Val Vega, page 13
“That’s sweet of you,” Timoteo says, wiping away his tears. He flashes a self-conscious smile. “By the way, Johnny is so hot. So, what is he, like, an alien reptile?”
“No, he’s Synthetic,” I say, “and, like, hundreds of years older than you.”
“That makes him even hotter,” Timoteo says. “Patrece and Wasala, they’re aliens too?”
“Yup,” I say. “Patrece’s real name is Pash-Ti, and they’re actually nonbinary. They’re basically a giant grumpy stick bug. Wasala’s furry and reads minds. And, listen, there’s something else I have to tell you. Tío Umberto left me this message. One of them was spying on him—Johnny, Pash-Ti, or Wasala. One of them probably killed him, or at least helped kill him.”
“Killed?” Timoteo says. I nod, and Timoteo sucks in a deep breath, as if he’s hoping to find courage in the air.
“So we can’t trust any of them. That’s why I need your help. I need someone who’s smart and who I can trust and who can help me figure all this out. I need you, big brother.”
Timoteo hugs me tight. “A la orden, Madame Ambassador.”
Timoteo stares at the row of cubicles. “This is the interstellar embassy?”
“Not exactly,” I say. “This is sort of the New Jersey consulate.”
“I was expecting something more … sparkly.”
I laugh. “I know. But wait till you see the gravity express and the Interstellar Subway.”
Wasala comes out from the inner office, in her true form, walking on all six legs. Timoteo jumps back and shouts, “Ay Dios mío!”
Wasala stands up on her hind legs and lifts her snout in indignation. “I look nothing like a Terran rodent! Can’t you see how well-groomed I am?”
Timoteo touches his palm to his chest and lets out a breath. “Wasala. You must be Wasala. I’m sorry. You look lovely, really.”
Wasala snorts. She drops to her two hindmost pairs of legs and walks toward us. “So you’ve deputized your brother. You all sure like to keep it in the family. Pash-Ti is not going to be happy. But come along, Timoteo, the giant rat needs to get you suited up.”
Timoteo and I follow Wasala, and she sets him up with a suit just like Checkers, which Timoteo names Majel in some obscure Star Trek reference. As soon as it’s set up, Timoteo’s eyes dart from side to side, looking at his glasses instead of through them. “This is awesome!” he says “I can make this thing do anything with just a glance!”
That’s weird. Mine doesn’t do that.
Wasala’s left set of whiskers point up. “Should have gone with the eye-mouse, dearie.” She flashes Timoteo a knowing look, and then looks up at me. “So, you even told your brother not to trust me.”
Timoteo’s gaze shifts from his lenses to me. “Sorry. I guess I’m not very good at thought-steering.”
“That’s all right,” Wasala says. “It’s true enough you have to be careful. We’re in dangerous waters, all of us.”
Pash-Ti enters from the stairway to the basement, eyestalks extending toward Timoteo. “Madame Ambassador, must you flagrantly disobey every directive you’re given? It’s strictly forbidden to reveal the presence of advanced aliens to primitives outside the embassy.”
“Um, hi,” Timoteo says, saluting Pash-Ti with an awkward wave. “I like your … skin. It’s grey. I mean, it’s nice.”
I stride over to Pash-Ti and look right up at them. “I haven’t violated interstellar protocol. Timoteo is part of the embassy now. I’ve appointed him as my political advisor.”
Pash-Ti’s lanky frame looms over me. “Appointments to the embassy staff are made by the ambassador but must also be approved by the observer.”
“Well?” I don’t let my gaze stray from Pash-Ti’s unblinking eyestalks. “Are you going to overrule me? According to interstellar protocol, the ambassador and the observer are supposed to work in cooperation, aren’t they?”
“Indeed,” Pash-Ti replies. “Which is why you should have consulted me first. However, Timoteo Vega did receive a qualifying xenoreactive score and has been listed for some time as a potential appointment to the embassy. I see no need to overrule you in this case. It would only divert crucial time and resources in the midst of a crisis. Has Mr. Vega been oriented?”
