Part 17

The Invasion

The kaleidoscope explosion resolved itself as it always did into the familiar green, orange and blue of the TyCorp logo. Underneath the graphic, the anchorman stared commandingly into the camera.

‘Hello and welcome to TyCorp News today, bringing you a planetary view of the stories that matter to you. Our top stories this hour: as concern grows for the health of the President, we have an exclusive interview with his last doctor. Two dead in Biterra as the handbag killer strikes again. Flooding in Kayro, will Airdrossa be next? And Sybil Andronite talks to Benito Toro about life and love after fame. That’s all coming up in the next hour, so stay tuned.

‘But first,’ his face turned even graver, ‘in the aftermath of the failed peace talks with terrorist group ViaVera, concern is growing for the safety of the Chi!me UP Ambassador Ar’Quila. Our political correspondent Maria Morales is outside the Chi!me embassy here in Airdrossa and sends us this special report. Maria, what can you tell us?’

The screen cut to a young woman in an evening street, her spiky yellow hair framed against her white umbrella.

‘Well, Flavian, tonight hard questions are being asked about the whereabouts of UP Ambassador Ar’Quila, who has been missing since ViaVera’s cowardly attack on the peace talks over a week ago.’

Rain, glinting in the arc light, drifted in front of her face. Amid the trees lining the street behind her, the top story of the Chi!me embassy peered over its shuttered gates, a point of orange in the tossing dark.

‘I understand the Chi!me Ambassador is there now, is that right?’

‘Yes, Flavian, that’s right. The Chi!me Ambassador, Par’Lennan, has been in the embassy since early this morning and has been having, we’re told, a high-level meeting and consultation with the Chi!me government.’

‘Do we know what they were discussing?’

‘Not as such, no, but sources close to the Ambassador say he is very concerned about Ambassador Ar’Quila’s safety.’

Flavian pulled his gravest face. ‘So, do you get a sense of how the Chi!me might want to resolve this? Are they likely, do you think, to join in with the investigation? After all, with their resources they could make a big difference to the chances of success.’

‘That’s right, Flavian. The Chi!me, of course, are one of the wealthiest powers in the galaxy, although some experts believe that Terra’s recent economic growth spurt might change that very soon. But the question with the Chi!me is always how they choose to use their power. The feeling here tonight is that there’s unlikely to be any joint effort any time soon.’ A gust threw a handful of raindrops against the camera lens, blew her umbrella askew. She blinked, recovering herself.

‘We’ve been trying to interview Ambassador Par’Lennan,’ she raised her voice over the wind in the leaves, ‘but so far neither he nor any of his staff has been available to talk to us. A short while ago, however, he made this statement to the press.’

She stood aside with the air of a showman ushering on her next act. The screen flickered and over the luminous half-dark behind her the Ambassador appeared. He was wearing a stiff white jacket with blue and green fringes all the way down the edge, dazzlingly bright against the pendent black sky.

‘This is a prepared statement on behalf of United Planets,’ he said. He held the terminal in one hand while his other ran up his forehead and through his hair, pinning it there for a moment so that it stood up like a crest.

‘United Planets is inexpressibly concerned about the disappearance of Ambassador Ar’Quila following the collapse of peace talks with the terrorist group ViaVera. The Ambassador came to Benan Ty on behalf of United Planets to make peace between the government and the terrorists. She worked closely with the government on the arrangement of the talks and all other matters to do with security. We accept that the breakdown of the talks was unforeseen, and no one regrets their failure more than the United Planets organization.

‘However, even in failure it is incumbent on the government to provide for the security of all those participating in the talks. We note that there were no significant casualties on the government side and that troops appear to have been deployed with success, to enable the principals to escape. We make no accusations at this time, it would not be right. We merely state that Ambassador Ar’Quila, as the duly appointed representative of United Planets, was entitled to the highest possible level of protection and that if it becomes apparent that it was not received in this instance we will be holding the Benan Ty government responsible at the highest level. We trust that every measure is being taken to recover Ambassador Ar’Quila unharmed but assure the government that United Planets will do everything necessary to protect the safety of all their representatives, whatever the circumstances.’

