by E. M. Foner
“I’ve already contacted EarthCent’s associate ambassador on the station in preparation for putting out a request for Human teachers,” the girl said. “They’ll work under a Drazen choral master, of course, but I’ve been assured that Humans living on our open worlds are not entirely without talent.”
“Are you seeing anybody?” Jorb asked.
“Jorb!” Lizant reproached him. “Please refer to the guidelines for student committee member conduct. If this happens again, I’ll have to give you a demerit.”
“My parents are in the directory,” the girl said shyly. “I’m a few years away from practice dating, but they’re working on a list of potential candidates to vet.”
“Your proposal has passed the first stage and we’ll be in touch,” Vivian told the girl.
“Thaaannk you,” the Grenouthian boomed. “Next.”
The Drazen was replaced on stage by a stunning Vergallian girl who looked like she could be royalty, which was confirmed by her name when she introduced herself.
“I’m Aagala, and my proposal is to aid independent Human communities in establishing governance through a mentoring program.”
“On Flower?” Samuel asked.
“I doubt that your colonies could spare their current leadership for extended periods of time for training on Flower. That’s why I’m proposing coaching rather than a formal classroom approach like the finishing school I had to go through as the third in line for my family’s throne.”
“You’re third in line and your family let you come to the Open University?”
“I was third in line, but my oldest sister already has two daughters and I kind of got in trouble over the whole tech-ban thing,” the girl admitted, flashing a dazzling smile in the boy’s direction.
Vivian felt the hair rising on the back of her neck and barked, “So what’s your proposal?”
“I would recruit a number of Vergallian royals from lesser houses and provide fitting quarters for them on Flower so they would be available to dispatch for in-place mentoring on short notice.”
“Please elaborate on the mentoring aspect,” Vivian said stiffly.
“The request for proposals specifically stated that your Eccentric Enterprises is interested in steering human communities towards good governance,” Aagala said, seemingly puzzled at being asked to explain the obvious. “What better governance can you have than queens? A trillion Vergallians can’t be wrong.”
“Catchy,” the Grenouthian muttered.
“So you would have Flower play host to a bunch of snooty Vergallian royals with the goal of expanding your empire through governmental assimilation,” Yvandi said coldly.
“Anything would be better than the Sharf tradition of hiring your own artificial people to govern and letting them make it up as they go along,” Aagala fired back.
“Violation,” Wrylenth grunted. “Section Eighty-Two, Part Six.”
“He’s right,” Lizant confirmed, looking down at her tab. “The student code prohibits attempts to hijack the governing entities of fellow students.”
“But they would be queen-mentors, not full queens,” the Vergallian protested. “Sure, they’d have to actually run things while a Human queen could be trained, say sixty or seventy years, but after that they would step back and—”
“Run everything from behind the scenes for the few years left in the human queen’s life, and then start the cycle again with the next candidate,” Vivian interrupted. “Are you really a student here?”
“I’m in the extension program,” Aagala said, drawing herself up regally.
“You didn’t fill out the conflict of interest section,” Lizant observed, still looking at her tab. “Who is your employer?”
“Thank you for your consideration,” the Vergallian royal said stiffly, and stalked off the stage.
“Write in ‘Vergallian Intelligence’ for her employer,” the Sharf girl said over Lizant’s shoulder.
“Nexxxxt,” the bunny drawled.
A serious-looking Dollnick student carrying an immense metal box that rattled with each step took the place of the Vergallian intelligence agent. When he set down his burden and rotated the front of the box to face his audience, it turned out to be an organizer, with hundreds of small plastic drawers.
“Do any of you know your Dollnick screw sizes?” he challenged the committee members.
“Sure,” a number of them chorused.
“So try me,” the Dolly said imperiously.
“Blue Eighteen Inverse,” Grude called out.
The presenter tapped a touchpad on the top of the case with the hand on his upper left arm, and picked a fastener from the drawer which shot out below, using his lower arm on the same side. He brandished the small screw without ever taking his eyes from the audience.
