by John Scalzi
“A wildcat colony with CDF soldiers in it,” Abumwe said. The skepticism in her voice was impossible to miss.
“Yes,” Rigney said. “Since the Conclave has restricted us and other unaffiliated species from colonizing, we’ve been dropping a few CDF members into wildcat colonies. The rest of the colonists don’t know. We modify their bodies to look and act like natural human bodies, but keep their BrainPals in. They record data and send it along occasionally. We recruit CDF members with a background in technical work so they usually end up being in control of their colonies’ communications systems.”
“To what end?” Abumwe asked.
“We want to see how the Conclave responds to wildcat colonies,” Rigney said. “Whether it sees them as a threat, whether they respond to them the same way as an official colony, and whether ultimately wildcat colonies—or colonies that give the appearance of being wildcat colonies—are a way we can keep expanding our presence without having a conflict with the Conclave.”
“And you thought colonizing a planet already claimed by another species was a smart thing to do,” Abumwe said.
Rigney spread his hands. “We don’t pick the planets,” he said. “We just put our people into the colony undercover.”
“How many of your people were on Wantji?” Abumwe asked.
“We typically put in a couple of people,” Rigney said. “Most wildcat colonies are small. We’ll put in one for every fifty colonists or so.” He turned to Schmidt. “How many did your friend Wilson wash up?”
Schmidt glanced over at Abumwe, who nodded. “Two, sir,” he said.
“That sounds about right,” Rigney said. He settled back in his chair.
“What do we do about this?” Abumwe asked.
“And by ‘we,’ you mean ‘you,’” Rigney said.
“Yes,” Abumwe said.
“We don’t do anything,” Egan said. “The Bula haven’t brought it up to us.”
“We’re not going to be the ones to bring it up to them,” Rodabaugh said. “If they do ask about the wildcat colony, then we tell them that as soon as we found out about it, we moved to remove them—so quickly that we didn’t ask permission first, so sorry. We’ll be out of there before then.”
“And if they find out about the CDF members among them?” Abumwe asked.
Rigney pointed at Schmidt. “We have them,” he said. “We have them both. More specifically, we have their heads, where their BrainPals are.”
Abumwe gawked at the three of them. “You’re joking, right?” she said. “The Bula are not that stupid.”
“No one said they are stupid,” Rigney said. “But all our intelligence suggests that the Bula don’t know the wildcat colony was there, and they weren’t the ones who attacked it. We’re going to proceed with the negotiations as they are.”
“And if they ask me directly about it? Contrary to all expectation they might,” Abumwe said.
“Then you don’t know anything about it,” Rodabaugh said.
“To be clear, you’re asking me to lie to the Bula,” Abumwe said, to Rodabaugh.
“Yes,” Rodabaugh said.
“You understand I think this is a bad idea,” Abumwe said.
Rodabaugh looked annoyed with Abumwe, but it was Egan who answered. “The directive for this is coming from over all of our heads, Ambassador,” she said. “And none of us have the luxury of arguing with it.”
“Right,” Abumwe said. She got up and walked out of the room without uttering another word.
From their side of the table, Rodabaugh, Egan and Rigney looked over at Schmidt.
“Thanks for coming,” he said, tried to smile, and failed.
* * *
Harry Wilson entered the bridge of the Tubingen; a surprised Captain Jack Augustyn looked up, along with his executive officer and other bridge crew. He gave them a couple of seconds for their BrainPals to register and label him. Then he said, “I think we’re in trouble.”
Wilson saw Captain Augustyn have an internal debate whether to jump on him for his unconventional entrance and then make a choice, in the space of half a second. “Explain,” he said.
“We have a couple of CDF corpses in the meat locker right now,” Wilson said.
“Yes,” Augustyn said. “So what?”
“I think there should be another one in there,” Wilson said.
“Excuse me?” Augustyn said.
