by E. M. Foner
Aabina glanced at the ambassador’s son shrewdly. “They taught you about royal training in Vergallian Studies?”
“Maybe I heard about it from my sister’s friend Affie,” Samuel replied evasively. He could hardly tell her about all of the time he’d spent visiting with Ailia through the agency of the quantum-coupled bots provided by Jeeves. “Am I going to have to wear a blindfold and swear on a dagger?”
“Like in a drama? Oh, you’re trying to change the subject. Don’t worry, I won’t pry into your secrets, and we’re on the same side in any case.” The lift tube doors opened at their approach and Aabina instructed the capsule, “Secret society meeting for student diplomats.”
“The lift tubes are in on it?” Samuel couldn’t help asking.
“Nobody would ever find the meetings otherwise. We move them around to foil surveillance.”
“Who would target a student meeting for intelligence gathering?”
“The secret society for student spies,” Aabina told him. “You know, you speak Vergallian better than any Human I’ve ever met,” she continued. “Did you spend all your time watching dramas when you were young?”
“I guess I just have an ear for languages,” Samuel said, flinching internally at how lame that sounded. “I started on ‘Let’s Make Friends’ when I was only five, and the in-ear translators the Grenouthians provided were only on one side and lagged a little. How long have you been in the secret society?”
“Since I started at the Open University. Being an ambassador’s daughter and the oldest princess in my family meant I was marked out for diplomacy from birth. We would have invited you earlier but you seemed to be a little lost, career-wise.”
Aabina pulled the cowl of her travel cloak over her head and cinched it around her face, concealing her features from anybody who wasn’t standing right in front of her with a flashlight. The capsule doors slid open and the students stepped out onto a busy corridor that seemed to consist exclusively of bars and hotels renting rooms for incredibly cheap prices.
“I’ve never been to this section of the station before,” Samuel said. “I’ll have to remember it next time somebody comes into the lost-and-found and asks if I know where they can rent a room for a handful of creds.”
“And stay for a handful of minutes. I believe we’re in the red light district.”
“Your mother is going to kill me,” the ambassador’s son yelped. “Then my father is going to kill me. Let’s get out of here.”
“The meeting is that way,” Aabina told him, brandishing her student tab like a compass and starting off towards the right at a pace that forced Samuel to lengthen his stride to keep up. “The signal is only detectible at short range—it’s the final level of security.”
“I thought you said that the Open University provides meeting spaces for the secret societies.”
“Diplomatic alumni are known for their sense of humor, and the Open University doesn’t provide alcohol service.”
“Are they going to make me drink for the initiation? I don’t have a head for the hard stuff and beer puts me to sleep. I’m the family wimp.”
“Nobody is going to force you to do anything,” Aabina told him, nodding with satisfaction as the arrow on her tab indicated the narrow entrance of a Frunge greenery bar. “If you’ve never been in one of these places, don’t try ordering any grains to go with your drink.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Samuel muttered, following after the Vergallian ambassador’s daughter as she pushed back her cowl and forged a path through a particularly dense stand of tall, leafy plants that were practically begging to be pruned with a machete. “Who picks these places?”
“Sam, Abs,” Czeros greeted the newcomers as they finally broke into a small clearing. The Frunge ambassador was sitting at the head of a metal table crowded with students nursing drinks. “When I heard you were being initiated I couldn’t resist dusting off my old school tie and volunteering as the toastmaster.”
“But you didn’t attend the Open University,” Samuel replied as he squeezed into the narrow space on the bench indicated by his mother’s friend.
“Most of the student secret societies on the tunnel network have reciprocity arrangements,” Czeros explained. “It always pays to mention being a member if you run into diplomatic trouble on some world. You never know if there might be an alum present and it shows that you aren’t a loner.”
“Abs?” Aabina hissed, fixing the ambassador with a frosty glare.
