by E. M. Foner
“Just go behind that collapsed tower and give your pants to Funt,” the tall Drazen instructed the embarrassed Frunge. “We’ve already blown the adventure so we may as well hang around and pick up some points helping the newbs.”
“I’m sorry we’re pulling you out of character,” Affie said, clambering down from the altar. “We just weren’t prepared for giant rats.”
“Everybody has something that creeps them out,” Boz said agreeably. “For me, it’s the vampire slugs. There’s just something about looking down at your legs after wading through a swamp and finding that half of your blood—”
“Too much information,” Dorothy interrupted. “I wanted to do something cool for my Jack-and-Jill party, but I didn’t realize it would be this gross. Are there any adventures where we won’t have to fight for our lives against nightmarish creatures?”
“Sure. There are LARPs where you basically spend all of your time trading or working at crafts to earn gold, but most players only do that to buy magical weapons and other stuff that will help them on quests.”
“Aren’t there any peaceful quests?”
“You mean like tourism or something?” The tall Drazen’s holographic wrapping looked puzzled, but Dorothy suspected that beneath it all, he was scratching his head with his tentacle. “I’ve never heard of any. I mean, if you want to just go for a walk in the woods, the park decks are free.”
“Here you are,” Funt said, passing Dorothy the unfortunate Frunge’s pants. “Zach told me to say that he’ll pay you the fourteen gold he earned killing your rats for the job. It’s only fair.”
“This will only take me a couple of minutes,” the ninja seamstress replied, sitting down on the altar stone and spreading her sewing supplies on the surface. “Are you guys sure he’s alright over there by himself without any pants? What if a monster comes?”
“He’ll be fine,” the Drazen said dismissively. “He can always take off the rest of his clothes, cancel his glamour, and blend into the jungle. Frunge are great at camouflage.”
“Maybe you should go over there and keep him company, Flazint,” Dorothy needled her friend.
“That’ll chase him off for sure,” Boz said, and lowered his voice confidentially. “He’s pretty shy around the ladies in real life. We all work at the same inter-species law office and the poor sap doesn’t have a life outside of intellectual property rights. Talk to him about trademarks or copyright and he’s as confident as a Grenouthian, but send him to entertain clients and he goes all Chert on you. We kind of hoped that LARPing would help him shed some inhibitions, but as soon as he takes off the glamour, it’s back to the old Tzachan.”
“He said you couldn’t pronounce his name,” Flazint accused the Drazen.
“We just like teasing him,” Funt said. “He’s really easy.” The Drazen looked down at Dorothy’s flying hands and stared. “Did you drink a ‘speedy action’ potion or something?”
“None of us have any potions,” Affie said. “We just wanted to see what LARPing was like before the party.”
“So we wouldn’t look foolish running from giant rats,” Flazint added dryly.
“Everybody starts with at least one magic potion,” Boz informed them. “You have to check your inventory.”
“I thought that was only for gold,” Affie said, and her eyes began tracking something invisible on her heads-up display. “We’re such idiots! I have a magic rat repellant potion.”
“And I have a bracer that will increase the accuracy of my archery by forty percent.” Flazint concentrated for a moment and a leather bracer materialized on her bow-hand’s wrist and forearm. “Nice. I swear I can even feel it. What do you have, Dorothy?”
“Done,” the ambassador’s daughter announced, holding up the Frunge’s pants. The repair would have been invisible except for the colorfully embroidered SBJ Fashions logo she had sewn onto the back pocket. “Advertising,” she explained. “This way Jeeves can’t complain because I charged the LARP on my company cred.”
Funt took the pants back to the Frunge, who hurriedly dressed and rejoined the others.
“Pay fourteen gold to Ninja Seamstress,” he said out loud, and a little cartoon balloon showing fourteen gold coins appeared over Dorothy’s head, and then quickly faded out.
“This is great,” she thanked him, checking her inventory. “Does anybody else need any costume repairs?”
“I could go for one of those designer labels,” Boz said. “I’m only a paralegal so I can’t afford to shop in boutiques.”
