by E. M. Foner
“I see that expression in books all the time, ‘teaching somebody the ropes,’ but I never knew where it came from,” Kelly said. “I bet it shows up in a crossword puzzle one of these days.”
Nine
“Thank you for the invitation to your presidential reception, Mrs. Ambassador. You’ve made my job so much easier.”
“When I heard that a Frunge encyclopedia researcher was on the station to honor our colleague, I wanted to do something to help,” Kelly replied. “You might think it petty of me to keep score, but I hope to begin paying down my debt to Ambassador Czeros for all the good turns he’s done for humanity, not to mention the diplomatic community at large.”
“Is that so?” the undercover Frunge inspector general said, sounding entirely unimpressed. “So you have nothing but good to say about him?”
“Oh, that wouldn’t be realistic. Perhaps we could find a place a little more private to talk?” Kelly put on her best diplomatic smile as she drew Fandaz away from the crenellated battlement where the guests were gathering to watch the promised action. “Was there something special you wanted to ask?”
“Our encyclopedia endeavors to offer a balanced portrait of the outstanding Frunge diplomats we choose to include,” Fandaz said. “I’m quite aware of the contributions Czeros has made to the forest from the official records, but it’s the shape of the individual tree that I’m hoping to capture. How he gets along with his fellow diplomats, how he forwards the Frunge cause through unofficial channels, how he differs from the stereotypical wooden ambassadors our people tend to produce.”
“I’m sure you know that he considered becoming a singer before dedicating himself to public service,” Kelly said. “We all count on him for entertainment at parties.” She crossed her fingers behind her back, hoping the inspector would conflate her two statements and assume that Czeros entertained his colleagues by singing.
“I didn’t know that about him,” Fandaz said, scratching at the root of a stubby hair vine. “I have heard some colorful stories about his cross-species feats of alcohol consumption.”
“Oh, you know about that already.” Kelly exhaled deeply as if she’d been deflated and tried to look guilty. In reality, she was summoning up all of her latent acting skills for the performance she had cooked up after consultation with Blythe and Clive. “Would it be possible to leave that incident out of your encyclopedia, or at least not to mention my name and the station? I understand why you’d see it as such an important insight into his character, but it’s more than a little embarrassing to me, and it could impact my career if word gets out.”
“I’m not sure if we’re talking about the same thing here,” the inspector general said, her eyes taking on a crafty shine. “Just describe the events to me the way you remember them.”
“Well, I’m sure you know about it already, but back when my people decided we should start an intelligence service, I made the mistake of inviting Czeros to a party at my home. As you alluded to, he’s well known for his ability to imbibe quantities of alcohol while remaining perfectly sober.”
“He is?”
“On that night, he kept us all so amused that I guess we let our guards down and tried to match him drink-for-drink, forgetting that he was one of you rather than one of us. I don’t have to tell you how charming he can be. The next morning when I awoke, I realized that we had revealed all of our intelligence secrets to Czeros, including the identities of our agency director and steering committee members. He never embarrassed us by mentioning it again, but I’m sure it all ended up in your official records. I suspect that’s why we were unable to go into an intelligence partnership with the Frunge and had to settle for the Drazens.”
“That’s not—there was something—I’ll have to check the archives again,” Fandaz sputtered. “He remains sober, you say?”
“Oh, yes,” Kelly declared ruefully. “He won’t trick me again. At first I assumed that Frunge were simply immune to alcohol, being a different species and all, but eventually I realized that Czeros pretends to drink more than he actually does. He’s such a consummate actor that I’ll bet he could fool his own wife.”
“This is useful information, but I’ll need to confirm it with his other colleagues, of course.”
“Of course,” Kelly agreed, leading the inspector general back towards the mob of guests. The alien dignitaries were hanging over the wall and adding their own insults to those thrown back and forth between the two parties of would-be warriors. “But in fairness, I think you should take anything the Drazen or Verlock ambassadors have to say with a grain of salt. Czeros always gets the best of them in meetings.”
“Drazen and Verlock,” Fandaz said, making a mental note to interview them. “That’s Srythlan and Bork?”
“Yes, but you have them backwards. Bork is the Drazen.”
“Is that him over there?”
“No, that’s Hert. I think he’s involved in the entertainment business,” Kelly fibbed. “Bork will be joining the party just as soon as he gets killed.”
“What?” Fandaz stared at the ambassador in horror.
“On the battlefield,” Kelly explained, and on receiving a blank look, she continued to elucidate. “We wanted to use the castle for our president’s reception but they haven’t begun hiring reenactors yet. So we asked the Drazens and the Hortens to help show how humans attacked and defended their castles a thousand years ago.”
“I see,” the inspector general said. “Can I assume that they’ll be using Frunge blades?”
“We can’t control that, of course, but I know that the Frunge blade sellers do good business on our market deck,” Kelly replied cautiously. “I plan to ask Czeros for help when it comes to acquiring weapons to decorate the castle’s great hall.”
Fandaz thanked the ambassador and moved off in search of Srythlan. Kelly watched her go with relief, and then headed for the group of alien ambassadors gathered around the president. Incredibly, he had them all eating out of his hand.
