by Patty Jansen
The guard hit another key on the reader and the image displayed a copy of the World Newspoint report, with Delia’s comments.
Delegate Ayanu gestured at the screen. “This person clearly says we are responsible. She is someone of authority, is she not? Where does she get her information other than from a movie you say isn’t true? A recount.”
“Entertainment, not recount.”
“There is nothing entertaining about this nonsense. If you are right, why does this woman seem to think it is true?”
I couldn’t tell her of the security report Danziger had shown to me, about the red light. “There is some evidence, which I’m not at liberty to discuss without my president’s approval.”
She snorted. “We had no hand in the attack. Why even should we want this man dead? This president of yours. He’s nothing to us. He dies, you replace him. We don’t care. If we don’t get an apology and the Exchange isn’t opened so that our people can get out—”
“Delegate, forgive me, but I urge restraint. This is a volatile situation. It is in gamra interest to prevent further violence. I’m sure you would agree.”
Hard eyes met mine. “No. I do not agree. Asto does not stand for having its citizens held to ransom without reason. We agree to nothing less than a full apology. Convey that to your authorities. If we are polite, we might honour their silly blockade of the Exchange for a short while. However, in order to remain polite, we will need some demands met. Four days. If your authorities’ response at zhamata doesn’t please us, we’ll see about breaking the blockade our way.”
Before I could reply, she rose and strode out of the room, her male colleague and the guards trotting after her like little doggies.
Chapter 11
* * *
OH HELL. I suppose that wasn’t unexpected. Worse, I agreed with everything she said. Whatever had caused the emergency council to instate the blockade, it had made things far worse than they needed to be.
Thayu came out from behind me, wordless, and sank down on the couch just vacated by Delegate Ayanu.
She folded her hands on her knees and said, not looking at me, “I’ve never heard her so angry.”
I sat down as well, tension rising in me, knowing that I needed to get onto Danziger to make him understand how serious the situation was, and needed to know what the reasons were for the emergency council’s decision, and why the fuck everyone was stalling on me. I was cold; I felt nauseous.
She continued, “Why are Nations of Earth so keen to accuse Asto? Is it really because of this movie?”
“I don’t think so, but . . .” I shrugged, raised my hands, again on the verge of mentioning the red light. “. . . That is the problem. I don’t know. I’m not being told.”
That gold-flecked gaze met mine. “Your president no longer trusts you?”
I shrugged again, and couldn’t meet her eyes any longer or bring myself to tell her how close to the truth she might be.
Taking up Amarru’s offer for a flight out of London might have been the biggest mistake of my life.
She reached out to touch my hand in that Coldi gesture of comfort, but couldn’t reach.
At that moment, Eirani bustled into the room with a tray of food. She glanced at us, wordless, volumes of meaning crossing her face. Disapproving meaning, that was.
“Midday meal.” Her voice sounded like that of a schoolmistress.
My cheeks burned.
What the hell had she thought, seeing us almost sharing that intimate gesture?
Locals in the city of Barresh didn’t marry for love either. For much of the native population, wives were a possession, and although it was outlawed, polygamy was still common. Showing affection in public amounted to loose morals. Oh damn all these different cultures. That was exactly the reason why gamra protocol was so ridiculously formal.
I rose from the couch to hide my embarrassment and that damned blush. “I’ll have to check . . .”
I staggered back to the communication room, shivering. My stomach churned like I was going to vomit. A thought crossed my mind that there was a bit more going on inside my body than the discomfort of my poorly balanced adaptation—I ignored the little voice of my subconscious. I didn’t have time to be sick.
The staff were still at work. Devlis and the two guards sat silent and recorded, listened and read. Translators were going, recorders ran and slotted details of conversations into my work area.
“You have a list of refugee names,” Devlis said. “I’ve put it in your directive.”
“Thank you.”
They didn’t know—they didn’t realise—how bad things were.
A message had come from Danziger’s office, but it was only from Danziger’s secretary, to say that Danziger would reply as soon as he was available.
I felt like screaming I need him now but I kept my calm. This reply was better than nothing.
“You can all go and have a break. There’s food in the living room.”
While the staff filed out silently, I dropped on the bench. Thayu sat next to me, silent, while I stared at the projection without seeing it.
“The Delegate is not having a meal?” Eirani stood in the door, carrying a tray with two mugs.
“Not now, Eirani.”
“It is time for the midday meal. The Delegate is thin as a reed eel. Not healthy.” She came in, and set the tray down on the first available flat space, which happened to be the edge of the control panel.
At this, Thayu shot up, “Hey, be careful with the equipment!” She snatched up the tray.
The two women glared at each other.
I leaned back.
Oh. Please. Just. Stop. It.
A bitter scent wafted through the air.
My mouth watered. “Is that . . .”
“Manazhu, yes. The staff went shopping.” Eirani was still glaring at Thayu.
“Thank you, Eirani. Much appreciated.”
“Hmph. The staff will have to show the Delegate to appreciate proper food.” Meaning local food no doubt.
