Career Night on Union Station (EarthCent Ambassador Book 15)

by E. M. Foner

  “He’s always been good with aliens,” she eventually said. “It’s probably because he was on ‘Let’s Make Friends’ so young, before Aisha raised the age for humans by a year. Maybe something in interspecies relations?”

  “I was thinking along those lines myself. I’d better go catch up with the others before Baa turns all of our potential customers into zombies.” Jeeves began moving for the door again, and then halted for a moment to add, “You shouldn’t spend too long sitting in one position. I put in a Stryxnet call to Flower myself, and M793qK says that—”

  “Go!” Dorothy commanded, pointing at the exit, and didn’t drop her arm until the Stryx had left the room. As soon as the door slid shut behind him, she got up and followed, turning left in the hall and entering the conference room. There she took a few minutes doing the basic stretches that the Farling doctor had taught Chastity, who had insisted on passing them along. “Libby?”

  “Yes, Dorothy,” the station librarian answered immediately.

  “Can you show me what’s happening at the LARP everybody went to? I never watched any of that league play, but I guess it’s practically part of the job now.”

  “It does seem unfair that the others are off playing while you’re stuck at work,” Libby said.

  A holographic projection similar to that generated by a standard home entertainment immersive system appeared over the conference table. About a third of the hologram was given over to a pair of commentators standing in some sort of studio space which was loaded with displays for the Drazen doing the play-by-play to follow the action. The color commentator, not surprisingly, was a Horten.

  “…and we’re kicking off the season with a new sponsor,” the Horten was saying. “Every participant in today’s LARP will be receiving a bespoke bag-of-holding from Baa’s Bags.”

  “Fashions to die for, or kill for, or something like that,” added the Drazen, who was apparently having trouble with the prompts on his heads-up display. “Bags-of-holding have come a long way since your days in the league. Isn’t that right, Poga?”

  The Horten didn’t appreciate the reference to his age, but the endless sparring between the two commentators whose species had fallen out long before was part of their attraction as a team. “That’s right, Bunky,” he replied, using the diminutive form of his co-host’s name, which made the Drazen’s tentacle twitch angrily. “When I came into the league, we considered ourselves lucky if they gave us a sack without a hole in the bottom, and you can forget about magical weight reduction. I remember one time I took out a trio of Berserkers, and carrying their axes back to town to cash in was more work than those cheap Drazen weapons were worth.” Then his face blanched yellow in fear, and he stuttered, “T—T—T—Terra—Terragram!”

  “Sounds like somebody didn’t spend enough time under his sunlamp this morning,” the Drazen jeered, but when he scanned the displays, his tentacle stood on end. “Holy Hot Sauce!”

  “T—T—T,” the Horten repeated.

  The hologram of the LARP space expanded into the section previously occupied by the commentators, and the view zoomed in on Baa and the two fashion designers, who approached the team of players waiting to start. The role-players had their game-faces on, and either they had been warned that a Terragram would be joining them, or they were too worried about the coming battle to be picky about their allies.

  “Gather ‘round, please,” Baa called in a friendly manner. “I expect we’ll be picking up a lot of loot today and I’ve brought you all new bags-of-holding.”

  “Where are they?” demanded a human player who had no cultural fear of Terragrams.

  “Why, in here, of course,” the mage said, tapping her small handbag which was embroidered with five red feathers, the highest level of enchantment the Baa’s Bags brand offered. “Any ideas for this fine gentleman, girls?”

  “The red backpack with a sword loop for those impractical yet fashionable over-the-shoulder draws,” Affie suggested.

  Baa opened her handbag, peered inside, and feigned a surprised expression for the immersive cameras as her whole arm disappeared into an impossibly small space. Then she nodded and pulled out a red backpack that was at least ten times the size of the enchanted purse in which it had been stored.

  “You can keep bags-of-holding inside bags-of-holding?” the human player asked as he eagerly accepted the backpack from the mage and shrugged it on. “Does the weight reduction get multiplied?”

