Review Night on Union Station (EarthCent Ambassador Book 11)

by E. M. Foner

  Beowulf thumped his tail at the mention of David’s name, and then dropped his head over Kevin’s shoulder from behind, staring down at the lasagna.

  “He must have been crazy to run out on you,” Kevin declared loyally, causing Dorothy to blush lightly, but it only showed on her neck, where she hadn’t applied the Horten cosmetic spray.

  “I guess we just had different expectations,” Dorothy said, as if she were thinking about it rationally for the first time. “He wanted to get married right away, open a little restaurant somewhere, and have a big family. I still want to see new places and discover new inspirations for fashion. He had a really hard childhood and had to run away from a job where they didn’t care if he lived or died, so I kind of get now why settling down was so important to him.”

  “Shaina and I have to get going,” Brinda announced, rising from the table. “You kids have fun, and we’ll see you in work tomorrow, Dorothy.”

  “Tell Jeeves to burn that weird black dress,” Dorothy called after them. “I don’t know what he was thinking.”

  “Are you interested in Clive’s offer?” Chance asked the young man. “There’s a new group of trainees starting in a couple of weeks and it would be no problem to fit you in.”

  “Oh, do,” Dorothy said, putting her hand on Kevin’s arm. “It’ll be fun. You can have dinner with us every night and get to know the puppies.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t want to be a spy,” Affie said, reading Kevin’s face. “He doesn’t look like an organizational man to me.”

  “I bet I can get you work with my Dad and Paul,” Dorothy rushed on. “My sister-in-law just bought them a huge lot of alien ships at an auction and they need help just figuring out what they have.”

  “Ships?” Kevin repeated, his mind seizing on the word. “I think Chance mentioned that earlier. I lost my ship to the pirates, and the Stryx took the old Verlock trader we arrived in as a payment for rescuing us.”

  “I can get you a ship,” Dorothy promised impulsively. “We have lots of them.”

  “I’m not looking for a free lunch,” Kevin protested. Then he looked down at the remains of the lasagna and had to laugh at himself. He set the plate on the floor for Beowulf, who warned off the puppies with a deep growl before demolishing the leftovers with a single swipe of his tongue. “I’d love to talk to your father and brother about work, and if they can’t use me, I’ll think about Clive’s offer. I’ve been taking care of myself since I was sixteen, and from what I remember of this place, there must be plenty of opportunities.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “The station manager put us in a quarantine suite after our first radiation poisoning treatment,” Kevin explained. “We can go out and mix with people now, but it’s a free place to stay until the monitoring period is over. Everybody is being really nice about it, like it was their fault that we stole an obsolete Verlock ship out of a pirate’s museum and accessed a discontinued rescue network.”

  “We should really get back to work too,” Flazint said, nudging Affie. “It was nice to meet you, Kevin.”

  “We really hope you stay around,” Affie added.

  “Well, if all of you are leaving, I guess I’ll go check and see if I’m needed on the training grounds,” Chance announced. “I think I may be late.”

  “Where are you going?” Dorothy cried, as Kevin scraped back his chair.

  “I just thought that if everybody else was going…”

  “No, you stay. Or better yet, why don’t I show you around the station. Have you been to Libbyland?”

  “Never even heard of it,” Kevin admitted.

  “Great. Libby lets us in for free in return for feedback. Let me get my purse, I’ll just be a minute. Maybe five, this dress is wrong for Libbyland. Play with the puppies.”

  Kevin found himself alone with the dogs while Dorothy disappeared again. Beowulf brought him a throwing toy that looked like a boomerang, barked for the puppies to come, and then led the group down the ramp. Kevin cocked his arm, aimed for the far side of the hold, and cast the toy.

  Too late the young man and the dogs realized that the giant bay doors were open. The throwing toy shot through the atmosphere retention field and disappeared into the vacuum of the station’s core as the Nova began dropping into the hold, a two-man Sharf trader towed in tandem with a rigid cable.

