The Coalition Man

by Alec Saracen

  “Ladies, gentlemen, honoured guests,” Chang called, every inch the perfect host. “Dinner will be served shortly. If you would all care to take your places at the table?”

  The table had been furnished with dozens of elegant white cards since Zhai had last looked. As people began to slot into place, he paced up one side of the table, looking for his name. He couldn't read the irritating swirling text on the cards without leaning in close. He finished his half-circuit and started back down, his stomach sinking.

  There was a very conspicuously unoccupied seat directly opposite Lissa Esmerski – and she was sitting between Si-Ku Jeng and Giuna Smicer. And on one side of the empty place was Princess Vash.

  Naro, Xanang, and Liberation all at once. A bespoke cocktail of awkwardness, just for him. It was beyond coincidence. Zhai cast an eye at Chang at the head of the table, and saw that the president was watching him, his smile unwavering.

  Zhai tipped his head and smiled back as graciously as he could. Chang could make Zhai’s evening as miserable as he liked. It wasn’t going to save his presidency.

  “Hard cheese,” Audrey whispered as he trudged past her. He checked the card, without much hope. It was indeed his seat.

  “Gumeigo Zhai,” Esmerski said, watching him sit down with a gleam of predatory triumph in her eyes. “And I thought I'd missed my chance. There's something I must ask you.”

  “I'm sure there is,” Zhai said heavily. Si-Ku Jeng, sitting ramrod-straight, didn't even deign to look at him, the fohu zho asshole. Giuna Smicer glanced from Esmerski to Zhai, the faintest hint of a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth.

  Mercifully, they were interrupted by a flood of servers bringing the soup. There was smoked salmon chowder for the starter, balsamic-glazed pork tenderloin with miniature stuffed peppers and an Ocran-style salad for the main, and dark chocolate, ginger, and pear pudding for the dessert, respectively accompanied by a Mont Nuit rosé, a High Summer white, and a Torian red. He was determined to enjoy the food, if not the company.

  There were no pre-dinner speeches, thank the Twins. Zhai had been hungry since an hour after lunch, but he forced himself to eat as slowly as possible, hoping to avoid as much conversation as he could by dint of having his mouth full at all times.

  It didn't work. Esmerski had the diplomat’s knack for spotting openings and swashbuckling in, knife clamped in her teeth, a one-woman conversational boarding party.

  “My question,” she said, the instant Zhai put down his spoon and reached for his napkin. Zhai reflected that she would have been very good-looking if not for her off-putting facial expressions. Polluting acid leached from her green-brown eyes.

  “Your question,” Zhai said, limbering up for the political parry-riposte-counter-parry to come.

  “When will you return to Naro to face justice?”

  Zhai took his time wiping his lips.

  “'Justice' is an interesting term for it,” he said. “It's hardly justice if there's a law aimed specifically at me, is it? I wouldn't even have the pretence of a fair trial.”

  A meagre smile from Esmerski. “We all know the truth of the case, Ambassador. We know what you did.”

  “I'm afraid you're mistaken,” Zhai said. Twenty-seven years later, and here he was again. He’d be defending the Coalition over Naro for the rest of his days. “Whatever you think I did, I assure you, I am entirely innocent.”

  “Did you know we still call you the Child-Snatcher General on Naro?”

  “No,” Zhai said, “but then again, I rarely hear anything at all about Naro, save for your economic reports. Occasionally they're dire enough to make the news in Coalition space.”

  From the taste of the air, he could tell that he’d scored a point with the diplomats listening in.

  “Leaving the Coalition may have cost us money,” Esmerski said, “but it was a small price to pay for freedom. I'd rather be financially bankrupt than morally bankrupt.”

  “Well, I'm glad you've come to terms with it, though I suspect your creditors may feel differently,” Zhai said. “Naro's economy has actually shrunk in real terms since the referendum of 132, hasn't it? Four years in recession now, and I wouldn't invest in any stocks for a couple of years if I were you. Meanwhile, the combined Coalition economy has grown by something like – 60%?” Zhai sampled the wine. It was very slightly too sweet. “Seems you backed the wrong horse.”

