Family Night on Union Station (EarthCent Ambassador Book 12)

by E. M. Foner

  “Oh, Daddy, can we get it?” Meena begged. “I’ll be so good.”

  “You’re already so good that we wouldn’t notice the difference,” Methan said with an indulgent smile. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to learn the price.”

  A pained look fled across the Dollnick’s features. “We’re talking about a whole world to design, and a brand new future for billions of people. You can’t think of a terraforming project in terms of creds.”

  “Does that mean it’s free?” Meena asked excitedly.

  “If you amortize the cost over the generations who will live there, it may as well be free,” the salesman agreed with the little girl. “How about it, folks? If we close right now, you’ll save enough in legal and realtor fees for an inland ocean—freshwater or salt.”

  “Please, Daddy,” Meena pleaded. “We need somewhere to go in our spaceship.”

  “It is very nice,” Rinla said. “But it wouldn’t do to buy the first terraformed world we see without at least looking at the others.”

  Methan sighed. “I didn’t even know we were shopping for a world, but I can take it up with the council of peers when we return home. Thank you for your presentation.”

  “Prule,” the Dollnick identified himself, shoving business chits at the Alts with four hands. “I’m the exclusive representative of Prince Kuerda at this event. If you don’t like the financing proposal outlined on this data crystal, you can provide the skilled labor for two other terraforming jobs and we’ll barter you a barren planet and lease you the equipment to do the job yourselves.”

  Kelly couldn’t help lingering behind to ask, “How long does all of this take?”

  “A couple of generations, unless they’re as short-lived as you,” Prule replied absent-mindedly before calling after the Alts. “Don’t accept cheap imitations from the Drazens or the Frunge. They’re still working the bugs out of their terraformed planets, and I mean that literally.”

  Kelly caught up with the Alt family at the next booth, where a Frunge was enthusiastically demonstrating a bicycle on a treadmill, a shock to the ambassador, who had never seen or heard of a Frunge riding a bike.

  “…and the tire treads are specially designed not to create grooves in the soil when you ride off-path, preventing erosion caused by rain runoff,” the salesman was saying. “We also have interchangeable seats for both sexes, and the crossbar can be removed for modesty.”

  “Our manufacturers back home have been trying without success to design erosion-safe tires for years,” Rinla admitted. “Can you explain how they work?”

  “A wire mesh of smart-metal embedded in the treads continually reshapes the outer surface into random patterns. The photovoltaic cells on the frame which power the process have been doped specifically for your sun, and there’s a backup battery integrated in tubing here, and here,” the salesman explained, pointing out the power cell locations as he spoke.

  Methan looked longingly at the bike, but then he shook his head. “I’m afraid my people haven’t fully discussed the whole idea of imports, but I’m sure as soon as we return home it will be at the top of the agenda.”

  “Here, take this one as a sample.” The Frunge hopped off the bicycle, and with a few swift moves, folded it into a package no bigger than a gym bag. Even the wheels and tires folded down without deflating. “If you pull on the green tab, you get the bike, and the brown tab unfolds into a baby stroller.”

  “What a tremendous advance in technology!” Rinla cried, accepting the package. “And it’s so light that a child could carry it.”

  “I’m not sure we should…” Methan began.

  “No obligation, none at all,” the Frunge insisted. “Besides, if you force me to take it back, the shame will likely kill me.”

  “What do you think, Ambassador?” Methan asked Kelly. Behind him, both the salesman and the Alt family were frantically indicating their shared opinion to the ambassador through mime.

  “The Frunge do have a culture of gift-giving,” Kelly replied slowly. “And he did say no obligation.”

  “Fine, it’s settled then,” the Frunge said, breaking into a broad smile. “And watch out for the Dollnick pushing remanufactured space elevators.”

  “They aren’t in good shape?” Methan asked, peering down the aisle at a hologram of a working space elevator that went right up to the ceiling.

