Quiet Invasion (7 page)

“Yes, Ambassador?” answered the city.

“Ca’aed, I have a case to put to you. It concerns your well-being, so I cannot move without you.”

“What is it?”

As T’sha flew, she told Ca’aed her plan to bring Gaith to the city to allow Gaith’s own citizens to effect its resurrection in return for sharing their knowledge with Ca’aed’s engineers, thus saving the Kan Gaith years of potential indenture for their food and shelter in some other city.

Ca’aed was silent for a moment. “We have the room to bring the Kan Gaith here,” it said finally. “Our binding of promises with them is not strong or detailed, but there is some exchange that could be worked out.” Again, the city paused. T’sha suspected it was mulling over the conversation T’sha had held with T’deu. “We do need to know what infects Gaith,” Ca’aed went on. “Yes, bring it here. I agree. I will start working on precautionary plans so we can implement this action as soon as you have secured the people’s votes.”

“Thank you, Ca’aed,” said T’sha earnestly. “This is not just to further my cause with the High Law Meet. There is good for all concerned here.”

“Yes,” answered Ca’aed. “I do comprehend the good in this.”

Something in the city’s voice kept T’sha from asking what else it comprehended.

T’sha’s workspace was a small coral bubble in her family’s compound. The veins holding her records twined all around its insides, spreading out crooked tendrils of blue and purple. It was not as grand or complex a space as many ambassadors had, but T’sha preferred to work on the wing and conduct her meetings and requests in person.

This time though, that would be impossible. She needed all of her specially trained cortex boxes to organize a meeting of the city’s thirty district speakers and coordinate their schedules. Each speaker, in turn, would have to reserve time with their chiefs and the pollers because this was a voting matter. The entire process would take dodec-hours.

T’sha was not even halfway finished when the room told her D’seun waited outside.

“Let him in,” she said, reluctantly. She was not quite ready for him yet, but she had no polite way to delay.

D’seun drifted into her workspace. He looked shriveled and settled at once on a perch.

“Good luck, D’seun. Can I offer you some time in the refresher? Surely whatever you have to say can wait an hour or two until you are restored.”

“No, it cannot wait.” He lifted his muzzle. “I must hear you say that you now understand that we cannot wait to find another world to be New Home. I must hear you say we will work together in this.”

Shock swelled T’sha. That really was all he thought about. There was no swaying him, no changing the focus of his mind.

“I understand that we are not always as wise as we think we are,” she told him fiercely, leaning forward from her own perch. “I understand that we might not know all the rules of life, and that if we act like we do, we are breeding disaster, for ourselves and for these New People.”

“I respect your caution, Ambassador T’sha, but I cannot let it endanger us any further.” Righteousness swelled D’seun to his fullest extent. “I will proceed with the poll of your families.”

“I know that,” replied T’sha calmly. “I’m already arranging time with the speakers and the pollers. You will have your vote.”

D’seun cocked his head. His eyes examined her from crest to fingertip, trying to guess what made her so complacent. If he succeeded, he gave no sign. “Thank you for your cooperation then, Ambassador. I will wish you good luck and go prepare for the vote.”

“Good luck, Ambassador D’seun.” T’sha lifted her hands. D’seun lifted his briefly in return and flew away.

T’sha watched him go.
There are advantages to dealing with someone whose attention has narrowed to a hairs-breadth,
she thought.
He has not yet thought to make a try for Gaith’s body.

“Ambassador?” came Ca’aed’s voice suddenly.

“Yes, Ca’aed?”

“I want you to know, I’m going to vote in favor of using D’seun’s candidate for New Home.”

“What?” T’sha stiffened. “Ca’aed, why?”

“Because I’m afraid, T’sha. I’m afraid that what happened to Gaith will happen to me and to you.”

T’sha shriveled in on herself as the city’s words washed through her. Ca’aed was afraid. She had never heard the city voice such a thought before. What could she do against that?

“We will protect you, Ca’aed,” she murmured. “But who will protect the New People?”

“You will find a way.”

T’sha dipped her muzzle. “I will have to.”

“T
HIS IS YOUR 7 A.M
. wake-up,” said the room’s too sweet voice. “This is your 7 A.M. wake-up.”