“Ambassadors are the highest rank of alumni, and as such, I’m allowed to assign one permanent nickname per event I attend. From this day hence, thou shall be known as Abs to all and sundry—in secret, anyway. Now stop procrastinating and place your orders,” Czeros concluded, conjuring up a holographic menu that was composed entirely in Frunge. “The manager, an old drinking friend, has color-coded the items you can imbibe without internal damage. The white entries are safe for you, Sam, and the purple ones are for Abs and the other Vergallians.”
Samuel took no time to decide. “I guess I’ll try the only white one.”
“Wise choice. Abs?”
“I’ll have what Ajeida is drinking,” Aabina said, pointing at a pale pink concoction that the Vergallian across the table was sipping through a straw. “You must have started early. Did we miss anything?”
“It’s traditional for everybody to arrive before the new initiate for the maximum impact when the blindfold is removed,” Czeros told her pointedly.
“When I saw where the lift tube let us out I thought it would be better to skip that part. A hooded female leading a blindfolded male down that corridor—”
“Would have blended right in,” the Frunge ambassador interrupted. “Young people these days don’t know how to have fun. Why, at my initiation, somebody put a dyeing agent in the punch bowl that turned everybody’s hair vines orange. It took forever to grow out.”
“Doesn’t that mean that you marked yourselves as secret society members?” a Dollnick student asked.
“Secret, shmecret. The important thing is to network and learn how to share your burdens.” Czeros stopped and took a grape from a fruit platter and fired it down the table at a student’s head. “You, the Horten who keeps pouring her drink out on the ground. It’s wasteful and it’s bad for the plants. If you can’t tolerate booze, order juice or water, but don’t pretend to be drinking while you’re staying sober in hopes of gaining an advantage. It’s unsportsmanlike.”
“What did I order?” Samuel asked.
“It’s an Earth wine, the only one they had on the menu. It tastes watered down so you’ll probably like it.”
A waitress with her hair vines coiled in a tight bun so they wouldn’t catch on the dense foliage of the green bar brought a tray full of glasses. “One Human wine, Two Vergallian Pinkies, refills for everybody else.”
“I didn’t order a refill,” a Drazen girl protested.
“Drink up,” Czeros ordered. “No internships for teetotalers.”
“Paying internships?” a Frunge student asked eagerly, then slammed back a shot of clear fluid. “Is there something open at our embassy?”
“Planning on replacing me, sapling? Oh, don’t look so upset. You kids really can’t take a joke. Stop in on the first of the new cycle and give the embassy manager your transcript. I’m sure we’ll find something for you.”
“But how about the rest of us?” the Drazen girl asked, eyeing her unwanted drink dubiously.
“The Humans are hiring for all positions,” Czeros told her. “Just sign up for their civil service exams.”
Samuel choked on his wine. “What?”
“Really?” a Dollnick student asked. “They not only hire outside of the lead diplomatic families but outside of their species as well?”
“There must be some mistake,” Aabina said, retrieving the EarthCent announcement on her tab. A minute later she concluded, “It really doesn’t restrict the species of the applicant.”
“They p
robably didn’t specify the species so that our artificial people could apply,” Samuel said. “I’m sure there must be something in there about at least being human-derived.”
“No,” the Frunge ambassador told him. “I received an intelligence brief about your new civil service tests this morning and that point was quite clear. Any member of the tunnel network can sit the exam.”
“But that’s crazy. We’ll end up with a diplomatic service run by aliens.”
“Is this pay scale in creds?” asked the Drazen girl who had complained about the refill. She looked up from her own tab. “Who could live on these salaries?”
“InstaSitter pays more, and the benefits are better too,” a Horten student contributed.
“Tricky,” a Verlock student commented. “Open to all, desired by none.”
“Does EarthCent have an initiation?” a Grenouthian student asked. “When I started an internship at our embassy, they made me carry a Booler egg in my pouch until it hatched.”
“Thank you for reminding me,” Czeros said, “I’d almost forgotten the most important part of our evening.”
