by John Scalzi
“It means we make someone else the target and take the heat off of us,” Rigney said.
“For starters,” Egan said. “And in the immediate time frame also disrupts any united front they may have had going. You said it yourself, Abel. The nations of Earth can’t agree about anything except being angry with us. In a single stroke we look apologetic and reasonable, they start fighting among themselves and scrambling to make alliances and deals—”
“And we can pick and choose among the players, play them off against each other and work deals to our advantage,” Rigney finished.
“Exactly so,” Egan said. “It changes the entire dynamic of the summit.”
“Unless they all decide to put aside their petty differences and focus in on us,” Rigney said.
“Seems unlikely,” Egan said. “I know you and I left Earth fifteen years ago, but I don’t think planetary international relations on Earth have reached the ‘join hands and sing songs’ stage in that time, do you?”
“I guess the right answer here is, ‘Let’s hope not,’” Rigney said.
Egan nodded. “So now you see why Earth Station is in fact the very best place for the summit to take place,” she said. “We’re not just discussing Earth and Colonial Union issues, we’ll also be walking the showroom with the floor model.”
“Do your diplomats know they’ve been reassigned to be salespeople?” Rigney asked.
“I believe they’re finding out right about now,” Egan said. She speared some more pasta.
* * *
“They’re going to hate this,” Rae Sarles said, at the hastily-convened diplomatic staff meeting on the Clarke. “We were supposed to be here to have a frank discussion about other matters entirely, and we’re changing the agenda literally hours before we’re supposed to be under way. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be done.”
Wilson, standing in the back, glanced over to Abumwe and wondered just how the ambassador would step on this particular recalcitrant underling’s head.
“I see,” Abumwe said. “And will you be making that observation to the secretary herself? Or the leadership of the Colonial Defense Forces, who signed off on this plan? Or to the heads of every other Colonial Union department involved in this policy change?”
“No, ma’am,” Sarles began.
“No,” Abumwe said. “Well, then I would suggest that you don’t spend any additional time on how things are supposed to be done, and spend a little more time on what we have to do now. The representatives from the various Earth governments may indeed be surprised that we are now open to leasing Earth Station. But our job, Ms. Sarles, is to make them be happy by the change of events. I trust you might be able to manage this.”
“Yes, Ambassador,” Sarles said.
Wilson smiled. Head squished, he thought.
“Beyond this, fundamentally, our role has not changed,” Abumwe continued. “We have been assigned a series of discussions with smaller and non-aligned countries on Earth. These are third-tier nations in terms of power and influence on Earth, but the Colonial Union is not in a position to ignore or discount any of them, and there is some potential for significant advantages for us…” Abumwe picked up her PDA to send her underlings their updated mission roles. Each of them picked up their own PDAs as if they were in church, following the lead of their pastor.
Half an hour later, the room emptied of underlings, leaving Abumwe and Wilson. “I have a special assignment for you,” Abumwe said.
“Will I be meeting with Micronesia?” Wilson said.
“No, I will,” Abumwe said. “As it happens, I am supposed to speak with them about the possibility of establishing a base on Kapingamarangi. It’s a negotiation of no small importance, or so I have been assured by the secretary herself. So if you’re done condescending to me and my team regarding our assignments, let’s continue.”
“Sorry,” Wilson said.
“Since the Perry incident, the Earth has demanded that no Colonial Union military ships or personnel come to or be stationed on Earth Station or on the planet,” Abumwe said. “Outside of an occasional high-ranking individual or two, the Colonial Union has honored that request.”
“Oh, boy,” Wilson said. “This is where you tell me that my assignment is to guard the Clarke’s rivets, isn’t it.”
“Keep interrupting me and it will be,” Abumwe said.
“Sorry,” Wilson said again.
“And no,” Abumwe said. “Leaving aside anything else, it would be cruel to bring you this close to Earth and keep you confined to the ship. And beyond that, you continue to prove yourself useful.”
“Thank you, Ambassador.” Wilson said.
“You’re still a pain in my ass,” Abumwe said.
“Understood,” Wilson said.
“The CDF continues to have no formal role in these negotiations,” Abumwe said. “However, it also sees your presence as an opportunity to reach out to military organizations on Earth. In particular, we know that the United States will have a small military unit present at the summit. We’ve alerted them to your presence, and they are receptive to meeting with you. So your assignment has two parts. The first part is simply to make yourself available to them.”
“Available in what way?” Wilson asked.
“Whatever way they want,” Abumwe said. “If they want you to talk to them about life in the CDF, do that. If they want to talk about CDF military strength and tactics, you can do that as well, so long as you don’t reveal any classified information. If they want to drink beer and arm wrestle, do that.”
“And while I’m doing that, am I drawing out information from them as well?” Wilson asked.
“If you can,” Abumwe said. “You’re of low enough rank that the members of that military detail should be comfortable with you as a person. Capitalize on that.”
“What’s the second part of the assignment?” Wilson asked.
Abumwe smiled. “The CDF wants you to go skydiving.”
“Come again?” Wilson said.
