by E. M. Foner
“The jewel in the crown of our perfume operations,” Glunk said proudly. “You can’t beat a dog’s nose, they’re even better than ours. We’ve employed extensive testing to identify some of the smartest pups on Earth. It’s well worth the investment in training, and,” the Drazen lowered his voice to a whisper, “they work for food and affection. I was afraid they might unionize in protest over having to wear the shedding containment suits, but nobody appreciates dog hair in a two-hundred-cred vial of perfume.”
“Uh, boss?” Billy said, tapping the Drazen’s elbow to get his attention. A few yards in front of them on the catwalk sat an intelligent looking German Shepherd in a shedding containment suit, her head cocked to the left, listening intently.
“As I was saying,” Glunk proclaimed loudly. “Training the dogs is expensive, and they’re eating me out of house and home, but their sense of smell is almost as good as our own.” Then he ushered the humans forward, skirting the dog, who gave the Drazen entrepreneur a calculating look as they passed. When they reached a second airlock door at the end of a long catwalk, he looked around carefully before saying, “I keep forgetting about their hearing. Sometimes I take my lunch outside, and the instant I tear anything open, every dog on the factory grounds shows up to ask for some.”
“The native Drazen dogs don’t hear well?” Joe asked.
“It’s an adaptation to our singing, I think,” Glunk replied. “Not every Drazen woman is choir material, but that doesn’t stop them from practicing day and night.”
The airlock door hissed open, the group entered, and this time the decontamination procedures kicked in. First, an electric field made all of their hair stand up on end, though the hood of Kelly’s environmental suit muted the full effect in her case. Then air began blowing through the heavy steel screening of the floor, increasing in speed until Joe had to put a hand on Samuel’s shoulder to keep the boy from being lifted off his feet. Billy leaned toward the two and shouted, “Hold your breaths,” and a few seconds later, the air filled with a silvery powder, which vanished almost as quickly as it appeared. Then the blowers stopped, and the outer airlock slid open.
“Did you inhale any of that?” Joe asked his wife.
“The Horten microfilter wouldn’t allow it through,” Billy assured them.
“Welcome to my side business,” Glunk said, ushering them out of the airlock. “This isn’t part of the regular tour since Drazen Foods is prime contractor in name alone, but Bork asked my help in cutting through the red tape for our Museum of Science and Technology. It turned out that the museum director acted a bit hastily when she offered your president the restoration job for the ‘Long Shot.’ Some busybody dug through the museum’s charter and discovered that donated spacecraft must remain in Drazen custody at all times.”
“Is that what we’re looking at?” Kelly asked, trying to make sense of the jumble of linear antennas entwined in copper cables. “That thing is the first successful Drazen jump ship?”
“Just one of the focal nodes,” the Drazen informed her. “There are thirty-six in all, and they’re bringing them down one at a time for rewinding. I’m not a physics type myself, so don’t ask me how it works.”
“Don’t look at me,” Joe said, when Kelly and Samuel turned in his direction. “I can replace parts on the modern ones when they go out of spec, but I’m the last guy who could explain to you how they work. We didn’t have a lot of time for advanced physics in the mercenaries, and I don’t know if there’s a human alive who really understands the math.”
“At least one man is coming close,” Glunk said. “The whole project is run by a fellow named Hep, who is here on a five-year contract. Your people found him on a Verlock open world, Fyndal, where he headed the human division of the academy. I’m afraid he’s off at some academic conference this week trying to explain to your native physicists why general relativity is just a special case in any of the advanced models.”
“By ‘any of,’ are you implying that there’s more than one?” Kelly asked.
“Even I know that, Mom,” Samuel said impatiently. “Did you think that the Drazens and the Verlocks and the Frunge and the Hortens all use the same system of physics? As the Vergallians say, ‘There’s more than one way to skin a rebellious peasant,’ and none of the biologicals have a clue how Stryx multiverse math works, except for maybe the Cayl.”
“I just thought that they had different names for the same physical laws,” his mother said.
