Tribulations sample

It’s a year-and-a-half into Earth’s first diplomatic mission to the aliens, and things seem to have settled into a familiar routine. The Hosts are friendly, Creepy is cranky, the Magic Man is terrifying—and everyone always seems to have it in for the human diplomat, Philippe Trang.

But a new portal opens, and a new threat emerges from an unexpected quarter. Everyone’s expectations are about to be upended—as are their lives! Dreams have been dashed, and it appears that everyone on the station will be paying the price. What will come from the desperate battle to survive?

Chapter 1

Philippe Trang was going to lose his mind—he was sure of it.

It wouldn’t be a surprise: Since coming to the alien diplomatic station, Philippe had been subjected to a variety of attacks on his sanity—both the accidental ones by aliens and the more malicious activities of his own government’s Union Intelligence division.

The stress of living in space was a significant challenge all by itself—even people who lived on Titan station felt it, and they were at least still in the same galaxy as Earth. Philippe was living alone on an alien station in the empty expanse of space between the Milky Way and one of the Magellanic Clouds with only 30-odd soldiers for human company.

It was all ample reason for him to crack.

Add to that the fact that, at the moment, Philippe and his assistant Patch were waiting to meet the new Cyclopes ambassador.

Now that was a fraught history—a Cyclops had tried to kill Philippe once, back in the bad old days when the Cyclopes government was plotting to conquer the Hosts, the species that had built the diplomatic station Philippe lived on now. A third alien, the truly baffling Magic Man, had ended the plot by wiping out said government in a brutal and apparently effortless massacre. Philippe had only recently helped install a new, hopefully improved Cyclopes government—including the Cyclopes ambassador to the aliens who was arriving now.

Yet, despite all the agony and worry Philippe felt about—well, everything, really—in truth, it all was nothing more than what he could handle. He knew that.

What was most definitely and certainly going send him around the bend were Patch’s wrists. Specifically, the several centimeters of gray that Philippe could see at those wrists, where the tall man’s protective lonjons stuck out from underneath his blue suit.

The lonjons covered Patch’s cannabis tattoos, at least, but that wasn’t good enough. Philippe’s custom-tailored dark-blue suit sleeves decorously draped over his own wrists, as they should. But Patch’s wrists were completely—completely!—exposed.

That was what was going to cause Philippe to lose it, to have an epic mental breakdown of the sort that would be used as a cautionary tale in the Union DiploCorps for years to come. He could see it now with alarming clarity—him falling to the floor, grabbing Patch’s suit sleeves, and pulling on them with all his might, shrieking “Make it fit!”

He looked up from Patch’s wrists. The taller man was looking down at him, obviously nervous. Philippe gave Patch a reassuring smile.

Patch smiled back, dutifully reassured, or so it seemed. And then—oh, God—he patted the front of his suit. Proudly.

Philippe looked down at his own dark-blue wrists. The pride. That’s what killed Philippe. Patch loved that suit. That ill-fitting monstrosity—he loved it with every single fiber of his being.

When Philippe had handed the suit to Patch, already skeptical because of the speed with which it had arrived, the younger man had very nearly cried. He had told Philippe that this was the first suit he had ever owned, and that he had worn a suit only once before: Back when he was a teenager, and his advocate had lent him one for the court hearing that had resulted in his “volunteering” for the Union’s Special Forces.

Patch was not DiploCorps. He was merely a Special Forces soldier—some would say not a very good Special Forces soldier, a bit of a disgrace to the Union’s elite combat force—who, at Philippe’s request, had been assigned to assist him in his diplomatic work. That request had not been uncontroversial. In particular, the unit’s commander, Shanti, thought Philippe was an overly forgiving idiot. But while Patch was hardly the standard DiploCorps staffer—he had, for example, named the four-eyed alien species “Cyclopes” because he had confused cyclopes with centaurs—Philippe was confident that Patch had what it took to do the job well.

Well, he was confident most days.

Because Patch was not really DiploCorps, when he needed a suit, he did not receive the custom tailoring for which the DiploCorps was rightly famed. Even though Patch was representing the Union, and therefore the Earth, to the aliens, he had been issued what was derided in diplomatic circles as a gorilla suit.

It was the sort of thing provided to temporary security staff. Even out of the corner of his eye, Philippe could see the million gaps and flaws that were inevitable when a man wore a suit not custom made—especially a man of Patch’s unusual size. His two-meter-tall form had been shoved into a suit designed for a shorter man, so that not only were his wrists visible, his ankles were as well. His jacket ended just above his hips, a cut that in some circles was regarded as more-or-less obscene. In the sort of compromise that makes nobody happy, the too-short suit was also too wide, so Patch’s band collar gaped, his shoulders didn’t look right, and, as though to make up for the crotch exposure, the jacket modestly obliterated his trim waist in its billows.

