by E. M. Foner
“A little, when I was a kid,” he answered vaguely.
“Stick hasn’t left Union Station in ten years,” Affie told them, as if it was an accomplishment. “At least I’ll always know where to find him.”
Aainda winced comically at Affie’s defiant use of Diemro’s nickname. “Yes, that is something, I suppose. Did you have any trouble finding Vivian, Sam?”
“Not really,” the EarthCent ambassador’s son fibbed, avoiding a potentially embarrassing discussion about his failure to penetrate the disguise that the Farling had seen through at a glance. He pulled out the chair next to Aabina for Vivian to sit, and then took the final open seat at the end of the table for himself.
“Thumbs,” Aabina muttered to Vivian, who turned bright red when she realized she was still wearing the prosthetic second thumbs from her Drazen disguise.
“Oh, sorry,” she mumbled, pulling off the fingerless gloves that held the sixth digit in place. “I just came from work and I’m so used to them that I forget.”
“That’s perfectly understandable,” the ambassador said. “I think it’s admirable how all of you students have committed so fully to your assignments. It shows real maturity.”
There was an awkward silence while the waitstaff brought in the dinner and Affie fumed over the not-so-subtle attack on Stick. The four young co-ops were afraid to speak for fear that their host would use whatever they said as ammunition against the fashion designer and her unfortunate boyfriend.
“Has anybody else been watching the Grenouthian news lately?” Wrylenth eventually asked in the lightest tone that his heavy body and gravelly voice could muster. “It’s always on at work,” he added, to justify the non sequitur.
“I’ve never seen so many stories about Vergallians,” Vivian replied, and then quickly forked some salad into her mouth to have an excuse not to continue when she remembered where they were eating.
“Yes, I expect there must be something to it,” Aainda said. “Oddly enough, I was commenting to Samuel just an hour ago that it’s a shame he didn’t have our royal training which can be such a big help at work. Do you find that to be the case in the fashion business, Affie?”
“I’m not in management. I mainly do color schemes and accessories.”
“I’ve heard that your purses are quite successful, though I imagine Baa’s enchantments are the main draw since it’s her brand on the bags,” the ambassador continued mercilessly. “Of course, I suppose that you and Diemro just take it as it comes.”
Affie slammed down her knife and glared at the host. “What did my mother offer you to scare Stick off?” she demanded. “She has no right to interfere with my life as long as I’m six spots removed from succession.”
“There’s no greater waste than idling away one’s life as a queen-in-waiting,” Aainda said agreeably. “Your mother is actually very proud of your progress. She’s just afraid that having accomplished more on your own than so many other young royals from Fleet, you may relax before reaching your full potential.”
“Mom really said that?” Affie asked,
“It’s natural for a mother to be concerned about her children,” the ambassador continued without answering. “She said that of all her daughters, you were the one who worked the hardest at training. But without daily application, in a few short centuries, all of that knowledge will be gone from your memory.”
“So you recommend I move to the Empire and start plotting? Maybe marry into some second-rate royal family on a backwater planet and murder my way to the top like the evil daughter-in-law in a drama?”
“Affie,” the ambassador’s daughter spoke up sharply. “I think you owe my mother an apology.”
“No, she’s quite right to be upset if that’s how she interpreted my guidance,” Aainda said. “But Affie, what would you say if I found you an opportunity to rule willing subjects on a contract basis?”
“Substitute queening?” Affie replied. “Why, do you know an underage heir without a regent?”
“Take some time and think about it. I can only guarantee that if the opportunity arises, you’ll be breaking new ground and making your family proud. Now finish your meals and I’ll get the Coronation board. We have the perfect number for a game.”
Nineteen
“Why are they delivering the cookbooks here?” Joe asked. “You said Aabina was going to order just enough to give away and let the Galactic Free Press print the rest on demand.”
