Ambassador 2: Raising Hell (Ambassador: Space Opera Thriller)

by Patty Jansen

  Damn.

  “So what would actually happen if someone could get the command key into the Inner Circle hub?”

  “They can’t.”

  “No, but suppose for one moment someone could.”

  Thayu said, “If the key was activated, it would delay the shift of power, because all of Ezhya’s automatic order routines would receive a boost. Eventually, things would happen that would require his input for decisions, and processes would falter, first a few, and then more and more, until the system breaks down, allowing someone to come in.”

  “Would it last until the Exchange comes back?”

  She shrugged. “Perhaps. I don’t think anyone has ever tried how long the command key keeps the Inner Circle together. But it’s irrelevant because I don’t know anyone who could take the key in there without having their heads cut off.”

  Seriously? “But how would a successor enter the hub then?”

  As I said that, I already knew the answer, and it wasn’t a nice one. Most likely, it was how Ezhya had taken power because, when the Inner Circle locked down, there was only one way of getting in if you weren’t the Chief Coordinator. A way that involved a lot of people with guns and a good number of dead bodies.

  Damn. There had to be something we could do.

  I got up from the table and went into the hall. Ezhya’s guards were again fixated on their makeshift receiver. They had attached a screen that lit their faces with a blue glow. It displayed blocks of text that looked like code. Not something I could make out; I left anything to do with technology to Thayu and Nicha.

  “Mashara.”

  The woman Natanu rose and faced me. Her face twitched as if she didn’t know what to do. She looked like she would like to use the subservient pose, but I didn’t even rank in Coldi society. She didn’t want me; she wanted Ezhya.

  “Can I have a word with you?” I asked her.

  I used professional pronouns and studied the other guards while I spoke. One or two of them looked unsure whether they could trust me.

  “Delegate, mashara again apologises for the intrusion. Mashara will aid the household as much as possible.”

  The tone of her voice chilled me. For a woman said to be after Asto’s top job, she sounded too demure. I didn’t buy it.

  “I understand that you have Ezhya’s command key.”

  She looked startled. “I do.”

  “I understand you can’t use it.”

  “Not from here, no.”

  “Excuse my ignorance, but I’m rather unfamiliar with this key. Is it a physical thing?”

  She opened the front of her jacket, giving me a glimpse of the armour she wore underneath. Seriously? Wearing armour to breakfast? Oh, I certainly saw Eirani’s point of protesting against display of weapons in a private situation.

  She pulled out a metal cylinder about the diameter and length of my pinkie. It lay in the palm of her hand, with the light from the screen reflected in the brushed metal surface. A tiny blue light blinked near what I judged the top of the thing.

  That was it? The key to Ezhya’s hold on power?

  She tucked it back into her jacket without saying a word.

  “Seeing as we have radio contact with Asto, would it be possible to somehow upload the commands to Ezhya’s hub?”

  “No.” Very definite. “It needs to be physically inserted.”

  I nodded. We clearly had a problem here. I watched whatever communication the guards were receiving roll over the screen.

  I thought for a while, fingering my upper lip.

  I remembered my discussion with Ezhya yesterday and his mention that with some planning, a visit to Asto might be possible. Because of the eclipse, Asto was the closest it would be to us all year. A space-enabled ship would cross the distance in days. There happened to be such a ship in orbit. Asha owned it.

  I said, in a low voice, “Supposing I could get someone to take this key to Asto and into the hub, would you be committed enough to Ezhya to help me?”

  She eyed me as if she thought I was mad. My heart hammered in my chest. She said nothing.

  I licked my lips and plunged in further. “Supposing again this person was someone not from the Inner Circle and not interested in taking Ezhya’s position, but purely to help secure his position until the Exchange comes back online and he can return.”

  “That could happen any moment.”

  “Let’s not kid ourselves about that.” Oh, that was actually a pretty rude pronoun form. “We heard what the Exchange owner said. It may not be back for days.” Many days, I guessed.

  But she didn’t flinch. She glanced at her colleagues, and then nodded, once. Did that mean go on to me, or was it a sign for them to bundle me out of the room?

  I waited. Nothing happened.

  I continued. “So, supposing what I just said, would you give your commitment to securing Ezhya’s position in favour of trying to obtain the position for yourself?”

  Well, shit, I’d said it.

  I held my breath waiting for her answer, wondering if that answer would be a knife in my heart or a pledge of support, or . . . more of nothing.

  She stared into the distance. Her lips twitched with deep emotions warring inside her. I knew I was asking a lot. Declaring loyalty to a non-Coldi person, to a position that might prove untenable, while in doing so throwing away all her own chances of securing her future in case we failed.

  If Ezhya didn’t come back or didn’t come back in time, she would be an exile.

  For too long, I thought she wasn’t going to respond at all. Then she re-opened her jacket. She stuck her hand in and brought out a closed fist, which she held in front of me.

  I held my hand out, palm up, and she dropped the metal cylinder into it.