Around Veronica, the hotel suite woke up. The lights lifted to full morning brightness. In the sitting room, the coffeemaker began to gurgle and hiss, while a fresh lemon scent wafted out of the air ducts.

Vee, who had been awake for an hour already, looked up, sniffed the combination of coffee and lemon, and wrinkled her nose.

“Should’ve shut off one of those,” she muttered.

She looked back down at the desk screen in front of her with its list of names, degrees, and recent publications. She frowned for a moment and then moved Martha Pruess to the top of the list. She was a research fellow in photonic engineering from the Massachusetts Federated Institute of Technology, and her list of publications took up half the screen.

“Checking out the competition?”

Vee jumped, twisting in her seat. Rosa Cristobal, her friend and business manager, stood right behind her chair. “Jesus, Rosa. Don’t sneak up on me. It’s too early.”

“Sorry.” Rosa tucked her hands into the pockets of her thick, terry-cloth robe. “But that is what you’re doing?”

“Yeah.” Vee sighed and tugged on a lock of her hair. “Rosa, I am not going to get this.”

“They invited you,” Rosa pointed out, as patiently and as firmly as if this were the first time she’d said it.

“Why?” Vee spread her hands. “They need scientists, engineers. I’m an artist, for God’s sake. It’s been years since I’ve set foot in a real lab.”

“You’ve got a Ph.D. in planetary atmospherics and your name is sitting pretty on five different patents.”

“Which you will remind them of.” Vee dropped her gaze back down to the list.
Actually, maybe Avram Elchohen should be at the top. He’s got a few more papers on optoelectric engineering
—

“Which I will remind them of.” Rosa reached over Vee’s shoulder and touched the Off key. The desk screen blanked. “Get dressed, Vee. The interview’s at nine and you do not want to be late.”

“Yes, Rosa,” said Vee in the tones of a child saying “Yes, Mommy.” She got up meekly and headed for her bathroom. “And shut off the lemons, will you?”

“Yes, Vee.”

After her shower, Vee dressed in an outfit she’d bought especially for the interview—wide navy-blue slacks and a matching vest with matte buttons over a sky-blue silk blouse. She stepped into the makeup station and selected a minimalist setting. The mirror glowed gently as it scanned her face and sent color instructions to the waldos, which responded by laying on just a hint of bronze to highlight her cheekbones and jawline, and a touch of deep wine to her lips.

“Close your eyes please,” said the same too sweet voice that had given the wake-up call. Vee did and felt a quick puff of powder. She opened her eyes. Now her lids had a hint of burgundy coloring and a discreet sheen of gold dust glimmered on her cheeks, the very latest in conservo-chic.

“Routine complete,” said the station.

Vee studied herself in the mirror for a minute. It was a good face, with high cheekbones, strong nose, soft chin. Her brows were so pale as to be almost nonexistent. The rest of her was what she called “Nordic swizzle-stick fashion,” very long, very white, and very thin. “Handy for hiding behind flagpoles,” she liked to joke.

Vee wound her mane of silver-blond hair into a tidy coil and pinned it in place. She selected a scarf that matched her blouse and fastened it so it covered her head but fluttered freely down over her shoulders. She nodded at her reflection, pleased. The effect was businesslike but not stuffy. It said that here was a person to be taken seriously.

Vee had been stunned when she saw the v-mail message from the Colonial Affairs Committee. She had sat in front of her living room view screen for ten full minutes, playing and replaying the recording.

“Hello, Dr. Hatch. I’m Edmund Waicek of the United Nations Colonial Affairs Committee Special Work Group on Venus.”

Good breath-control exercise there,
Vee remembered thinking, facetiously. Edmund Waicek was a tall man with red-brown skin and black eyes. A round, beaded cap covered his thick copper hair. His age was indeterminate and his clothing immaculate.

“As I am sure you are aware, there has been a remarkable discovery made on the world of Venus. We have found what appears to be the remains of an alien base or facility of some kind. Because of the vastly important nature of this development, the C.A.C. has decided to assemble a team of specialists to examine and evaluate the discovery.” He leaned forward and flashed a smile full of carefully calculated sincerity. “We have reviewed your academic record and subsequent accomplishments, and we would like to invite you to participate in the interview process to see if you can take your place on this historic mission.” His expression grew solemn. “We will need your answer by Tuesday the eighteenth at 9 A.M., your local time. Thank you for your attention to this matter. I look forward to meeting you.”

