by Tom Merritt
Ambassador X laughed, which turned into a coughing fit rather abruptly.
“How did I get away?”
“I detected an anomaly in the greeting of the Sensaurian and raised my alert level. Eventually, workers came with what was a seventy-three percent chance of an intention to disassemble me. I had continued to track you and noted the presence of food. My alert level combined with the workers’ estimated intentions was added to the information that Sensaurians do not dine diplomatically. I then noted a disturbing trend in your vitals, so I jumped into the room encapsulating you and jumped out. You did not respond to stimuli, so I brought you to the nearest emergency center.”
“You performed an encapsulating jump without operator command!?”
“Yes. There is a forty-seven percent chance that this is due to a fault in my systems” was all Verity said in her own defense.
An encapsulating jump was dangerous. The idea was to jump to a space known to be occupied by an individual, but in a way that materialization occurred around them. It was incredibly dangerous, as any error in positioning in time or space would likely kill the individual encapsulated. It was only ever to be performed in an emergency situation where no other action could save the individual’s life. This qualified. However, it was also not allowed to be executed without Pilot instruction and corroborating authority from a command-level officer. Verity had obtained neither.
“You’re forty-seven percent sure? You’re going to be impounded for this!”
“The risk was acceptable, and it did save your life,” she countered. Well, countered was too strong a word. Verity never had any emotion in her voice that the listener didn’t project upon her. She wasn’t technically AI. Although she could fool Ambassador X sometimes.
“But you didn’t seek command approval and your Pilot was incapacitated.”
“I sought command approval but did not receive clarification in time. My Pilot was the subject of the lifesaving imperative and therefore canceled out of the equation. Command-level message will not reach Alenda for quite a long time. Therefore, I calculated a field service decision was required.”
She had a good case. “OK, Verity, yes, an officer in a similar situation could make a field service decision absent the ability to get timely guidance. However, they still would have to defend their action in court afterward, and they still would have to be a person, not a ship.”
“You seem disappointed I saved your life.”
Was that a joke? “Verity, that’s the second time I’ve caught you making what seems to be a joke.”
“So you are not disappointed? I ask for clarification.”
“Now you’re being snotty. If you knew all this and wanted to take initiative, why not jump back earlier and prevent me from being poisoned?”
“There is an interfering field in the docking area of the Sensaurian Mission. It would have increased my margin of error tremendously to add time to the equation. This seemed the least risky option.”
“Listen, we’re going to make this simple. Log that I gave you preauthorization to do an encapsulating jump if my life seemed in danger as a precautionary measure.”
“I cannot,” Verity responded.
“Why not?”
“Because that would be falsifying records,” Verity said.
Ambassador X shook his head. “So that’s a bridge too far. An unauthorized restricted maneuver that could have killed me is OK, but not falsifying records to save you from the scrap heap.”
“Correct.”
“How long before I can get out of here?” He coughed again.
“You should be out in a day or two, Alendan time.”
“Excellent.” An idea struck Ambassador X. “Meantime, suspend reporting for the past operation. Lock the logs under diplomatic classification for Secretary eyes only.”
“That seems excessive and possibly inadvisable, given the nature of the events. We must report the Sensaurian violation and attack to Alenda,” Verity answered.
His ship was really getting stubborn. “Nope. Because this is a classified mission, and I’m not going back until I’ve fully delivered the message.”
“You’re going back to the Sensaurian Mission?”
“Yep. Soon as I’m recovered.”
“In that case your orders make sense.”
“You think?”
“I do.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t have a sense of humor.”
“I’m not.”
A few days later Ambassador X was back aboard the Verity. He thanked the Fringe Cascade doctors profusely and gave them the impression he was heading back to Alenda, just in case anyone asked.
This time Ambassador X did not signal the Sensaurian Mission of his arrival or his intentions. In fact, he didn’t even approach. He just jumped right into the middle of their station, a risky and incendiary thing to do under any circumstances.
