Wanderers On Union Station (EarthCent Ambassador Book 6)

by E. M. Foner

  “Do you know where it is?” the boy asked hopefully.

  Beowulf hedged for a minute, licking the side of his nose. He knew where it was the last time he looked, but it was entirely possible somebody had moved it since then, in which case he didn’t know where it was. He glanced over at Dring, who gave him a stern look. The dog sighed heavily and nodded again.

  “Can I have it back? I promise not to lose it again.”

  Not the promise Beowulf was hoping for, but he got up and trotted off to retrieve the thing. Maybe if they were still playing when he got back, he could sneak into a different spot and ask Dring a question. He didn’t want to waste a memory question on Banger, whom he could ask anytime.

  “Now it’s your turn, young lady,” Dring said to the Vergallian girl. “What do you want to ask Samuel?”

  Ailia didn’t hesitate for a second.

  “Do you remember on the show when we shared the crayons, and you said that’s what friends do?” she asked eagerly.

  “That was for the show,” Samuel said dismissively, looking at the floor. “I was just acting.”

  “Oh,” Ailia said, and her perfect little face started to crumple. She had a horrible thought. What if Aisha and the rest of the McAllisters were just acting about liking her?

  Banger poked his friend with his pincer and pointed at the girl, who was beginning to cry.

  “I mean, we all act on the show, but I guess we’re friends at home, sort-of.” It was a major concession for the boy.

  “Really?” Ailia asked in English, one of the words she’d picked up from Dorothy.

  “I guess,” Samuel reiterated.

  The girl tapped her ear cuff, which translated the phrase into, “positive assumption with a high degree of certitude.” Although the high caste Vergallians matured physically at about half the rate of humans, it was due to the fact that their bodies invested so much more energy in developing their cognitive skills in their early years, especially useful for the highly nuanced language. She stopped crying and smiled happily.

  “Now you get to ask me a memory question, young Stryx,” Dring said. He never would have thought of trying to evoke Samuel’s sympathy if he hadn’t read through Kelly’s collection of children’s books. They offered a much better operating manual for the human psyche than the medical books he’d also studied.

  “When Metoo was High Priest of the Kasilians, did he really make the decisions, or were you there to tell him what to do?” Banger asked. The young Stryx in Libby’s experimental school all looked up to Jeeves and Metoo as heroes, but there was some debate over how much they were being advised by the older Stryx, and in Metoo’s case, by the Maker as well.

  “Metoo would often ask me to help him explain things to the Kasilians, but as far as I know, he made his own decisions,” Dring replied. “The Kasilians were quite capable of taking care of themselves, of course, once Metoo made the decision for them to abandon their home world.”

  “Thank you,” Banger said, applying his recent lesson from Samuel.

  “Since Beowulf isn’t back yet, I’ll go ahead with my turn and ask Ailia a question,” Dring said. “What is your happiest memory since coming to Union Station?”

  “I have two,” the girl replied. “When the Mrs. McAllisters said I was going to live in their home, and just now, when Samuel said that we were friends as a positive assumption with a high degree of certitude.”

  Samuel tapped his ear cuff after the flood of Vergallian, and heard, “when Samuel said that we were friends, he guessed.” He looked at Ailia, blushed, and looked at the floor. She’d never be as good as Banger or a little boy, but at least she wasn’t as bossy as Dorothy and Mist.

  Beowulf came trotting back to Dring’s, the foam plane held gently in his mouth. It had taken him a number of tries to determine that by repositioning the weight in the slot, the plane would glide straight rather than looping. He added an “accidental” crimp with his canines to lock the weight in place. It would be much more fun watching the boy chasing the plane than craning his own head around and waiting for a surprise attack from behind.

  Fifteen

  “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your coming,” Kelly said to Shaina. The two women had met by appointment in the hallway outside the waiting room of the Thark arbitrator, and entered together. “If only you’d been on the station when I signed the contract, I know we wouldn’t be here today.”

