by E. M. Foner
“I hope you gave him a piece of your mind,” Kelly said indignantly. “You’re the President of EarthCent.”
“Actually, I made sure to use the soap dispenser and let him pay for our lunch. Hildy says it was the right move. She’s hoping to find time to attend the CoSHC conference, if I hadn’t mentioned. She wants to meet face-to-face with the representatives of sovereign human communities to see if they’re interested in coordinating their public relations with EarthCent.”
“She’s welcome to stay with us.”
“I’ll mention it to her. Will you be participating in the convention, or is Associate Ambassador Cohan carrying the ball for the embassy?”
“A bit of both,” Kelly said. “I’ve been asked to give the keynote address and I’ll be sitting on a few panels, but CoSHC is Daniel’s baby, and I don’t offer my opinions unless he asks first.”
“Do you want to try your speech out on us?” Ambassador White asked.
“I haven’t exactly written it yet. There’s plenty of time.”
“Don’t leave it too long,” the president advised. “I’ve witnessed some of your extemporaneous efforts from over the years and you have a tendency to go off mission.”
“How many sovereign communities are you expecting this year?” Ambassador Fu inquired.
“We’re getting official delegates from over three hundred communities plus at least two thousand independent attendees,” Kelly said. “The organization has more than doubled in size since Eccentric Enterprises contracted with Flower to serve as a circuit ship. The original members were the large human communities on open worlds, but recently, CoSHC has been adding lots of smaller space-based populations.”
“I wasn’t aware we had that many people living in space.”
“We’re talking primarily about groups of human laborers who reach the end of their contract and then lease the facility that employed them. It’s very common with mining habitats, ice harvesting operations, really any alien business where the infrastructure is long since paid for and the owners would just as soon receive a regular lease payment. Otherwise, the aliens would have to find new laborers, house and feed them, and provide for childcare and education. Tunnel network members all have to meet Stryx standards to recruit from Earth.”
“Except for our own contractors,” the president reminded her, “which brings us to the final item on the agenda. Have you all received the latest intelligence assessment about the practices of human contractors recruiting labor for unsafe and often illegal work outside of the tunnel network?”
“It came as a complete surprise to me,” Ambassador Zerakova said. “With all of the opportunities available, why are young people from Earth still taking those chances?”
“It comes down to affinity schemes. A young man returns to his old neighborhood, flashes around some money and jewelry, and tells the latest crop of street kids that there’s plenty more where that came from. Next thing they know, they’re getting off a transport on some world nobody has ever heard of with no way of contacting Earth, not that there’s anybody here who could help them.”
“I know that Daniel plans to do a panel discussion on the subject, and I think he’s just waiting for approval from EarthCent Intelligence in case they want to redact some sections of the report to protect their sources,” Kelly said. “I’m planning on attending that session myself.”
“Is there any good news from Earth, aside from the Grenouthian tours?” Belinda asked.
“Things have never been better,” the president replied. “Our population is showing signs of stabilizing around the four billion mark, and the percentage of communities with public schooling available for at least part of the day is back over fifty percent for the first time in years. Everywhere the aliens build new factories or processing centers, the real estate values go through the roof, and our exports are climbing every year. I’m told that the space elevator is actually turning a profit now.”
“How about technology transfer?” the Void Station ambassador asked. “Are the people on Earth learning new skills, or are the alien businessmen just using us as cheap labor?”
“A little bit of both. One of the most successful businesses on Earth is Drazen Foods. They employ over forty thousand people in this state and they’re buying the produce from tens of thousands of small farms from across the continent. But bottling hot sauce and poison berries isn’t a high-tech business, and the consortium employs dogs to make the decisions in their perfume operation. On the other hand, our scientists continue to work at reverse engineering the original Drazen jump ship, and that wouldn’t have been possible without the cooperation of Drazen Foods.”
“How about the Verlock magnet academies?” Kelly asked. “I know that their boarding school on Flower has been a great success.”
“The Verlocks continue to expand their network of schools as rapidly as they can, which as you might imagine, isn’t particularly fast. But the biggest surprise to me has been the success of the Astria’s Academy of Dance chain. They have over five thousand locations worldwide, and all of those graceful dance students walking around have had a positive effect on everybody else’s posture. They’re going to put the remaining orthopedic surgeons out of business.”
Five
“Good thing we got here early,” Samuel said to his girlfriend as a pair of aliens headed up to the front of the classroom. “It looks like they aren’t waiting.”
“Early is on time,” Vivian replied reflexively.
“Welcome to orientation for first-time cooperative education students,” the Verlock presenter droned at a glacial pace. “I am Grynlan, the program coordinator, and—”
“—if you have any problems on your co-op assignment, we’re here to help you,” the Grenouthian half of the duo interrupted. “In the interest of finishing this session before you’re all too old to participate in the program, I’ll be doing the talking. Any questions before we begin?” He pointed at a Drazen who raised a hand.
