Episode Nine: The Observers
“Lieutenant Wilson,” Ambassador Ode Abumwe said. “Come in. Sit down, please.”
Harry Wilson entered Abumwe’s stateroom on the new Clarke, which was even smaller and less comfortable than it had been on their previous spaceship. “This is cozy,” he said, as he sat.
“If by ‘cozy’ you mean ‘almost insultingly cramped,’ then yes, that’s exactly what it is,” Abumwe said. “If you actually meant ‘cozy,’ then you should have better standards of personal comfort.”
“I did in fact mean the first of those,” Wilson assured her.
“Yes, well,” Abumwe said. “When you have your spaceship shot out from under you and your replacement starship is half a century old and put together with baling wire and gum, you make do with what you have.” She motioned to her walls. “Captain Coloma tells me that this is actually one of the more spacious personal quarters on the ship. Larger than hers, even. I don’t know if that’s true.”
“I have an officer’s berth,” Wilson said. “I think it’s about a third of the size of this stateroom. I can turn around in it, but I can’t extend both of my arms out in opposite directions. Hart’s is even smaller and he’s got a roommate. They’re either going to kill each other or start sleeping together simply as a defensive maneuver.”
“It’s a good thing Mr. Schmidt is using his vacation time, then,” Abumwe said.
“It is,” Wilson agreed. “He told me he planned to spend it in a hotel room, by himself for a change.”
“The romance of the diplomatic life, Lieutenant Wilson,” Abumwe said.
“We are living the dream, ma’am,” Wilson said.
Abumwe stared at Wilson for a moment, as if she were slightly disbelieving the two of them had actually just made a commiserating joke together. Wilson wouldn’t have blamed her if she was. The two of them had not really gotten along for nearly all the time he had been assigned to her mission group. She was acerbic and forbidding; he was sarcastic and aggravating; and both of them were aware that in the larger scheme of things they were hanging on to the bottom rung of the diplomatic ladder. But the last several weeks had been odd times for everyone. If the two of them still weren’t what you could call friendly, at the very least they realized that circumstances had put them both on the same side, against most of the rest of the universe.
“Tell me, Wilson, do you remember the time when you reminded me we had something in common?” Abumwe asked the lieutenant.
Wilson frowned, trying to remember. “Sure,” he said, after a minute. “We’re both from Earth.”
Abumwe nodded. “Right,” she said. “You lived there for seventy-five years before joining the Colonial Defense Forces. I emigrated when I was a child.”
“I seem to recall you not being particularly pleased that I reminded you of the connection,” Wilson said.
Abumwe shrugged. “You made the connection right as the Earth and the Colonial Union had their falling-out,” she said. “I thought you were making some sort of implication.”
“I wasn’t trying to recruit you, I swear,” Wilson said, risking a little levity.
“I wasn’t under the impression you were,” Abumwe said. “I simply thought you were making a joke in terrible taste.”
“Ah,” Wilson said. “Got it.”
“But as it turns out, this shared connection has landed us an unusual assignment,” Abumwe said. She picked up her PDA, activated it and pressed at the screen. An instant later, Wilson’s BrainPal pinged and a note popped up in his field of vision; Abumwe had sent him a file.
Wilson unpacked and quickly scanned the file, closing his eyes to focus. After a minute, he smiled. “The Earthlings are coming,” he said.
“That’s right,” Abumwe said. “The Colonial Union is worried that the Earth still has a lack of confidence in the transparency of our dealings with it. It’s worried that the Earth will
“Lieutenant Wilson,” Ambassador Ode Abumwe said. “Come in. Sit down, please.”
Harry Wilson entered Abumwe’s stateroom on the new Clarke, which was even smaller and less comfortable than it had been on their previous spaceship. “This is cozy,” he said, as he sat.
“If by ‘cozy’ you mean ‘almost insultingly cramped,’ then yes, that’s exactly what it is,” Abumwe said. “If you actually meant ‘cozy,’ then you should have better standards of personal comfort.”
“I did in fact mean the first of those,” Wilson assured her.
“Yes, well,” Abumwe said. “When you have your spaceship shot out from under you and your replacement starship is half a century old and put together with baling wire and gum, you make do with what you have.” She motioned to her walls. “Captain Coloma tells me that this is actually one of the more spacious personal quarters on the ship. Larger than hers, even. I don’t know if that’s true.”
“I have an officer’s berth,” Wilson said. “I think it’s about a third of the size of this stateroom. I can turn around in it, but I can’t extend both of my arms out in opposite directions. Hart’s is even smaller and he’s got a roommate. They’re either going to kill each other or start sleeping together simply as a defensive maneuver.”
“It’s a good thing Mr. Schmidt is using his vacation time, then,” Abumwe said.
“It is,” Wilson agreed. “He told me he planned to spend it in a hotel room, by himself for a change.”
“The romance of the diplomatic life, Lieutenant Wilson,” Abumwe said.
“We are living the dream, ma’am,” Wilson said.
Abumwe stared at Wilson for a moment, as if she were slightly disbelieving the two of them had actually just made a commiserating joke together. Wilson wouldn’t have blamed her if she was. The two of them had not really gotten along for nearly all the time he had been assigned to her mission group. She was acerbic and forbidding; he was sarcastic and aggravating; and both of them were aware that in the larger scheme of things they were hanging on to the bottom rung of the diplomatic ladder. But the last several weeks had been odd times for everyone. If the two of them still weren’t what you could call friendly, at the very least they realized that circumstances had put them both on the same side, against most of the rest of the universe.
“Tell me, Wilson, do you remember the time when you reminded me we had something in common?” Abumwe asked the lieutenant.
Wilson frowned, trying to remember. “Sure,” he said, after a minute. “We’re both from Earth.”
Abumwe nodded. “Right,” she said. “You lived there for seventy-five years before joining the Colonial Defense Forces. I emigrated when I was a child.”
“I seem to recall you not being particularly pleased that I reminded you of the connection,” Wilson said.
Abumwe shrugged. “You made the connection right as the Earth and the Colonial Union had their falling-out,” she said. “I thought you were making some sort of implication.”
“I wasn’t trying to recruit you, I swear,” Wilson said, risking a little levity.
“I wasn’t under the impression you were,” Abumwe said. “I simply thought you were making a joke in terrible taste.”
“Ah,” Wilson said. “Got it.”
“But as it turns out, this shared connection has landed us an unusual assignment,” Abumwe said. She picked up her PDA, activated it and pressed at the screen. An instant later, Wilson’s BrainPal pinged and a note popped up in his field of vision; Abumwe had sent him a file.
Wilson unpacked and quickly scanned the file, closing his eyes to focus. After a minute, he smiled. “The Earthlings are coming,” he said.
“That’s right,” Abumwe said. “The Colonial Union is worried that the Earth still has a lack of confidence in the transparency of our dealings with it. It’s worried that the Earth will
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