  “It does for our five-feather bags, but mine is the only one I’ve created so far. Your backpack is the three-feather model, so it can store other bags-of-holding and preserve them all if you die, but the original weight reduction for each will remain in force. Who’s next?”

  Another human stepped forward, this one dressed as a barbarian warrior with a two-handed longsword balanced on his shoulder. “I only wear leather,” he proclaimed.

  “And I would never think to dress you in anything else,” Baa responded. “Any suggestions, girls?”

  “The one you all said I put too many studs on,” Flazint answered immediately. “They give the wearer eighty percent damage reduction from backstabs.”

  “That’s better than my jerkin,” the barbarian said eagerly as Baa searched inside her purse. “Does the protection stack?”

  Flazint shrugged and pointed at the feathered mage.

  “Items ensorcelled by different makers always stack with Baa’s Bags,” the Terragram answered, turning slightly to speak directly towards the nearest floating camera. Then she pulled from her handbag a leather pack that must have weighed as much as a saddle given the number of metal studs piercing the exposed surfaces. Baa dangled it from one finger before handing it over to the barbarian, whose arm dropped towards the deck when he took on the unexpectedly heavy load. “Four feathers give it a ninety-five percent weight reduction for contents. I thought I’d better compensate for the mass of the fashion statement.”

  As the barbarian shouldered his way into the pack, the alien role-players, emboldened by the generosity of the easy-going mage, pushed forward and began stating their requirements.

  “I can’t believe how good she is at this,” Flazint whispered to Affie as the mage made an on-the-spot adjustment for a healer who wanted a special cooler section to keep herbs at the height of their potency. “She’s really putting everybody at ease.”

  “Shaina told me that she gets a percentage of everything sold under the Baa’s Bags brand,” the Vergallian girl whispered back. “Look, here comes Tzachan.”

  Flazint’s hair vines turned dark green and she almost tripped over her own feet trying to strike a casual pose.

  “The private conversation wasn’t part of the broadcast,” Libby reassured Dorothy as the holographic view pulled back and the side-hologram of the commentators reappeared. “I just didn’t want you to feel left out.”

  “But I do feel left out,” the girl complained. “I could have been there for this part. It’s basically a fashion show until the fighting starts.” Dorothy’s eyes lit up. “Hey, that gives me a great idea.”

  “Care to share with your former teacher?”

  “We could have a fashion show for our LARPing line, but rather than the models strutting up and down a catwalk, they’d do combat stuff to show off the enchantments. It would have to happen real quick or the viewers would get caught up in the action rather than paying attention to our products.”

  “Something like the Vergallian fitting rooms?” the station librarian prompted.

  “Exactly, or like a LARP studio, but with all of the actions scripted,” Dorothy said excitedly. “I’ll bet Thomas and Chance could do all the programming. They’re always working up holographic training simulations for the training camp.”

  “Paying for models and props adds up quickly,” Libby cautioned her. “The commentators are about to discuss the sponsorship so I’ll restore the sound.”

  “As soon as the Terragram mage finishes handing out her bags-of-holding and tree-boy gets over
his stutter, we’ll be back with zombie-riffic fighting action,” the Drazen announced. “Also, we have a special bonus offer for Galactic Free Press subscribers watching today. Score the match at home and submit your total in the interactive LarpAddict box on the masthead of today’s paper, and whoever comes the closest wins a three-feather bag. I hope I didn’t shock you by mentioning ‘paper’, Poga.”

  “Ah, go strangle yourself with your tentacle, Bunky,” the Horten retorted.

  “People really watch this?” Dorothy asked the station librarian.

  “It’s the most popular competitive LARPing broadcast on the tunnel network,” Libby assured her. “I expect that orders for Baa’s Bags will increase substantially.”

  “Those are mainly Affie and Flazint’s designs. You know I’m more into clothing and shoes.”

  “Are you working on a new maternity frock?”

