Genrenauts: Season One

by Michael R. Underwood

  Leah poked at her wrist-screen, which pulled up a text file establishing her as Leah Summers, assistant to Freelance Attache Narissa Shirin. Summers was a country girl from Mars, graduated summa cum laude from Olympus Mons University and aced the Stellar Service Exams, now two months into her apprenticeship with Shirin.

  Many of the other details were drawn from Leah’s real life—parents’ names, Han Chinese heritage, and so on.

  Roman and King were the Head of Security and Pilot, respectively. Other files showed the team’s last three visits over two years, the stories they’d stitched together, breaches they’d resolved. The reports were hyperlinked, with names and races and events linking over to other files. It was a whole story universe wiki, but for a story that was real, was all around her in its three-eyed, antennaed, spinning space-station glory.

  “Turn it up,” someone across the bar said, piercing her rabbit-holing fugue state.

  Leah looked up to see a view-screen above the bar turned to a news feed. A Chinese woman in a sequined suit addressed the camera.

  “Gentlepersons of Ahura-3, good evening. This week is expected to see a historic event as

  Ambassador Kaylin Reed finalizes negotiations for an Interstellar Alliance, binding Earth with the Ethkar, Gaan, Enber, Xenei, Jenr, Nai, and Yai civilizations. This alliance is expected to create a huge surge in interstellar trade, as well as serving as a mutual defense pact in case of another Ra’Gar invasion.

  “For the changes to traffic during the negotiations, we go now to Security Chief Gary Michael …”

  As the anchor continued her report, Roman emerged from the crowd, metal-toed boots clanking on the floor as the crowd parted for him, his presence making its own wake. Roman jumped right in, saying “Smart money says our breach has something to do with this. Shirin, you and Probie work the room here until the commander shows up. I’m going to get King and start working the fringes, see if we can’t scare up some gossip.”

  And then, as quickly as he’d appeared, Roman was off, power-walking in a way that looked entirely badass and not at all like the dorky white people exercise regimen that it was.

  “Do we usually get this much of a road sign?” Leah asked.

  Shirin wobbled her hand. “Depends. We’ve gotten to the point where we trust our instincts in the field. When you think you’ve got the lead isolated, you work it until it’s done.” Shirin tapped her own sternum. “That instinct that told you you’d spotted Frank in the kitchen, that led you to dig with Maribel, that’s what you trust here.”

  She continued. “Our team in particular has an incredibly high accuracy on breach identification. I’d like to think it’s intuition, but King insists it’s because of the frankly ridiculous amount of primarysource research he makes us do. It helps that everyone he recruits is already an expert in codeswitching from life experience. Easier to see something out of sorts when you’re used to being on the outside looking in.”

  “Does it often go like this, boys’ team, girls’ team?” Leah asked as a blue woman with four arms set glasses of white liquid with ice cubes in front of them.

  “What’ll you have tonight, Ms. Shirin?”

  “A Venusian Sunrise for me, and a Manhattan for my apprentice. Commander Bugayeva will be joining us presently, if you can make sure the hostess sends her our way.”

  “Of course, Ms. Shirin. Good to see you back.”

  Leah checked her wrist-screen. It showed 20:40, just twenty minutes from their appointment with the commander.

  Shirin looped around to Leah’s question. “We divide and conquer according to our skills.”

  “Anything I should know about this commander before she shows up?”

  “She’s proud, she’s aggressively competent, and she would be much happier if Mallery were here in your place. She carries a bit of a torch. Chances are, it won’t make things pleasant for you, unless you want to charm her yourself. Best bet is to sit back and listen. You’ll get more to do when we learn where the breach is. This place is so big, I’ll probably have to assign you to tasks on your own. Click through to the Interstellar Alliance briefing. I need you up to speed as soon as possible.”

  No job, not even stand-up, had put Leah’s improv comedy training of “always say yes” to the test nearly as much as this one, and this was only her second mission.

  Leah speed-read her way through the briefings about the Interstellar Alliance while Shirin tapped away on her own wrist-screen.

