The Absconded Ambassador

by Michael R. Underwood

  “Whenever you want. It’s your story to tell.”

  “Not particularly relevant yet, is it?”

  “No, but it will be.”

  “Oh, I know. Just not very fond of only ever being known as That Action World Freak Who Didn’t Die When He Was Supposed to.”

  “Mallery would hand you your ass on a silver platter if she heard you calling yourself a freak.”

  Roman stopped for a moment, memories flowing in, steadying him.

  “Remember what we’re here for, why you do this. And then let’s take that hero luck and get moving,” King said, head-nodding at the open hall.

  The explosively opened hall had three doors, all arrayed on the right side. They were marked unhelpfully as 1, 2, and 3.

  Roman brought the launcher and the explosives to the outside lip of the hatch, then joined King. He pointed to the doors. “There’s no other way deeper into the base, so . . .”

  “Looks like it’s Let’s Make a Deal time,” King said.

  They started with Door #1. King pulled the door back and Roman leaned around the corner to scan the room.

  Door #1 led to a ready room, with four mercs, all in cover, overturned card tables and chairs giving them cover. Roman threw himself back to avoid the gunfire, which peppered the far wall in the hallway. King shoved the door closed.

  “Next one?” King asked. They tried Door #2, and gunfire opened even before Roman got his head around to peek. He dropped to the floor for cover as King closed the door.

  “Third time’s the charm, right?” Roman said, squaring up with Door #3. Actually, third time was usually something weird. But again, voicing doubt could make it real.

  King opened the door, leaving Roman to do the quick-pop to scan the room.

  Kids. The room was full of kids. And their parents. It was a nursery. Children and parents from a half-dozen races. All unarmed, up and fleeing for the back door.

  And screaming.

  “Gun! Gun! He’s got a gun!”

  Shit. Roman pulled the door closed. Something weird, indeed. Of course the mercs would have their families here if it was a base of operations. Just grateful that he hadn’t just tossed a grenade in for good measure after seeing the first two doors.

  King chuckled. “So, Door number one?”

  * * *

  Seven mercs and a few reloads later, they reached another hard-sealed door.

  “I can head back and get the torch,” King said, leading.

  “Nope. I’m going to end the fight in one move.” With a manic grin, Roman dropped his last flare in front of the sealed bulkhead, then moved back, and back, and back some more, until he stood a good fifty feet away, back through the hallway, the last room they’d cleared, and beyond into the hallway before that.

  He had a clear shot all the way to the bulkhead.

  “I see. You’re really keen on getting your money’s worth on this hardware.”

  “Old salvager habits. Use what you can find or barter or someone will take it from you.”

  “I’m liable to deny the request next time just so I don’t have to see that disturbing smile on your face.”

  Roman loaded the second-to-last rocket in the launcher, tapped a command on his wrist-screen, then took position so that King was clear of the blowback. He used the flare to sight the shot, holding his breath as he locked everything into place.

  “Blowback area clear,” he said by rote, then “Fire in the hole!”

  The launcher drowned the hallway in sound, and the grenade arced through the hall, the room, and the second hallway, hitting dead-on. The hallway became a fireball, which roared back into the empty room, then receded.

  Roman lowered the launcher and reached for the last rocket. “Reloading.”

  “So we’re going with the naked display of force negotiating technique, then?”

  “Whoever ordered this wanted her ransomed, not dead. They won’t kill the hostage when threatened. That’s not how these stories work.”

  “But you do sure take glee in pushing stories right to their edge, don’t you?” King asked, covering the door with his rifle.

  “Makes them more exciting. Narrative gods will be happy.”

  “Keep it together, Roman. Don’t go off the edge.”

  “No problem.” Roman trotted down the hall with the loaded launcher pointed at the far door. The flare hadn’t survived the explosion, but there were dim red lights inside.

  “Don’t you come any closer!” said a human-sounding voice inside.

  “I’m here to negotiate!” Roman shouted, words carrying down the hall.

  “With a freaking rocket launcher?”

  “That’s my icebreaker.” Roman was still advancing.

