“Available in what way?” Wilson asked.
“Whatever way they want,” Abumwe said. “If they want you to talk to them about life in the CDF, do that. If they want to talk about CDF military strength and tactics, you can do that as well, so long as you don’t reveal any classified information. If they want to drink beer and arm wrestle, do that.”
“And while I’m doing that, am I drawing out information from them as well?” Wilson asked.
“If you can,” Abumwe said. “You’re of low enough rank that the members of that military detail should be comfortable with you as a person. Capitalize on that.”
“What’s the second part of the assignment?” Wilson asked.
Abumwe smiled. “The CDF wants you to go skydiving.”
“Come again?” Wilson said.
“The U.S. military brass heard rumors that the CDF will occasionally drop soldiers onto a planet from a low orbit,” Abumwe said. “They want to see it happen.”
“Swell,” Wilson said.
“You’ve done it before,” Abumwe said. “At least, when I got the assignment for you, it noted that you had done it before.”
Wilson nodded. “I did it once,” he said. “It doesn’t mean I liked it. Falling into an atmosphere at supersonic speeds and trusting a thin, fluid layer of nanobots to keep you from turning into a smeary black friction burn across half the sky is not my idea of a fun time.”
“I sympathize,” Abumwe said. “But inasmuch as it’s an actual order, I don’t think you have much of a choice.”
“There is the minor problem that while I have a standard-issue CDF combat unitard, I don’t have the getup for a skyfall,” Wilson said.
“The CDF is sending a cargo drone with two,” Abumwe said. “One for you and one for whoever jumps with you.”
“Someone’s jumping with me?” Wilson asked.
“Apparently one of the military detail at the summit has experience with aerial drops and wants to try something more exotic,” Abumwe said.
“They understand that the drop suits are controlled by a BrainPal, right?” Wilson said. “Which this other guy won’t have. First he’ll asphyxiate, then he’ll burn up, and then the tiny parts of him will eventually fall to earth as raindrop nuclei. It’s not a good plan.”
“You will be controlling the deployment of both suits,” Abumwe said.
“So if he dies during the jump, it’ll be my fault,” Wilson said.
“If he dies during the jump, I would suggest it would be politic for you to follow him,” Abumwe said.
“I liked this assignment better when all I had to do was drink beer and arm wrestle,” Wilson said.
“There is the fact that when you complete your skydive, you will be on Earth once again,” Abumwe pointed out. “Which is something you were told would never happen.”
“There is that,” Wilson admitted. “I can’t say I’m not looking forward to that. On the other hand, Earth Station is connected to the planet by way of a space elevator. I would much rather go that way. Much less dramatic, but also much safer.”
Abumwe smiled. “The good news is that you will indeed be taking the beanstalk,” she said, referring to the space elevator by its less formal name. “The bad news is that you’ll be taking it up, back from Earth, almost immediately after you land.”
“I’ll try to enjoy it until then,” Wilson said. “What about you, Ambassador? You’re originally from Earth. Any interest in going down to the surface?”
Abumwe shook her head. “I have almost no memory of Earth,” she said. “My family left because of civil war in Nigeria. It had lasted the entire span of my parents’ lives on Earth. My mother and father’s memories of the planet are not pleasant ones. We were lucky to have left, and lucky that there was a place to leave to. We were lucky that the Colonial Union existed.”
“These negotiations matter to you,” Wilson said.
“Yes,” Abumwe said. “They would anyway. This is my job. But I remember my mother’s stories and my father’s scars. I remember that for all of the sins of the Colonial Union-and it has sins, Lieutenant Wilson-the Earth would always have its wars and its refugees, and the Colonial Union kept its doors open to them. Gave them lives where they didn’t have to fear their neighbors, at the very least. I think of the wars and refugees on Earth right now. I think of how many of those refugees who have died might have lived if the Colonial Union was able to take them.”
“I’m not sure the Colonial Union has the same priorities that you have, Ambassador,” Wilson said.
Abumwe gave Wilson a bitter smile. “I’m aware that the Colonial Union’s main purpose in reestablishing relations with Earth is to renew its supply of soldiers,” she said. “And I understand we’re no longer able to colonize because of the Conclave threatening to wipe out any new settlements we make. But the planets we have still have room, and still need people. So my priorities will still be served. So long as we all do our jobs. Including you.”
“I will fall out of the sky as best I can for you,” Wilson said.
“See that you do,” Abumwe said. She picked up her PDA to turn to other business. “Incidentally, I’ve assigned you Hart Schmidt, in case you need an assistant for anything. You two seem to work together well. You can tell him I assigned him to you not because he’s unimportant, but because your assignment is a priority for the Colonial Union.”
“I will,” Wilson said. “Is it really?”
“That will depend on you, Lieutenant,” Abumwe said. She was fully engrossed in her PDA.
Wilson opened the door to find Hart Schmidt on the other side of it.
“Stalker,” Wilson said.
“Cut it out, Harry,” Schmidt said. “I’m the only one of the team without an assignment and you just had a ten-minute one-on-one with Abumwe. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who’s going to be your monkey boy for this trip.”
III
“It doesn’t seem like much, does it?” Neva Balla said to Captain Sophia Coloma.
“You’re referring to Earth Station,” Coloma said to her executive officer.
“Yes, ma’am,” Balla said. The two of them were on the bridge of the Clarke, stationed a safe distance from Earth Station, while the Clarke’s shuttle ferried diplomats back and forth.
“You grew up on Phoenix,” Coloma said to Balla. “You’re used to looking up and seeing Phoenix Station hanging there in your sky. Compared to that, any other station looks small.”
“I grew up on the other side of the planet,” Balla said. “I didn’t see Phoenix Station with my own eyes until I was a teenager.”
“My point is that Phoenix Station is your point of reference,” Coloma said. “Earth Station is on the smaller side, but it’s no smaller than stations over most of the colonies.”
“The space elevator is interesting,” Balla said, shifting the subject slightly. “Wonder why it’s not used elsewhere.”
“It’s mostly political,” Coloma said, and pointed at the beanstalk in the display. “The physics of the beanstalk are all wrong, according to standard physics. It should just drop out of the sky. The fact it doesn’t is a reminder to the people of Earth how much more technologically advanced we are, so they avoid trying to get into it with us.”
Balla snorted. “Doesn’t seem to be working very well,” she observed.
“Now they understand the physics of it,” Coloma said. “The Perry incident solved that problem. Now they have a wealth and organization problem. They can’t afford to build another beanstalk or a large enough space station, and if any one nation tried, the rest of them would scream their heads off.”
“It’s a mess,” Balla said.
Coloma was about to agree when her PDA sounded. She glanced down at it; the flashing red-and-green banner indicated a confidential, high-priority message for her. Coloma stepped back to read the message. Balla, noting her captain’s actions, focused on other tasks.