“Val covered a bunch of the basics,” Timoteo says. “And I’m getting all kinds of helpful information from my awesome new suit.”
“Then we should proceed with our preparations for our meeting with the Etoscans,” Pash-Ti says, and leads us into the small conference room.
Timoteo and I sit in standard Terran office chairs, and Pash-Ti sits at their usual stool, allowing all three long legs to hang over the sides. Wasala curls herself up on a circular Hoshan chair.
“So,” Pash-Ti says, “now that we’ve reviewed the basic background on the Etoscans, we need to discuss challenges likely to arise at this meeting. In particular, I remain concerned that the Etoscans will balk that the ambassador has imprudently reopened the subject of opening Tumasra to Levinti researchers.”
I really hope I didn’t mess that up as badly as Pash-Ti says.
“So what’s the BATNA for each of these stakeholders?” Timoteo says.
Pash-Ti interlaces their long fingers and turns to Timoteo. “My translator is having difficulty with one of the morphemes in that utterance. Please explain.”
“BATNA,” Timoteo says. “Best Alternative to a Negotiated Agreement. The most important thing in any negotiation. If the negotiation fails, then what else can they do?”
“BATNA,” Pash-Ti says. “A blunt but potentially useful tool of analysis. The BATNA, as you say, for the Levinti and the Etoscans is the same: violent conflict for control of Hosh.”
“And if it came to that, who would win?” Timoteo asks.
Wasala stretches her torso up from her chair. “They’re fairly evenly matched, in military power. But the Levinti have the stronger position. Both have Subway stations on Hosh-Tor, the nearby gas giant, but only the Levinti have a station on Hosh itself. I fear that gives them a major tactical advantage in terms of the transport line for swarms, weapons, and other supplies.”
“Couldn’t the Etoscans just build another station of their own?” Timoteo asks.
“That takes years,” I say, remembering my conversation with Johnny. “So most planets only have one or two of them.”
“And they could not build a new station without approval of the Interstellar Transit Authority,” Pash-Ti says, “which tightly regulates the construction and control of all Interstellar Subway stations. It is the most powerful of any interstellar body—the only one the Great Powers have any deference for. The smooth and relatively peaceful functioning of a coordinated interstellar transit system is the foundation of the Galactic order, fragile as it may be.”
“So the Levinti have the best BATNA,” Timoteo says. “So we’d expect them to drive the hardest bargain, because there’s no reason they can’t walk, er, float away from the table.”
“The Levinti do seem like they’re playing hardball,” I say.
“True,” Pash-Ti says. “However, throughout the course of negotiations, the Etoscans have often proved just as uncompromising.”
“But they must know they have the weaker hand,” Timoteo says.
“They certainly seem overconfident,” Pash-Ti says, “However, interstellar actors do not always behave rationally. There are militant factions among the Etoscans eager to see war renewed with the Levinti, regardless of the cost. As is true among the Levinti—who might prevail in the end thanks to the tactical advantage of their Subway station, but only after significant losses.”
Timoteo strums his fingers on the table. “So if they’re all so trigger-happy, why haven’t they gone to war already?”
“Until the treaty expires, the war will not be a legal one.” Pash-Ti says. “The Great Powers always prefer to make wars that are justified in the eyes of interstellar law. Both the Levinti and the Etoscans have a vested interest in the maintenance of a positive image in the interstellar community—particularly among the other Great Powers. Ideally, each would prefer for the failure of the negotiations to appear to be the fault of the other.”
“Which is the only way we can shame them into keeping the talks going,” I say.
“Indeed,” Pash-Ti says. “Which is why in this meeting, we must tread carefully in responding to any demands the Etoscans make. You must express openness, but never make explicit commitments.”
Timoteo nods, reading something on his glasses. “That’s diplomacy.”
The conversation goes on for over two hours. Timoteo asks a lot of questions and uses lots of negotiation concepts from school. He gets along with Pash-Ti more easily than I do, which makes me wonder if Umberto really should have chosen him instead of me, but I push that thought aside. It’s a relief to have someone I trust in the room. I love Timoteo’s geeky smarts when they’re on my side.
