by R. Cooper
BARELY an hour later, a message from the ambassador tugged Taji from the history of the Koel family that the Koel family had provided. A remarkable facet of meeting with old Sha families was how much they wanted others to know their history. Taji straightened his soria, touched up his shimmer, and hurried downstairs. The ambassador was waiting at the entrance to the house, flanked by Corporal Lin and Private Markita. Lin was all business as she opened the doors for them and led them out toward the street and the vehicle the Shavian government had given to Ambassador Tsomyal for short distance travel.
The vehicle was, Taji now knew, out of date by the standards of the Shavian nobility and the artisan classes. They preferred outerplanetary technologies when they could get them. Again, he could not determine if giving the ambassador this one to use was meant as an insult. The vehicle was certainly pretty—large, with an interior so comfortable and spacious it could have been his bedroom. It didn’t move quickly, but it wasn’t designed to. Vehicles such as these only moved within the Garden Distract, and ran silently over pristine, smooth roads.
He’d seen open-air versions of the same vehicle, but this one had a closed top, probably for security. The team had made unsanctioned improvements to it as well, adding armor plating to the interior and storing weapons that Taji possibly was not supposed to know about beneath the fixtures. They’d also added piles of cushions that almost equaled a proper seat, but the vehicle—and the roads—were designed to move in a way that felt like effortless gliding, so even on a stack of cushions, Taji wouldn’t fall or roll around.
Markita went to the driver’s compartment, separated from the passenger section by a short wall and a closed window of plastic armor. Lin joined him, “riding shotgun” as soldiers said, a T-17 in her arms and ready for use. That gun was meant for precise, swift action to take down a target. Taji had seen them all practice with it. It used projectiles, not concussive blasts or lasers.
Taji lifted his eyebrows and shot a look to the ambassador as they settled into the seat across from him. The weather was nice, but the ambassador was elderly and still had the aura of ill-health that had struck Taji the first time he’d met them. He resolved to bring a blanket for them next time, at least for the ride over.
“I didn’t have time to get through much on the Koel family,” he began once they were alone. The problem with noble histories was that they were generally a collection of stories translated—or not translated—from either ancient glyphs or different versions of the characters as they had evolved. If they were translated, the style could still be difficult to read and if they weren’t, well, Taji didn’t have time to learn evolving handwriting.
“Their estate shows up on maps shortly after the initial Shavian conquest of this area. Before that, there are a few legends from the Sha that the family claims as part of their legend. Part of the original conquest, members of the royal family before they crossed the sea, and so on. They like to think of themselves as warriors, even if they aren’t anymore.” Taji paused, considering the knives that even lower class citizens proudly wore and apparently did use. “Do Shavians learn to knife fight as children? Did they knife fight even when they conquered the planet and were on their way to conquering the moon and the planets beyond?”
It was mind-boggling that anyone would use knives when they had the tech to fly through space. Although Taji remembered something from some of his studies about more warlike cultures and how public displays of prowess and deadly skill were often integral.
He made a note of that in his DD, then resumed listing what he’d learned. “It seems as if a large amount of the effort and funding for the moon colonization came from the Koel. After which, I guess they briefly fell out of favor, because the records all but go silent for a generation. Then a Koel allied with the emperor at the time. By ‘allied’ of course, I mean “tied”—their equivalent of marriage, complete with a child. But that’s all reading between the lines. If you go back far enough in any of the old families’ histories, it’s all legends or myth. Murdered emperors, warriors rewarded for their conquests with execution—or seizing the throne. Not that they have a literal throne. There is no seat of power. The emperor does not hear complaints or make laws. The day to day governing is down to the nobles and their whims, although honestly, the Shavian cultural norms seem to do most of the work for them—”
“Mr. Ameyo,” Ambassador Tsomyal ended Taji’s wandering thoughts.
“Sorry.” Taji blamed his lingering hangover. “It’s just…I don’t know why they don’t have more direct access to their histories. Everything is down to individual families, or documentation from outsiders, or stories that have survived. I suppose hiding it is a decent way to retain control, especially for the ruling class. If your nobility was really a bunch of conquerors who settled down and then began to plot and murder each other to seize the throne, then people might assume anyone strong enough could lead them. But it’s fascinating history. They don’t talk about this land before the conquest, though. Their own origins across the sea, but not here.”
“You are not going to mention any of that to anyone today.” The ambassador was not asking.
Taji took a breath, then started again. “So, the Koel currently retain one of the largest estates in the capital. They have hosted IPTC traders before, but never you, for some reason. There is talk of the current emperor, Olea Larin, choosing a Koel for when he, uh, needs to make an heir. But since his sister is alive he doesn’t seem to be in any rush. You know, for a single, childless emperor, the nobles aren’t exactly throwing their daughters and sons capable of producing heirs at him.”
“And again, this is something you will not speak of to anyone else.” The ambassador just seemed amused now.