  “Yeah, I got the idea from a drama, but I checked some old books and there used to be something similar back on Earth called a ‘poncho’. The great thing is I can wear it for my whole term without letting it out, and then after I give birth, the hem will just fall a little lower.”

  “Do I detect a new product idea?”

  “Actually, I was just making it for myself, but now I see where I could use maternity clothes as a bargaining chip to get Jeeves to go along with my fashion show idea. What do you think of ‘Pregnancy Ponchos’ for a brand name?”

  “I’m sure he’ll hate it, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Perfect. And they take a ton of fabric as well. Maybe I’ll tell Jeeves that they have to be silk. Then when I let him talk me out of it, he’ll owe me.”

  Seven

  “So we’re limiting ourselves to metal or stone for the conference table,” Donna concluded, using her forefinger to check off two boxes in the holographic catalog projected by her display desk. “No synthetics?”

  “Synthetics are fine, as long as they aren’t wood grain,” Kelly replied, scootching her chair a little closer to Donna’s. “I like the subdued browns and some of the lighter slates. I can’t see holding a committee meeting sitting around any of those pastel colors, though. They look like pre-school activity tables.”

  “Are you getting worried about the contractors delivering their plans and estimates yet? It’s been a week since you had them all in and we haven’t heard back from a single one.”

  “I almost wish that were the case,” the ambassador said. “The sales rep from the Dollnick engineering firm that Ambassador Crute recommended came by and hand-delivered a tab with a complete set of blueprints and detailed estimates last night while we were eating dinner at home. He also brought a cake from the Little Apple and chew toys for the dogs.”

  “Are they too expensive?”

  “Joe thought the estimate looked pretty reasonable.”

  “Did you ask the Dolly if he would use human subcontractors?”

  “He said that would drive up all the cost estimates and double the construction time because humans are inefficient and difficult to schedule.”

  “Using an alien contractor would be a bit risky from the security standpoint,” the office manager ventured.

  “They’re Thark-bonded. The Dollnick brought the certificate and everything. There’s no better guarantee, because if the contractor cheated and the Thark bookies had to pay out, the contractor’s premiums would go through the roof. ”

  “The president has made himself available early if you’re ready to take the holo-conference,” Libby broke into the conversation.

  “Tell him I’ll be right in,” Kelly said. “Maybe we should wait on ordering the furniture until the remodeling is done, Donna.”

  The embassy manager shook her head in the negative. “I wouldn’t. You’re hosting the next nuisance-species committee meeting and having a place for everybody to sit is the most important part.”

  “Other than catering,” the ambassador said, rising from the chair and heading for her office. “I’ll probably be tied up for an hour since this is our full intelligence steering committee meeting.”

  “I’ll keep looking,” Donna promised.

  Kelly waved to engage the security lock after entering her office and sat down at her display desk, where a hologram of EarthCent’s president in his own office was already projected.

  “Steven,” the ambassador greeted her boss. “Are you early because there’s a problem?”

  “If there is, I hope there’s time to avoid it,” President Beyer responded. “Have you started renovations yet?”

  “We’re still shopping for contractors. I did get a reasonable quote and detailed plans from a Dollnick their ambassador sent over.”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Our public relations department just finished chewing my ear off about EarthCent’s contracting practices, and if I don’t pass the message along, I’ll get no peace in the office or at home.”

  “Hildy is a handful,” Kelly acknowledged. “I guess that’s why some organizations have a rule against office relationships.”

  “Have you heard about Ambassador Zerakova’s fiasco with the school for contract runaways?”

  “Fiasco? I heard it went brilliantly and I just sent Svetlana some books for their library. Libby told me that the Stryx are now channeling human runaways to Corner Station when they can do so without being too obvious.”

  “Oh, the school is a great success, I didn’t mean it that way. The problem is with the dormitories.”

  “Not enough space? Leaky plumbing? Over budget?” Kelly guessed in rapid succession.