He didn’t care about offending the Sensaurians. They had tried to kill him. Let them protest his behavior if they wanted; he’d protest a fair amount right back at them. It could cause him trouble back on Alenda anyway, though he didn’t care about that either, since Verity had already put them in a compromising position. He’d lock all these records also, to prevent the ship from following her penchant for transparency.
He did worry a little about dying. You didn’t jump into people’s structures unannounced very often because you didn’t know where the walls would be. Jumps were usually only made into places you knew were mostly empty space. Another reason the encapsulating jump was so dangerous. Everything in the universe moved, and positions were only determined relative to other moving things. Unless you knew exactly where several things would be at exactly the right time, jumping could easily be fatal.
Verity believed she knew the point where she had executed the encapsulating jump, based on all known variables. As long as the Sensaurian Mission station hadn’t changed course—or didn’t change course soon—they should be fine. Observation verified the station hadn’t made any recent course corrections. The Mission was right where it was supposed to be.
Ambassador X took a deep breath. He wasn’t sure why. He wouldn’t even notice, no matter what happened. Either he’d walk out the door into the dining room he’d been poisoned in, or he’d suddenly wink out of existence as the Verity self-destructed. He wouldn’t feel much of anything in that case. Maybe a quick heat flash or something. Nobody ever lived to clarify that sort of thing.
“We’re here,” Verity said before he could really brace himself.
“Thanks for the warning.”
“The Sensaurians have detected us.”
“Well then, let’s say hello.”
Ambassador X sauntered out the capsule door and into the dining room. There was no more food. Not even a table. The room had been converted back to whatever purpose it had previously served, which was apparently being an empty room filled with spare Sensaurian segment buckets.
Ambassador X wandered around the room, listening to the whir of approaching buckets and sniffing at the equipment strewn about the room. It smelled Sensaurian, which was to say, bad. He supposed that was a very Alendan-centric judgment. It might smell good to a Sensaurian. But then, old equipment rarely smelled good to anyone.
The smell grew stronger as the door flew open and several buckets and a couple tripedal combat suits rushed in.
“You came!” Ambassador X sighed loudly. “I was so worried that after you poisoned me, you’d feel awkward. I’m so glad.”
The Sensaurian tripeds leveled weapons at him.
“Hold off killing me directly if you would. I only came back because I didn’t get a chance to deliver a message from the Alendan Secretary before I almost died. And he’d have been very cross with me if I had forgotten.”
The weapons lowered slightly.
“Does that mean you’ll listen?”
None of the Sensaurians said anything or seemed close to saying anything.
“Are any of yo
u actually capable of listening? I didn’t study up on Sensaurian ears enough. I know not all of you need them.” He shrugged. “Well, hopefully somebody is listening.”
“Deliver the message,” a voice boomed from above. “We are listening.”
“Good!” exclaimed Ambassador X. “Makes me pleased. Everybody wants to be listened to. It’s Alendan nature. Probably Sensaurian nature too, no offense. Though how would that work with a hive mind? Can you listen to yourself? Or do you need another species for that? Like me! But then you generally want to rid the universe of other species, don’t you? So you must be OK with talking to yourself, I expect.”
“The message,” the booming voice repeated.
“Right. The message. Here it is: the Secretary wants you to stop trying to undo the universe. Not exactly how he put it, but that’s the gist. He wants you to cease your attempts to change fixed points in space-time. He’s willing to talk about any number of concessions, but that’s the goal. And he wants the Dimensional War limited. Nobody’s sure how far it extends, but let’s try to make sure it doesn’t extend very far, shall we?”
“We do not know this war you speak of. We do not attempt to undo fixed points.”
“Ha! Well, I should expect you to deny the war, but you told me about the fixed points at dinner. Professional insight: never explain your plan to the dying adversary on the off chance they don’t die. See? Free advice, as a show of good faith. What do you say?”
