by Tao Wong
“Ah. So you’re what? The spearhead? Or the figurehead?” I say.
Jessica laughs at my description, pearly white teeth flashing across dark skin before fading. “Yes. Come on, we’re the last.”
She pushes the two of us in, a hand on each of our backs. I follow the urgings of the Southern girl, glancing around to see that she is correct—everyone I know is here. And two others I’ve yet to meet.
“Bipasha, Graham, John Lee,” Jessica introduces the two newcomers for me while Mikito stays silent, eyeing the room. “Bipasha’s a Weaver and focuses on healing and restricting attacks during combat. She’s also the driving force behind BP Fabrics, one of the largest-growing clothing corporations on Earth.”
“If you ever want a custom-designed costume, do let me know,” Bipasha says, flashing me a smile.
Her long black hair, a slightly prominent nose on top of a large, inviting smile, and gorgeous brown eyes have me stopping for a second, reminding me that it’s been years since… well. Since. That she’s dressed in a stylish pink-and-cream Indian-inspired variation of the armored jumpsuit is a good reminder that not everything has to look the same. I’m suddenly not surprised that she’s managed to garner such a following—a successful businesswoman intelligent enough to use her non-Combat Class Skills to undertake missions at this Level and with enough Charisma to bowl over a blind man.
“Oy! And what am I? Chopped liver?” Graham Speight, the Level 40 Prop with the New Zealander accent, protests. The mid-thirties man is built like a brick shithouse with arms as big as my thighs and a glower that would intimidate a lesser man.
“Well, you are just a prop,” Jamal says, and groans explode from everyone.
Jessica winks at Jamal. “That never gets old.”
“It really does.” Graham complains, glaring at Jamal, who smirks.
“Anyone mind explaining the joke to me?” I ask.
“Rug—” Graham begins and is cut off by Hugo.
“What is he doing here? We haven’t voted him in,” Hugo asks, arms crossed as he glares at me.
“I would like to know too,” Shao says, fixing me with a considering look.
“Don’t worry, not here to join your little club. I actually invited myself along because I need to speak with Ms. Chowdury,” I say, nodding to the young lady who flashes me a smile.
“You want to talk about the Planetary Vote,” Jamal says, an aggrieved tone filling his voice. When I raise an eyebrow at him, he snorts. “What, you think we all don’t get hit up on that topic? Most of us own a settlement or two. And those who don’t, know most of those who do in our countries.”
“Or continents,” Shao says, crossing her arms.
“Oh good. That means you’ll be useful to getting the vote passed.” When I make that statement, I watch for the champions’ reactions, trying to judge who is open to the idea and who isn’t. Unsurprisingly, Jamal looks pained, Rae is an unreadable hunk of metal, and Jessica and Shao look slightly interested. As for Bipasha, she’s unreadable but charming.
“As if we haven’t tried that,” Hugo says with a snort. “But you need eighty percent of the vote, and that’s an impossible number if you don’t own the entire planet. Hell, we don’t even own fifty percent of Earth. It’s bullshit politics.”
“You’re right,” I say, my admission taking the wind out of Hugo’s sail for the moment. “But it doesn’t mean I’m not going to try.”
“Waste of time,” Hugo says with a huff. “You can talk to Bi once we’re done. But we’ve got real work to do here.”
“Of course,” I say and step out of the door.
With the initial bait thrown, I’m sure Bipasha will find me next. And if I’m not wrong, Shao and Jessica will at a later date. As for Jamal, the man I need to speak with to get in contact with Ikael, well, I’ll just have to track him down later.
When Bipasha finally finds me, I can’t help but sigh in gratitude. After leaving the conference room, I’d meant to take a look around the newly remodeled Hong Kong and perhaps even visit their City Dungeon. Instead, I was intercepted by Grandmaster Chang and “invited” to have tea with him and his friends. For the last couple of hours, we’ve been seated in their favorite tea shop, drinking tea, eating fried donuts and steamed buns, and swapping war stories. Or in my case, listening to war stories.
