Ambassador (10 page)

He forced himself to think practical thoughts.
I should find cover. Something thick and substantial to hide under.
He hurried down a long staircase to the bottom of the falls. The staircase ended at a stone and cement bridge that crossed the creek and led to a hiking trail.

Gabe looked around. He didn't see anyone else there, hiking or posing for pictures in front of the waterfall. He jumped the railing, scrambled down the rocky slope, and ducked underneath the bridge. Several boulders poked up from the creek. Gabe climbed onto one of them. The stone surface was cold, sheltered from sunlight. Gabe sat
over the water and under cement, which seemed thick, solid, and possibly safe from orbital energy beams.

He opened his backpack and let the Envoy out.

“Why are we hiding under a bridge?” it asked.

“Because someone's shooting at us,” said Gabe. “From orbit. They tried once in Frankie's backyard, but they missed.”

“I wondered what that noise was,” said the Envoy. It stretched out and poked the cement above them. “This might provide adequate shelter for now. You should take the opportunity to sleep.”

Gabe just laughed. “You think I should sleep while perched on a cold rock and hiding from death rays?”

“Yes,” the Envoy insisted. “To survive, you must learn who is trying to kill you. To serve your world as ambassador, you must learn who is trying to sever diplomatic contact and why. It's most likely whoever is in those ships among the asteroids. You'll have to go back to the Embassy to learn these things. And to go back to the Embassy you have to be asleep. Entangled travel will get easier as you get used to it—you'll be able to slip into a trance whenever you need to and then return at will. Eventually. But you don't have that skill yet, so just try to sleep instead.”

“Right,” said Gabe. “Sure. I'll try to sleep. But first I
need your help with something. I need your voice. I need you to copy someone else's.”

The rage in Gabe glowed, desperate for something to do.

*  *  *  *

Only one Paul Arpaio lived in southeast Minneapolis, and his home phone number had been easy to find.

“Hello, Paul,” said the Envoy in Principal Brewer's folksy voice. “You're fired, I'm afraid.”

Gabe held the phone to the Envoy's puppetish mouth. He heard shocked sputtering on the other side of the conversation.

“I have complaints from the parents of
several
students you've threatened, Paul.”

Lupe couldn't be the only one. Gabe was sure of that. If the counselor savored his power over students so much, then he wouldn't be content to savor it only once. And pretending that several students had come forward to complain should keep this from coming back around to Lupe.

He heard Mr. Arpaio continue to sputter.

“Now please don't make a stink about this,” the Envoy interrupted. “I'm not going to report you, but don't expect a reference. Come clean out your desk first thing tomorrow. Yes, even though it's summer. I want this to be quick and painless. Good-bye, Paul.”

Gabe hung up the phone. He felt a kind of satisfaction he had never experienced before. He usually tried to make conflicts vanish, to keep everyone else as happy as possible. This new feeling was a different, brooding sort. This was how Batman must feel after punching someone who needed to be punched. “Perfect,” he said. “Thank you, Envoy.”

The Envoy changed the shape of its throat to use Gabe's mother's voice. “You are welcome, Ambassador. I hope it works.”

“Me too,” said Gabe. “The guy sounded scared and pissed, right?”

“He did,” the Envoy confirmed. “Very agitated. Very angry. And also frightened.”

“Then he'll either keep his head down and go away quietly, or he'll go shouting. He might want to make someone else feel as small and helpless as he does right now, so he won't have to feel that way anymore. Maybe he'll say horrible things to other people in the office on his way out.”

The Envoy nodded its mouth. “So if he burns his ships and bridges tomorrow morning, then he won't be able to go back to his old job regardless—even though he hasn't actually been fired.”

“That's the idea,” said Gabe.

“Is this how you feel as well, Ambassador?” the Envoy asked. “Did you need to make someone else feel as small and helpless as you do?”

Gabe didn't answer that.

He sent a text to Lupe instead.

Here's my new phone number.

