Ambassador 1_Seeing Red

by Patty Jansen

  I gave the onboard computer Eva’s address and told it to stop at a flower shop along the way, instructions I had to repeat, of course. The guard next to me raised his eyebrows. “Flowers, Delegate?”

  “On this world, and this culture, when one visits a woman, it is the custom to bring flowers.” And despite so much of their former country being under water, the Dutch still did flowers very well.

  Goodness knew what Indrahui did with flowers—ate them, probably. Hunger was a constant companion of common people on Indrahui as their leaders fought over which piece of land belonged to which ethnic group.

  I fished my comm unit from my pocket and pressed the one-button shortkey to my office in Athens, wincing as pain spiked through my palms. Ouch, ouch and ouch. The bandage itched, my fingers felt hot and the skin pulled when I moved.

  The call was answered quickly by Sheyna, who I jokingly called mail boy and who looked after the correspondence.

  I switched to Coldi. “Is Amarru there?”

  “Sure.” There were some clicks.

  “Cory, how are you?” My mind flooded with relief at the familiar Coldi voice, too deep to be a woman’s, too high to be a man’s.

  “I’m fine. I lost my feeder.”

  “I noticed that—”

  “When is Nicha going to be freed? No one is talking to me here.”

  “Cory. I think we need to tread carefully.”

  “What do you mean? Has Nicha told you anything?”

  “I haven’t spoken to Nicha.”

  Shit. “You haven’t spoken to him? At all? The police told me he was entitled to one call and that he had already made it. I thought . . .”

  Who had he contacted? Nicha’s mother no longer lived in London; Nicha didn’t have a girlfriend . . . who was I missing?

  “I don’t believe he’s been allowed to contact anyone. Only this morning I managed to speak to the police officer in charge of prisons. Not a cooperative fellow. I’m waiting for him to contact me back. He says he can’t do anything without Nations of Earth approval.”

  I glanced at the clock. At a quarter past four, there were three quarters of an hour left in the working day; nothing was going to happen today. Someone was stalling. And all the time I’d thought the Exchange was working on something—I’d even had the disgrace to feel miffed that Nicha hadn’t called me. And all that time, Nicha had been alone, going crazy. . . .

  “I have to see him.”

  “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

  “Why not? Amarru, he’s—”

  “Can’t talk about that right now.”

  What the fuck was going on? “Then can you at least get a lawyer onto this?”

  “We already have. I’ve just been talking to Nixie Chan. She’s outraged and is more than happy to help.”

  “Good.” Although frankly I would have preferred someone less loud and flamboyant, someone less likely to stir already-frayed emotions.

  Something beeped in the background of Amarru’s office.

  “Oh, that might be her. Cory, are you online the rest of the day?”

  “Yes. I’ll be visiting Eva, but . . .” Dratted dinner party. As usual, Eva came last. To my horror, we had already arrived in the suburb where she lived.

  “All right, I’ll ping you when we know more.”

  I closed the connection and scrambled for Danziger’s ID on the reader. I might just have time to call him. Danziger’s secretary answered, saying the vice president was in a meeting. I begged her to send her boss an urgent message. Nixie Chan has just been assigned as Nicha Palayi’s lawyer. Please contact me as soon as possible.

  The guard next to me met my eyes. An earpiece with a tiny microphone dangled at his ear. He said, “The white car follows again.”

  I looked over my shoulder, but saw at least four white cars, two of them taxis trundling behind us, the other two minibuses.

  The guard in the front seat muttered, in Indrahui, “I’ll be glad when we’re out of here.”

  I wasn’t sure if he realised I understood.

  Eva’s house. A two-storey affair with a straw roof, bay windows, mock-historic woodwork and a white picket fence before a smattering of neatly-clipped but bedraggled roses. As it was October, the leaves were turning yellow, and red rosehips floated like little bits of colour, a pale memory of the splendour of the garden in summer. A few sad asters bloomed purple under the living room window, but the rest of the garden bathed in yellows and browns—preparing for winter. Next time I came here it would be summer.

