John Scalzi
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 eventually decide to go it alone, or even worse, start negotiations with the Conclave to join its ranks. So as a gesture of goodwill, it’s going to allow a party of observers unimpeded access to one of its current set of diplomatic negotiations. They’ve selected our upcoming trade talks with the Burfinor. I am told that the secretary herself believes that my personal connection with the Earth-and the connection of my staff, meaning you-will have a meaningful positive impact on the relationship between the Colonial Union and the Earth.”
“And you believe that line?” Wilson said, opening his eyes.
“Of course not,” Abumwe said. “We were picked because our negotiations with the Burfinor are inconsequential. It looks good because we’re trading for the Burfinor’s biomedical technology, which will be impressive if you’ve never seen something like it before, and the Earth people haven’t. But it’s not something that’s particularly sensitive. So it doesn’t matter if the Earth people watch what we do. The bit about you and me having a history with Earth is just show.”
“Do we know if these people are actually from Earth?” Wilson asked. “Captain Coloma and I had a run-in with fake Earthlings not too long ago. The CDF was passing off former soldiers as representatives from Earth in order to find a spy. We’ve gotten played before, ma’am. We need to know whether we’re being played again, and if so, what for.”
Abumwe smiled, which was a rare enough thing that Wilson took special note of it. “You and I had the same thought on this, which is why I ran this past some of my own people at Phoenix Station,” she said. “Everything I can see about these people checks out. But then again I don’t have the same familiarity with Earth that you do, so there might be something I’m missing. You have the entire file on all five members of the observer mission. Go through it and let me know if something stands out for you.”
“Got it,” Wilson said. “Might as well let my personal history actually work for us.”
“Yes,” Abumwe said. “And another thing, Wilson. You left Earth only a decade ago. You’re still close enough to how people from Earth think and do things that you can give us insight into their state of mind regarding the Colonial Union and their relationship to us.”
“Well, that depends,” Wilson said. “I’m from the United States. If the observers are from elsewhere, I’m not going to be any more useful than anyone else.”
“One of them is, I think,” Abumwe said. “It’s in the files. Go ahead and see. If there is, then make friends with that one.”
“All right,” Wilson said. “This is the part where I officially note to you that I am supposed to be doing other work for you on this mission, specifically examining the equipment the Burfinor are giving us.”
“Of course,” Abumwe said, slightly irritated. “Do your actual job, and do this. In fact, combine the two and invite one of the observers to help you run your tests. We will score additional transparency points for that. All the while you’ll be learning things from them.”
“Spying on them,” Wilson said.
“I prefer the term ‘observing,’” Abumwe said. “After all, they will be observing us. There’s no reason not to return the favor.”
The humans from Earth constituted a carefully selected group, the members chosen to represent the entire planet, not only a single continent or political group or interest. From Europe, there was Franz Meyer, an economist and author. South America yielded Luiza Carvalho, a lawyer and diplomat. From Africa, Thierry Bourkou, an engineer. North America offered Danielle Lowen, a doctor. Asia presented Liu Cong, a diplomat who was the head of the observer mission.
Ambassador Abumwe welcomed them warmly to the Clarke, introduced Captain Coloma and Executive Officer Neva Balla and made introductions of her own staff. Wilson was introduced last of all, as the liaison between the observer mission and Abumwe. “Whatever you want or whatever questions you have, Wilson is here for you,” Abumwe said.
Wilson nodded and shook hands with Liu and, as agreed to by Abumwe, addressed him in standard Chinese. “Welcome to our ship, and I look forward to assisting you however I may,” he said, to the diplomat.