by E. M. Foner
“Will the Director of Intelligence be joining us today?” Ambassador Fu inquired.
“He and Blythe are planning to try out their new command-center setup,” Kelly answered. “I’ll just ping them when we’re ready, and if it doesn’t work, they can ask the station librarian to patch them in.”
“Let’s get started, then,” President Beyer declared. “The topic for today is Vergallians, or to be more specific, Ambassador Aainda on Union Station. Kelly has some very interesting news to share with you all, but I wanted her to wait and do it in person so we can stress the need for secrecy.”
“If all of us are about to know, it can hardly remain a secret,” Zhao pointed out. “I’ve recently been informed by my wife that I’m talking in my sleep.”
“It’s not a secret-secret,” Kelly explained. “It’s more of a supposed-to-be-secret-to-save-face secret.”
“I think it would be easier if you just tell them,” the president said.
“You all know that Vergallian ambassadors are rotated through the embassies around once every two years. Our intelligence people suggest a number of reasons for this, ranging from imperial paranoia to a desire to get back home before their opposition takes heart and revolts.”
“Our current Vergallian ambassador left her eldest daughter in charge back home when she was posted to Corner Station,” Svetlana informed them, “but she’s the first serving queen I’ve known to take the job.”
“From what Aainda has told me, the mature women in her family take turns running things, even though only one of them can officially be queen. She hinted that it’s common practice outside of the core worlds of the empire, where tradition is iron-clad.”
“That’s interesting information,” Raj said. “I recall that one of our Vergallian ambassadors left her position just a few days after being appointed because an unexpected death in her family created a ruling vacancy. Their cultural attaché filled in until a replacement arrived. But perhaps she was from one of the core worlds.”
“Is that the secret?” Belinda asked.
“Not even close,” Kelly replied, suppressing a grin at the bomb she was about to throw. “Ambassador Aainda decided to stay on Union Station in spite of her empire’s policy. First, she extended her tour through some legalistic delaying tactics, and then she announced that she had been replaced by her cousin.”
“So her cousin is just a puppet ambassador,” Ambassador Oshi surmised.
“She is her cousin,” Kelly reported gleefully. “I mean, her cousin isn’t coming. Aainda is pretending to have replaced herself and everybody knows it. Part of her motivation is to make a display of dominance over Vergallian Intelligence, but she’s also committed to helping us. The secrecy comes in because we can’t run around talking about it in public. Otherwise the Vergallian imperial council will think that she’s intentionally showing them up and that could end badly for everybody.”
“I don’t understand,” Belinda said. “It sounds like a huge risk just to make a point, or is helping humanity that important to her?”
“There are personal factors involved as well,” Kelly hedged, deciding on the spot that everybody didn’t need to know about the Vergallian ambassador’s relationship to Ailia’s deceased father. “Shall I invite our intelligence director on to brief us about what they’ve learned?”
“Please,” the president said.
Kelly pinged Clive, and EarthCent’s spy chief immediately appeared in the hologram, but he looked like a little boy. Apparently he was seeing the same thing in reverse, because he turned to someone who wasn’t visible to the others and said, “Bring me up fifty percent.”
The hologram flickered, and then Clive was about the same size as Belinda.
“Another thirty percent?” he guessed.
The hologram flickered again, and then Clive looked more or less the right size. He nodded, and Blythe, who must have been operating the new equipment, entered the hologram.
“Do we look alright?” she asked.
“Hold your hand up,” Kelly suggested. “I remember from the cave art project that Samuel and Vivian did for Libby’s school that our hands were the same size.”
Blythe spread her fingers and the two women brought their hands together in the hologram.
“We’re still a little small,” Clive observed, since Kelly’s fingers peeked out over those of his wife. “Good enough for today. We’ll recalibrate on our own time.”
“Thank you for coming,” the president said. “Ambassador McAllister has just informed us all of the intrigue on Union Station involving the Vergallian ambassador. Can EarthCent Intelligence tell us about the wider picture? Is there anything from our special relationship with Drazen Intelligence?”
“I had a meeting a few hours ago with Herl, my Drazen counterpart, and I’m pleased to say that this was one instance where I was able to bring something of value to the table.”
“Due to Aainda’s confession to Kelly?”
“The Vergallian ambassador’s faked replacement doesn’t even qualify as an open secret at this point because everybody in the local intelligence community knows,” Clive said. “But this is one of those rare situations where we have more boots on the ground than the Drazens. Thanks to the tens of millions of human mercenaries and their families serving on Vergallian tech-ban worlds, we now get a steady stream of intelligence from the ones who complete their contracts. Ex-mercenaries going through the training course on Flower to become policemen for sovereign human communities are an especially good source of information.”
“Wouldn’t the mercenaries still serving on Vergallian worlds have more up-to-date intelligence?” Ambassador Fu asked.
“Certainly, but they’re bound by their contract and oath not to spy on their employers,” Clive explained. “Once they leave, they’re free to say whatever they want, and since we aren’t talking about battlefield intelligence, the lack of real-time reporting doesn’t hurt us at all.”