“Bipasha!” I wave to the young politician urgently while standing and bowing to the group. “Thank you so much for your time. But I should speak with my friend.”
“Of course. See you again.”
The group of seniors sends me on my way, though not before I make sure to pay the bill. There’s an intrinsic terror involved in dealing with the elderly, especially if you’ve been brought up, like me, to respect them. It’d be too impolite to interrupt them, and so you get stuck in a never-ending series of stories.
“Mr. Lee.” Bipasha looks around the restaurant at the jade-inlaid faux windows and the wooden chairs, a lip quirking slightly as she spots the mostly elderly customers. “I did not expect to find you in such a place.”
“I was invited,” I say, taking hold of her elbow and guiding her down the stairs. “Let’s walk and talk, shall we?”
“Of course,” Bipasha says.
Outside, I feel some of the tension disappear from my shoulders. “Is Mikito…?”
“Off on another delve. There’s a dungeon on the outskirts of Monaco that is threatening to spill over. The settlement owners haven’t been able to clear it and offered the team a Quest to deal with it for them,” Bipasha says.
“Ah… I hope I’m not keeping you from that then,” I say.
“No. My Skills would be of little use. It’s an aquatic dungeon,” Bipasha says as if it explains everything.
I just nod, deciding to pursue questioning about her Skills later. We walk through downtown Hong Kong, the streets achingly empty for a once overcrowded city.
“That’s good,” I say, then gesture for us to head toward the coastline. I’m curious to see the fishing industry I’ve heard much about. “So you’re attempting to have yourself voted as our representative.”
“Yes,” Bipasha says. “And you?”
“Not my style.”
“Kingmaker, are we?” Bipasha asks as we cross over to the nearby railing overlooking the harbor. We stare at the waters lapping against the ground, the occasional bobbing jellyfish monster that floats along the shores, and the numerous small boats that work the harbor and the monsters for parts.
“No. Yes.” I shrug in resignation when I decide to just go with it. “We need to get on the Council. How we do so…” I frown, shaking my head. “Well, I won’t say it doesn’t matter, because even I’m not that naïve. But I’m willing to concede a lot to get it done.”
“And why is it so important to you?” Bipasha asks, her eyes narrowing at me.
“Self-interest.” I look around us. “Every planet, every species, that lacks a seat on the Council are second-class citizens. They have no say in the politics, in the direction of the Council. They barely even get notifications.”
“Sounds like governments everywhere,” Bipasha says, playing devil’s advocate.
“Maybe. But once we have the seat, Earth also gains access to the Planetary System, allowing us to tax everything that happens on Earth. We can levy duties on specific industries. We can set up visitor fees and even channel the growth of settlements and dungeons.” Channel is, of course, the right word, since doing so is akin to building rocks in a river—the water still flows, but at least you might divert a little bit of it here and there. “But why am I telling you this? You obviously know it all.”
“I do,” Bipasha says. “But it’s always good to understand the motivations of your allies.”
“And are we? Allies that is,” I ask, tilting my head to the woman.
“Perhaps. You haven’t decided to support me yet,” Bipasha says.
“I don’t even know you,” I say with a slight smile.
“And you haven
’t met the others either,” Bipasha says. “But you should know, Shao has managed to convince the Chinese to back me.”
I blink, doing some mental math. That’d put her at nearly the same number of votes as Ikael. “Interesting. How’d you manage that?”
Bipasha smiles then. “It’s contingent on there being an actual vote that matters, but Shao didn’t want it. Their golden boy was never going to get the vote, not after he ran in Beijing. And no one wants the Americans to have it.”
“No one?” I say, cocking my head to the side.
“Ah…” Bipasha pauses, as if she’s suddenly remembering that I’m from Canada. Yet a part of me doubts that a consummate politician like her would make such a mistake. No, she wanted me to know that. Wanted me to understand the antipathy she and the Chinese and probably a bunch of others have against the Americans.
“Why?”
