Ambassador 10: Lost Forest Secrets

Chapter One AS LEADER OF ASTO and the most influential person at gamra, Ezhya Palayi was not known to show a lot of emotion, but his face oozed curiosity as he walked around the aircraft. We were on the roof of the second tallest building in Eighth Circle in Athyl, under the overhang of the awning that sheltered the entrance of my brand new office apartment. Emi wriggled in my arms. She wanted to play with this visitor and was getting bothered about my not letting her. But it was midday. The light of Asto’s two suns beat down on the roof and the paving radiated heat. I was sure it was hot enough to leave nice burn marks on Emi’s unblemished, eight-month-old skin. Not that she was receptive to that argument. The glaring light reflected off the surface of the two aircraft that basked in the sunlight, one of them the familiar Asto-built craft that Ezhya used so often. In fact, I now knew exactly where it had been built and by whom, because I’d visited the workshop, walked around their models, sat in their pilot seats and spoken to their sales assistants. The second craft, the subject of Ezhya’s curiosity, was a brand-new gleaming craft that had been built in Damarq and delivered to the apartment yesterday by two employees in spiffy uniforms who had polished it to its current gleaming state on arrival. It was the same size as Ezhya’s—which was considered large by private craft standards—but had an elegant ground-hugging shape that made it look smaller. Its surface shimmered with a bronze sheen, overlaid with a green-tinged clear resin like lacquer. The windows were darkened now, to allow for more efficient cooling, but could be made lighter at night or when in orbit. It carried sixteen people, with ease, and a few more as long as they didn’t need to sleep on board. It was mine. Ezhya was as fascinated as a ten-year-old boy. He’d bounded from his craft and had gone straight to this one. He walked around it several times, looking into the window and into the propulsion outlets. He studied the Damarcian text on the recharge panel and lifted the cover to the tube where you dropped charged pearls so that they rolled into the reservoir. He now looked over the wing of the craft to me. “Interesting choice,” he said. “I’m wondering why you made it.” I bet he thought that we should have chosen a locally built craft, like his. “We weighed up all the possibilities, and this was the best option.” Initially, I too had assumed that we would get a craft that had been built in Asto. They were reliable, easy to fix, not terribly expensive, and offered jobs and business to the local people, a good all-round solution. But when we started looking at all the situations where we would use the craft, I didn’t think a standard model would do the job, and while Ezhya’s craft was pretty and definitely not bog standard, it still battled the same design restrictions. The Asto craft were not known to be good at cold temperatures. While Barresh was hot and humid, most of Ceren was not. Asto-built craft had issues travelling to Miran where it was very cold. Moreover, when the Tamer Collective got off the ground with their secondary Exchange, I’d be travelling to Tamer. I did not want to do that while leaving the ability to get back off that damned snowball in the hands of a machine that required blasting hot air onto the engines—hot air that I would have to carry aboard that craft, not to mention the fuel for it, too. I wanted a craft that would handle those temperatures. Barresh, where we lived most of the year, was surrounded by marshland and water. Asto craft could land on water—in the hands of a skilled pilot. I didn’t judge my developing skills in piloting anywhere near “skilled” enough to attempt a water landing. Damarq-built craft glided over water like a boat. It was an amazing thing to behold. They didn’t need engine heating for cold starts, and the internal control module, considered fairly clunky by snobbish pilots, had enough spare room to add in whatever equipment we were going to need when the second Exchange came online and we’d need two sets of Exchange trackers. The craft was bigger and more cumbersome than I had wanted. It was more expensive. But it did a better job. I explained my choice to Ezhya. He hid his disappointment under the guise of curiosity. I think he’d been planning to teach me some tricks, and was disappointed that now he couldn’t do this. Emi gave a squeal and protested loudly about not being allowed to crawl. I had to distract her with a bunch of keys in my pocket. They were attached with a chain and were for letting out air and water in several parts of the craft, something that—according to the delivery pilot—was likely to be an issue for the first few weeks