by E. M. Foner
“That’s good enough for me,” M793qK said. “You’re as healthy as one can expect for a Human.”
“Are you sure?” Ellen asked. “Like you said, he was dead just a few hours ago.”
“And last night you were a lush. Sometimes I even amaze myself.”
“What’s he talking about?” John asked. “Is that the elective surgery you mentioned? I thought you were getting the thing on your foot fixed.”
“Do you require cosmetic surgery?” M793qK asked Ellen immediately, a gleam coming into his multifaceted eyes. “I offer a quantity discount.”
“That was just a bad-fitting pair of shoes,” the freelancer responded, “and thank you for violating doctor-patient confidentiality. Did it ever occur to you I might not want everybody knowing the details about my procedure?”
“Doctor-patient what?” the beetle rubbed out. “Surely I mentioned that everything that happens in this office is holographically recorded for training purposes, but I reserve the right to sell it to the Grenouthians if anything amusing happens.”
“What’s going on, Ellen?” John asked, getting to his feet and taking her hand. “I know I gave you plenty of grief about your drinking but I’ve seen a lot worse.”
“Now you tell me,” Ellen complained, but then she shook her head. “You weren’t the only one I heard it from, it just took me a few years to believe it. My editor has always supported me, but I could see in his eyes that he thinks I have a problem. Anyway, the doctor says his work can’t be reversed.”
“I didn’t say I can’t reverse it,” M793qK objected. “I said that I won’t reverse it. Even a part-time reporter should be more precise.”
“Freelance,” Ellen retorted. “And if you’re going to split hairs, your exact warning was that if I wanted to start drinking again, I’d have to find another Farling physician who knows as much about primitive biology as you do.”
“There aren’t any Farling physicians who know as much about primitive biology as I do,” the beetle doctor told her. “I thought you would be able to draw that conclusion from the context.”
“Did you let him mess with your brain?” John asked, staring into Ellen’s eyes.
“The doctor didn’t touch my brain,” she reassured him. “I came in a couple of days ago and let him take samples from my intestines and he—altered them.”
“Altered?” M793qK scoffed. “I completely re-engineered your gastrointestinal tract and I’m applying for a patent. The samples I removed were for experimentation so I could program a swarm of nanobots to make the required changes at the cellular level. I finished deploying the nanobots just before the popsicle package arrived.”
“The what?” John asked.
“Stasis pod,” Flower explained. “The doctor has a low opinion of Dollnick life-preserving technology. We agreed to disagree.”
“You let the Farling poke holes in you to take samples and now he’s filled you with Gem nanobots?”
“No scars,” Ellen boasted, pulling up her blouse and showing off her abdomen. “And since you’re the one who let the cat out of the bag, Doctor, you explain it to him.”
“Alcohol enters the bloodstream by way of the gastrointestinal tract,” M793qK said. “The nanobots are targeting the glands which excrete the glycosylated proteins that coat the walls of the stomach and intestines to create an alcohol-proof version.”
“I don’t understand,” John admitted.
“That doesn’t surprise me. Have you ever gone hiking with those boots on?”
“Sure.”
“Do they keep your feet dry in the snow and the mud?”
“They’re waterproof.”
“And Ellen’s mucous will be alcohol-proof as soon as the nanobots finish their work.”
John looked from the Farling to Ellen. “So you’re going to keep on drinking but you won’t get drunk? Somehow, that doesn’t seem ideal.”
“The re-engineered mucous keeps the alcohol from reaching the capillary system by absorbing it first and immediately beginning passage for evacuation,” the Farling said. “The volumetric relationship is approximately ten-to-one.”
“You mean, if she tries to drink—”
“I’ll be in the restroom all night passing copious amounts of mucous,” Ellen said wryly. “The doctor offered me several other options, but they were all worse.”
“Welcome back from the dead,” the captain said, entering the med bay with a fruit basket. “Compliments of Flower and EarthCent Intelligence.”
“Woojin,” John greeted him. “I haven’t seen you since the last conference on Union Station.”
“It’s getting awfully crowded in here,” the doctor interrupted the reunion. “Why don’t you all go and catch up elsewhere, Captain. I have a patient coming in any minute.” The Farling buzzed something at the gryphon and added, “You should feed Semmi more protein or her growth spurt might be delayed.”
“Growth spurt?” John asked.
“Of course. You didn’t think she was an adult, did you?”
“Come, I’ll take you to the private cafeteria,” the captain said. “Thanks for saving him, M793qK. You know I’m good for the bill.”
“I know nothing of the sort,” the doctor grumbled.
Woojin led his guests to the nearest lift tube, and then to the small cafeteria that Flower set aside for aliens traveling alone, most of whom had second jobs with the intelligence services of their respective species. “You have a guest on the way,” he informed John.
“Who?”
“A Huktra agent named Myort. He parked in Flower’s bay just a few minutes ago.”
“He must be coming for Semmi,” John said, and he was struck by the fact that rather than relief, all he felt was disappointment.
“I don’t know about that part, but I have something for you as well,” Woojin said, and handed over a ring.
“My poison detection ring. I sure could have used this a few hours ago. Where did you get it?”
