Date Night on Union Station

by E. M. Foner

The accelerometer on the tug’s instrument panel held steady as the velocity continued to ramp up, already far beyond the speed the ship could have reached on its own even when it was new. Joe actually caught himself studying the forward sensor display for their fleeing quarry, then he remembered that it had failed several months ago and was replaying the same loop from memory over and over again. He tried to lift a hand to give the console a whack, but it was too much work, so he decided to trust the robot and promptly fell asleep like an old trooper.

  Joe awoke to a bored voice intoning, “Target acquired, preparing to disable their propulsion system.” He was still pressed down by a giant hand, but the instruments showed that velocity was dropping rapidly now.

  “I can’t see anything,” he complained, looking through the forward port. “No visual contact.”

  “That’s because I’ve turned the ship for deceleration,” the Stryx responded. “It’s also for your safety.” There was a crackle of static and the field sensors on the console lit up with colors Joe hadn’t seen in years, indicating that some high-energy weapon had been fired. Another of the robot’s primitive looking attachments, no doubt.

  “Please prepare for a brief period of discomfort as I match speeds.” The robot offered the warning just as the invisible Thurillian beast that had kicked the tug out of the station took a seat on Joe’s chest. He didn’t pass out, quite, but a few more seconds would have done it. Then he was weightless, and a slight tremor passed through the tug as it gently bumped into something.

  “Sharf vessel acquired,” the Stryx droned in a monotone. “Please engage towing grapnels.” Joe knew he was a little slow recovering from the hard deceleration, but it was downright mean-spirited of the robot to add, “It’s the three blue buttons at the top left of your console. Press them in sequence.”

  “I know how to secure a tow,” Joe responded irritably, but he hit the buttons quickly. The inelastic contact between the ships had been softer than anything he could have managed flying the tug manually, but the vessels would still be drifting slowly apart without the magnetic grapnels to hold them together. “Repo has been secured,” he reported to the robot as the blue buttons turned green.

  “Returning to Union Station.” The Stryx finally sounded like it was waking up a little, and they began to move again. The accelerometer on the instrument panel settled at exactly 1 G as Joe’s weight returned to normal. Apparently the robot saw no need to hurry back, or maybe it wanted to give Joe the most comfortable ride possible, which made him think of whoever was aboard the Sharf cabin cruiser.

  “Hey, uh, Robot,” Joe said, losing momentum as he realized he had never asked the Stryx its name. Well, it could have offered to tell me, he thought. “What about the passengers aboard that ship? Did the cabin take any damage from whatever you were shooting there?”

  “Oh, please,” the robot replied. “It’s a civilian pleasure craft, not a battle cruiser. I could have stopped it by just grabbing the hull but this sorry excuse for a tug would have torn itself apart. Isn’t somebody from your history famous for saying with a good enough fulcrum, he could change a planet’s orbit?”

  “How should I know?” Joe replied with a shrug, musing over the fact that this Stryx had an ego. Maybe it was a juvenile. “I thought this was supposed to be a repo job. If you’ve vaporized their propulsion section, there goes ninety percent of the resale value.”

  “Your information was incorrect,” the robot responded, returning to its prior languor. “The job was to retrieve a Sharf cabin cruiser that departed Union Station without clearance in the commission of a crime. After we process the passengers, you are welcome to the ship and remaining contents for your little junk business.”

  “Oh,” Joe said, not sure if he should be more thankful or insulted. Bringing the conversation to a close would probably be the best policy. “Well, if you don’t need me for anything, I may as well catch up on my beauty sleep.”

  “If you ever do catch up, let me know,” the robot replied. “I’d be happy to make the appropriate changes to your Eemas profile.”

  No question, that was an insult, Joe thought as he closed his eyes, but maybe the Stryx was having a bad day. Besides, didn’t his father have a saying about looking a gift horse in the mouth? Joe knew about horses and their mouths from his childhood on the family ranch, not to mention cavalry stints on various worlds with technology bans. Even a toothless Sharf cabin cruiser was worth more than a herd of cow ponies. He smiled to himself at the thought that his dad would have called the robot a “pill,” as he slipped into the dusty dreams of his youth.