The Ambassador lowered the terminal. A clamor erupted from the unseen press corps. ‘Ambassador, do you mean you think Ar’Quila is dead?’ ‘Ambassador, do you think UP was wrong to talk to terrorists?’ Ambassador…’ Ambassador…’

The picture darkened suddenly and Maria Morales’ face appeared over Par’Lennan’s.

‘Well, Flavian, that was the position of UP earlier tonight and only time will tell if Ar’Quila is recovered safe and well.’

‘They seem to be taking a bullish line, Maria?’ asked the anchor.

‘They do, and in fact UP insiders have told us that this is the most aggressive response they have seen from them in a long time.’

‘Has there been any response from the President to the Ambassador’s statement?’

Maria pulled a serious face.

‘Not yet,’ she said, ‘but sources close to the President say that he is following the current situation closely and will be making a statement soon.’ Her expression became pious. ‘In the meantime, we must all be strong and resolute in the face of any external threat.’

Flavian, in the studio, looked the camera in the eye. ‘Amen to that.’

***

Agana sent records of all the reports to him, but after the first couple of days, Desailly had stopped watching them. He justified it to himself by saying that Agana would tell him if there was anything he needed to know, and it was true that the broadcasters were well-trained enough to say only what he needed them to say, without him even having to tell them what it was. It was delegation, in the current crisis he was too busy to worry about such details, he told himself, knowing that wasn’t the reason at all.

The recording of the latest special report sat untouched on his terminal. He leaned his head against the office window. Far below, beyond the perimeter wall, the lights of transports crossed and re-crossed, threading the city like sparkling yarn. The people didn’t support him to be supine, to allow the Chi!me to take them without a fight. He would have to make a statement soon; he could sense the phrases bubbling under the surface of his thoughts. Agana was working on the rumors already.

He was not finished yet. If the Chi!me thought they could have Ty without a fight they would soon realize the depth of their mistake. He hadn’t failed, this wasn’t failure, if it was easy to escape them, they would not have half the galaxy for their own. There was nothing for him to apologize for. He had an uneasy flash of himself under a purple canopy while a girl laughed at him. ‘Both of us, Mr. Policeman?’ He should have left it to his marksmen, maybe it was undignified, reckless of him. Then again, in the end what difference had it made? Just a little embarrassment, an odd snippet to add to the legend. It did no harm for people to fear him.

The glass was cold against his forehead, speckled with condensation below from his breath. As a child he had loved to write on the windows, had drawn out whole cities on freezing nights, great edifices that would disappear by morning. He raised a forefinger and drew a line down the misted pane. It started to bleed straightaway at the edges; he remembered it would do that if it wasn’t really cold enough. He looked round for something to wipe his hand, thinking of the golden time when nothing had mattered any more than this; when his world was pared down to one finger on a trigger and no duty, no decisions at all.

***

The bulletin the next night mentioned that Desailly was expected to speak to the nation and the night after that, he did so. The news reports next day in Airdrossa were full of it, blaring the highlights in their largest letters, just legible in passing as they were scrolled past on the way to the sport. ‘Desailly defiant: CAS chief lambasts critics in robust speech.’ ‘Desailly to Chi!me: We will not be blamed.’ ‘Shut UP! Desailly tells it like it is to interplanetary whiners!’ In the articles themselves, the extracts were set within decorative borders as if to incite readers to keep and cast up.

‘We utterly refute any suggestion that we are not doing our utmost to search for Ambassador Ar’Quila. We are not and have never been complacent at the disappearance of any sentient being, and we will not lie down under the heinous accusation that we have less regard for life than the Chi!me. We may be poorer than the Chi!me, we may be of less renown in the galaxy, but we are as civilized as they, with just as much knowledge of how to behave decently. We will continue to look for Ar’Quila and we will continue to pray that our efforts will be successful…

‘…We have no reason to suppose that she is not well and safe and will soon be returned to us. But if she is not, we have this to say. We received Ambassador Ar’Quila with courtesy, because of all things what we desire most of all is peace, both on our planet and with our neighbors. We listened to her proposals and we were prepared to co-operate with her plan for peace talks, although we warned her then that our experience of ViaVera made it unlikely that such talks would succeed. Unfortunately, we were proved all too right. But though we received Ar’Quila as we did, let us make one thing very clear.