“A tough cookie named Liz showed up here while the doctor was bringing you back to life. She said that right after you visited her at the Borten asteroid belt, she found out that the miners being brought into the system were working without proper cosmic radiation shielding and they’ve started getting sick. Her employer is trying to cover it up, so she smuggled herself out on a supply ship and caught a ride here with a trader coming to Rendezvous.”
“Liz gave me a data dump on their operations that I already transmitted to Clive at Union Station,” John said. “Is she okay?”
“She wasn’t injured, but I don’t think she’d slept in days. We gave her a cabin and Flower is keeping an eye on her.”
“She’s snoring,” the Dollnick AI reported.
Semmi began thwacking her tail on the deck when the cafeteria doors slid open to admit Myort, but she remained at John’s side. The Huktra winked at his friend, and then produced a chit which he offered to the captain with both hands, being careful to keep the talons from scratching Woojin.
“Greetings from Huktra Intelligence,” Myort said. “I’ve been informed that you are the contact point for all alien intelligence agents stationed on Flower, and although I’m just visiting, I thought it would be appropriate to present my credentials.”
“Welcome aboard,” the captain responded formally. “I’m afraid I’m not carrying a card to exchange. Clive, I mean, the director of EarthCent Intelligence, told me that you’re interested in establishing relations.”
“We got the idea from the Drazens,” Myort said. “Although your intelligence-sharing relationship with them is somewhat one-sided, your species is up-and-coming, and you do produce the occasional surprising tidbit that the rest of us overlook.”
“I didn’t know that Drazens and Huktra were on such close terms,” Woojin said.
“It’s complicated. Our respective leaderships have little interest in official relations beyond the minimum required by the tunnel network treaty, but Herl helped me avoid a serious error some tim
e back, and I’ve been looking for a chance to reciprocate.”
“The director of Drazen Intelligence did you a favor and you want to reciprocate by cooperating with EarthCent Intelligence?”
“Perhaps I should start from the beginning. I’ve been monitoring certain Drazen communications—”
“You’re spying on them?” John interrupted.
“Spying has such a negative connotation,” Myort complained. “Let’s just say I was sampling some poorly encrypted communications between Drazen businesses on Earth and their field headquarters.”
“That’s how you’re repaying Herl’s favor? Remind me not to get on your good side.”
“The truth is, favors are dangerous things in our line of work, and Herl would rather keep me in his debt. I merely took the liberty of looking for a way to repay him. If the Drazens want to keep me from reading their correspondence, they should upgrade their technology.”
“Which EarthCent Intelligence security is based on,” John commented dryly.
“Yes, there’s that,” Myort allowed. “To make a long story short, I discovered that the Drazen businesses operating on Earth were concerned about the level of criminality and lack of law enforcement in many regions where their suppliers operate, and this was especially the case with Drazen Foods. My own species has yet to establish an official presence on Earth, so I decided to visit and plant a few seeds, if you know what I mean.”
“You told me you went to Earth for a restaurant package tour.”
“And you believed me? In any case, I was able to pass myself off among your lawless element as a fugitive from justice, and I focused on acquiring sources inside organizations that Drazen Intelligence had flagged for investigation by your Earth law-enforcement.”
“You tried to jump the line by hiring informers.”
“That’s a less elegant way of putting it.” Myort produced a standard memory chip and handed it to Woojin. “I’m afraid a holographic recording was beyond my source’s ability, but I think you’ll find the flat video acceptable in this case.”
A panel popped open just to the right of the kitchen door, and Flower instructed Woojin, “Slot the memory in the media interface and I’ll project it.”
“Never knew that was there,” the captain muttered, and after a brief examination, he located the receptacle size that matched the chip. The lights in the room dimmed, and then a grainy image appeared on one of the walls.
“Sorry about the low resolution,” Myort said. “My source was attending this meeting undercover and recorded it with a hidden camera in her hairpin.”
“I’ll do a little interpolation and apply a few filters,” Flower said, and the still image improved noticeably. “I could shrink the projection area to sharpen the image further, but I’ve already skipped ahead and reviewed the contents, and I think you’ll find the audio more interesting than the video.”
“My source also has some training materials from the presentation that I told her to send to the EarthCent President’s office so they can forward it to Union Station in the diplomatic bag,” Myort added.
The video began to play, and a friendly man in an expensive suit took his place behind the lectern. “Welcome back to our retraining program,” he began. “I’m Gregory, and I’ll be handling the afternoon session. I hope you enjoyed your lunch in the executive cafeteria, and if you work hard in the field, you may soon find yourself promoted to management and eating there on a daily basis. All of you should now have a starter kit that includes your business cards, our company manual, a Horten pocket-paralyzer, a company tab, and a checklist for repossessions. Please take a moment to do an inventory and make sure your kit is complete.”
“Why does the sign on our building say Triad Financial Services, but according to my business card, I’m a field representative for MORE?” somebody asked.
