Spy Night on Union Station (EarthCent Ambassador Book 4)

by E. M. Foner

  “Sounds like he got you,” Joe called down the stairs without turning around to look.

  “Yeah,” Clive admitted. “Should I top off again?”

  “No. One beer a night is his limit,” Joe answered sardonically.

  The two men arrived back in the living room just as Blythe emerged from the galley with a teapot and two mugs. Kelly had never been a fan of china teacups with their dainty handles and saucers, and truth be told, she was really a coffee person. But she liked her coffee strong and worried it wasn’t good for the baby while nursing, so she shifted to herbal tea rather than watering down her favorite beverage.

  Kelly eased Samuel into the cushion-lined hand-woven basket she had received from the Hadads as a baby present. The baby pursed his little lips, but he didn’t open his eyes, and if he wasn’t sleeping, he had a great career ahead of him as an actor. Although it was warmer in the converted ice-harvester that served as their home than in the rest of Mac’s Bones, she covered Samuel with a little quilt.

  “What I’m going to talk about here today is top secret,” Kelly began, blushing at the pretentiousness of her own words. “I mean, if we actually had any secrets it would be top secret, except of course from the Stryx, since Libby is always listening anyway. But it doesn’t mean that the Stryx approve or disapprove, though unofficially, they think it’s a good idea. Not this part, I mean, which I haven’t even discussed with Libby, though she could probably guess what I’m going to say because she’s good at that sort of thing.”

  “Kelly’s a little out of practice talking to adults,” Joe explained to Blythe and Clive, both of whom wore similar looks of incomprehension as Kelly paused to sip her tea. “Just hang in there and she’ll hit her stride.”

  “Was I going off point again?” Kelly asked, reviewing her words. “Oops, I guess I did, which is a shame, since I actually prepared for this because I really wanted to get it right. It’s just that somebody, well, the High Priest of Kasil, told me that finding the right person for a job was the hardest part of her own duties, and my experience in hiring anybody is nonexistent. I practically had to beg EarthCent for Aisha, and I probably wouldn’t have gotten her if Jeeves hadn’t already hired her for ulterior motives.”

  “Uh, Kelly?” Joe said, interrupting his wife’s exposition of her internal thought process. “Why not explain it to them just like you explained it to me?”

  “Oh, right,” Kelly replied, visibly pulling herself into focus. “EarthCent has decided we need to start spying, and I have a seat on the Earth Intelligence Committee.”

  “EEK?” Blythe guessed, or perhaps it was her honest reaction.

  “You see, we’re both on the same page,” Kelly continued enthusiastically. “We’ve already started recruiting agents, using an actor as the director, but the committee agrees that we need to get a real agency head in place as soon as possible. I’ve been tasked to find somebody for the job.”

  “Do I get to run everything?” Blythe asked.

  “Yes, under the committee’s supervision,” Kelly replied, before she realized she hadn’t even offered the job yet.

  “How often does the committee meet?” Clive inquired.

  “Well, just once so far,” Kelly confessed. “Before the meeting, we exchanged a few notes. Basically, EarthCent roped in the ambassadors who had asked about starting an intelligence service as the committee members, and EarthCent’s unelected president hired the actors on Earth to give us a running start with recruiting.”

  “Is it going to be funded any better than the embassy?” Clive asked, having heard all about EarthCent’s precarious financial situation from his wife.

  Blythe looked at her husband with a bemused smile. “Why do you think she’s recruiting us?”

  “Oh,” Clive replied, and drained his glass. Then he reached for the pitcher and poured himself another.

  “I’ll admit the committee is counting on the new director to help fund the agency,” Kelly replied. “But we’re hoping that by recruiting agents who already own their own ships, it won’t be that expensive.”

  “I’m not worried about the expense.” Blythe dismissed Kelly’s financial concerns with a wave of her hand. “If you give me a free hand, I’ll have the agency running at a profit within a year. My sister and Tinka can handle InstaSitter, and we have more money than we know what to do with. But I think it will work better if we make Clive the head and I just handle the management side.”

  “I thought you’d want to be in charge,” Kelly said, looking at the younger woman in surprise.

