by E. M. Foner
“That’s the other great thing about it,” Blithe replied, perking up instantly. “Because it gets special treatment on both ends of the run, it’s all handled by mechanicals, the virtualizations of dumb robots. Paul has to supervise pretty closely to get the packing right, but it’s all done without leaving the room.”
“It would be too dull for you to just stand and watch, Dring,” Paul said. “I’m going to pause the game and Blythe and I will finish up later when we both bring work to do. I was hoping that you could show us around your ship.”
“Paul told me about it, and I’d really love to see your garden, Dring,” Blythe added.
“Then come along and I’ll be happy to give you a tour,” Dring answered. The three of them exited the mock-up, finding themselves in the middle of a collection of similar mock-ups and shells arranged in neat rows in Mac’s Bones.
“It still makes me feel funny, stepping out of the gameverse and finding myself back here,” Paul commented. “But the mock-up isn’t nearly as immersive as taking a ship into space. Maybe someday everybody in my Raider squadron will have real ships, but for now we fly all of our missions without ever leaving the barn,” he continued wistfully. “You’re welcome to come for our next battle, if you like.”
“I’d appreciate that opportunity very much,” Dring replied. Then he led the group towards the long mound of scrap that most visitors to Mac’s Bones thought was piled against the side wall of the cavernous hold. Dring guided them confidently to what appeared to be a shallow indent in the mound, but which proved to be the entrance to a tunnel that took a ninety-degree-turn almost immediately. After a few steps to the left, the tunnel turned back again and took a beeline to the other side, where the gravity wave surfer was parked.
“Joe lent me some torches to do sculpture work, so I asked for permission to create this passage,” Dring explained. “It was a good way to get practice with his tools.”
Paul’s mouth dropped open as far as Blythe’s when they emerged before the ship. It was completely transformed, now appearing as a long, narrow greenhouse with a fantastical garden and a grove of trees grouped around a small pond, all swarming with little creatures of different types. The transparent hull was only noticeable due to subtle rolling distortions and interference patterns, as if it were made from a liquid into which somebody was continually tossing pebbles.
“My ship is quite flexible, as you can see, and my traveling companions enjoy being back on solid ground, even if the feeling of gravity is just from the station’s spin.”
“Where were all of these little creatures when we met your ship in space?” Paul asked. “And what happened to the big central tree thing?”
“My little friends prefer to hibernate in their burrows where there’s no up or down,” Dring explained. “When the ship takes its spherical form, the water is cradled in the center surrounded by what you saw as a tree, which extends its limbs in all directions and provides hollows for those who prefer to be inside. We can survive for quite a long time as a closed system, and losses are easily made up from the elements drifting through space.”
“Can we go inside?” Blythe asked, her eyes devouring the flora. “I spent a few years in the flower business and I’ve never seen plants like yours.”
“By all means, enter,” Dring invited them with an elaborate bow, and a door-sized section of the hull became perfectly clear, making the hypnotic ripples of the surrounding sections more solid by contrast. Blythe stepped forward, testing for a surface with her fingers as if checking for the location of a wall in the dark. Then she moved confidently inside, followed by Paul and Dring.
A flock of bird-like creatures with preternaturally intelligent eyes swirled around them, with a few of the more ambitious members finding perches on their shoulders. All of the little creatures were quite vocal about the surprise visitors, creating a chorus of tweets and whistles that their translation implants allowed to pass without interpretation.
“My friends are pleased to make your acquaintance.” Dring spoke with a certain formality as the creatures fell silent. Paul suspected he was passing on a message, rather than just being polite.
“Please tell them we are happy you chose to dock in our bay,” Paul answered, curious to see if there would be a response. Sure enough, Dring whistled and trilled as hundreds of little heads cocked to listen, after which there was a positive cacophony of responses.