due to its newness. Emi grabbed the keys with both hands and put the chain in her mouth. Ew, small children were disgusting. I tried to pull the chain, but she wouldn’t let go, so I let her chew it, knowing that Thayu would probably say something about it the moment she saw it. “I do like the position of this apartment, though,” Ezhya said. He peered at the horizon, oblivious to me and my struggles to keep Emi from screaming, over the massive city that was Athyl, and its little pockets of high-rise buildings that started to spring up everywhere, especially here in Eighth Circle. The apartment was another recent acquisition made necessary now that I had business in Athyl representing those in the outer circles of the city previously unreachable for the regime in the Inner Circle. “I like it. I feel I’m useful.” He laughed. “That only took you the best part of ten years.” “When you first started talking about a residence for me in Athyl, I assumed that it would be in the Inner Circle.” “You knew us poorly when you thought that.” “Yes.” In Coldi society, one kept enemies close and sent friends out to make sure that no civil wars or interplanetary conflicts erupted in areas out of one’s control. Ezhya had been about to lose control of the Eighth Circle because his loyalty networks grew so vast that they frayed at the edges. He had used me to regain control, by putting me forward as someone the people in Eighth Circle could trust, an outsider. Except now I was no longer an outsider. The vast Omi clan of the Eighth Circle was loyal to me. Therefore, my Athyl residence was in Eighth Circle. Made perfect sense. “Do you want a drink?” I asked him. I really wanted to let Emi loose, because she was squirming and was starting to sound unhappy. We both walked through the airy open reception room of the office that was attached to my top floor residence. The housekeeper had just cleaned the floor, so I put Emi down, and she made a beeline for the table, where the cook had put her little sippy cup that she grabbed with both hands, squirting water in her face. We laughed at her surprised expression. Ezhya and I sat down on the couches. I poured tea. We made some small talk. “It’s been awhile since I made a friendly visit,” Ezhya said. “Much has happened.” “We’ve been very busy.” I glanced from the corner of my eye at what Emi was up to. He laughed. “It’s amazing how someone that small can make that much work.” This was all uncharacteristically chatty from him. I wondered when he was going to get to business. He never visited me for chitchat, no matter how well we usually got along during his visits. “So. This new leader,” he began. Sure enough. “Simon Dekker.” The new president of Nations of Earth. Margarethe Ollund had come to the end of her electable period. She’d been good and I’d been sad to see her go. “Simon Dekker,” Ezhya repeated, rolling the world in his mouth as if to see how they tasted. Not good, I thought. “We will just have to work with him,” I said. “You don’t like him either.” It was a statement, not a question. No, I didn’t. In fact, the man had been an outright jerk to me when he was aide to Sigobert Danziger when Danziger was vice president. I clearly remembered that early morning meeting in the bunker-like lower ground floor of the Nations of Earth executive office when I had first met the man. He had shown me a gun confiscated in Djibouti. It was an off-Earth weapon. I’d gone and hunted down Romi Tanaqan, warlord from Indrahui, and we’d disabled his plans and destroyed his illegal base, using my father-in-law’s warship stationed in orbit. The one that supposedly wasn’t there. It had been the only time that an off-Earth weapon had been deliberately fired at a target on Earth. Several people had not been impressed, including Simon Dekker. That was now eight years ago. Some people at Nations of Earth still continued to remind me of what they viewed as a serious transgression into Earth’s sovereignty. They had a point, even if it was an ideological, purist point that, given the alternative, was pretty impractical. “What is the reason you don’t like him?” Ezhya asked. I had to think about how to phrase my feelings. Relationships between Ezhya and Simon Dekker were going to be important in the coming years. “He’s very abrupt, not easy to work with. I’ve seen no evidence that he has any contact with gamra or with the Athens Exchange. I’ve asked Amarru, and the reply she’s received from his office is that ‘The president will be in contact shortly’ because he’s busy.” Ezhya spread his hands. “What with? What’s so important that he can’t look after the single most important new relationship in his world’s future?” I shrugged. I’d been away from Nations of Earth for a long time and, whenever I came to