  “She will be,” Clive muttered, drawing a sympathetic look from Joe.

  “I’m just twenty-one and I look like I was brought up in a convent,” Blythe stated flatly. “Clive is twenty-eight and he looks like a thirty-five-year-old ex-mercenary. Appearances matter in a job like this.”

  “Always nice to be recognized for my unique talents,” Clive observed dryly. “But who exactly gets to see the director of the agency?”

  “Agents, eventually,” Blythe replied, her mind racing ahead. “And the heads of alien agencies, though that’s less important since they probably can’t tell a young human face from an old one. Even Kelly’s committee would be more inclined to put their trust in you rather than me. It’s just natural.”

  “As the EarthCent military attaché, I have to agree with Blythe,” Joe said, invoking his honorary title. “Come to think of it, aren’t military attachés expected to be spies?”

  “You can spy as much as you want as long as you’re home to help keep an eye on Dorothy,” Kelly told him. “Oops, I guess that’s not really my call now, assuming the two of you are accepting the job.”

  “Were you planning this when you sent me to convince Aisha that EarthCent needed an intelligence agency a couple of months ago?” Blythe asked.

  “No, and the truth is, I never expected the home office would act on the request, especially not this fast,” Kelly replied. “I suspect there’s something the EarthCent president isn’t sharing with the rest of us, but maybe you’ll figure that out and tell me.”

  “Where are Aisha and Paul?” Blythe inquired, as if she just noticed they weren’t present. “Are we supposed to keep this secret from them?”

  “They’re at a reception for the new Vergallian ambassador,” Joe replied. “You’re going to have to start keeping secrets at some point, so you may as well get into practice.”

  “I don’t think Aisha would want to know too much in any case,” Kelly added.

  “What about guidelines?” Clive asked. “I assume that EarthCent wants an intelligence service on the general principle that all of the other species either have a dedicated spy service or a military equivalent. But we’re never going to catch up with the kind of general information you can get just by asking a Stryx librarian, or even a tutor bot for that matter. Joe and I have plenty of experience with the kind of tactical intelligence that military units need in the field, but most of that involves talking with the locals or studying images taken from space.”

  “I’ve done my share of hiding in the bushes and counting heads,” Joe added.

  “The committee is working on the guidelines,” Kelly reassured them. “We should have a draft at the next meeting. But I can tell you based on the previous discussion that we’re more interested in big-picture issues for now.”

  “For example?” Blythe prompted.

  Kelly took another sip of tea and resisted the urge to ask Libby to reel off the contents of her committee meeting. Even ignoring the fact that EarthCent hadn’t paid for encryption, Libby listened to everything that went on in the embassy office. Kelly was officially on maternity leave, but she had snuck into the office in the early morning hours for the meeting, since the arbitrary Union Station time in the human sections ran nine hours behind the clock back at headquarters on Earth. Now that she thought of it, in addition to owning the communications network and listening in at her office, the end user license agreement for her diplomatic implant allowed
the Stryx to eavesdrop anyway.

  “To the best of my memory, there was the suggestion that we start keeping track of the military capabilities and alliances of the other species,” Kelly began, ticking items off on her fingers. “Then there was the whole subject of commercial espionage, including the point that what we don’t know might hurt us. Uh, somebody mentioned data mining, which I thought was a pretty good idea since there’s no shortage of data in the galaxy. I guess that would mean hiring some analysts. Counterintelligence came up, though I’m not sure that’s really something to focus on since I doubt we could stop anybody and I’m not sure what we have to hide. Oh, and there’s quite a bit of concern about mind control, whether through telepathy or drugs.”

  “That really covers the gamut,” Clive commented, but he looked singularly undaunted by the assignment, as if he’d successfully completed more difficult tasks in the past. “And as the new species in the galaxy, I guess we’ll stumble into every one of the potential holes at least once before we really understand what’s going on. Did you have any special concerns of your own, Mrs. Ambassador?”

  Kelly took a self-conscious glance at the ceiling before answering. “I sort of brought up the fact that the maps we get from the Stryx seem to be more about keeping us out of trouble then opening up the galaxy.”