  The door to the house swung open and there stood Eva, in a shimmering green gown with bows and ruffles and collars edged in white lace. Her hair, a mass of dark curls, had been pinned on her head in mock-Victorian style.

  She rushed out, her shoes clacking on the steps, meeting me halfway down the porch.

  “Oh, Cory!”

  I whisked the flowers out of the way of her whirlwind embrace.

  She smelled of roses. Loose strands of curls tickled my face.

  “Cory, oh Cory. I heard about it yesterday. I was so scared.” She was crying.

  At the sound of her familiar Polish accent, the heavy cloak of tension slipped from my shoulders. I buried my face in her curls, brushing my lips over the skin of her neck. I wanted to kiss her, and for once not care about the excessive prudishness that swept through the upper echelons of the diplomatic corps. Everyone is always watching. Do nothing that could discredit you. How I regretted that attitude. If only she would come to the hotel with me.

  I handed her the flowers. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come earlier.”

  Eva smiled through her tears, all glittering eyes and white teeth. “Oh Cory . . . they’re beautiful.” She gingerly touched the bandage on my right hand. “What happened to your hands?”

  “I fell on glass.”

  “Does it hurt—” Her eyes widened. “Who are they?”

  Both guards stood at the gate, studying the house as if deliberately avoiding looking at us. Indrahui did not show this type of affection in public. “Gamra sent two bodyguards.”

  Eva’s frown deepened. “For you?”

  “Yes. I’m a gamra delegate now, remember?” My attempt at an upbeat tone fell flat. I didn’t even feel optimistic myself. I began to think that I, too, would be more at ease once I had left.

  Eva’s throat worked. “Is that because you. . . ? You know they say gamra are responsible for the attack on the president?”

  The gaping hole of insecurity inside me grew. “A lot is being said right now. Most of it is nonsense.”

  Eva nodded, said nothing about what she believed; and, somehow, I really wanted to know. Was she taken in by the media hype? Was she curious about what had really happened? She studied international politics. What did she think?

  There was no time to discuss. The curtains at the bay window stirred. Hidden by folds of gauze, her parents would be watching.

  “Do those men . . . come in?”

  I could see her brain working. They hadn’t catered for two extra mouths; she wasn’t sure what they ate. Gamra people was a sore subject with her father anyway—

  “Eva, you don’t need to feed them. They’re professional bodyguards. They can look after themselves.”

  A tiny frown crossed her face. “In the rain?”

  I flooded with warmth. Eva cared; yes, she would get used to living in Barresh. She might be scared and bewildered at first, but she would be fine.

  “I’ll let them come into the kitchen. At least it’s dry and warm there.”

  “I’m sure they’ll appreciate that. —Mashara.”

  The men came up the path, meeting me like glistening obsidian statues come to life.

  “This is a private gathering for me; there is no risk to my person here. I would appreciate—for the sake of my host—if mashara would not come into the room with me. The lady says there is a place to wait, out of the rain.” Never mind what the Polish cook would feel about this extraterrestrial invasion of his
domain.

  The guard with the sunglasses said, “This is the personal residence of Nations of Earth ambassador of Poland, Zbrowsky?”

  I nodded. “I’m contracted to his daughter.” Not the same as engaged, but close enough.

  “Mashara advises caution with the ambassador.” So, they’d worked out that Eva’s father was a supporter of Danziger’s. Not bad at all.

  “Don’t worry. Really, mashara, this place is my second home.” Was that a slight flick of the eyebrows I saw? “The lady invites you in. I suspect you’d appreciate waiting some place dry.”

  Mind your pronouns, Delegate.

  Faces impassive, the men bowed to Eva, and she blushed. “Oh, aren’t they just gorgeous?”

  I hissed a whisper, “Eva, they understand Isla.”

  “Oh.” Her cheeks grew even redder.

  I followed Eva into the house, the two men walking a step or two behind. I was cold. Nervous. Not in the mood for pomp and ceremony. Realised that what I wanted most right now was privacy. Just me and her in a nice little restaurant, talking about—well—us, without half the world listening in. But of course that was out of the question.