“About that,” Zach said, and his holographic wrapping again showed the blood rushing to his face. “I’m not going to report you or anything, but you really can’t go around creating knock-offs by adding fashion tags to clothes. Those companies invest a lot of money and intellectual capital to build their brands, and the label is more than just a way to demand a higher price. It shows pride in craftsmanship and a culture of innovation.”
“Wow,” Affie said. “We should make Jeeves hire this guy, Dorothy. I’ve never heard it put so well.”
“Don’t worry,” Flazint told the Frunge lawyer. “The three of us are the design team for SBJ Fashions. “Dorothy adds a tag to everything she touches for, uh…”
“To justify my expenses,” the ninja seamstress said.
“You’ve got something in your hair, Dory,” Affie said, and leaning close to the ambassador’s daughter to pluck out an imaginary speck, whispered, “Let’s get him for Flazz.”
Dorothy looked at her friend questioningly, and then her eyes lit up. “We just heard from our friends on EarthCent’s circuit ship that their flea market is flooded with fashion knock-offs,” she exaggerated. “How do we hire somebody like you?”
“SBJ Fashions,” the Frunge said hesitantly. “Isn’t the majority owner a Stryx? There’s not much I can do that—”
“Jeeves believes in empowering biologicals to solve their own problems,” the seamstress said, laying it on thick. “Do we have to visit your office or can you come to us?”
“I generally like to meet new clients in their workplace to get a feel for the business.”
“Perfect,” Dorothy said. “Arrange a time with Flazint. She can show you the ropes, and then one of the Hadad sisters, they’re the co-owners with Jeeves, can fill you in on what we know about the knock-offs. Any idea what size you are?”
“My parents buy my suits for work,” the shy lawyer mumbled. “My mother brought me to a Vergallian fitting room but she kept the sizing chit.”
“Get it from her, or I’ll measure you myself when you visit,” Dorothy directed him imperiously. “Our custom at SBJ Fashions is to make a new outfit for everybody we work with, just to stay in practice.” Then she turned to Affie and the two girls exchanged a high-five.
Ten
Kelly led Phillip into the Drazen ambassador’s office where her sabbatical replacement stared at all of the bladed weapons decorating the walls. Finally, he asked, “Is the ambassador a role-player?”
“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Kelly whispered. “He’s a historical reenactor, and he’s been in a number of Drazen immersive productions as a background actor in fight scenes. Reenactors hate role-players.”
“What’s the difference?”
“What’s the difference?” Bork repeated, entering his office with a tray on which rested the drink orders he had insisted on taking from the EarthCent diplomats. “How can you possibly confuse the two? Reenactors replicate the past as closely as possible while role-players invent a bunch of twaddle about magic weapons and fantasy skills. Most of them can’t even handle a real weapon without chopping off somebody’s tentacle by accident.”
“Sorry, I didn’t know.” Phillip inspected the coffee presented to him by the Drazen ambassador carefully before tasting it. “Hey, this is the best coffee I’ve ever had!”
“We grind fresh coffee beans that Drazen Foods roasts on Earth and sends directly to the station,” Bork told him. “After young Drazen pare
nts learned that sucking on the beans calms finicky babies, coffee has turned into almost as big a money maker as hot sauce.” He gave Kelly her usual mug of herbal tea and then settled behind his desk with a steaming metal cup of some beverage that would no doubt have proved fatal to the humans if they took the smallest sip. “Please explain this ‘bench ambassador’ concept to me again. It sounded intriguing.”
“It was my idea,” Kelly said. “I wanted to go on sabbatical and I knew that Daniel was too busy to take on my workload. We don’t have a big pool of diplomatic trainees in EarthCent, and I thought that rather than appointing temporary acting ambassadors every time somebody goes on a long vacation, we should have some roving ambassadors who can fit into any empty slot.”
“And running from post to post so frequently is acceptable to you?” the Drazen asked Phillip.
