Rogue Stars

by C Gockel et al.

  I undressed, sank into the water and sat back on the underwater bench. Eirani unloaded the contents of the basket onto a bench, and spread out towels and clean clothing, in a way more meticulous than previously. She cast me glances when she thought I wasn’t looking.

  Finally, she asked, “Does the Delegate wish to retire early today? The Delegate was up most of last night.”

  “No, Eirani. I want to ask you something, in private.”

  She froze, a towel in her hand. “Does the Delegate need to go into the bath for that?”

  “I do.” There was only one bug in the bathroom, in the far corner, and with a bit of luck, our voices would echo too much to be intelligible.

  “Eirani, where did you take my jacket to be washed?”

  “To the laundry. It has come back, hasn’t it? I—”

  “When you took it, did you know about the thing in the pocket?” I made sure I splashed water over my shoulders as I said this.

  “Delegate?” Her cheeks coloured. “I don’t check clothing for private items.”

  “But you knew it was there when you took it out of the bathroom, didn’t you? And you knew that someone at the laundry would be interested in it.”

  She opened and closed her mouth several times, like a fish on dry land. “I . . . don’t know what the Delegate is talking about.”

  Oh, the innocence.

  “Eirani, as I have told you, I am perfectly capable of washing myself. You may find it unusual, but I have lived independently, and I can cook and wash my own clothes. You know that my funds are tight. It is my bet everyone on the island knows this. But in the time I’ve been here, no one has presented me with an account for staying in this apartment, which is obviously beyond my capacity to pay. To me, that means someone wants me here, like someone who is spying on me.” I let that sink in for a bit; she showed no emotion, and then I asked, “Who is your boss, Eirani, and what does he want?”

  “My . . .” Her mouth fell open. “I don’t have—”

  “Yes, you do.”

  I let the silence build and slipped under the water. I rubbed my face, and came back up, my heart thudding. It had been stupid perhaps, to come here alone. But when the water cleared from my eyes, she was still staring at me, and hadn’t produced a weapon.

  I pulled myself onto the underwater bench, out of her reach, and sat, semi-lazily, trying to look as relaxed as possible. My heart was thudding like crazy.

  “Eirani, I understand that you have ties of loyalty that conflict with mine. I understand that my living here is a favour of me to you, rather than the other way around. I agree to it. The apartment is pleasant and the food is good.”

  She merely blinked at me.

  “But in the future, Mr Renkati can ask for information I have, and if I’m free to do so, I might share it. You understand that?”

  “Yes, Delegate.”

  “Also, you can pass onto Mr Renkati that if he wants, he can come and meet me, and tell me what he’s about. Destroying the data isn’t helping anyone. The information will be recovered, one way or another. There are other copies. Tell him that, too.”

  “Yes, Delegate.” She looked down, all her taciturn arrogance wiped from her face.

  I stirred in the water. “If you’re still keen, I’d like you to wash my hair, Eirani.”

  She sank onto her knees and put soap in my hair. Her hands trembled.

  Mr Renkati: one, Cory Wilson: one.

  When I came out of the bathroom, my hair still wet, but neatly tied in a ponytail, I nearly crashed into Thayu, who came rushing from the hall.

  “There was a message from Ezhya Palayi. He says he will be delighted to see you right now.”

  17

  DELIGHTED TO SEE me; that was a bit steep. Knowing the situation, I had no idea why Ezhya Palayi should be delighted to see me. The game continued, but I was ready to play it.

  I’d ask my questions, clear and direct. What does Asto know of this plan, and do you realise Nations of Earth see it as a provocation? and Does this matter bear any relationship to the murder of the president?

  In like a kamikaze pilot. Accuse the most powerful leader, out of all gamra member entities, of murder. I had to be the biggest idiot in the universe.

  Thayu led me over the gallery and down the steps. It was just at the midafternoon break and people crowded the steps and the plaza below. In the throng of delegates in the staircase, many threw me curious glances, or spoke congratulatory words about my first appearance, which I acknowledged with a polite nod while trying to focus on what I would say in the meeting.