Patch didn’t feel the least bit slighted because the DiploCorps couldn’t be bothered to give him a proper suit. He didn’t see this as emblematic of the sort of second-class treatment he might receive because he was just an SFer who had narrowly escaped getting court-martialed. For goodness’ sake, Philippe had had to talk him out of sending a thank-you note!

Philippe shook his head, trying to break the evil suit’s spell.

The door in front of them started to open—that broke the spell all right. Philippe’s attention was riveted: If he had understood the Cyclopes properly, then he already knew who the new ambassador was.

That was a pretty big if, though.

The doors opened to reveal a broad, four-legged creature covered in thick fur that ranged in color from gray to brown. Philippe immediately focused on the two front eyespots of the Cyclops’ torso and felt a surge of relief when he spotted a mottled white stripe there—he had indeed understood correctly, and the new Cyclopes ambassador to the alien station was Innovative, the former head of the Cyclopes government’s department of technology and science.

Recognizing Innovative was gratifying on many levels: Communicating with the Cyclopes was difficult enough that Philippe was always happy when it succeeded; it was hard for Philippe to tell the Cyclopes apart, so it was nice whenever he was able to recognize any particular individual; and he had worked with Innovative a great deal while setting up the current Cyclopes government and had found him to be both highly intelligent and remarkably open-minded.

Philippe greeted Innovative, who immediately expressed his own happiness at seeing him. That gave Philippe a small twinge of regret—in truth, the Hosts should be greeting the new Cyclopes ambassador to their station instead of leaving the job to a human. But the Hosts still maintained a chilly diplomatic distance from the species that had tried to invade their planet.

Still, Philippe was able to invite Innovative to tomorrow’s all-station meeting, the first such meeting since the invasion that the Cyclopes were allowed to attend. That exclusion had ended as the result of some vigorous lobbying by Philippe, who had successfully argued that while the Cyclopes were still technically under the dominion of the Magic Man, they now had a sufficiently autonomous government that they should not be considered entirely subject.

Plus, the Hosts knew damned well that the Magic Man didn’t care in the slightest how the station was run and would never actually attend an all-station meeting. It was entirely possible that the bizarre shapeshifting alien couldn’t care—most of the species on the station were highly social, but the Magic Man, along with the White Spiders, was a decided exception.

“I guess since you’re here, like, you must have lost your seat in the election?” Patch said to Innovative as they walked with him through the station’s open common area.

Philippe opened his mouth and closed it again, unsure if now was a good time to explain to Patch that, since Innovative had been in charge of the elections for the new Cyclopes government, it would have been a conflict of interest to allow him to run for office.

But Innovative spoke instead. “I was never eligible to be pledged to,” he said. “I never had sex with Astonishing in Every Way.”

“Ah, of course,” said Philippe, reminded again of the many, many compromises he had had to make in order to render democracy culturally palatable to the Cyclopes. “You didn’t know him.”

“I knew him, that is emphatically a fact, but I am afraid that a Cyclops such as myself lacked an emphatic appeal to one such as him. Being an Emphatic Cyclops, he gravitated toward other Cyclopes who were emphatically traditional.”

Philippe’s head snapped up. He hadn’t thought of that—he had been so happy when he had finally hit upon a formula for democratic elections that the Cyclopes would accept, he hadn’t considered all of the potential pitfalls. Did I just pack the new cabinet with reactionaries? he wondered.

“But, no, but—Extraordinary Fortitude seems flexible, not ultra-traditional,” he stammered, referring to the planet’s new top executive.

“I do not mean emphatically traditional in a political sense,” said Innovative. “The Magic Man rightly killed everyone emphatically of that manner. Astonishing in Every Way’s preference for emphatic traditionalism was a preference of style.”

“Ah,” said Philippe, nodding as though this made perfect sense to him. “I see.”

“I have an unrelated question. Do you still have the film Cunning Warrior gave to you as a gift?”

Philippe felt a knot tighten behind his shoulders as he struggled to keep his emotions from showing. Cunning Warrior—an old friend of Innovative—had defected to Earth in secret, only to die on Titan station. To the best of Philippe’s knowledge, that defection and death had been completely hidden from the Cyclopes. There was good reason for the secrecy: Cunning Warrior had developed an engine for the Cyclopes that could propel a ship to faster-than-light speeds—and that also could be used to collapse the portals that permitted almost-instantaneous travel between the Host station and planets such as Earth.