“A year isn’t that short to us,” the human reminded the alien. “It’s a great way to see more of the galaxy, and now that I’ve spent a few days on Union Station, I suspect that settling into a new posting with the help of a Stryx librarian won’t be that big a deal.”
“I understand. I’m sure that Kelly has told you that my door is always open, and I would be honored if you come to me first with any questions you might have about our various interspecies committees.”
“She has,” Phillip confirmed. “I—”
A piercing claxon drowned out his words, and Bork leapt up from his chair and grabbed a great two-headed battle axe from the wall. “I’m so sorry, duty calls,” he cried over his shoulder. “Take your time, Kelly. Security will lock up after you leave.”
The EarthCent ambassador, holding both hands over her ears, rose from her seat and went around the Drazen’s desk to a light sconce which was flashing red. Then, with a pained look, she removed one of her hands from over an ear and used it to fumble around the bottom of the fixture until the light went out and the claxon cut off.
“What was that all about?” Phillip asked.
“The difference between reenacting and role-playing,” Kelly told him with a wry smile. “That’s the ambassador’s special gig alert. It might be anything from a children’s party to a castle assault in Libbyland.”
“And the ambassador drops everything and runs when he gets an acting gig?”
“Not during office hours. I don’t think he’s even officially here today. It’s their long weekend, if I recall.”
“You’re right. Every sixth weekend on the Drazen calendar they take the whole week off,” Phillip recalled. “And he just leaves you in his office?”
“Well, I’m certainly not going to steal any of his weapons, and I’m hardly going to plant bugs. EarthCent cooperates with the Drazen Intelligence at our highest level, though I wouldn’t be surprised if their home office, as they call their central government, is barely aware of our existence. And unlike EarthCent, the Drazen embassy is staffed by security around the clock. I have no doubt that somebody is watching us as we speak.” She paused and pointed at her ear. “Clive and Blythe are asking to meet us for lunch back at the embassy. They’re offering take-out for everybody.”
“That’s the—” Philip lowered his voice, “EarthCent Intelligence people?”
“You don’t have to whisper, the Drazens know who they are. In fact, I’m sure that one of these days Clive will be introducing you to Herl, the head of Drazen Intelligence.”
A bell sounded and a hologram popped up over Bork’s desk showing a figure standing in the corridor outside the Drazen embassy’s doors. The visitor gave up trying to spot the security imaging hardware and settled for lifting the laminated pass that hung from a lanyard around his neck and slowly moving it through an arc above his head.
“For you, Ambassador,” a Drazen’s voice announced over a hidden speaker.
“Are you talking to me?” Kelly asked.
“There’s a Human reporter at our front door requesting to see Bork,” the security guard informed her. “I’m not authorized to invite aliens into the embassy when none of the diplomatic staff are present. Perhaps you can go out and talk to him, allowing me to resume my nap.”
“Got it.” Kelly took a final sip from her tea and motioned to Phillip. “Bring your mug, there’s a sink in the hall on our way to the exit.”
The main door to the embassy slid open when the two EarthCent diplomats approached. “Bob Steelforth, Galactic Free Press,” the waiting reporter identified himself, holding his press pass out for Kelly to inspect. Then his brain caught up with his eyes and he let the badge drop back to his chest on its lanyard.
“You can’t come in, they’re closed,” Kelly said, blocking Bob’s attempt to step into the reception area. “Phillip and I were just leaving.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“Ambassador Bork came in specially to meet us but something, uh, urgent came up and he had to run out.”
“I was counting on him for a pull-quote,” Bob said, his face falling. “I’m writing a feature about your sabbatical, and a comment from an alien ambassador would give me a shot at the full distribution rather than just the Union Station edition.”
“I’m a bit surprised you didn’t come see me first,” Kelly told him as she started for the nearest lift tube.
“I like getting the hard part of the job out of the way before I start writing,” Bob said. “I even tried getting a comment from the Fillinducks on my way here, though they rarely talk to reporters, and I got as far as the ambassador’s assistant before they showed me the door.”
“Don’t tell me that the Fillinducks have a problem with your Galactic Free Press credentials?”