“So how serious is the Vergallian schism looking?” the president asked.
“At over a trillion strong, they’re the most populous tunnel network species, and the main schism remains the one between Fleet and the Empire of a Hundred Worlds,” Blythe reminded everyone. “There are multiple fault lines within the empire that slowly crack open or heal according to their own logic. Aainda and her faction represent the independent queens who don’t pay taxes to the empire and don’t have full representation on the imperial council for that reason.”
“And they resent it when Vergallian Intelligence meddles in their affairs,” Zhao said.
“Are you telling me that those unending drama series they produce offer an accurate depiction of the Empire of a Hundred Worlds?” Belinda asked.
“So much so that we now require our analysts on the Vergallian desk to spend at least two hours a day watching,” Clive confirmed. “I know from Herl that the Drazens consider alien entertainment broadcasts one of the cheapest ways to keep up with the internal affairs of other species. It just takes a little while to learn to differentiate between production values and the underlying cultural shifts.”
“Art imitates life,” Kelly volunteered. “You can learn a lot about our history by reading old novels. Authors include the details of everyday living in their stories, and nobody would have read them in their own time if they got everything wrong.”
“Is any of this actionable?” Ambassador Oshi inquired.
“If you mean do we intend to choose sides in Vergallian quarrels, absolutely not. But you need to be aware that Aainda’s faction is much more willing to work with us than the imperial-aligned faction, and that over time, we will naturally find ourselves allied with the queens who are dabbling in open worlds that accept humans.”
“Just don’t let her get involved with your embassy renovation, Kelly, or the Grenouthians will be all over you,” Svetlana advised.
“Easier said than done,” the Union Station ambassador griped. “I was telling the president earlier t
hat I can’t even get a quote from the human contractors on the station.”
“Did you give them a deadline?” Belinda asked.
“No.” Kelly frowned. “Is that necessary? I thought they’d all be hungry for the work.”
“I saw the story in the Galactic Free Press. You’re basically just converting the space next door to your embassy to serve as a conference room. Right?”
“Are you suggesting that it’s not a big enough job for human contractors to be interested? The Dollnick sales rep already delivered a full set of plans, plus goodies.”
“He probably saw the Grenouthian news segment about our new campus for runaways and he’s hoping to get his foot in the door in case you build one on Union Station,” Svetlana said. “Either that, or—did the Dolly ambassador send him around?”
“Yes. I thought it was very generous of him.”
“Family connection,” several of the ambassadors chorused.
“Oh, that makes sense. Well, I guess I’ll try contacting all the contractors who came to the open house and telling them that there’s a deadline. Any other suggestions?”
“Get your furniture and any custom millwork ordered early,” Ambassador Oshi said. “That stuff can take a surprisingly long time to show up, especially if they try to save on shipping costs.”
“Can you recommend a supplier on Earth?”
“Are you avoiding wood products?”
“I’m afraid so,” Kelly said. “Our Frunge ambassador is a traditionalist.”
“I went with a carbon fiber composite table and added a custom mosaic covering for our conference room,” Ambassador Fu told her. “It’s a depiction of the Great Wall of China as seen from space.”
“Where did you find room in your budget for that?” Belinda demanded. “I had to get a tablecloth for ours.”
“My embassy manager has an artistic bent and she’s active in the Station Scouts so she made the table into a merit badge project. Win-win.”
“Are you planning a grand opening?” Svetlana asked.
“I thought we’d have a party after the first meeting I host,” Kelly replied. “I only wish it could have been something other than the nuisance-species committee, but that’s what was on the schedule.”
“I remember my first one of those,” the president contributed. “That was back when everybody still had it in for us, and every meeting, they held a vote to label humanity a nuisance. I was never really sure whether they were serious or if it was some kind of alien joke I didn’t get.”
“What did you do?” Carlos asked.
“I voted against, of course. Our station librarian was always a bit cagey on the subject, but my best guess is that the point of the committee was to provide an object lesson for the ambassadors to relay to their home governments. Given the number of tunnel network stations and the different mix of species on each, sooner or later, everybody will find themselves on the losing end of a popularity contest.”
Eight
“Are you sure you’re allowed to show me all this?” Vivian asked, gesturing at the stream of real-time data coming into the command-and-control room of EarthCent Intelligence.
“Why not?” the duty officer countered. “You’re Clive and Blythe’s kid, plus Judith signed on as your mentor. If you hadn’t showed up so early she’d be standing next to you right now. How did you get to know the terror of new recruits?”
“I’ve been fencing with Judith for years. But isn’t there, like, a formal security clearance?”
“A what?”
“Background checks and all of that, you know, to make sure the person is loyal to EarthCent. We do it for InstaSitter.”
“InstaSitters have to be loyal to EarthCent?”
“Not the EarthCent part, especially since most of our employees are from other species, but we spend a lot of creds on background checks and psychological tests.”