“Did you ever wonder what happened to the Galactic Envoy?”
“I think I’m about to find out,” I say. A part of me is already guessing Area 51. It would make sense…
“The Envoy teleported into the middle of small-town Kentucky. And then the farmer who came out shot the Envoy. And since the Envoy didn’t look remotely human, he skewered it, hung it up, and took photos,” Bipasha continues. “You can see the photos in a few tabloids. The first real sign of alien life, and some backcountry hick shoots it, strings it up, and takes photos before gutting the corpse and selling the parts for money.”
“Well, I’m sure it wouldn’t have worked out any better in most places,” I say, protesting the rather rude characterization. Frankly, why the heck would it teleport to Kentucky?
“Teleportation was meant for New York—the UN building. Someone interfered with it.”
“How do you know?”
“What do you think I do when you’re playing kissy-face with Roxley?”
“I’m not…” I send a mental growl while Ali sends a chuckle.
“Maybe. But they’re the ones who brought this hell on us,” Bipasha says. “And many are tired anyway, of the Americans lording it over us all. Almost anyone would be better.”
“Almost?”
“Well, Ikael isn’t much better.”
“Seems like he’s got a lot of support,” I point out, recalling the large number of votes he’d managed to engender. Well above her own.
“Bought and paid for, all of it,” Bipasha scoffs.
“And you’re above that?”
“No. But what he’s promised is destructive. Corruption at that level is impossible to sustain.”
I blink, staring at the Weaver, piecing together her meaning and the underlying beliefs. Then again, she is Bangladeshi—the level of corruption she’s probably run into over her life is significantly more than I have. Which, probably, means she’d be open to bribes and allowing corruption in her own government. But… well, if it works, who am I to complain. Once more, I find myself weighing my own morality against the pragmatism required to keep the damn world running and find that I just care enough. Not over something like this.
“Well, good to know,” I say for something to say.
“For now, understand that I’m willing to work with you. With your settlements and your prestige, along with mine and the influence of Mikito and other champions, I believe we can sway a large number of the undecided,” Bipasha says with a smile. “The benefits could be significant. For all of us.”
Bipasha lays a hand on my arm—briefly, but I can feel the lingering heat, the sensation that manages to take away my breath.
Mental Influence Resisted
Right. But like with Roxley, I’m not entirely sure if it’s a by-product of her high Charisma or something more focused.
“I’ll let you know, after my other meetings,” I say eventually.
Bipasha offers me a nod and waves goodbye, pulling away and leaving me standing there on the dock, overlooking the bay and the numerous fishing boats. As I stare, I spot one particular fisherman tug on a glowing blue rod, his boat rocking dangerously as he struggles against a monstrous fish, the pair of them battling for dominance. An empathic flash rushes through me uncharacteristically. But for a moment, I’m not entirely sure if I’m the fish or the fisherman.
Chapter 11
“Mr. Lee, a pleasure.” The man who offers me his hand looks no older than I am, somewhere in his mid-thirties, with few lines and close-cut, light brown hair. But there’s a look to his eyes that speaks of having lived for much longer than a mere thirty years. It’s no surprise. The ex-Secretary of Agriculture had been old before all this happened. If not for luck and the work of his security detail, he would have never survived the first month.
“Mr. Markey,” I say, shaking his hand.
Behind him, one of his aides twitches, his lips tightening.
“Rob. For someone who has done as much as you have, Rob will do,” Rob says, and I nod. Ex-Secretary turned acting President, now duly elected President. It’s an impressive rise, if you don’t consider the number of deaths that it required.
“I’m surprised you recreated this room,” I say, glancing around. Not that I’ve ever been in the actual building, but I’ve seen enough movies to figure that this recreation of the Oval Office looks pretty close. Up to and including the large rug.
“It was recommended,” Rob says with a self-deprecating smile. “It helps with the public and reassures them that we’re continuing to hold to our ideals. Even if the actual building is a dungeon.”