“We do not know what you mean. Your memory is faulty. The Sensaurians, however, do wish for peace. We consider the Secretary’s message throughout all our history.”
Clever that bit of tense usage. “And when did you get back to him?” Ambassador X asked.
“We have. That is all.”
“Really? That’s all?”
“Yes. That is all. If you depart immediately, we will forget this intrusion.”
“I expect you will. What if I don’t forget your attempted assassination?”
“You will not tell.”
“Oh yeah? And why not?”
“You love your ship too much.”
They had him there. He shook a finger at them. “Oh, you old collective softy. Love stories! That’s your weakness. Though a love story between an Alendan and his ship? Would have figured the Progons as suckers for it, but not your lot. All right, you have me dead to rights. I don’t want Verity impounded, so I won’t let on. At least not to the Guardians. But the Secretary . . .” His face grew grim. “He’ll know. And there isn’t much I can do to stop it. Verity”—he grimaced and stretched out the word—“is so true to the rules. I can lock her down confidentially, excluding every person but him. So I hope you bore that in mind when you met with him.”
He strode back through the capsule door, then leaned back out. “See you again!” He waved, and then the Verity jumped and he was gone.
He did not head back to the Secretary, despite Verity’s protests.
“The mission was to deliver our message to the Sensaurians and the Progons. We’re not done yet, Verity.”
“Mission protocol allows for interruption due to significant events. These recent events qualify.”
“Yes, but they don’t insist on it, do they? I’m fine. Give me a day or two, figuratively, to catch up on my sleep and study up on Progons. I’ll pop in, deliver the message, and be gone. It’ll be much better to head back with the whole story, don’t you think?”
The Verity arrived near Progon Diplomatic Base Alpha. It was one of eight bases scattered throughout time and space, set up for various cultures to interact with the Progon Civilization. Alpha was the earliest one, and Ambassador X visited it near the completion of its construction. The idea was to plant the message in the Progon’s algorithm as early as possible.
The Verity docked automatically, communicating only in basic machine language to negotiate the mechanics of the procedure. No formal identification was asked for or given other than species type. When pressure and atmosphere had been adjusted for an Alendan, Ambassador X leaped out the door and through the air lock, munching on a star fruit and holding another one in his hand. He loved star fruit. He only had a few on board, and they were hard to replace. So he deemed visiting the Progons a special occasion and ate two.
On the other side of the air lock was a long rectangular chamber made of metal. A few empty metal shelves were built into the walls. A few empty metal stools were built into the floor. Ambassador X was alone.
He noticed a slot in the wall opposite the air lock. A grill-like arrangement of holes in the shape of a diamond had been punctured in the metal above the slot. Ambassador X walked over, tapped on the wall, and yelled, “Greetings, Progons! I come bearing a message from the Secretary to the Guardians of Alenda, Masters of Dimensional Travel and Keepers of the Integrity of the Timeline. Come forth and meet with me!”
Nothing happened.
He thought he could hear some mechanical noises behind the wall, but he wasn’t sure.
“Oh, Progons! Proooooooogonnnnnnnnnns! You in there? Any of you? All of you? Some of you?”
He laughed a little to himself. It was quite the opposite of the lavish and polite reception he received from the Sensaurians. Of course that reception had been followed by an attempt to kill him, so on balance, he supposed he should prefer being ignored. At least it meant they weren’t trying to hide behind good intentions.
He paced around the small room, inspecting the corners, wondering how they kept bugs from infesting it. Bugs always infested everything, even remote space stations. Where any amount of people came and went, there were bugs. A noise caught his attention, so he turned toward the slot.
A small rectangle of paper-like material had fallen through it onto the floor.
In neatly printed Alendan, it read: THANK YOU FOR YOUR VISIT, AMBASSADOR X OF ALENDA. PLEASE STATE YOUR MESSAGE.