“Do we really have to be here?” the student asked. “I’m going to be working for my family in the same job I had before I started at the Open University. It’s just that I’ll be getting paid for it now.”
“Thank you for making my point. Any of you are welcome to leave at any time, but completion of this orientation session is required for those of you who want to get paid. Any more questions?”
The Drazen made a show of binding his own wrists in front of his body with his tentacle.
“Fantastic,” the bunny declared. “I know that none of you want to be here so we’ll move as quickly as possible. There are just four topics I need to cover, and the first is—”
“Appearance,” Grynlan rumbled.
“Appearance,” the Grenouthian repeated. “As participants in the cooperative education program, you will be representing the Open University, so we expect you to dress and groom accordingly. Got that?”
“Was he directing that remark at us?” Vivian whispered to Samuel.
“He’s just looking in this general direction,” the ambassador’s son replied, though it did seem as if the alien was singling them out.
“Then I’ll say no more on the subject,” the bunny continued. “The next topic is—”
“Allergies,” the Verlock boomed.
“Allergies. Some of you will be working for species other than your own, and it’s important that you inform us of any known allergies so we can relay the specifics to your employer and make sure that the necessary antidotes are available. Is anybody allergic to Humans? Anybody?”
“I’m sure he’s looking at us,” Vivian hissed.
“We are sitting in the middle of the room.”
“Then let it be on your own heads,” the Grenouthian intoned. “Grynlan?”
“Work ethic,” the Verlock announced.
“Work ethic. Show up on time, give your employer the same effort you would expect from a family member, and, WAKE UP!” the bunny shouted at the Drazen student, who had dozed off in
his seat.
“Whaaa?” the student’s response came out in a sleepy yawn. “Have we gotten to the pay part yet?”
“Which reminds me,” the presenter continued. “I have a special announcement from the administration of the Open University. If any of you should happen to be working for Humans, make sure to check your starting time with the station librarian every day because their clocks are all defective.”
“Beware the Human clock,” the Verlock repeated for emphasis.
“Our clocks aren’t defective,” Samuel spoke up. “We’re inching the time forward because—”
“What’s all this?” a Dollnick demanded as he strode into the room carrying a large carton. “You two, stop screwing around and sit down. There’s always a couple of clowns in every group.”
The seated students all groaned when they realized they had been pranked by their fellow co-ops, who exchanged a belly bump before taking their chairs. The real leader of the orientation session continued to the front of the class, and Samuel recognized him as the four-armed clerk he always seemed to get stuck with in the administration office.
“Orientation,” the Dollnick declared. “This is Union Station, and the rectangular opening at the back of the room is a door. For those of you who haven’t figured it out yet, we live in a centrifuge town. The core is up and the hull is down. The sentients move through tubes in the—never mind.” He dumped the contents of the box out on the floor. “These are your co-op student IDs. The station librarian tracks their location and uses the data to compute your pay. No ID, no creds. Got it?”
“Yes,” the students replied in a ragged chorus.
“That’s it, then,” the Dollnick said, scooping up one of the IDs with a lower arm. He flung it at Samuel, who thanks to his fencer’s reactions, was able to make the catch. “It’s the day after Queen’s Day and you’re late for work. As for everybody else, these IDs have your pictures on them, so even the dullest among you should be able to figure it out.”
“Wait,” a Chert student called as the Dollnick started for the exit. “Is that really our whole orientation?”
“You’re all old enough to know how to act properly, and if you don’t, nothing I can say is going to change that,” the Dolly whistled over his shoulder without slowing his pace. “Go forth and make your parents proud.”
“You better get going too,” Vivian said to Samuel. “I may wait for the process of elimination to whittle down the stack before I look for my ID.”
“Stay out of the scrum until the big aliens are gone,” he cautioned her as most of the students lurched out of their chairs and mobbed the front of the room. As soon as the aisles were clear, Samuel exited the classroom and headed for the nearest lift tube. He reached the Vergallian embassy before Vivian left her seat, and to his surprise, the main doors slid open at his approach.
“Welcome to the—oh, it’s the Human,” the liveried doorman cut himself off. “Ambassador Aainda has been expecting you all day.”
“I had to attend orientation first,” Samuel replied in fluent Vergallian, which drew a raised eyebrow from the doorman. “Is there an event taking place?”
“A reception in the main ballroom. I just pinged the ambassador that you’ve arrived. She told me to send you through to the office and she’ll meet you there. Do you know the way?”
“Yes, thank you. I was here last year.”
Samuel made his way through the embassy lobby, which could have easily been mistaken for an art gallery or even a museum exhibition, and took the small corridor that led to the ambassador’s office. Somehow Aainda had beaten him there and was waiting by the open door.
“Come in, young McAllister. You’ve missed the meal but you’re in time for the dancing. Are those really your shoes?”
“I didn’t know you were having an event. I could run home to change and be back here in less than fifteen minutes.”