  Esmerski shrugged. “When one horse is a murderer–”

  “Then horse racing needs regulatory reform,” Giuna Smicer said quietly, without looking up from her soup.

  Princess Vash almost choked on her soup.

  “Yes,” Esmerski said, hesitating slightly. “Well put.”

  Zhai knew Smicer better than Esmerski did, evidently. That hadn't been an oblique political metaphor. That was a joke. Until his encounter with Grey Hawk, Smicer had been the one and only Liberation citizen he'd met with a sense of humour. Chang had probably thought Smicer would be happy to rip into him. She was a better diplomat than that.

  Si-Ku Jeng had been watching the entire exchange in silence. Zhai suspected he wouldn't exchange a word with him all night, which suited him fine. Xanang's rigid caste system forbade it. Jeng could speak to foreigners without impugning his own fohu zho family's honour, but in his eyes, Zhai was the lowest of the low, not only a base-born commoner but one from a family which had committed the dire sin of challenging caste. Never mind that he hadn't set foot on Xanang in half a century. In the eyes of men like Jeng, all blemishes were permanent. His contempt poisoned the air.

  Zhai decided that he was going to have fun.

  He waited for the instant Esmerski opened her mouth, then turned to Princess Vash and began blithely discussing the weather. It was a blunt insult, and the waves of hate emanating from Esmerski warmed his heart.

  He had no love for the ruthless Sky Sultanate or for Vash in particular, but she was at least cultured, even if she reportedly had her enemies flayed alive for her amusement. Before long, Zhai discovered that they could shut out everyone else at the table by esoterically debating obscure Townsend plays, and he was happy to go to bat for The Lamentable Tragedy of Five Brothers if it kept Esmerski off his case.

  Jeng was another matter. From time to time, Zhai made sure to break off the conversation with Vash to offer an aside to Jeng in Xanangan Qienchuan. He made sure to use formal grammatical constructions that indicated social equality. Twice, he 'accidentally' used a pronoun that implied Jeng was his inferior. The fohu zho bastard ignored him steadfastly, but Zhai could see the icy rage building inside Jeng. That, too, was gratifying.

  Esmerski contented herself with loudly discussing the moral duty of intervention regardless of interplanetary law with Smicer. Zhai thought it an ineffective threat. He had spent a few years worrying about Naroese retribution before he'd realised that he was much more useful to them at large. The prospect of future justice was more powerful than present justice. After all, they could only execute him once.

  But, halfway through the main course, Esmerski struck again through the smallest gap in conversation, as Zhai was drinking and Vash's glass was being refilled.

  “Ambassador Zhai,” she said, “I wonder if you might field an unanswered question the Republic of Naro has posed several times to Coalition representatives.”

  “Certainly,” Zhai said genially. “Application for Coalition membership is open even to worlds which have seceded, although there is no guarantee that it will be approved.”

  Esmerski gave a tight little smile. “You misunderstand. The question is this: in three decades, we have received no response from the Coalition to our repeated requests for the return of the dozens, potentially hundreds, of Naroese children abducted by Coalition black ops groups. I wonder if you might be able to tell me why?”

  Several conversations within earshot had gone quiet.

  Zhai steeled himself for the next round.

  “Well, Lissa,” he said, “the most obvious problem there is that these all
egedly abducted children would now be in their twenties and thirties, which I believe places them beyond the ability of the Coalition to 'return'. These hypothetical children would now be legal adults, and thus entitled to settle on whatever world would take them. But perhaps you do things differently on Naro?”

  “We would settle for an official apology. Even an acknowledgement would go some way towards repairing the damage.”

  Zhai broke out his most mockingly polite smile. “And I'm sure a Coalition apology would be an enormous political coup for your government in these troubled times, but we cannot apologise for what we have not done.”

  “There isn't much the Coalition hasn't done, Ambassador.”

  Zhai cut a bite-size square of pork and ate it slowly, dragging it out to the threshold of rudeness and not a millimetre further. Decades of experience had taught him how to be precisely, surgically, aggravatingly impolite.