Humanity was still trying to puzzle out the technology. Philippe had given something he thought was likely some kind of guide to Union Armed Forces Intelligence, the military intelligence department that served both the Union’s Special Forces and the Union Police. He had also given a variety of extremely boring-looking metal plates and films that he had received as gifts from several Cyclopes, including at least one from Cunning Warrior, to the civilian Union Intelligence agency—payback for their attempt to brainwash him.

“I’m afraid all those gifts are now on Earth,” he said, deciding to stick to the truth as much as possible.

“They are on Earth,” said Innovative. “So you humans found them interesting.”

“Why, yes!” said Philippe, sincerely. “Many humans are extremely interested in them. In fact, people wanted to study them because they were so interesting.”

“That is emphatically gratifying news,” said Innovative. “Some Cyclopes suggested that you might not appreciate those objects because of the way you appear to experience the fields. Since those objects are objects of emphatic interest and value to us, some Cyclopes suggested that perhaps it would be appropriate to retrieve the most emphatically remarkable ones if they held little interest to you.”

“I don’t think the people on Earth would be willing to give them up,” Philippe replied, with complete honesty.

“That is emphatically acceptable,” said Innovative. “As long as those items are being appreciated, I emphatically have no objection to them remaining with your people forever. You emphatically should move far from me as emphatically quickly as it is possible for you to perform such an action.”

The translation equipment ensured that the Cyclops’ last sentence was delivered in the exact same flat, emotionless tone as the previous two—and of course it butchered the syntax—so it took Philippe a moment to process what Innovative had said. But the instant the Cyclops stopped walking and began twisting his four arms in a way that was by now chillingly familiar, Philippe grabbed Patch’s arm and started to run, shouting “Harden suit!”

Philippe felt his lonjons stiffen as he and Patch fled, followed closely by Philippe’s guards, Cut and Pazzo. But after a few steps, Philippe was seized by a thought: The previous two Cyclopes he had seen make that gesture had been attacked by other Cyclopes.

And they had both been killed.

Not Innovative!

“Wait!” Philippe shouted, slowing.

“Wait over here, guy,” said Patch, smoothly nipping Philippe up into the air by the back of his jacket collar and the seat of his pants and continuing to run.

“But what about. . . .” said Philippe, flailing his arm at a passing Swimmer drone.

“Pazzo! The screamer!” Patch barked.

Pazzo reached into a pocket, and a loud shrieking suddenly filled the air. Philippe gritted his teeth involuntarily. The alarm—a Host distress call—never failed to drive him to the edge of panic.

Fortunately, it had the same effect on all the station’s aliens. Philippe watched the Swimmer drone whip around and flee to safety.

He bounced along helplessly until Patch and the other two SFers reached whatever clicked into their training as a safe distance. The three of them threw themselves down to their knees, Patch putting Philippe and himself down behind Pazzo and Cut. He kept one hand firmly attached to Philippe’s jacket.

Philippe wanted to snap at Patch: Could he for once not treat Philippe like a small child when there was danger about? But the larger man had placed him so that he could see Innovative, and what Philippe saw wiped the annoyance out of his mind.

The Cyclops was standing where they had left him, still twisting his arms. Behind him was another Cyclops.

“He’s taking his time,” muttered Patch, staring intently at the new Cyclops.

“Who is he?” asked Philippe.

“Fuck if I know,” said Patch.

Philippe looked carefully at the second Cyclops. Big, furry, grayish-brown, four arms, four legs, no head, two eyespots on the front of his torso and presumably two on the back—Philippe didn’t think he knew him, but when it came to Cyclopes, he couldn’t be sure.

“Can you silence that shrieker?” Cut asked Pazzo in French.

“Idiot! Does it hurt your delicate ears?” Pazzo replied, also in French.

The exchange was a little distracting: Philippe hadn’t realized that either man spoke French, although from their accents it probably wasn’t their first language. The translation devices only worked if you spoke Union English, so it made sense to switch to another Earth language—and French was certainly not a problem for Philippe, although he was pretty sure that Patch didn’t speak it.

“It is necessary to keep the area clear—” Philippe began to explain.

Pazzo side-eyed him and interrupted. “What delicate little ears,” he said to Cut. “Like those of an itty-bitty baby.”

Cut said something that certainly wasn’t any kind of French Philippe had ever heard.

“Are they gonna fight or what?” Patch asked, in blissfully standard Union English.

Philippe returned his attention to the Cyclopes, who were just standing there, seemingly oblivious to the shrieker and everything else.

Was Innovative’s attacker nervous? Savoring the moment? A sadist? A child? Philippe couldn’t tell. He couldn’t tell if Innovative was frightened or angry or confident. Cyclopes body language remained an impenetrable mystery.