  There were six principal civilizations involved in the proposed Alliance: The Terrans; the Ethkar, a race of warrior-priests with bumpy heads and pointy ears; the Gila-monster-elephant people, who were called the Gaan; as well as the Enber, the tall bearded race she’d seen earlier; the Jenr, the four-armed blue people; and a pair of races that had purple and pink skin, but otherwise looked like humans, called the Nai and Yai, who shared common origins.

  The Nai (purple) were ruthlessly capitalistic, and the Yai (pink) had embraced communalism. The Nai lived on a planet, the Yai its moon, and only stopped fighting with one another when the Ra’Gar started nibbling at the edges of their overlapping territories.

  “Wait, so no one actually knows what the Ra’Gar look like?” Leah asked as she swiped through the briefings.

  “There are various reports. But they differ for every race. There’s a “speculation and lore” tab on the Ra’Gar page you should be checking out. They’re the Big Bad right now, the reason for the Interstellar Alliance. Ambassador’s been banging this drum for years, but now people are scared enough to listen.”

  “What do you think the breach is? Someone sabotaging the Alliance?”

  “That seems the most likely. Assassination attempt, kidnapping, blackmail, maybe even a staged attack on one allied civilization faked to look like it came from another. Or the threat could come from one of the would-be allies, a minority faction trying to throw a spanner into the works.”

  “Lots of options. How will we run them all down?”

  “We won’t. We’re going to find out what’s going on from Commander Bugayeva, or Roman and

  King will squeeze it out of some low-grav lowlifes.”

  The server came by and delivered their drinks. Shirin’s looked for all the world like a Tequila Sunrise, while her own was a blissfully familiar Manhattan, complete with maraschino cherry.

  “Is this how missions usually go?” Leah asked.

  “Often enough. I’d rather schmooze my way through the station than spend days crammed in a prop ship or gathering intel at the end of my fist.”

  “Schmoozing sounds like more my game.” Leah raised her Manhattan for a toast.

  Lots of toasting and drinking in this job. Mom would approve.

  Leah took a sip of her brilliantly mixed drink and went back to the briefing. She devoured the material, happy for the years of improv practice and LARP experience. It was like diving into an ongoing game half a world away. The rough sketches were familiar, thanks to a lifetime of SF reading and viewing, it was just the particulars that were different. Names to learn, specific cultural biases to apply. Faction A hates Faction B because Reason 1, Faction B distrusts Faction C because Backstory.

  And so on, and so on. Until Shirin said, “Eyes front, Probie.”

  Leah looked up to see a muscled bombshell in a black-and-silver uniform walk into the bar, a waterfall of hair thrown over one shoulder, wearing makeup that was both more excessive and more dynamic than hers or Shirin’s put together.

  “Game face,” the older woman whispered.

  Leah gulped.

  * * *

  Shirin slid out of the booth to stand and greet the commander. Bugayeva was one of her favorite onworld contacts—smart, sharp, if unforgiving of slights. She was a real intelligence operator, though her official position was Executive Officer.

  “Oksana, it’s been too long,” Shirin said, throwing her arms open. The two hugged collegially, then Shirin turned and offered the woman a space in the booth. Leah slid out and e
xtended a hand.

  “My new apprentice, Leah Summers. Leah, I give you Commander Oksana Markovna Bugayeva,

  Executive Officer of the Ahura-3.”

  “A pleasure, ma’am,” Leah said. “I can honestly say I’ve never seen anything like the Ahura-3.” Good, Shirin thought. Polite and concise.

  The woman met Leah’s handshake with firm strength. “Thank you, Ms. Summers. We’re very proud of the old girl.” The women resumed their spots in the booth, Commander Bugayeva sitting opposite the Genrenauts. “Nothing like her in the system. Some of the Plutocracy stations are larger, but nothing beats the Ahura for productivity and diplomacy.”

  “I’ve been bringing my assistant up to speed. How is everything going with the Alliance talks?”