In the next few days, I fall into a new routine. In the morning, I bike to school, then softball practice after school. From there I go to the interstellar consulate, where I strategize with Pash-Ti, Wasala, Johnny, and Timoteo. Some days I skip softball practice and go straight to the consulate. I spend less time with my friends—even Will. Nothing is as important as Hosh. At night, it’s back home for dinner with the fam, followed by long talks late into the night with Timoteo. He brought his sleeping bag into my room and told Mami the floor was better for his back than the soft cushions of the couch. It gives us an excuse for time alone every night.
Timoteo is useful in more ways than one. His cover story is that he’s working with Umberto’s NGO as the capstone project for his poli-sci major. Having Timoteo come to the office with me helps assuage Mami’s worries about the locos from Umberto’s office. She even agreed to let us take two more trips to “Istanbul:” one for the next round of meetings, and one for the official negotiations on Hosh—the latter of which luckily coincides with spring break.
The night before we leave for Hosh, Timoteo and I sit on my bed talking, looking through Umberto’s notebook together. Timoteo thumbs through it the same way as I always do, like every page is a treasure. “I think you’re right this thing about the quantum energy surge near Tumasra is important. The Tumasra storm creates all sorts of interference from scanners—so you could hide almost anything underneath it. That must be what Umberto was suspicious of.”
“Johnny’s map of Hosh-Unam Front activity,” I say. “One of the locations was right by the energy surge near Tumasra. Maybe the Front is building a base there. And maybe Johnny’s helping them get new technology, more advanced weapons for a deadlier attack. Maybe them ambushing me was all a set-up. Maybe the Southern Hoshans are still holding him because they suspect the same thing.”
Timoteo shakes his head. “That’s a little off. If Johnny and the Hosh-Unam Front are the culprits, why didn’t Umberto just expose them, even without much evidence? The Front are outlaw insurgents and Johnny’s an exile—neither have any interstellar clout. If Umberto needed proof for his theory, the realities of interstellar power dynamics mean one of the Great Powers was involved. The simplest explanation is that the Etoscans are secretly building up a storehouse of weapons—probably some weapons outlawed by interstellar law. They’re trying to make up for the Levinti’s tactical advantage if it comes to war.”
“If that’s true, then Wasala’s the most likely agent,” I say, “since she’s the one most sympathetic with the Etoscans. We have to keep our distance from her before we leave tomorrow. But Umberto’s message said he was suspicious of all three. It could be any of them.”
Timoteo puts the notebook down. “We do need more data.”
“Exactly,” I say. “That’s why, after our meetings on Hosh tomorrow, we need to find a way to the Outlands and find Ferus. He got a sample from whatever caused that surge. That could be the key to all this.”
Timoteo is reading the inside of his glasses. “I’m not sure about this Ferus guy. It says here he’s a wanted criminal.”
“Well, all the Outlanders are,” I say. “Anyone who resists colonization is a criminal in the eyes of the Etoscans and Levinti.”
“It’s not just that,” Timoteo says. “This says he used to be in the Hosh-Unam Front! That he’s a murderer!”
I read that too, but thought it had to be wrong. “I know, but there must be more to the story.”
Timoteo pushes his glasses up. “More to the killer story? You’re way too trusting, Val.”
I flex my fingers, annoyed at his patronizing tone. “Don’t believe everything you read in Wiki Galactica. ”
“Sometimes you go way too far with the both-sidesism, Val.”
“The Etoscans and Levinti are doing everything they can to repress the autonomists,” I say, “even the nonviolent ones. We’ve got to talk to the Outlanders directly to understand what’s happening on Hosh, and to figure out what happened to Umberto.”
“Even if we find Ferus,” Timoteo says, his voice tense, “and get information from him, we can’t even be sure it’s reliable.”
“All I know is that tío Umberto trusted Ferus. That means we can trust him.”
Timoteo clenches his jaw and shakes his head at me. For the first time, he looks at me like I don’t deserve to be ambassador. “Really? That’s the sum-total of your analysis on this question?”
“We need to find Ferus and the Outlanders tomorrow,” I say, keeping my voice flat.