  Part of me found it hard not to feel awed. Ezhya Palayi had been in my life for a long time. I remembered when I was five or six, and my mother was still alive, when the entire world watched news reports showing the arrival in Athens of Asto’s Chief Coordinator on his first ever official visit.

  At the time, Earth was just emerging from the anarchy of what historians now called the Third World War, but which was a series of conflicts over hot spots in the Middle East and Central Asia, and which had dragged on for the best part of fifty years. The fighting had been more contained than expected, but had done major damage to what remained of Earth’s already-depleted oil fields. Beyond that, the damage was psychological. Poor countries, feeling the double-whammy of changing climate and financial pressure, had affected boycotts. Deep distrust had paralysed the UN and as a result, richer nations, the US in the lead, had refused to pay their contributions, reducing it to an organisation which represented the poorest. As revenge, continued boycotts had destroyed a number of major economies and their governments. The US, China and India had split along equity lines. That came on top of climatic disasters. By the end of the century, large parts of the world suffered hunger and lack of water.

  Even in unaffected countries, like where I grew up in New Zealand, people were hurting, clamouring for hope. Many had lost family members, in the wars or in countries which had descended into chaos. Others had lost their houses, or all their life’s savings. A diversion, any diversion, was welcome.

  Gamra planned their coming out well.

  The people had liked what they saw of Ezhya Palayi: his sleek shimmering aircraft—it had been one of the few times that a gamra based aircraft had openly landed at a regular airport—and how he bounded down the gangplank and met the brand-new Nations of Earth president, then the moustachioed Pedro Gonzales. Ezhya Palayi was young, handsome, and his smile oh-so charismatic. A fake smile, I later realised, because the Coldi smile was a much more intimate expression than it was on Earth, and Coldi didn’t smile at strangers. But his minders had taught him well about Earth manners, including smiling, and the people had lapped it up.

  This would be the man, with his technology, to lift them from their misery. People loved to dream, after all.

  And what a dream it had been. The Coldi had fallen from saviours to invaders in the space of twenty years, despite, or maybe because of, the investments, the businesses, the technology they had brought, things that had been going on since the crash landing of a ship carrying two political refugees from Asto on a remote beach on the Greek island of Kea in 1961.

  I eyed Thayu’s swishing ponytail. An invasion? She wouldn’t want to live on Earth—not warm enough. Earth had its fair share of problems, overcrowding being one of the more serious ones. Asto was overcrowded, too. There were many other worlds which were fertile and underpopulated. The Coldi hadn’t invaded Ceren, their neighbouring planet, either, so why would they invade Earth? Surely if they wanted to do that, they would have already done so.

  From the crowded stairs we went into the plaza, where the multi-hued spots of light falling through the ceiling window turned the groups of chatting delegates into a playful kaleidoscope of colours. We crossed the ground floor and went up the stairs to an apartment opposite mine. A bevy of guards waited outside the door, a solid wall of Coldi muscle, clad in body armour over silver temperature-retaining suits. All wore the red belts of Asto’s Inner Circl
e service. They carried charge guns, and arms and legs bulged with various attachments and pockets, hooks and electronic equipment. Out of the four, two were women, both with muscles that would put a body builder to shame. I had admired Thayu’s athletic build, but she looked emaciated compared to these guards.

  They parted to let our group through, none of them meeting our eyes, as per Coldi protocol. A guard opened the door.

  I walked inside, into a wall of dry heat that seared my skin, like midday in Arcadia, somewhere in the high forties, perhaps even hotter. I had to stop, concentrating on breathing, my eyes watering, thinking that I would never be able to stay for more than five minutes. Could I go back to take two extra infusor doses without losing face?

  Gradually, my body became used to the dry heat, although sweat poured off me, seeping into my shirt in ugly dark stains.

  Thayu glanced at me, a look of concern on her face.

