Soup Night on Union Station

by E. M. Foner

  “I do, actually. I better get up and say it before the real guests start arriving.”

  “Real guests?” Tzachan mouthed at Flazint.

  Dorothy went to find something to stand on, and when she realized the chairs were all padded, the designer of SBJ Fashions patented shoes accessed the control panel via her heads-up display and brought her heels down to nothing, as if she were about to walk on sand. Then she subvoced the station librarian and asked to be patched into the sound system.

  “Ready,” Libby replied.

  Dorothy motioned for her husband to come over to steady her as she got up on the chair. “I want to thank everybody for coming and to remind you why you’re here,” the EarthCent ambassador’s daughter commenced in the no-nonsense voice she had learned to project at fashion shows. “Our real guests tonight are the couples who are getting free entry in return for a minimum five-hour babysitting commitment.”

  “InstaSitting commitment,” Tinka interrupted.

  “Yes, InstaSitting,” Dorothy agreed, happy to oblige the Drazen who owned a minority stake in InstaSitter and managed the business for Blythe and Chastity. “Some of our guests will be experienced dancers, others may have only milled around at weddings, so I want everybody to be helpful and not show off too much.”

  “Were you directing that remark at me?” Chance asked.

  “I was going to ask you and Thomas to do a tango demonstration during one of the breaks,” Dorothy told the artificial person. “Our main goal is to get all of the guests dancing, and they aren’t going to set foot on the floor if they’re intimidated. I’m not really expecting anybody to come stag, but if you do see a single parent looking for a species-appropriate partner, I hope you’ll all consider making room on your dance card.”

  “She expects us to dance with strangers?” Tzachan whispered to Flazint.

  “We’re safe. No Frunge is going to come to a dance alone,” the girl replied.

  “I think it would be best if we’re already dancing when the real guests start to show up, so tell Mornich if you have any special requests—raise your hand so people know who you are, Mornich—because he’ll be acting as the DJ tonight. Once we get a better grip on the economics I hope to switch to live orchestras, but Donna does all the EarthCent mixers with recorded music, and she says nobody ever complains. Oh. Hello, Jeeves.”

  “Disconnect from the public address system if you’re done speechifying,” the Stryx responded.

  Dorothy found the big red button that Libby had thoughtfully superimposed over her heads-up display and cut the connection. “What are you doing here?”

  “Did you think I would let you embark on this kind of investment without seeing the results for myself? Where are the customers? Your friends and family aren’t going to buy anything from us.”

  “They’ll be here anytime now. InstaSitter did the scheduling so everybody should arrive within the next half an hour, unless they stop somewhere for drinks along the way.”

  “Why do you have the Horten ambassador’s son managing the playlist? I’ve heard his band and they specialize in jumping-up-and-down music.”

  “Mornich’s father insisted that he make a living if he’s going to have a girlfriend so he plays lots of weddings now. Marilla will keep him in line.”

  “I’ll have to talk to her,” Jeeves said. “How many couples are you expecting?”

  “The last time I checked with Jonah there were nearly two hundred expected, and Tinka only let him offer the promotion to parents who had signed up to hear about special offers. If we start advertising…” Dorothy left the sentence dangling.

  “I know this all makes perfect sense to your artistic mind, but I’ve studied the best marketing practices of all the tunnel network species, and if there’s one thing they agree on, it’s keeping the sales funnel short.”

  “Sales tunnel? Is that a new Stryx thing?”

  “Funnel. You expect me to allocate marketing creds to a co-branding effort with InstaSitter, but we only get sales as a secondary or tertiary effect,” Jeeves complained. “InstaSitter wins right off because it gives their clients another reason to go out for the evening, but even if those clients are motivated to buy new clothes and shoes, only a percentage of them will choose SBJ Fashions.”

  “But they’ll want to sign up for future dances, which means we’ll capture their contact information,” Dorothy pointed out. “Then there’s the discount coupons for our products, the clothes they see our models wearing, the—”

  “I’m paying for models?”