  “I’m sure you’ve been hearing this from everybody, but you really shouldn’t have signed a Grenouthian contract without legal representation,” Shaina replied, trying not to sound overly critical. “You have to think of the entertainment industry as a law office with a subsidiary that does show business. And how come you didn’t ask Libby for help?”

  “I don’t know,” Kelly responded. “No, that’s not true, I do know. I wanted to show everybody that I could handle it myself.”

  “Well, you did make them agree to binding arbitration on Union Station,” Shaina said. “That was smart. If you had signed the original contract you showed me, the governing law and the jurisdiction were both on the Grenouthian home world. I’ve heard they have a backlog of decades, and you have to be resident during the waiting period or your case is dismissed.”

  “I’m not a complete idiot,” Kelly muttered, though as it happened, Joe had warned her about jurisdiction and governing law in contracts before she went to meet the Grenouthian producer the first time. She glanced at the faux mechanical wristwatch Shaina had helped her buy when they first met in the Shuk. “I wonder where the producer is. It’s almost time.”

  The door to the arbitration chambers slid open, and a casually dressed Drazen woman emerged with a smile that practically split her face in two. A few seconds later, Bork followed her, looking like he’d been served a bowl of dirt for breakfast and told to like it. The Thark arbitrator stuck his head out, nodded at Kelly, noted that the Grenouthians hadn’t arrived yet, and withdrew.

  “Bork!” Kelly said loudly, as the Drazen walked right past without seeing her. “Am I wearing an invisibility projector or something?”

  The Drazen ambassador jerked his head around and made a conscious effort to become aware of his surroundings.

  “My apologies, Ambassador,” he said formally. “I just received a final decision from the arbitrator, tens of millions of creds of liability.”

  “That’s terrible,” Kelly said in sympathy. “Who was that woman?”

  “A Wanderer attorney, the worst kind,” Bork replied, collapsing into the seat next to Kelly. “She produced a contract signed by one of my predecessors many thousands of years ago, promising to replace the piles on all of the Drazen colony ships in their habitat cluster when the first one failed. There was a recall out on that model of colony ship at the time, which the Wanderers agreed to forfeit, since it involved the terraforming equipment they didn’t use. In return, the Drazen ambassador, acting for the shipyard, agreed to the insane warranty deal for the piles. Everybody knows the Wanderers run these ships until they fall apart.”

  “And what did the arbitrator say?” Shaina asked.

  “That I didn’t have a tentacle to hang from,” Bork groaned. “The contract was clear, and it even specified Thark arbitration for any difficulties. Despite the fact that it was a ridiculously bad deal signed by a first-year ambassador who neither consulted with the home office nor filed the contract in the embassy system, it’s valid. The Thark had it on record, both in their own system and with the Stryx. If Ambassador Fadok hadn’t died thousands of years ago, and if his family hadn’t sold the shipyard—well, that’s all vacuum under the keel, now.”

  “Joe said something to me about going out to look at a pile for you,” Kelly said. “Did he do something wrong?”

  “No, it’s not his fault,” Bork replied. “In fact, it’s a miracle the things held up as long as they have. I’m just sorry the Zarents couldn’t keep it humming until somebody else was the Drazen ambassador.” Having an audience for his compl
aints helped, and Bork began to perk up, at which point it dawned on him that the humans weren’t hanging out in the arbitrator’s waiting room for no reason. “May I ask what the two of you are doing here?”

  “It’s my contract with the Grenouthians,” Kelly explained. “The show they’re doing is a travesty. They stole my ideas and did the exact opposite, right down the line. They’re even using the questionnaires I prepared to pick the most immature and xenophobic audience members for contestants, the first ones I would have screened out.”

  “Do you have the contract with you?” Bork asked. Shaina handed over her tab, and the Drazen ambassador rapidly paged through it, recording images through his implant. Then he gazed blankly at the far wall while reading the translation on his heads-up display.