  “Speaking of which”—the commander raised a hand, and the Jenr server appeared as if conjured. “Dirty martini, two olives. And a Red Stripe back.”

  The server nodded and vanished as quickly as she’d come. Impressive. As a rule, the Jenr were light on their feet, but this woman was a step above.

  Oksana spread out, her presence unfolding until she filled half of the booth. Shirin had seen Oksana stop a turf war between Gaan and Nbere, browbeating each of the leaders until they all put their weapons away and then spent a half hour cleaning up after themselves. She was The Impressive Woman to a T—cast in the mold of characters like Honor Harrington, Commander Janeway, and so on. Not as hands-on as an SF version of Strong Female Character™, but all the more formidable for her choice to command socially rather than physically.

  “It’ll get sorted out,” Oksana said. “The Alliance will move forward or they won’t. Get that group together and there’s so much waffling you might as well call it a brunch party.”

  Commander Bugayeva waved the topic away. “I didn’t come here to talk shop, no matter what you might have thought. Tell me what you’ve been doing with yourself. And how is Mallery?”

  Shirin leaned back in her seat, gesturing with her drink like a practiced socialite. “She’s a lunar moth, here and there and back again.” Had to keep up appearances. If she let slip that Mallery was still in traction after her last mission, they’d never get anything out of the commander, the conversational thread would go too far out of her control.

  The commander’s face darkened, betraying more than Shirin imagined she meant to let on. “Well, please give her my best, and tell her to not be a stranger. I’m just an Ansible away, after all.” Then the commander held her drink out in a pose for the question, “So what brings you to our humble little station?”

  “The same old same old. I wanted to show my new apprentice the sights, and no diplomatic tour is complete without a visit to Ahura-3. Plus I figured I could pick up some work and top off the gossip tanks while I was here, what with the treaty signing and all.”

  “I don’t think you’ll have any difficulty getting nibbles. Everyone’s scrambling to be in the right position when the Alliance is solidified or blows up in Reed and Laran Do-Ethar’s faces. Do-Ethar is wound so tight on this she’s likely to go off like a grenade of mysticism and metaphors.” The commander leaned forward, her voice dropping. “And I’m pretty sure the Ethkar can actually do that with their battle-songs. You want work, show up on her doorstep and tell her I sent you and you’ll be set.”

  “I’ve already beamed her a message. Just waiting to hear back.”

  * * *

  Leah watched the poised women talk like it was a tennis match. But instead of a ball, they played innuendo and subtleties between them, body language and tone their forehand and backhand forms, questions and intimations their rackets. Back home, she’d be paying master class prices to study these women and their verbal fencing, friendly banter over deeper agendas, power plays back and forth from rough equals still jockeying for position. Bugayeva was a straight shooter, responded well to Shirin’s polite but direct questioning.

  “We’ll want to talk with the Enber first. They’re dealing with a miner’s revolt on Greyen-7, and a trade deal with the Yai and Nai would help them settle things down. They’ll be Reed’s staunchest allies outside the Ethkar,” the commander said, clearly offering an olive branch or trading a favor.

  “And if the Enber can get the Nai on, the Yai won’t be left out,” Shirin said.

  “And once both of them are on board, the writing’s on the wall. You’ll need to run rumor control about the Ra’Gar. Linnan’s the gossipmonger there. Calm her down and the proceedings will be much more steady.”

  Shirin set her glass down and asked, “How is the ambassador holding up through all of this?”

  Bugayeva flinched a bit, eyes looking slightly up as she responded. “Tired, but determined. The

  Alliance will be the capstone of her career, and she will see it through.”

  Nope. Don’t like it. Years of improv and reading the crowd at stand-up shows told her that something was fishy, and it sure as hell wasn’t the food. Shirin and King had told her to trust her instincts.

  Leah glanced sideways to Shirin, who shifted, eyes locked on the commander. Leah wished for telepathy, or another few months of working together to be able to read her senior colleague better.