  “Not tonight, and in the future, we can use InstaSitters who will come and dance in return for clothes. We could give them the returns from boutiques that we can’t sell as new.”

  “We’ll see.” A Vergallian orchestral piece that was currently popular on the station began to play. “Find your husband and make sure people see you dancing in that five-hundred creds of mine that you’re wearing.”

  “Thanks, Boss,” Dorothy said, then ostentatiously checked her make-up in the reflection from the young Stryx’s casing. If Jeeves could have blushed at being caught having polished his robot body for the event, he might have turned as red as his employee’s lipstick. “Come on, Kevin,” she told her husband. “One beer should have been enough to find your rhythm.”

  The guests began arriving in a stream, handing their InstaSitter vouchers to Affie and her boyfriend, Stick, who were working the door.

  “How come everybody else gets to dance and we’re stuck taking vouchers?” Stick complained during a brief lull.

  “We agreed to split it up in shifts. You and I are first, followed by Tzachan and Flazint, and then Dorothy will work the end of the night with Kevin. That’s the tough shift, where they have to close sales.”

  “I can close sales,” the Vergallian male protested. “I’ve been in retail longer than Dorothy’s husband has been alive.”

  “You sell Kraken red stick to smoke-heads,” Affie said. “It’s not exactly a challenge. Have you thought about what we discussed?”

  “Hey, look at Tzachan and Flazint,” Stick said, changing the subject. “She’s actually got her head on his shoulder.”

  “I was watching Bob and Judith earlier. I don’t remember him being such a confident dancer.”

  At the very instant that Affie spoke, Dorothy was saying the exact same thing to Chastity’s husband, and she went on to add, “You’re a fantastic teacher, Marcus.”

  “They haven’t told you yet?” he asked. “I’m not a big fan of surprises myself.”

  “I love surprises. What is it? Did they start taking lessons again? I know that Judith was helping you program the free holo-training dance courses that your wife promised to make available through the Galactic Free Press.” She reflexively searched the dance floor for where Chastity was taking a turn with Kevin. “I wish I could get my husband to practice.”

  “Then you’ll like this, but I’ll let Judith tell you since she, Thomas, and Chance did all of the programming,” Marcus said.

  Dorothy could hardly wait for the end of the current dance, and she tracked Judith and Bob like a hunter waiting to pounce on her prey. As soon as the music ended, she cut them out of the herd and dragged the smaller woman off the dance floor.

  “I saw you talking with Marcus,” Judith said immediately. “Did he tell you?”

  “Only that there’s something to tell.”

  “It will be much easier to show. Take off your shoes, Bob.”

  The senior beat reporter for Union Station complied, and standing in his socks, slid the shoes to Dorothy. She reacted without hesitation, removing her own shoes and slipping her feet into Bob’s, which being approximately six sizes too big, reminded her of standing in her father’s shoes when she was a little girl. “What now?”

  “Access the control panel.”

  “Bob’s shoes have a control panel? But they’re just regular shoes. They don’t do anything.”

  “Thomas embedded the basic interface module fr
om SBJ Fashions in one of the heels and we all contributed to the programming,” Judith said. “Access it the normal way, and then choose the Shadow Dancer option.”

  Dorothy did as she was told and didn’t notice any difference. “It’s not doing anything.”

  “Wait for the music to start,” Bob said. “It takes a minute to get used to, but then—”

  A waltz began to play, and to Dorothy’s shock, the outlines of a pair of feet were superimposed over her vision.

  “Tilt your head down a little,” he advised.

  As soon as Dorothy’s field of view included the deck, the ghostly feet began to advance, demonstrating the pattern for the waltz in perfect synchronization with the music.

  “Are you serious?” Dorothy demanded, her voice rising. She tried to follow the pattern, but was unable to move properly due to her feet being too small for the shoes. The outlines of the steps flashed red every time she missed. “I can’t believe I never thought of this. You’re going to put Marcus out of business.”

