The Embassy of Missing Planets

How it begins

The ambassador's first briefing contained a blank where a planet should have been.

Amina tapped the display.

"Technical fault?"

The aide looked at the blank.

"Geographical."

Planets were not supposed to become geographical faults.

They were supposed to remain where treaties could find them.

Amina had spent eighteen years learning the correct phrases for diplomatic surprises. None addressed a missing civilization with three moons and an unpaid membership invoice.

"Have we contacted them?"

"All channels."

"Response?"

The aide handed her an envelope.

Returned to sender.

No forwarding orbit.

At the back of the room, the janitor stopped polishing a handrail.

Amina noticed because everyone else was performing the stillness of people hoping not to be asked the next question.

"Do you know something?"

The janitor considered the cloth in his hand.

"I know where the mail goes."

"Where?"

"Depends who's asking."

"I'm the ambassador."

"That's usually why they send it back."

The aide inhaled sharply.

Amina dismissed the room before he could exhale a regulation.

The janitor introduced himself as Sol.

He opened a maintenance cupboard.

Inside, between spare filters and a vacuum attachment, stood forty-seven diplomatic pouches.

All returned.

All unopened.

Amina recognized seals from worlds she had been told were content.

"Why are these here?"

"The official archive marked them as cleaning supplies."

"By mistake?"

Sol looked at her.

She picked up the oldest pouch.

Its seal bore the emblem of the planet missing from her briefing.

The first line of the message was simple.

We would like to know what our representation includes.

Amina read it twice.

Outside the embassy window, the empty orbit gleamed.

"What did we tell them?"

Sol folded his cloth.

"Nothing."

For the first time since arriving, Amina understood that the blank on the display was an answer.

She asked him where the first planet had gone.

This time, he told her.