“Enough, enough,” Dring said in English, then whistled some more, while making a scattering motion with his hands. The flock dispersed to their favorite nooks and crannies, allowing Dring to lead the young couple to the central pond. Floating plants of different types colonized the surface of the water, and some colorful things that Blythe would later describe as not-quite-fish flashed about below.
“Your ship is just stunning, Dring,” Blythe spoke with a deep admiration that she reserved for special occasions. “I’ve been to immersives that featured human colony ships with self-contained ecosystems that are a thousand times larger than yours, but somehow, there’s something unnatural about them. Everything here seems to be in perfect harmony. I’d swear I was standing on the surface of a planet.”
“Don’t look up,” Dring warned her with a gentle chuckle. “The bay doors have a way of destroying the illusion.”
“It really is impressive, Dring. Other than you and the tree limbs, I don’t recognize anything from the ship we towed in a few weeks ago,” Paul added.
“We have had a lot of practice shifting things about, my friends and I,” Dring said modestly. “To be honest, I was trying for an environment that humans would be comfortable in, based on what I’ve seen of your entertainments transmitted over the Stryxnet. If the two of you were actors in a drama, this is the part where you’d take young Blythe in your arms and declare that you’ve found the Garden of Eden. What did humans do in this Garden of Eden that made it so desirable?”
Paul kicked at the ground and stammered out something unintelligible, but Blythe came to his rescue, saying, “It’s a basic human characteristic to desire to be places where we aren’t wanted. Humans in dramas want to return to the Garden of Eden because we got kicked out.”
“Indeed,” Dring mused. “Well, you are welcome here any time during my stay. It certainly makes more sense than letting your desires lead you to trespass elsewhere. Some species aren’t very forgiving.”
Five
“There must be over a hundred invitations here!” Kelly exclaimed to no one in particular, as she scrolled around the collage of colorful messages that were waiting on her display desk when she arrived at the embassy Monday morning. In each instance, touching the message brought it front-and-center at its optimum size, along with the English translation. Putting aside cultural differences in the style and formality of the diplomatic language, they all started pretty much the same way:
“The (fill in the blank) embassy requests your presence at a special reception to be held this (fill in the blank) evening.”
From there, the texts diverged, depending on how the aliens viewed themselves in the galactic pecking order. Invitations from the newer or less aggressive species ended with a simple RSVP, while those who felt themselves to be speaking from a position of strength concluded with horrifyingly detailed threats should Kelly refuse the invitation for any reason.
Strangest of all, Kelly couldn’t help noticing that the threats weren’t just directed at humans, but at other aliens as well. The invitation from the Frunge, for example, was primarily a rant against the Drazens, and a warning to the humans not to be taken in by Drazen schemes. The Verlock invitation, more properly described as a directive, implied that Kelly was at the head of a multi-species conspiracy to rob the Verlocks of their rightful place in the galaxy. Even the ambassador for the normally friendly Drazens, the only Naturals League member that officially recognized Earth, included a warning not to get involved with double-dealing Dollnicks.
Kelly clenched her fists, threw back her head, and yelled
, “Libbbbbby!” Releasing the energy immediately made her feel better, though it also brought Donna charging into the room from the outer office.
“Is something wrong, Mrs. Ambassador?” Libby inquired innocently over the room speakers.
Seeing that Kelly was looking a bit sheepish about her outburst, Donna was about to turn around and leave, but Kelly motioned her to stay.
“Official meeting for the EarthCent embassy on Union Station,” Kelly announced with a show of professional calm. “Ambassador Kelly McAllister and embassy manager Donna Doogal in attendance. Stryx station librarian is requested to record and participate. Libby, what on Earth is going on?”
“I take it this is in regard to your sudden popularity?” Libby asked insincerely. “I seem to recall somebody complaining not so long ago that EarthCent was making no headway in establishing relations with the elder species.”
“But I’ve never even heard of more than half of these species! And if it wasn’t for the gaming tournament we co-sponsor with the Fight On consortium every year, I’d only recognize most of those aliens from crashing parties.”
