Career Night on Union Station (EarthCent Ambassador Book 15)

by E. M. Foner

  “None of us would have ended up working for EarthCent if it wasn’t for being asked out of the blue,” Donna said. “It’s kind of sad to think about it.”

  “But if you had known that taking a civil service exam was an option, you might have done that,” Daniel pointed out.

  “No, I barely finished high school with the help of a teacher bot,” the embassy manager replied. “I wouldn’t have believed I could pass any tests.”

  “I’d have waited until I finished college, if at all,” Kelly said. “I wasn’t really thinking about diplomacy when I got the job offer.”

  “I think I would have eventually applied, but then I grew up around diplomats,” Daniel told them. The associate ambassador, whose parents had been accused of taking a Dollnick bribe while managing the contract bidding for EarthCent’s Venus terraforming project, poked around in his salad as if searching for something more substantial before continuing. “But just because we’ll be accepting walk-in candidates doesn’t mean that the Stryx won’t be pushing, or should I say, manipulating them through the door.”

  “No comment,” Jeeves mumbled.

  “I haven’t been to a Drazen gluing party in ages,” Dring broke the uncomfortable silence that followed. “As soon as I polish off these carrots, I’d be honored to join you.”

  “With over six hundred pieces to glue together, we can use every hand we can get,” Joe told him.

  “Strange,” Jeeves said. “I’d almost forgotten about all of the puzzles we did at school.”

  “In Libby’s experimental school?” Paul asked. “I don’t remember them.”

  “That’s because you started later than the other children, when Joe brought you to the station. My first few years in Libby’s school were mainly spent learning how to communicate with five and six-year-olds. Most of the children were scared of me, but Blythe could talk non-stop while doing three other things at the same time. We used to solve puzzles together, and I can see those skills now in the way she approaches business.”

  “I’d forgotten you were Blythe’s special friend before Paul came to the station,” Donna said. “You were so quiet and shy back then, it’s almost as if you were a different sentient.”

  “I have an open requisition for a new Libbyland attraction and I’m beginning to think that something with a puzzle theme would fit,” Jeeves announced.

  “Without the glue,” Paul suggested.

  “Or so many pieces,” Kelly added. “You need puzzles that people can solve on the spot unless you’re going to sell them for home use.”

  “I don’t mean puzzles like your tabletop,” the Stryx said, gesturing at the work in progress with his pincer. “My idea is more along the lines of a life-puzzle, something to help young sentients understand where they’re going and what pieces they need to prepare to get there.”

  “Like a mix-and-match resume?” Donna asked.

  “Doesn’t sound much like a theme park attraction,” Kevin commented. “You should build another rollercoaster instead. It’s hard to go wrong with rides.”

  “I want to create a puzzle that will help kids figure out what they should be studying in school and which life skills they should be acquiring in order to reach their goals,” Jeeves explained. “Working with EarthCent to create the new civil service exam reminded me of how haphazard your career choices can be. Most of your people choose their life’s work according to the availability of a paying job within commuting distance rather than matching their heart’s desire.”

  “That’s very thoughtful of you, Jeeves,” the EarthCent ambassador complimented the Stryx. “I’m beginning to think that you’re all grown up.”

  “Hardly,” the station librarian interjected softly over Kelly’s implant.

  “It sounds interesting, but how are we going to make it work?” Paul asked. “Are you thinking about some sort of three-dimensional puzzle where the building blocks for a particular career path only fit in order? It would be easy enough to design a system of pips and detents that allow common building blocks for mathematics or language skills to fit into multiple decision trees. But a six-year-old wouldn’t understand what he needs to be studying at sixteen in order to become a scientist at twenty-six.”

  “It’s a problem,” Jeeves admitted. “I don’t believe that representational puzzle pieces would be useful in this application. We would need a way to get the message across through fun activities that lead a participant to the logical conclusion.”

  “So you’re talking about something that’s more of a game than a puzzle.”

  “A game where the actions fit together like a puzzle.”

  “Won’t your elders be displeased if you reveal their methods?” Kelly inquired slyly.

  Dring coughed and thumped his chest. “Sorry, I swallowed a carrot the wrong way.”

  “I’m not talking about manipulating outcomes for the greater good of the galaxy,” Jeeves protested. “My idea is to help your youngsters find their own best path.”

  “Maybe what we need is Live Action Role Playing for children, but with the quests being related to long-term goals rather than gathering treasure,” Paul suggested. “Instead of leveling up their combat skills, the players could get credit for educational achievements and practicing new abilities.”

  “Same problem you mentioned before,” Kevin said. “Are you going to give a six-year-old credit for mastering advanced mathematics and naval architecture and then tell him to design a battleship? It might work in the game scoring sense, but I don’t see how it would actually lead to a successful education.”

  “That’s why it would have to be a real-time puzzle, to match the player’s progress in life,” Jeeves expanded on his idea. “Plus, it would keep them coming back to Libbyland, which is always good for the bottom line.”

  “So you’re really talking about vocational counseling?” Donna asked.

  “Self-directed counseling, if you want to call it that.”