“Nope,” the boy replied, before asking Glunk, “Is it okay if I record some pictures through my implant? It would make a really cool show-and-tell for my school.”
Six
“In conclusion, uh, following multiple reports of trouble brewing between imperial factions in the Vergallian Empire, we, I mean, EarthCent Intelligence, will be meeting with our counterparts in Drazen Intelligence to discuss the situation, and, uh, there’s some talk of putting together a broad working group of interested species to stay abreast of the situation.”
Lynx exhaled with relief and made a swiping motion to clear her notes from the display desk. She couldn’t help wondering if Kelly had really done all of her weekly reports extemporaneously. Even with the script, she suspected some “uhs” and “I means” had crept in, but she had never thought of herself as a public speaker.
“Daniel is waiting to see you,” Libby announced.
“Thanks. Why doesn’t he come in?”
“You locked the door.”
“Oh, I forgot. Can you open it?”
“I could, but it’s traditional to do it yourself,” the Stryx librarian explained.
Lynx got up and went to the door, waving her hand to disengage the proximity lock. It slid open immediately, and Daniel almost ran into her entering Kelly’s office.
“Get through the report okay this time?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you. Second time’s the charm, and the fill-in-the-blanks template you made for me really helped. Are you done for the week?”
“I have holo-conferences scheduled pretty much every day now,” Daniel told her. “You’ve visited a number of open worlds, so you know how the humans living on them tend to go native. If I skip a single holo-conference, they end up arguing over whether to conduct the meetings by the Prince’s Debate Rules, Choir Order or Stone Law, just to name three.”
“I’m guessing that’s Dollnick, Drazen, or Verlock procedures. So what system do you favor?”
“I just make it up as I go along and claim it’s from EarthCent diplomatic training. Anyway, did you open your envelope from Kelly yet?”
“I knew I forgot something. Now where did I put it? Does this desk even have drawers?”
“Check your purse,” Libby hinted.
“Thanks.” The cultural attaché fished in her purse and brought out an envelope with ‘Lynx’ printed on it. “I’ve been carrying this around since Kelly gave it to me almost two weeks ago, and I forgot about it. Were we supposed to open them right away?”
“I think so,” Daniel replied. “Take a look at mine.”
Lynx accepted the note and read, “If you and Donna can’t figure something out and Libby won’t help for noninterference reasons, ask Bork, Czeros, or Srythlan. If you’re really desperate, try Jeeves. If you have extra time, Daniel is overloaded with conference work and can use a hand.” She stopped and looked up. “Kelly gave you the wrong note?”
“What does your say?”
Lynx checked the envelope carefully and noted with relief that the flap hadn’t been glued down. “I had a bad experience once with one of these things,” she explained, fishing out the note and passing it to Daniel.
“Don’t start any wars,” he read. “Hah. Hah. Lynx will have her hands full doing two jobs when Clive and Blythe go on semi-vacation, so don’t load her down with conference work. Remember that Donna has been here longer than any of us and knows more about how the system works than I do.”
“She gives decent advice,” Lynx commented grudgingly.
“What’s a semi-vacation?” Daniel asked.
“Clive and Blythe took the twins camping in Libbyland, so they’re only a ping away if we need to talk to them. But I’m supposed to be in charge of EarthCent Intelligence while they’re on vacation, with Thomas as second in command.”
“I thought Wooj was right behind Clive,” Daniel said.
“Apparently, so did he,” Lynx remarked dryly. “It’s always been Clive, then Blythe, then me, then Thomas. Since we’re primarily an information-gathering organization, all of the day-to-day work is handled by the analysts in the main office. Woojin sort of points them at strategic gaps we need to fill in, and he reads all of the reports, but Clive is the one who answers to the steering committee.”
“Visitor,” Libby announced. “It’s Dring.”
Lynx and Daniel exchanged looks, then went together to meet the Maker at the door. As the only local representative of the species that had created the Stryx, Dring was venerated by many of the aliens as a sort of demigod, and his shape-shifting nature only increased their awe. But living as he did in a corner of Mac’s Bones, he had become a familiar figure to the humans who were friends with the ambassador’s family.
