Arturo Serrano - To Climates Unknown - An Alternate History of a World Without America

Yakub asked his group, “Was he this serious the whole trip?”

“We discussed other matters,” said Gilberto. “Let me introduce you to Hana Te Ngaru, from the Moriori.”

In order to circumvent the infinite variety in conventions of courtesy, a quick bow of the head had emerged among Alliance members as the simplest timesaver. Yakub greeted Hana thusly before asking in Danish, “I hope none of you had any health complications.”

“We’re in one piece,” she replied, “just awfully thirsty.”

“How about your camels?”

“At the last oasis they gobbled up enough water to last them until we return there.”

“Then make yourselves at home. I’ll tell the builders to finish the setup.” His secretary arrived with a large bucket of water and clay cups that were promptly passed around. Upon seeing a member of Gilberto’s entourage join the conversation and introduce himself as a translator, Yakub switched back to Spanish. “You probably wish to meet our other observer from the supporting side, but she’s busy at the moment helping the builders. She’s enthusiastic about the test.”

“Who was sent?” asked Gilberto, filling his cup with more water.

“That was a bit of a surprise to me. At first, I’d been told our side was going to send the delegate from the Jamaican colony, but when I arrived here I met this lady who told me he’d been seized by the Dutch before leaving the island, so she’d been asked to come in his stead.”

They both raised their cups in honor of their lost ally. Yakub tried not to dwell on when it had become an automatic gesture.

“Who is she?” asked Hana.

“Piedad Ruiz, from the Selknam.”

“Which people is that?”

“Southern tip of Columbia. They’ve been hit the hardest by Canutic policy. All that wood burning around the pole has hurt them beyond words.”

“A logical choice of delegate,” Gilberto muttered, and Yakub tried to not let it show that he’d heard.

Assistants and clerks in the newcomer group were still dismounting from their camels, and an old man afflicted with a heavy sunburn approached the conversation timidly. Yakub asked, “Whom else do we have the honor of receiving?”

Gilberto noticed the man and brought him closer. “This is Gediminas, my secretary. This is his first assignment with us.”

Gediminas stretched his hand and was met with Yakub’s bow. “Ah, my… my name is Gediminas Kalnietis,” he said in imperfect Spanish.

Yakub’s attention was drawn away from the awkwardness of the not-shaken hand. “Have I heard your name? Where are you from?”

“I’m from Lithuania.”

“Lithuania… do we have members there?”

Hana said, with a tone of impatience, “He’s a sympathizer. Gilberto recruited him as an insider in the Iberian Empire.”

Gediminas understood her Danish and looked ashamed by that description. Yakub felt moved to encourage him. “Don’t worry. You’re not the first European to switch sides. Our cause is getting stronger by the day, and when this tyranny is over, you’ll be glad you stood on the right side. Have more water and prepare to enjoy the demonstration.”

Yakub motioned for Gilberto and Hana to go with him into his tent, hinting he had more sensitive news to share. Gilberto insisted on bringing his secretary, and Yakub saw no choice but to allow it.

In the tent, they sat around a small stove and Yakub gave them bowls of chickpea soup. Instead of serving one for himself, he looked in his satchel for a folder and placed it on the rug. Without wasting words, he blurted out, “The Alliance believes one of our member nations is taking their own initiative against the empires.”

When Hana finished hearing the translation, she asked, “Which member?”

Yakub handed her the version of the report in Danish. “No clue,” he said. “This we know: in June, a fleet of airships dropped explosives on Rome. A few churches were hit, a cardinal was hurt, and everyone is making up their own explanations.” He saw the change on Gilberto’s face and nodded. “You’re right to be shocked. The Alliance doesn’t know what to make of this news. Those of us who live in the Chinese area of influence have been trying to get in touch with the Tuaregs, because they have the largest number of spies in the Pontifical States, but airship mail has gotten slower than usual. The other tribes haven’t had any more success, but it’s obvious that more things are happening than Rome admits.”

Hana appeared thoughtful. “What about the airships?”

Yakub switched to Danish. “There’s no hint of where they arrived from, but the Tuaregs were able to infer their design from one witness account. It matches the high-altitude airships that the Catalans use to patrol the French border.”

The translator had turned to talk in Spanish to Gilberto, who remarked, “That information is of little help.”

“Right,” said Yakub. “We don’t even know which faction could have authorized the attack. The list of targets for bombing hadn’t even been disclosed to member nations.”

Gediminas stared at Yakub with eyes wide open. “Rome is a target of this project?”

“One of three, actually. In a discussion we had among the supporting side, we agreed we’d fully explain the plan of attack to you after the test. I only know part of it. Piedad knows the names of the other two cities.”

“In the opposing side,” said Gilberto, “we came up with a proposal for you to let us review the list of targets and suggest alternate locations.”

Yakub shook his head. “That would be strategically unwise. We can’t risk having the plan of attack modified by the faction that doesn’t want a plan of attack. You are here to observe.”

Gilberto leaned toward his secretary and whispered, “What did I tell you?” loud enough for the rest to hear it.

“Wait,” said Yakub, back in Spanish, “don’t misunderstand me: I don’t question your loyalty to the Alliance of Survivor Peoples—”

“But you do.”

Gilberto’s interruption left Yakub speechless for a moment. “I didn’t know you believed that. You have changed. What happened to you?”

“Since the last time you saw me? I paid a visit to Neema.” He had started talking so fast his words were trampling over one another. “I had to do it per your instructions.”

Yakub’s face was transformed; his confident enthusiasm had dissolved into an expression of deep shame. “I… I wish I’d had the honor of seeing her too.”

“Don’t praise her. You don’t dare. I went because you asked me to confirm she wasn’t going to warn our enemies. You made me visit her not as a friend but as an Inquisitor.”

“That’s not fair—”

“You weren’t there.” By this point Gilberto was in a hurry to finish each sentence before weeping took over his breath. “You didn’t see her face as I threw carefully worded insults at her just to calm your doubts. The mere insinuation that she might want to sabotage our cause brought her to tears.”

Yakub looked down at his hands. “I didn’t know. Your report didn’t mention any of this. I’m sorry.”

Gilberto’s eyes were fixated on him and his voice rose as he went on, “She gave your faction every detail you wanted about the bomb, and she died convinced that she was no longer trusted.”

“Will you stop blaming me? We have never forgotten our debt to her. There wouldn’t even be a plan for independence without the Likasi Renaissance. All we’re doing here is possible thanks to her.”

“We’re worried,” said Hana, “that your side may do something disrespectful to her. We read your proposal to name one of the bombs after Neema’s mother, and we find it despicable.”

“That tells us nothing meaningful. Your side finds the entire bomb project despicable.”