T’sha had to admit Z’eth’s call for a private meeting made her nervous. Z’eth could wring promises from the clouds and the canopy, and T’sha was beholden to her on several levels. What did Z’eth want from T’sha? Or, even more important, what did she want from Ca’aed?
Z’eth’s embassy lay beneath the city’s central temple. The embassy was a chamber of shell and bone twined with ligaments and synaptic lace to connect it directly to the major sensory nodes of the city. What the city felt was transmitted to the embassy without the city even having to speak. Z’eth could tell by the tone and texture of her embassy walls how her city fared.
T’sha gave her kite to one of the embassy’s few healthy mooring clamps and presented herself to the portal. It recognized her image and essence and opened for her.
“I have told the ambassador you are here,” said K’est. “She is in the debating chamber.”
“Thank you.” T’sha slipped cautiously forward.
The embassy was crowded. So many people rested on the perches and floated in the air that T’sha could barely find room to glide through the corridors. T’sha glimpsed tattoos as she wove her way between them. Some were engineers and teachers, which she had expected, but most were archivists and trackers.
Of course, not even the city could keep track of all Z’eth’s promises. If there is enough of the city to work complex issues…T’sha winced at her own thoughts. K’est lived. It would grow strong again. Z’eth was dedicated and would see it happen.
T’sha laughed softly at herself. Old superstitions. Send a bad thought out on the wind, and it would land where it began. A pessimistic thought about K’est’s health could affect Ca’aed’s.
At last, T’sha made her awkward way to the embassy’s debating chamber. The room filled with the scent and taste of people. Words crowded the air and bumped against T’sha’s wings. In the center of it all hung Z’eth, her posthands clutching a synaptic bundle as she listened to an engineer, a teacher, and an archivist. For a moment, T’sha thought she might be taking the pulse of her city as it listened to the same discussion and weighed the words.
T’sha waited politely in the threshold. Eventually, Z’eth disengaged herself from her advisers and glided a winding but still dignified path to the door.
“Good luck, Ambassador T’sha.” Z’eth raised her forehands. “I’m sorry you find such a crush here. We’ve had a heavy day. K’est is suffering from a vascular cancer in the upper eastern districts. As you can imagine, we must work quickly.”
The news shook T’sha’s bones. “Good luck, Ambassador,” she said hurriedly, even as she touched Z’eth’s hands. “Please, allow me to return some other time. You have too much to do here without—”
Z’eth fanned her words away. “You leave for New Home in two dodec-hours, do you not?”
“Yes,” admitted T’sha, “but—”
“Then my words must touch you now.” Z’eth lifted her muzzle, as if tasting the air to find a quiet space. “Let us go to the refresher. It is not the place for polite conversation, but—”
“Gladly, Ambassador,” T’sha dipped her muzzle.
“Then follow me, if there is room,” Z’eth added ruefully.
They made their way through the corridor, sometimes flying, sometimes picking their way from perch to perch, but at last the refresher opened for them. T’sha allowed the thick air to surround her. The circulation pushed her gently from point to point, allowing her own toxins to disperse while her skin took in what nutrients the room had to offer. The walls sprouted fresh fruits and other dainties, but T’sha did not sample any, even though nervousness had emptied her stomachs.
Z’eth let the room float her for a while. It seemed to T’sha her skin was drinking deeply of quiet as well as nutrition. As T’sha watched, Z’eth swelled, opening her pores and relaxing her bones.
The moment, however, did not last. Z’eth returned to her normal size, angling her wings and spreading her crest to hold herself still against the room’s circulating breezes.
“I have been following up the records of your votes, Ambassador,” she said as T’sha brought herself to a proper distance for conversation. “You have been lavish with Ca’aed’s promises.”
T’sha resolved not to drop her gaze or twiddle her postfingers. “Now is not a good time to narrow our chances of success on the candidate world.” She could not yet bring herself to call it New Home. D’seun’s words still echoed through the High Law Meet. His friends were many, and they had promises they could call in at a moment’s notice. Without constant countering, there was still the danger that a vote might be taken to ignore the New People altogether and simply start full-scale conversion of the candidate world into New Home.