“Nope,” Taji agreed pleasantly. “I will follow you and sit in the corner if it’s required, and open my mouth only if you request it.” That way was best for everyone.
He looked around. The vehicle had not moved, probably waiting on more soldiers to arrive. Taji wondered if every ambassador had this thorough of a security detail or only this one, and if that was his fault. Taji did not invite trouble, whatever jokes Nadir liked to make.
“Are we waiting on more protection?” he wondered quietly, peering through the window at the vividly pink-trunked pital trees lining the roadway. “Last night wasn’t that bad. Interesting, for a while. I was glad of the rescue, but—”
“Rescue?” the ambassador interrupted.
“It was nothing,” Taji assured them quickly. “A misunderstanding about who I…anyway. I hated to bother everyone.”
Ambassador Tsomyal studied Taji long enough to have him itching to move. “You need better shoes,” they said first, out of nowhere. “Shavians seem extraordinarily interested in footwear as a status symbol. Your robes will do, however. The shimmer is…an interesting choice.” Taji didn’t get a chance to ask if he should remove it. “Do you truly believe the soldiers were bothered by your rescue last night? You’re important to them, and to me. You catching a nuance, an altered word or meaning, is to assist me, but also to help them see danger before it arrives.”
“Two of them speak the language better than I do. One of them is actually from this city,” Taji pointed out.
“A soldier.” The ambassador’s voice got briefly deeper. “Not a historian or a student of politics. If Trenne would have done as my assistant, then I would have used him. We chose you, and each soldier here is aware that you might be their first line of defense. Their lives depend upon you, Mr. Ameyo. Their personal feelings for you aside, they will not be bothered by any rescue you might need.”
Taji swallowed. “Danger.” He was barely audible. The reason for his hasty assignment here was not something a single person at IPTC had once referred to in his hearing, or in any report he had read. He glanced around the luxurious interior of their borrowed vehicle, with its hidden armor. “Like the riot they didn’t have last night? Or why none of the higher nobles have had a meeting with you until today? Why
your house doesn’t have staff that live in?”
“Sha ideals, Mr. Ameyo,” the ambassador fixed him with their large eyes, “often leave much beneath the surface.”
“Primed to erupt?” Taji again thought of the knives he had dismissed as decorative, the sudden tension in the pub last night, as if the honor of a total stranger had been worth fighting and possibly dying for. “But only in acceptable ways?” he guessed. If they were obsessed with self-control, then it stood to reason that they would probably also be obsessed with the lack of it, and circumstances that might allow them to go a little out of control. Like fighting, or— “They called me wild,” he said with soft amazement.
“What?” Ambassador Tsomyal slid him a glance that was as close to impatient as they got.
“They called him animal.” Taji moved the subject from himself. “Trenne, last night. They called him an animal, even though he was calm the whole time.”
“Sergeant Major Trenne is Shavian by birth, but his people were here before the conquest.” The ambassador exhaled slowly. “His people are mostly gone now. They are not considered capable of being true Sha, and as such, barred from any significant role in civic or social life. In my presence, most are polite enough not to mention this, but some do. You will not react to that either. That is my choice, and his.”
Taji reared back, fingers digging into the screen of his data device until it chimed in protest. He’d figured out that Trenne and Lin had probably joined IPTC for a chance at a better life, the same as anyone from any planet. He hadn’t even realized Trenne’s different coloration meant he was viewed as different. Genetically, the differences were probably non-existent. He looked like the rest of the Shavians except for his markings.
He’d never said. But who would casually mention being from…if not the lowest class, than something close to it?
“Control yourself, Mr. Ameyo,” the ambassador rebuked him, but kindly.
Taji put his other hand to his face, wondering how much disgust and anger had been in his expression. He tried to seem calm. “This is what comes of spending all my time indoors with a DD. I should have noticed.”
“If I had to venture a guess, I would say the sergeant major did not want you to notice.” Tsomyal leaned back, as if more at ease now that Taji had been filled in on something so obvious. “Do you think him less capable now?”
“No! No, of course not.” Taji shook his head forcefully, then flinched helplessly when he saw Trenne standing at the open vehicle door. His ears were flat. Taji shut his mouth and turned away.
“Trenne,” the ambassador greeted him, unruffled, as Trenne climbed in to sit next to them. Taji kept his gaze carefully away from Trenne’s face. “Is there anything we should worry about?”
“The city is quiet.” Trenne’s answer did not have the sound of something comforting. He didn’t say something like, “There was no riot.” Or, “The riot was just a small altercation.” No, he said that, flat and ominous if Taji chose to view it that way.
Which he did, in light of what the ambassador had told him. The city is quiet meant the riot had been quelled, perhaps even harshly. Quiet did not mean peaceful.
The small gatherings and one-on-one meetings Taji had attended with the ambassador before this suddenly felt like practice runs. They were heading to the home of a powerful member of the noble class, where there was unaddressed danger, and no one had thought to mention this to their translator.
