by E. M. Foner
“It said on my character sheet that I live for my people and that the long-term viability of our species was my utmost goal. I wasn’t about to make the same mistake as the boy in the dragon fable.”
“What fable is that?” Vivian asked.
“You know, the dragon who offers to save the boy from drowning in return for three wishes.”
“How can a boy grant wishes to a dragon?”
“He was a magical boy. You guys don’t have that fable?”
“So what happened?” Samuel asked.
“I don’t remember all of the details because it’s been a while since I heard the women sing it, but I know that in the end the boy threw himself into the sea, so granting the wishes couldn’t have worked out very well.”
“Why were you so willing to take the Stryx’s first offer?’ Marilla asked Samuel.
“My character sheet said that I had gone deeply into debt and I needed a remission from taxes to restore my fortunes. I’d pledged my wife’s assets without her knowledge so I was desperate. What did your character sheet say?”
“The subsidy for VTGERN included funds that had been redirected from mage academies, so I wanted to see it end, but I also had to protect the emperor’s honor because I was his best friend.”
“How about your character sheet, Vivian?” Jorb asked. “What was Stryx Gryph’s motivation?”
“It just said that I respected the Verlocks and would act in the normal Stryx fashion. My initial offer had to be made without changes, but after that I was free to negotiate.”
“Why did the Stryx demand the open favor in the first place?”
“It didn’t say, but my guess is that they wanted to preserve the emperor’s pride. The deal we arrived at was basically charity if you think about it.”
“Let’s go have a snack and then we can stop by the bookstore and see if there’s anything worth spending our points on,” Samuel suggested. “Jeeves did say this was just the introductory LARP, so maybe the next one we’ll get to fight.”
Six
Dorothy danced into the living room of the ice harvester and cried, “We have a date!”
“Finally,” Kelly said. “When is it?”
“Second Sunday of next cycle,” her daughter replied. “We only have six weeks left to get ready.”
“How will Kevin’s sister make it here on time to do the ceremony? I thought that New Kasil wasn’t on the tunnel network.”
“They get visited by a mall ship like once a month. With a couple of connections, Becky and the rest of Kevin’s family should be here two days before the wedding.”
“I don’t understand why she’s cutting it so close. What’s wrong with the following Sunday?”
“She had a vision,” Dorothy said gleefully. “Becky saw my wedding picture on the front page of the Galactic Free Press.”
“And she was able to read off the date in her vision?” Kelly asked skeptically.
“No, but she noticed the blue box at the top where the paper lists which aliens are having holidays, and it was Volcano Day. The Verlocks only celebrate it like once a decade.”
“But our days aren’t the same length.”
“I know, but I checked with Libby and Volcano Day overlaps with the Frunge celebration of Grass Day next cycle. Since Becky didn’t see Grass Day listed, it means it could only be that Sunday.”
“Beowulf,” Kelly called to the dog. “Can you tell Dring we have a date?”
The giant Cayl hound rolled off the couch, stretched, and then trotted out of the ice harvester.
“You have to reserve the hall right away, Mom,” Dorothy told her mother. “And there’s Ian, and the florist, and the baker. Six weeks is barely enough time. I’ll have to take a vacation from work.”
“I’ve already talked to everybody so all I have to do is ping them,” Kelly said, attempting to hide her own excitement. “Just think of it as a big party, and you know how many of those we’ve thrown.”
“Party! I almost forgot. I have to see Flazint and Affie right away.”
“Affie will be asleep,” the ambassador cautioned. “Aainda stopped in the embassy today to ask if Donna wanted to spend her entire sabbatical on the Vergallian embassy’s staff, and she mentioned that it was late evening on their clock.”
“Affie won’t mind if I wake her,” Dorothy said confidently. “This is important.”
“Where is Kevin?”
“He’s helping Dad and Paul swap engines in an old scout ship. I was hanging out watching them when Jeeves came and brought the news. Becky is a prophetess of Nabay, you know, so she was able to contact the Stryx using the High Priest’s link.”
