Career Night on Union Station (EarthCent Ambassador Book 15)

by E. M. Foner

  “You’re welcome,” Howard replied. “Thank you for using EarthCent Intelligence. Your subscription is appreciated.” He tapped another icon and made sure there were no incoming calls awaiting his attention before asking, “What’s up, Judith? Come to apologize for not inviting your favorite former trainee to your wedding last year?”

  “Sorry about that. I didn’t find out I was getting married until a minute before it happened. Do you know Vivian?”

  “I wouldn’t be on the memory team if I couldn’t keep track of our first family’s family.”

  “First family?” Vivian asked.

  “Sure. Didn’t you know that’s what everybody calls you guys? It’s a compliment.”

  “Blythe tells me they try to leave the office at the office,” Judith explained. “Vivian has done her InstaSitter management internship but she doesn’t know much about EarthCent Intelligence.”

  “Well, this is where it all happens,” Howard said, hopping up. “I’ll be right back.” He went around the round table and returned wheeling two chairs with big orange “Observer” stickers on the unpadded side of the backrest. “How much do you know about our business model?”

  “I know we sell intelligence subscriptions to whoever is willing to pay to offset some of our costs for the free intelligence we provide to EarthCent,” Vivian answered. “I didn’t realize that subscribers would call you with questions that they could probably get answered by a station librarian.”

  “It’s funny how that works. The Stryx, including our librarian, have backed away from answering some types of questions for human businessmen since we’ve built up the capacity to do it ourselves. But there’s also the fact that people paying for a subscription like to get their money’s worth. We probably answer more questions about sports scores than anything else, and that’s information you can find anywhere.”

  “The memory team members are EarthCent Intelligence’s highest paid headquarters employees, if you adjust for seniority, and it’s incredibly competitive to get a spot,” Judith told the girl. “I’ve tried to get Bob to try out, but he prefers reporting for the Galactic Free Press.”

  “What kind of special training did you receive?” Vivian asked.

  Howard shrugged. “You just have to be curious about everything and have a good memory. Judith is right about her husband being a likely candidate because most of the questions we get are actually answered in the Galactic Free Press. One of the perks for team members is a free subscription without the ads.”

  “So if anybody asks for secret information, you pass them on to the dedicated analyst team?”

  “Secret information?”

  “I don’t know. Like, which Vergallian queen is in danger of losing her throne, or where the Dollnicks are sending their newest colony ship.”

  “Queen Ashiba is losing her marbles and is going to be deposed by her eldest daughter any month now, and the Dolly colony ship that just launched from Prince Drume’s shipyards is headed for—” Howard whistled a long Dollnick name that didn’t mean anything to Vivian. “But those are hardly secrets since I learned about them from our Grenouthian news feed.”

  “Well, how about stuff like military secrets?” Vivian persisted.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever gotten a military-related question,” the analyst said, scratching his head. “Why? Are you planning a war against one of the advanced species? I’d advise against it.”

  “I just thought that—I don’t know. Aren’t our field agents involved in espionage?”

  “Industrial espionage primarily, and we try not to be too rude about it,” Howard explained. “Don’t get me wrong, the agents tracking piracy are deep into the cloak-and-dagger stuff, but the information they send back isn’t kept secret. In fact, we have an analyst we share with the Galactic Free Press who writes the piracy updates for traders who subscribe to the paper. But the most dangerous field agent job in EarthCent Intelligence is keeping up with the human criminal syndicates that are gaining strength outside of the tunnel network.”

  “And do we keep that information secret?” Vivian asked.

  “Only if it would put an undercover agent at risk or compromise an ongoing investigation,” Judith told her. “Don’t forget, we now have a contractual obligation to share our criminal findings with ISPOA, the Inter-Species Police Operations Agency. Business information aside, your parents have been shifting resources away from gathering intelligence about friendly aliens towards tracking unfriendly humans.”

  “I’ve got to take this one,” Howard said, tapping an icon on his screen and glancing at the subscriber information. “EarthCent Intelligence. How may I help you today, Szcar?”

  “I’ve got a couple of Human traders in here who are asking for half-credit,” rasped the Frunge. “Name is Dailey, Mr. and Mrs. I checked the marriage certificate. Ship name is Falcon. A two-man Sharf job, looks well-cared for.”

  “You’re all set,” Howard said. “The Daileys are covered by our credit guaranty program. Is there anything else?”

  “That’ll do it,” the alien replied and ended the call.

  “We sell information to aliens?” Vivian asked in surprise. “I didn’t know that.”

  “We run all new subscribers past ISPOA for a criminal background check but that’s our only limitation.”

  “And what was that about guarantying credit?”

  “We sort of fell into the business when the need became apparent,” Howard explained. “The advanced species all have their own trade databases, of course, and the Thark bookies beat the prices most insurers can offer on guarantying business transactions, but they offer bad odds on humans because we’re so new.”

  “And untrustworthy,” Judith interjected in an undertone.

  “So EarthCent Intelligence is on the hook if the, uh, Daileys don’t come back and pay the Frunge for the rest of his cargo?”