“We have two dead CDF,” Wilson said. “I think there was another one in the colony. I’ve been going through Vasily Ivanovich’s data. It’s where I found the data stored in a BrainPal-readable format. But some of the documents aren’t originally Vasily’s. Some of them are from Martina Ivanovich, who forwarded them to Vasily using a BrainPal-to-BrainPal protocol. And some of them are from a guy named Drew Talford. Who also sent them BrainPal to BrainPal.”
“We have our people on the planet now, identifying the dead,” Augustyn said. “They’ll find him.”
“They have found him,” Wilson said. “I wouldn’t be bothering you with this if I hadn’t already checked.”
“If they found him, then what’s the problem?” asked Selena Yuan, the Tubingen’s executive officer.
“They didn’t find all of him,” Wilson said. “He’s missing his head.”
“I would imagine a lot of the colonists are missing limbs and body parts,” Augustyn said. “They were attacked. And it’s been a week since the attack, so scavengers have been at them.”
“Lots of them are missing body parts,” Wilson agreed, and then sent Augustyn and Yuan an image through his BrainPal. “None of the rest of them are missing a body part that’s been cleanly separated from the rest of their body.”
There was a moment while Augustyn and Yuan examined the picture. “No one’s found the head,” Augustyn asked, after a minute.
“No,” Wilson said. “I’ve been having them look intensively for a couple of hours. There are bodies missing heads, but the heads are usually found not too far away, or the separation is ragged. This guy’s head isn’t near the body. It isn’t anywhere.”
“Some animal could have run off with it,” Yuan suggested.
“It’s possible,” Wilson said. “On the other hand, when the head of a CDF soldier has been cut cleanly from his body and his head is nowhere to be found, I’d suggest it’s not prudent to assume some animal is making a snack of it.”
“You assume it’s been taken by whoever attacked the colony,” Augustyn said.
“Yes,” Wilson said. “And while I’m at it, I think that whoever told us that the Bula didn’t know the colony was here guessed really badly wrong. I think not only did the Bula know it was here, I’d be guessing they’re the ones who made the raid. If they didn’t know it was here, I’m willing to bet whoever attacked it took that head to the Bula, because evidence of a CDF presence on one of their planets is worth more than a little bit of cash.”
“But they couldn’t have known about the CDF presence here,” Yuan said. “We didn’t.”
“At this point, I don’t think it matters if they did before,” Wilson said. “I think it matters that they do now. And if they do now—”
“Then they know we’re here now,” Augustyn said.
“Right,” Wilson said. “In which case it’s not the colony that’s the CU’s biggest diplomatic problem at the moment. It’s us.”
Augustyn was already ignoring Wilson to focus on contacting his ground forces to get them off the planet.
They’d gotten only about half of them up before six Bula warships skipped above Wantji and trained their weapons, already hot, on the Tubingen.
* * *
Abumwe’s negotiations with Sub-Ambassador Ting were winding down when Schmidt heard a pleasant ping from the sub-ambassador’s PDA. Ting excused herself for a moment, picked up the device, appeared to read a note there and performed the Bula equivalent of a smile.
“Good news?” Abumwe asked.
“It might be,” Ting said, and set the PDA down. She turn
ed to her assistant, leaned over and spoke quietly into his closest ear. The assistant got up and walked out of the room.
“I apologize, but there are things I will need to conclude our negotiations, and I don’t have them with me at the moment,” Ting said. “I hope you don’t mind waiting a moment while my assistant retrieves them.”
“Not at all,” Abumwe said.
“Thank you,” Ting said. “I think you and I have established a good rapport, Ambassador Abumwe. I wish every negotiating partner I’ve had could be as pleasant and easy to work with.”
“Thank you,” Abumwe said. “We have enough issues to deal with without adding unnecessary conflict to the negotiations.”
“I agree entirely,” Ting said. The door behind her opened and her assistant returned, carrying a medium-sized case, which he set on the table. “And I believe that this common belief will aid us both now.”
“What is that?” Abumwe asked, motioning to the case.
“Ambassador, you remember yesterday, when we were talking about Ambassador Zala’s appendix,” Ting said, ignoring Abumwe’s question.