“That’s because babysitting doesn’t leave any room for mistakes,” the duty officer replied. “We mainly deal with business intelligence here.”
“I know that, but what about the spies in the field? You wouldn’t want any of our field agents getting exposed because of a security leak on Union Station.”
“The alien intelligence services already know who our agents are and most of them are registered with the local authorities for their own protection. The only spies we employ who are truly underground are the casuals, usually traders who have an assigned controller they can report to if they see anything interesting. That’s the channel Darlene is monitoring this shift,” he continued, indicating one of the two analysts manning a communications console.
“I guess I didn’t realize it was all so informal,” Vivian said, feeling somewhat let down by the information.
The officer picked up on the disappointment in her voice and called over to the field agent communication team. “Either of you ever heard of a security clearance?”
“In spy novels, maybe,” replied the middle-aged man who was responsible for routing incoming anonymous tips. “I’m guessing it was one of those Earth things that was popular for a while and then kind of faded out.”
“I think the Vergallians rate their agents for different factions,” Darlene contributed. “All of the advanced species assume that their citizens are loyal, of course. It’s not like a Drazen would ever spy for the Hortens or vice versa. But Vergallians give their primary loyalty to the local queen, not the empire. According to our sources the queens all have truth-seer ability so they personally interview retainers for all of the sensitive positions.”
One of the displays the duty officer was monitoring changed over from a stream of ship location data to a security camera view of a woman standing outside the control room door staring up at the lens. The duty officer hit a button on his console and asked, “What’s the secret password?”
“Open the door or I’ll fail you when your next physical comes up,” Judith shot back.
“I tried, anyway,” the officer said to Vivian as he buzzed in the EarthCent Intelligence trainer.
“Hey, Vivian,” Judith said. “I’m early so you must have been really anxious to start.”
“I’ve been up for hours because our Cayl hound decided it was my turn to take him for a pre-dawn patrol of the park deck and dragged me out of bed. Thanks for agreeing to be my mentor, Judith. I would have felt funny doing this with anybody else.”
“It’s a quiet day at the training camp so I’m glad to have something to do. But when did you decide to intern with EarthCent Intelligence?”
“I finished my InstaSitter management training but I don’t want to work there. My brother Jonah is more into the business than I am. I’ve been trying to decide about whether I’m on the right track at school and I thought I’d get more out of working here than at a fast-food job.”
“Don’t bet on it,” Darlene put in. “I learned a lot more about aliens working for Human Burger than I did in my EarthCent Intelligence training.”
“That’s why we hire so many Human Burger alumni,” Judith concurred.
“Vivian was just asking us about security clearances,” the duty officer said.
“I was surprised that they let me come in here and see all of this,” the girl said, sweeping her arm to indicate all of the screens and holographic projections, “without making me fill out any forms or anything.”
“Are you worried about double agents?” Judith asked. “We don’t really do much cloak-and-dagger stuff, unless you were planning on using us to launch a secret takeover of humanity.”
“Not me,” Vivian said, flushing slightly at being reminded of the advice from her classmates in the Dynastic Studies seminar. “But what’s to keep a Vergallian face-dancer from joining and feeding us false information?”
“Beowulf. He sniffs all the recruits for us and doesn’t even charge. If we ever move the camp out of Mac’s Bones we’ll probably have to put him on the payroll. So are you ready to see the real nerve center of EarthCent Intelligence?”
“I thought this was it.”
Judith laughed. “These guys are just dealing with field operatives. The real work happens in customer service. I’m surprised you didn’t know.”
“That’s what my parents are always telling me but I thought they were holding back because I didn’t—”
“Have a security clearance,” the duty officer cut her off and laughed. “I’ll buzz you through.”
Judith led the way and they passed into a cavernous office space that must have contained hundreds of individual cubicles. Passive acoustic shielding reduced the background conversations to a barely audible murmur, and the intelligence trainer guided the girl through the maze of partitions. Eventually they emerged at the dead center of the hall where four casually dressed analysts were seated around a table talking on headsets.
“This reminds me of the InstaSitter War Room, where we take the calls from nervous parents and stressed-out sitters,” Vivian said.
“It’s a little less pressurized here,” Judith told her. “We call the agents working this duty in shifts around the clock our ‘memory team.’ They take the incoming calls from our business intelligence subscribers and see if they can answer off the tops of their heads before passing the request on to a dedicated analyst.”
“Four people are enough to handle all of the traffic?”
“We pay the station librarian to handle some of the screening overhead, just like you do with InstaSitter.” Judith worked her way around the table and tapped the shoulder of a man sporting a military crew-cut. He looked around without breaking off the detailed answer he was giving somebody about Dollnick shipping rates beyond the tunnel network. “Mind if we listen in, Howard?”
The man tapped an icon in the corner of the screen in front of his place at the round table, and the intelligence customer’s next sentence came out of a hidden speaker at normal conversational volume.
“I think that will do it, then, and I’ll watch out for the exchange rate. You guys are great.”