Maybe his predecessor would have known it without being told. Maybe he’d been trained in diplomacy and how to tactfully pretend he was merely an assistant and not someone there to provide the context that translation devices couldn’t.
Trenne closed the door and the vehicle began to move. Taji kept his attention firmly out the window as he processed all this new information.
Typical of the I.P.T.C. to decide Taji was the most qualified for the position, but to not tell him what the job truly entailed. No pressure on Taji. No sudden certainty that Taji getting a word wrong would throw off whatever they were negotiating for, and get everyone kicked out of the country, or even killed.
Probably because, if this failed, IPTC would take what they wanted anyway. It was messier and costlier to take over a country or planet, but IPTC would if they wanted the resources enough. This system could use another travel station for jumps, and if one was built, Mirsa, with its beautiful violet skies, would be very popular. Whoever controlled the planet would do well, and the Sha was the largest country left of the old empire. IPTC might do all this for a chance to profit from that.
That was less than reassuring when it meant Taji and everyone else would still be dead if he failed. That was probably a hyperbolic thought, but he was feeling a little hyperbolic.
“What am I looking for?” Taji asked as they slowly passed the high wall of a very large estate. A Civil Guard vehicle cruised past them, out of place in the Gardens. He thought the ambassador was surprised but Trenne’s silence was harder to read.
“Anything,” Ambassador Tsomyal finally answered. “Your job is to listen. Please pay attention to word choice, inflection, anything that might indicate something significant. This is delicate. Translation devices are blunt.”
Taji glanced over. “I’ve said that a thousand times.” But he nodded. “Okay.”
“They probably will not speak to you except to ask about the ambassador’s comfort. But if they do, answer politely,” Trenne added. Taji lifted his gaze to Trenne’s face. The headband was gone. Trenne’s hair was neat. He was in his black fatigues, but with the coat that better displayed his rank. “You are not one of them, but you are something more than a servant. Except for the writing artists, educated classes confuse them.” He didn’t exactly smile, but Taji heard the words with a trace of bitter amusement.
“Oh, I am poor. That is my class.” Taji snorted. “But go on.”
“You are above the workers and servants. You are not an artist or craftsman. You are something close to a child of a noble house who has chosen to study. And you are an official of the I.P.T.C. and that makes you dangerous.” The ambassador was not even remotely amused. “Drink and eat only if they offer, and partake in front of them. But be discreet and do not take too much.”
“Control,” Taji sighed, resigning himself to hunger so he wouldn’t seem greedy, or gluttonous, or wild. “Are they looking for me to fail?” Are you? he nearly asked, but closed his mouth in time. He looked at Trenne.
“Taji,” Trenne said after a thick moment of silence. “They invited you and Ambassador Tsomyal. They want something. Remember that.”
Taji faced the ambassador, who nodded. “All you really have to do is pay attention. Diplomacy is a form of spying, Mr. Ameyo. We wait and watch and take no sides but our own until it is beneficial to do otherwise. They will do the same.”
“Take no sides,” Taji repeated seriously, and caught Trenne’s ear flicking toward him and then back, as if he was amused.
“I can stay out of trouble,” Taji argued immediately, wrinkling his nose, and Trenne said nothing, not even a polite agreement. Taji opened his mouth again to object to that sort of sly condemnation, and the ambassador coughed.
Discreetly reminded that he had important work to do, Taji gave Trenne one last look before turning to stare out the window. Take no sides, he reminded himself as the estate walls grew higher and more ancient, hiding everything from sight except the tops of the trees of their many gardens.
Chapter Three
KEEPING HIS head down was easier said than done. Taji had not been prepared for an estate like the one belonging to the Koel. The ambassador’s house, easily the largest Taji had ever lived in, was puny compared to the sprawling, spiraling houses that composed the Koel estate. The drive toward the house had been a curving road through red-leaved trees. Taji would have called that a forest, until he’d seen the arrangement of multicolored Koel houses, stories stacked high and wide, with blue and green plantlife occasionally spilling over the balconies.
The Sha love of color had been a shock to Taji’s senses after a year of the grey, manmade structures of the shepherd moon, and the blank, featureless walls of the ship that had transported him. He still felt a little overwhelmed by so much color and shape and scent at once.
He had recovered, slightly, by the time he walked inside, until he’d seen the calligraphy on the walls around the atrium at the center of the home. The murals around the entrance itself had most likely been restored. Taji couldn’t tell what era they were from without a closer look that he would probably never get.
The Koel wanted everyone to know they were among the noblest of families from the moment they walked in. After that, filling another room with the ancient weapons that had supposedly won their family glory was unnecessary. Yet they had, and that was the room they chose for a talk and a shared meal with Ambassador Tsomyal.
Taji had stared, and then blinked, and then realized two things. One, that it was possible the Koel were genuinely proud of the many sharp and pointy items in this room and considered them part of their legacy. And two, if everything with Shavians was beneath the surface, then bringing an ambassador to a room full of weaponry to dine might not mean what Taji assumed it did.