“Good evening, Mrs. Cultural Attaché, Mr. Consul,” Dring addressed them formally. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
“Please come in, Dring,” Lynx said, trying not to betray the nervousness she felt about the Maker seeking her out at the embassy. “Is there something wrong?”
“The matter of an unpaid debt,” Dring stated gravely, leading the two humans to exchange looks again. Lynx wondered if Daniel had been running up gambling losses and borrowing from the friendly shape-shifter, who was known to be a soft touch, while Daniel flashed back to a fairy tale about a magical dragon who granted women’s wishes.
“Does the embassy owe you money?” Lynx ventured.
Dring thumped his tail once and made an apologetic noise. “I see I have given you the wrong impression. The debt is mine, and I wish to repay it.”
“Oh. Well, Donna handles the petty cash and she’s gone home already, but with all the security we have these days, I’m sure you could leave it on her desk.”
“Maybe on her chair, where it will be out of sight,” Daniel recommended.
“It is not a money debt,” the Maker explained. “The ambassador and her family have done so much for me, taking me into their home and helping my kind reestablish our relationship with the Stryx. I believe the time has come to do something in return.”
“You don’t pay rent?” Lynx asked.
“Three hundred creds a cycle,” Dring affirmed. “It’s a fair price for parking space, but as I said, this is not a money issue.”
“Why do you say the time is now?” Daniel asked. “Do you want to help out while the ambassador is away?”
“I wish to make a public acknowledgement of my debt, and the ambassador’s absence offers the perfect opportunity to plan the event undetected.”
“You mean you want to throw a surprise party?” Lynx guessed.
“Exactly. I intend to invite dignitaries from all of the species who have worked with the ambassador, but it seems to me that it would be improper to organize such an affair without the input of your diplomatic service. I want to seek your support and guidance, but I ask you to keep it a secret from your superiors on Earth until the ambassador has departed for her return trip. My experience with your people suggests it would be impossible to maintain the surprise once anybody on Earth hears about it.”
“But what about all of the aliens you’re inviting?” Daniel asked. “Won’t somebody spill the beans?”
“Never!” Dring exclaimed, sounding quite shocked. “Surprise parties, as you call them, are a sacred trust. Even the Grenouthians wouldn’t stoop as low as to report on such an event before it took place.”
“If you say so,” Lynx said, sounding unconvinced. “I don’t see any problem with it from the diplomatic standpoint, but I’m not really much of a party planner. You should talk with Donna Doogal.”
“I hate to bother her at home…”
“She’ll probably come with Stanley for tonight’s poker game,” Daniel said. “He’s taking Joe’s seat.”
“Wonderful. The two of you and your families will be invited, of course, and perhaps you could prepare speeches. Personally, I’m a fan of Verlock surprise parties, which traditionally include thirteen presentations and two cycles of lectures in honor of the subject, but I also enjoy the Frunge roasts, which put the emphasis on humorous stories. The Drazen boasting feasts are laudable, but you can’t count on a mixed group of attendees for singing. Of course, the Cayl…”
“Excuse me,” Daniel interrupted. “Rather than a surprise party where people drink too much and have a good time, I’m guessing you mean something like a surprise awards dinner, where the ambassador gets all of the trophies.”
“Now you have it,” Dring said, displaying his blunt teeth in an herbivore’s smile. “Do you think I should tell the guests who agree to speak to bring plaques? Or I could create a series of statuettes for presentation. We could even give the event a name, like, ‘The Kellys.’”
“I really think you need to, uh, consult with Donna about all of this,” Lynx said. “It would be a shame to go to all of the work only for the ambassador to be made uncomfortable.”
“She gets embarrassed by praise,” Daniel added.
Dring sighed deeply. “I’m afraid I’ve been projecting my own ambitions for the perfect night onto an unwitting victim. I shall follow Mrs. Doogal’s advice to the letter.” He turned and waddled out the door, looking somewhat less energized than when he had entered.