  “I appreciate that you believe what you believe,” he said, once he had finally swallowed and had taken a sip of wine. “What else is there for you to believe? This is what you were raised on. You were what, eight years old when it happened?”

  “Eleven.”

  Zhai smiled magnanimously. “Can't blame an eleven-year-old for listening to the narrative her society pushes. Didn't you ever wonder, though, how convenient it all seemed for the government? On the verge of being kicked out of office, they suddenly benefited from the biggest electoral boost any political party could hope for, and Naro’s been a one-party state. A lot of people would do a lot of awful things for results like that.”

  Esmerski was livid, barely keeping her voice under control. “Like you.”

  Zhai shrugged. “Believe whatever you like. But if you want your abducted children back – well, maybe they never left Naro.”

  Esmerski laughed incredulously. “So we stole our own children and blamed the Coalition so that we could gain popular support for secession.”

  “Conspiracy theories,” Zhai murmured. “So very Naroese.”

  “Speaking of elections,” Esmerski said, “the way I hear it, your powerful friends in the Coalition are about to become a lot less powerful. Maybe the next First Circle will be more willing to consider our petition to extradite you.”

  Zhai grinned. “Unlikely, one must say. Though, I suppose if you threatened to withdraw all that valuable Naroese trade – ah. Wait. A problem rears its head.” He made a fist and opened it, wiggling his fingers. “There isn't any.”

  Princess Vash snorted with laughter. Zhai was enjoying himself now. Twins, he'd forgotten how much fun it was to play the unrepentant asshole. Now, he thought smugly, if I can just get her to throw her glass in my face, I think we can count that as a PR victory.

  But as he sat there, watching her grow angrier with every passing moment, his enjoyment began to ring hollow. Something in Esmerski's face reminded him of Ceq's and her undisguised disgust, and he felt an unfamiliar pang of shame. His smile faded, and he turned his attention to the rest of his main course as Esmerski lapsed into a brooding silence.

  “Do you mind if I ask you a question, Ambassador Zhai?” Smicer said a couple of minutes later.

  “I think a precedent has been set,” Zhai replied. He jerked his head at Jeng. “Except Eyebrows here. He can't say a thing because it's beneath him to speak to scum like me. Watch, all he can do is glare.”

  True to form, Jeng stared daggers at Zhai, then looked pointedly away.

  “Change will come to Xanang in time,” Smicer said. “It's a matter of when, not if.”

  “I hope you're right,” Zhai said, “I really do. Xanang's a blight on the galaxy. Whatever our differences, we can agree on that.”

  Smicer reached out and began slowly running her finger around the rim of her wine glass. “Precisely what I want to ask. Why do you care so much about Xanang and so little about Naro? The obvious answer is that you were born on Xanang, while Naro is just another world to you. Is that all?”

  Zhai sighed. “I do care about Naro.”

  Esmerski, listening in, gave a contemptuous bark of laughter. “Like hell you do.”

  “I'm not the monster you think I am,” Zhai said. “No matter who did it, what happened on Naro was terrible. Unjustifiable. But all I did was my job.”

  “So when principle and professional duty clash, principle loses,” Smicer said. “Is that what you're saying?”

  “I'm sure that's what you're hearing,” Zhai countered, “but Liberation always specialised in twisting whatever it hears to fit its own narrative.”

  Smicer smiled faintly. “I can't deny that. Our own imperfections aside, though, what wins out? Morality or political expedience?”

  Zhai cocked his head. This sounded like Grey Hawk's doing. Had she briefed her own ambassador on how to press his buttons?

  “At a certain point, morality ceases to be a factor in politics,” he said, recalling an old Alleker essay on game theory and inter-state politics. “Or at least it should, if you're playing the game optimally.”

  Smicer clicked her fingers. “There it is. 'Playing the game optimally'. I was waiting for that.”

  “Morality is a handicap,” Zhai said. “Do good or do well. Like it or not, Ambassador, that's my world. That's my job. That's the choice I face.”

  “Do you really believe that?” Smicer asked.

  “Yes.” No, he thought. “I do.” I don't know.