  “How so?” Blythe asked. “Have you talked it over with Libby? Why don’t we just ask her?”

  “Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary,” Kelly backtracked rapidly, but Blythe had already made up her mind.

  “Libby?” Blythe asked, without looking anywhere in particular. “Are the maps that come with the Stryx ship controllers accurate?”

  “Absolutely,” the Stryx station librarian declared without hesitation. “Hello, Clive. Hi, Joe. I was a bit puzzled by your suspicion about our maps, Kelly, but I didn’t feel it was my place to comment without being asked.”

  “Space monsters?” Kelly inquired skeptically. “That’s the sort of thing people used to put on maps of Earth when they didn’t have a clue what was really there. I know the Stryx have thoroughly explored this galaxy at one time or another, so what’s with all the monsters on the map?”

  “I believe you are referring to the Floppsies,” Libby replied, rather stiffly. “Just because they prefer to be left alone doesn’t make them monsters. The Floppsies could have taken over this galaxy when they first arrived, but they believe deeply in giving other species a chance to thrive.”

  “You see?” Blythe said. “That’s one item off our plate. Thanks, Libby.”

  “You know that the Stryx, uh, exaggerate for our own good at times,” Kelly cautioned Blythe.

  “Libby wouldn’t lie to me about something like space monsters,” Blythe declared with the confidence of youth. “Anyway, Clive can check the Effterii maps if you’re unconvinced, his ship doesn’t have a Stryx controller.”

  “Getting back to the point, the two of you have agreed that Clive will accept the job as the EarthCent Intelligence Director and Blythe will handle the management tasks from the shadows, right?” Joe prompted.

  “Sounds good to me,” Blythe replied. Clive nodded manfully and finished off his second glass of beer. “When do we start meeting the agents recruited by actors who no doubt were hired through an actor’s agent?”

  “The committee agreed to stop referring to the entertainment industry professionals using job descriptions that overlap with the intelligence business,” Kelly rebuked her. “It was just getting too confusing, like that last question that I’m still trying to figure out.”

  “Fair enough,” Blythe replied. “When do we start meeting our employees?”

  “I think there are only the two of them so far, and EarthCent’s home office dispatched them on a training mission to Farling space.”

  “Not good,” Blythe replied. “What do you think, Mr. Director?”

  “We should probably chase them down with the Effterii and pull them back before they get into trouble,” Clive said. “I doubt the wisdom of sending untrained agents recruited by, uh, entertainment industry professionals, to go practice on one of the more advanced species who keep most of their empire off the tunnel network.”

  “We’d like to see a copy of their orders, if that’s possible,” Blythe told Kelly. “And if the embassy doesn’t have anything major coming up, I think it would be a big help to sponsor an intelligence trade show.”

  “You want us to sponsor a trade show for spies?” Kelly asked incredulously. “Isn’t that just begging for trouble?”

  “It’s more of a statement as I see it,” Blythe replied calmly. “And a big trade show is always good for the station economy. I’ll bet you that my mom and Libby saved the guest list from the big Earth Exposition you did a couple years ago, so you could notify all of those attendees to start. Once the diplomats tell their spies and the spies tell their suppliers, I bet the vendor space will rent out in a jiffy.”

  “But what do we gain if you’re right?” Kelly asked doubtfully. “A statement that we’re ready to start spying on everybody?”

  “I want them to know that we’re open for business,” Blythe replied. “Maybe we can carve out a niche as a middleman while we’re building up our own resources. We have to be open-minded about this. The Tharks have a great business as the middlemen of the galactic business community recording contracts and deeds.”

  “She’s got a point,” Clive agreed. “If humanity has one thing going for us, it’s that compared to all of the older species, we haven’t had any time to make enemies. Well, that and the fact that we still have a lot of energy and enthusiasm for travel. That’s what makes treasure-hunting possible, why all the good stuff wasn’t dug up millions of years ago. You give the average alien a treasure map to a lost city on the other side of the galaxy and he’ll put it in a frame and hang it on the wall. You give the same map to a human, he’s selling his house to buy some wreck of a spaceship without even checking if the planet still exists.”

