Spy Night on Union Station (EarthCent Ambassador Book 4)

by E. M. Foner

  “You’re Horten, right?” she guessed. They were pretty standard humanoids other than their inability to control the color of their skin, which shifted with their emotions. It was the best explanation for all of the make-up.

  “No law against it, and I am working the booth, so I wonder who’s the bigger liar between the two of us,” he shot back. “Now what tipped you off?”

  “Digits,” she replied, making a show of counting from her thumb to her pinkie “You don’t have enough of them.”

  The glasses bounced in the air as he slammed his fist on the table. “I knew I forgot something when I left the hotel room, I just couldn’t put my finger on it.”

  “Is that an idiom in Horten, or was my translation implant making a joke?” Lynx asked.

  “No more Scotch for you,” the Horten declared. He picked up his prosthetic and the bottle and stalked away. Lynx sat back with relief as Thomas and Chastity returned.

  “Did you see me?” Chastity asked breathlessly. “I was beginning to get it. Thomas promised to give me lessons while he’s on the station.”

  “Where’s Chance?” Thomas asked, slowly surveying the room.

  “When some Horten impersonating a Drazen sat down, she set off after a Vergallian,” Lynx replied.

  “Damn Vergallians,” Thomas growled, sounding very much like Joe.

  “How can a Horten impersonate a Drazen?” Chastity asked. “Drazens have a tentacle and six fingers, and Hortens change color if you blow on them.”

  “He had a fake tentacle, he took it with him,” Lynx explained. “Wait, when did you ever blow on a Horten?”

  “Babysitting,” Chastity replied, looking enviously at Lynx’s glass. “Is that top shelf?”

  “Take it,” Lynx pushed the Scotch across the table. “I’m half in the bag already and we haven’t been here an hour. This job is hard.”

  Four hours later, Donna, Chastity and Tinka packed up the preprogrammed badges that hadn’t been claimed. After the tentacle incident, Lynx had inserted her other half into the bag, so Chastity shook her awake and dragged her home to sleep in Blythe’s old room.

  Thomas and Chance returned to the dance floor, doing a slow hug-and-sway that was completely at odds with the music. Since the artificial people were the only sober sentients left in the place, it was probably the band that was out of sync.

  Seventeen

  “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Donna greeted Lynx, adding a sympathetic smile. The embassy manager and Aisha were manning the registration desk in the roped off area of the lobby. “It’s never a good idea to be early on the first day of these things in any case. The vendors are all hung over and it was a madhouse earlier.”

  “Are Blythe and Clive around somewhere?” Lynx croaked, her voice sounding like she’d spent the previous evening gargling whiskey, which wasn’t far from the truth. At least she had remembered to bring her antique camera, with the express intent of using up the roll so she could send the film out for development.

  “Yes, they have a booth set up just inside,” Donna replied. “You can’t miss it.”

  Lynx began to shoulder her way past the Gem saleswomen who formed a cordon across the entrance. The Gem were making the best of their assigned space in the overflow area by intercepting visitors before they got inside the Nebulae room. Lynx stumbled to a halt when she was blocked by a clone balancing a round tray on her fingertips. The tray held dozens of small plastic tumblers filled with a chalky grey fluid.

  “Cures hangovers,” the Gem declared after one quick look at the human. Lynx was hooked.

  “Is it safe for human consumption?” she grunted, annoyed with herself for talking to a clone, but desperate to get rid of the dull pounding in her temples.

  “Absolutely,” the middle-aged woman assured her with a cold smile. “Compliments of Gem Internal Security.”

  Lynx shuddered, took a cup from the tray, and poured the gritty mixture down her throat. She staggered for a moment as she felt her stomach and sinuses being invaded by a swarm of angry ants, but then the hangover vanished like somebody had thrown a switch.

  “That’s amazing!” Lynx said in astonishment, replacing the tumbler on the tray. “You should sell this stuff around the galaxy. You’d make a fortune and everybody would love you, or at least, they might not despise you as much.”

