by E. M. Foner
Kelly shook her head as if trying to clear it, and then looked around the conference table at the remaining ambassadors. “Did any of you hear me invite any of them?”
“Too late now,” Bork told her cheerfully. “You can invite me twice if it makes you feel any better.”
“I don’t know if I’m doing you a favor or an injury, but you are all invited. At least Jeeves will have somebody else to pester.”
“Serious undertaking, invitation mission,” Srythlan remarked. “Most species reject the first offer.”
“Really? Why would they do that?” Kelly inquired.
“Pride, I expect,” Czeros responded. “Imagine you had just conquered the challenge of interstellar flight and a delegation of aliens suddenly showed up at your world. I wouldn’t be surprised if the reason the Alts left your system so quickly is that they detected the tunnel network entrance and realized they were hopelessly outclassed.”
“But as soon as we show up, they’ll know that we know where they live,” the EarthCent ambassador pointed out. “I don’t want to sound like I’m presenting them with an ultimatum when I haven’t even met them, but what choice do they have?”
“When we send a mission to invite a species to join the tunnel network, it comes with the option to indefinitely postpone accepting and to be left alone by the other tunnel network species in the interim,” Jeeves replied. “While we aren’t technically committed to preventing non-members from visiting their system, I suspect that in this case, Gryph would simply hide them again.”
Five
“This is silly,” Dorothy fumed. “I’ve been off the station in small spaceships plenty of times. Let’s just go already.”
“Approaching the tunnel entrance,” Kevin repeated in a stern voice. “Fasten your safety harness.”
“I am not strapping myself in with a four-point restraint and pretending we’re in space,” the girl retorted. “Look. Beowulf climbed on top of the wrecker so he can see in through the port, and he’s laughing at us.”
Alexander added a sharp bark from the dog bed, where Kevin had secured him with light cargo netting.
“Sorry,” Dorothy said, glancing over her shoulder at the dog. “I guess Beowulf is laughing at Alex, but the point is that we all look like idiots.”
Kevin sighed and turned to Dorothy. “We agreed to a twenty-four-hour dry run to make sure you were up to this. Now that we’re underway, I’m the captain, and if you continue to disobey my direct orders, I’ll have to throw you in the brig.”
“We are NOT underway and you do NOT have a brig. What are you going to do? Throw a net over me like the poor dog?”
“It’s to keep him from floating around while he’s sleeping in Zero-G,” the young man explained, and then changed tack. “Proper preparation means a lot to me. If you absolutely can’t do it, then we’ll leave now, but imagine how you’d feel if you couldn’t test-fit clothes on your models before a fashion show.”
“They’re all the same size anyway—skinny,” Dorothy replied darkly. “Wait. Am I a fashion model in your analogy?”
“Uh, yes?” Kevin ventured.
“Oh, all right,” she said, buckling her safety harness. “We can play spaceman if it will make you feel better, but twelve hours and then we’re leaving.”
“Great. Now let me show you how the manual backup systems work in case the controller is disabled. Ship. Run tunnel transit simulation.”
While Kevin drilled Dorothy in the functions of the various gesture controls for the holo interface, Alexander crept out from under the edge of the webbing on his basket and sat behind them, mimicking their motions with his fore-paws. Outside the ship, Beowulf was joined on top of the wrecker by Joe and Paul, all three of them enjoying the free show immensely.
By the end of two hours, Kevin was saying “Excellent,” far more often than, “You almost got it,” and Dorothy was beginning to feel like she could fly the ship without either him or the controller. After a final flawless run through the simulation, she undid the four-point restraint and got up to stretch.
“Ready for a turn on the exercise machines?” Kevin asked.
“I’ve got to use the bathroom,” she replied, heading for the main hatch.
“You just walked past the access door. It’s the green button that glows red when somebody is in there.”
“I am NOT going to use the Zero-G sanitary equipment when there’s a perfectly good bathroom with plumbing just a two-minute walk from here. I mean, even you have to be reasonable.”