“The inverse series are pretty rare,” Grude informed his fellow committee members.
“Carbon Two, Coarse Thread,” Samuel requested.
Again the Dollnick tapped the pad and fished the requested screw out of the back section of the long drawer.
“Okay, how many different screw sizes do you have in there?” Jorb asked, sounding plenty impressed.
“Three thousand, including length variations, and I’m not counting nuts and washers,” the presenter said. “It’s the standard household repairman’s kit from my family’s line. Multiply that across all the different types of fasteners, fittings, paints and tubing, and we’re talking about tens of millions of individual item stocking codes. My proposal is to set up a full-line distributor on Flower. Rather than your small communities having to send out for parts with exorbitant shipping costs and delays, they can wait for the circuit ship to come around and stock up.”
“Wow,” Vivian muttered to Samuel. “That’s actually a good business idea.”
“Would you only stock Dollnick parts?” Lizant inquired.
“Of course. Our parts are the best.”
“Unless you’re fixing a Sharf trade ship, the most common type in use by Humans,” Yvandi pointed out.
“I have no objection to other species stealing my idea for their own distribution networks,” the presenter said. “There’s more than enough room on Flower for all of us. She might even agree to fabricate parts to spec in exchange for feedstock and a fee, but her pricing won’t be competitive compared to mass-produced hardware.”
“Have you worked out your space requirements?” Grude asked.
“A section of deck twenty between spoke rings eleven and fourteen spanning six corridors would suit our standard inventory with sufficient redundancy to cover most exigencies,” the serious Dollnick replied. “My family would provide the stock and qualified clerks, and I’ve detailed a training program for Human apprentices, providing they can pass the standard tests, of course.”
“You aren’t requesting any Stryx financing?” Samuel asked.
“Spoken like a true Human,” the Dollnick replied scornfully. “No, I think my family can handle our own arrangements for a business we’ve been in for, oh, a half a million years give or take.”
“Hey,” Lizant reprimanded him, and looked back down at her tab. “I’m pretty sure the student handbook specifically prohibits speaking down to—oops, that was clone-baiting. Never mind.”
“I think a Dollnick distributor would be a fine addition to the ship, and I hope that some of the other species whose technology we use follow your lead,” Samuel said. “We’ll evaluate your written proposal and be in touch.”
“Ne-eh-xxxxt,” the Grenouthian sang, and a nervous young woman walked out onto the stage.
“I’m Aubrey and I just came out from Earth a few years ago to attend this Open University campus,” the girl began. “I have a bunch of diagrams and stuff in the written version of my proposal, but the basic idea is to open a flea market.”
“Are they tasty?” Jorb inquired.
“Sorry, it’s a local term where I come from for a kind of inexpensive market with lots of independent vendors. They sell
everything from household goods and collectibles to used clothes and kitchenware. I’ve met some kids from trader families on the station and they say that open markets are pretty common across all of the species. But instead of the traders traveling to the market, they’ll live on the ship and the whole thing will travel to the customers.”
“Uh, I don’t think Flower will go for it unless you come up with a different marketing pitch,” Grude said. “Selling used goods is a low-ranking profession in Dollnick culture.”
“Just call it a bazaar or a traveling retail show,” Marilla suggested.
“And instead of used goods, describe them as vintage,” Vivian added.
“Or antique,” the Verlock rumbled.
“Classic,” the bunny contributed.
“You get the idea,” Samuel said. “Grude is our Dollnick expert and I trust he’s right about Flower, but if you redo the written part of your proposal and submit it, we’ll give it full consideration.”
“Thank you,” Aubrey said, and glanced over her shoulder into the wings. “Next.”
A large Grenouthian hopped out on the stage, met the eye of his fellow on the committee, and exchanged a polite nod. Then he launched into his pitch.
