Word Night on Union Station (EarthCent Ambassador Book 9)

by E. M. Foner

  “You cut quite a figure as an ambassador,” Fandaz said drily, stepping up next to Czeros. She turned to address Paul. “Could I have one of those?”

  “One bottle coming up,” Paul said cheerily. “You Frunge can sure hold your alcohol.”

  “Just a glass for me,” the inspector general hastened to correct him. She surreptitiously compared the label on the empty bottle that Czeros still held with the one Paul poured for her. Then she sniffed the contents of her glass suspiciously, took a sip, and stared in amazement.

  “Greetings and salutations,” Czeros said to the inspector general. “What an efficient and modern-looking young lady you are. Is it possible you are one of Dorothy’s school friends?”

  Fandaz’s closely shorn hair vines turned bright green as the chlorophyll rushed to the surface at the unexpected compliment. She gulped her fortified wine to buy time, and Paul promptly refilled the glass.

  “I’m a researcher for the Petrification Bureau,” the inspector general stammered. “I mean, the Frunge Encyclopedia of Diplomacy,” she corrected herself.

  “Ah, that makes more sense,” Czeros said gallantly. “I’ve never met a Frunge who did less to remind me of our petrified ancestors. You seem to know who I am already, so is it possible you were planning on interviewing me about one of my illustrious colleagues? I owe so much to so many mentors that it would be a great honor for me to participate in gilding their legacies.”

  Fandaz took a sip from her newly filled glass and felt the alcohol going directly to her brain. She wasn’t much of a drinker to start with, and the wine she had seen the ambassador pouring back was incredibly strong. “How did you get down a whole bottle of this stuff?” the inspector general gasped before she could stop herself.

  “Human wine?” Czeros asked, as if surprised by the question. “I don’t really care for it, but they put such a strong focus on social drinking in our diplomatic training that I developed a tolerance for the intoxicating beverages of many species. I just lost a friendly bet with our bartender, as I was sure that the Hortens would put those scrofulous Drazen defenders to flight. Did we say two bottles?”

  “I think it was three, but I guess I can let you off the hook,” Paul said. He retrieved another one of the diluted bottles of wine and handed it to Czeros, who with a resigned expression chugged half of the contents.

  Fandaz took another sip from her glass and felt wobbly on her feet.

  “So which one of my colleagues did you wish to interview me about?” Czeros continued, taking the inspector general by the elbow and guiding her to a faux-stone bench in a private alcove. “Is it Cebrat?” he asked, naming the Frunge who his friend on the honor court had identified as the chief judge. “I’ve always said that of all my seniors, Cebrat would be the first to be immortalized in the Encyclopedia. Did you know I was his secretary not so many years ago? No, that would be ancient history to a young sapling like you.”

  “Is the light in here too strong?” Fandaz slurred, polishing off her wine in an attempt to rehydrate. “I feel like I’m drying out.”

  “It is a bit much in the blue part of the spectrum,” Czeros acknowledged. “Perhaps it would be best if I escorted you to a quiet grove on our deck where you can take your shoes off and stick your roots in the mud.”

  Ten

  “I hope you all had a good lunch and you’re ready to do some serious work.” Thomas paused for the polite replies and counted up the number of Galactic Free Press correspondents attending the hastily designed one-week course in Mac’s Bones. “We’re just waiting for two more people to show up before we get started.”

  “What are you going to do to us?” a woman in her mid-thirties asked nervously. “I’ve heard of kidnap training for business executives where the instructors attack you and threaten you with weapons.”

  “We’re not going to do any of that,” Thomas reassured her. “None of you are trained fighters, and as humans, you’re at a disadvantage against most of the species who might want to kidnap or otherwise harm you. Our job is to convince you not to take stupid chances in pursuit of a story that at best might hold a reader’s attention through half a bowl of breakfast cereal.”

  “So if somebody does try to kidnap me, should I just give up?” the woman persisted. “Why do those other training courses focus on attacks and escapes?”

  “I’m sure they teach other things as well. The threat of physical violence in training programs is there to condition you to deal with the stress of losing control, so you won’t immediately panic if it happens for real.”

  “Couldn’t we just have lectures and a pop quiz?” a man followed up. “I thought the immersive you showed this morning about eating out on alien worlds was really educational.” The other reporters laughed nervously.

  “We show that immersive to all of our EarthCent Intelligence recruits as well. For humans traveling on alien worlds, eating the local food is a much greater hazard than kidnapping. I’m told that last year your paper’s correspondents suffered almost three thousand cases of food poisoning, or around four incidents per reporter in the field. Joe?”

  “Huddle up here, people.” The owner of Mac’s Bones clapped sharply and opened a large, flat case. “If you don’t get anything else out of this class, at least you can brag about being the first humans equipped with food poisoning scanners. You’ve probably seen similar rings in Drazen markets if you’ve traveled in their space, but these were specially commissioned by EarthCent Intelligence and the Galactic Free Press. The first batch from the Chintoo orbital arrived just yesterday.”

  “I’ve seen Drazens use those rings,” an older correspondent said. “I thought our diets were too limited to bother with scanning food for problems. It’s just going to reject everything.”