  “They’re just as good as when they were first installed, maybe better. But a space elevator is the single biggest piece of infrastructure on most worlds, so if you’re going to splash out for one, you may as well get the latest model,” the Frunge offered helpfully.

  Rinla hung back with Kelly as her husband and children proceeded to the next booth, where a Horten team was demonstrating a game that involved holograms of barnyard animals. Within two minutes of slipping on the glove controller, Meena mastered the skill of feeding baby chicks with an eyedropper and leveled up to the tricky task of removing porcupine quills from a dog’s nose.

  “Is this whole exposition really just for us?” Rinla asked quietly. “There must be at least three times as many alien salespeople in here as Alts. I can understand the gentlemen trying to sell us worlds or space elevators, but how can it be worth the time of the plant-like fellow with the bicycle, or this colorful alien demonstrating a game to my daughter?”

  “I’m not a business person myself, but I suppose they’re all just trying to get a foot in the door,” Kelly explained. “When my people joined the tunnel network, we didn’t have anything of value to offer the aliens, other than our labor. They didn’t start seeing us as a market for goods until around twenty years ago, and they’re still cautious about extending credit to Earth because we’re only probationary members of the tunnel network.”

  “We’ve only just developed faster-than-light drive ourselves, and some of us worry that a flood of alien imports would ruin our native industries. Did the availability of alien goods and technology short-circuit your own economy?”

  “Our economy was already on the rocks when the Stryx stepped in, and then more than half of our population left Earth, mainly on alien labor contracts. Our diplomatic service has been working hard to attract alien businesses, and humans are now manufacturing some advanced technology under license, but I guess you could say there was a pretty big disruption.”

  “Did the other species open their education system to Humans?”

  “The best universities in the galaxy are the ones run by the Stryx, and they’re open to everybody. But the aliens are all pretty traditional, so they mainly prefer going through their own systems, which tend to be highly specialized according to the cultural priorities of each species.”

  “What about your own family?” the Alt pressed Kelly. “I’d like to know what choices you made.”

  “Our children attended the Open University, and my son is currently taking courses there. My brother’s family is still on Earth, and his grandchildren are attending a magnet school that’s managed by the Verlocks in their academy style. I think my grandniece is going to a Vergallian dance academy on Earth as well.”

  “Look what Mr. Norna gave me,” Meena said, waving her gloved hand and a small hologame cube. “It’s so different from our games. I can barter my completed chores to pay for veterinary services for the animals, or in an emergency, he said I can use currency.” She turned to Kelly and asked, “What’s a programmable cred?”

  “A Stryx currency holder accepted by all of the tunnel network species. It’s real money, not a game thing, though I suppose selling points to children is better than usury.”

  “I didn’t understand a word you used. You-something?”

  “Usury is lending money at an unreasonably high rate of interest. Like, I’ll give you five coins today, but tomorrow you have to pay me back six.”

  “Our translation devices were designed for understanding dolphins and dogs,” Methan explained. “Dolphins have no use for money and dogs can’t hold onto it, so it’s not surprising that our hardware la
cks the capacity for dealing with financial concepts that are absent from our own economy.”

  “You could let the Stryx provide you with their translation earpieces,” Kelly suggested. “You don’t have to accept implants if you don’t want them.”

  “A little filtering can be a good thing,” the Alt replied, and then crouched to talk to his daughter. “We planned on explaining alien concepts of money when you were a bit older, but think of it as a substitute for keeping track of the time people spend doing useful work.”

  “Why?” Meena asked. “It’s easy for everybody to carry a block to keep track of the time they spend contributing to the community.” She dug in her handbag and came up with a small tan slab of a plastic-like substance with a stylus clipped to the side.

  “But the alien species needed a universal medium of exchange,” Methan said, drawing a blank look from his daughter. “I hate to…” he looked up at his wife, who gave him a sad nod. “It’s that some people use their imaginations about how much time they’ve worked, or how useful that work is.”