Earth, it was to visit family. I’d delegated keeping up with Earth’s news to Melissa Heyworth and the other delegates from Earth in Barresh. I didn’t work for Nations of Earth anymore, so that was no longer my responsibility. Ezhya met my eyes, his expression serious. “Is there a chance he will go back on their decision to join?” “No. That decision was put into law. The president doesn’t get to break laws. The referendum has been decided. The president will carry out the wishes of the people, no matter whether he likes the result or not.” Ezhya snorted. “And clearly, he doesn’t like the result.” I felt cold. “Again, I don’t know, and I don’t want to put words in his mouth until I’ve spoken to him or have seen an official statement.” “He doesn’t want to talk.” Again a statement, not a question. “Should I talk to him if he doesn’t want to talk?” “Let Amarru deal with him for as long as that keeps him happy.” “Hmm. He’s not talking to her either.” And then he said nothing for a while. Personal relationships were important for him. He’d accepted Margarethe’s authority, because she spoke with confidence and he respected her, even if he had no love for the political system and the concept of democracy. Dekker had already taken some missteps, reminding me of how dicey the situation could be if he continued to offend Ezhya and other gamra leaders. I was supposed to say something sensible about the man that wasn’t I don’t like him personally because whether I liked him or not, we’d have to work with him. And I knew so little about him that I couldn’t even say anything about his interests or his focus. He’d have to have some good qualities to reach that position, right? Even if I couldn’t see them, and even if the man ignored us. “I’ll tell you what I think,” Ezhya said. He’d finished his tea and put down his cup with a soft thunk. “I think he belongs to the other party.” “The Pretoria Cartel? No.” “I think he has interests in the Tamer Collective’s Exchange and he wants to keep gamra as backup in case that doesn’t work out. I think he’s deliberately going slow on building relationships with us to stall on the date when incorporation in gamra is completed so that he can still pull out. I also think that his opponents in that assembly are moving to prove this so they can discredit him.” For the umpteenth time, I was reminded to never underestimate this man. He understood Earth’s politicking better than most. What was more, he was probably still in contact with ex-president Margarethe Ollund who might have told him this. Or he might want a hand in the discrediting of Dekker. That was a disturbing thought. Time for me to put out that particular fire. This was not moving in a direction I liked. “I can only say that I’m unwilling to have a public opinion one way or another until strong evidence of wrongdoing surfaces. Granted, he’s a difficult person, and I’m unhappy that he was elected to the position—” “I wonder then, what you make of this.” Ezhya reached inside the pocket on his belt and pulled out his reader, activated the screen with a touch of his thumb, and passed it to me. My heart was hammering. Oh s**t. Something was up. I should have known. I hadn’t felt good about Dekker’s election since I’d seen his name in the candidate list. I’d hoped he wouldn’t win and, when he did, resolved to let Earth politics be Earth politics and stay out of it myself. But of course, that was impossible. The screen displayed an official document signed by the president of Nations of Earth Simon Dekker, detailing a number of occurrences of violence on Earth, mostly attacks on public buildings and institutes, and appeared to use certain forensic data of those incidences as “proof” of “their interference”. Their was loosely defined as “people from off-Earth”. I scrolled to the top of the document to find out that it was addressed to Melissa Heyworth, delegate to gamra for Nations of Earth. I frowned at Ezhya, who was looking on intently while I read. “How did you get this?” He lifted his chin. Spies, obviously. “Has Melissa actually received this?” If so, why hadn’t she raised it with me? It seemed a really odd letter, but if anyone accused gamra of violence, I would need to know, absolutely. “I don’t know. It seems odd, doesn’t it, that he would write to her but not to anyone else?” “He could merely be investigating.” But I knew I was making excuses. If this proof was really this damning, then he would write to me and others within gamra. Ezhya snorted. “I wouldn’t call this investigating. He’s accusing gamra, spreading false rumours. Why would we create unrest in this manner? What do we care about these areas? I’ve never heard of them. You know what I think? I think he never intended for us to have this communication, because