Work-in-progress - "The Broken Summit" (Patreon)

Today's WIP excerpt comes from a project I developed to an early stage a few years back before putting on the shelf. It's inspired in part by my time working on Mysteries and Thrillers for Exhibit A (the short-lived Crime imprint of Angry Robot Books), as well as Bablyon 5 (one of my foundational influences along with Planetary, Star Wars, etc.). As with other wip posts, this is not copyedited, so there may be some typos/etc.

I don't have any current plans to bring this project back again, but if you really like this excerpt, let me know! It's always easier to return to a project if I know there is some interest.  

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Chapter One

Macau was a melting pot, with architecture on display from six centuries, a dozen cultures, and seven different worlds. Alexia Haddad took it all in through the van window, the stark juxtapositions showing how truly small the world had become.

Hundreds of years ago, Macau was the port of call for Portuguese traders, kept off the mainland by China to limit foreign influence. The city had a hybridity – Chinese, Portuguese, and more. It stood in Hong Kong’s shadow in politics, media, and history.

When the portals opened in Macau and a dozen other sites around the world, that all changed. Macau was transformed again, but this time, it wasn’t Europeans stepping onto the Macau’s shores. The visitors came instead from six different worlds, strange and familiar.

Alexia turned back from the window to see her partner Oz studying his tablet. 

They hit a speed bump, and the whole van jostled. Alexia held on to the door, hoping that the techs had secured everything correctly. The cost of the materiel in their van was more than her yearly salary.

The voice of Special Agent Deana Benson, their team lead, came over the earpieces. “Vasquez says you’re ten minutes out. Let’s go over the briefing again.”

That was the UNDSF way. There wasn’t a briefing so simple that it didn’t get reviewed three times. Alexia took comfort in the repetition, in plotting out every step, every possibility. The already-complicated world had gotten endlessly messier when the portals opened, and it was her job to keep order.

Alexia called up the briefing on her tablet. 

Benson took an audible breath, and started running through their schedule. The tablet showed a highly militarized checkpoint flying the colors of the Shanghai Cooperation Organization. “You’re scheduled to arrive at 0800, where you will check in with the SCO, find your rooms, and set up the local HQ.” 

The image shifted to a cozy-looking hotel room with a low ceiling. Several faces of the furred Gurren overlaid the image, showing the leaders of the delegation. “0900, you will meet with the Gurren delegation, review their schedule, and address any concerns or questions they may have. Since the Gurren are highly clannish, you will present them with a gift of greeting, and make their acquaintance. In order to operate at the level you need, they need to declare you to be cousins of the third circle or greater.”

Alexia broke into Benson’s litany. “But we don’t want to get closer than cousins of the first circle. Then their people will start taking bullets for us.”

Oz raised an eyebrow, questioning Alexia’s interruption. Benson liked being interrupted about as much as a mama bear liked humans poking her cubs with sticks.

“Thank you, agent Haddad,” Benson said. “We’ve all read the xenoanthopological briefing.”

Alexia stretched in her seat trying to find something resembling comfort stuffed in with weapons, computers, cameras, and the fifteen million other items they’d need to keep their off-world charges safe and avert another inter-dimensional war.

“1000 to 1400, you will accompany the Gurren delegation during the opening reception.” The tablet showed a huge ballroom, with dozens of computer-generated figures from all seven races. “The convention center will start to fill up, so you’ll need to stick tighter to your charges and step up your crowd scanning. SCO has point on general security, but no team of mine is going to laze about like they’re on holiday, understood?”

“Yes ma’am,” they both said. 

The Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO) had jurisdiction in Macau, but it was the job of the United Nations Dimensional Security Force, and therefore Alexia, to keep the off-world visitors safe. In addition to doing each of their jobs, the two organizations had to present a united front so that Earth looked like it had its shit together far more than it really did.

Benson continued as the headshots for delegates and other VIPs scrolled vertically along the side of Alexia’s tablet display. Each headshot linked to a dossier, which she’d memorized on the flight over. “This will be a high-profile event, so you’ll need to be invisible but present. Stick to your training.”