Kelly smiled indulgently when she noticed that her daughter was edging towards the ramp, so impatient was Dorothy to run off and tell her friends.
“Go, and don’t worry about the arrangements. As soon as Dring has time we’ll finish up the invitations, and then it’s mainly a lot of waiting.”
Dorothy almost collided with the Maker as she fled down the ramp. “Sorry, Dring,” she said, dodging to avoid the chubby reptilian shapeshifter. “We have a date.”
“So Beowulf informed me,” Dring replied. “Congratulations. I had a premonition and was already on my way here.”
“I didn’t expect you to drop everything and come right away,” Kelly said, sticking her head out of the ice harvester when she heard the conversation. “Are you sure we aren’t taking you from anything?”
“If I’ve learned one thing in my long life it’s that you can never give everyone enough time to make plans. The sooner I finish the invitations and you get them delivered, the easier it will be for the guests to attend.”
“What he said,” Dorothy called over her shoulder as she ran for the exit from Mac’s Bones.
“Come in, then,” Kelly said. “All of the non-electronic invitations are just waiting for you to add the date. Are those your calligraphy supplies?”
“Yes,” Dring said, brandishing a small metal briefcase. “I brought quick-drying ink for both paper and plastic. I believe you said there weren’t any metal invitations that would require acid etching.”
“Not that I’m aware of. We only got the plastic printed for the Frunge and the Hortens.”
“But the Hortens produce fine parchment.”
“Joe suggested plastic in case they want to disinfect the invitations before handling them. Do you need help figuring out the date in all of the alien languages? I mean, I could ask Libby.”
“I’ve always had an excellent memory for calendars, probably because I see them as an art form,” the Maker said. “Are you going to employ delivery bots?”
“I’m hiring Aisha’s daughter and her friend Mike for the job, and Spinner will probably go along for free,” Kelly told him. “If you want to get started, the boxes are on the table and the date is set for—”
“The second Sunday of next cycle,” Dring cut her off. “Beowulf told me, though he held out for all of the treats I had with me. I’ll start with the invitations for the species that are currently awake.”
“I’ll just stop next door and see if Aisha is home, then,” Kelly said, finding herself edging towards the door with the desire to give Paul’s wife the news before she found out from somebody else. “It’s still early in the evening, so maybe Fenna can get a start on the deliveries.”
Dring whistled to himself as he set out his calligraphy supplies and began grinding powder on his inkstone. The ambassador headed down the ramp and then turned immediately for the habitat that Paul and Aisha had converted into a home. Before she could reach the door, Fenna ran past her into the house yelling to her mother that Dorothy had a wedding date.
“Congratulations,” Aisha greeted the ambassador when Kelly stepped into the habitat. “It’s been a long time in the making.”
“Yes, it has. Dring just started adding dates to the invitations, and if Fenna and Mike are available, maybe they could deliver a few before bedtime.”
“Oh, plea
se,” Fenna begged, making doe eyes at her mother. “I’ve never delivered an invitation before.”
“If Mike is available,” Aisha replied. “I don’t want you running around the station alone.”
“I’ll ask Libby to ping him,” the girl said, and turning away from the adults, called for the station librarian to contact the Cohans.
“Have you decided yet when to get her an implant?” Kelly asked Fenna’s mother.
“I’d have done it when she turned eight, but Paul was against it. He thinks it’s good for children to hear alien languages while they’re young, rather than getting everything seamlessly translated, and Fenna talks to Libby enough without having a direct connection. Besides, she and Mike spend most of their time with Spinner, and he seems to enjoy translating for them.”
“Well, I don’t suppose Samuel would ever have become fluent in Vergallian if we had given him an implant early.”
“Daniel and Shaina are making Mike wait for his thirteenth birthday, so that gives us another four years before Fenna would start feeling left out.”
“Mikey’s on his way,” Fenna informed them, after finishing her conversation by way of the station librarian. “His mother is sending the dog with him to keep an eye on us because Spinner is stuck doing multiverse math homework.”