Timoteo stands up and spreads his sleeping bag out on the floor, avoiding eye contact. “Whatever you say, boss,” he says, sharp edges of sarcasm leaking out between the syllables.
He’s the only person I can trust, and now things even feel tense with him.
Chapter 12
“Wow! Wepa! Wow!” Timoteo says, palms pressed against the window of our pod. Since there’s no Interstellar Subway Station in Hosh’s Northern hemisphere, we have to fly there from the Southern capital via pod. Pash-Ti’s flying the pod, doing their usual silent stoic thing. While Timoteo gawks at the landscape below, I’ve been watching Pash-Ti work the controls, asking questions about how the pod works. Hopefully I’ll be flying one soon myself, if we can find a way to get away to the Outlands.
We fly over an uninhabited area of forests, a canopy a bright shade of lavender instead of Earth’s green. I wonder if photosynthesis works differently here.
“It’s interesting there’s so much purple in the vegetation, almost like photosynthesis works differently here,” Timoteo says, which makes me smile. Timoteo and I don’t have to be Hoshan to have our thoughts go in the same direction, which feels like a relief after our tense conversation last night. His first trip to outer space has put him in a better mood.
“Your hypothesis is correct,” Pash-Ti says, their whistles coming across as mildly impressed but condescending at the same time. “Hoshan photosynthesis operates via bacteriorhodopsin rather than chlorophylls.”
“Fascinating,” Timoteo says, reading something on the inside of his glasses.
Seeing Timoteo see another planet for the first time makes me think of Umberto, how he saw all this, and who-knows-how-many other planets. Now I understand that glint he always had in his eyes. Umberto spent his time on Earth knowing that life was not a rarity. He knew our universe was one of abundant possibility.
But then he was taken from us, from the whole Galaxy.
Could it have been Pash-Ti who killed him? They’re so abrasive, but I always know where they stand. Their advice is harsh but often right. They’re starting to seem like the least likely suspect, and I’m starting to feel relieved about that.
We approach a city in the distance. From this far away, the floating, seed-shaped buildings meld into one vast aerial cityscape, and the synchronized movements of the towers make the entire city undulate, like a fleet of ships rising and falling with the ocean’s waves.
Our pod descends toward the outskirts of the city. At the edge of the horizon, a dark cloud covers the lower half of the sky. As we get closer and land, I realize it’s not a cloud, but a wall alive with motion, like a massive swarm stretching as high as a skyscraper.
“Are those insects?” I ask. “Like a plague or something?”
“Not insects,” Pash-Ti says. “They’re robotic. An army of military machines patrolling the border between the Levinti and Etoscan-controlled hemispheres of Hosh.”
“All those are … weapons?” Timoteo asks.
“In one form or another,” Pash-Ti says.
“My God,” I say. “There must be millions of them.”
“You underestimate by several orders of magnitude. The swarms stretch around the entire circumference of Hosh, and many are invisible to your eyes and mine.” Pash-Ti climbs out of the pod, arms first, their weight resting on their long arms for a moment as they bring their three legs to the ground. Timoteo and I follow.
I can’t take my eyes off the enormous, terrifying swarm. Is this what Johnny looks like as a fully powered war machine?
We enter the dome. “Customs inspection,” Pash-Ti says. “Guard your thoughts.”
Two armed Hoshans meet us at the door. “Ambassador Vega of Terra and staff, seeking entry to the North to meet with the Etoscan ambassadors,” Pash-Ti tells them.
“We know,” one of the guards signs, with an air of impatience at the slowness of non-telepathic communication. “Authorization, please.” Pash-Ti hands him a small rod no larger than one of their spindly fingers. The guard scans it and waves us through.
We exit through the opposite end of the dome, the low hum of the swarm permeating the air. The bots are a range of shapes and sizes—some as large as my fist, but most the size of locusts. Some have wings, like metallic insects, others look like miniature missiles.
The swarm parts, creating an arch a few feet taller than Pash-Ti. As we pass to the other side, another swarming wall stretches before us. “Another one?” Timoteo says.
