Earth Below, Sky Above

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.

Coloma read the message, punched in her personal code to acknowledge receipt of it and then turned to her executive officer. “I need you to clear out the shuttle bay,” she told Balla. “All crew out, no crew back in until I say so.”

Balla raised her eyebrows at this but did not question the order. “The shuttle is scheduled to return in twenty-five minutes,” she said.

“If I’m not done before then, have it hold ten klicks out until I clear it for docking,” Coloma said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Balla said.

“You have the bridge,” Coloma said, and walked out.

Minutes later, Coloma eased herself into the chair in front of the command panel of the shuttle bay’s control room and began the bay’s purge cycle. The air in the bay sucked into compressed storage; the doors of the bay opened silently in the vacuum.

An unmanned cargo drone the size of a small personal vehicle slipped into the bay and settled onto the deck. Coloma closed the doors and repressurized the bay, then walked out of the control room toward the cargo drone.

The drone required identification to unlock. Coloma pressed her right hand against the lock and waited for it to scan her prints and blood vessel configuration. After a few seconds, it unlocked.

The first thing Coloma saw was the package for Lieutenant Harry Wilson, containing a pair of suits and ’bot canisters for his upcoming dive-for which, Coloma noted sourly, he would need her shuttle again. She disapproved of what happened to her shuttles when Wilson was involved.

Coloma pushed the thought, and Wilson’s package, aside. She wasn’t really there for them.

She was there for the other package, nestled alongside Wilson’s. The one with her name on it.

“I’m supposed to be assisting you,” Schmidt said to Wilson.

“You are assisting me,” Wilson said. “By bringing me beer.”

“Which is not going to happen again, by the way,” Schmidt said, handing Wilson the IPA he’d gotten him from the bar. “I’m your assistant, not your beer boy.”

“Thank you,” Wilson said, taking the beer. He looked around the place. “The last time I was here, in this mess area, and I think at this very table, I saw my first alien. It was a Gehaar. It was a big day for me.”

“You’re not likely to see another Gehaar here,” Schmidt said. “They’re charter members of the Conclave.”

“A shame,” Wilson said. “They seemed like nice people. Messy eaters. But nice.” He took a drink from his beer. “This is excellent. You can’t get a good IPA in the Colonial Union. I have no idea why.”

“Shall I fetch you some pretzels, O my master?” Schmidt asked.

“Not with that attitude,” Wilson said. “Tell me what you found out about the state of the summit instead.”

“It’s madness, of course,” Schmidt said. “They barely got through the welcome session before they ended up throwing out the agenda for the entire summit. The fact the Colonial Union is shopping around a lease on this station has disrupted things before they could even begin.”

“Which is exactly what the Colonial Union wants,” Wilson said. “Nobody’s talking anymore about reparations to the Earth for keeping them down for so long.”

“They’re still talking about it, but nobody really cares,” Schmidt said.

“So who are the early contenders?” Wilson asked. He took another sip from his beer.

“The United States, which is not entirely surprising,” Schmidt said. “Although to cover their unilateral tracks, they’re talking about roping in Canada, Japan and Australia for a coalition bid. The Europeans are putting their chips together, and so are China and the Siberian States. India is going it alone at the moment. After that it’s a mess. Ambassador Abumwe has had most of Africa and Southeast Asia at her door, trying to schedule time with her in groups of three or four.”

“So we’ll have four or five days of this, at which point we’ll suggest that the Earth diplomats should go back to their home countries, formalize their proposals and present them at a new round of negotiations,” Wilson said. “They’ll do a first round of eliminations, which will cause a shifting of alliances and proposals, each progressively more advantageous to the Colonial Union, until at the end of it we get most of the planet doing what we want, which is supplying us with soldiers and the occasional colonist.”

“That does seem to be the plan,” Schmidt said.

“Well done, Colonial Union,” Wilson said. “I mean that in a realpolitik way, mind you.”

“I got that,” Schmidt said. “And what about you?”

“Me? I’ve been here,” Wilson said, waving a hand to encompass the bar.

“I thought you were supposed to be meeting with the U.S. military guys,” Schmidt said.

“Already met with them here,” Wilson said. “Except for the one who’ll be skydiving with me. Apparently he was delayed and will meet up with me later.”

“How did it go?” Schmidt said.

“It was a bunch of soldiers drinking and telling war stories,” Wilson said. “Boring, but comfortable and easy to navigate. Then they left, I stayed and now I’m listening to everyone who’s come in here talk about the events of the day.”

“It’s a little loud for that,” Schmidt said.

“Ah, but you don’t have superhuman, genetically-engineered ears, now, do you,” Wilson said. “And a computer in your head that can filter down anything you don’t want to focus on.”

Schmidt smiled. “All right, then,” he said. “What are you hearing right now?”

