Zhai was something nasty on the sole of his gleaming shoe. His forest-green dress uniform was streaked with faint dabs of dust, and there were noticeable creases in the trousers.
“Ambassador,” he said, without enthusiasm.
“Good evening, Marshal,” Zhai said. By the sound of it, Dastroix was making a real hash of standing up, which was hopefully putting Esmerski off completely. “Excitement getting a bit too much for some, I see.”
“Mm-hm,” Cadmer said.
Fine, Zhai thought. Be that way.
“But these are exciting times, of course,” Zhai said, probing for a crack to wedge his conversational chisel into. “Everything's in flux. Nothing is safe.”
Cadmer was an unyielding wall. “Mm-hm.”
Zhai pressed on. His only interaction with Cadmer so far had left him with the impression that the Marshal despised Coalition and Alliance in equal measure. If Tor's political trajectory began to bend towards the Coalition, would he intervene or stand by? Had he intentionally stoked the fires in Landing? How loyal were his underlings? If it came to blows between him and Hactaur, which branch of the military would win out? Endless permutations to consider.
“There hasn't been much call for the armed forces on Tor for generations,” Zhai said, throwing caution to the wind. “Tell me, Marshal, do you dread the possibility of war, or would you welcome it? Or both?”
“War's a terrible thing,” Cadmer said, finally dragged into giving a real answer. “Necessary, sometimes, though.”
“Well, that's the question, isn't it?” Zhai said. “When does violence become a necessity? What alternative is worse than war? Subjugation by a foreign power is the classic answer, of course.”
Cadmer blinked once, slowly. There was a certain intriguing languidness to him, the unstoppable iceberg grind of a slow but deliberate thinker. Slow to react, slow to adapt, but capable of brilliance when given time and space.
“That would justify war,” he said.
“I thought you might agree. Of course, there are degrees of subjugation. Do we of the Coalition subjugate our worlds, Marshal?”
Cadmer's eyes darkened, and something in his stance shifted subtly so that he seemed to loom over Zhai. “Whatever bullshit you're peddling does not interest me, Ambassador.”
“No bullshit,” Zhai said. “Just an honest question.”
“'No bullshit',” Cadmer repeated, with unveiled contempt. “I know your type. You're nothing but bullshit.”
Zhai smiled magnanimously, knowing the door had already been slammed in his face. “Come, now, Marshal, don't you think that's a little harsh?”
“No,” Cadmer said curtly. He turned and walked away, cutting through the crowd like a vast green icebreaker.
That went well, Zhai thought darkly, and downed the last of his wine. More unanswered questions. If Zhai had to bet, Cadmer was plotting his own coup to save Tor from the Coalition. It would make Zhai's life immeasurably easier if the two Marshals would just cooperate, but that was a fantasy. If they could, they would have deposed Chang years ago, and Zhai suspected that Chang had done a fine job of delicately sculpting animosity between them for exactly that reason.
Waiter, waiter, my civil war only has two sides, and it's supposed to come with three, he thought.
He'd let it go with a smile at the time, but now that he'd seen the back of Cadmer, the 'nothing but bullshit' jibe rankled. Cadmer didn't know him. They'd only exchanged a handful of sentences. Zhai was tired of being reduced to an amoral stock figure, a caricature of a caricature. They could at least do him the courtesy of recognising that he was a person.
A bell rang. Conversation spluttered to a stop, though half-deaf old Vacasca Silfettori of New Sangan had to be shushed by several people before she stopped talking.