  “Imagination? Like in the story we told on ‘Let’s Make Friends?’”

  “Yes, but instead of telling stories about space monsters, they tell stories about jobs they’ve performed when they haven’t.”

  A tragic look settled on the little girl’s features as the meaning sank in, and she asked in a shaky voice, “But if they make up numbers on their blocks, how can I trust them?”

  “We’ll talk more about this when we get home,” her father said gently. “Just remember that your family loves you and we’ll always be there if you need us.”

  “I think his highness is waking up,” Rinla said, looking down at the tiny face in her baby sling. “Why don’t you carry Meena’s things, Methan, and she can hold him for me.”

  The family reshuffled their burdens, and the girl regained her composure as soon as the baby was in her arms. Then they moved on as a group to the next booth, where a baby boy similar to Meena’s charge was the only item on offer. Then Chastity popped up from behind the counter, a stack of disposable tabs in her hands.

  “Great, I got here in time,” the publisher of the Galactic Free Press said. “Oh, what a lovely baby, he looks around the same age as mine. Are you the mommy?” she teased the little girl.

  “I believe you already met on Stryx Wylx’s science ship,” Kelly said, but added a reminder for the Alts, “This is Chastity Papamarkakis, who runs the main human newspaper, among other things.”

  “Wow, what a great name,” a breathless boy exclaimed.

  “Antha! Where have you been since breakfast?” his mother admonished him.

  “Out and about,” the boy said evasively. “Mr. Jeeves was showing me the station. I wanted to see the Drazen deck.”

  “There’s a story about it right here,” Chastity said, distributing tabs to the surprised Alts.

  Meena didn’t have a free hand due to holding the baby, but she looked at the tab that Chastity held up for her. “You publish your newspaper in Alt?”

  “It’s a new version, as of this morning. We’re looking to hire an Alt editor if you know anybody who would be interested. I’m sure Libby got the translation and grammar correct, but she’s kind of expensive.”

  “Alt boy signs treaty with Drazens,” Methan read the headline.

  Kelly stared at the picture, which showed Antha and the Drazen ambassador holding up a document together. “I can’t believe Bork would do something like this, or that Jeeves would go along with it. It’s a good thing your son is just a child or it could be legally binding.”

  “Don’t the Drazens recognize children’s rights?” Rinla asked indignantly.

  “They do, actually, but I thought your species might have a legal age for signing contracts. You don’t?”

  “It hasn’t come up before,” Methan said with a frown. “Do you remember what this document said, Antha?”

  “Sure. Uncle Bork asked the station librarian to read it for me. It said that we’re friends and that if I ever know somebody making a moving picture story who needs an actor with a tentacle, I’m supposed to contact the Drazen embassy on Union Station.”

  “That’s very kind of him. It would be difficult for one of our own people to play a Drazen convincingly. I hope you thanked Mr. Jeeves and Uncle Bork.”

  “I forgot,” the boy cried, and raced off before his parents could stop him.

  “This is a nice story,” Meena said, having moved past the picture and caption. “It’s about children who baked cookies and bartered them for paint to make their playhouse pretty.”

  “In the Galactic Free Press?” Kelly looked over the girl’s shoulder, but the Alt text was all gibberish to her.

  “I gave them the syndicated feed from the teacher bot student newspapers we’re picking up,” Chastity explained. “From what the Grenouthians tell me, I think the Alts may want to stick with watching the Children’s News Network until they get the hang of the galaxy.”

  “Is this free?” Meena asked cautiously.

  “One hundred percent. And once we figure out what you’re interested in, you’ll even get special content from our sponsors at no extra charge.”

  Sixteen

  “Did it bother you that I was still spending all of that time in dance practice with Samuel after you began working for InstaSitter this year?” Vivian asked her brother.

  “Are you kidding? Libby started paying me five creds an hour after I completed my training.”

  “Don’t you mean InstaSitter started paying you?”