Vas’s voice cut into the feed. She sounded as caffeinated as ever. “And remember that you have to take tea with the Gurren to show your courtesy, as early as possible, to respect the newfound friendship.”

Oz nodded at Vas’s comment. Both Alexia and Oz had grown up studying off-world cultures, and Alexia took to the study of social norms like a seal to the Antarctic, but Vas took off-world trivia to an obsessive degree.

Benson took back the line. “Agent Vasquez is correct. Definitely before the keynote speech. Mr. Jiang likes to hold a room.”

“Assuming Mr. Jiang stays on-schedule, the reception will finish at 1400, at which point you will escort the Gurren delegation back to their rooms, and remain with them through the evening as they take personal appointments. You’ll defer to the Gurren security when in the designated apartments for the delegation, but one of you will stay with them through 2200, when you will retire to on-site HQ for the de-briefing. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” they said again in a practiced unison.

“GPS shows you approaching the convention center. Keep your eyes open and don’t do anything to embarrass me.” Alexia detected a small possibility of affection in Special Agent Besnon’s last order, but she kept it to herself.

The portal emerged from behind a high-rise, revealing a sliver of wild color. The ten-story tall hexagon swirled with color in the distance. The convention center holding the summit was as close to the portal as had been possible without evicting thousands from their homes, in addition to those re-located to create a security radius.

Alexia had seen three of the portals so far: New York, Nairobi, and now Macau. They were each imperceptibly different. If someone sat her down in front of an easel and told her to paint the three, she wasn’t sure she could show the differences, but she knew somewhere in her hindbrain that they were there. Something in the patterns of light as they rippled across the planes.

Alexia reviewed the delegation briefings as they made their way through Macau’s morning rush hour. To her left, she saw hundreds of bicycles hurrying past the bumper-to-bumper traffic, then imagined UNDSF agents on bikes, each with a hundred pound bag strapped to their backs. The van was slower, but less preposterous.

Their driver said, “Coming up to the checkpoint now.”

The crowd outside the checkpoint was made out of at least a dozen factions. The sea of protestors and on-lookers stretched from the high fence as far back as she could see. The crowd were mainly humans, but there were some from every race: the huge rock-like Igneans, the reptilian Nuum, lower-caste Fae of all stripes (trolls, kappas, shen, and more), the nearly-human Segni, a few of the furred Gurren and Kesht. 

Lots of Kesht, actually. Alexia saw a cluster of nearly a hundred refugees from the ruined ice world, holding banners and posters aloft calling for revenge, recompense, or merely recognition.

Kesht was the greatest failure of the seven worlds so far, and Alexia had no doubt that it would be on everyone’s minds, even though the world had not been granted an official delegation.

“That’s a lot of Kesht,” Alexia said.

Oz scanned the crowd and nodded. “Not surprising, considering how they don’t even get a space at the table this year.”

The Kesht had failed to fulfill the development criteria the previous summit had set forth, and were therefore not invited to this year’s proceedings as an official participant. But considering that the criteria had been nearly impossible given the limited population and resources of the few remaining members of the species, mostly living in Antarctica, the Kesht’s anger was understandable.

Among the crowds were religious protestors of all stripes, calling for complete isolationism here, installing the off-worlders as our rulers there, and everything in between.

Alexia pointed outside with a thumb. “There go our chances of a boring week.” 

“I don’t think those chances were good to start, Lex.” Oz managed a twinge at the side of his mouth, which in Oz-world was about the same as a full-tooth smile. She took what she could get. This week was likely to be short on laughs and long on headaches.

***

After twenty minutes of security checkpoints, magnetic and mana scans, full-body searches, and ID triple-checks, Alexia and Oz made it through the SCO security checkpoint and wheeled their cart of gear into the Macau Convention Center, 200,000 square feet of possible inter-dimensional incidents.