“The reason that Humans have barely above zero percent of the tunnel network entertainment market is because you’re all so busy watching holos and immersives from other species that you aren’t developing your own shows. I propose constructing a studio on Flower to give the locals a chance to have their holo presence evaluated, and if you can scrape up the personnel, I’d add a theatre troupe to give live performances. Maybe if you had a little home-grown culture the other species would take you more seriously.”
“Is that a sales pitch that you practiced?” Lizant asked incredulously.
“I’m a realist,” the bunny replied. “I’m finishing up here in the technical theatre production program, and if I go to work for our network, I’ll be lucky to advance from fourth grip to first grip in the next twenty years. I figure if I lower myself to work with Humans, I can start as a director, with points in every production.”
“What about your family?” the Grenouthian committee member demanded.
“Do you think I’d be up here making this pitch if I had any family connections to rely on? It’s a long story, brother, but I’m out here alone.”
“The idea is interesting, but I don’t know if you would get along well with our actors,” Samuel ventured. “We don’t enjoy daily rations of verbal abuse.”
“Shows how much you know about theatre,” the bunny retorted. “The director doesn’t have to get along with anybody. Productions work out better when there aren’t personal relationships getting in the way of artistic decisions. Listen,” he continued, hopping closer to the front of the stage and lowering his voice so that even the committee members in the front row found themselves leaning forward to hear what he was saying. “Did any of you see the production of Swan Lake put on by Human students last cycle?”
“That was beautiful,” Vivian said. “My whole family came to see it.”
“That was me,” the Grenouthian told her. “If you check the program, I’m listed as the consultant, but you look up the kid who they credited as the director and he’ll tell you that he was just following my instructions. I spent fifty years with a travelling company and I’m older than any of you, except maybe the Verlock.”
“Why did you come to the Open University?” Samuel asked.
“Stryx offered me a scholarship,” the bunny admitted. “Tough life on the road and I’m not getting any younger. Don’t get me wrong,” he added hastily, “I love regional theatre and reaching new audiences, but putting it all on a colony ship means the opportunity to work like a gentleman. You can only erect so many tents before the whole thing gets to be a bit much.”
Fourteen
“You look fantastic in that dress, Kel,” Joe said, as his wife paused in front of a reflective corridor panel to make a last-minute adjustment. “The aliens at the reception are going to think that you’re my daughter.”
The ambassador sighed and held back from crediting the corset her mother had recently sent out in the diplomat pouch. Instead she concentrated on taking her heels down another ten percent from the height that Dorothy had prescribed as the absolute minimum. The interface for the shoes appeared on her heads-up display, and she was dismayed to find that the lower limit was locked with a supervisor password required for override.
“Libby,” Kelly subvoced as she and Joe approached the Vergallian embassy. “I want to lower my heels a bit and Dorothy locked the settings. Can you help?”
“You want me to hack into your shoes?”
“I’m not good at this stuff. Clive tells me that the new Vergallian ambassador is from a different faction than the usual replacements, and I wouldn’t want to blow the opportunity to make a good first impression because I’m thinking about how much my feet hurt.”
“Very well,” the Stryx librarian said, and the password prompt disappeared from Kelly’s heads-up display. “Just don’t tell your daughter it was me.”
“I won’t,” the EarthCent ambassador promised, and using practiced eye motions, moved the slider down a full notch. The heels responded so smoothly that the only manifestation of the change was Joe slowly growing a little taller. “Thank you.”
A Vergallian dressed like a major general from an old Earth musical requested their names at the entrance to the embassy’s ballroom, and then announced, “Ambassador and Mr. McAllister of EarthCent,” without a hint of the condescension that often accompanied formal introductions by the doormen of advanced species.
Kelly took Joe’s arm and he led her into the renovated hall, which looked like it could have easily cost more than the entire building back in New York where EarthCent rented space for the president’s office. Gold leaf was prominent in the decorating scheme, along with hand-woven tapestries depicting pastoral scenes on tech-ban worlds. Their hostess stood unaccompanied between the entrance and the bar, a location strategically chosen to intercept all new arrivals. Joe led Kelly straight up to the high-caste Vergallian.