  Into the hall. The floor, the walls, the curving staircase all glared white with artificial marble. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, some grotesque bird’s nest of glitters and dangles. Palms grew in brass pots on either side of the living room door. Smells drifted from the kitchen, at the end of the corridor that led off the hall.

  I glanced at the dark cavity at the top of the staircase. Eva’s room was up there, although I had seen it only twice, and she had been too nervous to enjoy the kiss I had thought to steal in the privacy of lace curtains, down-filled bedcovers and ruffled pillows. A good Catholic girl did not take her boyfriend to her room. Anyone in a position of note, who possessed a contract for the intent of marriage, did not misbehave for fear it might be used against them—mainly by news services like Flash.

  “Oh, poor Cory.” Eva’s mother had come to the door of the living room, dowager hips straining at her green velvet dress.

  She enfolded me in a hug heavy with perfume. Her lips smacked the air, just missing my cheeks. “Come inside, you poor thing. We were waiting for you.”

  At that moment, my comm unit beeped. Wincing, I fished it out of my pocket and recognised the ID by the time I had managed to attach the earpiece to my ear. Ouch—damn those bandages. “Delia?”

  It wasn’t Delia, but her secretary: Delia wanted to see me tomorrow morning. I started to protest that I was leaving tomorrow morning, but caught Eva’s dagger glance.

  I ended the conversation quickly, but had barely taken two steps before the unit beeped again. Some unknown ID. Local. Nixie Chan, I guessed.

  A dainty hand closed over the comm unit, and Eva’s brown eyes met mine. “No. You’re not bringing that thing inside. Turn it off.”

  “But this is important. Nicha . . .” I tried to free the unit without hurting my hands too much.

  “You are about to leave for six months, and I don’t want to share you with Nicha. Just for dinner, one evening. Nicha is not going to run away.”

  I met her eyes, wordless, while the unit still emitted muffled beeps. No, Nicha was definitely not going to run away since he was in jail, and in case she hadn’t noticed, he was innocent. Nicha was my zhayma. Nicha was my work, and my work was my life. Nicha was more important than . . .

  Than Eva?

  I sighed, cut off the beeping and unclipped the earpiece. All right, I’d have dinner with the family without electronic interruption, but I was not switching the unit off altogether. I called, “Mashara.”

  The closest guard took the unit from me.

  I said, in Coldi, “Please answer any calls. Come and get me if it is vitally important.”

  The man nodded and retreated towards the hall.

  It was warm in the living room, with a scent of cigar smoke as a blue mist in the air. A fire blazed in the hearth and the big dining table, with a pristine white tablecloth and delicate antique chairs, was set with gold-rimmed plates of two sizes, long-stemmed wine glasses, serviettes and finger bowls; the diplomats loved their mock-Victorian style and manners.

  Eva’s father stood staring out the window, hands clasped behind his back. When I came in, he held out his hand, but grinned sheepishly when his gaze fell on my bandaged palms. “I guess I shall not shake your hand today.”

  A thin man, from whom Eva had inherited her sharp nose, he wore his hair and beard cropped short, both now more grey than brown. His eyebrows, long and bushy, had been fashioned into two tufts that stood out from his forehead like a billygoat’s horns. A smile wrinkled the skin around his eyes. “I heard you got caught up in a bit of trouble.” His accent was not as heavy as Eva’s mother’s.

  “Just a bit,” I said and we laughed. As ambassador for Poland, Eva’s father would know all there was to know. He had probably spent all day talking about it.

  He asked, “Any news about the president?”

  I shook my head. “Sadly, no.”

  He heaved a sigh and we let the worry hang unspoken between us. “Drink?”

  “Sure.” One did not refuse a Polish host’s liquor. But oh, I had trouble keeping my eyes open in this stuffy room all of a sudden.

  “Sit down,” he said, gesturing at the velvet-covered couch.

  “Thank you, but I think I’ll stand for a bit, or I’ll fall asleep.” I went to the window and looked into the sad remains of the garden. An electric bus rumbled through the street. I wondered where that white car was. “Foul weather.”