“I hope we didn’t discourage him too much,” Daniel commented.
“Better to be honest than to put the ambassador on the spot,” Lynx replied philosophically. “If anybody knows what Kelly wants, it’s Donna. They’re best friends and they’ve been working together for nearly twenty-five years.”
“Another visitor,” Libby announced. “It’s Woojin.”
“I’ve got to run,” Daniel said. “I’ll be back in the morning if you’re looking for me tomorrow. See you at the game.”
“Tell Shaina I’m winning my money back tonight.”
Woojin and Daniel passed each other in the outer office with a polite nod, and the older man continued on into his wife’s temporary office.
“It couldn’t wait until I get home?” Lynx asked.
“Haven’t swept there for bugs recently,” Woojin replied. “This is official business.”
Lynx frowned and waved the door closed, and then added the swipe gesture that engaged the lock.
“Something wrong?”
“Our analysts picked up an uncoded transmission from the Empire of a Hundred Worlds to the Vergallian Fleet, warning them about an Imperial destroyer that went missing. They suspect it was either a mutiny, or the officers and crew decided to go dark. In any case, it happened deep inside Vergallian space.”
“Why would the Imperial Admiralty send Fleet an uncoded message?”
“Fleet doesn’t answer to the Empire, and they aren’t officially part of the tunnel network. It was a special deal the Stryx accepted to get the bulk of the Vergallians onboard. The imperial Vergallians have their own home navy for planetary defense, but they don’t need the heavy artillery now that they’re under tunnel network protection.”
“So why would they warn Fleet at all?”
“Our Vergallian division head thinks that the warning was actually intended for all of the species, but the Empire saves face by not having to contact us officially about their internal schisms. After all, it’s just one warship among thousands to them, but I’d hate to see what it could do to an unprotected planet.”
“I’ve been attending all of the briefings and reading most of the reports, but I still don’t get what it’s about. As near as I can tell, Vergallian Fleet is actually better behaved than the Empire of a Hundred Worlds. The
y just weren’t ready for the constraints the Stryx place on tunnel network members, and they were too honorable to sign up with false intentions. Dorothy’s friend Affie is Fleet.”
“Bork tells me that the Drazen head of intelligence is on his way here to discuss the situation with us. One possibility for why this schism has bubbled to the surface in the last two generations is humans. The Vergallians were getting ready to add Earth to the Empire of a Hundred Worlds when the Stryx stepped in and made us a protectorate for unrelated reasons. We’re the closest humanoid type to Vergallians, and they seem to feel that they were robbed somehow.”
“Closest humanoid type? Because we look the same and the upper caste women’s pheromones work on humans? We evolved on different worlds, and even if our biology has similarities, there must be endless differences at the genome level.”
“Maybe,” Woojin said, welcoming the opportunity to bring the conversation around to a different subject. “When I took that sick trainee I told you about to a Farling physician, the beetle said that they all refer to humans as Vergallian Lite.”
“Don’t talk to me about Farlings,” Lynx grumbled darkly. “They made me change my name just to dock at one of their orbitals. Did I ever tell you the story?”
“Several times. And you also told me about the Farling drug you accidentally absorbed through your skin that put you in suspended animation for a week. They’re far and away the best doctors and medical manipulators among the biologicals, even if they’re giant insects themselves. They’re the ones who do the interspecies dog crosses, like Beowulf before his reincarnation.”
“Alright, so the beetles are leaders in the field of genetics. They hate humanoids, you know.”
“They don’t hate humanoids, they look down on us as vastly inferior. There’s a difference.”
“Is there a point to all of this?”
“When I was in the med bay, the doctor asked about my problem.”
“Here it comes,” Lynx groaned. “What did the Farling quack sell you? Powdered rhinoceros horn?”
“I’m being serious here. I stopped in to his medical shop on the arrivals concourse on the way here from my weekly meeting with our intelligence analysts, and he did a full work-up.”