  Well, Bugayeva liked it straight, so Leah’d give it to her straight. Breaking silence, Leah said, “Sorry, but you’re hiding something. Is this just about stability, trade traffic through Ahura-3, or is there something else? Who’s driving the Alliance? Reed, Terran brass, what?”

  Bugayeva smiled a predator’s smile. “That’s a bit direct. But I appreciate the ovaries.” The commander took a long sip of her drink, then set it down on the table, making a too-loud clink. “But next time, do me the favor of getting to that answer without breaking your boss’s flow. We were having a conversation between adults, and I don’t need a knobby-nosed adolescent bumbling through to ask the question that might as well be spelled out in the constellations.” Leah flinched as if hit. Daaamn. Harsh. Too harsh.

  Commander Bugayeva gestured to the station. “This place is a complex system of interlocking parts. Millions of them. If I can get a few thousand of those parts to start using the same time signature, start working in direct relation to one another, it makes everything else smoother. Smoother operation means freeing up resources for other tasks, means a chance to take this station to the next level, start to think about things outside our system. And that, that will get back to Terran High Command. The Alliance is Reed’s baby, but I’m happy to be its godmother. You read me?” “I read you,” Leah said.

  The commander downed the rest of her drink, then slid out of the booth. “I should get to bed. Duty rotations are accelerated with the Code Orange during the negotiations. Look me up before you go, preferably without Junior here.”

  She set her drink down, along with a circuit-chip the size of a quarter, then strode out of the bar.

  “What just happened?” Leah asked once the woman was out of earshot.

  “You made the right guess, but in the wrong way.” Shirin took a long sip from her drink. “Next time, hold your questions for the end. But for now, get Roman on the line. We need to download this to them ASAP. I was hoping Oksana would tip us off to what’s gone south, but it looks like she’s

  passed that hot potato to the ambassador. Might be a plausible deniability thing.” Not two hours on-station, and she’d already screwed up. Fantastic.

  Chapter Three: On the Job

  After a half hour of trolling the bar for tidbits about the ambassador, Shirin’s wrist-screen got a ping.

  She called Leah back to their booth.

  “Finally got a beam back from Laran Do-Ethar. We’re off to meet her in the diplomatic wing.”

  Leah set down her drink, number two for the evening and thankfully not more. There’d been no side-eyes from Shirin or the commander when she didn’t keep up with their cocktail-pounding, so she was still on this side of tipsy, probably good for meeting alien dignitaries.

  “What do I need to know about Laran, then?”


  “First, it’s Lah-ran, not La-ran,” Shirin said, the difference subtle enough that Leah uselessly narrowed her eyes trying to process it. “And second, expect bluntness and evasion in equal quantities. The Ethkar are one of the most culturally alien species in this story world, as far as humanity’s concerned.”

  Shirin swiped a credit stick for the server, and then tossed the bags to Leah, who struggled to rearrange the world while Shirin made for the lift.

  “Their value system works deeply off of personal conviction and mystic communion. It’ll be like talking to a zealous recent convert,” Shirin said, a wake forming ahead of her as she strode, one of those tricks of presence that some people (not Leah) could just make happen.

  Leah watched the scenery and little moments playing out in the bazaar as best as she could while also keeping up with Shirin, both physically and verbally.

  “The Ethkar don’t take slights well. This time, we will want me to do all the talking, but I want you to study her as best as you can without staring too much. Laran is an easier read than some of her colleagues, she’s a good Etkhar to meet first. And ultimately, she’s on our side. Let’s keep it that way.”

  Beeping told Leah that she had another message. Unfortunately, her wrist-screen was buried under twenty pounds of awkwardly bulky bags.

  “Why don’t we have roller bags?”

  “They’re considered gauche now. Thank god. If I never see another roller bag in my life it will be too soon.” Shirin pressed a key in the elevator and the doors closed, leaving them on their own.

  * * *

  The diplomatic wing was anything but peaceful. Robed humans and aliens buzzed around like locusts, moths, or whatever other annoying, buzzing, flying things this science fictional world used to represent chaotic clouds of activity.