“I am Aainda,” the alien diplomat introduced herself. “Do you prefer to be addressed formally or by your personal names?”
“Kelly is fine for me, and my husband’s name is Joe.”
“Kelly and Joe. Welcome to my reception. I will be serving as the Union Station ambassador for the next fifteen cycles, or a little over two years on your charming calendar.”
“You’ve studied Earth? Most of the Vergallian ambassadors I’ve met were barely willing to acknowledge our existence, though Abeva wasn’t that bad once you got to know her.”
“My immediate predecessor left some interesting notes about your meetings,” Aainda said mysteriously. “And in answer to your question, there have been Human mercenaries serving in my mother’s household troops since I was a girl, and I frequently went riding with their wives and daughters. I hope you find my accent acceptable.”
“Accent?” Kelly flipped the mental switch to disable translations from her implant. “You’ve been speaking English?”
“Am I that bad?” Aainda pulled a face of mock distress which only heightened her beauty.
“No, you’re so good that I thought I was getting your words from my diplomatic implant. Isn’t she good, Joe? Joe?”
Kelly shook her husband’s forearm to break the spell the stunning Vergallian had cast upon him without even trying. “Sorry,” he mumbled, and a slight shade of red crept up his neck. “Were you saying something?”
“Please enjoy the food and beverages,” Aainda continued with a charming smile. “I asked my staff to cater to the lowest common dietary denominator, so you should be able to eat anything you recognize on the platters.”
The doorman announced the Grenouthian ambassador, and the Vergallian turned away to greet him. Joe led Kelly to the buffet, where several other diplomats were already congregated.
“Great fruit,�
�� Bork greeted the new arrivals. The Drazen ambassador realized that he was talking with his mouth full and covered the lower part of his face with his tentacle as he swallowed hastily. “I thought I would have to save you some, but the staff reassured me that there’s plenty more where this came from.”
“The cheese is from that shop in the Little Apple,” the Frunge ambassador informed Kelly as he gathered different varieties on a single Vergallian chopstick as if he were creating a kebob. “Aainda has gone out of her way to be accommodating. I wonder what she wants from you.”
“Maybe she’s just trying to make up for past sins, Czeros.” Kelly made herself a little sandwich from two crackers, a slice of cheese and a stuffed olive. “I’ve gotten a lot of grief from Vergallian ambassadors over the last two decades, not to mention the kidnapping before the ball.”
“So things aren’t looking as bleak as they once did,” the Frunge said, adding a rare wink.
“Now that the ambassador has a choice in the matter,” Bork said in an insinuating voice, and both of the alien diplomats had to choke back their laughter.
“What’s with all the Human food in the buffet?” Ambassador Ortha asked, gesturing at the table. “It seems that my prospects for a good meal in this house are tied up in court.”
Kelly stared as Czeros punched the Horten in the shoulder, and all three alien ambassadors started giggling like schoolboys who had secreted a spider in a girl’s desk and were waiting for her to scream.
“I’ll see if I can find you a glass of wine,” Joe told his wife, sensing the onset of an elaborate joke that he’d rather hear in the retelling. “See you in a bit.”
“You gentlemen are braver than I thought, standing right next to her like that,” the Dollnick ambassador addressed them all from the opposite side of the table. “I suspect Flower will balk at her mission when she learns what the Humans have been hiding.”
“What are you talking about, Crute?” Kelly demanded. “What’s wrong with all of you?”
“Book club,” Srythlan grunted from behind her. He stepped up to the table right next to the EarthCent ambassador and reached for the box of salt cod imported from Earth that the Vergallians had thoughtfully provided. “If you can’t take the heat, leave the buffet,” he addressed the other aliens, causing them all to break out in outright laughter.
