Book Night on Union Station (EarthCent Ambassasor 13)

by E. M. Foner

  “I think we have a volunteer,” Herl declared, firing the ride back up before the humans could object. A few seconds later, the dog was airborne, whirling around in tight circles so fast that Joe could just make out a pink streak described by the tongue hanging from Beowulf’s mouth.

  “No, Alexander!” Paul shouted at the younger dog, who decided it was time to join in the fun.

  Either Alex couldn’t hear the command over the roar from the fans, or he had decided it was a good time to suffer from the selective hearing loss particular to Cayl hounds and certain breeds of Earth dogs, because he charged across the training grounds and leapt into the moving funnel cloud, nearly colliding with his sire.

  “Bad dog,” Herl muttered, trying to regain control of the whirlwind through his implant as Joe punched the kill switch again.

  The mass of the new dog adding his own momentum in the same direction as the spin caused the vortex to tip upwards, fighting against the stability of the fan platform, and then to swing violently back in the opposite direction as Herl tried to compensate. The funnel cloud weakened as the fans spun down, and then both dogs flew out of the vortex in opposite directions, high above the deck. Beowulf landed hard on the opposite side of the training grounds, while Alexander hit the deck not far from the men and almost reached them in an uncontrolled roll.

  “They’ll be fine,” Joe said hopefully as the men started forward. “The Cayl breed them tough.”

  Before he could reach Alexander, Beowulf’s son was up and fleeing towards Kevin’s ship and safety, his sire barreling after him in a not-quite-straight line.

  “That’s it for the power pack,” Herl said cheerfully. “You know, if the price is reasonable, I’d be interested in purchasing a Tornado myself. I’ll have to check with the Stryx about running it in one of the empty docking bays. You have too much stuff in here to take it beyond the lowest power setting.”

  Eight

  “It’s not much of a meeting room, but it’s all the admin would give us on short notice,” Lizant informed Samuel. The Frunge girl shrugged off her backpack as the other students on the committee filed in behind her and found places around the table. The Dollnick and Grenouthian both rushed for the only bench seat that would fit their large bodies without squeezing, and the Verlock, who was slow-footed and used to standing, simply remained near the door as if he was on sentry duty.

  “Have you already voted on committee officers?” the Sharf student asked. She settled her skeletal frame into a chair, though her knees came dangerously close to the bottom of the table.

  “We didn’t vote, but Samuel is the president, I’m the vice president, and Lizant volunteered to be secretary,” Vivian replied. “Do you want to introduce yourself to the others, Yvandi?”

  The Sharf girl shrugged. “I’m Yvandi, and as long as I don’t have to be an officer, I’m cool with whatever you guys agreed on.”

  “We didn’t so much agree on it as Vivian told us the way it will be,” Jorb said. “She has a big presence for a little Human.”

  Lizant brought out her student tab, tapped a few symbols, and placed it on the table. “The rules say that I have to record the meetings for the university archives, so everybody keep it in mind.”

  “Can you edit the recording if we slip up?” Marilla asked.

  “No. It’s an official archive thing. My tab is just acting as a mic now that it’s enabled.”

  The students all clamped their lips shut on receiving this information and looked in the direction of the committee executives. Vivian nudged Samuel, who gave her a reproachful look before reluctantly beginning.

  “All right. I call this meeting of the Open University Student Committee for—what was it?”

  Vivian pushed her own tab in front of him.

  “Sorry. The Open University Proposal Evaluation Student Committee.”

  “What about it?” Vivian prompted him.

  “Oh. I call it to order.” He glanced down at the tab and continued, “Is there any unfinished business from our last meeting?”

  “This is our first meeting,” the Grenouthian pointed out.

  “Right. Does anybody have any new business to bring before the committee?”

  “I do,” Marilla said, turning a pale shade of yellow despite her confident tone. “Have you all seen the interview with the EarthCent embassy’s office manager in the Galactic Free Press?”

  “You read the Human paper?” Jorb inquired skeptically.

  “I do when it involves my committee work,” the Horten girl replied. “According to the student handbook, sitting on a recognized committee counts as much towards leadership certification as two courses in management.”

  The other students all sat up a little straighter at this news, and Grude asked, “Is the credit contingent on our contributions? Is somebody judging us?”

  “The handbook didn’t say, though I’m thinking of putting in for a bonus for learning English.”

  “You learned English just to read a Galactic Free Press article for this meeting?” Samuel asked.

  “No, I picked it up from sitting in the studio while my sister is on ‘Let’s Make Friends,’” the Horten replied. “It took a couple cycles of turning my implant off and on to get the hang of it, but Humanese is a pretty simple language, after all.”

  “Interview related to committee?” Wrylenth asked from his place at the doorway.

  “It seems that we aren’t the only group working towards fitting out the Dollnick colony ship for EarthCent.”

  “Eccentric Enterprises,” Vivian corrected her.

  “Same difference,” Marilla said. “According to the interview, the EarthCent embassy is already in consultations with the Human colonists the ship will be visiting.”

  “Like they’ll know what’s good for them,” the Grenouthian committee member said dismissively.

