Lydia awakes in one of the embassy’s guest rooms to find all her things have been brought from the residence, including her clothes. Once she’s dressed, she goes in search of some breakfast. When a Logi passes her in the hallway, she tries to speak to him—and gets a blinding headache for her trouble.
She goes in search of breakfast and painkillers.
@THE_HAPPENER / D-DAY—Logi delegation to land in NYC today and make demands over attaché killing—we exclusively reveal their agenda! / TR54
@ SWALLOWDOWN / AN EYE FOR AN EYE—The STARTLING Logi demand for a high-ranking politician to be SACRIFICED to satisfy honor! / TR22
@FACTS4FRIENDS / WAR BREWING?? Ships sighted on dark side of Moon / TR17
Last night when they got back, Ivan interpreted for Lydia as Madison explained what would happen next. The embassy wouldn’t let it be known that they were holding Anders just yet: they wanted to hear the NYPD’s version of events first, as any lies they told might be, in themselves, revealing. It was, Madison said, already the most serious diplomatic incident since the embassy was established and it could get worse from here. They held all the cards, and their demands would include immunity from prosecution for Lydia, for everything, including the driving offenses. This was nonnegotiable. Until this was agreed (and it would be agreed) she would stay at the embassy, ensuring her safety.
Despite this Lydia found the conversation depressing. She’d never before had to sit and listen while someone translated for her. She felt like she’d been kicked out of a VIP club. They’ve said they’ll get medical help for her soon, but does anyone even properly understand how her brain does what it does? How are they supposed to fix it?
Furthermore, as she pointed out, they still didn’t know who killed Fitz. Madison seemed confident this would all come out in good time: there was probably evidence that had been suppressed. Either way it wasn’t Lydia’s job: she’d already done more than enough, Madison said. Lydia supposed there was no good reason for her to remain at the center of all this, but couldn’t help feeling rejected anyway.
They’ve given her something pseudo-important to do, which is clearly to get her out of the way while they welcome the monitors from Logia (who have landed and are on their way from Newark now, apparently) and negotiate with the various authorities here on Earth. Madison explained to Lydia that the Logi produce a Book of Eulogy for everyone who dies: Anyone who wants a copy can ask for one, and a further copy is stored at a memorial library. When Lydia heard this she expected to be asked if she wanted to put an order in for one, but instead Madison asked her to contribute some writing or artwork to it, as Fitz was so fond of Earth and proud of his work here. She added, rather pointedly, that they had never asked a human to make such a contribution before, the implication being that Lydia ought to feel honored.
Lydia didn’t want to address Madison’s change in attitude towards her, certainly not via a translator. She’s not sure if she’s won Madison’s respect via her own strength of character, or it’s just that Lydia was the only human she felt able to trust over all this business, but they seem to have some kind of weird bond now. If she ever recovers her ability to speak Logisi, she’ll raise the subject. Maybe.
In the meantime she has to think of something to write about Fitz, the problem being she is not a writer and has never pretended to be. By lunchtime she has a doc containing two pages of bits that don’t connect up, some anecdotes which might be inappropriate, and four different unsatisfactory opening lines. She keeps worrying she’s strayed into some awful stereotype, and everyone will read it and cringe and regret asking a human to do this, and probably rip out the page and burn it. (How many people will read this, anyway? Just his family and friends, or do people often swing by the death library to read random testimonials of the deceased?) Can she really claim to know Fitz? She worked for him for just over ten months, and though she felt a closeness with him, he rarely told her much about himself. Maybe she should say he was a good listener?
Idly searching for inspiration, she looks up Fitz’s page on the embassy’s hilariously basic English-language site—it’s one of those ones that lifts out of your scroll and looks like a book, which was really popular when Lydia was at school but you never see it these days. There’s a short biography of Fitz and a few translated posts from him—it hasn’t been updated in ages; she remembers reading all this stuff when she was assigned this job after graduation. She hasn’t properly looked at it since then—occasionally she’d glance at it to see if it had been updated, discover it hadn’t, message someone at the embassy to suggest they take some action on the matter, then forget about it. She swipes down the page, and down again—
And then, buried at the bottom of a page, is an image that stops her in her tracks: a photo of Fitz in his study, sitting on his sofa.
Lydia hurries downstairs, and as she arrives in the lobby Ivan rushes past, heading for the ambassador’s office.
“Hi,” says Lydia, “you might know this—”
“Sorry,” Ivan replies. “The monitors just arrived and we’re getting pushback from the cops and need to get a senator involved, so it’s all hands on deck. Sorry.” And he strides on.
Lydia looks around. She can’t talk to any Logi here directly, and all their translators are busy. There’s no one here to help her, but she can’t afford to delay. She heads for the office where the embassy’s personnel files are kept.