The Human Division #9: The Observers (3 page)

“And this doesn’t bother you,” Lowen said.

“In a metaphysical sense, sure,” Wilson said. “But in a day-to-day sense, I don’t think about it much. On the inside, it sure
feels
like I’ve been around for ninety years, and ultimately this version of me likes being alive. So.”

“Wow, this conversation went places I wasn’t expecting it to go,” Lowen said.

“If you think that’s weird, wait until I tell you that thanks to the mechanics of the skip drive, you’re in an entirely different universe and will never see your friends and family again,” Wilson said.

“Wait, what?” Lowen said.

Wilson motioned to the Laphroaig bottle. “Better pour yourself another drink,” he said.

Drink four, sometime later:

“You know what the Colonial Union’s problem is, don’t you?” Lowen asked.

“There’s just one problem?” Wilson responded.

“It’s arrogance!” Lowen said, ignoring Wilson’s question. “What sort of government decides that the smart thing to do, the prudent thing to do, the
wise
thing to do, is to keep an entire planet in an arrested state of development, just to use it to farm colonists and soldiers?”

“If you’re expecting me to act as defense for the Colonial Union’s practices, it’s going to be a very short debate,” Wilson said.

“And not just any planet,” Lowen said, ignoring Wilson again. Wilson smiled; clearly Lowen was self-winding when she was tipsy. “But Earth! I mean, seriously, are you fucking kidding me? The cradle of human life in the universe, the place from which we all spring, our home planet, for crying out loud. And a couple hundred years ago some pricks on Phoenix thought, Hey, screw them. Honestly, what did you
think
was going to happen when we found out how badly you’ve been messing with us? And for how long?”

“I reiterate my comment that if you’re expecting me to defend the Colonial Union, you’re going to be sorely disappointed,” Wilson said.

“But you’re one of them!” Lowen said. “You know how they think, at least, right? So what were they thinking?”

“I think they were thinking that they would never have to deal with the Earth finding out anything,” Wilson said. “And for the sake of accuracy, the Colonial Union
did
do a very fine job of keeping the Earth in the dark for a couple of centuries. If it hadn’t tried to kill off a friend of mine, and his entire family,
and
his colony, for the purposes of political expediency, they’d probably still be getting away with it.”

“Hold on,” Lowen said. “You know John Perry?”

“We left Earth on the same boat,” Wilson said. “We were part of the same group of friends. We called ourselves the Old Farts. There were seven of us then. There’s three of us now. Me, John and Jesse Gonzales.”

“Where is she?” Lowen asked.

“She’s on the colony of Erie,” Wilson said. “She and I were together for a while, but she eventually wanted to leave the CDF and I didn’t. She married a guy on Erie and has twin daughters now. She’s happy.”

“But all the rest are dead,” Lowen said.

“They told us when we joined that three-quarters of us would be dead in ten years,” Wilson said. He was lost in thought for a moment, then looked up at Lowen and smiled. “So strictly on a percentage basis, the Old Farts beat the odds.” He drank.

“I’m sorry to bring up memories,” Lowen said, after a minute.

“We’re talking and drinking, Doctor Lowen,” Wilson said. “Memories will surface just as a matter of course.”

“You can call me Danielle, you know,” Lowen said. “Or Dani. Either is fine. I figure if we’ve drunk this much Scotch together, we should be on a first-name basis.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Wilson said. “Then call me Harry.”

“Hello, Harry.”

“Hello, Dani.”

They clinked their cups together.

“They’re renaming my high school after your friend,” Lowen said. “It was Hickenlooper High. Now it’s going to be Perry High.”

“There is no higher honor to be bestowed,” Wilson said.

“I’m actually kind of annoyed by it,” Lowen said. “I get mail now saying, ‘Greetings, Perry Graduates,’ and I’m all, ‘What? I didn’t go there.’”

“If I know John at all, he’d be mildly embarrassed to have your high school’s name changed out from under you,” Wilson said.

“Well, to be fair, the man
did
free my entire planet from the Colonial Union’s systematic and centuries-long campaign of repression and social engineering,” Lowen said. “So I guess I shouldn’t begrudge him the high school.”

“Possibly not,” Wilson agreed.

“But that just brings us back around to the original question: What the hell was the Colonial Union thinking?” Lowen asked.

“Do you want a serious answer?” Wilson asked.

“Sure, if it’s not too complicated,” Lowen said. “I’m a little drunk.”

“I’ll use small words,” Wilson promised. “I would be willing to bet that in the beginning the Colonial Union justified it by thinking that they were both protecting the Earth by taking the focus off it and onto the Colonial Union worlds, and then also helping humanity in general by using the Earth to help our colonies grow as quickly as they could with new immigrants and soldiers.”

“So that’s at first,” Lowen said. “What about later?”

“Later? Habit,” Wilson said.

Lowen blinked. “‘Habit’? That’s it? That’s all you got?”

Wilson shrugged. “I didn’t say it was a
good
answer,” he said. “Just a serious one.”

“It’s a good thing I’m a diplomat,” Lowen said. “Or I would tell you what I
really
thought of that.”

“I can guess,” Wilson said.