  “Stop right there, unless you want the ambassador to bleed out on the floor.”

  “You don’t want that, either. You want the big payout from whoever ordered the kidnapping. And unless I’m wrong, you don’t get that if Reed is dead.”

  “Who the void are you?”

  “A friend of the ambassador, that’s all you need to know.” Roman nodded to King, who moved softly forward, hugging the wall. Roman was their heavy combat operative, but King was the stealth master. And as long as the mercs were focused on Roman . . .

  “She ain’t mentioned friends like you. I caught your ship coming in. You’re Terran, but you ain’t Terran military.”

  “Just your ordinary pro-Interstellar Alliance patriot with high explosives and big brass balls. Who do you think will take your turf after this? Widowmakers? Seventh Sons?” Roman kept talking, full-voice, trying to cover up King’s advance.

  And as he escalated, the merc holding Reed would get angrier, more cocky. He’d step forward, move until he was visible from the door.

  “Ain’t no Seventh Sons gonna take our turf. When we space you and get our reward, we’ll be the only ones spared the coming wave. It’s gonna wash that Interstellar Alliance away so as no one will even remember it was so much as a glimmer in the ambassador’s eye.”

  Roman heard the sounds of struggle, a woman’s voice, gagged. And that would tell King what he needed to know about where Reed was in relation to the head merc.

  King reached the far hallway, still twenty feet out from the door.

  In an Earth Prime situation, this strategy would never work. But this was a story world, and tale types dominated here. Which meant that there was only one more trick left to pull.

  King gave the signal. He was ready.

  Roman shouted, “Blowback area clear. Fire in the hole!”

  But he did not fire.

  Instead, a second and a half later, the sound of a firing rocket came from King’s wrist-screen, recorded from the last rocket, dopplered to sound like the rocket was coming in and flying into the room.

  Roman saw figures dive inside the room, then caught King’s shadow as he stepped inside the threshold.

  A single gun report echoed through the hall back to Roman. Then King’s voice.

  “Should have given yourselves up. Stay on the ground.”

  Roman trotted ahead, tending to the launcher to avoid any accidental firing. The sleight-of-hand trick had been the last thing they needed, no time to blow a hole in the top of the station and suck them all out into space.

  Another shot rang out, and a gun clattered across the floor.

  “Anyone else feel like doing something stupid?” King asked.

  There were no other sounds until Roman stepped up to the doorway.

  “Coming in.” He ducked into the final room and saw two dead mercs, another three cowering prone across the room, and a very tired-looking Ambassador Kaylin Reed kneeling beside one of the bodies. “Ambassador, are you well?”

  “Well enough now. That was . . . bold. You have my most heartfelt thanks, and those of the nascent Alliance.”

  “Let’s see if we can get you home on the double and remove the nascent part of that alliance, eh?”

  Reed stood, keeping an eye on the other mercs. They
didn’t dare move. “A fine plan.”

  King addressed the mercs. “What shall we do with the three of you?”

  “We was just following orders, we was!” said a sniveling Yai, curled up in a ball in the corner.

  “As if that excuse has ever worked on anyone,” Roman said as an aside to King.

  King focused on the Yai. “Who ordered the kidnapping?”

  “It was the Ra’Gar!”

  “Don’t tell them, Fraal!” snarled another, a Jenr.

  “They’s going to kill us if they wants to, and I won’t want to die on this crap rock in the middle of nowhere!”

  “Snitch!” shouted the second merc. The Jenr went for his gun, taking a wild shot at Fraal. King put a bullet in the Jenr’s chest, and the alien dropped his gun.

  “The Ra’Gar. Do you have any proof, any digital trail?” Ambassador Reed asked.

  Fraal pointed to the dead leader merc’s wrist screen. “It’s in Yarden’s messages.”

  Roman covered Fraal with his pistol while King covered the last of the mercs, leaving Reed to retrieve the wrist-screen. “What was the passcode?”

  “I don’t know! I don’t know! But he wasn’t never that inventive. I bet your smart techies could crack it.”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  King asked, “What would you like to do with these two, Ambassador?”