“Level 120 I understand?” I say, rubbing my chin. It’d be fun to try to run the dungeon, though I’m sure certain historic resonances might occur if a Canadian ran amok with sword and flame.
“Level 120 Elite dungeon, yes,” Rob says. “The champions tried clearing it once, when it was only 100. They managed to make it a quarter of the way in before the rose bushes got them.”
“Rose bushes?” I say.
“You should ask Ms. Sato. It’s quite the story,” Rob says. “But you didn’t come here to speak to me about that.”
“No.” I cock my head to the side, surprised he already wants to get down to the brass tacks.
“I was never much of a politician. The posting was, well, horse trading and a goodbye gift. I’ve always preferred to be blunt,” Rob says with a slight downward gesture of his hand, as if pressing down or cutting something beneath his body. “And General Miller has indicated you are quite blunt yourself.”
“Blunt.” I shoot the general a look where he sits with new stars on his shoulder epaulets. Five stars. Pretty sure that’s as high as you can get. Not that I begrudge the soldier his accomplishments. I note that another thin, dignified African American man is here, listening to our conversations. The Secretary of State, as Ali has informed me. “That’s one way to describe it.”
“So. The Planetary Vote,” Rob says. “You want to know if I intend to run, and if not, if you can convince me to influence those under me to vote for someone else.”
“Pretty much,” I say.
“The simple answers are yes and maybe,” Rob replies. “I feel, we feel, that the seat should be held by me. But as it stands, we do not have the votes. Ikael and Bipasha have managed to engender significant global opposition to us. And the difficulties even if we did manage to achieve human majority is significant.”
“The Envoy,” I state flatly. “Is it true?”
“Of course,” Rob says with a wry half-smile. “What use is it lying about something so simple? Especially when the truth is so effective. But I fear many of the policies of my predecessors alienated many others before that.”
I grunt, shaking my head. Nope. Not touching geo-political history with a ten-foot pole. Still, I’m glad that my intuition—augmented with Eye of Insight—was correct about the Envoy. I’m still getting a feel for using that new Skill, since the Skill only removes other Skill effects and not “normal” lying. Of course, my own intuition and ability to sense when others are lying are significant after all this time, esp
ecially with my Subterfuge Perk.
“You said maybe?”
“Yes, my apologies. I sometimes get distracted,” Rob says again, flashing me that good old boy charm. I don’t even need the notification to tell me he’s Charisma stacked, or that he’s using it—consciously or not—against me. I’m even willing to admit that some of that charm might just be intrinsic to the Maine politician. “As you know, my position is precarious. We are still attempting to gain the agreement of other breakaway cities and states to rejoin us. Many of the settlements that have joined us would be loath to vote for a non-American.”
“But you can force them,” I state.
“It is within the amended Constitution to give me that power. But it is not something I would use lightly.”
I sigh, bracing myself mentally. In other words, and as much as he might protest not being a politician, he’s looking for the right trade. I can feel a small headache coming along, one that grows as we get down to discussing the details. It’s only now, when we’ve gotten past the initial pleasantries and into the horse trading, that the new Secretary of State gets involved.
Hours later, Miller and I end up walking out of the room together, the president left to do his own thing. The walk is silent at first, the pair of us making our way past the numerous guards and bureaucrats that make up the nation’s bureaucracy.
“Thank you for getting me in,” I say to Miller after a time.
“No need. I just greased the wheels. It was your actions and reputation that did most of the work,” Miller says.
“I somehow doubt that,” I say with a snort and a smile. “How’s Wier?”
“Well enough,” Miller says. “He’s in LA right now, dealing with the border. The dungeon along the border—the Wall—keeps growing. We constantly have to blast it apart, but so far, we’ve yet to find its center.”
I grunt, shaking my head. Sometimes I get the feeling that the System has a sense of humor. Or perhaps a sense of irony. Of course, the scientific reasoning was that the System was using a resonant concept to create dungeons, forming them based off ideas, concepts, and ecological niches. Thus the living libraries with their flying attack books or the giant border wall that keeps growing.