“Aside from you complaining about having to fetch me beer,” Wilson said, “there’s a Dutch diplomat and a French diplomat behind me wondering whether the Europeans should let the Russians into their bid for the station, or whether the Russians will let bygones be bygones and join up with the Siberian States and China. Also behind me and to the left, an American diplomat has been hitting on an Indonesian diplomat for the last twenty minutes and appears to be entirely clueless that he’s not going to be getting anything from anyone tonight, because he’s a complete twit. And directly across from me, four soldiers from the Union of South African States have been drinking for an hour and wondering for the last ten minutes how to pick a fight with me and make it look like I started it.”

“Wait, what?” Schmidt said.

“It’s true,” Wilson said. “To be fair, I am green. I do stand out in a crowd. Apparently these fellows have heard that Colonial Defense Forces soldiers are supposed to be incredibly bad-ass, but they’re looking at me and they don’t see it. No, sir, they don’t see it at all. So they want to pick a fight with me and see how tough I really am. Purely for the sake of inquiry, I’m sure.”

“What are you going to do about it?” Schmidt asked, looking over at the soldiers Wilson was speaking of.

“I’m going to sit here and drink my beer and keep listening to conversations,” Wilson said. “I’m not worried, Hart.”

“There are four of them,” Schmidt said. “And they don’t look like nice people.”

“They’re harmless enough,” Wilson said. He swallowed a large portion of his IPA and set the glass down, then appeared to listen to something for a minute. “Oh, okay. They’ve just decided to do it. Here they come.”

“Great,” Schmidt said, watching as the four men stood up from their table.

“Relax, Hart,” Wilson said. “It’s not you they want to punch out.”

“I can still be collateral damage,” Schmidt said.

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” Wilson said.

“My hero,” Schmidt said, sarcastically.

“Hey,” one of the soldiers said, to Wilson. “Are you one of those Colonial Defense Forces soldiers?”

“No, I just like the color green,” Wilson said. He finished the rest of his beer and looked regretfully at the empty glass.

“It’s a fair question,” the soldier said.

“You’re Kruger, right?” Wilson said, setting down the glass.

“What?” said the soldier, momentarily confused.

“Sure you are,” Wilson said. “I recognize the voice.” He pointed to another one. “That would make you Goosen, I’d guess. You’re probably Mothudi”-he pointed at another, and then at the final one-“and that would make you Pandit. Did I get everyone right?”

“How did you know that?” Kruger asked.

“I was listening in to your conversation,” Wilson said, standing up. “You know, the one where you were trying to figure out how to make it look like I started swinging at you first, so you could all try to kick the shit out of me.”

“We never said that,” said Pandit.

“Sure you did,” Wilson said. He turned and gave Schmidt his glass. “Would you get me another?” he asked.

“Okay,” Schmidt said, taking the glass but not taking his eyes off the four soldiers.

Wilson turned back to the soldiers. “You guys want anything? I’m buying.”

“I said, we didn’t say that,” Pandit said.

“You did, actually,” Wilson said.

“Are you calling me a liar?” Pandit asked, agitated.

“It’s pretty clear I am, now, isn’t it?” Wilson said. “So: Drinks?…Anyone?…No?” He turned back to Schmidt. “Just me, then. But, you know, get something for yourself.”

“I’ll take my time,” Schmidt said.

“Eh,” Wilson said. “This won’t take long.”

Pandit grabbed Wilson’s shoulder, and Wilson let himself be spun around. “I don’t appreciate being called a liar in front of my friends,” Pandit said. He took his hand off Wilson’s shoulder.

“Then don’t lie in front of your friends,” Wilson said. “It’s pretty simple, actually.”

“I think you owe Pandit here an apology,” Kruger said.

“For what?” Wilson said. “For accurately representing what he said? I don’t think so.”

“Mate, you’re going to find it in your best interest to apologize,” Goosen said.

“It’s not going to happen,” Wilson said.

“Then I think we’re going to have a problem here,” Goosen said.

“You mean, now you’re going to try to beat the crap out of me?” Wilson said. “Shocked, I am. If you had just admitted this up front, we could be done by now.”

“We’re not going to try anything,” said Mothudi.

“Of course not,” Wilson said. He squeezed the bridge of his nose as if exasperated. “Gentlemen. I want you to notice that there are four of you and one of me. I also want you to notice that I am not the slightest bit concerned that a quartet of clearly experienced military muscleheads such as yourselves are planning to attempt to pummel me into dogmeat. Now, what does that mean? One, it could mean that I’m absolutely delusional. Two, it could mean that you really haven’t the slightest idea what you’re getting into. Which is it? You get to choose.”

The four soldiers looked at one another and grinned. “We’re going to go with absolutely delusional,” Kruger said.