  The puppies set up a howling that attracted the attention of the recruits all the way over in the training area, but Beowulf just gave Kevin a sad look before trotting out to meet the Nova.

  “What happened?” Dorothy asked, coming down the ramp in a casual skirt and sandals.

  “I threw their boomerang into space by mistake,” he said, marveling at how the girl’s height seemed to go up and down as if by magic.

  “Don’t worry, they have too many toys. Let’s get going,” she added, grabbing his wrist and tugging him towards the exit. “There’s lots of neat stuff to see. You can talk to Dad and Paul when we come back for dinner.”

  Six

  “I’d like to start with a Drazen if it’s not too much trouble,” Kelly requested. She felt bad about interrupting the alien encounters training session, but Thomas had assured her that the agreement EarthCent Intelligence had struck with the various alien theatrical guilds left them chronically oversupplied with actors.

  “One Drazen, coming up,” Judith replied brightly. “Hey, Lorth. Front and center.”

  A middle-aged Drazen who was dressed like a lounge lizard detached himself from the collection of otherwise unoccupied aliens who were trading war stories about their work in the immersives. He sauntered over to the two human women and gave Kelly an appraising look.

  “Will I be acting as her escort?” Lorth inquired, giving the ambassador a friendly leer. “I’ve had some experience in that line of work when money was tight.”

  “What? No. I need you to play the part of the Drazen ambassador, Bork. He’s a friend, but it wouldn’t have been right for me to ask him to do something like this.”

  “Like what?”

  “Humanity is up for review on our tunnel network membership status. We’re hoping to get off of probation. Part of the process is that our ambassadors on the Stryx stations are meeting with their alien counterparts to hear any feedback they might have. Our analysts have drawn up a list of issues they believe are relevant for each species and I’d like to practice my responses.”

  “That sounds a bit like overkill,” the actor replied, absently pulling on an earlobe with his tentacle. “Why would you want to get off of probationary status, anyway?”

  “I’m not quite sure myself,” Kelly admitted. “I don’t have access to the information that would explain it.”

  “It’s your funeral,” Lorth observed with a shrug. He gave Judith the thumbs-up and guided the ambassador to one the designated areas where alien actors and human trainees did their pair work. “Can you zap the script to my implant so I can read it off my heads-up display?”

  “It’s just a few questions for improvisation. I have them right here.” Kelly fished in her purse and handed the actor a thin sheet of plastic.

  Lorth studied the script for just a second before he broke out laughing. He looked away out of politeness, lest the ambassador think that he was laughing in her face, but every time he turned back, he set off in fresh gales. Kelly couldn’t help finding it a little disconcerting, and she peeked at his sheet to make sure it was the correct one.

  Eventually, the actor regained his composure, and said, “I hope these questions weren’t drawn up by any of the agents I’ve helped train or I’m doing a very poor job indeed.”

  “What do you mean?” Kelly asked. “What’s wrong with them?”

  “All of these complaints imply that we see you as competition,” Lorth replied, and then hastily added, “No offense.”

  “None taken. But don’t the Drazen independent traders and market vendors complain about humans undercutting prices with shoddy merchandise?”

 
“Sure, but they say the same sorts of things about all of the species. It’s just natural. I know I can get better quality knives from the Frunge at a good price, or the latest high-tech gadgets from the Dollnicks, not to mention more interesting dramas from the Hortens and the Vergallians. But in the end, I mainly buy from Drazens because they understand me, and if I ever get a part, I expect them to make up the majority of the audience.”

  “But isn’t the whole idea of the tunnel network to bring us all closer together?” the ambassador followed up.

  “Yes and no,” the under-employed actor replied. “I’m sure you’re aware that the Stryx stations are unique places. You’ll find relatively few imported manufactured goods on any of the developed worlds, mainly specialized equipment, collectibles, and odd food-stuffs. I understand that the excellent hot sauce I put on my grizzards is produced on your homeworld and exported by Drazen Foods, but how much of my diet does it really make up? A thousandth of my daily calories? Less?”