  “Not good,” he muttered. “No, not good at all. Oh, no. They’re still including that clause in contracts? I thought the Stryx banned it. No, no, ugh. I’m sorry Kelly. I’ve signed plenty of Grenouthian contracts over the years for my work in the immersives and I’m afraid they gave you the standard model, which is to say, the version they wish they could get everybody to sign. But here, the one thing you have going for you is the royalties. That’s actually an above-market rate.”

  “I got that from Aisha,” Kelly admitted. “She renegotiated a few months ago, or rather, her Thark counsel did, and the Grenouthians caved on royalties when I told them I saw her contract. I didn’t get quite as much, but it was five times what they initially offered.”

  “That’s how it is with contracts,” Shaina said grimly. “When they’re dealing with amateurs, they’ll be flexible with the top line numbers, but they pretend that the rest of the language is carved in stone.”

  “The show is doing very well in the ratings,” Bork mused. “If you’re willing to give up some of those royalties, it’s a nice bonus for them, so they may display a little flexibility. What is it you want?”

  “I want my show back!” Kelly exclaimed. “They can keep all of the royalties, I don’t care. I just don’t want my name on their version, they may as well shoot the whole thing in an x-rated pirate’s bar. It’s bad enough that the host is human, but I talked to Mr. Clavitts and his contract is ironclad. When he signed, he was only worried that they would discontinue the show and dump him. Now he’s stuck.”

  “Remember, you promised not to open your mouth in chambers if I came along.” Shaina issued this stern warning to Kelly, and then turned to explain to Bork. “She’s not very business savvy, but I think we can do better than just walking away. She really wanted to do something positive.”

  “If you’re willing to give up the money, you might get the Grenouthians to agree to another show, but I wouldn’t expect them to offer more than the use of a small studio and crew,” Bork said. “The Grenouthians are overstaffed because every bunny and his cousin wants into the business, and they always have more than enough equipment. But there’s still a huge difference between a show with a budget and those public service bits they use to fill bandwidth when nobody is watching.”

  The door to the corridor slid open and a string of Grenouthians filed in. Kelly recognized the producer, of course, but he appeared to be under instruction from his advocates not to acknowledge her.

  “I’ve never seen such a scary bunch of bunnies,” Shaina whispered to Kelly as the Grenouthians settled on the bench as far from the humans as possible. “Remember. Let me do the talking when we get inside.”

  The Thark arbitrator must have been monitoring the waiting room because the door to his chambers slid open a moment after the Grenouthians seated themselves. Perhaps making them get up as soon as they sat down was his revenge for their making him wait.

  “Shall I join you, just to balance the sides a little?” Bork asked the EarthCent ambassador.

  “Would you?” Kelly immediately felt better. She had tremendous confidence in Shaina’s deal-making ability, but all of the Hadads were small people, and the Grenouthians were so large.

  They entered the arbitrator’s chambers and took their seats at the triangular table, with one of the Grenouthians forced to remain standing for lack of room on the bench. The Thark reserved one side of the equilateral triangle for himself, and his bench was plainly higher than the other two, since he managed to look down on all of the seated bunnies.

  “I am activating the recorder now, making this arbitration session binding,” the Thark warned them. “Any exchange including offer, acceptance and consideration, will be registered as a de facto modification to the current contract. Are you clear on the terms?”

  “Yes,” Shaina declared, her powerful alto voice always coming as a surprise to Kelly.

  “Get on with it,” the lead Grenouthian advocate grunted.

  “I have reviewed your written arguments, a prima facie case of creator’s regret. As the first step of the arbitration process, each party will give an oral summary of their position. This is to ensure that you are actually listening to each other.” The Thark arbitrator leaned forward, bridged his hands under his chin in a picture of concentration, and nodded at the Grenouthian attorney.

  “I would be derelict in my duty if I didn’t begin by pointing out that the human’s pouch is empty,” the bunny stated. “However, as the contract does stipulate this arbitration process to settle any differences, we will play along.”

  “What did he mean about my pouch being empty?” Kelly subvoced to Bork on his private channel, not wanting to distract Shaina.

  “It’s the same as not having a tentacle to hang from,” Bork subvoced back. “What’s the human expression? A leg to stand on.”