“That won’t be necessary,” the ambassador said. She made a subtle hand gesture, and a large panel in the wall of her office slid aside, revealing a closet full of men’s formal clothes. “Let’s see,” Aainda continued, studying Samuel. “I’d say you’re a size 11GH Long,” She pulled a ballroom dancing suit from the rack and thrust it at him. “Try this on.”
“Is there, uh?”
“Don’t be shy,” the ambassador said. “I’m old enough to be your great-great-grandmother, if not more, and if you had anything I haven’t seen before, the co-op office would have mentioned it.” She noted the young man’s embarrassment and sighed. “Very well, I won’t look. Do you know your Vergallian shoe size?”
“It’s been too long since I danced competition. I’ve grown.”
“Sit,” Aainda ordered, and then to Samuel’s shock, she knelt gracefully and pulled an ancient sizing device out from under the couch and quickly removed his shoes. “Always be prepared,” she said while positioning the sliders. “The station scouts stole that motto from us.”
“I, uh…”
“There,” the ambassador declared, pushing the device back under the couch and standing up. “You have a narrow instep and I don’t keep your size in the closet so I’ll have to go to the storeroom. If you change fast enough, you’ll be dressed again by the time I get back.”
Samuel practically tore his clothes off as soon as the door closed and made record time getting into the ballroom dancing suit. He was just adjusting the Vergallian version of a bowtie that he’d found in the breast pocket of the shirt when Aainda returned with a pair of dancing shoes.
“I’ll have to order more in your size,” the ambassador said. “I expect to make good use of your dancing skill at our receptions and the best equipment pays for itself.”
“Could I ask who the reception is for?” Samuel asked, sliding his feet into shoes which fit even better than his socks.
“I expect you to ask about anything and everything. It’s the only way to learn and not make unnecessary mistakes. The reception is for Ajalah, a senior operator in the Imperial Intelligence Service.” Aainda stood back and surveyed Samuel’s form. “A little cosmetic surgery and you could almost pass as Vergallian. Have you ever considered removing your back teeth?”
“My molars? Why?”
“It would help accentuate your cheekbones, though you could achieve the same effect with makeup.”
“Do I need to pass as Vergallian to do the job?”
“I was just thinking out loud. I hope you don’t mind serving as a Gulnick this evening?”
“It’s fine,” Samuel said, though he winced internally at the Vergallian word, which carried the freighted meaning of a handsome young man who dances with dowagers. “Will they expect me to talk?”
“Some might. Do you have your nose plugs?”
“No,” he said, and then the implication struck home. “I’m not sure they’d help anyway. My dad warned me about Vergallian women.”
“There are a number of upper caste women present at the reception, and dosing males with pheromones is as natural to them as smiling is to you,” the ambassador explained. “Your father is right to be concerned. Do I have your permission to extend my protection?”
“Yes,” Samuel said. “I didn’t know it was even possible.”
The ambassador concentrated for several long seconds, and then she said, “You will ignore instructions from any other women.”
“That’s it? I don’t think it worked.”
“You’ll be safe until it wears off, though you probably shouldn’t mention this to your parents,” Aainda said. “Or your girlfriend. Now come and let me introduce you around.”
Two hours later, Samuel couldn’t believe that his legs were holding up so well. He’d danced with a dozen Vergallian women whose combined ages easily came to three or four thousand years. A number of them had shown clear signs of frustration when he declined their invitations to take a break from the reception to see their lodgings, so he had to believe that whatever Aainda had done to protect him from their pheromones had worked.<
br />
“Mind if I cut in?” asked a ravishing Vergallian woman, putting her hand on the shoulder of the matron Samuel was currently waltzing. His partner did a double-take and abandoned him to the newcomer without an argument.
“I’m Samuel McAllister,” the EarthCent ambassador’s son formally introduced himself in Vergallian.
“I know perfectly well who you are,” his new partner purred through an artificial smile as she allowed him to glide her around the dance floor. “I’ve been watching you. You’re quite graceful for a Human.”
“Thank you, but I’m nowhere near your level.”
“Of course you aren’t. I have royal blood on both sides.”
“Your Highness,” Samuel acknowledged politely, bowing his head. “Is this reception in your honor?”
“It is. Your manners could be worse,” Ajalah continued in a speculative tone. “Tell me how you manipulated your way into a job at our embassy.”
“The Open University sent me,” he replied honestly. “The co-op program seems a bit haphazard.”
“I understand that the ambassador’s daughter will be working for your mother.”
“It seems that way,” Samuel answered noncommittally. He was acutely aware that the dance had turned into an interrogation.
“So, how is Ailia doing?”
“The little Vergallian girl who lived with us thirteen years ago?” Samuel replied without missing a beat. “I wonder about that myself.”
“That’s not what I hear,” Ajalah said, tightening her grip on his shoulder. “I know that Ailia’s half-sister brought her to Union Station for that ball the Maker arranged for your mother. We have video of you dancing for hours.”