  I gave a small nod, as if to say I’m fine. I had lived in Arcadia after all. Without climatic adaptation.

  We were in a hall such as the one in my apartment. Bright light radiated from what looked like glow-in-the-dark towel rods mounted vertically along the walls.

  A fluffy maroon carpet covered the middle of the floor, the area in which there was a five-pointed star in the hall of my apartment. I also noticed that this floor was plain white stone. Coldi valued simplicity.

  Opposite the door stood a table with, on one side, a glittering gemstone on a thin but very tall stand of silvery metal, looking like some absurd insect’s feeler. On the other side of the table a number of rough rocks lay in a glass dish.

  A typically Coldi arrangement, symbolising rimoyu, balance, a state of perfection in the Coldi mind. That was why they always did everything in pairs.

  Having heard a bit about the Coldi penchant for precious stones, I could only imagine that the stone on the stand was worth a fortune. Elevated over the unworked rocks, it probably meant to say that refinement wins over crudeness. I had learned from Nicha that it was important to pay attention to these types of items when coming to a Coldi house, because they were rarely purely decorative, but said something about the mood of the host and the subject he or she wanted to cover.

  So—was I right in interpreting that Ezhya Palayi wanted me to ease on demands and anger? I glanced at Thayu, who looked quite relaxed. I had no idea if I should have put my feeder back. Thayu hadn’t said anything about it, and I surmised that whatever communication we had through it wouldn’t be private anyway. Rumours went that Ezhya Palayi had no less than three feeders and that his immediate advising staff needed special training to keep up with him. Probably I was safer without.

  Guards led me into the sitting room, also paved with the same smooth white stone, and devoid of the bathing pool so popular with the locals.

  Coldi hated water.

  Here, too, there were carpets, and low tables made from heavy beams of material that looked like granite. Cushions on the floor and the heavy curtains that half-obscured the windows were all maroon, which I knew to be a much-favoured colour, and I wondered what this signified, because Coldi didn’t see the colour red, yet Nicha could tell the difference between this rich maroon and black.

  Ezhya Palayi sat on a couch near the window, legs crossed, Buddha-like, his hands resting in his lap.

  From close up, his age showed more than it had in the assembly hall. Strands of white highlighted his hair, giving it the impression of a partly albino peacock, a salt-and-pepper look that softened the normally harsh lines of the Coldi face.

  I didn’t meet his eyes. In his home, that would not be appropriate. I performed a greeting such as Coldi gave a superior, a small bow with the hands by my sides. I hated every bit of this subservience, but I wasn’t about to start off the meeting by offending him. There would be plenty of offending later.

  “Sit.” The voice was decisive without being overly harsh.

  I sat.

  Only then did I notice the second person in the room, on a couch to his left. Someone tall, with long white hair, wearing a long blue- and gold-rimmed robe. I shot up and bowed for the second time. “My excuses. I didn’t realise the Delegate was here.”

  “I did not advertise it.” Faint amusement coloured Chief Delegate Akhtari’s voice; she used professional, not formal, pronouns. “I believe, though, that what you have to say is important enough for me to hear.”

  I resettled on the couch feeling more uneasy. I guessed she knew the content of Danziger’s message, and I wondered who she was going to side with to make the other man squirm.

  These two people facing me held all of gamra, all its member and even non-member entities, in their grip. I had no doubt that both of them regarded me as a chess piece to be moved to their advantage. “I am afraid you are right about the urgency of this matter, Delegate. We need to move so that it doesn’t get out of hand.”

  “Indeed, talks are very much called for. A person can only hope that all parties will be restrained in their reactions.” A slight barb to Danziger. She said nothing about the fact that Nations of Earth wanted to recall me, so I guessed no one had officially notified her.

  From the seat to my right, Ezhya Palayi gave a snort. “So what’s all this about?”

  Typical Coldi.

  I bowed to Delegate Akhtari. “My excuses, Delegate.”

  “The Delegate has no reason to give excuses. It is other parties that are not observing protocol.” And that was a definite barb in Ezhya Palayi’s direction. What had the two of them been discussing before I came?