  “Eccentric Enterprises actually, but they pay us commission for brokering the deals. The Daileys, and other human traders, can pay Eccentric Enterprises a fee to act as guarantor. It’s not as risky as you might think since the traders still have to pay half down in cash or goods for whatever deal they’re making, which weeds out the con artists. My understanding is that defaults are rare and Eccentric is making a small profit on the business.”

  “And you remember the names of all the human traders who are buying this service?”

  “First thing I do when I come on shift is check the list for pre-qualified traders who are currently docked. It’s usually less than a half-a-dozen names because traders don’t earn a living hanging around Stryx stations. And all of the diplomatic-grade calls from the tunnel network get routed here, but we only take business-subscriber calls from the locals. The tunnel network stations with an EarthCent embassy have their own local points of contact for subscribers, though it’s just one agent per shift. Any request they can’t answer gets routed here for processing.”

  “Oh. What’s that blinking yellow symbol mean?”

  “New subscriber making a first call,” Howard replied and swiped the icon. “EarthCent Intelligence. How may I help you today, Producer?”

  “I need Human extras for an immersive production on the station and the union rates are too high.”

  “I’m sorry, Producer, but we don’t—”

  “Cancel my subscription,” the bunny ordered and broke off the call.

  “Does that happen a lot?” Vivian asked.

  “It’s our money-back guarantee,” Howard said. “We make it painless to subscribe, but it does result in quite a few expectations mismatches. We get customers who want us to spy on their spouses, steal their competitor’s pizza sauce recipe, things like that. As soon as they find out we’re not that kind of intelligence service, they cancel.”

  “What if aliens subscribed to ask for information so they could compete with InstaSitter?” the girl demanded.

  “We get that one all the time, especially from Verlock clans who are enamored of your success. In th
e case of InstaSitter, the truth is your best defense. Between your low margins per sitter-hour and the Stryx back-office support that the aliens shy away from, they can’t compete with you. And your brand is already so ubiquitous on the station network that it would take extremely deep pockets for anybody to try.”

  “Grab that one,” Judith instructed, pointing at Howard’s display. “The premium package calls are usually a hoot.”

  “EarthCent Intelligence. How may I help you, Mr. Johnson?”

  “This is a little embarrassing,” came a hushed whisper. “I just ran into the bathroom and pinged you.”

  “I understand, but we can only help with information.”

  “That’s what I need. What was the main reason for the separation of Imperial and Fleet Vergallians, plus I need three other examples of species where major groups have intentionally split off from the main body.”

  “Are you working on a homework assignment?”

  “Not mine, my daughter’s. She’s at that age where she still believes I know everything.”

  “Does she attend the station librarian’s experimental school?”

  “No. Does that make a difference?”

  “If she did, our service agreement with the station librarian would prevent me from helping, but on the other hand, your daughter would likely know the answers already.”

  “So we’re good?” the relieved father whispered.

  “Yes. The Vergallians split into two groups because the Stryx wouldn’t let the imperial worlds join the tunnel network as long as their colonists were employing aggression in expanding the Empire’s reach. The then-navy sided with the colonists, in part because they saw a limited future in peace, and in part because the tech-ban in effect on the majority of imperial planets was beginning to impact the fleet’s ability to compete on the galactic stage. The Stryx accepted this compromise, allowing the Empire of a Hundred Worlds to join the tunnel network, while the newer colonies and fleet went their own way.”

  “Tunnel network, navy, tech-ban, Stryx. Got it. How about three more examples?”

  “The most obvious is the division in Horten society between the tunnel network worlds and the pirates. Again, the Stryx tacitly accept this arrangement, but they sometimes hold the mainstream Hortens accountable for pirate behavior because of the fuzzy separation between the two groups.”

  “Hortens, of course. Got anything else?”

  “The Cayl,” Vivian suggested to Howard.

  “Another example is the Cayl Empire, where all of the excess savings of the ruling species, the Cayl, goes into building expeditionary forces that are sent off to found their own empires. Ironically, while the exiled groups maintained the military structure and capabilities of the parent group, they all chose to avoid the burden of creating their own empires.”

  “One more,” Mr. Johnson urged.

  “Humans,” Judith whispered to Howard. “I’ve been to Earth.”

  “The final example is humans, with Earth being the prime example. Nearly a century after the Stryx Opening the world is still a patchwork of semi-functional nations and somewhat more effective city-states. There’s more cooperation between the worlds of the sovereign human communities conference than most political entities on Earth.”

  “You’ve been a big help. Gotta run.”

  The call ended with a flushing sound.

  “Some guy pays for the premium package to help with his kid’s homework?” Vivian asked in disbelief.

  “No, his company pays for the package,” Judith explained. “We don’t limit the hours or subject matter for premium subscribers. You’d be surprised how much easier it is to close sales when executives get something for themselves out of the deal.”

  A chime sounded and Howard’s casual attitude disappeared as he took the call. “EarthCent Intelligence. How may I help you, Ambassador McAllister?”

  “I have a quote for our embassy renovation work from Triple-A Construction and their references are excellent, almost too good. I thought I’d better see if you have anything on them before signing the contract.”