“I’m glad you noticed,” the presenter said, and taking up a stylus, repeated out loud what he printed on the large display panel. “MORE – Make Owners REnters. There, ladies and gentlemen, you have our philosophy in a nutshell. Humanity’s progress as a space-faring civilization has been slowed by the stubbornness and inefficiency of our only transportation infrastructure, namely independent traders flying second-hand ships purchased from aliens. It’s our goal, or perhaps I should say, our mission, to consolidate the industry in order to improve profitability to the point where we can start working our way up the galactic food chain.”
“You’re talking about eliminating independent traders,” somebody else said.
“Nothing so dramatic. After all, there are millions of them, and while our resources are large, purchasing that many ships is beyond our current means. What we have been able to do is to acquire the majority of outstanding mortgages on Sharf two-man traders. Your job will be to sell refinancing deals to our mortgage customers, with the ultimate goal of enabling us to legally repossess the ships.”
“Selling drugs was easier,” another attendee complained.
“But we’re no longer in the drug business, which means, you’re no longer in the drug business,” Gregory said, and something in his voice made it clear that no argument would be tolerated. “You’ll find that offering large sums of money to young traders is actually an easy sell, especially after our special ops team sees to it that your prospects are in need of cash.”
The audience, none of whom were visible in the video, broke out in appreciative laughter.
“What’s all this promotional material about Advantage?” a woman’s voice asked.
“My source,” Myort interjected.
“Ah, the pièce de résistance,” Gregory said with a broad smile. “Even if your prospects won’t sign up for the full refi treatment, you can still earn commissions by getting them to use our free suite of tools that will help increase their profits.”
Laughter swelled again, and various voices offered one-word assessments of their marks that were all synonyms for “suckers.”
“Can I apply for the special ops team?” somebody asked. “I used to do that sort of thing back home.”
“I’m afraid we have all the muscle we need right now, and a shortage of salesmen without prominent tattoos on their faces and hands. By the end of the year, we should achieve our first goal of foreclosing on a quarter of the Sharf ships with outstanding balances, and we’ll operate those in such a way to accelerate the losses of the remainder. The traders are a disorganized bunch, and our only fear is that they’ll join the Conference of Sovereign Human Communities. We’re financing a slate of candidates for the Traders Guild election to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
The video came to an abrupt end, and Myort said, “Sorry about that, but I bought all of the surveillance gear in a shop on Earth, and the record times on those hairpin cameras is limited. I didn’t include the video from the morning session, which was all about the benefits package for the reps. The recording was made almost a month ago and it took that long for the chip to reach me. Earth really does need a better package delivery service.”
“This is incredible,” Ellen said. “I’m about to publish a follow-up story to my Advantage piece implying a link to MORE based on user testimony, but I was worried my editor might require more proof.”
“Will the Galactic Free Press include the video?” John asked her.
“Sure, but if you really want to make sure everybody sees it before the election, offer it to the Grenouthians. Georgia already messaged me everything she has, so I can ask Flower to attach the video and send it all in to the home office. I bet it appears in the paper’s next update cycle. You don’t have to delay sending the video to the Grenouthians, and the truth is, they’re much more likely to run it if they can be first.”
“I’ve forwarded the video to both EarthCent Intelligence and the Galactic Free Press,” Flower announced. “I’m contacting my network source to sell it to the Grenouthians.”
“You can just give it to them,” John said.
“No, Flower is right,”
the Huktra told him. “They won’t take it seriously unless it comes with a price attached, and the poor video quality is a real drawback for them. Still, I think that they’ll run it as a humor piece.”
“Lucky for us you were spying on our Drazen allies,” Woojin said. “EarthCent Intelligence owes you one.”
“I’ll owe you two,” John said. “I think the election was tilting against us, which would have kept the Guild out of CoSHC.”
“I’d like to cash one of those favors in now, if you don’t mind,” Myort said. “Do you remember what I told you about my wife?”
“Is this the wife who doesn’t know she’s married to you yet?”
“It’s important to project confidence if you want to get anywhere with our females. In any case, she gave me an ultimatum. It’s her or the gryphon. So I was wondering…”
“You want me to keep Semmi?” John struggled for a moment with the idea of playing hard to get to use up both of the open favors he’d promised, but the gryphon was looking at him expectantly, so he caved. “As long as she’s willing, I’m willing. But you know my ship isn’t a quarter the size of yours, and the Farling said that she’s due to have a growth spurt.”
“I’ll put it this way,” Myort said. “If you and Ellen live long enough, you’ll be able to ride her. Together. At the same time.”
Twenty
“Welcome to the last night of Rendezvous, and while I can’t promise you the excitement of the last few days, I think you’ll all be glad you stuck around until the end,” the master of ceremonies addressed the crowd. “Before we proceed to the final round of the Tall Tales contest and the announcement of the election results, a personal representative of the President of EarthCent has an important announcement. Please put down your drinks and your desserts, though for those of you enjoying the complimentary fruitcakes provided by Flower there isn’t much difference, and give a warm welcome to the president’s mistress, Hildy Greuen.”
Even though she looked no larger than an ant to those in the back, the ten thousand plus traders seated at long rows of tables in the enormous Vergallian tent gave EarthCent’s public relations director a thunderous round of applause. Hildy climbed onto the stage and took her place at the lectern with the ease of a practiced public speaker.