  “Nanotracker is far too expensive to use as an everyday hangover cure,” the Gem told her. “And keep the cup, the number on the bottom identifies the transmitter. You can map your movements on the big screen there when you come out.”

  The Gem pointed, indicating a giant display that Lynx had assumed was the EarthCent floor plan for visitors. Now she saw that in addition to showing all of the vendor booths, it was full of slowly moving avatars of different species, each accompanied by a little Gem logo. While she watched, a Dollnick exited the show and used the holo controller to select the four-armed avatar that stood right in front of the display. A detailed itinerary of the Dollnick’s movements at the show appeared, along with times spent at various booths, total distance traveled, and biometric data about his bodily functions.

  “You implanted a bug in me?” Lynx asked incredulously.

  “Nanotracker is more than a bug, it’s the latest in full monitoring technology,” the Gem recited. “The nanobots self-assemble into a short-range transmitter within two minutes of ingestion, and as you’re now aware, they’re also programmed to cure hangovers and indigestion. As a nontoxic, temporary means of tracking biologicals, Nanotracker is approved for use in Stryx space, as long as the subject ingests the drink voluntarily.”

  Lynx raised a hand to her mouth like she was going to barf, but her stomach, like her head, felt wonderful. Instead of making a fuss, she grumbled, “How temporary?”

  “Nanotracker transits the digestive system in accordance with the natural rhythms of the biological,” the Gem saleswoman continued with her pitch. “Eating acidic foods may shorten the life of the transmitter, as will strong magnetic fields. Of course, we also offer a Nanosolvent product that will destroy any and all nano-implants within minutes of ingestion, though some species complain about a sudden laxative effect. Nanotracker is available in quantities as small as one hundred doses, and you can select from any number of off-the-shelf receiver products. Don’t forget to check your visit data on the way out,” the Gem concluded breezily, before turning away from Lynx to a bleary eyed Grenouthian. “Hello, bunny. Hangover?”

  Lynx picked her way through the remaining Gem saleswomen and walked gingerly through the doors of the Nebulae room, rubbing her stomach. She couldn’t help wondering if she had ever been Nanotracked before without even knowing it. Alien tech was so far in advance of Earth’s that humans often didn’t realize it was there until somebody pointed it out. It made her wonder what Blythe and Clive could possibly be offering at the show to justify setting up a table. Then she saw the sign.

  EarthCent Intelligence - Double agents wanted

  “Hey, Lynx,” Blythe called. “Come on over and we’ll tell you about the good booths. Clive and I have been taking turns going through the show.”

  “What’s going on?” Lynx whispered loudly as she approached her boss. “I thought we were supposed to be a secret agency.”

  “We talked it over with Kelly and realized it’s way too late to stuff that cat back into the bag, so we may as well take advantage of it,” Blythe replied cheerfully. “You, me, Thomas, Clive, our cover was blown by the surveillance the other species were running on EarthCent communications before we even got started. But what difference does it really make? Some of the aliens may run facial recognition screenings at customs on their home worlds or colonies, but it’s not like the four of us will be going on undercover missions.”

  “Anyway, the Gem bugged me,” Lynx confessed, figuring it was best to just get it over with.

  “The Gem bug everybody,” Blythe replied. “That’s why they’re out front.”

  “No, I mean they put a bug on me, or
in me, with nanobots,” Lynx explained.

  “I heard they were doing that, but I thought you had to volunteer,” Clive said, implying that he was surprised she had made that choice. “We got here early so they weren’t set up yet, but I was thinking of trying it. Libby says that it’s safe.”

  “Well, you don’t need to now, I’ll give you a full report,” Lynx replied, feeling better about getting tricked by the clones. “So are you recruiting any double agents with the subtle approach?”

  “We’re getting a lot of bites,” Blythe assured her. “Kelly talked to her Shuk contacts for us, and we were able to get these buttons made up before we opened this morning. They display in over a hundred languages.”

  “I’m a double agent for the humans,” Lynx read aloud from an English version of the button. “Do aliens really wear these?”