  The Ambassador leveled the mercs with a look of disdain. “Do you have room in your ship?”

  “It’ll be real cozy. But we’ve got ways to restrain them, no problem.”

  The ambassador drew herself up, regal despite ragged clothes, fatigue-mottled features, and unkempt hair. “Then they shall face justice. Bring them with us.”

  Roman closed on Fraal. “Yes, ma’am.”

  * * *

  Back on the ship, King watched the ambassador emerge from the airplane-sized bathroom, far more put together despite walking in there with nothing more than a hand towel.

  “Are the prisoners secure?” she asked, golden hair loose over her robes of state, which were somewhere between a cloak and an A-line runway dress.

  “Yes, ma’am,” King said from the copilot’s seat. The prisoners had been searched, cuffed, and then locked to the bulkheads at opposite ends of the ship’s back room. There would be no napping on the way back, but they weren’t expecting a fight on the other end of this trip.

  King did another visual circuit of the sensors as the ship arced through the void, five hours out from Ahura-3.

  Behind him came the sound of pacing.

  “There’s not much to do other than wait, Madam Ambassador,” Roman said. “There’s a pull-down seat here.” He gestured behind and to his left, where the emergency fold-down seats lined the sides of the ship.

  “Thank you, Mr. Roman, but I think better standing. And as this ship is luxurious enough to have its own gravity, I will take that opportunity afforded to me to work on my speech. What of the Alliance? Is there still hope?”

  King nodded. “That’s what my colleagues just beamed me about. I’ll sling the message to your personal.”

  “This will do. Thank you.” The ambassador continued to pace, but her footfalls were calmer, steadier.

  “Can we get you anything else, Ambassador? Food? A change of clothes?”

  “I will manage, Mr. King. Thank you. Right now, all I need is the fastest ride home and this report your colleagues sent. I apologize if my focus undercuts my thanks, which are meant to be nothing less than overflowing. But celebration and reward follow success, not uncertainty.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Just let us know.” King shot Roman a look, and the Afrikaaner tried not to laugh at his own boss’s surprise. This from a man with a nearly legendary game face.

  “Sensor sweep is negative on pursuit. Five hours to destination,” Roman said, moving the conversation back into businesslike routine.

  They’d done their part. It was up to Shirin and Leah to keep Ahura-3 from imploding until they could get Ambassador Reed back on-station.

  He pushed Shirin’s report to his earbuds for text-to-speech to listen without taking his eyes off of the space before them, even if the journey in front of them wasn’t 99.9999 percent emptiness.

  Which it was.

  Just because science fiction usually skipped most of the flying scenes didn’t mean that you got places instantly. It just means that good storytellers knew when to gloss over scenes. But he’d be there for the whole thing. He wasn’t the hero of this story anymore. He was just the Ambassador’s wheelman, now.

  * * *

  Leah had thought that Bhean was the last hurdle.

  Oh, oh no. The night had just begun.

  After Bhean and the pleasure-dancers, it was Seeker De-van storming off to his hidey-hole on the second ring, swearing to never trust the Terrans again. They’d pulled him out of hiding with a high-stakes Vrebak game and promises of an early hearing before the Insterstellar Alliance Trade commission.

  And after that, it was Vice-Prelate Janan, who felt unloved after their dinner wallow with his boss. So they rushed back to the restaurant, back to the fake mud, and back to another gray-green Gaan fanning himself and Shirin talking more circles around the massive diplomat.

  And on.

  And on.

  Shirin and Leah finally turned in at 0400. Leah fortunately spent the last two hours of the evening tapping out their preliminary report to King and Roman after receiving the beam that they’d retrieved the ambassador. First they’d informed Ambassador Laran, then helped Laran get word out to the other principals, and then another two meetings to assure various players that the ambassador was, in fact, coming back. Here’s her picture from their colleague’s ship with a hard time-code, no seriously.

  Leah face-planted on her bed at 0417, knowing full well that she’d have to be up again at quarter till six to be up and ready to receive Ambassador Reed and escort her to the meeting hall so that the Grand Assembly could be gathered for the signing of the treaty.