  I breathed out heavily.

  Shit.

  While I tucked this treasure in the inside pocket of my own jacket, her eyes met mine squarely. “I have . . . other interests tied up with Ezhya’s leadership that are important to me.”

  Love was a funny thing in the Coldi. They liked to pretend that their relationships were all rational and existed for a reason. But the emotions that flowed within associations were deeper than appeared on the surface. I would have sworn I saw love in her eyes. Was she Ezhya’s lover?

  I left the guards fiddling with their rigged-up equipment and went back to the living room, where Nicha and Thayu sat drinking tea. Someone had been in to clear the table, probably Eirani, and likely I’d have to hear her complaints of people not wanting her food for days.

  I halted at the door and felt keenly how lucky I was to have the two of them. They got along so well, even though the situation of a group of three zhaymas was unusual.

  I sat down and took my cup.

  “Any luck?” Thayu asked. As part of my security, she had made studious efforts to stay away from Ezhya’s guards.

  I poured some tea. “They seem fragile.”

  Nicha nodded wordlessly.

  “What can we do?”

  Thayu shrugged. “From here? Nothing.”

  I debated whether to say anything about the key. I had the security of Asto in my pocket.

  I said, in a low voice, “I would like to speak to your father as soon as possible.”

  * * *

  I expected them to ask questions, but they didn’t. In the train on the way into town, after I’d changed into my most official gamra clothing, I asked why.

  Nicha replied, “When you have that look on your face, you have a plan. I can say whatever I want, but you will do it anyway.”

  “But you are my zhayma. You can try to talk me out of it.”

  He nodded and
said nothing. I couldn’t get over the niggling feeling that something in our relationship had shifted since he’d been falsely accused of President Sirkonen’s murder.

  It was a sad feeling. I wondered if he blamed me for any of it, or whether he just blamed Earth people, of which I happened to be one.

  He’d told me he didn’t, but telling and believing were two different things.

  We got off the train at the airport. With the Exchange out of action, there was not much reason for people to be at the airport, and the platform was eerily quiet. A bored guard stood at the top of the stairs, stifling a yawn.

  “Not much action here, Delegate,” he said.

  We walked past the guard to a square that was normally far too crowded to see its intricate floor mosaic, which depicted the five-pointed star that adorned every damn thing in Barresh, from official correspondence to guard uniforms to family emblems. Each point had a white side and a black side, which symbolised the two native Barresh people. This version of the star had been in use since the liberation of Barresh after the occupation by Miran.

  See? I spent way too much time listening to these councillors.

  The square was the home of businesses associated with the airport, such as the quarantine and customs offices, the headquarters of the Courier Guild, the Pilot Guild and the Trader Guild. We were just walking past the latter when the door opened and someone came out.

  “Good day, Delegate Wilson.”

  Marin Federza.

  He was at his peacock best today, in full Trader uniform with all his shiny decorations for various awards of service. Underneath the sheer Trader cloak, he wore the turquoise of the Barresh Traders. The cloak was held at the top by a bejewelled clip.

  “I’ve just been trying to contact you,” he said.

  I looked at my comm. So he had. I must have missed the message when we were in the train. That was right. He was going to contact me when he had spoken to his fellow Aghyrians. With all this mess about Ezhya, I’d almost forgotten about it.

  “Have you got time now?” he asked.

  I glanced at Thayu and Nicha. We hadn’t told Asha that we were coming, although I did want to talk to him as soon as possible. “I do.”

  “Then let us go upstairs.”

  He preceded us back into the building. I had been inside the Barresh Trading Office before, but never on the top floor.

  Federza’s office was a light-filled room that overlooked the square, with soft carpet, old book cases, a beautiful and grand timber desk and luxury chairs.

  It reminded me, of all things, of the place where my adventure had begun: the old office of president Sirkonen at Nations of Earth, where I’d signed my documents and where I had almost been killed alongside Sirkonen.

  It was eerie.

  He gestured for me to sit in one of the armchairs away from the window. I did, still observing the room and its lush furniture. On the back wall, behind Federza’s desk, hung a close-up portrait of a man I recognised. He had a soft, expressive mouth, dark mournful eyes, a finely-sculpted jaw and loose curls that danced about his head like a halo. This soft, melancholy image was in complete contrast with the iron grip with which he was said to have set and ruled the Aghyrian community.

  It was Daya Ezmi, founder of the Aghyrian enclave, owner of half the Hedron mines, the reason why the Aghyrians existed as they did today, and the reason why they had so much money.

  “My grandfather,” Federza said, when he noticed me looking at it.

  That figured.

  I was highly tempted to ask the question everyone wanted to know: is he still alive? But it was pointless to ask because he would never answer it. No one really knew how long Aghyrians lived. Chief Delegate Akhtari was said to have been over a hundred when I was a little boy, and ages of one hundred and fifty were definitely not uncommon. There was a chance that I’d retire before she did. Awesome.