“Fine,” Wilson said. He walked into the wide public corridor directly in front of the bar. The four soldiers watched him walk away, confused. Wilson turned to look at them. “Well, don’t just stand there like morons,” he said. “Get out here.”

The four of them walked out to him, hesitant. Wilson waved them closer. “Come on, guys,” he said. “Don’t act like you didn’t want this. Gather round.”

“What are we doing?” Goosen asked, uncertain.

“You guys want a crack at me,” Wilson said. “Okay, so, here’s the deal. Spread yourselves out any way you like. Then one of you tries to hit me. If you can hit me without me blocking you, you get to hit me again. But if I block you, then it’s my turn. I have to hit all four of you without any of you blocking me. If any of you block me, it’s your turn again. Got it?”

“Why are we doing it this way?” Mothudi asked.

“Because this way it looks like we’re having harmless high jinks rather than the four of you attempting to start a war between Earth and the Colonial Union by randomly assaulting a CDF soldier,” Wilson said. “I think that’s wise, don’t you? So, go ahead now, position yourselves.”

The four soldiers spread out in a semicircle in front of Wilson.

“Anytime,” Wilson said.

“Harry Wilson?” said a female voice.

Wilson turned to look. Kruger rushed him, arms raised. Wilson blocked Kruger and put him on his back. Kruger exhaled in surprise.

“Attacking while I was distracted,” Wilson said. “Nice. Futile, but nice.” He hauled Kruger back up and pushed him back into his old position. Then he returned his attention to the woman who addressed him.

“Danielle Lowen,” he said. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“All right, I give up,” Lowen said. She was standing with a man wearing a uniform. “What exactly are you doing?”

“I’m embarrassing these four knuckledraggers,” Wilson said.

“Do you need any help?” the man next to Lowen asked.

“No, I’m good,” Wilson said, and Mothudi took a lunge at him. Mothudi was on the deck shortly thereafter. “You went out of turn,” Wilson said, mildly, to him. He got off Mothudi’s neck and let him crawl back into position. Then he looked back to Lowen. “Where are you two off to?” he asked.

“Actually, we were looking for you,” Lowen said, and nodded to the man standing with her. “This is Captain David Hirsch, United States Air Force. Also, my cousin.”

“You’re the one taking the high dive with me,” Wilson said.

“That’s right,” Hirsch said.

“Nice to meet you,” Wilson said.

“Hey,” Kruger said. “Are we fighting here or what?”

“Sorry,” Wilson said to him, and turned back to Hirsch and Lowen. “Excuse me for a minute.”

“Take your time,” Hirsch said.

“Will take no time at all,” Wilson said. He faced the four soldiers again. “Three rounds,” he said.

“What?” said Kruger.

“Three rounds,” Wilson repeated. “As in, I hit all of you three times each and we’re done. I’ve got people to see, and you probably need to practice breathing through your mouths or something. So, three rounds. Okay?”

“Whatever,” Kruger said.

“Good,” Wilson said, and smacked each of them across the face, hard, before they knew what hit them. They stood, holding their cheeks, stunned.

“That’s one,” Wilson said. “Here comes round two.”

“Wai-,” Kruger began, and the end of the word was lost in multiple smacking sounds.

“Okay, that’s two,” Wilson said. “Ready for three?”

“Fuck this,” Goosen said, and all four men rushed Wilson simultaneously.

“Aaaaand that’s three,” Wilson said, to the four, who were all on the deck, clutching their necks and gasping. “Don’t worry, guys, your tracheas are just bruised. You’ll be fine in a day. Well, two days. Don’t rush it. So, we’re done here?…Guys?”

Kruger vomited onto the deck.

“I’m going to take that as a ‘yes,’” Wilson said. He reached down and patted the back of Kruger’s head. “Thanks for the workout, kids. It’s been fun. Don’t worry, I’ll see myself out.” He stood back up and walked over to Lowen and Hirsch.

“That was impressive,” Hirsch said.

“What’s really going to disturb you is that I am the Colonial Defense Forces version of totally out of shape,” Wilson said. “I’ve spent the last several years as a lab nerd.”

“It’s true,” Lowen said. “He barely moved at all the last time I saw him.”

“I did drink you under the table,” Wilson reminded her.

“And ignored the pass I was making at you,” Lowen said.

“I’m not that kind of boy,” Wilson said.

“I’m not sure I want to be around for this conversation,” Hirsch said.

“It’s just banter,” Wilson assured him.

“Coward,” Lowen said, smiling.

“Speaking of which, my friend Hart is back in the bar, holding a beer for me,” Wilson said. “Care to join us?” He jerked a thumb back at the four soldiers, still prone on the deck. “I tried to buy them beers, but they refused. Now look at them.”

“I think we’ll join you,” Hirsch said. “If only out of self-defense.”

“Wise,” Wilson said. “Very wise.”