  “She does the payroll, you know. Anyway, Tinka calls this the ‘War Room,’ because Libby routes us all of the emergency pings that come up,” Jonah explained.

  “But I don’t know anything about medical stuff, and I can’t believe you would give advice to babysitters with a sick alien kid!”

  “Boy, you really have been out of the loop, haven’t you?” her brother said sympathetically. “Libby handles all of the sick calls by having Gryph send a medbot. We just get the parental emergencies and the occasional panic call from a sitter.”

  “Parental emergencies? Like they don’t want to go home to their kids?”

  “Don’t laugh. We’ve had people abandon children with the sitter, though they’re usually not the biological parents, but Libby handles those as well.”

  “Does she stop them from leaving the station?”

  “You know how the Stryx are about stuff like that. Libby figures that anybody who runs out on a child isn’t the best caretaker option, so she has the sitter bring the kid to the station orphanage while she checks for other relatives.”

  “Does it happen often?”

  “We’ve got over twenty million sitters of all species working on Stryx stations,” Jonah reminded her. “Sometimes a single parent leaves their kids with a sitter and dies of natural causes while out dancing or playing sports. One way or another, it happens every day.”

  “I’m glad we don’t get those pings, then. But what are we doing here?”

  “I’m getting to it,” her brother said, clearly enjoying himself. “First, can you show her the active roster, Libby?”

  A list of names began scrolling down the large screen in front of the siblings, moving so fast that the lines of text were little more than a black blur. Several other columns of information appeared after the names, but Vivian also noticed that little colored comets were shooting by on the left side of the screen.

  “Could you pause on a red dot?” Jonah requested.

  The list came to a sudden halt, though despite being stationary, most of the phonetically spelled alien names in the first column still made for difficult reading. There was a large red dot to the left of the name in the center of the display field, but the columns relating to billing status, species, working conditions, and on-time returns all looked normal.

  “Dollnicks,” Vivian read from the species column. “So why do Kunda and Shuerna get the red star?”

  “Libby? Can you play
back their last call sequence, with security imaging?”

  The screen changed from the text list to showing a teenage Drazen girl sitting on the edge of a large nest. She was watching some sort of drama on a tab held in one hand, while her other hand dangled in the nest, where it was clutched by a sleeping Dollnick baby.

  “Everything looks fine to me,” Vivian commented.

  Jonah just grinned and pointed at the screen. A little message appeared in the upper left corner, reading, “Incoming ping from Kunda.”

  A long-suffering look appeared on the young Drazen’s face, but she accepted the ping, and said, “InstaSitter Minka here. He’s still breathing, Kunda.”

  “Are you sure?” a nervous voice asked. “Have you checked his body temperature?”

  “He’s holding my hand,” the sitter replied patiently. “I scanned his vitals for you five minutes ago.”

  “Minka? This is Shuerna. Couldn’t you check again, and run the full scan this time?”

  The Drazen girl rolled her eyes, but reached up to a shelf beside the nest with her tentacle and retrieved a baby health monitor, which looked like a cross between a tab and a ray gun. She pointed it at the baby, and then brought it around so she could see the display.

  “Everything looks the same as five minutes ago,” she reported dutifully.

  “What about his brain waves?” Shuerna asked anxiously. “My great-grandsire suffered from abnormal patterns.”

  “As a baby?” Minka inquired.

  “No, he was in his six-hundreds, but it’s hereditary.”

  “The brain waves look perfect,” the sitter responded, without bothering to change screens. “Is there anything else?”

  “No. Thank you so much. We’ll ping back during intermission.”

  The Drazen girl shook her head and returned the baby monitor to its shelf. She smiled at the sleeping Dollnick infant, who really was cute in his four-armed romper suit, and then went back to watching the drama on her tab. The time stamp on the image jumped forward five minutes, and a message appeared in the upper left corner, reading, “Incoming ping from Kunda.”