episode 09

Ambassador Kael

After nearly a decade of fighting, Asher’s third war was drawing quickly toward resolution. The Last Battle, as they were calling it, was nearly complete. The robots below would soon be lowering their weapons and calling forth a new era of Trade and Industry, an era of peace and reconciliation. It was remarkable, thought Ambassador Theodor Kael, the delightfully absurd logic of it all. He lifted his glass of Thanish tea as if to salute the robotic warriors fighting far below and took a quick, dizzying slurp of the syrup-like concoction – as if there were anyone else aboard capable of appreciating such genteel gestures of Thanish culture. Not even the captain, thought Kael.

Ambassador Kael was standing in his stateroom, watching some of the battle on the holoscreen before him. Tiny black dots surging in tight, synchronous formations, one squad firing as another worked its way toward the enemy’s flank – mortar blasts discharging, illuminating the landscape with shades of red and yellow and the thick black fog of war. A thing of beauty. Like the ballets of Oppenshaw or Glaudrein back on Thane, thought the ambassador, all very orderly and organic and simply beautiful.

The ambassador’s stateroom was adorned with trinkets and memorabilia from the robot planet, collected from previous visits to The Great City, as they called it. The last visit had been ages ago, before the third war began. The massive star-cruiser, Hemera, hailing originally from the largest of Thane’s moons, had carried the ambassador from the port of Thane to this small planet in record time. Space travel technology was constantly advancing, and this trip had been the quickest to date. Still, the ambassador had spent much of his life on these great space-spanners, and this voyage had taken nearly four months.

The ambassador noted the time. His son would soon be arriving with news – too important, apparently, to be sent in a long-distant communique – and the ambassador found himself pacing the floor, trying to assuage his nerves.

His son, Dax, was currently stationed on Malto, a large, culturally-diverse planet, and it had been ages since their last visit together. Their paths in life had diverged a long time ago. While the father had been dining in bright, lavish environs, the son had been busily tracking down killers in dreary alleyways. They were different people with different lives.

The ambassador’s schedule was already delayed a full day. He glanced once again at the time, and then initiated the message he had received several days ago. The holoscreen blanked, and the image of his son sprang to life, taking the place of the miniature battlefield.

“Greetings, Father. It’s been a long time. I hope this message finds you well and in good spirits – no doubt you’ve been watching the robot battle with a glass of Thanish tea in hand.” Daxien Kael, a thirty-three year old officer with dark eyes and graying temples, paused a moment, unsure of how to proceed. “I need to speak with you, Father. In person, before you leave ship. I’m on course to Hemera now. Should be there in three days. I know you are scheduled to be planet-side by then, but trust me – you don’t want to do that.”

It was that last phrase that had the ambassador worried that something was dreadfully wrong. “… trust me – you don’t want to do that.” It was a code phrase they had worked out when Dax was still an ambassador’s kid and his mother was still alive. It was to be used to signal an emergency situation without alarming any dignitaries that might be within earshot. An innocuous phrase with a deeper, cautionary meaning. In this case, Dax must have been concerned about eavesdroppers – on one end or the other – and wished not to draw any attention.

The ambassador was already dressed in his formal uniform. It was true that his schedule had him planet-side by now, but he had taken care of that with a message of apology to the robot leadership down on Casiadin, promising his arrival within another day. So, he would meet with his son – it would be good to see him again, thought the ambassador – and then he would make a hasty launch down to the planet in time for the peace treaties and formalities to commence.

Ambassador Kael was straightening his tie in a mirror when the intercom chirped: “Ambassador, we are currently receiving the Maltoan shuttle in docking bay three. Will there be anything else, Sir?”

“Thank you. That is all,” said the ambassador, on his way out of the stateroom to meet his son. He was surprised at how nervous he was. It had been so long.