“Song, song, song,” the students all chorused, pounding the table and staring expectantly at Samuel.
“I have to sing?” he asked, and took a large gulp of the watery wine, more to wet his throat than for courage. “I can do the theme to ‘Let’s Make Friends.’”
“You have to sing your EarthCent anthem,” Aabina said.
“We don’t have one,” Samuel told her, a declaration that was met by the students moaning and casting fearful looks at Czeros.
“What a funny coincidence, EarthCent having no anthem and my being here,” the Frunge ambassador said. “In my capacity as the senior alum at this meeting, I will extend my protection to our young initiate and assume the burden of singing an anthem. Feel free to join in.”
Czeros leaned back in his chair, opened his mouth, and began an awful creaking sound that sounded like a structure being buffeted by high winds and on the brink of collapse. The two Frunge students present came in on harmony, and everybody else placed their hands over their ears and activated the noise-cancellation option on their implants. It only helped so much.
Twenty
“This chair is too big,” Bork teased the EarthCent ambassador after taking the Verlock’s assigned seat.
“This chair is too small,” Ambassador Crute complained, making a comical effort to fit himself into the Horten’s chair.
“This chair is just right,” a voice came out of nowhere as the Chert ambassador announced his presence.
“Early is on time,” Ambassador Srythlan announced himself as he shuffled into the new conference room. “Please vacate my seat, Ambassador Bork.”
“Are all of these puzzle pieces real or is this some kind of printed coating?” Ortha inquired, leaning over the table and trying to insert a fingernail between two adjacent shapes while waiting for the Dollnick to extract himself from the chair. “I do believe they are real. Did it come assembled?”
“Joe and the boys put it together,” Kelly informed the Horten ambassador, knowing that Ortha had really been digging to find out if she had accepted alien help. “Everything you see here was manufactured and installed by humans, except for Dring’s globe,” she added, pointing out the pièce de résistance suspended above the table.
“I’m honored you chose a Dollnick subcontractor to cut out the existing wall,” Crute couldn’t restrain himself from saying. Then, realizing he was being ungracious, the ambassador added, “These small renovation jobs are the worst. Too much for a handyman, too small to bring in a construction management firm. Where did you find the labor to fit those panels?”
“Daniel imported a construction crew from one of the sovereign human communities.”
“Are those seams supposed to be horizontal?” Ortha inquired.
“It’s the new style,” Kelly replied quickly. “Who are we missing?”
“Not me,” declared the Grenouthian ambassador as he entered from the embassy reception area rather than the door on the corridor and quickly found his seat. “Comfy.”
“Good morning,” Czeros croaked, sinking gratefully into a chair. “I’m sorry if I sound a bit hoarse in translation. I was called upon to exercise my singing talents for an extended period not many hours ago and I seem to have overdone it.”
“Secret society meeting?” Bork asked.
“Samuel’s initiation,” the Frunge ambassador confirmed, and the others all nodded their understanding. “I don’t suppose there’s anything to drink?” he added hopefully.
“The caterers will be serving any time now,” Kelly told them. “And that shelf on the back wall is for your personal mugs and tankards, if you choose to bring one to leave.”
“Like in a Human pub. What a wonderful idea. Given the number of meetings you’ll be hosting, my favorite wine glass will see more use here than it would in my own embassy.”
“I doubt that,” Ortha said under his breath.
“When do you plan the handover?” the Grenouthian addressed Kelly. “Was adding the conference room to the embassy a transition gift?”
“What do you mean?”
“For your son, to smooth the way for him,” the giant bunny responded.
“If Samuel is planning to replace me, it’s the first I’ve heard about it,” she told them. “My son is welcome to the job if EarthCent sees fit to give it to him one day, but I’m afraid I have another decade to go before I qualify for a full pension, and Sam has just swapped into the diplomatic path at school.”
