Diplomacy Squared

Dedicated to my own weird creatures

Thanks to Lina for their unfailing support and unflinching critique

ONE

Diego Bahaghari eased his ship out of Folded space and exhaled a sigh to dispel the slight disorientation. Didn't go through a sun, he announced to his navigator and second-in-command. They'd flown together on Caravan for four years and Wilma Riordan spared him only a half-hearted eye roll as she double-checked the instrumentation.

Navigational ping sent. Course corrected by point-zero-zero-nine degrees. We are within parameters. Nice work, Captain. She gave him a sidelong glance, warm brown eyes that sparkling with barely banked excitement for their destination.

She was from northern North American Cultural State, a place of short summers and long winters and about as foreign to Diego—from the tropical city of Manila in the western Pacific Islands Cultural State—as could be.

With the formation of the United Earth Government almost two hundred years ago, former nations had resolved into Cultural States were more about geographical and economical areas than the names implied. That hadn't stopped culture wars when an area like PICS, for example, contained cultures from the diversity of southeast Asia to those of Polynesia under one label.

Neither Diego nor Wilma worried much about politics, though. They valued their individual cultural upbringings but embraced the citizen of the world sentiment that UEG had been working to inculcate since its inception.

Which undoubtedly had much to do with how easy they found each other's company.

Thank you. Diego bowed as best he could, seated at Caravan's navigational console. He didn't particular like the title of Captain—he considered himself a Fold pilot first and foremost, but it came with the job.

Civilian passenger and cargo ships had never been able to decide if they wanted to use airflight or naval designations for ships' officers, but Diego had grown accustomed to the bizarre mix of terms. He was Captain, but ships that traversed Folded space also had a Fold pilot. Folding space allowed ships to cross light years of distance, and it took more than just a talent for math.

We'll reach the space station orbiting Beresh in forty minutes, ship time, Wilma said. And we got a message coming through on a Fold-packet.

For us? Or one of the passengers? They normally plied routes to the relatively new Human colonies made possible by the discovery of the space folding equations. Communications across light years became nearly simultaneous with the subsequent discovery that data packets could be sent in micro Folds.

Beresh was not a Human colony. Nineteen months ago, explorers had made first contact with an alien species that defied all scientific expectation—humanoid, with similar cultural and scientific developments. Far more similar than all projections would have believed possible, though not quite as similar as popular media would have preferred. Diplomats and scientists of different disciplines had been invited to live and work on the Antho space station Mikesi, in orbit around their home world.

This trip was Caravan's first to the alien system, bringing new personnel to the station, and likely taking some back on their return trip. The voyage was good currency, in more ways than one.

Us, Wilma replied, and she engaged the packet receiver without waiting for instruction.

"Greetings, Captain Bahaghari! I am Vivian McDonald, chief executive officer of Starways Transport. I'm afraid I have what might be bad news for you and your crew. The United Earth Government has made it worthwhile for us to leave Caravan at the disposal of the Human staff on the alien space station. If you or any of your crew don't wish to be stationed so far from home, we'll have replacement crew standing by upon your return with station personnel rotating out. Just have our Ambassador on the space station advise us in advance which personnel we'll need to transfer."

If that hadn't meant taking an inferior position on another ship, he might have said, Home, please, but instead he reminded the CEO, I don't have any diplomatic training.

None of our crews do, but for what it's worth, I hope you stay. The behaviour of the crew will reflect on the entire company, and you are at least a level-headed person, and your crew respects you. The head on his tiny screen looked down at something, and then raised her eyes again. Check in with Commander Zaya when you arrive. Let her know your decision, and those of your crew. The screen blanked in a double jagged line of green.

Commander Zaya? That sounded military. He took commercial space flight for a reason—it was the best way to get into space without joining the military. It wasn't the military per se he had a problem with, it was the rigours of training. He could take orders to a degree, but that level head his employer had just praised tended to vanish under unreasonable or unexplained demands.

After Caravan had docked and all the passengers were off-loaded, Diego and his crew oversaw the unloading of the cargo by Antho dock workers. It was his first alien encounter, and surprisingly anti-climactic. The Antho were humanoid with blunt faces, flat noses, and thin lips. Their legs were jointed backwards, which didn't seem to affect their balance or grace. Their hair was most often tri-colour, black, red, and white. Everyone knew that from the flood of video all over the news on Earth and in the colonies. Seeing them in person was both more and less than what Diego expected.