  “The interview also talked about the sorts of functions that EarthCent,” she paused at Vivian’s cough and let out an exaggerated sigh, “that Eccentric Enterprises would like to accomplish with Flower. My question is whether this committee needs to coordinate with…whoever.”

  “Why doesn’t everybody pull up a translated copy of the Galactic Free Press on their tabs so we all know what we’re discussing,” Samuel suggested

  “Is there a budget for this subscription?” the Grenouthian asked suspiciously.

  “I read the free version, and your tabs should offer automatic translation,” Marilla told him. Just as the committee members all located the article and started reading, an unfamiliar but attractive student stuck her head through the door.

  “Hey guys. Who’s up for ordering a takeout pizza from the Little Apple?” the newcomer asked.

  “Earth wedges?” Jorb pulled out his change purse. “I’m in for half.”

  “Can I get mine without the dough?” Lizant requested without looking up.

  “Holo solicitation,” the Sharf girl sniffed.

  Wrylenth cautiously waved his arm through the space occupied by the uninvited guest. “Advertisement,” he confirmed.

  “It must have been triggered by all of us opening the free version of the paper,” the Grenouthian said, unable to hide his admiration for the feat. “Sponsored content.”

  “That doesn’t make me any less hungry,” the Drazen complained. “How about it, Lizant? We can get no crust on your half and double crust on mine. I usually just fold it over anyway.”

  “You’re all out of order,” Marilla declared. “My business is still on the table.”

  “She’s probably right,” Samuel said. “Let’s hold off on food for now. In regards to our Horten colleague’s question, I’m sure you know my mother is the EarthCent Ambassador and Vivian’s parents kind of run EarthCent Intelligence and finance Eccentric Enterprises, but nobody has said anything to us about coordination. I think they all see the Open University competition as a Stryx thing, so they don’t want to interfere.”

  “The interview is with my grandmother,” Vivian ad
ded in the interest of full disclosure.

  “You guys are worse than we are,” the Dollnick student said enviously. “No wonder you’re killing everybody in Dynastic Studies.”

  “It just happened that way. Marilla had a great question and I’ll talk to my parents about it when I get home, but for the time being, we should proceed on the assumption that we’re working independently.”

  “Ask them about funds,” the Sharf student said. “The Human communities on Open Worlds probably have money, and maybe they’ll make some of it available for projects that we approve.”

  “Stryx offered financing for approved projects,” the Verlock grated out.

  “All right. Does anybody else have new business?” Samuel asked.

  “Bribes,” Wrylenth declared.

  The Grenouthian shot the Verlock a sour look. “Thanks for spoiling it for the rest of us. You know how immature the Humans are about this sort of stuff.”

  “What bribes?” Samuel asked.

  “Students want proposals approved,” the Verlock elaborated.

  “But we haven’t even received any proposals to consider yet.”

  “Students waiting to learn pricing.”

  “The way I see it, there should be a fee to prevent frivolous proposals from wasting our time,” the Grenouthian student argued. “Otherwise, all the students in business courses will treat it like some kind of Stryx lottery, and they’ll bury us in half-baked schemes they haven’t invested any time in. By charging a modest sum for submissions, we’ll save a lot of work and improve the quality.”

  Lizant shook her head. “Sorry, but this was covered in the orientation I had to sit through to become the official secretary. The committee can’t charge to evaluate proposals.”

  “How about individual committee members, as a sort of a consulting service?” the Grenouthian followed up.

  “You have to report any fees you accept to the committee and recuse yourself from sitting in on those evaluations.”

  “That’s settled then,” Samuel said, gaining confidence in his new role. “Any other new business?”

  “Shouldn’t we publish proposal guidelines?” Yvandi inquired. “Especially since we won’t be applying a monetary filter.”

  “Sam and I prepared draft guidelines which I’ll zap to your tabs if you’ll enable local push.” The students all fumbled through their native versions of the standard student tab menus to find the option, and then looked expectantly at the girl. “Sent. Everybody get them?”

  “I’ve seen proposals for new network shows shorter than these guidelines,” the Grenouthian grumbled. “Hasn’t your species ever heard of the lift tube capsule pitch?”

  “These look really familiar,” Grude said. “I wanted to prepare for this meeting so I bought—”

  “Committees For Humans,” Marilla completed the Dollnick’s sentence. “I rented a copy from the university bookstore. This is all from the chapter about requests for proposals.”

  “We may have used it as a template,” Vivian confessed.

  “Is that the Human word for plagiarism?” the Grenouthian inquired loftily.

  “Her aunt owns the publishing company so we’re safe on that front,” Samuel shot back. “As to the guidelines being too detailed, where do you suggest we cut?”

  “Why are you asking university students about their related work experience and their existing facilities and equipment inventory?” the Grenouthian demanded. “You have sections for listing consultants, something called, ‘prior, current or pending support,’ and a cost proposal. The whole thing reminds me of our documentary about the government boondoggles on your world before the Stryx stepped in.”

  “Wait a sec,” Vivian said. “Drat, I sent you the unedited file. Here’s our cut-down version.”

  “Oh, well that’s better,” Lizant said a moment later.

  “Works for me,” Jorb contributed.