‘We did not invite her here. Her mission was from UP, not of our choosing. We do our utmost to protect our guests, but when those guests force themselves upon us unasked, and insist on being taken into the most dangerous circumstances, we cannot be held responsible. We hope that the Ambassador will soon be found and returned to her people, but if not, we accept no liability for her fate. Her actions were not ours, but her own. So must the consequences be.’

***

For a few days, there was silence from UP. The crisis was even replaced in the top billing slots by rumors that a new doctor had been summoned to the Presidential palace. Then, an announcement came direct from Chi!me One that Ambassador Ar’Quila was dead.

There were very few details at first. As Maria Morales told the camera solemnly from her usual spot outside the Chi!me embassy, the story was so hazy it was difficult to give credence to it at all. ‘It’s significant that this comes from Chi!me One and not from the UP office on Zargras,’ she opined, her expression at knowing the difference ever so slightly smug. ‘This means the Chi!me are going it alone on this one and they may be facing an embarrassing climb down when more details are released. For the moment, we can only wait and hope. Back to you, Flavian.’

UP’s statement, following hard on the Chi!me’s, was that nothing could be done until there was more proof. For a couple of days, it looked as if it was not going to be forthcoming. The story had even slipped again from the top spot in the newscasts when the witness account came out. It was late in the evening when it was first shown. They said later that everyone who was at home had gone to bed, so its first audience were the young men in the bars.

The witness was a youngish man, pale under black stubble, in the eclectic mix of quasi-military uniforms favored by private soldiers everywhere on Ty. He was sitting on a bench against a white wall, staring straight ahead, expressionless. A voice spoke, twittering, out of sight and the translation appeared at the bottom of the screen. ‘Please proceed.’

The man swallowed. His face was jowly but somehow liquid, as if he had once been much fatter than he was now. He spoke.

‘I was one of the guards hired for Ambassador Ar’Quila while she was on Benan Ty,’ he said. ‘I worked for her in Airdrossa and then I was one of the ones chosen to go with her to the talks. I wasn’t in the pavilion that day with the leaders, it was decided that we weren’t necessary, but I saw what happened. When the shooting started, she was standing up, trying to stop it. I saw security guards protecting Desailly and others from the government, I saw ViaVera protecting their own, but no one was protecting her.

‘I saw ViaVera shoot her, and I saw that we let it happen. I hid until the fighting ended and afterwards I saw ViaVera dragging her body away. I heard them saying they were going to bury her somewhere in the mountains, where no one would ever find her. After they’d gone, I ran away. I admit it, I was scared by what I’d seen, too scared to stay in case I was stopped from saying what I knew. I managed to make contact with the Chi!me and they came for me.’

He paused, gathering himself for the peroration. All over the capital the bars were silent. The clientele, forgetting their drinks, stood gathered around the screens.

‘I am Ty born and raised. I love my world. But Ambassador Ar’Quila was coming to do good, to end the suffering, and we let her die because we didn’t care enough to protect her. I think we should be ashamed of that. I think those responsible will have to pay for that.’

A murmur of comment ran through the city streets. Far away, the man lowered his head. ‘That’s all. I’ve finished,’ he muttered.

The birdsong voices closed in.

***

Par’Lennan stood on the embassy roof and thought, not for the first time, that it was a shame he had to leave behind his hat. He had only bought it a few weeks ago from a stall in the main market. Its wide, straw brim was quite unlike anything he could get on Chi!me and when pulled down, shaded his face with an air of mystery he relished. Like the men you saw sometimes in the streets late at night, folded bundles of cloth topped by a huge hat that hid their features completely. He knew of course that they were just drunk, but it always seemed to him that they were watching, seeing without being seen, superior. But it was far too large to fit into his case and he could hardly carry it in his hand; he had to maintain some dignity, after all. Fortunately, the Ty spirits were easier to transport.