“Love, the Progons,” he said out loud. “Well, I was actually hoping to meet one of you, but then, I suppose maybe I am. Progons, I am in you!”
There was no response.
“All right, here it is. Apparently, some of you are fiddling with some fixed points in space-time. Not sure how you do that since you can only send messages through time, but that’s what we hear. The Secretary wants you to stop that. You know the Sensaurians are doing it too, and with both of you trying, the odds get better that one of you will accidentally make it happen. You don’t really want that, as I’ve heard your evolution was extraordinarily chancy. So that’s message one. Stop with the attempts to change fixed points in space-time and we’ll give you some nice concessions in return. Within reason.
“Message two is about the Dimensional War.” He held up a hand as if the entirely silent metal room had tried to interrupt him. “Don’t try to deny it. We’re fighting it too. The Secretary wants to make sure the existing war doesn’t extend further. That’s all. Well, one more thing. I’d like a souvenir. The Sensaurians gave me all kinds of gifts. Attempted murder. Cheese. Don’t I even get a peek at you? OK, this last is just from me, not the Secretary. But still, just a small peek?”
He waited. There was no reaction. No sudden slip of paper from the slot. No voice answered him from the grill. Nothing. He stood and waited. They too serve, who only are ignored by Progons, he thought.
Finally, he saw another square of paper come through the slot. He thought maybe he could catch a glimpse this time of whatever produced it, but he couldn’t see a thing. It just showed up and fell out on the floor.
He picked it up. In the same neat Alendan letters, it said: MESSAGE RECEIVED. THANK YOU. YOU MAY KEEP THIS MESSAGE AS A SOUVENIR. PLEASE GIVE OUR BEST WISHES TO THE SECRETARY.
“Not even signed Love, Progons?” shouted Ambassador X. He decided to wait them out and sat. He stayed there for quite a while and even took a nap, but no further cards came through the slot and nothing else happened. Finally, he made his way back through the air lock to the Verity.
“Was the meeting successful?” she asked.
<
br /> “Just. Let’s go.”
REPORTING BACK
He met the Secretary in the capitol building in Alenda in the actual building occupied by the Guardians of Alenda in the Secretary’s ceremonial office outside the Chamber of the Guardians. The very first Secretary had merely organized the affairs of the Guardians. Over subjective time, various Secretaries accrued the power of an executive, ceded happily by various Guardians who jumped at the chance to focus on the business of space-time physics maintenance and leave politics to the Secretary.
Every so often, though, one of the Guardians had not yet learned this fact for some reason or another. It was one of the quirks of a nonlinear society. In those cases, the Secretary had to meet with the Guardian in question and go over the situation. The Secretary had finished just such a meeting, and he was visibly unhappy.
The office was nice enough. Spare but elegant. A dark wooden desk sat near a beautiful square window with a chrome sill. A polished metal fireplace with a sleek white marble hearth sat off to one side. It was purely decorative with its simulated flames, but it still managed to look warm and welcoming. The carpeting had a rich tone that Ambassador X was not aware could happen in brown.
“I read your report,” the Secretary started without preamble. “Smart move locking it down, but you know I can’t approve.”
Ambassador X nodded. “Shall I stay standing for the thrashing, or would you like me to bend over the chair?”
“Ambassador X, please sit down. You seem less cheerful than you used to. How did that happen?” the Secretary asked.
“Oh, twelve years of working with yourself on building a mud hut and learning about Sensaurian body parts may have an effect similar to cynicism,” Ambassador X answered.
“Believe it or not, Ambassador X, I’m sympathetic. I am. It was hard what I did, and I didn’t do enough to explain to you why it was necessary. I couldn’t. And I know one day you’ll understand that. But ask yourself this.” The Secretary settled into the seat behind his desk and looked at Ambassador X. “Do you think you would have been able to properly handle these two situations if you hadn’t had that experience? Not just the knowledge I gave you, but this unruly confidence you gained as a result?”