“Donna thought that a hundred would be sufficient for the embassy but I didn’t want to risk running out,” Kelly said. “When the printer contacted me to confirm, I doubled the order, and then he said it would be too many boxes to bring in the lift tube.”
“How many boxes?”
“He didn’t give me the number. All those people talk in code anyway, but I know I doubled the order from E2 to E4.”
“Uh, Kel? Do you think they were using scientific notation units?”
“Who knows? What’s the difference?”
“E2 would be a hundred units, and E4 would be ten thousand.”
Kelly blanched. “Oh, it couldn’t be that many. I had to prepay on the embassy’s programmable cred and we only had six or seven thousand creds left on it. The original order was going to cost over a thousand, so the remainder couldn’t have paid for ten times as many books.”
“A hundred times as many books,” Joe corrected her gently.
A loud beeping was heard, and the bay doors of Mac’s Bones slid back, revealing a small cargo ship with “AAA Print Brokers” stenciled on the prow. The auto landing system took over and set the vessel down right at the edge of the rental lot. By the time Kelly and Joe got there, the ramp had dropped and two burly men with hand trucks were halfway down, each with four stacked boxes.
“Do I need to sign for these?” the EarthCent ambassador asked the older deliveryman, as he expertly slid the boxes off the hand truck without losing the stack.
“Just count ‘em for now,” the man told her. “You’re getting two hundred and sixty-one cartons.”
“Two hundred and sixty-one?” Kelly asked, her voice rising. “That can’t be right. How many cookbooks in each box?”
“Forty,” the man said. “I know, you were probably expecting two-hundred and fifty cartons, but offset printing isn’t an exact science. When you order, you agree to buy up to a five percent overrun. It’s been that way for hundreds of years.”
“Libby!” Kelly cried out loud. “What’s the balance on the embassy’s programmable cred?”
“You have six creds remaining.”
“You cut that pretty fine,” Joe commented with a grin. “I’m going to get a few cargo floaters over here so the kids don’t have to restack the boxes. The floaters should have room for a hundred cartons each, but I’m not sure about the weight.”
Kelly watched hopelessly as the deliverymen made trip after trip into the hold of their ship, piling the boxes onto the large cargo floaters Joe provided. Thomas and Chance brought some recruits over from the training camp to help, and the cargo ship was soon on its way, leaving behind two hundred and sixty-one boxes of the All Species Cookbook.
“Look at the bright side,” Joe said, hefting the last box delivered, which included a printed invoice in a plastic envelope. “This carton only has nine cookbooks in it, so the total is just ten thousand, four hundred and nine. They could have stuck you with ninety-one more.”
“But what are we going to do with over ten thousand cookbooks?”
“Sell them at a discount?” Chance suggested. “How much did printing cost?”
“Joe?” Kelly passed the buck.
“Well, based on what you said, less than a cred each. Ink and paper must be pretty cheap, so I guess a chunk of the cost was in the setup for offset printing. And why don’t you forget about hiring the Meteor room for the launch party and have it at the training camp? You could sell some books at cost without having to drag them around the station.”
“Donna is going to k
ill me for spending all of our funds,” Kelly groaned. “Can I take a couple of copies? I better go to the embassy and get this over with.”
Joe used his pocketknife to slit open the box and handed Kelly three of the glossy cookbooks. “The cover came out great,” he complimented her.
“I thought so too,” she said, admiring the picture of children from six different species, plus Stryx Twitchy, all working at food preparation on the set of Let’s Make Friends. “The Grenouthians weren’t going to let us use it unless we mentioned the show in a subtitle, but we compromised on only adding that to their edition. If you want to bring a copy by Aisha’s, I’m sure she’ll be thrilled. And keep a copy for Dring too, and for us. And better—”
“You’re not going to use up ten thousand cookbooks in the next five minutes,” Joe interrupted. “Go. I’ll find a place for these and we can talk about it when you get home.”
“How could you let me make a mistake like that?” Kelly asked the station librarian as soon as she was out of earshot of the others. “You know I can’t do scientific whatnot.”