  “They’re free,” Blythe pointed out. “You could give away T-shirts printed with, ‘Dump me in the vacuum,’ and the attendees would snap them up.”

  “Can I take a look at your picture gadget?” Clive asked.

  “It’s a camera, a 35mm single reflex,” Lynx said, handing it across the table to the head of EarthCent Intelligence. “There must be tens of millions of these kicking around people’s attics back on Earth. They’re just too nice to throw away.”

  “This is something!” Clive stated in an admiration as he worked the adjustment rings on the lens. Then he looked through the viewer. “Hey, I can’t see anything.”

  “You have to remove the lens cap,” she told him. “Here, try now.”

  “Nice,” he replied, focusing on a cluster of aliens on a raised stage at the center of the hall. “How do I make it work?”

  “You start by manually focusing through the view finder, but I’d have to give you a lesson on getting the exposure right,” Lynx replied. “I’ll show you later if you want, but a room like this without a flash is a tough place to start learning.”

  “Fair enough,” Clive replied, handing the camera back. “So we’ll make you the official camera person for the day. Your mission is to document the trade show for our archives.”

  “But all you have to do is look at something and save the image on your implant,” Lynx pointed out.

  “Clive is just trying to keep your morale up,” Blythe told her. “He’s been reading up on organizational leadership.”

  “I understand,” Lynx replied, not really understanding, but ready to move on. “Any recommendations for must-see booths?

  “It’s a good thing the show is scheduled for three days because it’s all interesting,” Clive answered honestly. “Some of these species have been spying on each other for millions of years, and the countermeasures are even more amazing than the actual information-gathering devices. Make sure you don’t miss the Cherts, they have the space between the Hortens and Dollnicks. And take one of these ‘EarthCent Spy’ bags for the freebies.”

  “Got it,” Lynx acknowledged, moving out of the way to let a group of Verlocks step up and claim their double agent buttons. She spent a few seconds adjusting the aperture and exposure time to compensate for the artificial lighting and took a picture of the booth fronts along the aisle. Her hands were steady as a rock, thanks to the Gem nanobots.

  After a long discussion with a Horten salesman about the intelligence value of their galactic news clipping service, Lynx wandered past an empty space where the vendors were either late or had folded up their tables and left early. She was about to move on to see what the Dollnicks were offering, when a voice out of nowhere said, “Psssst, over here.”

  Lynx looked at the space where her ears told her the sound had originated, but saw nothing. “Hello?” she ventured.

  “I’m right here,” the voice insisted, making Lynx suspect that some alien species had finally turned ventriloquism into a real art. For the sake of doing something, she held up the camera and took a picture of the empty space. At least it would remind her of the experience when she got the prints.

  “What was that?” the voice asked curiously.

  “It’s an invisibility neutralizer,” Lynx replied, frustrated at being forced to converse with thin air. “In another ten seconds, you’ll be fully visible or I’ll disappear. One or the other.”

  The empty space seemed to shimmer, and then a crowded booth area snapped into focus, as if a curtain had been drawn from the scene. The voice she had been engaged with turned out to belong to an attractive humanoid male whose eyes and teeth were a bright yellow. There was a slick device that looked like a miniature energy beam turret mounted on his shoulder, and he wore an “I’m a double agent for the humans,” button on his jacket.

  “Is it really an invisibility neutralizer?” the Chert salesman asked. “We were told that human technology was still in the semiconductor age.”

  “It worked pretty well just now,” Lynx replied, giving the young man a friendly grin.

  “Oh, you were joking. That’s good,” he said, displaying his bright yellow teeth in return. “Now that I think of it, if you had a working neutralizer, your temporary acting junior consul wouldn’t have been so surprised when I dropped by the embassy to reserve our folds. Can I interest you in our latest model? It’s very stylish, popular with the up-and-coming professionals.”

  “I’m not sure I get the point of being stylish if nobody can see me,” she pointed out. “So how does your invisibility technology work? I’m assuming it’s that thing on your shoulder that keeps swiveling around like it’s looking for something to shoot.”