  “No, the dormitories are exemplary and the contractor came in under budget. Hildy and I went for the grand opening and stayed over in a room. It’s all so nicely done that the runaways will never want to leave.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “You must have missed the Grenouthian network coverage,” the president said sadly. “I knew that Ambassador Zerakova had conducted an open bid process, in fact, I approved of it at the time, but all of the work went to alien contractors. The bunnies had a field day claiming that we can’t even do a little redecorating on Stryx stations without alien help.”

  Kelly sighed. “I wish you hadn’t told me that. We did an open house in the new space to bring in contractors and get their proposals, but none of the human-owned businesses have gotten back to me.”

  “I won’t try to tell you how to run your embassy, but Hildy says that this sort of thing carries a real reputational cost for EarthCent. Did I mention that the dormitories were furnished by a Drazen consortium and the school equipment was all purchased from a Verlock academy supplier?”

  “So you want me to stick with human-made furniture.”

  “Yes, if at all possible. You can order products manufactured by our people on open worlds, and I suppose you might turn to an alien vendor for a species-specific chair, but let’s keep it to a minimum.”

  “How about the goods being manufactured and exported from Earth by alien businesses? After all, getting them to come to Earth has been one of your greatest triumphs.”

  Kelly saw the president’s eyes look away as he scanned his office to make sure that Hildy hadn’t snuck back in. “Fine,” he replied in a half-whisper, “though I’m not aware of any of them being in the office supply business. And I understand you’re on a tight schedule, but if you do have to use any alien subcontractors, please don’t get caught.” Then the conferencing algorithm seamlessly integrated two more figures who appeared in the hologram, taking seats at their own desks. “Ah, I see the others are starting to check in.”

  “Good evening, Carlos,” Kelly said, taking an educated guess at the Middle Station ambassador’s time zone based on the fact he wasn’t nursing a coffee. “Good morning, Raj,” she greeted the Echo Station ambassador, who was often stuck attending the steering committee meetings in the middle of the night. “You’re looking chipper.”

  “That’s because I’ll be going out on sabbatical next week,”
Ambassador Tamil reported gleefully. “The bench ambassador and his wife are here, and I understand she’ll be spelling my embassy manager. I’m told they were just married.”

  “Yes, but they also worked together before their first assignment on Union Station. There’s just something about this place that’s conducive to matchmaking,” Kelly added, glancing up at the ceiling.

  “Hi, all,” Belinda White half-spoke and half-yawned as she took her place in the hologram. “I don’t want to drink any coffee because I’ll be going back to bed after the meeting. Why can’t we settle on a universal tunnel network time for humans? It makes no difference to the aliens and all we’d have to do is ask the Stryx to change the lighting cycles on our decks.”

  “And update our implant times,” the Void Station ambassador contributed the very moment he appeared.

  “Hello, Zhao,” the president greeted him, and then made a show of counting heads. “Who are we missing?”

  “Svetlana,” Ambassador White said. “Maybe she’s lying low after the Grenouthian broadcast.”

  “That was painful,” Raj said. “I almost cancelled the Gem catering for an embassy party I threw to introduce my sabbatical replacement. But everybody hires the clones for all-species events on the stations these days so it would have looked silly.”

  “What’s next?” Carlos demanded. “Are we going to worry about traveling on alien ships when we need to go somewhere? It’s not like we make any interstellar-capable space liners of our own.”

  “Sorry I’m late,” Ambassador Zerakova said, popping into the holo-conference. “Crisis at the new school.”

  “Anything serious?” Kelly asked.

  “Just a bunch of Grenouthian correspondents hanging around bothering the kids about who made their school uniforms,” Svetlana replied. “And the bunnies seem genuinely fascinated that underage humans would ‘leave the warren,’ as they put it, no matter how bad the circumstances.”

  “You have to remember that they’ve had a few million years to work these things out,” the president said. “It would be strange if an advanced species made it this long without solving life’s basic challenges related to rearing offspring.”