  “My advice is that we finish putting this table together and talk about puzzling out human lives later,” Joe said, rising to his feet. “You know, Jeeves, you can’t protect us from ourselves. People learn by making mistakes, and one of the toughest jobs for a parent is standing back and letting it happen.”

  Nineteen

  “Hey, Viv. I thought you said you had to be somewhere this evening,” Samuel greeted his girlfriend. “My shift is over in ten minutes, and then I’m meeting Aabina in a half an hour.”

  “So you’re going through with the secret society initiation.”

  “Yeah. I talked to my mom about it and she said that some of the other ambassadors have mentioned belonging to student societies, though she didn’t know whether or not they were supposed to be secret. Is that where you’re going later?”

  “I can’t tell you,” Vivian replied.

  “Well, there’s only one place you couldn’t tell me you’re going so that must be it. I guess it makes sense that a secret society for future spies would take security more seriously than diplomats.”

  “If I were going to a secret society initiation, I think I’d be a little nervous,” the girl admitted. “Do you suppose they blindfold candidates and make them take oaths on daggers?”

  “Only in Vergallian dramas, I hope. I’m guessing they’ll ask me some obvious questions, like, ‘What’s the name of the Grenouthian ambassador?’ or ‘How many Dollnicks does it take to change the pulse-width modulator on a Sharf drive?’”

  “Those are easy questions?”

  “The Grenouthians never tell aliens their names and a Dollnick wouldn’t be caught dead working on a Sharf drive.”

  “I’m really not comfortable with the idea of taking an oath.”

  “Then tell them that. We’re still on a Stryx station so it’s not like they can force you to do anything you don’t want to.”

  “Can we keep a private channel open,” Vivian asked, leaning across the counter and covering Samuel’s left hand with her own. The new couple’s rings they
’d bought after sacrificing their first set for Bob and Judith’s wedding clicked against each other.

  “Sure, if you want,” the teen said, though they’d never run an open channel before and he’d heard that sharing at that level was both a distraction and a bad idea on general principal. “Do you know the command?”

  “It’s buried in a submenu on your heads-up display when you ping somebody. I searched it out earlier,” Vivian said. “I’ll ping you now and walk you through it.”

  “Okay, I’m here,” Samuel responded to her ping, and the girl heard a slight thickening in his voice as the words he spoke out loud reached her ears a tiny fraction of a second after her implant had already received them. “Now what?”

  “Navigate to ‘custom options’ and select the override,” she told him. “You have to eye-scroll through a disclaimer before continuing. It’s kind of long and I didn’t really read it.”

  “Nobody reads any of these things,” he said. “All right, I got a new menu with a bunch of items I never knew were here. I can see where conferencing in my head could get confusing in a hurry.”

  “Select ‘committed relationship,’” Vivian instructed him, her ears turning pink. “It won’t allow you to proceed otherwise.”

  “There must be thirty submenus listed!”

  “Don’t even look below the third line,” she said. “Some of them are pretty embarrassing.”

  “The first line is scary enough. Mutual location tracking?”

  “My mom says that interface designers feel like they’re not doing their jobs unless they take advantage of every feature a piece of hardware offers. Our implants are pretty sophisticated.”

  “I’ve got it. Line three is ‘hold open’. Wow, there’s another disclaimer.”

  “Just accept it and then choose the option for a temporary channel or we’ll be stuck inside each other’s heads as long as we keep these implants.”

  “Temporary,” Samuel said, carefully selecting the option with practiced eye movements. “Confirm.”

  “I’ve got to run to meet my Verlock sponsor. He asked me to come extra early so he’d have time to explain the ceremony,” Vivian added over her shoulder as she headed for the exit.

  A minute later, Samuel heard her say, “Testing, one, two, three.”

  “I hear you,” he responded. “What’s the difference between this and a regular ping that you never break off?”

  “Pings automatically disconnect as soon as the implant goes into translation mode,” Vivian said. “You never noticed that you can’t talk with aliens and ping simultaneously?”

  “I guess it never came up. Good luck.”

  Five minutes later, Samuel’s relief showed up to work the next lost-and-found shift and the ambassador’s son headed home for a quick bite. He’d just stepped out of the lift tube when Vivian met up with her sponsor.

  “Vivian Oxford,” he heard the Verlock greet her formally. “Before I brief you on the initiation, you must solemnly swear never to speak about this with another soul.”

  This sentence took the slow-spoken alien almost a minute to utter, during which time Samuel covered half the distance to the ice harvester, greeted two hounds, and waved to Fenna and Mikey. The nine-year-olds were dressed in their Junior Station Scout uniforms and were trying to build some type of improvised shelter out of old fishing rods and bed sheets without adult supervision.

  “I’m not really comfortable with oaths,” Vivian told the Verlock honestly. “I don’t want to keep secrets from my boyfriend.”

  “It’s just an Open University secret society,” her sponsor replied ponderously. “The oath is only binding in the presence of other students.”

  “My boyfriend is a student too.”

  “There’s an exception for that.”

  “Can you modify the oath accordingly, just to be safe?” the girl asked.