The center was still mostly empty, with a small handful of SCO, UNDSF, and off-worlder security.

Alexia saw a trio of Ignean soldiers staring down a surprisingly unfazed SCO officer. The Chinese guard seemed to have forgotten or decided to ignore the fact that the Igneans were three feet taller and several hundred pounds heavier than she was. 

Igneans were by far the largest of the races of the seven worlds, averaging seven to eight feet tall and topping out at seven hundred pounds of rocky muscle. They didn’t have to breathe, and could shrug off heavy machine gun fire.

They were, rightly, the #1 ranked species in the UNDSF threat assessment hierarchy.

Alexia tried not to let her glare show as they carted by the argument, heading through the high-ceilinged corridor on their way to the quarters assigned to her detail. She didn’t know what she’d have done if they’d been assigned to the Ignean detail. Benson would never have been that idiotic, since she knew Alexia’s history, but in a bureaucracy that big, sometimes common sense was sacrificed on the altar of expediency.

They took the first right and walked another half-mile past dozens of meeting rooms, through a small open area with a handful of tables and chairs set out, then through another hallway until they got to the ambassadorial quarters. 

They were stationed directly next to the Gurren delegation’s quarters, with an adjoining door. 

Oz stopped the cart in front of their room and pulled out his key-fob to wave it over the sensor. The panel lit up green, and he nudged it open.

The room was pleasant, but fairly plain. The decorations were inoffensive earth tones, brown and grey and the dark red-brown of turned soil. There were two beds, a wall-panel computer interface, and a full bathroom. There was only one desk, but they’d make due. With a practiced hand, they unpacked their equipment. They had cameras, weapons, and the tremendously expensive Dr. Satchel, a mobile surgical machine that could be remotely controlled. 

UNDSF and SCO had medical staff on hand, and each race was bringing their own doctors, but the Dr. Satchel was the ultimate in medical telepresence, allowing the UN’s top doctors to respond to emergencies around the world in real time.

Alexia pulled out her pair of GGs, which still looked like the future. They had magnifying lenses that took her vision to 20/15, but their main function came from the satellite phone connection and the display. She found the pop-up UI annoying, even after a hundred hours of training, but there’s only so much one can do when text was scrolling right in front of your eyeballs. But the UNDSF tech division was gaga over the things, so Alexia got to deal.

When they had everything set up, Alexia checked her weapons again, despite the fact that they’d checked them before they left UNDSF Macau. 

They were coming in light, but that didn’t mean they were unarmed. She locked a fresh battery in to her taser, then tucked it into the inside breast pocket of her suitcoat. Her 9mm pistol went in her under-arm holster, and the extending baton went on her belt beside her phone. They had mobile adaptive riot gear in a suitcase, with smart-gel harnesses, non-lethal deterrents, and extending plastic shields. 

God save us it doesn’t come to that, she thought. The whole of earth and five more worlds beyond it would be watching the summit, and if diplomacy failed here, it could mean another war.

You’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t fail, then, won’t you? She told herself. Her hand unconsciously went to her sternum, where the necklace her father had given her rested under her shirt, beside her translator stone.

When everything was in its place, Alexia looked up to see Oz, who sat at attention at the desk, his eyes flashing over the tablet.

“Haven’t you memorized everything yet?” she teased. If there was a spare moment where Oz wasn’t reading or exercising, she hadn’t seen it.

“Six delegations, dozens of security personnel, and fifty consultants? I started two weeks ago and I’m still wrapping my head around it all.”

Alexia picked up her slate on the way and kicked its stand out to set it next to Oz’s. She opened the personnel dossier and held her hand out for the 3D-sensor interface.

The tablet displayed a headshot of Ghawo Manae, the head of the Gurren delegation. She was an elder, her fur gone fine and white, a hint of grey remaining at her brow. 

“What’s got you stuck?” she asked.

Oz scrolled past Ghawo, the rest of the Gurren delegation, and kept going.