  “I’ve been to a number of military trade shows, Kel, and if Blythe is willing to spend some cash on spy gear, it’s a great way to see the latest products and compare prices,” Joe observed. “Besides, you wouldn’t believe the free samples some of the alien vendors give out at these things.”

  “Alright, I’ll tell Aisha to get started on it,” Kelly replied. “But don’t blame me if the aliens see right through us.”

  “Oh, they see through us already, Aunty Kelly,” Blythe assured the ambassador. “When it comes to intelligence, we’re like Sammy there. We have to crawl before we can walk, and it’s going to take a while to master that crawling thing.”

  Seven

  “What is that, some sort of laser weapon?” A.P. asked hopefully when Lynx showed him the impressive barrel lens for her latest barter acquisition. He had just returned to the trading deck after an extended reconnaissance of the orbital, a mission suggested by his partner, who had declared him to be worse than useless at bartering.

  “It’s a telephoto lens for my new camera,” Lynx replied, as she remounted the lens on the single reflex body and admired the smooth operation of the adjustment rings. “A hundred years ago on Earth, no self-respecting family would be without one. Then the technology changed and all of a sudden you couldn’t give them away. A decade or two ago somebody figured out that alien collectors would buy cameras as a form of ancient industrial art, and then some forensic entrepreneur on Earth began manufacturing film for them again. Now they’re a huge fad with the arts crowd. I have a friend on Echo Station who makes a decent living photographing weddings and special events. Of course, it takes forever to see how the pictures came out because you have to send them back to Earth for developing.”

  “I don’t get it,” A.P. objected. “Pretty much everything that walks upright can save an image just by looking at something. You have a pretty good implant yourself, so what’s the point of a machine that only takes pictures?”

  “You do realize that humans didn’t have implants bef
ore the Stryx opened Earth,” Lynx reminded him. “And photographs are different from stored images. It’s a chemical process that starts with capturing the light and goes through several steps before the results are transferred to special paper. Somebody who’s good with one of these things can create real art.”

  “Do you even know how to use it?” A.P. asked.

  “I’m no artist, but I can make it work,” Lynx replied. “And I got two rolls of film in the deal, the date code is good for another eight cycles. Besides, it wasn’t just a good trade, it’s something we can use for, uh, you know.”

  “I know?” her partner asked.

  “Surveillance,” Lynx mouthed the word.

  “Oh, like in the training materials,” A.P. acknowledged. “Well, you’re not the only one who’s been productive today.”

  “Find anything interesting?” Lynx asked, glancing around to see if anybody was paying attention to them. The agents had discussed operational security and concluded that as long as they didn’t use words like “spying” or “secret plans,” it wouldn’t be risky to discuss their work in public places as long as they kept it vague.

  “I visited all of the bars on the orbital for oxygen/nitrogen breathers,” A.P. reported proudly. “Assuming you picked up a little hard cash to go with that antique, I’m ready for some serious drinking. It turns out the Farlings dedicated a whole deck on this orbital to servicing travelers, and you wouldn’t believe some of the offers I turned down during my investigations. But there are also a few hole-in-the-wall bars right below the docking ring that were nowhere near as noisy and where the customers looked more like locals than tourists. What’s your call?”

  Lynx grimaced at yet another multiple-choice test, but she replied confidently. “We’ll hit the dive bars. I don’t want to spend a lot of money on drinks for the sake of a conversation I can’t even hear.”

  A.P. helped Lynx repack the remaining inventory into boxes, and he saw that she had successfully disposed of most of the stock he’d helped her carry in a few hours earlier. Lynx had decided to start the business part of their mission with the tough stuff, the items that wouldn’t be easy to get rid of, such as the old clothes, ping pong balls, and used household items that had apparently come their way by mistake. There weren’t too many humans flowing through Market Orbital, but a good thirty percent of the crowds were humanoid species. The used household items had mainly brought small change, but it got them out of the hold and it would pay for a few rounds of drinks. Before folding up the blanket, Lynx pulled a pair of good leather shoes and an old iron frying pan out of an unsold items box and placed them at the front of the space she had occupied for six hours.