“The U.S. military brass heard rumors that the CDF will occasionally drop soldiers onto a planet from a low orbit,” Abumwe said. “They want to see it happen.”
“Swell,” Wilson said.
“You’ve done it before,” Abumwe said. “At least, when I got the assignment for you, it noted that you had done it before.”
Wilson nodded. “I did it once,” he said. “It doesn’t mean I liked it. Falling into an atmosphere at supersonic speeds and trusting a thin, fluid layer of nanobots to keep you from turning into a smeary black friction burn across half the sky is not my idea of a fun time.”
“I sympathize,” Abumwe said. “But inasmuch as it’s an actual order, I don’t think you have much of a choice.”
“There is the minor problem that while I have a standard-issue CDF combat unitard, I don’t have the getup for a skyfall,” Wilson said.
“The CDF is sending a cargo drone with two,” Abumwe said. “One for you and one for whoever jumps with you.”
“Someone’s jumping with me?” Wilson asked.
“Apparently one of the military detail at the summit has experience with aerial drops and wants to try something more exotic,” Abumwe said.
“They understand that the drop suits are controlled by a BrainPal, right?” Wilson said. “Which this other guy won’t have. First he’ll asphyxiate, then he’ll burn up, and then the tiny parts of him will eventually fall to earth as raindrop nuclei. It’s not a good plan.”
“You will be controlling the deployment of both suits,” Abumwe said.
“So if he dies during the jump, it’ll be my fault,” Wilson said.
“If he dies during the jump, I would suggest it would be politic for you to follow him,” Abumwe said.
“I liked this assignment better when all I had to do was drink beer and arm wrestle,” Wilson said.
“There is the fact that when you complete your skydive, you will be on Earth once again,” Abumwe pointed out. “Which is some
thing you were told would never happen.”
“There is that,” Wilson admitted. “I can’t say I’m not looking forward to that. On the other hand, Earth Station is connected to the planet by way of a space elevator. I would much rather go that way. Much less dramatic, but also much safer.”
Abumwe smiled. “The good news is that you will indeed be taking the beanstalk,” she said, referring to the space elevator by its less formal name. “The bad news is that you’ll be taking it up, back from Earth, almost immediately after you land.”
“I’ll try to enjoy it until then,” Wilson said. “What about you, Ambassador? You’re originally from Earth. Any interest in going down to the surface?”
Abumwe shook her head. “I have almost no memory of Earth,” she said. “My family left because of civil war in Nigeria. It had lasted the entire span of my parents’ lives on Earth. My mother and father’s memories of the planet are not pleasant ones. We were lucky to have left, and lucky that there was a place to leave to. We were lucky that the Colonial Union existed.”
“These negotiations matter to you,” Wilson said.
“Yes,” Abumwe said. “They would anyway. This is my job. But I remember my mother’s stories and my father’s scars. I remember that for all of the sins of the Colonial Union—and it has sins, Lieutenant Wilson—the Earth would always have its wars and its refugees, and the Colonial Union kept its doors open to them. Gave them lives where they didn’t have to fear their neighbors, at the very least. I think of the wars and refugees on Earth right now. I think of how many of those refugees who have died might have lived if the Colonial Union was able to take them.”
“I’m not sure the Colonial Union has the same priorities that you have, Ambassador,” Wilson said.
Abumwe gave Wilson a bitter smile. “I’m aware that the Colonial Union’s main purpose in reestablishing relations with Earth is to renew its supply of soldiers,” she said. “And I understand we’re no longer able to colonize because of the Conclave threatening to wipe out any new settlements we make. But the planets we have still have room, and still need people. So my priorities will still be served. So long as we all do our jobs. Including you.”
“I will fall out of the sky as best I can for you,” Wilson said.
“See that you do,” Abumwe said. She picked up her PDA to turn to other business. “Incidentally, I’ve assigned you Hart Schmidt, in case you need an assistant for anything. You two seem to work together well. You can tell him I assigned him to you not because he’s unimportant, but because your assignment is a priority for the Colonial Union.”
“I will,” Wilson said. “Is it really?”
“That will depend on you, Lieutenant,” Abumwe said. She was fully engrossed in her PDA.
Wilson opened the door to find Hart Schmidt on the other side of it.
“Stalker,” Wilson said.
“Cut it out, Harry,” Schmidt said. “I’m the only one of the team without an assignment and you just had a ten-minute one-on-one with Abumwe. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who’s going to be your monkey boy for this trip.”
III.
“It doesn’t seem like much, does it?” Neva Balla said to Captain Sophia Coloma.
“You’re referring to Earth Station,” Coloma said to her executive officer.
“Yes, ma’am,” Balla said. The two of them were on the bridge of the Clarke, stationed a safe distance from Earth Station, while the Clarke’s shuttle ferried diplomats back and forth.
“You grew up on Phoenix,” Coloma said to Balla. “You’re used to looking up and seeing Phoenix Station hanging there in your sky. Compared to that, any other station looks small.”
“I grew up on the other side of the planet,” Balla said. “I didn’t see Phoenix Station with my own eyes until I was a teenager.”