“Now, try this one,” the president said, extending what looked like an artisanal chocolate to the new Vergallian ambassador, who leaned forward and took the candy between her brilliant white teeth. Kelly blinked to make sure she wasn’t imagining things, but Aaluna was purring like a kitten on catnip.
“Let somebody else get in there,” the Dollnick ambassador complained, picking up the high-caste Vergallian with his lower set of arms and moving her to the side.
“Ah, Ambassador Crute,” the president said. “I believe that Ms. Greuen blew a hole in our budget shopping just for you.” He turned to the public relations expert, who already had a small silver bag ready to hand him. “One of my greatest disappointments back in my days as an ambassador was my inability to participate in the wonderful meals at the Dollnick embassy due to my inferior digestive system. I spent many an evening trying to imagine the taste of Sheezle larvae, but I had to settle for devouring them with my eyes.”
“Sheezle larvae?” All four of Crute’s hands were trembling as he accepted the bag of bugs from the president. “When I took over the Dollnick embassy on this station, I was horrified to learn that the previous ambassador had so abused the common table that the Council of Princes removed Sheezle larvae from our budget. I haven’t tasted one since I visited the homeworld. Please forgive my emotional outburst. I need to be alone for a moment.”
“More, more,” Ambassador Aaluna said, pointing at her mouth and pouting like a child. The president obliged her with another dainty from the box that Hildy held at the ready.
“It’s starting,” somebody called out, and the guests who had been milling around the president reluctantly moved to join those who were already lining the battlements.
The president allowed himself to be towed along by the Vergallian ambassador, who was torn between her appetite for the expensive sweets and her natural desire to see a bunch of men bashing at each other with primitive weapons. Kelly spotted Samuel and Blythe’s children sitting on the framework o
f a catapult that gave them an unobstructed view, so she headed over to see if she could find the rest of the family. In the open field below the castle’s walls, the performance began.
“Deliver the Holy Grail or die!” cried a giant Horten warrior, who wore a horned hat that looked like an opera prop.
“For England and the Pope!” thundered back one of the Drazen defenders, brandishing a war axe.
The two sides rushed to meet each other with a clash of metal, and the battle lines quickly dissolved into a hundred individual duels. Immersive cameras floated above the combatants, gathering footage for the news or personal audition reels, but the battle was otherwise more realistic than Kelly had imagined.
After a few minutes, the fighters on both sides broke apart as if by prior agreement, and the leaders of the two forces met at the center of the field. A protracted duel between an axe-wielding Drazen and the Horten sword master featured so many deadly blows and thrusts blocked at the last instant that Kelly was terrified that one of the actors would really die. Then the giant Horten drove his broadsword through the chest of the Papist Drazen, who threw his arms out theatrically and declared, “Let death be my bride tonight,” before collapsing.
As the general fighting resumed to a round of applause from the guests, a low wooden cart drawn by two figures in cassocks emerged from the castle. The monks loaded the dead defender’s corpse, and then disappeared from sight under the wall.
“I guess Bork bought the farm,” Joe said cheerfully, putting his arms around Kelly from behind. “I recognize that line from his part in the Drazen immersive that got cancelled. But who gave him that battle cry about the Pope and England?”
“The English were Catholics until the 1500’s,” Kelly said defensively. “The medieval period was pretty much over by the time they went independent.”
“And did you give the Horten the line about the Holy Grail?”
“Apparently they have to yell a slogan or they can’t start fighting. It was either that or something about offending a lady’s honor. I just hope that Bork didn’t get hurt when he was killed in the duel.”
Despite all of the noise coming from the battlefield, Joe lowered his voice to ask, “How did it go with the inspector general?”
Kelly looked around before replying. “I think she believed me. Clive pointed out that people usually take you at your word when you speak badly about yourself, and the records will support the story, since the Frunge and everybody else were eavesdropping on our first intelligence steering committee meeting.”
“I watered down a couple of bottles of wine with grape juice and water, and Paul is keeping them handy below the bar so he can always be prepared to serve a glass. Czeros and the inspector general are the only Frunge in attendance, so if Paul sees her coming up behind Czeros at the bar, he’ll give a diluted bottle to the ambassador and then serve her from a special blend with the same label.”
“Special blend?”
“I added some grain alcohol to one bottle, just to punch it up a bit. If the inspector drinks it, she’s going to come away thinking that Czeros must have an iron head.”
After twenty minutes of pitched battle, the Horten Vikings withdrew under a barrage of Drazen Saxon insults. Then one of the defenders realized that the catering had arrived, and the Drazens hastened after their enemies to the staging area.
“Look at the president and Hildy,” Joe said, nudging his wife. “They’ve got the ambassadors following them around like puppies.”
“I just hope he gets them all to agree to meetings before he runs out of treats,” Kelly replied. “Hi, Bork. You were fantastic.”
“Did you like my old sword-between-the-arm-and-body trick?” the Drazen ambassador inquired. “I realized early on that to get featured background work on my vacations, I had to specialize. I’m well known for getting killed.” He paused and glanced around. “How’s our joint misinformation operation going?”