“Come over when he gets here,” the ambassador instructed the girl. “I should go make a vegetable smoothie for Dring so he knows how much we appreciate his help.”
By the time Kelly put her words into action and emerged from the kitchen with the Maker’s favorite celery and carrot tonic, Fenna and Mike were impatiently awaiting their first consignment of invitations and arguing over delivery techniques.
“It will be funny if we ring the doorbells and then run away,” Mike insisted. “Me and Spinner do it all the time.”
“You’re making it up,” Fenna said confidently, “Spinner would never play pranks. Besides, how can we give them the invitations if we run away.”
“I forgot,” the boy admitted, and thought for a moment. “We could leave it in front of the door. Then they’ll think that a ghost brought it.”
“Or, you could just wait for them to answer the door and then say, ‘Special delivery from the McAllisters,’” Kelly suggested, placing the Maker’s slushy beverage on the table a safe distance from the invitations. “How are they coming, Dring?”
“I just finished the first batch of Frunge invitations,” he said, pushing a folded piece of plastic in front of the ambassador. “Don’t worry, the ink dries as soon as I blow on it.”
“That’s fantastic, Dring. I can’t tell your calligraphy from the print shop’s.”
“It’s all in the wrist. I also printed the addresses in English on the backs. All seven of these apartments are on the same corridor so it shouldn’t take the children more than fifteen minutes to deliver them.”
“We could run,” Mike offered.
“That won’t be necessary,” Kelly said. “How about Fenna carries the invitations and you lead the way?”
“I could ring the doorbells too.”
“That sounds fair. But come back as soon as you finish and we’ll give you another batch if it’s not too late.”
As soon as Mike and Fenna were down the ice harvester’s ramp, they broke into a run despite the ambassador’s instructions. Three Cayl hounds chased after them like a small herd of ponies, but the two males halted at the exit from Mac’s Bones, and Queenie alone continued along to supervise the children.
“Frunge deck,” Mike told the lift tube as if he visited there every day. “Who’s the first one, Fen?”
“Flazint,” the girl replied. “Uncle Czeros and the older Frunge with families all live in groves, but the ones Dorothy’s age have apartments like everybody else.”
The capsule came to a halt and the doors slid open, but before exiting, Mike asked, “Which way, Libby?”
“Flazint’s residence is down the corridor on your right,” the station librarian informed them. “You can count eleven doors or just look for Dorothy’s shoes.”
The children took off running again, and as neither of them remembered to count doors or pay attention to the shoes, they would have missed the apartment if their chaperone hadn’t skidded to a halt and barked. The children stopped, turned, and saw Queenie pointing at a pair of shoes with a bent paw.
“Thanks,” Mike said. “Those must be Dorothy’s.”
“They are,” Fenna confirmed. “I wonder why they’re here?”
“Maybe Flazint borrowed them?”
“I don’t think they’d fit her. Ring the bell.”
The boy waved his hand over the pad next to the door and a voice asked something in Frunge. The dog barked in response. A moment later, the door slid open and Flazint emerged.
“Hi, kids. What are you doing here?” the Frunge girl asked as she reached out to scratch behind the dog’s ears.
“We brought you this,” Fenna declared proudly, handing the top invitation to the alien.
“A hand-delivered wedding invitation?” Flazint marveled. “Wait here for a minute, let me get you something,” she said, and called over her shoulder, “Dorothy. Your niece is here with your invitation.”
The ambassador’s daughter came to the door in her stockings and stopped Mike, who was inching forward to get a look inside the alien’s apartment. “The Frunge don’t wear shoes in their homes,” she reminded him.
“I forgot. We brought your invitation all by ourselves.”
“I’ll bet Queenie helped,” Dorothy said, reflexively giving the Cayl hound a little attention.
“She smelled your shoes for us. Why are you here?”
“We’re planning my Jack-and-Jill party,” Dorothy told them.