  Even with my eyes downcast, I noticed Ezhya Palayi glaring at her. “There is no protocol to be observed. Just tell us what it’s about.”

  I couldn’t help but agree with him.

  In total silence, I put my reader on the table, unfolding the projection stand. By now I was so hot that a sheen of sweat coated my hands and made slippery marks on everything I touched. It was hard to concentrate. “My president sent me the information I’m about to show, and it greatly disturbs me, as it has disturbed him.” I activated the projector.

  A copy of the plan hung in the air, with drawn outlines of buildings, streets, landing pads, even a separate Exchange node.

  “As far as we can determine, this is a project planned by Asto to be located on Earth, and as far as my president has been able to ascertain, without the approval of the local governments or Nations of Earth. The proposed locality of this project would be here.” I zoomed out to show a map of northern Africa. It also showed the Mediterranean and the southern part of Greece, with the location of the Exchange clearly marked.

  Since I wasn’t allowed to look Ezhya Palayi in the face, I could only guess what the man thought by glancing out of the corner of my eye. And that didn’t give me much of a clue. No frown, no hand raised to his mouth, no laughter. There was a silence which seemed to go on for a long time.

  Then he asked, “Where did your president get this material?” Again, there was little emotion in the voice.

  “He says it came from the office of the previous president.” I wiped sweat from my forehead. Sweat stung the skin on my cheeks after its abuse with the blunt razor.

  “The one who was killed?”

  “Yes.”

  Another short silence. I imagined getting comments about Asto’s involvement, denials, accusations even against Nations of Earth, but the silence lingered. I remembered the table arrangement in the hall and the relevant proverb came to me. A gem on a ring has more clout than a gem in the ground. Refinement gets you further than brute force.

  Faced with my rude, in gamra’s eyes, provocation, he seemed to take his own advice to heart.

  Then a yellow-skinned hand moved into my field of vision. “May I?”

  “At your service.”

  I pushed the reader over the table.

  Ezhya Palayi zoomed in again until the plan reappeared, then scrolled through all corners of it. Then he pointed to a handwritten scrawl at the bottom of one of the architectural d
rawings.

  “This is signed by Mizha.”

  I scrambled through my knowledge of Asto’s Inner Circle for the name Mizha, but drew a blank. By the way Thayu raised her eyebrows, she didn’t seem to know either. That was odd, because Coldi always knew everything about their world.

  Delegate Akhtari leaned further forward, her hair falling over her shoulders. “Mizha? What would it be doing in the killed president’s possession?”

  “The question asks itself.” He turned to me.

  “The current president didn’t tell me.” Sirkonen seemed to have had a lot of things he shouldn’t have had. “At this moment, he is of the belief that Asto is about to invade Earth to put this plan into action. I feel it my task to assess if it’s genuine, or some sort of hoax.”

  Ezhya Palayi gave a chuckle. “Oh, it’s genuine all right.”

  “You mean . . .” My heart hammered in my throat.

  Across the room Delegate Akhtari looked on, long fingers worrying at her upper lip.

  Ezhya Palayi continued, “I mean that this plan, these maps are genuine. This plan was approved by an Asto Chief Coordinator. Mizha was a predecessor.”

  Thayu spoke up, “But with respect, I thought your predecessor’s name was—”

  “Shaya, yes. Mizha took over in 3278.”

  In Earth years, that was in . . . 1975.

  Oh.

  I frowned at Thayu. Why would Danziger be worried about a plan more than a hundred years old?

  Staring at the projection, Thayu said softly, “There is no date on this.”

  I had noticed that, too.

  “No,” Ezhya Palayi said. “The date would instantly give this away as a hoax. I don’t know who obtained these plans and what their aim is releasing them now, but someone is trying to destabilise Asto’s relationship with Nations of Earth and gamra by doing so.”

  “Someone?” I was too numb to feel angry, so much of a shock it was to me.