LARP Night on Union Station

by E. M. Foner

  “Gross,” Affie said, turning her back to the girl. “Do me, now.”

  Dorothy fastened the back of her alien friend’s dress, and then ushered the two bridesmaids-to-be into the living area.

  “Now dance together so I can see how the dresses move,” she ordered.

  “I’ll lead,” Judith said. “I don’t know what I’m doing, but I always lead when I have to dance with Bob because he knows even less.”

  “Just wait until you have a few lessons with Marcus,” Dorothy told her. “You’ll be thanking me for the rest of your life.”

  Four

  “Aren’t you supposed to be at the Frunge coming-of-age ceremony on the park deck?” Donna asked Kelly.

  “Czeros told me that they start by washing the dirt out of the vestigial root system on the children’s feet and everybody gets good and muddy. Joe is picking me up in a few minutes and we’re going for the festive meal after the clean-up.”

  “So why did you come into the embassy?”

  “I thought you might let me take a peek at your sabbatical proposal. Don’t worry, I’m not going to steal your idea,” the ambassador added hastily. “I’m just really having trouble putting my concept into words and I thought that seeing yours might help me over the hump.”

  “What’s your basic idea?”

  “Mumble, mumble.”

  “Who over the age of ten actually says ‘mumble’? You don’t have an idea, do you?”

  “I’m so desperate that I checked to see if there’s a Sabbaticals For Humans book, but it’s like the universe is conspiring against my getting a year of paid vacation. Hey, do you think that Chastity would hire me to write one?”

  “What I think is that you’re making a big deal over nothing,” Donna said, activating the display desk and slipping out of her chair. “Feast your eyes.”

  Kelly sank into her best friend’s chair and began reading the sabbatical proposal out loud.

  “I am requesting a year-long leave at full pay from my position as embassy manager at Union Station after three decades of continuous service. My time away will be spent researching the best practices of alien diplomatic support staff through shadowing said employees at their embassies. In addition to retooling my own skill set, I will work with the EarthCent Embassies Employee Union to disseminate the results of my study, and I will make a presentation at a conference for embassy managers if funding can be found to hold one.” Kelly paused and looked over at Donna. “Since when do we have a union?”

  “It’s only for the support employees—no diplomatic staff.”

  The ambassador shook her head and continued reading.

  “I also want to take this time to thank EarthCent for its generous sabbatical policy. I feel honored to be part of a diplomatic organization that values the continuing professional development and mental equilibrium of its staff.” Kelly pantomimed gagging before adding, “Don’t you think you’re laying it on just a bit thick?”

  “Stanley wrote that part,” Donna admitted. “You know he almost got trapped in academia when he was young and he says they all talk that way back on Earth. He helped a bit with the first section, too.”

  “I haven’t seen Stan for a while,” Kelly said disingenuously. “How about Joe and I treat you both to dinner?”

  “You don’t have to bribe him with food, Kelly. He’s not a Cayl hound.”

  “You know, I’ll bet they barely even look at these proposals in the president’s office. If we changed a word here and there in yours…”

  “Just come up with an idea. You’ll feel better about yourself.”

  “I’ve got one. How about I study the sabbatical systems of alien diplomatic services?”

  “Do they take sabbaticals?”

  “I don’t know, but if they don’t, I can investigate the reason why. Libby?”

  “You can try writing it up, but I’m not promising anything,” the Stryx librarian said as the doors slid open and Joe entered the embassy.

  “Write what up? Did Kelly finally have an idea? She’s been driving me nuts about this sabbatical thing.”

  “I’m going to research alien sabbaticals,” Kelly told him. “Are you ready for the Frunge party? Let’s go.”

  “I told Clive we’d wait here until he and Blythe arrive,” her husband replied. “The local head of Frunge Intelligence invited them because one of his shrubs is shaking the dirt out today.”

  “I thought they washed it out.”