“And what do
you
think, Harry?” Lowen asked. “Do you think that Earth and the Colonial Union should have an alliance? After everything that’s happened?”

“I’m not sure I’m the best-qualified person out there to answer that,” Wilson said.

“Oh, come on,” Lowen said, and waved at the officers lounge, whose population was still limited to the two of them and the Laphroaig. “It’s just you and me.”

“I think that it’s a scary universe out there,” Wilson said. “With not a lot of humans in it.”

“But what about the Conclave?” Lowen asked. “Four hundred alien races not actively killing each other. Doesn’t that make it a little less scary?”

“For those four hundred races? Sure,” Wilson said. “As long as it lasts. For everyone else? Still scary.”

“You’re cheerful,” Lowen said.

“I prefer ‘realist,’” Wilson said.

Six drinks, even later:

“Are you green everywhere?” Lowen asked.

“Excuse me?” Wilson said.

“I am asking purely on scientific grounds,” Lowen said.

“Thanks,” Wilson said, dryly. “That makes it so much better.”

“I mean, unless you prefer unscientific reasons for me asking,” Lowen said.

“Why, Dr. Lowen…” Wilson feigned shock. “I am not that kind of boy.”

“Once again, I am skeptical,” Lowen said.

“Tell you what,” Wilson said. “Ask me that question sometime when you haven’t just consumed a substantial portion of a bottle of fine single-malt Scotch whisky in a single sitting. If you’re moved to do so, you might get a different answer from me.”

“Fine,” Lowen said sourly, and then looked over at Wilson somewhat as an owl would. “You’re not drunk,” she said.

“No,” Wilson said.

“You drank as much as me, and I’m drunk as a skunk,” she said. “Even accounting for body mass, you should be plastered, too.”

“Benefit of the new body,” Wilson said. “A much higher alcohol tolerance. It’s more complicated than that, but it’s late and you’re drunk, so maybe we’ll save it for tomorrow. Speaking of which, it’s time to get you into your crawl space, if you want to be at the negotiations tomorrow without a hangover.” He stood up and offered his hand to Lowen.

She took it, wobbling only slightly. “Whoa,” she said. “Someone did something to the artificial gravity.”

“Yes,” Wilson said. “That’s it exactly. Come on.” He navigated her through the corridors and up the decks to the berths Captain Coloma had assigned to the observers.

“Almost there,” Wilson said to Lowen.

“About time,” Lowen said. “I think you took the scenic route. The scenic route that spins a bit.”

“Maybe I’ll bring you some water,” Wilson said. “And some crackers.”

“This is an excellent idea,” Lowen said, and then jumped a little at the noise of the door of one of the berths flying open and slamming against the bulkhead.

Wilson looked toward the noise and saw Thierry Bourkou, looking frantic. “Is everything all right, Mr. Bourkou?” he asked.

Bourkou turned to Wilson, saw Lowen on his arm and rushed toward them. “Dani, Dani, come quick,” he said. “It’s Cong.”

“What’s Cong?” Lowen asked, less tired and slurred than moments before. Wilson could see the panic on her colleague’s face, and his alarmed tone was pushing the drunkenness down. “What is it?”

“He’s not breathing,” Bourkou said. “He’s blue and he’s not breathing.” He grabbed Lowen’s hand and pulled her down the corridor toward his berth. “He’s not breathing and I think he might be dead.”

“He was fine when he lay down,” Bourkou said. “He and I have both been feeling tired, so we both took naps at the same time. Then he started snoring, so I turned on the white noise machine. Then I fell asleep. When I woke up I told him I was going to get him some tea and asked him if he wanted any. He didn’t respond, so I went to shake him. That’s when I saw his lips were blue.”

All of the observers were in the
Clarke
’s medical bay, along with Wilson, Abumwe, Captain Coloma and Doctor Inge Stone, the
Clarke
’s chief medical officer. Liu was also there, on a stretcher.

“Did he say anything other than that he was tired?” Stone asked Bourkou. “Did he complain about any other pains or ailments?”

Bourkou shook his head. “I’ve known Cong for ten years,” he said. “He’s always been healthy. The worst that’s ever happened to him is that he broke his foot when a motorcycle ran over it while he was crossing a street.”

“What happened to him?” Franz Meyer asked. After Liu, he was the ranking diplomat among the observers.

“It’s hard to say,” Stone said. “It almost looks like carbon monoxide poisoning, but that doesn’t make sense. Mr. Bourkou here was unaffected, which he wouldn’t have been if it was carbon monoxide, and in any event there is nothing near those berths which generates or outputs that.”

“What about the white noise generator?” Lowen asked. She was alert now, through a combination of caffeine, ibuprofen and nerves. “Is that something that could have done this?”

“Of course not,” Meyer said, almost scornfully. “It has no moving parts other than the speakers. It doesn’t output anything but white noise.”

“What about allergies or sensitivities?” Stone asked.

Meyer shook his head this time. “He was lactose-intolerant, but that wouldn’t have done this. And other than that he was not allergic to anything. It’s as Thierry said. He’s a healthy man.
Was
a healthy man.”

“Aren’t we overlooking something here?” asked Luiza Carvalho. Everyone looked to her; it was the first time she had spoken since the group gathered in the medical bay.