31. The Unappointed Ambassador
Rippa found Buttons at the beach. The kid was taking a nap in the hammock that gently swung as Miss Pendrake periodically nudged it. Rippa rushed to the hammock. Careful not to wake Buttons up, she reached in and squeezed the kid’s cheek. Buttons wiggled her nose and turned over.
Goggles was in the lounge, on the sofa. On the table, a samovar had been set up. An empty teacup beside Goggles’ indicated Buttons had had a long talk with her butler. Long enough to have made the samovar worthwhile.
Rippa sat across from Goggles and poured herself a cup from the top kettle, filling only a third of it. Then she diluted the strong concentrate by adding hot water from the reservoir beneath. Finally, she added half a spoonful of strawberry jam to her tea. After taking the first sip, she let out a satisfying sigh.
She glanced at sleeping Buttons before addressing Goggles.
“Ken, is Buttons really sleeping or just pretending?”
Goggles raised his eyebrows.
“Oops, sorry. I meant Goggles. Just a slip of the tongue.”
The butler took his time to answer. “The child really is sleeping.”
“But you are awake.”
Goggles took a sip of his tea and, holding it in both hands, looked into the cup.
Rippa examined the man. ‘He means the puppet is sleeping,’ she thought, ‘but the octopus is awake.’
Goggles raised his gaze and met Rippa’s. “I am surprised you are talking to me, Miss Rippa.”
“Huh?”
“I expected you would only address the octopus from now on.”
Rippa winced. That hurt. “I… I’m not a meanie. I don’t generally go around kicking a sandcastle a child has built.”
Goggles took another sip, then put the cup down on the table. He sat back, but seemed a bit more relaxed. He smiled a little, too.
“Well, Miss Rippa, would you accept if I insisted that the child really is sleeping?”
Rippa scoffed. ‘Great, I got a couple of hardcore role-players in my party.’ She waved her hand dismissively.
“I remembered you said something about our President. So I got super curious and couldn’t wait,” she lied.
“Oh, that is great, actually. We were about to pay you a visit after her nap.”
“Huh?”
Goggles got down to business. “Your President has just acknowledged to the media that Buttons is real and…” he sighed, “and that the government has been aware of us.”
“Well, duh, she is real.”
Goggles leaned in, serious. “Miss Rippa, your President’s action has multiple consequences. It is understandable that he wishes to assure the country that everything is under control, but…”
“But?”
“Given what we are, the next logical, inevitable step your institutions will take would be to create a system to oversee access to Buttons… because by acknowledging us, the President has effectively claimed an unimaginable power in the hands of the Executive Branch.”
“What does that even mean?” Rippa wasn’t getting it.
“Who gets to talk to Buttons and about what,” said Goggles flatly. He then looked straight into Rippa’s eyes. “That is going to affect you.”
“Me?”
Goggles put his hands up. “I am not saying that is happening right now. But, eventually, we will end up there.”
Rippa gulped. “You mean… the Feds are going to look me up?”
“They are already.”
Rippa panicked. “Fuck! Why already?”
“Because you are the ambassador whom they did not appoint. But no worries, Miss Rippa,” Goggles tried to calm her down. “I am actively sabotaging all attempts as we speak.”
“But I’m in the system!” Rippa shouted, but then lowered her voice, remembering Buttons was sleeping. “Google has my personal info. X, Twitch, Kick, they all know who Rippin’ Rippa is.”
Goggles smirked a little. “Your data is in the automated system. The operators themselves do not actually know who you are. Only the computers know.”
“What’s the difference?”
“I am thwarting all attempts to retrieve your information from the database. The computers will still handle your activities, and payments will still be processed, but humans will not know who you are. All they will get are errors and null returns.”
“Wait, what about Buttons? Google and Discord can still look up Buttolls, no?”
“Thank you for your concern, but she is also protected in the same manner.”
“I still don’t get it. How exactly does this work?” asked Rippa.
“Hmm… let’s say your personal information is a smart car key buried deep inside a backpack. The car would still detect it, so the doors would unlock, and the engine would start, as long as the backpack is close. What I am doing is just making it impossible for anyone to actually find and retrieve the key from the backpack.”
Rippa gulped. “Can you do that?”
“Well, it appears I am a god,” said Goggles sarcastically.
“Haha,” Rippa forced a laugh, but she calmed down. If Goggles was handling it, then she was safe.
***
Talbot, Baczewski, and Curtis stood side by side, eyeing the mailbox.
Jim was pacing around, furious. “Ma’am, why did you have to tell the President?”
“I didn’t have a choice, did I?” Talbot shot back. “If the Chinese or the Russians came out first, what then? If the President came second and said, ‘We have it, too,’ then everyone would think he’s lying to save face!”
“Argh!” Jim waved his arms in frustration.
“Let’s not dwell on it, Jim,” Baczewski tried to get things moving. “So, how does this work?”
Jim sighed and stopped pacing. He patted the mailbox. “We think we just put our letter in. That’s it.”
“Have we ever tested it?” asked Curtis.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Look, Deputy Director, the guy is a god,” Jim knocked on the mailbox. “It is unlikely that he needs three separate mailboxes in his yard.”
“Meaning?” Curtis urged Jim to go on.
“Put a letter in, it pops up in the others. So, there’s a non-zero chance that the mailboxes are… a group chat.”
“I see…,” Curtis nodded. “So the Chinese and the Russians might be able to read our letter as well?”
“It’s just speculation, though,” Jim admitted.
The Director of National Intelligence nudged Baczewski. “What do you think, Jacob?”
“Hmm…” the CIA Director thought about it for a moment. “We’ve just failed the Prisoner’s Dilemma in the most classic way possible. Let’s not do that with this one.”
Curtis and Jim looked at Talbot’s face.
“You guys raise a good point. Let’s leave it as is,” Talbot concurred. “Besides, we have another hotline to the gods.”
“You mean the cartoon girl, Ma’am?” asked Curtis.
“Yeah,” Talbot nodded. “DHS is looking into it.”