“I always told you that Stan’s work was important,” Donna interjected, seizing the opportunity to defend her husband’s career as the lead information trader for the Fight On gaming guild in the sector. “Anyway, it was obvious something strange was going on when that flood of Grenouthian requests for trading credentials came in a couple weeks ago. Whatever it is, it looks like word got out.”
“Well, I can’t take another evening of shaking paws with giant bunnies who can’t even be bothered to introduce themselves,” Kelly declared for the record. “Is it going to be the same with all of these receptions? And I couldn’t attend them all if I wanted to because half of them are scheduled for this coming Saturday night!”
“Please direct your attention to the display desk,” Libby instructed the women. The overlapping invitations had been replaced by a diagram showing thousands of worlds with dense patterns of colored lines running between them. “This representation shows Earth’s integration into the galactic economy as measured by the flow of Stryx creds, which we track very closely through quantum tagging. For comparison, I’ve started with how things looked six years ago.”
“So all of the blue lines represent Stryx creds flowing into Earth, and the red lines are Stryx creds leaving?” Donna hazarded a guess.
“Yes. Practically all of the inflow of Stryx creds was accounted for by remittances from human migrant labor employed around the galaxy. The red lines show the same funds leaving to pay for imported goods, and the yellow lines, of which there aren’t many, show the income from Earth exports. But the picture changed dramatically after we began the profit-sharing arrangement on Earth cargoes using our tunnel network. Next slide,” Libby intoned in a professorial voice, bringing laughs from her audience.
“Close to balanced,” Kelly remarked, as the combined blue and yellow lines looked about even with the red. “And the overall flow looks at least double of what it was before.”
“That’s a good guess,” Libby confirmed Kelly’s estimate. “The magnitude of emigrant remittances to Earth has remained fairly steady as humans put down roots in their new homes and spend their increased income locally. But the value of Earth exports has grown so quickly that it’s caught up with the remittance income, putting Earth on a sound financial basis. This was the picture just a year ago. Next slide.”
“What happened?” Kelly exclaimed, looking at the mass of white lines that had practically swamped the blue and the yellow on the map, and even outweighed the swollen red lines by a healthy margin.
“This image is an average of the daily flows over the last month,” Libby explained. “The white lines represent uncategorized inflows of Stryx creds to Earth, and while they were depicted on the previous images as well, the lines were so thin that you couldn’t see them.”
“Is that like smuggling income or money laundering?” Donna asked.
“We don’t really classify any trade as smuggling since we have no laws against it. The same is true for money laundering, as all Stryx creds are created equal. The uncategorized flows are simply monies that are unaccounted for by our register system, so they could be transferred to Earth as hard currency, or using the monetary backbone of another species. Moving beyond total reliance on the Stryx register system is part of the normal evolution of worlds we have fostered, but the amount of currency involved in this case is extraordinary. Looking at Earth exclusively from the standpoint of cash flow, you’ve jumped from the level of a slowly developing and somewhat backward planet, to the level of some of the poorer members of the Naturals League.”
“So now everybody and his uncle are interested in doing business with us,” Kelly concluded with an incisive leap of logic. “That explains the furry businessmen and the rush of invitations, but where is the money coming from?”
“I don’t know,” Libby answered honestly, as Donna regarded Kelly with a rare look of respect for figuring out the puzzle so quickly. “The Stryx register system protects the integrity of our currency and allows for large transfers using our network and programmable coins, but we specifically designed Stryx creds so that they can also be used in parallel systems. We track the locations and the amounts of all creds in circulation, hiding them from us would mean destroying the value. But we don’t attempt to violate the privacy of users and determine ownership.”
“So you know the money is real, but that’s about it,” Donna ventured, to clarify the situation in her own mind.
“Yes,” Libby replied. “Since Jeeves has become the Stryx expert on humans, I’ve been consulting with him in recent weeks as to what it could all mean. But there doesn’t appear to be anything amiss, other than the fact that some people on Earth are amassing a great deal of wealth.”