At least it wasn’t raining. He moved away from the rest of the embassy staff, dotted about the roof with their baggage around them, and squinted at the horizon. Against the pink-dyed clouds he could just make out a black dot that could be the flyer, although it was a little too far away to be sure. He had originally planned to drive everyone out to the spaceport, but after last night it hadn’t been safe. At least half the windows had been smashed and the gates were still smoldering where they’d tried to burn them down. The additional police presence seemed to have prevented any recurrence so far, but Par’Lennan could hear the shouting and was not entirely sure the police would not, given the chance, turn round and join the rioters. As well to be hanged for a something than a something else, wasn’t there a Terran expression? He couldn’t remember how it went, his Terran was always shaky. Quila would have known.

It was the flyer, finally, he could see it clearly now. He stiffened his back. He might be evacuating, but he needn’t look as if he was afraid. In a few minutes he would be on board and then he would never see any of this again. He had no illusions about that. Whatever happened in the current crisis, for his next posting he would be lucky to be in charge of dome cleaning on Zargras.

It was nothing to do with him, it was not his failure, but it still felt wrong to be leaving without them. Even though he hadn’t liked Quila very much, even though Du’Fairosay had been superior and withdrawn and he’d always worried he’d been secretly laughing at him, they should have been here. Quila angrily refusing to leave and Du’Fairosay patiently persuading her up the ramp with the hot look in his eyes that glinted, one day, and then, like imagination, disappeared. He didn’t suppose he’d ever really know what had happened.

The flyer loomed overhead, flattening his hair with slipstream. A curved gangway swung out from its side. The crew at the top of it locked the bolts in place and gestured at them impatiently. Par’Lennan waved the staff forward. Everything else notwithstanding, he was shunned if he wasn’t going to go last. Over the edge of the roof he caught a glimpse of upturned faces, as the crowd at the gates watched. They had stopped shouting, he realized, and despite the racket of the flyer it seemed oddly quiet. The administrative grades first, then the guards and the technical staff, trying to look insouciant as if they were airlifted to safety every day. Everyone was in now, except him.

The bottle in his jacket pocket pressed, comfortingly, against his side. Par’Lennan, Chi!me Ambassador to Benan Ty, gestured for his case to follow him and mounted the ramp. The onlookers below saw him pause at the top, as if for something left behind, then they saw him shrug and disappear into the ship. The crew shut the doors behind him, hurrying. The flyer wheeled round the empty roof, then streaked away.

***

They announced it in the middle of the afternoon. On TyCorp channel 1, Our Street was halfway through, and Rosala was just about to reveal to Jaime that it was his brother who was the father of her baby. Cristiana Charisma, the actress, excelled at scenes like these, she had made her reputation on them. ‘Oh Jaime,’ she breathed, unshed tears glistening in her eyes, ‘I’ve wanted so much to tell you, but I didn’t dare. Oh, you won’t be angry with me, will you Jaime? It was only a mistake, I didn’t mean it, you know I only love you. It meant nothing to me, surely I must be able to put it behind me? He’s not yours, but you know he thinks he’s your son.’

Jaime’s rather small eyes narrowed further. He opened his mouth to demand the name of her seducer, but the announcement interrupted him, replacing the soundtrack with the news while the picture carried on running beneath it.

‘We interrupt this program to bring you tragic news,’ poor, cuckolded Jaime seemed to pronounce. ‘At one fifteen this afternoon, our beloved President suffered a myocardial infarction. His doctors were summoned and for two hours they worked to save his life, but they were unsuccessful. It is my sad duty to inform you that the President died thirty minutes ago, at three thirty this afternoon. Mr. Desailly has asked you all to remain calm and return to your homes as quickly as possible, where you should stay tuned for further announcements. For your protection, a curfew has been announced from seven tonight in all the major cities. Thank you.’

Rosala turned to Jaime scornfully, as the soundtrack was abruptly restored. ‘You are unbelievable,’ she said.

In the streets of Airdrossa, the church bells started to toll.