“No. The assistant did the old, “What’s EarthCent?’ routine, and then she said they didn’t have time for such foolishness.”
“I’ve never met a Fillinduck,” Phillip ventured as the three entered the lift tube.
“EarthCent embassy,” Kelly instructed the capsule. “They really don’t like us and I don’t buy that it’s just the way we smell. The Fillinduck ambassador usually skips the interspecies meetings that I attend. Maybe you’ll have better luck.”
“So as long as I’ve got you both, how about an interview?” Bob suggested. “I can always try Czeros for a quote later, or maybe I can catch the Vergallian ambassador when their embassy opens. But the truth is, I’ve been hitting her up for content so often lately that it’s hardly newsworthy anymore.”
“Why not Srythlan?” Kelly asked. “He practically lives in his office.”
“The Verlock ambassador is nice enough, but I can’t listen to him for hours just to get a quote. I have deadlines, you know.”
“What’s your angle for the piece?” Phillip inquired as they exited the lift tube down the corridor from the EarthCent embassy. “Janice showed me the official announcement of our appointment, the one your paper published before we even checked into our hotel, so the ambassador’s sabbatical is hardly breaking news.”
“I figure I’ll make the article a sort of a retrospective on Ambassador McAllister’s service, and then I can get a follow-up piece out of your background. You can’t be too careful in my business about running out of news.”
“I could give you a half an hour later today, Bob, but we’re meeting Clive and Blythe at the embassy for an early lunch,” Kelly told the reporter. “We need to get Phillip up to speed on EarthCent Intelligence.”
“Can I come?” the reporter asked hopefully.
“Don’t be greedy. You already have the best intelligence source of any reporter on the paper.”
“You?”
Kelly stopped at the door of the EarthCent embassy and shook her head at Bob’s innocent look. “This is exactly why you have to be careful around reporters, Phillip. Flattery and obfuscation.”
“Did you mean Judith?” Bob asked incredulously. “She never tells me anything. When she gets home from the training camp and I ask her how her day was, she tells me that information is on a need-to-know basis.”
“I forgot how gung-
ho she is,” the ambassador said with a chuckle. “Other than that, any progress in your relationship?”
The reporter glanced over at Phillip before replying. “I think I’ll go and see if I can get a pull-quote now, and then I can interview you alone later and not waste Bench Ambassador Hartley’s time. Will you be free after lunch?”
“Donna is planning on showing both Phillip and Janice how the embassy accounting system works this afternoon, so an hour from now should be fine.”
“Great. I’ll ping you,” Bob said, and headed back towards the lift tube.
“Seems like a nice guy,” Phillip commented. “Is the embassy his beat?”
“Bob’s the senior reporter for Union Station so you’ll see a lot of him. He lives with Judith, who you’ll meet when you come to the training camp.” Kelly led Phillip past Donna and Janice, who were up to their elbows in the holographic directory for station services, and continued talking on the way into her office. “Clive is the director of EarthCent Intelligence, and he’s married to Blythe, who is Donna’s elder daughter. She isn’t on the payroll because she bankrolls a good portion of the intelligence budget, but everybody knows she’s second in command. Our friend Lynx used to be third, but she sort of lost interest and left on Flower with her husband, Woojin, who I believe is still in charge of strategic planning. Judith used to be a field agent, but she took over from my husband as a training camp instructor, and she does some of Woojin’s stuff too. Got it?”
“Are you kidding? I’m still stuck on the fact that your office manager’s daughter is funding our intelligence service!”
“She’s rich, you know. Blythe founded InstaSitter with her sister Chastity, who owns the Galactic Free Press.”
Phillip plopped down in the chair next to Kelly’s desk and said, “I need an instant replay here. Who’s on third?”
“Lynx used to be on third, but now it’s Thomas, an artificial person and a good friend of ours. You’ll meet him with Judith when you visit the camp, and I can introduce you to Dring afterward.”
“Dring? The Maker?” Phillip asked, his voice rising.