“The delegates I’ve got, it’s the guests and security team that are throwing me. I wanted to get all of the faces down before the reception so I can pin someone not on the guest list instantly.”

Alexia nodded. She’d been memorizing guest lists since she was five. Came with the territory as an ambassador’s daughter.

Oz kept scrolling, and stopped when the presentation flow gave a title page of ‘Guests.’

“The trick is to tag something from their name to the face, like a mnemonic or a short story.”

Oz paged through the faces and names, then stopped.

“Like this one. I can’t tell the Kesht apart unless the markings are clear.”

The screen showed a Kesht with white fur. 

“That’s Jrek Thra,” Alexia said, pointing at his left eye. “You can tell by the patch of white-grey hair over the eye. And she’s small for the Kesht, fairly thin. Any other Kesht there will defer to her. She would have been the delegate if they’d passed the development benchmarks.”

Oz scrolled back until the tablet showed an Ignean with a wide face and thin, nearly sculpted lips.

“And this one?”

“That’s Ikkan Ad Kroh Rcca, the bard. Its face is wider than the other Igneans, and it’s shorter than Gaanen and Kraano.”

Oz nodded thoughtfully. “Good thing I’ll have you in my ear on this.”

Alexia clapped Oz on the shoulder. Even sitting, he was nearly as tall as she was standing. 

“I’ll handle the state dinners, and you stay on your feet in case something goes down.” Alexia pulled on the collar of her yellow shirt. “I don’t want to get my blood on this shirt. It’s imported.”

Oz cracked an honest-to-goodness half-smile for that one. The shirt came from Express, like the rest of her professional clothes. She saved the expensive stuff for family events, since if she reported for duty wearing a $400 shirt, Benson would do her best to ensure sure to it did get bloodied. Benson was working class through-and-through.

After a few more minutes of going over names and faces, Alexia and Oz’s phones buzzed in unison.

“Time to go,” Alexia said. “And don’t freak out about the social grooming. It’s a sign of trust.”

Oz closed his tablet and slipped it into his jacket as he stood. “I’d have preferred the Segni detail.” 

Alexia chuckled. I bet you would. Oz preferred women he didn’t have to bend down to see eye-to eye. As far as Oz was considered, The Segni were like a gift from God for Oz. And he wasn’t alone.

“Someone’s got to protect the Gurren. And they look out for their own. If we do this right, that includes us.” Alexia picked up a carefully-wrapped box, then followed Oz out to the hall. 

Chapter Two

Alexia knocked three times at the door, as per Gurren custom.

Not a second later, the door opened, revealing a four-foot-five furred being wearing a loose tabard, with a belt underneath.

The Gurren presented both hands, palms up, and spoke in a chittering language. The translation stone relayed the words to her mind in English, which superceeded the sound of the spoken words.

“Greetings, guardians of Earth. The Gurren are grateful for your hospitality.”

Alexia gave a moderate bow, bending at the chest. “Greetings, children of the soil. We welcome you to our home.” She presented the box, then stood back up.

The Gurren returned her bow, but did not take the box. “You honor us with this gift. Please, join the circle.”

Alexia nodded to Oz, who followed her inside.

The room was specially-built for Gurren, with smaller furniture, rounded ceilings, and several doors leading off to sub-rooms. On their world, the Gurren lived in warrens underground, and this was the SCO’s best attempt at making them feel at home.

There were eight Gurren in the room, the lead delegate and her two children, two guardians, and three aides. They stood in a circle, all facing the door.

Alexia looked to Elder Ghawo, then approached with a slow, deliberate gait and bowed again to offer the present with the grace of twenty years of diplomatic functions.

Elder Ghawo accepted the gift with a nod of the head and set it on a low desk.

“Alexia Haddad, Oswald Chen, we are very grateful to have your strong arms and keen minds this week. You have met Garal Feban Manae, nephew of my second house, the chief of our guardians.” The large Gurren nodded again, standing against one wall of the room, taking in everything.