  Six

  The first thing Kelly saw when she regained consciousness was a priority message from EarthCent which Libby had forwarded to her heads-up display.

  congratulations stop

  Congratulations? The end of congratulations? She moaned and blinked her eyes, trying to remember where she had been when she passed out, and then it came back to her in a rush. Date bait.

  “Libby!” she called out angrily. “Come on, I know you can hear me.”

  “Welcome home,” Libby’s voice sounded smoothly in her head. “Sorry for the delay, I was just wrapping some things up. You’re quite a hit with EarthCent, you know. From what I hear, they’re going to upgrade the consulate to an embassy and give you another promotion.”

  “Great, I’m sure I’ll need it to pay for my rescue.” Kelly grimaced as she lifted her head slowly and looked to both sides. She was still reclined in the seat pod from the excursion craft, but it was no longer in the ship. The cavernous space was probably a docking bay for a decent-sized vessel, but all she could see were a dozen seat pods just like the one she occupied, the isolation covers still in place.

  The individual pods looked strangely out of context on the bare decking, trailing disconnected lengths of cable and tubing which witnessed how they had been mated with the excursion craft. Then a smallish robot rolled into view and did something to the external control panel on Kelly’s pod. The glass cover rolled back and the Stryx version of an optimum human air mix filled her lungs.

  “How do you feel, Consul Frank?” the robot politely inquired. “I hope you are suffering no ill effects from your brief stay in stasis.”

  “Fine, thank you,” she mumbled automatically, realizing that Libby had retreated into the background for the time being. “Are you associated with the station library?”

  “I’m a field agent for Eemas. I was responsible for your retrieval,” the Stryx responded cheerily.

  “Perhaps you can explain the coincidence of my two Eemas introductions turning out to be something other than dates?” Kelly inquired, putting on a professionally calm demeanor. Then she waited for a response as the silence stretched uncomfortably.

  “Might I suggest that coincidence is unlikely in this case?” the robot finally offered in reply. The average Stryx tended to treat unwanted questions the same way human adults treat embarrassing questions from other people’s children, with a mixture of good will and stonewalling. “Ah, the others are regaining consciousness. I really must see to them now,” the robot exclaimed with a hint of relief, and rolled away to the nearest seat unit. Kelly swung her legs down to the floor, found she was sufficiently recovered to stand, and shuffled off in the robot’s tracks.

  “I’ve been bombarded by advertisements for your service as long as I’ve been on this station, and I’ve never seen a disclaimer stating that the Stryx might hijack a date for diplomatic or police purposes.” Kelly spoke to the robot’s back as it fiddled with the controls for the isolation cover of the next pod. A groggy young woman was trying to sit up behind the glass, and a moment later, the cover swung back with a hiss.

  “Ugh, where am I?” the girl moaned. “The last thing I remember I was on a date at the Beer Garden in Little Europe. What happened?”

  “You were abducted by a ring of bride-stealers,” the robot answered in what struck Kelly as an exaggeratedly mechanical voice. The color that had been creeping back in
to the girl’s face beat a strategic retreat, then returned in a red flood. “Fortunately, your Earth Consul was able to expose the operation, and the perpetrators have been deported from Union Station. Excuse me, I have others to release.”

  The robot rolled off to the next pod unit, and rather than follow it around the hold badgering it with questions it didn’t appear inclined to answer, Kelly decided to wait with the girl, who looked like she was having a hard time shaking off the effects of stasis.

  “It did say bride-stealers, didn’t it?” the young woman asked, letting her head rest back on the cushion as she fought off a sudden wave of dizziness. Then she added in a tone of accusation, “I’ve heard some of those guys working the asteroid fields in this sector are pretty nice, and wealthy too.”

  “You can’t mean you wanted to get kidnapped!” Kelly responded incredulously. “What if they had been slavers, or organ thieves?”