every word in it is a lie. I think he intends this message to serve the purpose of creating a body of opposition against gamra within Nations of Earth, to show that we are the bad guys after all and they shouldn’t go ahead with joining us.” Oh s**t no. I flicked through the document. The letter from Dekker was just one page long, but there were a couple of pages of attachments with more details about the attacks. I skimmed the text. Weapons of non-Earth origin. Mexico, Atlantia, three attacks in America Free State. What the hell. Gamra people never had anything to do with that side of Earth. “The locations are . . . strange.” “They’re inside the exclusion zone, yes?” He used the Nations of Earth’s Isla term for that part of North America. The exclusion zone: torn apart by civil war and not easily accessible from outside. “Yes, they are.” All of the attack locations, as far as I could see. He continued, “This exclusion zone is a place like the Outer Circle: people who live there are poorly documented, the authority has no control over them and violence is a daily occurrence.” “Something like that.” Worse, actually. Exclusion really meant exclusion. Anyone would have trouble visiting those countries, let alone someone Coldi. “So tell me: how exactly does he conclude that this has been done by gamra? He can’t. In this exclusion zone, no one can check whether he speaks the truth. So he lies, to strengthen his position that his assembly should support the Tamer Collective, which is what he wants. That is my reading of this situation. He doesn’t want to join gamra. He will do whatever he can so that it never happens.” He met my eyes for an intense moment. A sense of déjà-vu crept over me. We’d been through this before: baseless accusations and frayed tempers, all over an unfortunate mistake made by President Sirkonen. Was this a mistake, too? If it was deliberate, then a whole lot more s**t would fly. “Can I have a copy of this?” “Already sent.” “I will need to spend some time looking into this, and asking various authorities for clarification.” “Yes.” In that very definitive, Coldi way. Yes, do that. Yes, I agree. “I will need to be very discreet, so as not to upset people unnecessarily.” “People are already upset.” “I understand.” He had probably discussed this with his seconds, which included, damn it, my father-in-law Asha Domiri, leader of the most secretive and powerful armed forces in gamra, who were probably already watching Earth very closely. Double damn it, just when I thought we had Earth all sorted. Why did that prick have to be elected? What was his appeal? We got onto different subjects. Emi crawled over the floor, getting herself all dusty. She came up to Ezhya, pulling herself up on his legs. He picked her up and set her on his knees. “They stay that young for so little time. Spend all the time possible with her.” His own youngest daughter was now a few years old, already a toddler. His oldest would be quite a teenager. “How is Raanu?” I asked. “That is another reason I want to speak to you. I have a favour to ask.” “For her, I’d do anything you ask.” He chuckled. “Be careful. She’s getting to be quite a lady and will take advantage of you whenever she can.” “I consider her family. I think she’s entitled to do that for her family.” He nodded, knowing that there had been a time that she’d been abandoned, because he’d been caught off world, and I had rescued her. “I wanted to ask you if you want to take over part of her mentoring.” “I would be honoured.” Extremely honoured in fact. “She’s developed an interest in going into diplomacy. She wants to learn about different non-Coldi people. I wonder where she got that idea?” He chuckled. “Of course she doesn’t get much of a chance to interact with different people at home, so I was wondering if you would like to host her, so that she can see if she thinks she can do it. A diplomatic career may sound interesting because going to other worlds sounds nice, but it can be tough and boring. So if it ends up being a silly notion I want it beaten out of her.” He laughed, and I knew that he was only half-serious. “Put her through some ridiculous situations with any of your councillors in Barresh or ask her to mediate between two neighbours neither of whom speaks Coldi. Make it hard. Show her it’s a difficult job. I want her to be good or move her interests elsewhere.” “Of course. There are plenty of frustrating jobs at the Barresh council. If you want, I can take her to the Pengali lands. The Pengali will test anyone’s patience. If after visiting the Pengali she still wants to be a diplomat, she’s serious.” He laughed, which was a rare sound. “I knew that you would help. I will tell her. She’ll be delighted.” “Good. I still owe her a surfing trip.”