The Discovery on Venus. Of course Vee had heard of it. It was a solid indication that there had once been alien life inside the solar system, an idea that had been given up on years before Vee had even been born. When she was feeling cynical, she would tell herself it was nothing more than three holes in the ground. Except it was. It was three holes in the ground dug by nothing human, and they had left behind what everyone was certain was a laser, or maybe it was a laser component of a larger machine.

It was that laser they wanted her to go up and take a look at. Well, they wanted someone to go up and take a look at it, and her name, somehow, had made the short list

Veronica Hatch, science popularizer, temperamental artiste, and noted personality. The U.N. was setting all that aside and going back to the part of her that was Dr. Hatch, the part that had patents and papers and could do actual work.

“Vee?” came Rosa’s voice.

Vee realized she hadn’t moved. She was just standing there, staring at the reflection of a serious, competent stranger, and clenching her fists.

“Coming.” Vee smoothed out her veil and turned away from the mirror.

Rosa was in the sitting room, drinking what was probably her second cup of coffee. How she could suck that stuff down on an empty stomach Vee had never known. Rosa had selected a tunic and skirt suit in shades of forest green with emerald trim and a pale, silver scarf to cover her black hair. She looked Vee up and down and gave a small nod of approval as Vee twirled on her toes to show herself off.

“Very nice.” Rosa drained her mug. “Do you want to order in, or go out for breakfast?”

“Would you mind if we dropped by the Coral Sea? I promised Nikki.”

Rosa made a face. “That place is overdone.”

“Hey.” Vee drew herself up indignantly. “I helped design the effects on that place, thank you very much.”

“And you overdid it.” Rosa stood up. “In your usual stylish, trend-setting way.” She grabbed her briefcase off the couch. “Let’s hit the deck, shall we?”

Vee and Rosa took a glide-walk up through the layers of the Ashecroft Hotel to the main pedestrian deck and the clean, clear, Pacific day. U.N. City had been built during the first decade of what some people still called the Takeover. The Takeover happened halfway through the 2100s, when the United Nations went from being a pack of squabbling diplomats to a genuine world-governing body. Because national feeling still ran very high back then, it was decided that the seat of world government would not be given to any one country. It would float around the world on the oceans. The mobility created some trouble with time zones, but that was deemed a minor problem compared to the endless bickering caused by the debate over where to put the capital of the world.

The city itself was huge. Toward its center, you couldn’t even tell you were on the ocean. Ashecroft was in the fashionable edge district however, and the first thing Vee saw when they emerged was sunlight sparkling cheerfully on the broad, blue Pacific. In the distance she could just make out three of the cordon ships that sailed in a ring around the city, serving as escort and border guard.

On the main deck, U.N. City was wide awake and in full swing. Crowds of people swarmed between the buildings and the parks. Their skins were every color, from snow white to midnight black. They wore all styles and colors of clothing and every possible level of body enhancement, both organic and mechanical. Some drifted between the boutiques, studying the holo-displays that took the place of windows. Some strolled along the city’s sculpted rail looking out at the calm, sapphire ocean, maybe hoping to see dolphins or, better yet, whales. Some just hurried from glide-walk mouth to glide-walk mouth, catching a few precious moments of sunlight between meetings and appointments down in the heart of the city.

How many of them are hustling to something related to the Venus Discovery?
Vee felt a twinge of guilt at being happy for U.N. City’s restrictive public assembly policies. You could barely move in Chicago without tripping over another “citizens meeting” or “public discussion” about Venus’s underground chambers and their contents and what, if anything, should be done about them.

The Coral Sea Cafe was a few blocks from the railing, nestled in the corner between one of the observation towers and the Council of Tourism Welcome Center. The mirrored door scanned them both, found them admissible, and slid itself open. Vee stepped into the undersea-scaped interior with its wavery, water-scattered light, which she had fine-tuned for them. Schools of tropical fish swam lazily across the walls. The chairs and tables mimicked rounded stones or coral outcroppings.