She sent an answering text quickly.
Got it.

And you should keep going to summer school,
Gabe went on. It took a while for him to type out each letter. He'd never owned a phone before, and his thumbs weren't used to typing with it.
Your college counselor just got fired.

?!??!?!?!?!?!?!!,
she replied.

It's true,
Gabe typed.
Gotta go now. Bye.

His new phone rang as Lupe tried to actually call him. Gabe made it stop ringing by pushing buttons at random, and then he stuck the phone in his backpack.

“Okay,” he said. “That's done. Now how do I search for assassins? What should I do, wander around the Chancery at random and shout, ‘Hey, anybody here trying to kill me?' ”

The Envoy sighed. It sounded so much like Mom's exasperated sigh that Gabe felt something fracture inside him.

“No, you probably shouldn't do that,” said the Envoy.
“I'm sure you'll be able to figure out a more subtle way to investigate. Ask Protocol for help—even though Protocol will be reluctant to give it. You might try—”

Gabe interrupted. He couldn't pay attention to what it was saying, not at all—not when it used that voice to say it with. “Stop talking,” he said. “Stop talking like her. It isn't comforting. You need to sound like someone else.”

The Envoy paused. Then it reorganized its mouth and throat.

“Is this more comfortable for you to hear?” it asked in a deeper, more concerned, and completely unfamiliar voice. “Are you more at ease now?”

Gabe shook his head. “No. Not really. Never mind. I guess I'm used to her voice coming out of your mouth, so it's actually worse to hear you sound like a stranger. I'm sorry. Go back to using hers.”

The Envoy reshaped its vocal cords again. It spoke kindly and cautiously with Gabe's mother's voice. “How's this?”

“Better,” said Gabe. “Thank you.” He curled up on the cold stone. “Keep watch while I nap, okay? Wake me up if we're under attack.”

“I'll keep watch,” the Envoy promised. “Sleep well. Learn as much as you can. Then act on the best information you have while also doubting what you think you know.”

“Right,” Gabe said. “That sounds easy.”

“Nothing worth doing is easy, Ambassador.”

Gabe tried to sleep.

He tried not to think about the word
deportation
.

He thought about the
Hiawatha
poem instead, the one he was supposed to read this summer, the one that called this place “Laughing Water.” Remembering the poem shaped his thoughts into that same plodding rhythm, like a tune stuck in his head. He put his own words to the rhythm.

Now Ambassador Fuentes

fled the burning of his household,

fled the death rays from the heavens

and took refuge in the parkland

by the falls that were not laughing.

The sound of the flowing creek and the
THUMP thump THUMP thump
of the words in his head calmed him down and slowed his pulse.

He slept.

“Ambassador Gabriel Sandro Fuentes, be welcome.”

“Hi, Protocol,” said Gabe.

“Hello, Ambassador. Is this self-image to your liking?”

Gabe looked in the mirror. “Looks great,” he said, though he wasn't really sure about the ears.

“Excellent.” Protocol almost sounded pleased. The mirror-door slid open. “Proceed.”

Gabe did not proceed. “I'm going to need some help,” he told the room around him.

“Very well,” said Protocol. It sounded weary again. “How may I assist you?”

Gabe wasn't even sure which questions to ask. He didn't know how much he didn't know. “I'm . . . not sure who to talk to out there.”

“Your Envoy still has not explained very much to you, I take it.” The room made large and impatient noises. “Very well. It is obviously not possible for anyone
to perceive the full size of this place at any one time, no matter how many eyes you happen to have or how impressive your cognitive ability. It is vast. It contains far too many entangled occupants. Both the place itself and the ambassadors gathered inside it are filtered down. You cannot see most of the Chancery while inside. You cannot see most of the representatives here, either. You experience both at a manageable size. With time and training, an ambassador can control their own filters of perception to specifically include the colleagues they intend to interact with. If your world had bothered to establish a proper Ambassador Academy before now, then you would have had the necessary perception training already.”