  “I have prepared a few key excerpts from the contract,” the Grenouthian continued. “May I patch into your display?”

  The Thark inclined his head briefly in response.

  “Here, I’ve circled it in red, and I’ll read aloud, since that was your request.” The advocate cleared his throat and then continued. “All final decisions about the content and production of the show, including the title, selection of contestants, questions, special effects, and action scenes, shall be made by the Director or the Producer assigned by the Grenouthian network. All artistic input from the Creator will be given due consideration, and the Director and Producer will make themselves available to meet with the Creator on the presentation of a written request, no more than six times per season.”

  “I’ve received no such request,” the producer interrupted, and then wilted under the glare of his attorney.

  “We could present further clauses that clearly delineate the roles and authority of the parties involved, but I don’t want to waste the arbitrator’s expensive time on an open-and-shut case,” the scary bunny concluded in a bored voice.

  The arbitrator showed no offense on hearing his time categorized as “expensive,” and turned to Kelly’s side of the table.

  “Ambassador McAllister signed a contract, with the encouragement of the Grenouthian Ambassador, who received a point in the production as a finder’s fee,” Shaina stated to begin her presentation. “From the first day of discussions, Ambassador McAllister made clear that her goal was to create a show that would lead to better understanding among species, and increase the visibility of EarthCent and humanity. Our Grenouthian friends, knowingly and by pre-design, produced a show that is the mirror opposite of Ambassador McAllister’s plan.”

  “Alleged pre-design,” the Grenouthian objected.

  “Objection noted, but you aren’t trying a court case here,” the Thark remarked.

  “The resulting show is damaging to both Ambassador McAllister’s diplomatic reputation, and to the EarthCent brand,” Shaina continued. “We have turned to contract arbitration in hopes of settling our differences, but the contract does not indemnify the Grenouthians from inflicting reputational damage.”

  The Grenouthian producer made a derisive sound and began whispering to his legal representative. At first, the advocate looked annoyed, but then he began paying attention, and finally, he showed
his lower teeth in amusement.

  “If you choose to pursue damages, we will meet you in court,” the bunny said smoothly. “Of course, we would be forced to present evidence of the ambassador’s self-inflicted reputational damage over the years, which I understand is both well-documented and copious.”

  Kelly glowered at the Grenouthians, but from the moment Shaina had told her about the damages gambit, she knew that they couldn’t go to court for just that reason. From putting a young Stryx in a coma from emotional shock, to crying on the podium at an important interstellar conference, the ambassador had too many reputational skeletons in her closet to cast the first stone.

  “Now, if we have the threats and counter-threats out of the way, let’s hear what you hoped to accomplish by coming here and paying my exorbitant fees,” the arbitrator stated. “Let’s start with you this time,” he added, nodding to Shaina.

  “Ambassador McAllister requests that her name be removed from all credits and viewer guides related to Species Wars, and that she receive a broadcast slot and production support for the show she was originally contracted to produce,” Shaina said succinctly.

  The Grenouthian counsel turned his head sixty degrees to look directly at Shaina for the first time. He hadn’t actually put much effort into preparing for the arbitration session since it was an obvious win for the network. But the producer had led him to believe that Kelly was demanding immediate cancellation of the hit show, something that the Grenouthians would never have done, even if the arbitrator found against them. What the little one had asked for sounded more like a negotiation.

  “I request a few minutes to confer with my client,” the giant bunny said. He turned back to the Thark, who as usual, merely inclined his head in response. The Grenouthians all rose and trooped out to the waiting room.

  “I think it’s going pretty well,” Bork ventured, impressed with Shaina’s nerve. His own arbitration session had been a disaster, mainly because the Wanderer representative had custom, practice, the law, and a contract registered by both the Tharks and the Stryx on her side. In retrospect, the Drazen ambassador wasn’t sure why he had ever requested arbitration in the first place, because, as the Thark admitted, the fee was exorbitant. “If he mentions the royalties when they come back in, it means you have them by the belly fur.”