“Yes, of course,” Abumwe said.
“I noted to you how it was strange such a small part of a system could threaten the entire health of the whole,” Ting said.
“Yes,” Abumwe said, looking at the case.
“Then you will understand when I say that what you tell me now, here in our little side room, away from the larger negotiation between the Colonial Union and the Bula, will have an immediate impact on the health of the whole process,” Ting said. “I asked for the right to do this, on the grounds that the specifics of our negotiation—the physical visitation of our people between our planets—lent itself to this particular task. All I had to do was wait until we had all the information we needed.”
Abumwe smiled. “I’m afraid I’m not entirely following you, Sub-Ambassador Ting.”
“I’m very sure that’s not true, Ambassador Abumwe,” Ting said. “Please tell me what you know about the Colonial Defense Forces presence on Wantji.”
“I beg your pardon?” Abumwe said.
“Please tell me what you know about the Colonial Defense Forces presence on Wantji,” Ting said.
Schmidt glanced over at his boss and wondered if the tension that he could see in her neck and in her posture would be at all noticeable to an alien not entirely familiar with human physiological cues. “I’m not a member of the Colonial Defense Forces, so I’m not sure that I would be qualified to answer a question about its presence on any world,” Abumwe said. “But I know people in the CDF who would be better able to answer your question.”
“Ambassador, that was a delightfully artful evasion,” Ting said. “I couldn’t have done it better, were I in your position. But I am afraid I really must insist that you give me a direct answer this time. Please tell me what you know about the Colonial Defense Forces presence on Wantji.”
“I can’t tell you anything about it,” Abumwe said, opening her hands in a I would help you if I could gesture.
“‘Can’t’ is a strategically ambiguous word to use here,” Ting said. “Can’t because you don’t know? Or can’t because you’ve been ordered not to say? Perhaps the fault here is mine, Ambassador. I have been too imprecise in what I’ve been asking. Let me try again. This is a question that you may answer with a ‘yes’ or a ‘no.’ Indeed, I must insist that it is answered with a ‘yes’ or a ‘no.’ Ambassador Abumwe, are you personally aware that there was a Colonial Defense Forces presence on Wantji?”
“Sub-Ambassador Ting—,” Abumwe began.
“Ambassador Abumwe,” Ting said, pleasantly but forcefully, “if I do not receive a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer to my question, I am afraid I will have to suspend our negotiations. If I suspend my negotiations, then my superiors will suspend theirs. The entire process will fail because you have not been able to offer a simple response to a direct question. I believe I am being perfectly clear about this. So, a final time: Are you personally aware that there was a Colonial Defense Forces presence on Wantji?”
“No,” Abumwe said. “I am not aware of that.”
Ting smiled a Bula smile and opened her hands in a very humanlike gesture, as if saying, There, see? “That’s all I needed, Ambassador,” she said. “A simple answer to a direct question. Thank you. I do apologize for adding this conflict to our negotiations, and especially sorry to do it to you. As I said, I believe we’ve had excellent rapport up to now.”
Schmidt saw the tension drain out of Abumwe’s neck and shoulders. “Thank you for your apology, but it’s not necessary. I would just like to finish up our work.”
“Oh, we have,” Ting said, and stood. Abumwe and Schmidt hastily stood with her. “We finished the moment you lied to me.”
“When I lied to you,” Abumwe said.
“Yes, just now,” Ting said. “Bear in mind, Ambassador Abumwe, I am almost entirely certain that you were ordered to lie to me by your superiors. I have negotiated with enough humans to know what someone being ordered to lie looks like. Nevertheless, you did just lie to me, and that was the test, to see whether you would or not. You did.”
“Sub-Ambassador Ting, I assure you that whatever you believe I know, my actions should not have an effect on the larger negotiations—,” Abumwe said.
Ting held up her hand. “I promise you, Ambassador Abumwe, that your people and mine are not done negotiating,” she said. “What we are negotiating, however, has changed substantially.” She motioned toward the case. “And now, at last, we come to this.”