“Scientific notation, and I have no doubt your embassy will come out ahead on the deal, whereas at a hundred copies, you were locking in a loss,” Libby told her. “I didn’t want to say anything while you were still in production, but I have every reason to believe your cookbook is going to be a great success. It’s already the number one bestseller on the Galactic Free Press list for all-species cookbooks.”
“How many other cookbooks are on the list?” Kelly asked as she entered the lift tube. “Libby?”
“That’s not the point. Aainda just contacted me and asked if you can stop by her embassy.”
“Great. What time is it?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll get you back to your own embassy before Donna heads home.”
“Thanks a lot,” Kelly said under her breath, but looking down at the cover of the All Species Cookbook, she couldn’t help smiling. “It really does put you in a good mood.”
Aainda intercepted the EarthCent ambassador in the corridor outside the Vergallian embassy and led her to a small café in a side corridor.
“Tea for two,” the Vergallian ambassador told the counterman. “And if you’ve had a delivery from Chocolate Gem, we’ll try some.”
“I couldn’t,” Kelly protested, but her face fell when the counterman shook his head to indicate that the latest batch of gourmet chocolate was already sold out. “Have you seen the cookbook?”
“I saw the cover when Pietro’s mother came into the embassy to check with our legal staff before giving permission for her son’s image to appear. It turns out that the cast contracts allow the show to use any video or still images for promotional purposes, so the decision was entirely up to the Grenouthians.”
“I suppose some people will look on the inside of the cover for the picture attribution and see that it’s from Let’s Make Friends, but from what my daughter has been telling me lately, that would be considered indirect marketing at best.”
“The Grenouthians always grab all the rights they can in contracts,” Aainda said. “It didn’t specify that the promotion has to be for the show.”
“Oh,” Kelly said, and nodded her thanks to the counterman who brought the tea. “You can keep the cookbook, by the way. I have plenty.”
“Thank you,” the ambassador said, flipping it open and rapidly locating the Vergallian vegan section, which took up more than a quarter of the page count. “You printed it exactly like the draft,” she continued, and looked up at Kelly. “I’d like to buy a few thousand copies to ship home for the Human mercenaries working in honor guards on my family’s worlds. Should I ask Aabina to order them?”
“Make sure she sells them to you direct from the embassy stock rather than purchasing on-demand from the Galactic Free Press. The quality is better, and I printed extra so I could give my colleagues a diplomatic discount.”
“I’ll do that.” Aainda took a sip from her own tea and then set it aside with the cookbook. “Ambassador, are you positive that your president will go along with your committing EarthCent to a deal with the Farlings?”
“Stephen gave me full authorization to represent the president’s office in this matter, and he submitted his proxy registration to the Stryx to make it official.”
The Vergallian ambassador relaxed visibly and reached for her tea again. “Your son’s co-op period is up soon and I want to offer him a full-time contract. Will you have any objection?”
“Do I get to keep Aabina?” Kelly countered.
“Well, that’s up to her, but from what she tells me, I think she’d be thrilled to stay on at your embassy. She says it’s far more interesting than anything we do, and I believe she has plans to help your associate ambassador transition the CoSHC organization toward something more like a governing body.”
Kelly was so elated with the prospect of keeping her Vergallian co-op student and quickly unloading thousands of cookbooks that her feet barely touched the deck on the way back to her own embassy. When she saw a shirtless Daniel standing against the wall with his arms spread, her first thought was that he was being robbed by a Farling, but then she saw the medical bag and realized it must be M793qK.
“Is he going to live, Doctor?” the ambassador joked.
“Not as long as he would if he didn’t spend so much time sitting, and that goes for the rest of you as well,” the Farling rubbed out on his speaking legs. “You can put your shirt back on, and if you don’t want to have a sore back the rest of your life, get more exercise.”