“Sorry,” said Gabe, though he wasn't. Not at all. He was not in the mood to apologize for his planet.

“So am I,” said Protocol. “Given your lack of training, your Envoy should have given you more instruction between Embassy visits.”

“We've been busy,” said Gabe, without further apology.

“I see,” said Protocol. “Whom are you looking for?”

Assassins,
Gabe thought, but didn't say.

“I need to talk to my neighbors,” he said aloud.
Space travel takes a long time and a lot of effort,
he thought.
The Envoy said so, and I knew that already. So I agree with Sapi.
Whoever is lurking in the system is probably from around here somewhere.

“Delegates from systems adjacent to your own?” Protocol asked, clarifying.

“Yes,” said Gabe.

“You might consider calling for a local match,” Protocol suggested, though he also sounded doubtful. “In that case, summons will be sent to representatives of every civilization within a certain minimal distance of your own. Once gathered together, you will all play a game of your choosing. By tradition whoever calls the match selects the game. During play you will discuss whatever matters you consider important. Many clusters and constellations of ambassadors meet regularly to resume games of long standing. Your sector of the galaxy, however, does not.”

“Can I request a match?” Gabe asked.

“You may,” said Protocol, “though I recommend that you avoid doing so.”

“Why?”

The room paused as though very carefully choosing its translated response. “It is not for me to tell you why. It is not my place to comment on the actions of civilizations represented here. I am the place itself and not an ambassador. I am only the protocol by which ambassadors
meet to share information and make their own decisions. The purpose of this Embassy is to grant representative communication to everyone capable of communicating within a single galaxy. I am a conduit of information, not a source.”

The room clearly wanted to say more, even though it also thought that it shouldn't.

“But?” Gabe prompted.

“But you might consider asking your colleagues about the Outlast,” the room told him, still uncomfortable.

Them again,
Gabe thought. “Thank you,” he said out loud. “I will.” He tried to be extra formal and official. Protocol loved formality—it was the nature of Protocol to love formality. “And I apologize for asking you to step out of place.”

“Accepted,” said the room, sounding mollified. “I understand that you do lack the proper training. Allowances must be made on your behalf.”

Gabe sidestepped the room's condescension. “So if I shouldn't call for a local match, and I don't know how to notice specific people, how can I find and talk to my neighbors? The Chancery is crowded.”

“It is certainly crowded,” said Protocol proudly. “It is a place of infinite diversity in infinite combinations. Even if a significant percentage of the galaxy is currently
experiencing mass extinctions, the Chancery is still very crowded.”

“Wait, what was that?” Gabe asked, alarmed. “Mass extinctions? That sounds bad.”

“I am sure it is unpleasant for those involved,” Protocol agreed.

“Why is it happening?”

“That is not for me to say,” Protocol told him.

Gabe swallowed his frustration. It took effort. It stuck in his throat.
My parents are in prison because they're from Mexico,
he thought.
My house lost a fight with a black hole. If the galaxy itself is burning down, then I'd appreciate it if you gave me a heads-up.
But he didn't say any of that out loud.

Protocol changed the subject. “As for your request to speak with the representatives of civilizations most proximate to your own, I can help you locate three of your closest neighbors—those native to planets within the Centauri cluster. All three are currently entangled and conversing together. I will guide you to them.”

The lights dimmed—a clear hint that Gabe should leave. He could hardly see anything other than the doorway.

“Thank you, Protocol,” said Gabe.

“You are welcome, Ambassador Fuentes,” said the darkened room around him.

*  *  *  *

The Chancery weather had changed since Gabe's first visit. There were more clouds, and the light shining down from each corner of the indoor sky took on new colors. It didn't seem like any particular time of day, with no rising or setting sun to measure time with. It just seemed different.

One cloud changed shape to become a great big arrow. It hovered above three ambassadors who stood clustered together near the tree line. They didn't seem to notice a huge cloud-arrow hanging in the sky and pointing at them.