  “Third,” Marilla stated formally, displaying her mastery of procedures detailed in Committees For Humans.

  “Distribution?” Wrylenth asked.

  “I can pin the proposal guidelines to the original announcement posted by the university admin, and anybody who accessed it will get an update notification,” Lizant told them.

  “Any further new business?” Samuel inquired.

  The Dollnick raised one of his four hands tentatively.

  “You can just speak out, Grude.”

  “Well, I think there should be some discussion of maximizing Flower’s existing capacity before we rush to install new equipment. She is a full colony ship with terraforming capability, not just a transport.”

  “I don’t think they’ll be undertaking any terraforming missions,” the Horten girl said. “The interview indicated that the goal is to bring improvements to existing Human communities, so Flower can’t park in one place and work on a planet for a thousand years.”

  “Humans trying to live on their own will need lots of stuff,” Jorb contributed.

  “Dollnick colony ships include fully automated fabrication chambers—Flower wouldn’t have been able to keep up with her own maintenance otherwise,” Grude explained. “She might not be enthusiastic about whipping up replacement parts for archaic Human technology, but with blueprints from Earth and the right encouragement…”

  “Parts critical,” the Verlock student agreed. “Humans are opportunistic technology users. Require alien support.”

  “He’s right,” the Sharf girl jumped in. “Despite their low population and poor credit, Humans have become an important market for our used ships, especially two-man traders. My cousin is in the business and he makes more on the replacement parts than on the ships.”

  “Our entertainment archives take up almost no space and generate high-margin sales,” the Grenouthian student mused. “Of course, finding a family with the right network connections who are willing to be cooped up with a bunch of Humans for an extended period of time will be difficult.”

  “Our trade schools turn out far more metallurgists than we actually need, and I’ll bet a lot of Humans are working as asteroid prospectors,” Lizant added. “I know a couple of guys who would treat an extended cruise on a Dollnick colony ship as a vacation with a chance to work on their smelting skills.”

  “What you guys are all suggesting sounds more like a caravan than help for building government institutions,” Vivian pointed out.

  “Is that the mission?” the Grenouthian asked sarcastically. “I would have thought there would be a For Humans book that would cover everything they need to know.”

  “I think all of your suggestions are interesting,” Samuel said. “There’s way too much space on Flower to settle for running a few training programs and a school for gifted children. This whole project is sort of a solution in search of a problem, and maybe the best approach is to just be prepared for whatever comes up.”

  “A good library,” the Verlock said.

  “What kind of storage capacity for information does Flower have compared to a Stryx librarian?” Vivian asked Grude.

  The alien students all froze at the question, and the Dollnick looked like he wanted to crawl under the table and hide.

  “Nobody makes comparisons to the Stryx,” Lizant told the girl in a strained voice. “It’s like, I don’t know, trying to express a star’s output in candlepower.”

  Grude coughed self-consciously before adding, “I wasn’t going to bring this up, but when I used the bathroom during our visit to Flower, she asked me a few questions and talked about herself a little.”

  “While you were using the toilet?” Jorb demanded, looking even more shocked than when Vivian suggested comparing the Dollnick AI to the Stryx.

  “Yeah,” Grude said. “She wanted to know what I really thought about the project, and then she told some jokes about Human sanitation that I suspect she got from Grenouthian documentaries. I don’t think she would object to your bringing along a library, but I can’t picture her setting aside any of her own memory
capacity to store Human knowledge. She’s treating this whole thing like Buerton’s Tasks.”

  “Ah,” Wrylenth nodded in understanding.

  “Finally something that makes sense,” the Grenouthian student added.

  “Who’s Buerton?” Jorb beat Samuel to the question.

  “He was a prince from a couple million years ago who tried to establish himself as a king or an emperor,” Grude explained. “The other princes banded together and drove him out of Dollnick space. Buerton and his retainers repented, but they were forced to complete a series of tasks before they were allowed to return.”

  “What sort of tasks?” Samuel asked.

  “Impossible ones, or everybody thought they were impossible at the time. Like terraforming a planet that was still a ball of molten rock, or constructing a space elevator on a gas giant. It took generations for them to complete all of the tasks, but in the end, they were allowed to return to Dollnick space, and Buerton’s great-grandson was even given a place on the Princely Council.”

  “So you’re saying that we’re Flower’s punishment?” Vivian demanded, her voice rising.

  “No, no,” the Dollnick protested. “More of a challenge.”

  “It’s better than being a Sisyphean task,” Samuel commented.

  “Who’s that?” the Grenouthian demanded.

  “An ancient king who defied the gods. His punishment was to spend eternity in the underworld pushing a boulder up a hill, only to have it roll back down again.”

  “So he ended up compacting a smooth road,” Grude said.

  “I don’t think so. We use it to describe pointless tasks that seem to go on forever.”

  “How did you even know that?” Vivian asked.

  “I learned it from Dorothy. It was her favorite expression for complaining about homework. She must have gotten it from Libby.”

  “This is interesting,” Marilla announced, still looking at her tab. “The Galactic Free Press is posting reactions to the embassy manager’s interview from leaders of the communities you’re intending to serve.”

  “Like what?” Samuel asked.