Ghawo gestured to a tall Gurren with a sleek black and white coat. “This is my son and heir, Wamei Habao Manae.” He bowed, a twinkle in his eyes and a smile on his face, revealing polished fore-teeth.

Ghawo continued. “And my daughter, Jawan Senah Manae.” Jawan was taller than Ghawo, but still on the smaller side for the room. She had jet-black fur, and a piercing gaze that almost made Alexia take a step back. The woman radiated intensity.

Ghawo introduced the rest of her staff, and Alexia dutifully matched up faces and bodies in motion with the photographs and dossiers from her briefing. She held the room in her mind, solidified the memory of each Gurren and of being in that moment. It was a method she’d picked up from her mother, one of a thousand memory aides to keep the complex world of diplomacy straight.

Elder Ghawo continued. “We have heard much of you, Alexia Haddad. Your parents are known to us.”

Alexia tried not to blink. Of course she’d know. Her mother’s posting and her father’s fate would be at the top of any dossier they’d have on file.

“Your father’s passing was a tragic loss, and a reminder to all races the importance of entering dialogue with open ears and open hearts. If his mission had brought him to the Gurren, he would be with us today.”

She bit her inner lip. Just like that, her father’s story was flipped, used against her. It wasn’t just the tragic story of a diplomat killed in a stupid misunderstanding, it was a lever, a political talking point for the Gurren to prove their enlightenment. Even though it was probably true, it still cut Alexia the wrong way. She’d never step out of the shadow of her father’s death.

Alexia put on her diplomat voice. It was familiar, comfortable, like a well-worn riding glove. “I just wish that he were here with us today to continue forging the bonds of friendship. The people of Earth extend their greeting. This box contains my partner’s and my personal gift to you on this most welcome visit.”

Elder Ghawo opened the gift with slow but steady hands, revealing a hand-woven basket with a heaping mound of assorted Earth nuts, with one huge Secao nut, native to Gurren, sitting atop the pile like a cherry on a cupcake. Nuts were a Gurren staple, as central to their diet as grain was on earth.

The elder’s eyes went wide with genuine pleasure. “What a bounty! You humble us with your generosity.” The elder held the Secao nut up to the light, giving it an appraising eye.

“A fine specimen. I’ve not seen a Secao this large on Earth. However did you manage to keep the tree healthy without Alran worms?

Alexia returned the smile. “The nuts come from my family’s garden, which we have tended for many years. I planted the Secao tree with my mother, eight years ago, and she imports Alran for the plot.” Alexia stepped forward and drew Elder Ghawo’s attention to the basket. “The basket was hand-woven by my partner, which I admit took far more artistry than my simple errand of picking nuts.”

Oz stepped forward and bowed politely. “It’s based on a traditional Chinese design, passed down through my family.”

They were laying the tradition on thick, but the Gurren ate it up. Each gift, possession, or visit carried a story with it, and telling the elder the story behind each item was as important as the thing itself.

Elder Ghawo replaced the nut on top and held her paw out to Oz. He met her, dwarfing her paw with his hand. “It is a fine work, Mr. Chen. Now, please, will you sit? Farva will bring tea.”

Alexia let pride touch her grin. They’d passed the first hurdle. Now it was just another state tea, with every little action, word, and gesture being examined. But that was Alexia’s specialty. Oz was smart enough to let her take the lead, even though he was a perfect gentleman himself.

***

Four hours of conversation, stories, and tea later, Elder Ghawo pronounced them cousins of the third circle, and not a moment too soon. Immediately after the ritual, they departed for the reception.

But on the way there, they found themselves in a hall with the Ignean delegation.

And while it was unsurprising but noteworthy that the Gurren knew who she was by name, the Igneans knew her on sight. And their memories were anything but fond.

There were four Igneans, their rocky skins black-red, beige, brown-gold, and slate grey. The largest of the group, who topped eight feet tall, raised one stony hand at her across the hall, its voice shaking the walls.

“Murderer! Trust-breaker!”

There goes my streak of good luck.