  “They probably do both. Are you really set on studying alien sabbaticals?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Just seems a bit, I don’t know,” Joe said. “Wouldn’t you rather learn something useful?”

  Kelly glowered at her husband, and then her shoulders sagged. “I’m keeping it for a backup idea. When are you submitting yours, Donna?”

  “Friday is the earliest date they’re taking them, but with the time difference, I’m planning on transmitting mine before I go home Thursday evening so it will be at the top of their queue.”

  The embassy doors slid open again, and Clive, the director of EarthCent Intelligence, entered with Donna’s older daughter.

  “All ready to party with the Frunge?” Blythe asked.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” the ambassador replied. “See you later, Donna.”

  The two couples exited the embassy and proceeded to the nearest lift tube, which Clive instructed to take them to the Frunge coming-of-age ceremony. A minute later, they exited onto a lush green park deck, planted with alien grasses and trees. Singing noise like the creaking of tree branches in a winter storm could be heard in the distance.

  “Anybody else having problems with their implant’s noise cancellation?” Clive asked.

  “I bet you’ve never been to a Frunge ceremony before,” Joe told him. “You have to enable the music override to get the songs translated.”

  “That’s better. But now I can’t tell which direction it’s coming from.”

  “All of this technology has trade-offs,” Kelly said, leading the group in the direction of the singing. “Lynx told me that she actually got to like Frunge singing after a while, but cultural attachés are weird like that. Speaking of which, when are you going to give me somebody to replace her? The president’s office said that EarthCent Intelligence handles those assignments.”

  “The truth is that with our headquarters on Union Station, the cultural attaché position really isn’t required here,” Blythe replied.

  “But every other embassy has one.”

  “And we pay all of their salaries. The Stryx don’t object to us running intelligence agents out of our embassies because all of the other species do the same thing, but they aren’t going to subsidize the cost.”

  “If I have to do Lynx’s job and my job forever, I’m going to take early retirement,” Kelly grumbled.

  “How long do you have to go for that?” Clive asked.

  “They keep raising it. Last time I had Donna check, early retirement was at seventy.”

  “Really? When’s full retirement?”

  “Seventy.”

  “Maybe we could get Judith to take over the slot,” Blythe suggested. “Visiting alien cultural events isn’t a full-time gig, and she’s not getting forty hours a week at the training camp.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Joe said. “I know that the original thought was for her to replace my slot training recruits in hand-to-hand combat and eventually to take over from Thomas, but he says that she’s even less interested in administrative work than Chance, if that’s even possible.”

  The party was forced to proceed in single file to follow a dirt path through a dense hedge, but they were rewarded with a scene that might have taken place on the Frunge homeworld. The lighting had been altered to mimic the radiation of the Frunge sun, and hundreds of shrubs were playing a game of freeze tag, which to human eyes, looked like a poorly planned landscaping job. The parents were gathered around long stone tables piled high with raw vat-g
rown meats and platters of cheese, but there was also a wide variety of fruits and a full bar.

  Czeros separated himself from the group of singers when he spotted the latest arrivals, causing the volume of sound to drop noticeably. “May the rains nourish your seedlings,” the Frunge ambassador greeted his human friends.

  “May the sun harden their bark,” the visitors chorused.

  “Mizash is playing with the children, Clive,” Czeros continued once the formalities were out of the way. “He asked me to do double duty and host you spooks along with the McAllisters if you arrived before the game is over. Come, we have a table set up specifically for alien guests.”

  “Are we the only non-Frunge who were invited?” Blythe inquired as Czeros led them to an empty table.

  “The others won’t come until they know the singing is done,” he told them, and hummed a few notes that reminded Joe of splitting cordwood. “I’ve had enough for the day, myself. They’re all sentimental songs about parenting and none of my own offspring are here. Any luck with your sabbatical plans, Kelly?”

  “I had an idea to study the sabbaticals of the other tunnel network diplomats but nobody else seems very enthusiastic about it.”