  “Just a moment, Ambassador,” Howard said, rapidly flipping through some screens. He hesitated for a moment, his finger over the button that would patch Kelly through to the analyst who specialized in local businesses, then instead typed a query to the database and nodded at the response. “It appears they’re a front for a Dollnick contractor.”

  “I was afraid of that,” Kelly said. “Could you recommend somebody else?”

  “Let me patch you through to our local business specialist, Ambassador, but finding contractors for small construction projects is always a tricky business.”

  “Thank you.”

  Nine

  “You’ve got to talk your dad into accepting rent,” Kevin told Dorothy as he heaved a case of canned baked beans onto the industrial shelving he’d welded together with his father-in-law’s rig. “Anybody can succeed in business if somebody else is paying for all the overhead. I’m a trader and I pay my bills.”

  “You keep telling me that the business is half mine and I vote against making my dad feel bad by insisting he take our money. Let him help us if he wants. It’s what makes parents happy.”

  “Then tell him to put the money aside for his grandchildren,” Kevin said.

  “Just let it go for now. If it bothers you that much, keep track of what you think you should be paying and put it in a separate account. If my folks never need it, I’ll spend it.”

  “It’s not the same thing. Hey, is it safe to rest the tab on your stomach like that while you’re using it?”

  “Libby? Could you tell my husband that my tab is one hundred percent harmless?” Dorothy requested.

  “The only health risk your wife is running by using her tab is eyestrain, and perhaps carpal tunnel,” the station librarian told Kevin. “It’s the standard Open University student model that she never returned. The tab is hypoallergenic and certified as a low radiation emitter for all humanoid species.”

  “I wondered why I never got back my security deposit,” the girl said. “And isn’t low radiation still bad?”

  “The case of beans that your husband just placed on the shelf is also a low radiation emitter. Everything above absolute zero is a low radiation emitter,” Libby informed her.

  “Speaking of canned beans, is there really so much demand for you to have ordered so many of them?” Dorothy asked as her husband moved another case from the stack on the counter to the shelf.

  “What makes you think I ordered these?” Kevin replied. “I traded for them. I got twenty cases for a recharged crystal.”

  “Like a meditation crystal?”

  “Part of the projection system for a standard holo rig. I told the guy he could buy one in the Shuk for forty creds, but he needed to unload the beans to make space on his ship.”

  “Can you sell them for more than two creds a case?”

  “Sell them? Why would I do that? They’re worth much more as throw-ins for trades.”

  “I didn’t realize beans were such a popular item.”

  “Sure, they make anything into a meal, and they clump together and stay in the can in Zero-G. Try eating peas that way and they’ll be flying all over the place after the first spoonful.”

  “You’re teasing me now. Whenever we went anywhere in your ship, I had to eat out of squeeze tubes.”

  “I didn’t want to show off in front of you,” Kevin said. “Eating normal food in Zero-G is something you have to grow up with or you never get the hang of it.”

  A tall woman approached the counter and asked, “Is this the chandler’s shop?”

  “Yes it is,” Kevin replied, perking up at the prospect of business. “I’ve been meaning to put up a sign but it’s been too busy. Heading out?”

  “The McAllisters just finished tuning up my ship and I have a cargo of hand-carved chess sets that are selling like crazy at the Horten fairs lately,” the trader said. “I’m just looking for a few things to top
off my ship’s stores.”

  “Twine?” Kevin asked, reaching under the counter and coming up with a heavy spool that he thumped down next to the beans. “This is the good stuff, straight from a Frunge fiber plantation.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say no to a ball of twine, but I’m mainly interested in supplies for myself in Horten space. I may be spending two weeks at a time on the ground and there won’t be much there that I can eat. Even their water is tasteless.”

  “Distilled,” the chandler confirmed. “The Hortens are like that. Are we talking about a cash purchase, or do you have something other than chess sets to trade? We’re more into card games around here.”

  “How fortunate,” the woman said, slipping a small rectangular box out of her pocket. “Do you know what these are?”

  “Rainbow deck,” Kevin said, keeping his voice casual. “Our associate ambassador brings his to a game from time to time, but I suppose I wouldn’t mind having my own set.”

  “I don’t imagine you would.” The trader slipped the deck out of the box and casually threw the cards from one hand to the other in a glittering magician’s arc. “Never been used in a game.”

  “I guess I could let the twine go for a deck.”

  “While I appreciate the quality of your product, I once had a spool that size unravel on me in Zero-G. It took a month to get all the knots out,” the woman said, shifting into a trader’s tall-tales mode. “In fact, if I hadn’t been traveling with a specially trained twine-monkey, I doubt I’d be here talking to you today.”

  “That’s all well and good, but have you ever had a hull breach the size of a can of baked beans?”

  “I don’t think the self-sealing hull could handle it,” the trader admitted.

  “These beans could save your life in a situation like that,” Kevin said, slapping one of the cases that remained on the counter. “You could sleep secure at night knowing that you’re prepared for a whole meteor shower, and if you don’t need them to patch the hull, well you can eat them at that Horten fair.”

  The woman’s larynx bobbed as she swallowed. “In tomato sauce? The vegetarian kind?”