Come the Revolution: Chapter Three

    The first time I met The Honorable Arigapaa e-Lotonaa, I was in something of a mood — what Marr calls my simmering iconoclasm, which I keep meaning to look up. I’d decided his name was too much of a mouthful, so I’d called him The’On — short for The Honorable–instead, and that’s all I’d called him ever since. Despite that, and the fact he was Varoki, we’d become pals.

    The’On was senior staff in the Cottohazz diplomatic service but he was between assignments right then, which was good for us. Five months earlier he’d finished his gig as the Cottohazz Executive Council’s Special Envoy Plenipotentiary for Emergency Abatement on K’Tok. That’s five Varoki months, over six months Earth time. The’On had been called back to K’Tok two months later by some sort of flare up, and that had nearly ruined our plans, but he’d gotten back to us in the nick of time, just like the U.S. cavalry in those old John Ford flat vids.

    I waited for him in the Praha-Riz VIP shuttle bay with one security guy. We were too short-handed and busted up to take a proper detail without leaving security at the family complex light, and the family complex was priority one. Since I only took one guy, I wanted to minimize the chances of someone trying something so I took Baka ah-Quan, one of the two Zacks on our security team. Anyone in their right mind found Zacks physically intimidating and sort of repulsive, too.

    Zacks, or Zaschaan, the Fifth Race, were as tall as Varoki but a lot bulkier. They were known mostly for their sour dispositions, troll-like ugliness (at least by Human and Varoki aesthetic standards), and unpleasant personal habits, many of which had to do with their two mouths. They ate with the lower mouth and spoke mostly through the upper one, which was a highly adapted blowhole. You know how when you talk to someone and they get all excited, you sometimes end up with a little spittle on you? Same with a Zack, except that’s not spittle.

    They were a rung higher on the economic ladder than Humans, but we were gaining fast. Like us, you saw a lot of Zacks in the military and security details. We Humans were also starting to do well in entertainment and the arts — the Zacks, not so much.

    We turned away from the blast of air as the VIP shuttle flared for landing, its ducted flans rotated full down and turbines whining. Almost as soon as the hydraulic landing skids settled under the weight of the flier, the hatch opened and The’On climbed down the three folding steps to the pad, ears fanned wide and a broad smile of greeting illuminating his face. He was dressed casually, at least by his standards: a red silk tunic and baggy trousers trimmed in broad black embroidered lace, with two Chinese characters on the left breast. A lot of wealthy Varoki had taken to classical Chinese clothing styles in the last few years but had no idea what the decorative lettering meant. I was pretty sure The’On did. It was not something he would take for granted.

    “Sasha, it is good to see you alive.” he said, shaking my hand. The Human form of greeting had gained popularity among Varoki until the traditionalists like Gaant started raising a stink about anything Human. You didn’t see as much of it anymore, but that never stopped The’On.

    “I’m fine. It’s good to have you here. Do you know Mr. ah-Quan?”

    “Yes, I believe we met last year. May you and your blood prosper.” He didn’t offer his hand. Zacks don’t like to be touched, at least not by non-Zacks. I’d never heard them say so, but I suspected they found us as physically repulsive as we found them. Maybe that’s why they always seemed so cranky.

    “Am well,” he answered, the voice from his upper mouth strangely nasal and high-pitched. You always expected a rumbling bass to come out of that massive body.

    My eyes flicked back to the hatch. Borro, The’On’s Varoki bodyguard, filled the opening. He turned his head, taking in the immediate area, memorizing everything just in case. Then his eyes found mine and he nodded, a very slight smile on his lips.

    “Come on, let’s head to the family complex,” I said. “We’ll help carry your things.”

    The’On smiled at that. His profession took him to a lot of residences of the rich and powerful throughout the Cottohazz, but I was pretty sure ours was the only one where he got to carry his own bags. Keeping servants to a minimum was good for security. It wasn’t bad for the soul, either.

    I’d reserved a private autopod which would get us to the main atrium facing the family complex up on level 237. It was more secure than the public elevators and let us talk in private on the way there.

    “So how are things on K’Tok? Still the lush green paradise I remember?”

    He looked at me, his ears cocked unevenly in a way that made me smile. “The autumn was lovely and no one shot at me this time, if that is what you mean. But there is growing unrest in the old colonies ever since last year, when Humans began illegally settling the western continent and the Utaan Archipelago. At least the Varoki settlers have put aside their animosities, united in their common hostility to their new Human neighbors.”