Finally he saw something he did recognize: The second Cyclops threw back one of his upper arms. Patch inadvertently tightened his grip on Philippe’s jacket—or maybe not so inadvertently, as Philippe’s brain once again screamed, Save him!

The Cyclops’ hand came down, and a bolt of lightning came crackling out of the fingers straight at Innovative.

At first, Philippe thought that Innovative was dodging the bolt. But while his hands were busy, his feet weren’t moving.

Instead, Philippe realized, the bolt was bending. Philippe watched, astonished, as it bent wide to the left of Innovative’s torso, and then bent around him in a U shape to pass his body the other way on his right.

The bolt hit Innovative’s attacker.

And kept hitting him. Philippe blinked his eyes in debelief. Instead of stopping his attack now that it had been turned against him, the other Cyclops stood there, convulsing as the lightning he himself emitted played across his body.

After what seemed like an eternity, it stopped. The Cyclops collapsed to the ground.

Innovative walked over to him and stood over him. The other Cyclops did not move. Innovative turned and walked over to where the humans were kneeling.

“Put your guns away,” Philippe muttered.

The two guards’ hands disappeared into their pockets. Patch had no gun, but he let go of Philippe’s jacket.

“I apologize,” said Innovative. “I forgot in the excitement that the translators are limited by distance. Human diplomat, would you come and speak to the failed assassin?”

Philippe stared at the motionless Cyclops on the ground. “He’s alive?”

“Yes, he is,” Innovative replied. “He is emphatically no longer a danger. I believe it would be considered a violation of the policies of this station were I to execute him under these circumstances. Am I correct?”

“Yes, yes, you most certainly are correct!” said Philippe. He didn’t know that for sure, but it was probably true—and he had no desire to watch another Cyclops die. “Don’t execute him! Please! It’s a bad idea!”

“Would you be willing to explain that to the Cyclops who wishes to be my assassin?” asked Innovative. “I realize that you are human, and you are not Host. He does not appear emphatically knowledgeable regarding aliens, so it is emphatically probable that such distinctions would be lost on him.”

Philippe glanced quickly at the SFers, who looked less than thrilled at the suggestion. At this point, he knew enough about the Special Forces to know that an enemy that looked dead but was not actually dead was considered especially dangerous—their training was probably telling them to finish the job themselves by putting a few scramblers into the downed Cyclops.

He stood up authoritatively before Patch had a chance to grab his jacket again. “Of course,” he said.

He started to follow Innovative to where the injured Cyclops lay. Pazzo and Cut sped ahead of him and kept their bodies between Philippe and the alien, while Patch kept so close behind he was practically stepping on Philippe’s heels.

“Such protection is not necessary,” said Innovative. The eyespots on the back of his torso didn’t appear to be directed at the humans, but Cyclopes rarely seemed to actually be looking at the things they noticed. “I used an emphatically efficient defensive technique that forces opponents to continue discharging to the point that they develop an injury that prevents further discharge. In addition, he has received other injuries from his own discharge. I, in contrast, have not discharged the smallest amount, and I remain emphatically capable of discharging at will. It is almost unnecessary to mention that most skillful individuals know both this defensive technique and the manner in which to negate it. The fact that this Cyclops apparently was not aware of this technique indicates a lack of training, ability, knowledge, or experience. It may also indicate an emphatic lack of training, ability, knowledge, and experience.”

Philippe suspected that Innovative’s speech was now being made as much, if not more, for the benefit of the Cyclops on the floor as for the humans. The alien’s thick grayish-brown fur had a pattern of branched brown stripes carved into it that had not been there before. There was an odor of singed hair in the air.

“Human diplomat,” Innovative continued, “please confirm: Although I am emphatically able to discharge and execute this Cyclops, the rules of this alien station are such that this action is not permitted.”

“That’s true,” said Philippe, hoping it was. “The Hosts would be really upset.”

“Indeed, initiating an attack such as the one I emphatically foiled in all degrees is also an action that the rules of this station emphatically prohibit. Is that not true?”

“Yes,” said Philippe. “It is.”

“What would the punishment be for such a criminal action?”

“Well,” Philippe replied, searching for the most likely answer, “usually the Hosts allow the person’s home planet to determine an actual punishment, but my understanding is that the offender must be removed from the station immediately and is never allowed to return.”

“The criminal must depart this station for eternity,” echoed Innovative. “Ergo, if a person were to desire to become the Cyclopes ambassador on this Host station, assassinating the current ambassador on this station would emphatically be an emphatically futile strategy. That is true?”

Philippe nodded. “Yes, of course.”

“Emphatically futile,” Innovative repeated.

