Have you ever spent a hundred and ten thousand dollars to send a letter? Now that I was reasonably sure I wouldn't be killed instantly, I was.
The inside of Wakanda's embassy wasn't austentatious. It wasn't meant to be intimidating and the afro-futurist aesthetic probably looked very out of place to most Westerners. But it was not built for Westerners, it was built for Wakandans. Everywhere, deliberately, the marks and colors of each integrated tribe were on full display. This was a mother's place. A place Wakandans would feel comfortable and safe but that would put their enemies at (false, as I knew) ease.
I walked down the hall, lead by a young man, a secretary to the diplomat. He seemed to be bitter to be assigned out here to this backwater post, in the beating heart of global capitalism that was New York City. It was weird to know, definitively, that I was in a more primitive civilization by perhaps forty years of tech development.
Ambassador Ohna Ebuki had long, braided hair, a sharp face, and maybe forty years - unlike in many cultures, I doubted that the ambassadorship was a prestigious position, but Wakanda had made a practice of sending at least minimally competent ambassadors to the nuclear powers.
"Who is the colonizer, D'onseh?" Ambassador Ebuki asked in Wakandan, without bothering to address me. I held down the surge of pride. It really wasn't her job to deal with people like me. Also, they had no idea I could understand them, so perhaps this conversation would be enlightening.
"The colonizer, Michael Trent, has returned a small portion of the gift of the gods, Ambassador. He claims to have a letter that is a greater gift to the king."
"Have you read this letter?" Ebuki answered.
"It is written in Thai," the young man made a face, "He insists I must not read it."
"So, colonizer," the Ambassador said in English, "D'onseh tells me you have a letter you deem unfit for him to read but you consider appropriate to give to my king."
I was surprised at how much the colonizer thing stung. Didn't the vibranium count for anything? I wondered internally. Well, I suppose she was asking. "It is about the royal family's personal affairs, Ambassador."
"And what does an outsider know of the king that his own ambassadors are ignorant of?" the Ambassador asked
"I assure you, I know very little of the king." I said with what I hoped was a humble, somber expression. "I simply do not wish to cause any pain to the king or to his family by accidentally releasing any information which might adversely affect them in any way."
"I am the king's eyes in this savage land," the Ambassador said.
Calling it a savage land seemed like a dead giveaway to me, but maybe it just upset most of the people that she dealt with. The colonizer stuff bothered me and I flattered myself that I'm fairly woke - Certainly by 2010 standards. "Ma'am," I said, "I'm telling you with full sincerity that the king would not want you to read this letter. If you will not send it without endeavoring to read it, I shall burn it and depart."
"Blackmailing the royal family is a capital offense in Wakanda," the Ambassador said, grabbing the letter from my hand. "So, let me offer you a deal. You wait here until I hear back from the king. If he feels that it is not blackmail, I will not kill you."
I sucked in my breath. I really, really hoped that she was bluffing. The death penalty thing was true, but I hoped that she was bluffing about the killing me part. "Well, please convey my sincere wish that it be interpreted in a charitable light."
I didn't bother pointing out that it was presently nine PM in Wakanda and the king probably wouldn't respond till two AM here.
----
To the noble heir of kings who gave their people peace, T'Chaka of the Golden Tribe,
I fear this letter has been written to convey you a message which you do not wish to receive. Yet the great power that has lain it on me has left me little choice but to warn you as best I am able. I am burdened to tell you and I pray you will take pity on me.
Your nephew lives and serves in the United States Navy as a SEAL in Afghanistan. He has a discipline that shapes his body and mind into peerless instruments of his. The fire of his discipline is a hatred born the day his father died. He knows the station of his birth and the power of his nation. He will bring war to Wakanda if he is not stopped.
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I do not say this lightly. I pray that this letter finds you in fine health and that all that I have seen is lies. I hope you are able to make a permanent end of the issue. But if you leave this wound to fester, it will consume the bodies of your children and the garden of your ancestors.
I know that your instinct will be to dismiss me as a primitive. Please, listen to me. Whatever you decide, I shall take your secrets and the secrets of Wakanda to my grave.
-In the spirit of peace,
Michael G. Trent.
----
I spent the rest of the day clicking around news for any sign of Tony's activating the Iron Man suit. It was mid october and he still hadn't emerged from his damn basement. Pepper was running the company but that seemed mostly like a firefighter's exercise. I'd gotten in on the stocks after Tony had gotten back and then I'd gotten further in after I'd killed Obadiah, but it had managed to go down even more when Pepper had been appointed head so I bet on it then too. Hadn't paid off yet, but hopefully soon.
You alright? Andromeda sent
Yeah, go ahead and go to sleep. I'll probably still be alive in the morning.
Mike.
If I'm not, I died doing the right thing.
She didn't respond to that, which I suppose I deserved. Around one AM I managed to fall asleep on one of the wicker chairs that I was sure were designed to make me uncomfortable.
At 3:27 AM by my watch, the Ambassador shook me awake. "Get up colonizer," she said, her face angry.
"Yes ma'am," I said automatically, my head bleary. I followed her into a room where a projector of metal beads was projecting the full color image of T'chaka, King of Wakanda, in three dimensions. I hadn't remembered what he looked like, grey haired and a little portly with a lazy eye, not quite the image I had in mind of an elder statesman, though I suppose he had to be one.
I bent my head in deference.
"Kneel," the Ambassador said.
I did so without protest. Guess that we don't do that here thing was just a joke by T'Challa.
The King raised a hand in greeting to me and turned to the Ambassador. "Leave us, Ohna. Disable the security cameras."
"Yes, my king," the Ambassador said, holding up her fingers in an intricate pattern to the cameras and then walking out.
"What great power told you of my nephew?" the king asked, his voice tired.
"I do not know. Not Bastet or Hanuman. A foreign power, to me and to you."
"Do you trust it?"
"The visions I have seen have thus far served me as if they were my own two eyes. Yet there is always the possibility they lie."
"Hmm." The king said. "Mr. Trent, I am grateful for your warning. And be it that it seems you are indeed blessed with knowledge you cannot possibly possess, I shall bear you no resentment for this. I will… consider the counsel you have given me. What you ask is very difficult for me."
"It is the way of prophets to give advice to kings, not to decide for them. I am pleased to leave this matter in your hands. There is one other favor I should wish to give you. I have made peaceful contact with Klaue and I would like to wash it off my hands."
"Ah," the king said, his tone tinged with a soft anger, "And this was the source of your vibranium."
"Yes, oh King. I simply wish to undo the price I paid for it."
"Can you make contact with him again?"
"Klaue finds his clients when he wants to," I said honestly. Klaue was in it for fun. He'd made probably a billion dollars on the black market already. He didn't need the money. "If he contacts me again, you shall be the first to know."
"Well, do this for us and Wakanda shall be grateful. And Mr. Trent, if I hear that you have breathed a word of this to an outsider, I will kill you with my own hands."