  Smicer laid down her cutlery and looked at him, her face unreadable. “I don't believe you're a monster,” she said, after a moment. “I believe you're a slave to a monstrous system.”

  “As are we all.”

  Smicer shook her head. “Not all of us, Ambassador. Just those who cannot imagine a life outside it.”

  Zhai offered a tired smile. “I've read my Yustrid, but I'm afraid I live in the real world.”

  “Funny thing,” Smicer said. “So did she.”

  Zhai survived the rest of the meal without another bust-up with Esmerski. Neither of them had any interest in further embarrassing clashes. Dessert passed quietly for their part of the table. Zhai occasionally heard Audry's unmistakable laughter floating down from the cluster of raconteurs just too far away for him to hear. No matter how he strained his ears, the words dissolved mid-air before they reached him, and all he could do was listen to the bouts of uproarious laughter.

  He switched to diplomatic autopilot and made small talk with Vash and Smicer for a time. After that, he decided to get drunk, but three glasses in he realised it wasn't worth the effort. That was one of the downsides of obesity, he reflected. It just took too damn long. He hadn't been properly drunk in ten years.

  Chang took pity on him not long after the plates had been cleared away. He stood up, waited for silence, and when it didn't materialise, he put his fingers to his lips and let out a piercing whistle that brought the room to heel. Zhai was secretly jealous. He'd never been able to whistle.

  “Friends!” he called. “In five minutes, courtesy of Marshal Hactaur, there will be a ceremonial flyover by the Torian air force.” Hactaur remained stony-faced. “I invite you all to follow me to the water garden!”

  Chang headed for the door, and they had no choice but to follow. Zhai, eager to get away from his social dungeon, was one of the first up. As Chang led them all out of the stateroom and through the mansion, Audry appeared at Zhai's elbow.

  “That looked like an unpleasant evening,” she murmured.

  “I've had worse,” Zhai said.

  Audry raised an eyebrow. “Xanang, Naro, Liberation, and Skyway all at once? It's a miracle they're not sharing out your entrails right now.”

  “If Chang thinks he can isolate me, he's got another thing coming. He'll need more than that to shut me down.”

  “Fighting talk!” Audry said, making mock boxing motions. “I like it!”

  Zhai snorted. “You're drunk.”

  “Can't prove a thing.”

  The water garden lived up to its name. At its heart, the mansion opened up to t
he sky, forming a large circular courtyard ringed by an Ocranesque arched arcade. In the middle, an enormous round pond lay so perfectly still that Zhai might have taken it for a slab of black marble if not for the occasional faint ripple. Surrounding it like a veil, jets of water arced through the air, curling around each other thanks to some technological trick, looping and diving without ever spilling a drop.

  Zhai left Audry leaning against a wall and followed the rest out into the courtyard. The rain earlier had left the ground wet, and when he looked down at the puddles he could see the reddish-brown crescent of Tor's moon reflected beneath his feet. The heat was still punishing, and Zhai was sweating within seconds of leaving the air-conditioned mansion.

  Someone tugged gently at his sleeve. He turned to see Giuna Smicer lurking in the shadow of a pillar.

  “We have a mutual friend,” she said quietly.

  Zhai nodded, his suspicions confirmed. “Of the avian variety?”

  “You might say that. Word's just come in.” She held up her wrist, on which she wore a slim watch. “There's been a complication. They've got him.”

  Zhai frowned. “Him?”

  “Public enemy number one.”

  Thier.

  “Arrested?” he said quietly. “Or worse?”

  Smicer looked up to the dark mass of the heavens. “Not clear. We're working on it.”

  “What happened to the protection?”

  She grimaced. “Breached. Badly.”

  “Why tell me?”

  “Ask our friend. You know all I know.”

  Zhai exhaled slowly, the cold calculations in his head cutting through the pleasant warmth of the alcohol. There were two possible outcomes: Thier dead and ResTore crippled, or Thier rescued and ResTore galvanised. If the government had any sense, Thier would be dead already. But everyone with the authority to make that decision was right there...

  Why had Grey Hawk told Smicer to pass it on to him? Did she think he could help? There was nothing he could contribute until Thier's fate was known.