    “You can always count on us Humans to bring people together,” I said.

    Ah-Quan laughed and then belched. You’d never know the Zacks have a sense of humor just looking at them, but they do — a finely honed appreciation for irony. Borro, sitting in the seat across from him, nodded in agreement.

    The main entrance to the family complex was off of the northwest atrium in what was called the Executive Layer, which was basically everything above Level Two Hundred. From the complex’s outer foyer we had to go through an elaborate security routine to get into the inner foyer, and then another different one to get into the main apartment, routines which required not only passwords but also a retinal scan and DNA sample. Tweezaa’s late father, Sarro e-Traak, had built this complex six years earlier with security in mind. If he’d have stayed in it, he’d probably be alive today, Marr would still be a market consultant to the rich and powerful, and I’d be dead — or head of the rackets on Peezgtaan and wishing I was dead.

    The inner foyer opened onto the suites for the live-in security teams and, past them, the family apartment. Our apartment was open design built around the living room in the middle with the kitchen and four bedroom suites radiating from it. The suites were Marr’s and mine, Tweezaa’s, and two for guests. Those were empty right now, but we gave The’On one and Borro, his bodyguard, the other. Normally bodyguards bunked with our security folks but Borro was nearly family.

    Each suite had a bedroom, bath, office, and den. We’d decorated mostly with soft reddish-tan carpets and furniture, and a lot of bright accent colors. One smart wall in the central living room was set up with Tweezaa’s family pictures, school and sports awards, a prize-winning essay, and a bunch of her drawings. A year ago the drawings had been interesting scrawls. Lately they’d started getting pretty good — still very impressionistic, and with some surreal color choices, but I thought she had an eye for important detail. Of course, I was biased.

    “So, did Gaant tell you anything useful about the edict?” The’On asked once the new round of greetings were done and he and I, Marr and Tweezaa settled in around the table in the family kitchen.

    “He hinted but he didn’t mention the edict outright, so as far as they know we’re still in the dark,” I said. “We know it will retroactively invalidate any will or trust which transfers control — not ownership, but control — of select family assets to a non-family member.”

    He nodded. “Yes. And since Marrissa is Tweezaa’s guardian, and clearly not a family member, the inheritance is forfeit. What a stupid edict! It will also break every charitable trust in Bakaa, don’t they realize that? Or don’t they care? The Wat will be inundated in lawsuits from foundations. Then they will realize their error and try to find a way to exempt everyone from the law but Tweezaa. Imbeciles!”

    “No argument from me. Gaant gave us some possibly-useful information. For one thing, it’s obvious they don’t know we’ve seen the draft. They think they’re blindsiding us, so whatever your source was, it’s still secure.”

    “Good,” he said, “but after this insane attack against your shuttle we have to assume he and his political allies will move at once. The situation becomes unstable, hence unpredictable. Do you believe him — that he is behind the edict?”

    Marrissa and I exchanged a glance and I shrugged.

    “Sasha and I aren’t certain,” she answered. “He is more inclined to believe the claim than I am. Although I don’t know Gaant well, I have met him several times and seen him in meetings, both large ones and small working groups. He never impressed me as a particularly . . . deep thinker. He is the sort of glib spokesperson you expect to see on news feeds and giving keynote addresses, a person most comfortable in a holovid, but not actually working hard behind the scenes. You know exactly the sort I am talking about, Gapa.”

    Marr had never gotten comfortable calling e-Lotonaa The’On, and so she used Gapa, the diminutive form of his first name, Arigapaa.

    “Oh, certainly,” he said, nodding at her assessment of Gaant’s personality. “But that may be a look deliberately cultivated. He moves in the highest levels of society and among many of the e-Varokiim there is a stigma attached to having to work too hard. Whether Elaamu Gaant is a figurehead, or works on behalf of a political faction, or the other e-Traak heirs, or perhaps follows a personal motivation. . . ”

    He tilted his head to the side and didn’t finish the sentence. There was no need to. There was no shortage of possible motives for this guy, or for anyone else lining up against Tweezaa and us, up to and including bat-shit-crazy anti-Human. What did their motives really matter? The move itself was important, and what we were going to do about it, nothing else. I’d rather have gone on talking about this Gaant guy all day, but sooner or later we had be adults, had to swallow hard and do what came next.

    “You’re sure this will work?” I asked him.