  “I understand the concept as my own people have always practiced something similar in regards to the land, but I’m not sure how lying fallow would benefit Humans,” Czeros observed. “None of the tunnel network species I’m aware of grant extended leave to diplomats.”

  “Really? But some of you serve for hundreds of years at the same posting.”

  “There’s plenty of time to relax during the petrification process,” the Frunge replied with a shrug. “I thought you enjoyed your job.”

  “I do, but when somebody offers you a paid vacation, er, educational leave, you take it. Donna is going to be shadowing her counterparts in alien embassies to see how you all run things.”

  “The same way you do, through our bossy embassy managers,” Czeros replied. “Why don’t you sign up for the mediator list? According to my intelligence your merchant class has developed business relationships with many off-network aliens but your diplomats haven’t kept up. I’m sure you’d learn quite a bit mediating local disputes.”

  “That’s a great idea, Czeros,” Blythe said. “Our business people are generally at a disadvantage because the aliens they do business with all insist that contracts must be adjudicated in the courts run by their respective species.”

  “I didn’t quite finish my university education before I was recruited for EarthCent,” Kelly admitted, not seeing the point in harping on the fact that she’d barely begun her second year of studies. “Wouldn’t I need a law degree or some special training?”

  “You need to be an ambassador or a retired ambassador,” Czeros informed her. “It’s one of the few perks that come with the job. Of course, you’ll be graded by both parties based on your efforts, and since the mediation process is non-binding, any potential customers will be able to check the records for how many of your solutions were actually implemented. Nobody wants to pay a mediator today and an arbitrator tomorrow.”

  “I’ve never been really strong on business…”

  “You have high-level negotiation experience, good common sense, and I’ve observed that you empathize well with aliens and AI. I believe you could earn a good living as a mediator, certainly more than your EarthCent is paying you.”

  “Libby? Could I get sabbatical credit mediating disputes on the station?” Kelly asked, reflexively glancing towards the high ceiling.

  “Write it up,” Libby replied, her voice materializing out of a space at the center of the group. “I strongly suspect it will be approved without a problem.”

  “I’m going to be a double-dipper,” Kelly declared happily. “Joe, if it pays like Czeros says, we could take a luxury cruise to Earth and visit my mother.”

  “I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way,” the Stryx librarian told her. “The rules are still in flux, but the last draft in discussion limits the additional income of anybody on sabbatical to ten percent of their base salary before replacement occurs. Sabbatical is not intended to be an opportunity to supplement your income.”

  “What does replacement mean?”

  “For each cred you earn above ten percent of your salary, a cred will be deducted from your sabbatical pay. If, as Czeros suggests is possible, you should earn more during your year as a mediator than you do as an ambassador, your sabbatical would be converted into unpaid leave.”

  “So I’d be working for nothing!”

  “What difference does it make who pays?” Joe pointed out. “You get a chance to try working as a mediator, and if it turns out so well that the earnings replace your income, everybody wins.”

  “Or, just stop charging when you get near ten percent,” the Frunge ambassador suggested.

  “Would business people take me seriously if I worked for free?”

  “Possibly not. But mediation isn’t limited to contract disputes about business. The Frunge diplomatic service puts a strict limit on the number of hours I can moonlight, but I’ve mediated a number of family disputes for the Dollnicks, mainly to do with nesting rights.”

  “I’m surprised the Dollys would accept help from an outsider on such a sensitive issue,” Clive said.

  “It’s precisely because passions run so high that an alien mediator is useful,” Czeros explained. “To tell you the truth, Srythlan is much better at the work than I am. But the Dollnicks run out of patience waiting for him to say something, which is ironic, since the main part of the job is listening.”

  “What sort of advice do you give them?” Kelly asked.

  “I don’t really offer my own suggestions, or at least, I try not to. My goal is to get the clients talking in a civilized manner until they reach a solution on their own. Oftentimes, all it takes is keeping score.”

  “You assign points?”