They had a much greater variety of skin tone, from a pale white-orange to the darkest black he'd ever seen. Which wasn't so odd except that sometimes a person's skin tone faded into a different one in their faces and hands. They were shorter overall than he expected, with barrel chests under loose tunics. They wore equally loose trousers that on a Human might get in the way of the machines and cargo they handled with efficiency. The cargo manifest was handed to him for his signature, every item accounted for and ticked off.  The hand holding it had only three fingers, but two thumbs; all digits had one more joint than the Human equivalent. Instead of flat fingernails, the dark reddish fingers were tipped with small claws, blunted but still very pointy.

Diego pressed his thumb to the manifest, confirming it had all been unloaded.

He pressed the intercom button and called all the crew to the galley.

It was a small crew; including himself, just fourteen people who took care of the ship and all the needs of the passengers. He told them about the message from Starways.

"Captain, what'll we do here? I mean, shore leave is great, but just how busy are we going to be?" Rudy Devosh ran Caravan's galley and raised an important point. He was from the Northeastern Europe Cultural State and built like a living NECS stereotype—a tall, sturdy frame topped with blond hair and blue eyes. Rudy and Wilma were close friends as well, and when they weren't on Earth, they tended to hang out together while waiting for Caravan to be refueled and inspected.

Fair question. I'm sure there must be some work we can volunteer for, since we'll be paid to just hang around until we're needed. There will be regular supply runs to Earth, as I understand, and rotating leave for the diplomatic and scientific personnel. The other option is to sign on with another ship. Starways has offered to send one for anyone who doesn't want to stay. You don't have to decide right away, he added.

Diego let them talk amongst themselves, then nodded to Wilma. I've got to check in with the station commander. As First Officer, you're in charge of the circus.

Gee, thanks, she said, leaning back on the counter as the voices rose.

Diego found all the signs painted on the station's walls were not only in symbols that must have represented the Antho language but also in Syncrete, which made navigating the station considerably easier. He found the office he was looking for, and the door slid open as he raised his hand. Inside was a man, perhaps Diego's age or younger, dressed in the loose structured jacket and ascot standard in white collar work. He sat behind a small desk with a holographic display before him, which he pushed aside with a swipe of his fingers upon seeing Diego. Can I help you?

"Diego Bahaghari, captain of the starliner Caravan. I was told to report to Commander Zaya?"

Of course. The commander is expecting you. Please go through.

This statement was accompanied by a wave towards a frosted polyacryl door with a simple geometric shape near the top. Nodding his thanks, Diego rounded the receptionist's workstation and raised his hand again. Once more the door slid open before he could knock.

Come in, Captain Bahaghari. Commander Zaya gestured him into the office and invited him to sit. Thank you for checking in. I'm Miranda Zaya, commander of the Human security personnel aboard the station. She was an older woman with immaculately groomed hair and perfect posture. Her uniform was open at the throat, which seemed casual and helped Diego to relax.

Commander. May I ask why UEG wants a civilian ship out here?

Of course, she replied, settling into her chair. We are a group of Humans in alien space. Yes, the Antho are peaceful, but it would do much for our peace of mind to know we could leave at any time, should circumstances warrant.

Wouldn't a military vessel be more… he lifted his shoulders and spread his palms up as he searched for the right word, appropriate?

She smiled. It would. But the powers-that-be feel a military ship might be misconstrued as a threat. Frankly, if our positions were reversed, I would definitely not be happy with an alien military ship orbiting Earth.

Diego nodded his understanding. I'll stay, he said, only realizing his decision had been made as he spoke. My crew is still discussing it, but I imagine most of them will stay as well. If you can answer a few questions.

I'll do my best?

We're used to dropping off passengers, restocking, refueling, reboarding passengers, and so on, with little leisure time until we return to Earth, where we're usually given a few weeks leave as the ship is thoroughly inspected from the hull inward. If we stay on— Diego stopped, aware he wasn't sure how Mikesi was pronounced.

"Mee-kez-zee. The name of the station translates as 'friendship.' Most of us just call it 'the station.'"

Diego nodded. If we stay, the crew would like to know what they can do to fill in a lot of free time? I mean, we're not allowed on the planet, correct?

"That's right. And it will be your responsibility to