  “So. You spoke to your fellows?” Let’s talk about slightly less depressing and more explosive things.

  “The claim comes from Asto,” he said. “At the moment, we don’t have the communication to establish who has made it, as you will understand.”

  No, I didn’t understand. “We have spoken to Asto.” I had no doubt that, given their technology, the Aghyrians would have done the same.

  “Do you understand the extent of deprival of the zeyshi people of Asto? They do not have anything of a nature that would allow them to communicate with us when the Exchange operates normally, let alone now.”

  “You have never been in contact with these people before?” I returned his belligerent tone.

  He glared at me.

  “The zeyshi are not easy to deal with.” Defensive.

  “Surely you throw money at them and they’ll cooperate.”

  Federza was one of those gnarled and knotted blocks of wood. You could swing the axe at it, but most blows would just glance off, and, if you were unlucky, injure your own toes.

  “They have never given us any reason to ‘throw money at them.’ ” Meaning: they didn’t have anything the Aghyrians wanted. The Barresh Aghyrian community tended to have a cool relationship with those who chose to ignore their calls to come and join them. Their promises of a good life, a guaranteed job, good health did not sway everyone who passed their blood tests for “Aghyrian markers”. They tended to act miffed towards these people who snubbed their noses at their offers and who preferred to stay in their places of birth.

  “But you knew about their existence?”

  “Yes we did.” That was about as terse an agreement as I could get from him.

  “They have every right to make this claim?”

  “They do.”

  “They perhaps have more right to make it because Asto is their home?”

  Was that a flinch?

  “Mr Wilson, I understand that you don’t like us and that you’re an instrument for the Asto colonisation machine, but—”

  “You claimed to represent all Aghyrian interests. You assured me that there would be no claims, for the sake of peace. I don’t care who is on which side. I care that there was a promise that’s been broken. So either you do not speak for all Aghyrians or you are not truthful with me.”

  “Look, we don’t know!” He spread his hands. “You probably won’t believe me, but we don’t have any contact with these people.”

  “Then get in contact with them.”

  But I saw it in his face: the claimants did not want any contact with this group of pampered, foppish, self-indulgent people. They were part of a different movement, one that targeted the established structures of Asto more than anything. And somehow these people, whom everyone had written off and ignored for centuries, had crawled out of their desert hole and struck at the heart of gamra, in the middle of another crisis.

  I’d worked for months assuming that I’d eventually have to deal with the Barresh Aghyrians, that we’d settle their right to claim amicably over a sumptuous lunch somewhere on the island.

  And we had been wrong.

  Of course we had been wrong.

  Stupidly wrong.

  There was not that much more I wanted to say to Federza. I left after a few more empty lines of conversation, picking up Thayu and Nicha at the door. I gave them a brief rundown of the conversation on our way out of the building.

  In a way, I felt sorry for him and for all the other Aghyrians in Barresh. Their moment in the sun had been stolen by another group. That cemented my plan in my mind.

  And hell, it was as far removed from a leisurely lunch as possible.

  * * *

  Asha Domiri’s shuttle stood at the high-security end of the airport.

  We walked to it across the empty
spot where Ezhya’s craft would have been.

  Asha’s craft was a typical run-of-the-mill Asto-built model. Nothing fancy, nothing military except the emblem next to the door which depicted two stylised suns circled by a planetary orbit with the planet drawn in. As with everything in the Asto military forces, the emblem was tense with understatement.

  One of Asha’s guards stood outside, in civilian guard clothing. He greeted us with a small nod. Coldi could be oddly intimate and could also behave oddly distant after sharing situations that should afford a bit more familiarity. As it was, this guard acted like he never shared breakfast with us at my dinner table.

  After all these years dealing with Coldi, my first reaction to this strange habit was still one of finding it rude, despite the fact that I knew it was not. He was a lower-ranked member of the guard association, and only the highest-ranked member would communicate with someone from outside the group. That particular guard now came out of the craft.

  “I’d like to speak to Asha,” I said. It was also inappropriate to use family relationships for this sort of thing. In official situations, Coldi tended to pretend that they had no family. Even though I had come with his two children, I was expected to make contact, because I wanted to speak with him.

  The guard acknowledged me and went inside. He came back a few moments later and gestured for us to come into the craft.

  As I had expected, the interior of the craft was not at all like the basic passenger shuttle it resembled. The rows of seats that would normally occupy most of the cabin had been taken out and replaced with a few bays of tables and chairs, like meeting rooms. There was a huge bank of screens towards the back, many black and waiting for input prompts.

  Asha sat at one of the tables, reading something on a screen.

  He looked up when we came in, and, without acknowledging either of his children, gestured me into the seat opposite him.

  Smalltalk was wasted on this man, so I started bluntly, “Would you be prepared to take us to Athyl on board your ship?”

  The sharp intake of breath I heard had to be Thayu’s.

  Asha squinted at me. “You?” It was a pretty direct pronoun form. “You’re aware that we can’t travel right now?”