“I talked to the inspector general already so she’ll be looking for you. I saw her heading off in Srythlan’s direction before the fighting began. The ambassador is going to speak to her at the regular Verlock cadence rather than speeding himself up. He has a story prepared about how Czeros outsmarted him during the Carnival election and it involves a lot of numbers. I can’t imagine she’ll last through the whole thing.”
“That was some pretty fancy axe play,” Joe complimented Bork. “I thought that between his reach and the sword, that giant Horten would make short work of you.”
“The Hortens traditionally fight in heavy armor so their swordsmen focus on brute force rather than finesse,” the Drazen explained. “I was able to keep closing with him, and he didn’t want to back off to make space for fear of looking like he was retreating.”
“Where did you all get the protective gear you were wearing?” Kelly asked. “It looked like something from human history.”
“Jeeves had it made up for us out of expanded polyvinyl chloride. According to the station librarian, most humans at the time would have been wearing boiled leather armor with metal plates attached, but with the dull weapons, we figured we could do without the extra weight of the plates. Jeeves is letting us keep it in case we play the castle again.”
Kelly turned to Joe and asked, “Expanded polyvinyl chloride?”
“It’s a plastic substitute for leather. Our combat boots were made out of it, but they called it Naugahyde.”
“Mom,” Dorothy interrupted. “The president is looking for you.”
“Coming,” Kelly said. “Bork, the inspector general is heading this way. Are you ready?”
“Act two, coming up,” the Drazen reassured her.
Kelly did her best to look glum as she nodded at the Frunge woman in passing, and then she scanned the crowd for the president. At first the ambassador couldn’t spot him anywhere, but then she saw a hand waving to her from a crowd of giant bunnies. As she approached, the Grenouthians moved away, all of them intent on a small box their ambassador was carrying.
“Nothing like getting the tough customers out of the way first,” the president commented to Kelly. “The Vergallians, the Dollnicks and the Grenouthians have all agreed to meetings. You’ve already lined up the Verlocks, Drazens and Frunge, so that just leaves the Hortens, unless we’re going to extend the invitation to the compatible off-network species.”
“I don’t think there’s a need for that, Mr. President,” Kelly replied. “And you didn’t mention the Cherts, though I saw some empty spaces in the prime viewing spots at the wall so I assume they’re lurking about somewhere.”
“I couldn’t find anything to impress the Hortens,” Hildy admitted. “Their food fetishes all revolve around cleanliness and quantity rather than taste and rarity. They don’t use cosmetic products, their technology is at least on the level of the Drazens, and according to our intelligence reports, they tend not to be interested in new things.”
“Except for games,” Kelly said, reaching in her purse. “My mother is an antiquing fanatic and she keeps sending my son these portable electronic games. They’re obsolete, of course, and he only plays them for a week or two before he gets bored. This one has something to do with aliens from space invading Earth, though from what I can see, they mainly move back and forth in a line waiting to get shot.” She passed the hand-held device to the president and rooted around her purse again. “This one is about building a continuous wall out of falling bricks.”
“It may work,” the president said. “I remember the Horten ambassador on Void Station was an avid gamer. The only time he would talk to me was in meetings about interspecies tournaments. If you can round up this Ortha fellow, I’ll try to make the sale.”
“I think he found out that we ordered Horten take-out for the attacking army, so he snuck out to congratulate them after the battle,” Kelly said. “I doubt he’ll be very cooperative if I pull him away from food, but the only active lift tube near here is in the courtyard, so if you wait down there he can’t sneak past you
.”
“That’s good,” the president said. “I better practice with these doohickeys while I’m waiting so I can explain what they do. I’m not much for building walls so I’ll stick with this invading aliens game.”
“Space Invaders,” Kelly told him. She extended the device still in her possession to Hildy, and asked, “Would you like Tetris?”
Hildy laughed and took the game.
“What’s so funny?” Kelly asked.
“Just something about the way you said it reminded me of the world’s most successful greeting card. You remember things like that if you’ve worked in marketing.”
“What was it?”
“Well, there was a picture, of course, so words don’t do it justice. It showed a young man and a young woman sitting beneath a tree in the country, and the young man had a book open. The caption shows that he asked the woman, ‘Do you like Kipling?’, and she replies, ‘I don’t know, you naughty boy. I’ve never Kipled!’”
“That’s pretty funny, though the truth is that Joe is the one in our family who likes Kipling,” Kelly said. The president and his mistress looked at the EarthCent ambassador strangely. “The war stories, I mean. Kipling wrote a lot of British Empire war stories.”
“Ah, glad to hear you didn’t mean the other Kipling,” the president said, causing Kelly to blush up to her ears. “We’ll be downstairs building walls and shooting aliens if you see the Horten ambassador before we do.”
Kelly looked around for Srythlan to check on how his interview with the inspector general had gone. Instead she spotted the Frunge woman heading towards the bar, looking very much like she needed a drink. As planned, Czeros was already there, chatting with Paul, who wore a period costume. As the inspector general approached, the Frunge ambassador ostentatiously lifted a full bottle of wine to his lips and guzzled the contents.