“What is in the case?” Abumwe asked.
“A gift,” Ting said. “Of sorts. It’s more accurate to say we’re returning something that used to belong to the Colonial Defense Forces. It’s actually two objects, one inside the other. We considered removing the second from the first, but then we realized that you—humans, not you personally—could argue the first didn’t come from the second. So we felt it best to leave it in place.”
“You’re being vague,” Abumwe said.
“Yes,” Ting said. “Perhaps I don’t want to ruin the surprise. You may open it if you like.”
“I think it might be better if I didn’t,” Abumwe said.
“Your choice,” Ting said. “However, I would appreciate it if you convey to your superiors a message I have from my superiors.”
“What is it?” Abumwe asked.
“Tell them that after they’ve opened that case, when we reconvene, the subject of negotiations will be remuneration for the Colonial Union’s illegal Colonial Defense Forces presence in our territory,” Ting said. “Not only for the illegal settlement on Wantji, but also the warship we’ve currently in our custody. The Tubingen, I believe it is called.”
“You’ve attacked the Tubingen?” Schmidt said, and immediately regretted the lapse.
“No,” Ting said, turning to Schmidt, amused. “But we’re not letting it go anywhere, either. Its crew will be returned to you eventually. Our new round of negotiations, I believe, will set the price for the return of the ship itself.” She turned back to Abumwe. “You may tell your superiors that as well, Ambassador Abumwe.”
Abumwe nodded.
Ting smiled and gathered up her PDA. “And so farewell, Ambassador Abumwe, Mr. Schmidt. Perhaps your next set of negotiations will fare better for you.” She left the room, followed by her assistant. The case was left on the table.
Abumwe and Schmidt looked at it. Neither made a move to open it.
EPISODE FOUR
A Voice in the Wilderness
Albert Birnbaum, the “Voice in the Wilderness” and once the fourth most popular audio talk show host in the United States, told his car to ring his producer. “Are the numbers in?” he asked when she answered, not bothering to introduce himself, because, well. Aside from the caller ID, she would know who he was the second he opened his mouth.
“The numbers are in,” Louisa Smart said, to Birnbaum. He imagined her at her desk, headset on, mostly
because he almost never saw her in any other context.
“How are they?” Birnbaum asked. “Are they good? Are they better than last month? Tell me they are better than last month.”
“Are you sitting down?” Smart asked.
“I’m driving, Louisa,” Birnbaum said. “Of course I’m sitting down.”
“You’re not supposed to be driving yourself,” Smart reminded him. “You’ve had your manual driving license pulled. If you get pulled over and they check your car’s trip monitor and see you have the autodrive off, you’re going to get it.”
“You’re my producer, Louisa,” Birnbaum said. “Not my mom. Now quit stalling and give me the numbers.”
Smart sighed. “You’re down twelve percent from last month,” she said.
“What? Bullshit, Louisa,” Birnbaum said.
“Al, why the hell would I lie to you?” Smart asked. “You think I like listening to you panic?”
“That’s gotta be bullshit,” Birnbaum continued, ignoring Smart’s comment. “There’s no possible way we can lose one listener in eight in a single goddamn month.”
“I don’t make up the numbers, Al,” Smart said. “I just tell you what they are.”
Birnbaum said nothing for a few seconds. Then he started hitting his dashboard, making him swerve on the road. “Shit!” he said. “Shit shit fuck shit shit shittity shit!”
“Sometimes it’s amazing to me that you talk for a living,” Smart said.
“I’m off the clock,” Birnbaum said. “I’m allowed to be inarticulate on my own time.”
“These numbers mean that you’re down by a third for the year,” Smart said. “You’re going to miss your ad guarantees. Again. That means we’re going to have to do another set of make-goods. Again.”
“I know how it works, Louisa,” Birnbaum said.
“It means we’re going to finish the quarter in the red,” Smart said. “That’s two quarters out of the last three we’re down. You know what that means.”