“Do you recommend anything in particular, Doc?” Daniel asked.
“The next time you abandon your offspring at home, instead of sitting in a restaurant and adding to your waistline, I recommend taking InstaSitter up on their dance voucher promotion.” M793qK turned his multi-faceted eyes on Donna. “Is anything bothering you?”
“I’m fine,” the embassy manager said, shifting slightly on her roller chair to keep as much desk as possible between herself and the giant beetle. “Maybe Aabina?”
M793qK waved an appendage dismissively. “She hasn’t been sick a day in her life, you can tell just by looking at her. In your office, Ambassador?”
“There’s nothing wrong with me either, I mean, nothing that requires medical attention,” Kelly said.
“I’m not here drumming up business. Your associate ambassador was just taking advantage of my kind nature while I waited for your return.”
“Oh. Will you join us, Aabina?”
“Next time,” the Farling said, waving the Vergallian girl off. “Ambassador?”
Kelly shrugged and led the giant beetle into her office, where he removed a small box from his medical bag and placed it on her desk. The room’s acoustics changed, and the ambassador immediately realized that the doctor must have been drawn into Aainda’s grand bargain.
“She got you too?”
“I have a document for you to sign,” M793qK said, dropping a heavy sheaf of paper on the ambassador’s display desk. “You can just initial each of the pages and then we’ll both sign on the signature page.”
“Is this encrypted?” Kelly asked, skimming the unbroken chain of letters that continued page after page. “It doesn’t even use the whole alphabet.”
“It’s a nucleic acid sequence. Have you studied deoxyribonucleic acid?”
“The Stryx recruited me out of my sophomore year in college. What is it?”
“DNA. At the risk of oversimplifying, ancient DNA initially exhibits a decay rate like that of nuclear materials, a half-life, but eventually transitions to a power-law—are you understanding any of this?”
“Not really,” Kelly admitted. “Could you give me some context?”
“Your own scientists have been studying ancient DNA for more than a century, but their analysis of samples dating from more than a hundred thousand years ago is of limited value. Our superior techniques are capable of accurately reconstructing DNA from much older samples, and unlike the
tunnel network species who prefer to live in ignorance of Stryx meddling, we have a scientific interest in getting to the bottom of certain anomalies in your development that defy natural explanation.”
“Maybe if you used shorter words?”
The beetle buzzed in frustration. “Did it ever strike you as odd that so many species can eat foods from your Earth?”
“Somebody explained to me that the longer a tunnel network species has been around, the more food from other members they can digest. If I remember, it has something to do with the development of microbes that live in our guts, but it takes tens or hundreds of thousands of years.”
“Yes, on a genetic level your microbiome is more interesting than you are, but how long ago did Humans join the tunnel network?”
“Less than a hundred years, which is why other than Vergallian vegan, there’s not much we can eat.”
“But the other species can eat your food,” the beetle said significantly.
“Well, yes, but they’ve all been around for—but not with exposure to our food!”
“The Vergallians have a theory that millions of years ago, Stryx science ships visited Earth, among other planets, and altered the DNA of existing species. According to them, the goal was to create new species that were more Vergallian-like.”
“Because the Stryx want us to eat vegan?”
“Forget the cookbook, this is important. I’ve made Human DNA a bit of a hobby, and my own conclusions lead me in the opposite direction. If anything, the Stryx visited your world tens of millions of years ago looking for interesting sequences they could manipulate and graft onto other—the important thing you need to understand is that we want permission to conduct a scientific expedition to Earth to analyze ancient DNA,” the Farling cut his explanation short.
“Why didn’t you just say so?” Kelly said, flipping through the rest of the document. The long sequence of letters finally ended on the second-to-last page, followed by a single paragraph that authorized the Farlings to establish a research center on Earth, with the exact location and scale to be determined through negotiations with the EarthCent president’s office. Ignoring the DNA sequence, it was the simplest and shortest contract Kelly had ever seen.