  “Hmm, I see your point. So if you were the Drazen ambassador and you were meeting with me to complain about humanity, what sorts of things would you bring up?”

  Lorth stopped looking directly into Kelly’s eyes and shifted his gaze to a spot above her head, as if he were checking for a tentacle. “I really couldn’t say,” he mumbled.

  “Come on,” Kelly urged him. “I’m sure there’s something about humans that gets under your skin. How long have you been helping with the training improvisations for EarthCent Intelligence?”

  “Around eight cycles total,” the Drazen admitted. “It’s steady money between real gigs. But the closest I’ve ever come to diplomacy was playing chauffeur for an emissary in a historical drama. I’d really rather not mislead you with my personal views.”

  “Very well,” Kelly replied with a sigh. “Could you ask if there’s a Frunge available to talk with me?”

  Lorth nodded in the affirmative and excused himself, his body language expressing obvious relief as he fled back to the other actors. Kelly frowned and flipped through the scripts in her purse, looking for the questions the intelligence analysts had drawn up for a Frunge. After reading the English translations under each line, she used her stylus to rub out the ones related to human competition in the edged weapons and cutlery trades.

  “Hi, I’m Yzmith,” a mature Frunge woman introduced herself.

  “Kelly McAllister,” the ambassador said. “Did Lorth explain the role to you?”

  “Yes, I’m looking forward to giving it a try,” Yzmith said with a smile.

  “Here are the questions for improvisation,” Kelly told her, handing over the plastic sheet and crossing her fingers. The Frunge glanced at the text and began to shake with silent laughter, her hair vines rustling up a storm.

  “What? I got rid of the ones about us competing with your metallurgists.”

  “You think we’re offended by your grain eating?” Yzmith asked with barely restrained mirth. “Look, I wouldn’t get caught dead ordering one of your pizzas with crust because the neighbors would shun me if they saw it delivered. But abstaining from eating grass-related foods is just a fetish with Frunge diplomats and some of the old families who take legends seriously. I mean, I don’t believe that the grasses on our homeworld were ever sentient, so how could they have agreed to a treaty? It’s just one of those things, like Verlocks sacrificing virgins to appease the volcano gods.”

  “The Verlocks sacrifice virgins?” Kelly asked in horror.

  “Not anymore, I don’t think,” Yzmith said. “I just meant it’s a cultural identity thing that some of us take more seriously than others.” She lowered her voice and looked around before adding, “I recently installed hardwood flooring in my bedroom because it’s much nicer than walking around on a metal deck, even with rugs. It’s not like the lumber came from my ancestors.”

  “I see.” The ambassador made a mental note to have Dorothy check with Flazint on whether the woman was exaggerating. “Are there any problems with living around humans that you would bring up if you were a Frunge diplomat?”

  “Well, you do keep funny hours, and your deck lighting tilts a bit too far towards the red end of the spectrum, but it’s better than the heat lamps some other species need to see properly.”

  “Lighting,” Kelly said. “I’m not sure we can really do anything about that. Isn’t there something else?”

  “Nooo,” Yzmith replied, looking a bit antsy. “But I may not be typical. Do you want me to send in a different Frunge?”

  “I think I saw a Horten, so if he’s not engaged, I’d like to see if the questions we worked up for him are relevant.”

  “I’ll send him right over,” the Frunge woman said, walking away as quickly as dignity and manners allowed.

  Kelly pulled out the Horten questions, hesitated with her stylus, and then decided to leave them unaltered. A minute later, a surly-looking alien approached her.

  “I’m Kelly McAllister,” the ambassador introduced herself.

  “Thunta,” the Horten replied shortly. “I’m not so sure about this.”

  “Sure how? If you feel uncomfortable about changing colors, I can look away.”

  “Why would I care what a Human thought of my appearance?” the actor responded dismissively. “The point is, I don’t believe that impersonating a Horten diplomat for the amusement of the EarthCent ambassador is covered by our contract. I would have taken it to the steward, but he’s busy over there hamming it up in the role of a customs agent. If you ask me, he missed his calling as a petty government official.”