  The alarm came as soon as she closed her eyes. So fast that Leah pinched herself to make sure that this wasn’t some kind of hateful dream.

  Assured of what passed for reality in this sleep-thief of a story world, she threw herself in the shower again until Shirin “ahem-ed” loud enough to be heard inside.

  And so it was, that despite all logic, and motivated only by space station coffee and a reminder that she was making better money than she’d ever seen in her life, that Leah got back into her diplomatic robes to face the world.

  Epilogue: Let’s Try That Alliance Thing Again

  AMBASSADOR REED stepped back onto Ahura-3 at 0713 local time, accompanied by King, Roman, and preceded by the two Dark Stars prisoners.

  The prisoners were handed over to Commander Bugayeva, and Ambassador Reed was met by her counterpart Laran, as well as Shirin, and Leah.

  Leah noticed that the ambassadors’ greeting was very, very friendly, and filed that away with the thousand and one other notes she’d have to unload and process once they were back on Earth Prime.

  They proceeded immediately to the Grand Assembly, where, thanks to the last night’s epic bender of diplomacy and distraction, the principals for the would-be Interstellar Alliance were all present, the representatives and their retinues filling a room meant for fifty, with a long table at the center.

  The language of the Alliance was unchanged. It was written out on a two-yard-long parchment, stacked seven copies tall. One each for the member races, and two for the archives—one to stay on Ahura-3, one bound for Terra.

  Ambassador Reed gave a stirring speech, during which Leah fell asleep twice. That she counted. But it worked.

  One by one, the ambassadors lined up and signed their names in septuplicate (that’s totally a word), then shook hands and congratulated one another and stood for a zillion pictures.

  Once it was done, Roman gave the signal and the four of them filed out of the room.

  Ambassador Laran met them just outside the docks, s
till wearing a crown of Gaan flowers that signified friendship or everlasting trust or something. Leah was too tired to check on her wrist-screen.

  “I am in your debt, Shirin. A deep, powerful debt that I hope you will allow me to discharge soon before it weighs too heavily on me. Peace will bring such light into this galaxy that it will blind the agents of darkness.”

  “Speaking of agents of darkness, the mercs said they were hired by the Ra’Gar,” Roman said.

  Laran narrowed her eyes, poker face broken. “Unlikely. The Ra’Gar do not have such influence in this sector. More likely it is another force posing as the Ra’Gar. Regardless, Commander Bugayeva’s team will press the matter until the truth is out.”

  “You’ll keep me informed?” Shirin asked.

  “Since you’re not staying, I presume the standard relay will suffice.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Once again, you have my thanks. Kaylin and my thanks, both.” The Ethkar bowed. To the waist. Shirin led them in returning the bow, just barely shallower. Then Shirin wrapped the woman in a hug, and they made their final farewells.

  Leah passed on Shirin’s message to Bugayeva to get Zoor and Fela compensated for their help, hoping that between them they’d catch any exhaustion-derived typos.

  All four of them were dead tired, so the return trip was very silent. And fortunately, no one threw anything at Leah when she napped the whole way back until the dimensional crossing. It’d be a long time before she could sleep through that.

  * * *

  “Two odd story breaks in as many weeks. I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” King kept muttering to himself as they deplaned, finally back on Earth Prime.

  Leah had Preeti call her a cab, trying not to pass out on the beanbag chairs while she waited. Shirin gathered her things to head home. King collected their reports and left to give his report to the High Council, and Roman wandered off somewhere.

  After white-knuckling it to not fall asleep in the cab, Leah stumbled into her apartment at 4:23, dropped her phone on the couch, and then curled up under her covers to sleep for a day, or until King called to yell at her to come in to work.

  Either way.

  Her mind refused to cooperate, still running a thousand cycles a minute, replaying her bizarre and wondrous experiences off-world, traipsing around having diplomatic adventures, eating otherworldly foods, memorizing several novels’ worth of backstory and anthropological data all at once. But it had paid off.