“Can we come?” Fenna pleaded. “I know the rhyme.”
“There’s going to be a big wedding party for everybody and you’ll both be there. The Jack-and-Jill is a different thing, for grown-ups.”
“But you’re not a grown-up,” Mike pointed out. “You’re just old.”
Flazint returned with her purse and gave the children a fifty centee tip. “Thank you for the invitation and for bringing the dog to see me.”
“You’re welcome,” the children chorused, and after a quick consultation with Libby, hurried off to the next destination and the potential for more tips.
“You spoil the children,” Dorothy told her Frunge friend. “I’m sure my mom is paying them.”
“You’re only a shrub once in life. Besides, it’s hard for the little ones to earn money, and they’re inundated with advertisements whenever they walk the corridors.”
“Why do you think it’s taking Affie so long to get here?” the girl fretted. “We have to plan my party.”
“You did say she was sleeping when you called,” Flazint said, drawing Dorothy back into the apartment. “Is it normal with you guys for the bride and her friends to plan a pre-wedding party?”
“Sometimes the best man and the maid of honor do it, but that’s Samuel and Vivian for us, and they’re too young to know anything about parties.”
“Aren’t they too young to play such an important part in a marriage ceremony?”
“Kevin doesn’t have any unmarried friends, and Samuel wouldn’t do it unless I asked Vivian because she’d never let him hear the end of it if he danced with somebody else. Anyway, the important thing is that they look good together.”
“Didn’t you say you wanted the same number of bridesmaids and groomsmen?”
“It’s critical to the aesthetic.” Dorothy gripped her friend’s arm and fixed her with an intent stare. “You have to find a guy to go with you.”
“You know we don’t work like that. I mean, maybe my parents would give me permission to go with somebody from the office if we employed any Frunge guys, but—”
“I’ll get Jeeves to hire a temp. Maybe there’s like a catalog and we can pick out a guy who looks good in black.”
“I’m NOT getting a wedding da
te from a catalog,” Flazint stated firmly. A bell chimed, and after glancing at the security feed on her entertainment system and confirming it was Affie, she called out, “Open door.”
The Vergallian girl entered, looking both half-asleep and half-dressed. “Congratulations,” she yawned. “I’ll give you a pass this time, but if you start having a wedding every year, I’m going to stop answering your middle-of-the-night pings.”
“Don’t you always wear a shawl with that top?” Flazint asked.
“Didn’t I—Oh no!”
“Are you actually blushing?” Dorothy demanded. “I didn’t even know you could.”
“You’ll have to loan me something to go home in, Flazz,” Affie said. “I hope a bunch of guys didn’t follow me here.”
“You must have had a long night to be this out of it,” the Frunge said sympathetically.
“We went to some party where everybody was burning sticks and you know I have no head for the stuff. By the way, Dorothy, Stick agreed to be in the wedding party.”
“Great! It will give me something to tell my grandchildren.” The ambassador’s daughter pantomimed opening an old-fashioned photo album and pointing out people. “And the Vergallian guy next to your grand-uncle Sammy was a recreational drug dealer. He cleaned up at my wedding selling Kraaken Red sticks to all of the kids.”
“The Stryx would kick him off the station if he sold to underage aliens, but it’s your wedding, so if you want me to find somebody else…”
“No, Stick’s the right height and he’s not a bad dancer. Does he have any Frunge buddies we can draft to go with Flazint?”
“Don’t push her,” Affie advised, settling cross-legged onto a giant pillow. “We can always ask Jeeves to rent us a hologram from their advertising system.”
“I am NOT going to a wedding with a holographic date,” Flazint retorted, though her emphasis on ‘not’ wasn’t as strong as it had been in the previous usage. “You know, holographic escorts on call would really come in handy sometimes. We should suggest it to Jeeves.”
“How about going with Metoo?” Dorothy said. “He promised to come to my wedding and I know he wouldn’t mind disguising himself as a Frunge for you.”