“They would insist that you leave the station, so you couldn’t actually serve as ambassador,” Philippe explained to the—unconscious? semi-conscious? resting?—Cyclops.

“Emphatically so,” said Innovative. “Only an emphatically stupid or ignorant person—”

“Hey,” said Cut, tapping Philippe’s shoulder. He gestured, and Philippe looked over to see several other Cyclopes approaching. Rapidly.

“I hate to interrupt,” he said to Innovative. “Are those Cyclopes coming . . . friendly?”

“Do they wish to assassinate me so that they too can be removed from the station and lose all chance of serving as my replacement? No, they do not. Fortunately the vast majority of Cyclopes are capable of making emphatically basic logical deductions as well as emphatically basic predictions regarding the outcomes of their actions. If they wish to assassinate me, then they emphatically will not do so here.”

Pazzo turned off the shrieker, but Philippe noticed that he kept one hand in the pocket that contained his weapon. Cut was doing the same.

“Greetings,” said Innovative, Philippe assumed to the Cyclopes who had just arrived.

“We felt—” one began.

“I know,” said Innovative.

He gestured with all four arms to the injured Cyclops, who remained unmoving at his feet.

“This individual has violated the rules of this station and must be removed back to our planet. Such are the customs of the aliens, however emphatically bizarre or emphatically barbaric they might seem. If one sincerely wished to become ambassador to the aliens, it would be emphatically wise to learn these customs and perhaps even to respect them.

“These same customs emphatically prohibit me from killing my attacker. I am required to spare his life. I am required to show mercy.”

There was a long pause.

“Since I may not take my opponent’s life,” Innovative continued, “I will take my opponent’s name, along with whatever honor it may contain. From this point in time this Cyclops shall be known as Required Mercy.”

“That is as it is,” said one of the other Cyclopes.

He and a second Cyclops went to either side of the downed Cyclops and grabbed his arms. “Required Mercy, you must stand on your feet,” one of them said.

Innovative turned away. “I should report this incident to and convey my apologies to the Hosts,” he said. “It shall be my first official duty as ambassador.”

He began to walk, and Philippe fell in next to him. “Do you know how to get to the Host living area from here?” he asked the Cyclops.

Innovative suddenly stopped. “How I regret this. I should have named him Shouting Idiot. He bellowed like a character in Cyclopes mythology who embodies a lack of dignity.”

“Yes, he certainly did,” said Philippe, who hadn’t heard a thing and had no idea there even was a Cyclopes mythology, much less that it contained a character embodying a lack of dignity.

“Required Mercy will do, however,” said Innovative, starting to walk again. “I do not wish for what I am saying to become widely known, but an emphatically long time ago I labored under the name Tends To Overthink.” He touched the white patch on his face.

“Innovative suits you better,” said Philippe. He pondered the incident as he walked alongside Innovative—assassination attempts were common on the Cyclopes home world, but less so on the Host diplomatic station, and it wasn’t like the Hosts were overly fond of the Cyclopes at the moment. “When you report this to the Hosts, would you like me to accompany you as a witness? We also have surveillance—we can show them that you were attacked without provocation.”

Innovative was silent for a moment.

“I appreciate your offer, but I must decline it,” he finally said. “You are no longer the executive of the Cyclopes government. I feel it may confuse people if you behave as though you remain in authority.”

“That’s good thinking,” Patch piped in, nodding vigorously.

“Yes, it is,” said Philippe, stopping again. Innovative stopped as well. “I have no desire to even appear to question the authority of the current Cyclopes government. Well, good luck with the Hosts, and good luck on your first day. If you need our surveillance, let us know.”

“You probably won’t,” said Patch. “There’s tons of cameras everywhere in the common area. The Swimmers can help.”

“Farewell,” said Innovative.

“Good-bye,” said Philippe.

He stared at Innovative a moment.

“I think you’ll be a good ambassador,” he said suddenly, realizing as he said it that it was the truth.

“See ya!” said Patch.

Innovative walked off, and Patch started chuckling.

“What?” asked Philippe.

“Oh, just the whole thing where you’re, like, the ex-ruler of the Cyclopes planet.”

Philippe could feel the blood rush to his face. “You know I never agreed to that.”

Patch shrugged. “They don’t care.”

Philippe looked down. It was true—he’d protested, but the Cyclopes had just acted as though he had agreed.

“They just really needed someone,” he muttered.

“It’s fine,” said Patch. “But, guy—like Innovative says, you got to be real careful about looking like you’re still in charge.”

Philippe looked up quizzically at the tall man.

Patch frowned. “Because if you do, you know the next assassination attempt is totally going to be on you.”

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