  “Perhaps if you look at the script?” Kelly prompted, passing over the questions. The Horten glanced down at the plastic sheet and turned a deep brown, his breathing becoming ragged as he struggled to contain himself. Then he couldn’t take it anymore and he broke out in short, sharp shouts of glee, drawing the attention of the role-playing pairs working around them.

  Judith hurried over and asked, “Is there a problem?”

  “He’s just expressing his opinion about the questions I wanted him to ask,” Kelly explained. “It seems possible that our intelligence analysts missed the boat on this exercise. I’ll just ask him if he has any suggestions of his own, provided that he’s willing. I’m afraid he feels that the contract doesn’t cover this contingency.”

  “No, please, I can do this,” Thunta declared, pulling himself together. “I’ve always considered myself to be more of a dramatic actor than a comedian, but it’s a chance to stretch some unused theatrical muscles. Let’s see.” The Horten’s skin tone returned to a neutral beige, and he struck a pose that was eerily reminiscent of how Ambassador Ortha appeared when he was feeling self-important. “How do you account for the unprecedented success of Humans at recent Horten gaming tournaments?” the actor inquired, and then his skin shifted back to brown and he fell on the floor snorting.

  “I don’t see what’s so funny,” Kelly protested. “I don’t claim to follow the gaming news myself, but I understand that humans have been taking home the bulk of the prize money at some Horten tournaments.”

  Thunta struggled to control himself, failed, and then crouching and facing away from Kelly, extended an arm back over his shoulder brandishing the questions.

  “Here, take them,” the Horten begged. “It’s too much. I thought I could do it, but it’s just too funny. I don’t know how comic actors manage.”

  Kelly snatched back the plastic sheet and wasted a sour expression on the alien’s back. “Are you going to explain your reaction?”

  “You think that we’re angry about Humans winning at our tournaments? Your wins are in games where our players have allowed their skills to deteriorate due to the lack of competition. Everybody knows that both attendance at tournaments and remote viewership are up at least three-fold since your players went on their streak and gave our people a rooting interest again. The scores and the times that Humans have been posting wouldn’t have gotten them into the finals a few thousand years ago, but the level of pla
y has deteriorated that badly. I’m not even a fan, but I can appreciate the value of opponents one can loathe.”

  “Loathe?” Kelly didn’t know whether to be pleased with the back-handed compliment or to worry about the underlying sentiment. “Uh, thank you for your input.” She motioned to Judith, who had been keeping an eye on them since the Horten’s noisy collapse.

  “He’s not typical, even for a Horten,” Judith whispered as she stepped around the ambassador to help the actor to his feet.

  “Do you have a Dollnick?” Kelly asked, half hoping that the answer would be negative.

  “Sure. He’s one of our best role players and he’s just finishing up with a demonstration of how to comport oneself in the presence of a merchant prince. I’ll send him over in a minute.”

  Kelly easily found the Dollnick script among the remaining sheets, since the number had been decreasing as she folded the used ones in half before replacing them in her purse. She scanned the questions and wasn’t surprised to see that they concentrated on business-related issues, which she was now convinced would simply tickle the alien’s funny bone.

  “Libby?” she subvoced.

  “Yes, Ambassador,” the station librarian responded over her implant.

  “I was just practicing for the review confrontations, but the alien actors keep laughing at the questions we prepared. I know you aren’t going to tell me what to expect in the review, but I’m making a fool out of myself here.”

  “Better with the actors than with the ambassadors,” Libby replied philosophically.

  “Just a little hint?” Kelly pleaded.

  “How many Vergallians are there?”

  “What? Uh, I think around a trillion, right? They have hundreds of worlds, after all.”

  “And how about the Verlocks?

  “Not as many, I think. Maybe a half a trillion?”

  “And the Drazens, and the Hortens, and the Frunge?”

  “I think they’re all in the same ballpark,” Kelly hazarded a guess. “Haven’t we been through this before? You’re implying that the alien species all outnumber us by so much that we don’t rate on any sort of threat scale.”