The Ambassador stared out his cabin’s portal window as the yellow planet he had come to love receded from view. After fifteen years, he hadn’t expected it to end like this. Was it still exile if the destination was home? Right now, it certainly felt like it.
He leaned forward, resting his head against the cold plate glass and massaging the back of his neck. Salama had been much better at that, but now… Adrift in thought, he almost missed the desk intercom calling for his attention. He let it trill for a moment, then pushed against the bulkhead wall and floated to the centre of the room.
He flicked the activation switch. “McNeill here,” he said, his mind somehow entertaining the thought that he had been recalled to the planet. “I’m in my cabin, is there a problem?” After so many years, his own language felt foreign on his lips; at once familiar and strange like an ex-lover’s kiss. “No problem, sir,” the commander’s voice replied after a moment’s delay. “Venus Control have cleared us for hyperspace. Estimated time of arrival on Earth is 23:00 UT.”
Only six hours. It had always seemed so much further away.
He nodded, although nobody could see it, unless they trusted him even less than he thought. “Thank you, Commander,” he said. “I’ll remain in my cabin for the duration if you don’t mind.”
“Understood. Twain out.” The commander’s military voice was steady and calm, offering no hint of emotion or opinion. Anticipating his reception on Earth, the Ambassador appreciated that. He flicked the switch again and returned to the window. Already, the world he had called home for so long was almost indistinguishable from the other stars. Salama, her father, and the world he ruled; no more than a pinpoint of light, torn in the night sky.
Turning from the window after several minutes, he propelled himself towards the leather case beside the bed. Inside, those few affects he’d had time to gather before boarding. Prelate Denquo’s threats of imprisonment had left him little time to pack. He cursed the weedy, long-necked cleric as he unhooked the leather straps and opened the case.
Suddenly, a flash of white light filled the cabin. When it faded, he glanced at the window and saw the stars stretching into long white streaks. In all likelihood, this would be his final trip beyond the hyperspace barrier. He would never again stand on the shores of Lake Baltis or climb the rocky slope of Abeona Mons. Never again hold the woman who had given him this.
He reached into the case and lifted out a hand-carved cubic box. Angular Venusian glyphs adorned a gold plaque attached to one side: “To my hero from beyond the stars, with love.”
He ran a thumb over the glyphs and smiled. On the opposite side, there protruded a small turnkey which he wound until it began to resist. There, he released it and as it turned, music began to play – a Venusian folk song of a forlorn princess and her gallant knight. Universal themes, he thought. He could still remember her face the first time they’d met. First, angry at his shuttle’s intrusion, then confused. She’d never met an Earthman before.
A trilling sound behind him attracted his attention; the intercom again. He pushed back towards it and flicked the switch. “McNeill.”
This time, the voice was one he knew all too well.
“John,” the voice began in an angry, mid-western drawl. “What the blue hell is going on up there? I don’t want to believe half of what I’m hearing.”
The Ambassador grabbed a wall-mounted rail and squeezed so hard his fingers turned white. “The Venusian government—“ he began, but his counterpart had no interest. “You know what? I don’t want to hear it. You realise you’re the first planetary Ambassador ever recalled? What possessed you? What gave you the nerve?”
He remained silent, not because he had no answer, but because he had none which would satisfy his superior. He briefly considered mounting a defence, pleading his case with the oratory for which he was so well known. But there was no case to make. He had broken the chief diplomatic mandate and become personally, emotionally involved in local matters.
“I can only apologise, sir,” he said, forcing his breaths into a regular pattern. “It was never my intent to—“
“Can it, John,” the voice said. “Report to the Foreign Ministry as soon as you touch down. There’s a media frenzy so a transport will be waiting for you.” He paused then and sighed. “I’m disappointed in you, John. You ought to know better. Forrest out.”
With that final condemnation, the line went silent and the intercom light blinked off. The Ambassador floated in silence for a while, contemplating his situation. His career was finished, that much was clear. If he was very lucky, he might get a book deal and live on the proceeds for a few years, but after that…
He stared back across the cabin to the Venusian music box and made a decision. The governments of two worlds called him an outlaw and a brigand, but to one person at least, he was a hero. He released his grip on the safety rail and floated back to the window. Venus had long since disappeared from view, but he knew now that he’d be back.
He would return to Earth and face his accusers. He would take their condemnation and their sanctions with dignity and honour. But then, by any means he would return to this place. Whether or not the ministry or Prelate Denquo or the King himself approved, he would hold his beloved Princess of Venus in his arms again.
I think I’m reading Denquo wrong in my head… Is it pronounce Den-kw-oh, like?
Love the idea here.
“After so many years, his own language felt foreign on his lips; at once familiar and strange like an ex-lover’s kiss.” – My favourite line.