  Samuel heard the Verlock groan, though perhaps it was really a sigh coming from the deep-chested alien, who went on to ask, “Before I brief you on the initiation, do you solemnly swear never to speak about this with another Open University student, boyfriends excepted?”

  “Yes,” Vivian replied, by which point Samuel had made a sandwich and was beginning to question whether he’d be able to carry on an intelligent conversation with another person while Vivian and a bunch of student spies were talking in his ear.

  “The first step of the initiation is—”

  “What?” Vivian interrupted the Verlock. “I’m sorry, could you chew quieter?”

  “What?” the Verlock responded.

  “Sorry,” Samuel said. “There was a lot of leftover celery from somewhere.”

  “What?” Joe asked, coming into the kitchen. “Who are you talking to?”

  “What?” Vivian said.

  “What?” the Verlock echoed.

  “Just a minute, Dad,” Samuel said. “This isn’t working, Viv. It sounds like you’ll be fine and you’re not bound to secrecy so you can fill me in later.”

  “All right,” she agreed reluctantly. “We should have practiced. Can you cancel from your end so I don’t walk into something trying to navigate the options?”

  “What?” Samuel heard the Verlock say again.

  “Trying to keep a private channel open with Vivian?” Joe teased his son.

  “What?” Vivian asked.

  The teen made record time navigating the heads-up menus to the disconnect option. Fortunately, he didn’t have to scan or accept any more disclaimers to do so.

  “She was a little nervous about a meeting she’s going to and asked me to listen in,” Samuel told his father. “It was pretty confusing. Do you and Mom ever do that?”

  “I told her my implant doesn’t have that menu option.”

  “Does it?”

  “I told her that it doesn’t and that’s all you need to know. Are you bringing Vivian to the grand opening tomorrow afternoon?”

  “I thought Mom was going to break in the table with a nuisance-species conference meeting.”

  “There’s a general reception afterwards since all the local ambassadors will already be there. Just diplomats, family, and maybe a few reporters.”

  “It’s not like the embassy is that big of a space,” Samuel said. “How many people do you figure it fits now?”

  “They got rid of the little kitchenette in the reception area and moved it to the back of the new conference room. We could probably pack in close to a hundred guests as long as everybody stands and we don’t get too many of the larger aliens.”

  “You make it sound really attractive.” Samuel gulped down the rest of his sandwich and chased it with a glass of grapefruit juice. “I’ve got to go to a student secret society meeting. I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”

  “I remember when Paul was in one of those,” Joe said.

  “He never mentioned it to me. Oh, right.”

  On his way out of Mac’s Bones, Samuel waved to Mike and Fenna, who had given up on the emergency shelter and were now riding on the backs of Beowulf and Alexander, apparently in pursuit of a Cayl hound merit badge. After entering the lift tube, he requested the Vergallian embassy, and a few minutes later the EarthCent ambassador’s son found himself getting the grand tour from Aabina and her mother, Ambassador Aainda.

  “My predecessors had a habit of remodeling the entire embassy complex as soon as they took over, but other than a few minor alterations to the ballroom, I haven’t made any changes other than hanging my own family portraits,” Aainda told Samuel. “What do you think of them?”

  “It would be impossible to judge the paintings as art given the beauty of the subjects,” the teen replied without exaggeration.

  “How nice of you to say. You seem to be rather taken by that one.”

  Samuel stared at the handsome Vergallian man and his stunning bride, both decked out in the traditional wedding finery of royalty. “I’m sure I’ve seen them somewhere before,” he replied, tilting his head on his neck as if a different perspecti
ve was required to make the connection.

  “Take a minute and think.”

  “It can’t be. Is that Queen Avidya?”

  “You have an excellent eye to recognize the portrait of a woman you’ve never met based on knowing her little daughter twelve years ago.”

  “You’re related to Ailia?” Samuel asked, not seeing any reason to correct Aainda about the last time he’d seen the princess.

  “Through the male bloodline,” the ambassador replied in Vergallian, which allowed her to convey through the tonal richness of the language that she didn’t mean to dismiss the relationship as unimportant. “Queen Avidya’s husband was my cousin.”

  “So you’re related to Baylit as well.”

  “Yes. We maintain a closer relationship than—” Aainda paused a moment to choose the correct wording, “—required by tradition.”

  “Thank you for showing me this,” Samuel said, realizing that the Vergallian mother and daughter could have as easily hidden the information and tried to use it to gain some future advantage. “Have either of you met Ailia?”

  “Once, when her father was still alive,” the ambassador said sadly. “It would be inappropriate for her to travel before she comes of age and assumes her throne, and from a strategic standpoint, it’s better that our mutual enemies see no evidence of an ongoing connection between our families.”

  “Sam and I have to get going or we’ll be late for the initiation, Mother,” Aabina spoke up.

  “You are welcome to visit the embassy anytime, Samuel McAllister,” the ambassador stated, reverting again to Vergallian for the formal declaration. “And please don’t keep my daughter out too late.”

  “She always does that,” the Vergallian girl complained to Samuel as soon as they were out of earshot. “As if I wasn’t aware of my own schedule.”