“I give up. Go home to use the bathroom and then we’re leaving.”
“Do you want anything else from the house?” Dorothy called over her shoulder after popping the hatch.
“I guess a sandwich would be good,” Kevin allowed. “And some fruit? Never mind. I’ll just come along and give Alexander a chance to run off some energy before we leave.”
Five hours later, Kevin had to bribe Beowulf to sniff out Alexander. The young Cayl hound had figured out that his people were serious about leaving the comforts of Union Station and hid in Dring’s garden to give them an opportunity to reconsider. By the time the ship entered the tunnel bound for Drazen space, it was nearly midnight, local human time.
“I shouldn’t have eaten all of those desserts Aisha made,” Dorothy groaned.
“If you have to sick up, use the bag.”
“Tell me again why we’re here?”
“I’m a trader, Dorothy, and as much as I liked working with your Dad and Paul, I don’t want to be their third wheel for the rest of my life. Aren’t you excited about visiting the worlds of some of your friends from Union Station?”
“I’ll be dead before we ever get out of the tunnel. This is awful.”
“Try breathing into the sick bag,” Kevin advised her. “You’re starting to hyperventilate.” He watched in concern for a few minutes as the bag crinkled in and out, and eventually her respiration slowed. “I got some patches from the Farling that he said would help with space sickness if you’re desperate, but I wanted to give you a chance to acclimate naturally.”
“What?” Dorothy demanded, ripping the bag away from her face. “You have a Zero-G cure and you didn’t tell me about it?”
“I don’t know if it will work, and it’s just putting off the inevitable. In a few days your body will…”
“I want it NOW!”
“All right. All right. I’ve got the first-aid kit here somewhere.” Kevin pushed off his seat and floated over to one of the bridge lockers, where he quickly located the white metal box and withdrew a waxy sheet covered with circular patches. “Doc said that it’s a time-release patch that allows the medicine to be absorbed through your skin, so it may take a while to reach its full potency.”
“Everything is spinning too much, you put it on me,” the girl begged.
Kevin peeled one of the patches from the sheet and carefully stuck it on the side of Dorothy’s neck. “He warned me that there may be a stimulative side effect, like drinking several cups of coffee. The drug he derived it from is actually banned on Stryx stations because it’s addictive, but the doc is pretty sure he eliminated that part.”
“Pretty sure?” Dorothy asked, already sounding a little better. She peered at him blearily, but managed to keep both of her eyes open together for the first time since they’d entered the tunnel.
“Well, you’re sort of the first person to try it,” Kevin admitted. “I didn’t even know there were such things as Zero-G cures. The Farling said that space sickness isn’t uncommon in poorly designed humanoids, and that it can take a few hundred generations to breed it out.”
“I feel better already,” Dorothy declared, and even gambled on a peek out the viewport. “It’s just black. Where are the stars?”
“I don’t know, it’s always dark in the tunnels. You’re the one with the Stryx education.”
“I didn’t like any of that fancy math stuff and Libby didn’t force it on us. It takes most humans a lifetime just to le
arn the basics, and by that time, we’re too old to do anything with it. Hey, I think I’m getting hungry.”
“I don’t think eating is such a great idea when you were ready to hurl just a few minutes ago. It’s already after midnight and nothing ever happens in the tunnels, so why don’t we try to get some sleep?”
“You go ahead. I’m just going to read the Galactic Free Press for a while. Didn’t you say that staying current is one of the most important things for a trader?”
“Goodnight,” Kevin replied, pulling himself back into his command chair and loosely redoing the harness. He glanced over at the dog bed to make sure Alexander was netted in, and fell asleep within minutes.