  “I don’t think he’s too worried about that,” Judith said. “Do you think you can work it into a product?”

  “I know I can,” Dorothy practically shouted, and then surprised the EarthCent intelligence trainer with a hug. “I’ve never designed men’s shoes because, well, they’re kind of boring. But we can provide Shadow Dancer as a companion product that the women who buy our fashions can give to their partners. How much hardware does it take?”

  “Thomas said he can put it all on a chip, and it won’t even require sensors attached to the shoes,” Judith said.

  “I’m going to talk to him right now.”

  “Wait,” Bob called after Dorothy as she began to shuffle off. “Can I have my shoes back?”

  “Oh, sorry.” Dorothy exchanged shoes and then set off to find Thomas and Chance, not noticing that Baa had arrived and was huddled with Jeeves, Tinka, and Marilla.

  “I don’t understand,” Marilla said to Baa, unsure she had heard the Terragram mage correctly.

  “Let’s go out to the lobby where you can hear each other,” Jeeves suggested, and not waiting for a response, led the way.

  Marilla looked back to see if Mornich would swoop in and save her, but he was staring off into space searching the playlist on his heads-up display, so she gave in and followed the other three out of the room. “What did you want to talk to me about?” she asked Tinka, who was the least intimidating of the group.

  “We’re recruiting you,” the Drazen woman replied. “Is here good, Jeeves?”

  “As long as Baa doesn’t mind providing us with a little privacy.”

  “Needy, needy, needy,” the Terragram mage scolded, but she made a quick gesture with one hand and said, “That should take care of everybody other than your nosey Elders.”

  “Now that Paul has given you an ownership stake in Tunnel Trips, we want to invite you to join our support group,” Tinka told the Frunge girl.

  “What’s a support group?” Flazint asked.

  “It’s a Human thing they do to help cope with difficult situations,” the Drazen explained. “We get together once a cycle and talk about the challenges of being in business with Human partners.”

  “Like how fast they do everything? I want to figure out how the McAllisters make decisions so I can create an employee handbook for future management trainees, but I’m having trouble working out their underlying thought processes.”

  “It’s mainly instinct with Humans,” Jeeves told her. “Did you know that Paul was ranked a game master on the interspecies circuit by the age of seventeen?”

  “Really? Why doesn’t he wear the ring?”

  “He’s never been one to draw needless attention to himself. I used to play against him for hours so I know something about the way his mind works. Faced with complex problems, Humans can’t think fast enough to consider all the options, so they train themselves to ignore unpromising paths and concentrate on a few alternatives. Occasionally it results in a colossal error, but training their subconscious minds to simplify situations allows them to compete at a higher level than their basic intellect would otherwise support.”

  “Do you mean they don’t always know why they’ve made the best choice? What’s the difference between that and flipping coins?”

  “Some of us would say that there isn’t a difference, but Jeeves has a soft spot for Humans,” Baa informed her. “The most important thing that I’ve noticed about working with them is that they’re not as terrified of making mistakes as the rest of you. Humanity’s basic lack of caution and foresight makes them useful tools for the Stryx to keep things moving towards—”

  “Baa,” Jeeves interrupted. “We’ve talked about this.”

  “I’m just saying,” the mage muttered, one of the useful expressions she’d picked up from Dorothy.

  “Would I have to keep it a secret?” Marilla asked. “I couldn’t lie to the McAllisters.”

  “Just don’t tell them that she’s in the group,” Jeeves said, pointing his pincer at the mage. “I’ll never hear the end of it if Dorothy finds out that I gave Baa an ownership share in SBJ Fashions.”

  “Where do we meet?”

  “Usually at restaurants,” Tinka told her. “I’ll add you to the ping list. We also have a Verlock, a couple of Grenouthians, and a Frunge in the group, but none of them were free tonight to come to the dance and meet you.”

  “I better get back in before Dorothy notices I’m gone,” the Horten girl said. “Thanks for recruiting me. I look forward to learning from those older and wiser than myself.”