“I would appreciate that, too, Eirani.”
I took one of the mugs from the tray, and drank, gratefully. The manazhu was a bit weak, but otherwise rich and bitter. It calmed my stomach. “Thank you, Eirani.”
“There is a midday meal set on the dining table. The Delegate should have a break.”
She bowed and walked out.
“She is right, you know,” Thayu said in a low voice.
“I need to wait for a response from my president.”
“Can I sit here while you eat?”
“You don’t . . .” And then realised that if she didn’t know what it was about, that was my fault. No, she might not know Isla, but translators did a fairly decent job. I sighed. “I’m sorry.” I had to put the cup down, my hands were that sore.
I must have winced because next thing, she picked up my cup and held it to my lips, and I could do nothing but drink like a small child.
She was staring at my face.
I asked, “What?”
“I heard people say that you grew hair on your face. I’ve never seen it.” She touched my cheek, gingerly, where the hair was already too long; I could feel it catch and rasp under her nails, and I wondered when the hell my shaver was going to turn up.
When she was so close, she looked like Inaru and Nicha all in one. The soft skin under her ear, silvered by the light from the projection, was very sensitive. Nuzzle that area softly and, if she favoured you, a Coldi woman’s eyes became bright, the cheeks, palms and soft skin at the wrists flushed red with desire. Words were too banal to describe what followed, memories of the first time I had witn
essed that ultimate intimacy too precious. I had been fifteen, and I could still smell the scent of gym equipment of the sport hall at Taurus Grammar, the feel of the exercise mat under my sweaty hands. She was a year older than me, the smart, witty, politically savvy daughter of some manager high up in the Hedron Mines. She knew about things; I had been a virgin.
I turned my head away; the memories, and the smell of Thayu’s Coldi skin, were too much.
She put the cup down. I reached over and pulled my reader to me, shuffling away from her ever so slightly. “I need to sort out my speech.”
I didn’t know what I was saying, save that I wanted to clear out the confusion.
“Delegate Ayanu upset you, didn’t she?” She was damn perceptive to boot.
I averted my eyes. “The situation is serious.”
“She tends to bluff. I guess you know that.”
I shrugged. All Coldi bluffed like hell; peacock hair, peacock nature, the conservatives at Nations of Earth would say, but between the Asto ambassador’s rude invasion of my apartment, and the threat posed by Nicha’s father, I had little doubt that the menace was real, no matter how much bluff was involved.
I had brought up the text of my speech.
Nice words about being allowed to speak in the assembly.
Light-hearted paragraphs of the history of Coldi involvement on Earth.
What a load of rubbish.
Everything needed to be re-written, and I was running out of time and out of answers.
* * *
I worked hard late into the night explaining the urgency of the situation to Danziger, who still hadn’t gotten back to me. I also sent my agreed column to World Newspoint. While I waited for replies, which didn’t come, I trawled through Amarru’s list of refugee names and after an hour or so, found an entry: Azisha Omi, male, aged four. No other relatives. Oh damn.
When I finally went to bed, I couldn’t sleep. I still had no answers. It was hot, and when I opened the window to let in some air, Evi and Telaris barged in, guns drawn. I cursed at the harsh light they shone in my face, and sent them back into the hall.
I don’t need coddling, mashara. The danger is on Earth, not here.
I slept briefly, but my sleep was disturbed by dreams in which Danziger held Inaru hostage in a ring of fire, and where I burned my left hand trying to rescue her. I woke up, that same left hand throbbing with pain. Yellow ooze had seeped from the bandage into the sheets.
As I sat up, too quickly, my mouth filled with saliva.
I staggered out of bed, tripped over the fucking flattened-possum rug, stumbled through the connecting door to the bathroom and made the washbasin just in time. Watery puke went everywhere, two, three times, while I stood hunched over gasping in that can’t breathe, can’t stop puking kind of panic.
Damn.
I straightened; I stared at my own mirror image, sweaty, red-faced, unshaven and dressed only in my boxer shorts. There were dribbles of vomit on my chest. I hadn’t eaten much yesterday. I’d forgotten to use the infusor last night; I hadn’t needed it.
Damn, I had no time for this.
I cleaned up as best as I could, went back to the bedroom, threw on a shirt, never mind the shaving, and went into the communication room.
Thayu sat at the bench, staring at a projection.
A street in a city. People in uniform talked to a group of others, several of whom seemed agitated by the way they waved their hands, angry even. A row of buildings rose in the background. Pink stone, white sky. Asto, her home world.
A Coldi voice blared in the room, “. . . the groups that demand an answer to these allegations. The Atmospheric Institute has assured the Conclave that nothing unusual has happened. They have equally assured the people on the news channels that rain does occur and has been recorded previously.”
The projection now showed a different street between blocky buildings. In the sky, dark clouds built. Wind whipped sand around corners. Fat drops of water fell on hot pavement. First one, then another. Then it started pouring.
People ran out of houses, drenched in seconds. Children played barefoot in the rivers of mud.