The Vergallian equivalent of a saber-toothed tiger chased Kevin through a primordial fern forest. He ran faster and faster, but it seemed like he was stuck on a sheet of ice, and the giant carnivore closed in for the kill. Gasping for breath, Kevin made a desperate leap for an overhead frond, hoping that the giant plant would support his weight and not the tiger’s. His hands closed on thin air just short of his target, and he fell back towards the ravenous beast, awakening with a start. The “thump, thump, thump,” of running feet was the only sound in the silence of the tunnel.
“I thought you were going to sleep,” Dorothy panted, not slowing her pace on the tie-down treadmill. “I feel like a hundred percent better. That beetle is a genius.”
“How long have you been on there?”
“I don’t know. The display thingy says that I’ve generated a hundred and thirty-two whelks. What’s a whelk?”
“A Sharf energy unit, and take it easy. You’re not used to running in Zero-G. It seems easy when you start out because your heart isn’t working as hard, but you can overuse your leg muscles without realizing it.”
“This is nothing,” Dorothy said dismissively. “You know that I can dance for hours. I bet I could out-generate you on any of these machines.”
“Bet me what?” Kevin released his safety restraints, pushed off from the back of the chair, and caught himself on the Drazen rock-climbing trainer. The bridge of the converted four-man Sharf scout provided ample space for Zero-G exercise equipment, and Kevin had installed as many machines as he could cram in, unsure of which the girl would like.
“Whoever wins has to do what the other one says without question for a day.”
“Deal,” he said. “I’m not likely to get back to sleep any time soon, and we should try to stay on the same waking schedule. Are we going to take turns on the treadmill, or do you want to try one of the tandem machines?”
“How about the bicycle with both foot pedals and hand cranks?”
“I don’t want you to wear yourself out your first day in space.”
“I bike around Mac’s Bones all the time. I think you’re just chicken.”
“A bicycle for two it is, then, but drink some water first.”
Dorothy unhooked the elastic tethers from the complex harness that pulled her body towards the track as she ran, while Kevin retrieved two squeeze-tubes of Union Station Springs mineral water from the packaged liquids storage locker. The dog, who had woken from a dream of chasing a giant rabbit during the conversation, wriggled out from under the netting and launched himself at the treadmill.
“What?” Dorothy asked. “Do you want in on the bet?”
Alexander grinned and caught the harness between his teeth, bringing himself to a halt.
“Did you say there’s a different harness for the dog, or does this one adapt?” the girl called to Kevin.
“Drink your water, I’ll fix him up. The quadruped harness is simpler than the bipedal one since all of the elastics are the same length. I ordered a complete set, even though your dad told me that Cayl hounds don’t really need to exercise in Zero-G to stay in shape. Neither do the Cayl, for that matter.”
“How is that?”
“Millions of years of breeding and acclimation. Your dad said that they can basically go into hibernation in space and it keeps their muscle tone from deteriorating. But Alex may want to stay awake with us just to make sure we don’t have any fun without him.”
After Dorothy finished her water and Kevin got the dog strapped down to the treadmill and reset the power counter, the two humans pushed off of various objects of opportunity to reach the tandem exercise bike, which was secured by a fold-out mount to what would be the ceiling of the bridge if the ship was under acceleration.
“You’re not feeling any vertigo?” Kevin asked while helping the girl secure herself to the seat and pedals. “Some people have trouble getting used to doing this upside-down.”
“It’s space, there is no upside-down,” she replied loftily. “Stop procrastinating. I’m going to ride you into the ground.”
“The bet is for the most power generated in a half-hour,” Kevin told her. “I’m not going to let you exhaust yourself while you’re hopped up on Farling medicine.”
“Let’s get started already.”
Kevin quickly worked himself into the bicycle harness, placed his feet in the lower pedal stirrups and his hands on the cranks, and said, “Ship. Set timer thirty minutes with ten-minute notifications. Go!” The two of them began pedaling furiously, while below, Alexander started off on the treadmill at an easy lope.
“First notification,” the ship announced after ten minutes.
“Are you still feeling okay?” Kevin huffed.
“I’m fine,” the girl replied shortly. “Seventy-three whelks.”