  “It’s more like editing,” the alien ambassador said thoughtfully. “I ensure that both sides have an ample opportunity to speak, and I continually refer back to their points of agreement, which usually outnumber their differences by a wide margin. I try to steer them away from legal jargon and keep them focused on a mutually beneficial outcome. If you let your clients focus on who’s winning or losing, the mediation won’t succeed.”

  “I’m going to try it, assuming my sabbatical request gets approved,” Kelly declared. “Thank you, Czeros.”

  “You’re very welcome. Shall we all celebrate your decision with this fine Cabernet Sauvignon from the new wine shop in your Little Apple? I think it’s had sufficient time to breathe.”

  “It’s a bit early for me, Czeros,” Blythe begged off. “I have a strict rule about drinking alcohol before lunch.” She rummaged through a deep tray full of chipped ice and bottled drinks, extracting an orange juice for herself and a Union Station Springs water for her husband.

  “Oh dear. Does that go for all of you? Well, I’ve always said that the bottles are too small.” The Frunge poured himself a large brandy snifter of wine and downed it with a sigh of satisfaction. “Excellent vintage. And how is your spring water?”

  “It’s cold,” Clive said. “My daughter swears by this stuff, but Jeeves says it’s the same water that comes out of the faucets.”

  Joe finished pouring himself a coffee from the large urn and found a teabag for Kelly before asking the Frunge, “Hear anything from your people on Flower?”

  Czeros glanced over at the tag players. “Mizash would probably disapprove of my admitting that I’m in the loop. I’ve received several fascinating reports from a young metallurgist who we recruited directly out of the Open University when his proposal for a business on Flower was accepted.”

  “Razood?” Clive asked.

  “That’s him. It’s very unusual for Frunge Intelligence to hire agents so young, but he had already created the perfect cover story. In addition to providing a tourist attraction with his old-fashioned blacksmithing shop, he’s plan
ning to set up a side-business doing certified assay work for your prospectors.”

  “Flower’s first stop was the Break Rock mining colony, so he must have had plenty to say about it,” Kelly speculated.

  Czeros stole another look over to where his intelligence head was playing with the children before responding. “Actually, the most interesting parts of his reports are about Flower herself. For example, did you know that she’s perfectly willing to play different music over each of her corridor speakers as long as everybody comes out of their cabins for morning calisthenics?”

  “It must be pure cacophony,” the EarthCent ambassador said, smiling to herself at the opportunity to use the word out loud.

  “The Dollnicks are masters of acoustic suppression fields,” Joe reminded her. “I imagine that Flower has pretty fine control over who hears what.”

  “He’s also been full of praise for her cafeteria food,” Czeros continued after refilling his brandy snifter with wine. “Apparently, most of the Humans prefer to prepare meals in their cabins or eat at restaurants and food stalls, but as I’m sure you are aware, male Frunge are not known for their skill in the kitchen.”

  “I don’t remember Flower mentioning anything about a cafeteria during our negotiations,” Blythe said. “I thought she was resistant to employing her bots to serve the passengers.”

  “Razood reports that the cafeteria is staffed by Humans who never prepared food for aliens prior to Flower employing them. It seems that the Dollnick AI is an excellent teacher, despite the fact she’s never eaten herself. While she can directly synthesize any missing ingredients, it turns out that Flower is a bit of a purist when it comes to food, and she set aside ag deck space to grow staples for the various species as soon as she accepted this assignment.”

  “Do any of the other aliens eat there?” Clive asked.

  “According to Razood, it’s practically a spy convention when their meal times happen to coincide,” Czeros answered. “Most of the aliens who joined your ship’s maiden voyage are traveling alone, and even for those who know how to cook, it’s not very much fun eating by yourself every meal. I understand that the Dollnicks who signed up to run a distribution business on Flower brought along their families, but the others are taking a wait-and-see approach. And that’s how I got started on my diplomatic career,” the Frunge ambassador concluded loudly.