Thayu whispered, “Rain.”
“I’m sure it rains sometimes.”
Her black eyes fixed mine. “It doesn’t rain in Beratha. In all my life, I’ve never seen it rain in Beratha.”
Increased rainfall. Elsi Schumacher. Sirkonen’s datastick. I felt for my pocket with the back of my hand, but of course I wasn’t wearing a jacket at all, and I had been wearing the clothes Eirani had given me. I had taken off my jacket the day before yesterday. In the bathroom. And Eirani had walked out with it.
I ran to the bedroom, but couldn’t see the jacket anywhere. I couldn’t remember having seen it yesterday either. What was wrong with me? I should never have been so careless. Shit, shit, shit.
I ran downstairs. Eirani had gone out for groceries, or so said the young man in the kitchen. He couldn’t look for my jacket in the laundry, since it went out each morning.
I groaned, hoping the jacket hadn’t gone, too. I told him I wanted the jacket, and the contents of the pockets, back immediately.
He would ask about it immediately. Oh, and did the Delegate want manazhu?
I said yes, since it seemed the only thing I could keep down. I slouched back, where Thayu stood at the top of the stairs, tension on her face. “An important matter?”
I glanced at the ceiling, wishing to hell I knew who listened to us. “Could be.”
Sirkonen had given it to me as something I might find useful, in a meeting in which nothing else of importance was said.
* * *
Thayu called me. She stood in the door to the communication room, light from the hall silhouetting her athletic build.
I jolted out of my state of dozing behind the inactive controls. “What is the matter?”
“You have an appointment with the uniform fitter.”
For crying out loud. War was about to explode and she worried about a uniform?
“We must also visit the Trader Ledger today to set up your account.”
That was true; I had to check if any kind of payment had come in, in case someone sent me a bill for the apartment and staff. And appearance was going to be important at zhamata.
I pushed myself off the seat and almost fell with sudden dizziness. “Let me make myself presentable.”
I stumbled to my room. My clothing had arrived there yesterday, and Eirani had put my clothes on the shelves in the walk-in alcove that functioned as a wardrobe. I went in there, found a clean shirt and the infusor band. Got the box of capsules. My hand hovered over the little vials. The top compartment were the ones to increase my body temperature. I was meant to keep taking them for a few more days until my adaptation balanced and my body could deal with the heat without medication. The bottom compartment contained the capsules that lowered my body temperature, and I was meant to have finished them in Rotterdam. As it was, there were two left, and I clicked both of them into the infusor. Maybe they’d kill my raging fever. Damn, damn it.
Also, no one seemed to have turned up my electric shaver, so I took the razor into the bathroom and applied Eirani’s stinging soap to my face.
I felt a bit better when I re-joined Thayu, but still shivery and altogether not clear of mind.
“You’re not looking healthy,” she said.
“Just tired.” I rubbed my stinging cheeks, which felt like glowing beacons. I’d have to ask Eirani what had happened to my shaver.
“It’s not good to be working all the time.” Thayu’s face showed concern. “You must go out.”
Out. Enjoyable strolls in the tropical air.
“How can I?
I’ve heard almost nothing from Nations of Earth. Nothing from the president or Nicha.”
“Nicha will be fine.” She slid the front door open, letting in a cool breeze and the scent of humidity from the waterfall.
I stopped and stared at her, more irritated perhaps than I should have been. “How do you know that? Do you know him? Do you know what he’s facing?”
She just inclined her head.
I didn’t know why Delegate Akhtari had appointed Thayu to this position, with her knowledge of spying and communication. Was I starting to see bogeymen around every corner?
Think, Delegate, be reasonable. The trouble was, I had some difficulty doing that right now. It was hard enough walking. I focused on the guard’s back. Down the gallery, down the stairs.
The fitter’s workshop was on the ground floor of the hall. Hundreds of uniforms, all with at least some blue, lay sorted on shelves. Tunics, robes, sashes, scarves, trousers. Never had I seen so much blue in one place.
While the fitter took my measurements with a piece of white tape, I glanced around the shop. “What do you advise?” Damn, I wanted to go back and crawl in bed.
The man mumbled with the tape between his lips, “The display rack over there. We have plenty of sizes for the Delegate to try on. If the fit is not correct—” He took the tape out of his mouth; he blushed. “You know, because we’ve never had anyone of the Delegate’s race here before, then we will make changes.”
Never had anyone of the Delegate’s race before? What did that make Seymour Kershaw? An orangutan?
Come to think of it, I had never seen pictures of Kershaw in local dress. In even his latest photos, his hair had been short. Kershaw had never had a zhayma.
I had met Seymour Kershaw only once, at a party organised on Taurus for the swearing-in of the new governor-elect. Earning a bit of pocket money behind the bar, I had taken note of how much he drank, and how much louder his laughter became as the night progressed. A favourite with the ladies, a charismatic man.
Is that Seymour Kershaw? I remembered my Damarcian stepmother Erith exclaiming when I, my father and Erith walked home after the party.
