Official Diplomacy
Chomp, chomp—.
Prime Minister Owen of Canada sat with his mouth hanging open, watching the petite girl before him devour food without pause. She had already put away a quantity that must have equaled her own body weight, yet her hands never stopped.
Then again, considering her true size, everything she had eaten so far was barely a single mouthful. That she could look satisfied after so little was the stranger part.
Perhaps because her compressed form required less energy to move, the girl soon stopped eating, patted her stomach with clear contentment, and declared:
"—Delicious."
"…Is that so."
"Yeah. You gave me tasty food. So you're a good person."
Finished with her meal, Aiteru offered Owen a light smile.
"How much?"
"Wh-what?"
"How much? I have money."
For a moment Owen assumed the "money" she meant was the sort of shiny trinket birds and beasts collected in novels—worms, fish, glittering stones.
He was wrong. What she pulled from her pocket was a black card: a gift from the United States government, a card that could empty the American treasury if she so chose.
Owen shook his head and refused it. As the Canadian government he could hardly swipe a card issued by the Americans, and this was not a restaurant—it was the Prime Minister's office. There was no card reader in sight.
"It's fine."
"…I have money."
"This is not a restaurant. If you have money, next time you can go to a proper—"
He stopped for two reasons. First, he was no longer certain it was wise to let this monster—who only looked like a little girl—come into direct contact with ordinary citizens. Second, the girl's face had begun to crumple in a most alarming fashion.
Aiteru, watching Owen keep refusing payment, recalled something Astria had told her.
—Do you understand, Aiteru? This is not As; this is Earth. Whatever you take, you must pay the price.
According to Astria, she had just purchased a meal. Therefore she had to pay for it. That was the rule of Earth.
"I'm not a baby bird. Only babies get things for free."
As Owen continued to refuse her money, she also remembered Astria's talk of "borders." Perhaps that meant the boundaries of a territory. When the territory changed, so did the things its people valued. Iron ore was worthless slag to forest spirits, yet priceless treasure to the dwarves of the underground cities.
If money would not do, Aiteru had little else to offer. She had lived in a world without civilization, and every treasure she owned remained back in her nest.
That left only her own body.
…Aiteru plucked a single strand of hair as casually as if she were molting. The thin, delicate hair instantly transformed into a feather the size of her own head.
"Here."
"…What is this?"
"Payment for the meal."
She forced the feather into the Prime Minister's hand with an air that brooked no further refusal, then slipped out through the same window she had entered. Owen watched the enormous bird soar away, feeling a sacred awe he had never known—until a sudden gust of wind made him fling the feather away in panic.
"Aagh—?!"
Whoosh—.
The discarded feather began to float of its own accord, generating its own breeze as it drifted through the air. Owen let out a hollow laugh and carefully pressed the emergency button.
Only then did the bodyguards and soldiers waiting outside rush into the office.
"Are you all right, Prime Minister?!"
"Are you injured—"
"It's over. She's gone, so there's nothing left to guard against."
They had thrown him to the wolves and only now pretended to care… Owen swallowed the curses rising in his throat and pointed at the feather.
"That mon—no, that is something she left behind. We don't know what hazards it may contain. Have the bomb squad recover it."
"Yes, sir."
A somewhat large feather that generated wind by itself. Left behind by a being from another world already regarded as extraterrestrial. Who knew what dangers it held? Even that breeze might be invisible radiation…
Fortunately, after the hazardous-materials team recovered the feather and ran every test imaginable, no radioactivity or similar threat was detected. Owen could breathe again—except for the new terror that Aiteru might return at any moment.
Of course, something else arrived first.
"This is huge, Prime Minister!"
"…What on earth are you talking about?"
"The feather recovered from your office!"
"One of the researchers kept saying it would be fun to try spinning a generator with it… so we did. And it was more than fun."
"Get to the point."
"A single one of these feathers outperforms an ordinary thermal power plant!"
Owen froze, certain he had misheard. Outperformed what by how much?
"In theory, a hundred of these feathers could supply our entire country's electricity needs!"
The calculation that followed stopped thought itself. Owen did not yet understand why, but it was only natural.
A being whose single wingbeat could summon a storm.
Ruler of the skies, sovereign of the heavens, king of all that flies.
Aiteru was a walking catastrophe that carried typhoons with her, and the energy contained in a typhoon equaled dozens of nuclear detonations every second.
If even a fragment of that power could be freely harnessed, every power plant humanity had ever built would look like a child's toy.
"Ha… haha—."
Only then did Owen understand why Ronald crawled before these beings. The meal Aiteru had eaten not long ago had cost thousands of dollars in ingredients alone—yet that sum was nothing against a national budget.
And for the price of a single free meal, they had received a gift of this magnitude?
Where else in the world did such an absurd exchange of equivalents exist?
…This is a problem.
As a politician he knew one should never lean too heavily on godlike beings. Yet he felt his heart slowly tipping.
Fear was fear. The desire to extract still more from her was growing larger by the second.
After Aiteru revealed her true form on Earth, and after the existence of As became known to the people of Earth, one question dominated every conversation:
"What kinds of races actually live in As?"
Some insisted that a world with giant birds must be a world of giant monsters. Others claimed it would follow the classic Tolkein-style fantasy template. A few simply hoped it was a world of big-breasted, big-hipped erotic elves.
What truly unnerved American intelligence was that, among the flood of speculation, the correct answer did in fact exist.
"—What should we do, Mr. President?"
"We are under no obligation to disclose anything. However…"
Having publicly declared diplomatic relations, they could not keep everything locked away forever. The Ronald administration finally decided to invite a selection of individuals from As to the United States.
Naturally, transcendents such as Astria and Aiteru were excluded. The United States had no desire to see any more beings that neither Earth nor humanity could handle.
Fortunately, As was home to a race that was both friendly toward humanity and, from humanity's perspective, easy to regard as friendly.
"Therefore— in order to let you experience American culture and to deepen our exchange with As, we would like to invite a number of elves to the United States."
"…To America?"
"Yes."
"Have you received the Great One's permission?"
"Yes. She said she values your own will more highly."
After hearing the American envoys, the elves asked for time to consider, sent them away, and immediately convened a meeting—about who would go to America.
It was not a meeting about who should be forced to go. Quite the opposite.
"—I'm going!"
"No, I am!"
"You brats have no respect for your elders—"
"You're not even a hundred years older than me!"
"Everyone shut up! This privilege should go to those of us who have suffered the most—"
It was a free-for-all struggle for the right to enjoy Earth's culture—culture that had already enchanted every elf with nothing more than food. High-Elf Chief Eruel watched the snarling crowd and sighed.
"Quiet, all of you."
"…Chief."
"We will decide by lottery. Let fate rest in the hands of heaven."
No one could refuse the chief appointed by Astria herself. Lots were drawn.
"Yes! It's me!"
"I-I'm going to Earth?"
"…Oh, it's me."
While the winners celebrated, the final name drawn was—
"My, what a surprise. It's me."
—Chief Eruel herself. No one needed to ask about her duties as chief. Since the one she served, Astria, was already on Earth, it was only proper that she go as well.
Thus the Earth-bound party was decided. The unlucky elves returned to their places, heavy with regret.
…Huh?
Jien froze as she watched fine powder sift from Eruel's closed fist—powder the same color as the wooden lots that had just been used.
C-could it be…
She looked up. Eruel met her eyes and made a small, silent gesture: keep quiet.
Jien quietly turned her head away.
And so the members who would travel to Earth were decided.