  “Yes.” Eva’s father opened the door to the cabinet next to the hearth. “Will be a lot better where you’re going, I bet.”

  “Don’t know that I’d call it better.” Barresh was hot and muggy, but I loved its violent monsoonal storms, with winds that ripped millions of petals off the trees that grew everywhere on the islands and whirled them about like pink clouds. I could almost smell the ever-present scent of hot springs—rotten eggs, some said, but for me, the smell signified relaxation in one of the many public baths. Me and Nicha, and some strange fruity drinks.

  “Oh, Dad, don’t talk like that.” Eva had come up behind me, her warmth and perfume radiating from her. “I want tonight to be fun, so don’t you talk about leaving all the time.”

  I stroked her cheek with my thumb, staring at her moist lips. “Don’t worry. I’ll talk about whatever you want.” Oh, how I wanted to kiss her. Somehow, I would have to get a few private moments tonight.

  Her father pulled a bottle out of the cupboard and put it on the table. Clear fluid sloshed behind a white and red label. I cringed. Not the Sliwowica—that stuff was seventy percent alcohol and I was one hundred percent jet-lagged and didn’t think that would make a happy combination.

  Eva’s father again bent into the cupboard, then turned to Eva and said something in Polish about there not being enough glasses.

  Eva started across the room, but her father called her back. He said something else in an even lower voice, also in Polish, but I picked up the word chans, accompanied by a glance towards the hall.

  Eva’s eyes met mine before she opened the door, and I hated the apology that hovered in them. She didn’t need to apologise for her father’s opinions. Like so many of the older generation, he was so afraid of everything to do with gamra, he didn’t know how to use the word properly. The derogatory term “chans” had come about when Coldi on Earth disguised themselves as Chinese and had used the last name Chan so much that real Chinese people with that name had scrambled over themselves to change their name to Chen or Chang. My guards weren’t chans.

  The fire popped in the silence Eva left behind.

  I decided to bury the issue by facing it. “I’m sorry to inconvenience you by bringing the two men here. They’re my assigned bodyguard.”

  The horned eyebrows rose. “Nations of Earth security doesn’t assign you a guard, after what you’ve witnessed?”

  “They are my guar
d. Half my contract is paid by gamra.”

  Eva’s father snorted. “Lunacy. The entire world is turned upside down by this cowardly attack. You should stay here until the emergency council has come out of their meeting and has advised the general assembly tomorrow.”

  Oh. Fucking. Hell. The emergency council was sitting. That’s why I couldn’t get onto Danziger.

  Fuck. Heat rose to my cheeks as I stared unseeingly out the window.

  I should have been invited. Wasn’t that why they were paying me—to act as mediator? Who else currently in Rotterdam could put forward the gamra position, the position of the accused?

  I brought my hand to my pocket, remembered I’d given my comm unit to the guards, and then just stared, speechless. Even my ears glowed with anger. Damn it—damn it!

  Eva’s father was still talking. “. . . The whole situation is not stable and I don’t think Danziger should have acted without approval of the emergency council.”

  “I am a mediator. I do not thoughtlessly abide by what Nations of Earth says. It is my task to help solve difficult situations, not perpetuate them.” My reply came out far too sharp, but oh damn it, I was angry. Was Danziger already shunting me aside?

  “You would be advised to adhere to the emergency council resolutions.”

  “The emergency council does not dictate my actions.” The president did, and Chief Delegate Akhtari—all the conditions were spelled out in a long document that had been picked apart and rewritten so many times that I might as well have stamped it on my forehead. And now they’d thrown out all those negotiations and done their own thing without my involvement.

  “Then it should. After this . . . this talk of conspiracies in Barresh—”

  “It’s a movie!”

  “There is plenty of truth in it. Danziger should ask for an explanation of what happened to Kershaw—”

  “There was an explanation. Twenty pages of it, circulated to all Nations of Earth delegates.” He would have seen it, too.

  “Hmph. We are meant to believe what they said without being able to check for ourselves? No, it tells me that they aren’t playing honest. Isn’t it telling that someone from the Union has found the supposed fake allegations in the movie close enough to the truth to take revenge?”