  “We employ active photon replacement technology,” the Chert rattled off the reply. “It tracks the eyes of biologicals and uses direct projection to overpower the reflected light you expect, substituting an image of the space behind the projector. It’s an old trick, but we do it better than anybody else. If you wait until the end of the show, I could give you a deal on my display unit. That is, if you have anything interesting to barter.”

  “Let me take a look around the show and I’ll get back to you,” Lynx replied. “I wouldn’t want to use up all of my ammunition here, only to find that the Vergallians are selling an astral projector that would let me be an invisible fly on the wall from the comfort of my home.”

  “Invisible fly on the wall,” the young salesman repeated. “That’s very good. I never heard it put that way before. Come back and see us any time. Or not,” he concluded, vanishing along with the crowded booth in a blink of the eye.

  Lynx fought the temptation to reach out and wave her hand through the space he had just occupied, to see if there was a body there or if she had been tricked by a hologram. Still, she had to admit that it was an effective sales pitch.

  Sticking with the right side of the aisle so she wouldn’t lose track of the booths she visited, Lynx was immediately collared by a giant Dollnick, who gently gripped her shoulders with his lower set of arms and used the upper set to place a pair of well-padded headphones over her ears. There was a short burst of static, but then she heard herself saying, “I wouldn’t want to use up all of my ammunition here, only to find that the Vergallians are selling an astral projector that would let me be an invisible fly on the wall from the comfort of my home.”

  The Dollnick took back the headphones, tossed them on the table, and held out his palm right in front of her nose. A small flying insect immediately came in for a landing, and Lynx had to blink several times before her eyes refocused at the short distance. It looked more like a micro-miniature bird than a fly, though it was so alien that it seemed silly to try to classify it. The Dollnick hadn’t let go of her shoulders yet, so she sighed and tilted her head back, preparing to read him the riot act. Although they were big and acted confident, the Dollys always crumbled if you yelled at them.

  “Why become a fly on the wall when you can have a fly do it for you?” the Dollnick asked rhetorically before Lynx could cut him down to size. “The Dollnick parrot-fly is the ideal proxy agent, and they are so cost effective that you can deploy them in swarms, covering all
of the conversations at large events, like a trade show.”

  “Wait, you mean to tell me that this thing just listened in on my conversation with the Chert?” Lynx couldn’t help being intrigued. “And it’s not a little drone? It’s a real bird-insect?”

  “The parrot-fly is the result of hundreds of thousands of years of intensive breeding,” the Dollnick launched into his scripted sales pitch. “It can operate independently in the field for up to a full cycle, as long as it has access to rotten fruit and water. The parrot-fly will automatically return to base when it nears its conversational storage capacity, leaving a trail of pheromones that will guide a replacement to the target. Parrot-flies are ecologically benign and approved for use on Stryx stations, and they can’t be detected by the standard bug sniffers, which of course, are looking for electronic bugs. We’re offering them at a special show discount of ten creds per thousand.”

  “Wow, that sounds incredibly cheap,” Lynx replied honestly. “How do you get the parrot-fly to report the conversations it memorizes?”

  “That requires a parrot-fly home base,” the Dollnick explained smoothly, turning her towards the table where a gleaming hive-like structure about the size of a standard maintenance bot was displayed. “The home base allows you to move your swarm safely, includes a parrot-fly homing beacon, an emergency recall function, and of course, a full suite of audio amplification and transcription options.”

  “How much does the home base cost?” Lynx asked.

  “The parrot-fly home base technology has been extensively field tested in battle conditions, and it is also used by the administrations of over three hundred star systems for search and rescue missions after natural disasters,” the Dollnick continued, ignoring her question. “The home base requires no external power source. The hive employs a micro wind-turbine, powered by the beating wings of the parrot-flies in the dormitory section. If the local environment doesn’t provide sufficient fruit and water, you can service the home base with an artificial mixture, which can sustain the full swarm for up to...”