  “But they weren’t,” the girl replied stubbornly. “The robot specifically said bride-stealers. That means there’s a man waiting who could afford to pay for the abduction, and he’s lonely enough to gamble on a strange woman who could turn out to be anyone. My own mother was stolen from an agricultural colony when she was just out of school, and she always said it was the best thing that ever happened to her.”

  “Oh, well, excuse me for rescuing you,” Kelly flared up, but a shriek from the next pod over interrupted her, and she saw a woman striking at the robot with her bare hands. “Some women may not share your broad-minded views on abduction,” she flung over her shoulder, as she shuffled over to calm the frantic woman.

  “Twenty days! I’ve missed my connecting ship and the ticket was nonrefundable!” The woman moaned and rocked back and forth while sitting up in the pod, but her eyes were scanning and Kelly could see that she was using her implants to catch up. The robot was already rolling away to the next unit, and Kelly chased it down.

  “Your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired,” she told it. “Let me do the talking.”

  “Yes, Consul,” the robot replied meekly. Its attitude was so out of keeping with the personality of any Stryx she had ever encountered that Kelly got the feeling she was being manipulated by an amateur, but she didn’t have the time or heart to argue about it. Waking up the rest of the women and sending them on their way took another hour, but none of them seemed any worse for wear, other than the unplanned vacation in stasis. It quickly became clear that all of the victims were single women who had no family or friends on the station, and more than one was quite annoyed with Kelly for sticking her nose in other people’s business.

  “You just wait right there,” she hurled at the robot as it tried to stealthily roll away after opening the last pod. Surprisingly, the Stryx didn’t even argue, but sat motionless as Kelly explained the situation to the last woman revived and offered the help of the consulate.

  “Has the consulate started a matchmaking service?” the woman asked hopefully. When Kelly shook her head, the woman just looked disgusted and stumbled away.

  Kelly turned and addressed the robot. “Now, you have some explaining to do. But first, what should I call you?”

  “My English name?’ the Stryx mused. “I rather fancy Jeeves, if it’s all the same to you.”

  “Fine, Jeeves. So who made the decision to drag me into the middle of this bride-stealing mess, and what’s the connection between Eemas and EarthCent?”

  “There is no direct connection, Consul, but surely you know that we Stryx enjoy a highly cooperative culture,” the robot replied evasively.

  “Then what’s the connection between Eemas and station management?” she asked.

  “Ah, that’s rather complicated. But I can tell you that two of the women on that ship were introduced to the bride-stealers through Eemas, and as soon as we suspected what was going on, we had to act to defend our business model.” Jeeves sounded indignant rather than defensive, and Kelly wondered if he was a stakeholder in the dating service.

  “So why didn’t you just deport the guys and confiscate their ship?”

  “You know that we don’t like imposing rules on other species, and bride-stealing is a widespread practice in many cultures. It doesn’t always include prior negotiations.”

  “And I entered into this how?” Kelly asked.

  “You fit the profile,” the Jeeves responded. “That made the date legitimate for both parties, and we do have a guaranty to uphold.”

  “I, what?” Kelly slapped the robot’s head and hurt her hand. “You think I’m so desperate to find a man that I want to get kidnapped?”

  “In any case, as an EarthCent employee, your implants are diplomatic quality, and of course, you authorized remote monitoring when you signed your employment contract,” the Stryx continued unperturbed. “By taking you without your prior consent, the bride-stealers violated your diplomatic immunity, which gave us an excuse to step in.”

  “Hold on a sec,” Kelly protested, with the feeling she was getting too much new information all at once. “What was that bit about authorizing remote monitoring of my implants? Do you mean you have me bugged?”

  “Strange how nobody from your world ever reads the end user license agreements,” Jeeves said by way of an answer. “This must have been the first time your implants were accessed remotely, or you would have been aware of it. The EarthCent agreement stipulates that the employee will be notified of any remote monitoring within one pay period. This conversation is being entered in the records that notification was made.”