“Ambassador Aainda,” Ortha greeted the Vergallian beauty and patted the chair next to his own. “I saved your seat.”
“Thank you. Why is the Gem Ambassador waiting outside?” she asked Kelly. “It appears that everyone else is here.”
“I don’t know,” the EarthCent ambassador replied, getting up from her place and sticking her head out in the corridor. “Gwen Two? We’re about to begin.”
“Of course,” the clone said, and slipped her change purse back into one of the large pockets of the latest jumpsuit fashion adopted by Gem professionals. “I was just waiting to give the caterers a little pep talk about the importance of your first hosted meeting, but I’m mortified to see that they’re late.”
“They’ve been here over an hour. I took your suggestion to add a kitchen at the same time as a conference room. It’s almost a pity that the ventilation system works so well or you’d smell what they’re cooking.”
“Station building code,” the Gem ambassador explained, following Kelly into the embassy. “So many of my sisters work in the food preparation business that I’m familiar with the requirements. Any kitchen in an area accessible by multiple species and not specifically designated as a private residence or a food court must employ a negative pressure system to minimize airborne odors.”
“No wonder the kitchen was so expensive. I got three quotes but they were all within a few creds of each other.”
“Did the contractors know each other?” the Gem ambassador asked suspiciously.
“The truth is, I was focused on getting the conference room right,” Kelly admitted, taking her seat between Bork and Czeros. The Gem sat to the left of the Dollnick, the Chert deigned to turn off his invisibility projector, and all of the diplomats turned expectantly to the EarthCent ambassador.
“I swear the food will be out in just a minute,” she told them.
“I call this meeting to order,” Bork muttered under his breath.
“Oh, right,” Kelly said. “First time hosting, you know.”
“Who’s counting?” the giant bunny said, leading to laughs all around.
“I call this meeting to order,” the EarthCent ambassador declared. “I want to start by saying that I’ve never been comfortable with the whole ‘nuisance species’ concept. Since I’ll be hosting the next three meetings, I looked into the history of this committee, and our station librarian assures me it was mandated by the Stryx.
When I mentioned that we never actually talked about nuisance species at any of the meetings I’ve attended—”
“You mentioned it to the Stryx?” the Dollnick interrupted.
“To Libby, yes. It’s not like she doesn’t listen in anyway.”
“Did you make it clear that you weren’t requesting additional work?” Crute continued.
“I don’t think I gave that impression,” Kelly replied slowly. “Libby did say that the station manager had been receiving quite a few complaints since Baa took up residence, but that’s sort of understandable, given the history most of you have with her people.”
“If the Terragram mages had come to us as superior aliens there would be no problem at all,” Czeros reminded the ambassador. “They presented themselves to my ancestors as gods.”
“In any case, the station librarian suggested I invite any local Terragrams to the meeting and offered to put out the request on a private network maintained by the mages. I asked Baa to attend, but I guess she’s running late.”
Kelly found herself speaking slower and slower by the end of this statement because she couldn’t help noticing that the ambassadors were all regarding her with a mixture of puzzlement and horror. Fortunately, the Gem caterers chose this instant to enter from the kitchen, and the smell of the specialty desserts Donna had ordered for all of the species present wafted over the conference table. Any incipient move to call for an early recess to the meeting was nipped in the bud.
Ten minutes later, the Verlock was the sole ambassador who hadn’t cleaned his plate, and that was only because he was such a slow eater. The other ambassadors were enjoying their beverages and relaxing in their species-specific chairs, and the gentle rise and fall of the giant bunny’s chest made Kelly suspect that the Grenouthian ambassador had dozed off with his eyes open. Just when she was about to ask if anybody had new business for the committee, Donna entered from the reception area, leading a tall stranger.
“This is Raa,” she introduced the alien, who was dressed in a one-piece garment that bore a striking resemblance to one of Dorothy’s ponchos. “Libby confirmed that he’s a Terragram mage and he’s responding to our open invitation.”