“Seventy,” he grunted back, and picked up the pace.
“Second notification,” the ship announced twenty minutes into the competition.
“One fifty-two,” Dorothy said.
“One fifty-two,” he replied, pedaling harder.
“Stupid arm cranks,” the girl panted, taking a brief break and stretching her cramped fingers while she continued pumping with her legs. Then she grabbed hold again and headed for the home stretch.
“Thirty minutes,” the ship announced.
“Acknowledge,” Kevin said, and ceased pedaling. He leaned out to look over the girl’s shoulder and read off of her display the power she had generated for the back-up cells. “Two twenty-four. You were fading at the end.”
“I ran before this,” Dorothy protested automatically, even while she fought to catch her breath. “What did you get?”
“Two-thirty,” Kevin told her. “I guess you’ll actually have to listen to the captain for a day now.”
“Check how Alexander did first.”
Kevin looked up towards the deck and saw that the dog was sprinting along the treadmill, his legs practically a blur. “Hey. Time!” he shouted, and Alexander immediately began easing up, dropping from a bounding run back into a trot.
“If you beat me by like five whelks or something, it doesn’t count,” Kevin warned the dog, unstrapping himself from the bicycle and repositioning so that he could see the treadmill’s screen. “Four hundred and twenty?”
The dog finally came to a halt and looked up, giving his humans a lazy grin.
“Hah!” Dorothy said. “Alexander wins, so the bet is off.”
A deep growl rumbled in the dog’s chest.
“All right, all right,” Kevin said. “But we’re not doing anything crazy like rubbing your belly for twenty-four hours straight, or feeding you all of the treats we brought to last the whole trip.”
“We could rub his belly in shifts,” Dorothy suggested. “I can go first because I’m not sleepy at all.”
“That’s what I’m worried about. Didn’t you get up early this morning?”
“I’ve stayed up all night at work drinking coffee plenty of times. You know that Affie and Flazint are on different sleep schedules, and sometimes we just needed to push through and get something done.”
“What? Like a fashion emergency?”
“Don’t laugh, it’s a real business. Just because you’ve been dressing in the same thing every day since you were seven years old doesn’t mean that ever
ybody else does. Keeping up with the latest trends and coming up with designs that can be adapted for a dozen different species is a full-time job.”
“But you told me that SBJ Fashions was the trendsetter.”
“Locally, in cross-species design, but it’s not like Union Station exists in a vacuum.”
“Uh, actually…”
“It’s an expression, and you don’t have to point it out every time I make a little mistake,” Dorothy retorted. She made her way over to the impatient-looking dog and began scratching behind his ears. “What I mean is that if we design clothes that are too far out, they might look good on a Vergallian model, but nobody will ever buy them. So when we design, like, a new ball gown, it still has to say ‘ball gown’ to everybody who sees it.”
“So you have to keep up with the latest trends to see what the other designers are getting away with?”
“Design is an art form, like painting or writing. Artists learn from each other, push on new boundaries together. It’s like the new hat that Fabulous Frunge brought out last year.”
“How would their hair vines get enough light?”
“So the previous Frunge hat designs were usually made from transparent materials with a built-in misting system, sort of like a specialty greenhouse, but in miniature.”
“Sounds reasonable, I guess.”
Dorothy gave him a disgusted look. “Reasonable? Would you want to walk around with a greenhouse on your head?”
“I don’t know. Some of the trellis work I’ve seen on Flazint’s head is pretty industrial looking.”
“Those are just for training the vines. She substitutes something elegant when she goes out. You just aren’t paying attention.”
“I guess not,” Kevin admitted, his eyelids beginning to droop.
“Frunge don’t need hats at all on space stations, though sometimes they wear shade netting if the light spectrum is wrong. I’m talking about hats for fashion here.”
“I’m losing track. The new hat that, uh, Fabulous brought out wasn’t a greenhouse?”
“No, it was just a brim. Isn’t that brilliant?”