  “Just wait a minute, and stop changing the subject,” Kelly demanded, trying to recall which question the robot was evading. But the whole situation was too confusing and she just wanted to get home and go to sleep. “I’m not through with you,” she concluded lamely.

  “You’ve had a strenuous day, you need rest,” the robot soothed her. “After a good night’s sleep, I hope you will see this experience in a new light. Remember, Eemas knows you better than you know yourself,” Jeeves invoked the tagline from the ads, and began rolling towards the exit.

  Kelly followed the robot in silence as she formed and discarded new lines of questioning. When they reached the corridor, Jeeves patiently waited for Kelly to choose her direction, towards the main tube bank, and then he headed off the opposite way. Just before the tube door closed, it occurred to her to yell at the vanishing robot, “Hey! Did whatever you call what just happened actually count as a date on my subscription?”

  Jeeves, who could probably pick up the vibrations of a butterfly landing on a leaf down on an ag deck, somehow failed to hear the question and rolled along his merry way.

  Seven

  None of the mercenaries who had fought behind Joe’s leadership would have believed he could ever be so nervous, but speaking to a roomful of children was not the sort of challenge he relished. He was only there because Paul had practically begged Joe to appear as his parent or guardian for the career show-and-tell, one of the group classes the Stryx offered so the children could socialize.

  Despite Paul’s usual shyness, he was eager to introduce his stand-in parent to the class, and Joe waited his turn in the corridor for Paul to come out and get him. The door slid open and a well-dressed woman stumbled out, swabbing the sweat from her face with a handkerchief.

  “That was brutal,” she muttered to Joe. “It made my dissertation defense seem like a cake walk.”

  “What do you do,” he asked her curiously.

  “I’m an astrophysicist with the Stryx singularity prediction labs,” she answered with a groan. “The questions those kids ask. Nobody warned me. Well, the shoe will be on the other foot when my little angels come looking for dinner tonight!”

  Joe wilted a little, and began to wonder how mad Paul could really get if he just made a run for it. He was shifting his weight to the balls of his feet when the door slid open again and he saw Paul’s face.

  “Hey Joe, what are you doing? It’s time,” he said and made a beckoning gesture.


  Joe drew himself up, squared his shoulders, and followed Paul into the class. It turned out to be a friendly-looking room with some sort of grass on the floor, he couldn’t tell if it was real or fake. There were more than forty kids there, ages ranging from around eight to fourteen, along with at least twenty little robots of a type he had either never seen or never paid attention to before. Paul led him to the front of the room and launched right into his introduction.

  “This is Joe. He’s been filling in for my parents since I was eight. I live with him in the crew module of an ice harvester down at Mac’s Bones, which he won in a card game. He teaches me how to use all sorts of cool tools, like torches and molecular shears. He’s not going to give a speech like that physicist, so you can just ask him questions and stuff. Joe?

  “Hi, kids,” Joe began, trying to sound confident and ending up almost yelling. “Uh, Paul has told me how great the school is and how hard you all work. He already told you that I own Mac’s Bones, so that makes me a sort of a recycling engineer,” he added on the spur of the moment, hoping that would keep him from being entirely outclassed by the other parents. “Any questions?”

  Every hand in the room shot up, including some metallic ones, and for the second time in as many minutes, Joe fought a sudden impulse to flee. He stared at the sea of eager little faces for a moment, and then thought he recognized a small girl and pointed in her direction.

  “How much do you make selling junk?” she demanded. Joe recognized too late the older of the two flower girls.

  “Uh, it varies a lot from cycle to cycle. And sometimes I get paid for doing nothing, like last cycle when I got twenty-five hundred Stryx creds as an order cancellation settlement.”

  “Wow!” Blythe marveled. “That’s a lot!”

  “And of course, I mainly do barter,” Joe added in relief, thinking this might not be so bad after all.

  “Barter is better,” the kids all answered in chorus, and the hands shot back up again.