“My point is that Phoenix Station is your point of reference,” Coloma said. “Earth Station is on the smaller side, but it’s no smaller than stations over most of the colonies.”
“The space elevator is interesting,” Balla said, shifting the subject slightly. “Wonder why it’s not used elsewhere.”
“It’s mostly political,” Coloma said, and pointed at the beanstalk in the display. “The physics of the beanstalk are all wrong, according to standard physics. It should just drop out of the sky. The fact it doesn’t is a reminder to the people of Earth how much more technologically advanced we are, so they avoid trying to get into it with us.”
Balla snorted. “Doesn’t seem to be working very well,” she observed.
“Now they understand the physics of it,” Coloma said. “The Perry incident solved that problem. Now they have a wealth and organization problem. They can’t afford to build another beanstalk or a large enough space station, and if any one nation tried, the rest of them would scream their heads off.”
“It’s a mess,” Balla said.
Coloma was about to agree when her PDA sounded. She glanced down at it; the flashing red-and-green banner indicated a confidential, high-priority message for her. Coloma stepped back to read the message. Balla, noting her captain’s actions, focused on other tasks.
Coloma read the message, punched in her personal code to acknowledge receipt of it and then turned to her executive officer. “I need you to clear out the shuttle bay,” she told Balla. “All crew out, no crew back in until I say so.”
Balla raised her eyebrows at this but did not question the order. “The shuttle is scheduled to return in twenty-five minutes,” she said.
“If I’m not done before then, have it hold ten klicks out until I clear it for docking,” Coloma said.
“Yes, ma’am,” Balla said.
“You have the bridge,” Coloma said, and walked out.
Minutes later, Coloma eased herself into the chair in front of the command panel of the shuttle bay’s control room and began the bay’s purge cycle. The air in the bay sucked into compressed storage; the doors of the bay opened silently in the vacuum.
An unmanned cargo drone the size of a small personal vehicle slipped into the bay and settled onto the deck. Coloma closed the doors and repressurized the bay, then walked out of the control room toward the cargo drone.
The drone required identification to unlock. Coloma pressed her right hand against the lock and waited for it to scan her prints and blood vessel configuration. After a few seconds, it unlocked.
The first thing Coloma saw was the package for Lieutenant Harry Wilson, containing a pair of suits and ’bot canisters for his upcoming dive—for which, Coloma noted sourly, he would need her shuttle again. She disapproved of what happened to her shuttles when Wilson was involved.
Coloma pushed the thought, and Wilson’s package, aside. She wasn’t really there for them.
She was there for the other package, nestled alongside Wilson’s. The one with her name on it.
* * *
“I’m supposed to be assisting you,” Schmidt said to Wilson.
“You are assisting me,” Wilson said. “By bringing me beer.”
“Which is not going to happen again, by the way,” Schmidt said, handing Wilson the IPA he’d gotten him from the bar. “I’m your assistant, not your beer boy.”
“Thank you,” Wilson said, taking the beer. He looked around the place. “The last time I was here, in this mess area, and I think at this very table, I saw my first alien. It was a Gehaar. It was a big day for me.”
“You’re not likely to see another Gehaar here,” Schmidt said. “They’re charter members of the Conclave.”
“A shame,” Wilson said. “They seemed like nice people. Messy eaters. But nice.” He took a drink from his beer. “This is excellent. You can’t get a good IPA in the Colonial Union. I have no idea why.”
“Shall I fetch you some pretzels, O my master?” Schmidt asked.
“Not with that attitude,” Wilson said. “Tell me what you found out about the state of the summit instead.”
“It’s madness, of course,” Schmidt said. �
�They barely got through the welcome session before they ended up throwing out the agenda for the entire summit. The fact the Colonial Union is shopping around a lease on this station has disrupted things before they could even begin.”
“Which is exactly what the Colonial Union wants,” Wilson said. “Nobody’s talking anymore about reparations to the Earth for keeping them down for so long.”
“They’re still talking about it, but nobody really cares,” Schmidt said.
“So who are the early contenders?” Wilson asked. He took another sip from his beer.
“The United States, which is not entirely surprising,” Schmidt said. “Although to cover their unilateral tracks, they’re talking about roping in Canada, Japan and Australia for a coalition bid. The Europeans are putting their chips together, and so are China and the Siberian States. India is going it alone at the moment. After that it’s a mess. Ambassador Abumwe has had most of Africa and Southeast Asia at her door, trying to schedule time with her in groups of three or four.”
“So we’ll have four or five days of this, at which point we’ll suggest that the Earth diplomats should go back to their home countries, formalize their proposals and present them at a new round of negotiations,” Wilson said. “They’ll do a first round of eliminations, which will cause a shifting of alliances and proposals, each progressively more advantageous to the Colonial Union, until at the end of it we get most of the planet doing what we want, which is supplying us with soldiers and the occasional colonist.”
“That does seem to be the plan,” Schmidt said.
“Well done, Colonial Union,” Wilson said. “I mean that in a realpolitik way, mind you.”
