The Human Division #1: The B-Team Read Online Free PDF

room.
    “You don’t have to look that shocked,” Wilson said, dryly.
    “Sorry,” Schmidt said. He moved to let other members of the Clarke ’s diplomatic contingent into the room.
    Wilson waved it away. “I’m not usually included this early in the discussion. It’s fine.”
    “Do you know what this is about?” Schmidt said.
    “Allow me to repeat: I’m not usually included this early in the discussion,” Wilson said.
    “Got it,” Schmidt said. “Well, shall we, then?” The two of them entered the room.
    The conference room was cramped, as was everything on the Clarke . The table, with eight seats, was already filled, with Ambassador Abumwe looking owlishly at Schmidt and Wilson as they entered. The two of them took positions against the wall opposite her.
    “Now that we’re all here,” she said, with a pointed glance at Wilson and Schmidt, “let’s get started. The Department of State, in its wisdom, has decided that our presence is no longer needed at Vinnedorg.”
    A groan went up from around the table. “Who are they giving our work to this time?” asked Rae Sarles.
    “No one,” Abumwe said. “Our superiors are apparently under the impression that these negotiations will somehow magically take care of themselves without a Colonial presence.”
    “That doesn’t make any sense,” said Hugh Fucci.
    “I appreciate you telling me that, Hugh,” Abumwe said. “I don’t believe I would have figured that out on my own.”
    “Sorry, Ambassador,” Fucci said, backtracking. “What I mean to say is that they’ve been having us working on these negotiations with the Vinnies for more than a year now. I don’t understand why they want to threaten our momentum by interrupting what we’re doing.”
    “Which is why we’re having our little meeting today,” Abumwe said, and then nodded to Hillary Drolet, her assistant, who pressed the screen of her PDA. “If you’ll access your queues, you’ll find the information on our new assignment.”
    Everyone at the table, and Schmidt, accessed their PDAs; Wilson accessed his BrainPal, found the document in his queue, and streamed the data in the bottom quarter of his field of vision.
    “The Utche?” asked Nelson Kwok, after a minute. “Have the CU ever actually negotiated with them before?”
    “I was part of a mission to them three years ago, before I took this posting,” Abumwe said. “At the time, nothing seemed to come of it. But apparently we’ve been quietly negotiating with them for the last year or so.”
    “Who’s been the lead?” Kwok asked.
    “Sara Bair,” Abumwe said.
    Wilson noted that everyone looked up at the ambassador when she said this. Whoever this Sara Bair was, she was clearly a star.
    “Why is she off the negotiations?” Sarles asked.
    “I couldn’t tell you,” Abumwe said. “But she and her people are, and now we’re on it.”
    “Too bad for her,” Fucci said, and Wilson saw there were smiles around the table. Getting this Bair’s sloppy seconds were preferable to the Clarke ’s original mission, it seemed. Once again, Wilson wondered at what fate it was that brought him onto the Clarke to join its band of not-that-lovable losers. Wilson also couldn’t help but notice that the only person at the table not smiling at the prospect of taking up the Utche negotiations was Abumwe herself.
    “There’s a lot of information in this package,” Schmidt said. He was flicking his PDA screen and scrolling through the text. “How many days before we begin negotiating?”
    And it was then that Abumwe smiled, notably thin and humorless though it was. “Twenty hours.”
    There was dead silence.
    “You’re joking,” Fucci said. Abumwe gave him a look that clearly indicated she had reached the end of her patience with him for the day. Fucci wisely did not speak again.
    “Why the rush?” Wilson asked. He knew Abumwe didn’t like him; it wouldn’t hurt for him to ask the question everyone else wanted to know but was