“So we know why I’m getting all of these invitations, but how am I supposed to represent Earth at more than fifty different receptions at the same time this Saturday?” Kelly asked, rubbing her temples in frustration.
“Make them come to us,” Donna suggested. “I can rent a room at the Empire Convention Center, and we can bring in some friends and family to mill around. It beats having them turning up here, and finding out the whole embassy consists of two middle-aged women in a couple of rented rooms with some part-time help.”
“Libby? Will they accept our invitations?” Kelly asked.
“It’s an excellent idea, and they won’t have much choice other than to accept. I would suggest bringing along a stack of official-looking certificates to hand out if they ask for trading credentials. I’ve just checked the scheduling for the available rooms at the Empire, and their best-equipped room for a mix of species is available a week from Friday.”
“Book it,” Kelly spoke decisively. “I’ll start cramming my alien identification holo pack so I’ll have a clue who’s who, and Donna can handle all of the catering arrangements. We better take the room for a whole day, and—hey, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t we invite some of the Earth merchants on the station to come and set up booths, treat it like a little Earth Exposition?”
“I love it,” Donna said, as soon as she stopped laughing. “The last time we tried an Earth Exposition, nobody showed up, and we all ate leftover finger sandwiches for a week. This time we’ll have a captive audience.”
“I’d like to accept the Drazen invitation if you think they can keep it confidential, Libby,” Kelly added on reflection. “They’re the only Naturals League species that ignored the Earth boycott, and they’ve helped out quietly here and there over the years.”
“I’ll contact the Drazen ambassador myself and make the conditions clear. Their invitation is for this Saturday night. I’ll respond to the rest through the EarthCent system to save you both time and to give your guests the maximum notice.”
“Thanks Libby, you’re a lifesaver. I was afraid Kelly was going to dump all of the correspondence in my lap.” Donna sounded genuinely relieved, as her previous experie
nces with sending diplomatic invitations to other ambassadors involved wasting lots of time on composing formal language for aliens who didn’t bother to RSVP.
“Meeting adjourned,” Kelly declared. To prove her good intentions, she immediately brought up her alien identification holographic series that matched names with home worlds.
From the outer office, Donna could hear Kelly reciting, “Hoong. Next. Uh, uh, uh, Mengoth. Next. I know this. Wait! Strapii. No, I take it back. Wait, don’t tell me, Kraaken! Next.” Donna got back up from her desk and swiped the control pad of the normally open door to Kelly’s inner sanctum. The door slid shut just as Kelly cried out, “Theosomething!”
Twenty minutes later, Donna looked up from her exposition-planning labors to discover a jolly-looking lizard with feathered crest standing before her. Dring said that he knew Paul and Joe and had been told to stop by to visit Kelly at any time. Donna pinged her boss, who was already worn out from looking at holograms of aliens, so Donna swiped the door back open and introduced the pleasantly plump visitor.
“Ambassador Kelly McAllister, this is Dring,” Donna announced the guest before withdrawing to the outer office.
“Dring. Please make yourself at home,” Kelly offered. “I’m afraid that none of these chairs would be comfortable for you, but if you give us prior warning in the future, we can always rent something that will be suitable.”
“No need at all,” Dring declared, offering a warm display of teeth that reminded Kelly of a stuffed dinosaur toy she had slept with as a little girl. “I’ve heard so much about you from your husband. Did he tell you I was renting space for my ship in your scrap area?”
“So that’s what he was talking about,” Kelly replied. “Yes, he told me something, but I guess I wasn’t really listening because I thought you were just another tenant for their Raider/Trader barn. I hear so many names at home these days that I’m afraid I don’t remember any of them. And now I’m on a crash course to confusion,” she added with a smile, waving a hand at a hologram of something that looked like a large cucumber with eyes and tentacles.