    He sighed. “Who can really say? It will throw everything into the courts at first, and not simply the uBakai courts. It will almost certainly end up before the Cottohaz Wat, unless I am mistaken.”

    “And what are Tweezaa’s chances there?” I asked. Maybe there was an edge in my voice because Marr leaned over and put her hand on my arm.

    “Whatever they are, Sasha,” she said, “they’re better than just taking the uBakai edict as written and giving up.” I knew she was right, but I still didn’t like it. “I’ll still be her fiduciary guardian until she reaches her majority,” Marr went on. “We’ll still be her Boti-Marr and Boti-Sash.”

    All that was true, but it didn’t do much for the lump in my throat. I looked over at Tweezaa, the object of this whole exercise, and she looked as miserable as I felt. When she saw me looking at her she looked away, then got up and walked toward the rear of the apartment. After a few steps she began to run and I heard the balcony door slam. The’On’s expression suddenly changed to surprised, and then stricken, color flashing across his skin.

    “Oh. . .” he said, and the word had the sound of despair in it.

    “I should –” Marr started, but I shook my head and stood up.

    “Nope. Better let me.”

    I found Tweezaa on the balcony, Sakkatto City almost a kilometer below us, sprawling away to the north and east. On clear nights we sat out there and saw the glowing, impossibly thin structure of The Old Tower, the elevator to orbit rising from the southern horizon two hundred kilometers away, rising up and up until it faded into the blackness of the sky. Sometimes we saw the tiny bright light of a capsule climbing the needle to orbit. Now Tweezaa leaned on the railing. She wasn’t crying, but she wouldn’t look at me. Instead she stared out at the circling birds.

    “This sucks, Kiddo” I said in English as a preliminary.

    “Why can’t I just change my citizenship on my own?”

    “You know why. You aren’t of age, so Marr would have to do it for you, as your guardian. There’s no plausible reason for her to do so except to avoid the effects of the uBakai edict. There’s this thing — deceptive transfer I think they call it. They could void the change. But if The’On adopts you, you take his uKootrin citizenship as a matter of course.”

    “They can’t say the same thing about that?” she asked, her gaze still on the sea birds way out there over the water. I turned to face her.

    “They can try, but The’On’s a pretty big guy in the Cottohazz executive bureaucracy, and he’s been close to you ever since our time on K’Tok.” Close was hardly the right word. In truth, The’On loved her like a daughter. That devastated look on his face, that sense of heartbreak when he thought Tweezaa might not want to be his daughter after all, spoke volumes. Tweezaa hadn’t seen it, and I didn’t tell her now. I didn’t want to just beat her down with guilt or pity. This was her life we were rearranging.

    “Besides,” I went on, “he’s been working on the adoption, quietly, for four months. There’s a document trail which pre-dates when they think we learned of the edict.” All of a sudden I knew Gaant and his friends had out-smarted themselves keeping the edict secret. Anything we did after they could prove we knew about it would be deceptive transfer, in reaction to the news. They’d have been better off telling us right away.

    “Tweezaa, look at me,” I said.

    She hesitated but then turned to me, her eyes defiant and angry, but only in front. Back behind them I knew she was holding back the tears.

    “This edict will invalidate your inheritance.”

    “Is that all you care about?” she demanded, anger and grief struggling for control of her face.

    “No. All we care about is you. Once you’re of age, you can do anything you want with your wealth. Give it all away to charity, buy a planet somewhere and turn it into a sex palace, give it to your worthless shit-head relatives who are trying to steal it from you now — I don’t care. But it’s your decision, and it’s Marr’s job to make sure you get to make it, not them.

    “The uBakai Wat can pass all the edicts they want to about the property of uBakai citizens. If you’re an uKootrin citizen before the edict is ratified, they can go pound sand, and it’s as simple as that. The paperwork’s ready, all three principles are here, and we have a secure link open to the Prefecture of Vital Records. All you have to do is walk back in there and say yes, and all the plans your thieving relatives and that Gaant creep, and whoever else is behind this, have been hatching for the last three months, all that goes right into the crapper. ”

    She nodded and turned back over the city, her face under control again.

    “Yes, I know,” she said. “Boti-On is only thinking of me. And you and Marrissa will soon have a child of your own — a Human child. Then you can stop pretending to be parents to the little lizard girl.”

    The words left me dizzy.

    She turned and walked back toward the house. There were only two people left in the world I cared enough about to willingly die for. One of them was walking away from me, and I didn’t know how to stop her.