  A Horten male who Marilla didn’t recognize was just leaving the Meteor room as she reached the entrance. “May I beg a quick word?” he asked her in formal language that practically compelled a polite hearing.

  “Yes?”

  “I was told I could meet Samuel McAllister here this evening but I didn’t see him or his fiancée dancing.”

  “They left earlier on an overnight trip,” Marilla said, anxious to get back inside and find Mornich. “I rented them the ship myself.”

  “Thank you,” the Horten said, stepping aside. “You’ve saved me a great deal of time.”

  Something about the brief encounter stuck with the girl like an error in a mathematical calculation, and when she spotted Judith and Bob taking a break, she hurried over to them.

  “Did you see a Horten wandering around in here without a date?” she asked Judith.

  “You mean aside from Mornich?” the EarthCent intelligence trainer teased her.

  “He was middle-aged, probably three-hundred-ish, and his suit wasn’t appropriate for dancing.”

  “Did he have a square cut?” Judith asked, referring to an old-fashioned Horten hairstyle that looked just like it sounded.

  “Yes, now that you mention it, he was a total box-head.”

  “Sounds like the replacement for purple-face,” Judith said, and then immediately apologized. “I’m sorry, Marilla. That’s just what we called—”

  “I know, the head of our intelligence service on Union Station. I met him once at the embassy when I was attending a party with Mornich. The full-face tattoo was to keep anybody from reading his skin color. I didn’t know he had been replaced.”

  “Promoted actually, he’s in charge of Horten agents on all of the Stryx stations now. We got an update bulletin about it a couple of weeks ago. You didn’t tell the replacement anything, did you?”

  Marilla’s skin turned yellow. “I mentioned that I gave Samuel and Vivian an overnight rental. He was so polite.”

  “You have to watch out for the polite ones,” Judith told her, “and that doesn’t just apply to Hortens. I’ll ping our control room and let them know.”

  Kevin ambled up to the group and asked Marilla, “Why so worried? Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything,” he added, as her yellow skin tone grew mottled with other colors.

  “It’s my fault,” the girl said. “A Horten who is probably our new head of intelligence asked
me if I knew where Samuel and Vivian were. I told him about their rental without thinking.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it,” Kevin said. “Either they’re really on vacation, in which case it doesn’t matter, or one of them is on a secret mission, in which case everybody on Union Station will know where they went within twenty-four hours.”

  “I don’t understand,” Marilla said.

  “Since moving into Mac’s Bones with Dorothy, I meet spies all the time. Our spies, spies who stop by to spy on our spies in training, allied spies who are on exchange programs to teach our spies, I’ve even started selling one-time pads in the chandlery.”

  “What are they?”

  “Spy stuff for sending secret messages. Whether your guy is really interested in Sam’s work for the Vergallians or Vivian’s work for the Drazens, finding out that they took a rental off the station for twenty-four hours doesn’t mean anything. You know that it’s impossible to track ships through the tunnels.”

  “Not if there was a homing device on board, but I went through that ship myself right before I rented it to them. I guess I’m worried about nothing.”

  Fourteen

  “Oops. Sorry. Excuse me,” Daniel said, dodging and weaving his way through the beehive of activity in the embassy’s crowded reception area. “We couldn’t have done this somewhere else?” he asked Kelly, who was standing just outside the door of her own office.

  “I don’t think Donna realized it would be such a madhouse,” the EarthCent ambassador replied. “Why do professional photographers need so much equipment when I can take perfectly good images with my implant?”

  “It could have something to do with resolution or depth-of-field, or maybe they just need props to justify what they charge,” Daniel said. “I should ping Shaina and ask if she wants to bring the kids in for a portrait while everything is set up.”

  “Check with Aabina first.” Kelly inhaled deeply and sighed. “I wonder if airborne molecules count against my diet.”

  “They do if you inhale too many of them,” Donna said, as she passed by with some kind of paella in an obsidian dish that marked it as an entry for the Verlock section of the cookbook. “Don’t forget your meeting.”