  “How many times did you get sick gambling on a piece of alien fruit last year?” Joe asked.

  “Three,” the man admitted ruefully.

  “So that makes three times somebody won’t get sick once the rings are trained.”

  “What do you mean? We have to teach the scanners what we can and can’t eat?”

  “That’s pretty much how it works,” Joe replied. “The rings have been programmed to spot known toxins, and I hope you all know better than to try eating any alien meats, but some of the fruits and grains can keep you alive, especially if you boil them first. Your best bet traveling places without a human presence is to order vegan off of the Vergallian menu.”

  “Bob Steelforth, Galactic Free Press,” a young man announced. The older reporters all laughed at his reflexive statement of credentials before asking a question. “But what did all of the human workers on alien worlds eat when they first arrived?”

  “Factory food and vat-grown meats for the main part, until they could get modified human crops growing on those worlds,” Joe replied. “Of course, these days the space elevators on Earth allow for agricultural exports, especially to mining colonies and terraforming projects. Otherwise, producing factory food for a different species isn’t much of a challenge for any of the advanced civilizations because they’ve been doing it for a very long time. The issue only comes up when you’re traveling places that don’t typically get human visitors.”

  “Which is most of the places you’ll go as a correspondent if they ever let you off Union Station,” another reporter told Steelforth.

  “Our intestinal tracks are full of bacteria that do most of the heavy lifting,” Joe continued. “I’m told that in ten thousand years or so, they’ll adapt to the environments we live in and we’ll be able to eat like the Drazens. In the meantime, the rings will learn from your reactions, and when you’re back on the station, we’ll download the information and provide an update with the latest consensus on what’s safe to eat.”

  “So we’re guinea pigs,” a woman commented brightly. She didn’t appear to be particularly upset by the concept.

  “That’s right. By next year, we hope the rings will be smart enough that you’ll be able to walk into an alien p
ub and find something safe to eat on the buffet.”

  “A human, a Vergallian and a Drazen walked into a bar,” another of the reporters began in jest.

  “And all three of them asked me to dance,” Chance interrupted, arriving late as usual. “If I knew you were giving out jewelry today, I would have come early.”

  “They’re food and poison scanners,” Thomas told her. “We don’t need them.”

  “Of course we do. If they become as popular with humans as the rings the Drazen travelers wear, we’ll stick out like sore thumbs if we don’t have one.”

  “She’s got a point, and we’ve got plenty of these to go around,” Joe said. “Just remember not to let anybody download the results or you’ll both create a bunch of false negatives for the database.”

  The correspondents crowded around and eagerly selected rings for themselves, the free price being the main motivation. Then Chance took over, handing out the scripts she’d transcribed from holo-recordings with Chastity and Walter.

  “What’s this?” asked an older woman. Her name tag identified her as Penelope Ross, alien correspondent for Horten Four.

  “It’s your assignment for this afternoon. EarthCent Intelligence has found that role-playing is the best way to train for personal encounters, including the sort that lead to a kidnapping. Later in the week, we’ll practice unscripted scenarios to see how well you’ve internalized the course material from the morning sessions. Today, we’ll be walking you through actual kidnappings.”

  “I’ll turn on the hologram,” Thomas said. He issued a silent instruction, and an interior scene from an empty bar on an unidentified orbital popped into view in front of the surprised students. “This original video was recorded through the implant of one of the correspondents kidnapped by pirates off of a frontier orbital on the boundary between Sharf space and the tunnel network. The hologram was synthesized for us by our Stryx librarian, who also added a humanoid place-holder that shows the position of the victim who recorded the scene.”

  “First we’ll show the action without the audio, just so you can see how the events played out,” Chance said. “Then we’ll have some of you take the places of the individuals in the hologram and speak their parts. Thanks to the high recording capacity of the implants provided to you by your employer, we can walk you through all four of the recent kidnappings to hit the paper.”

  “This is spooky,” somebody muttered.

  “Does everybody have a good view?” Thomas inquired. “Alright, I’m starting the action.”

  In a blink of the eye, the hologram of the bar scene went from deserted to packed with customers. Most of the crowd were humanoid, primarily Hortens, though there were a good number of Drazens, Gem, and a couple of dried-out looking Frunge. A humanoid figure with long black hair sitting at a table with her back to the viewers was outlined in white at the front of the hologram.

  “The figure with the white highlight is Katya Wysecki, one of the reporters ransomed back from pirates this year,” Joe interjected.

  Katya’s form extended an arm and raised a glass from the table, though they couldn’t see her drink it since her back was towards them. Given the crowded bar, it seemed strange that she was alone at a table that could seat at least four, and a full minute passed with no more action than patrons and waitresses moving past the table.

  “While we’re waiting for the excitement to start, what is she doing right?” Thomas asked.

  “She’s in a public place,” somebody replied.

  “Very good,” the artificial person confirmed. “Now what is she doing wrong? Nobody? Chance?”

  “The level of her drink isn’t getting any lower,” Chance observed. “Anybody who watched her could tell that she was faking. If you’re worried about getting drunk, either spill it out on the floor or order a drink without alcohol.”

  “What else?” Thomas inquired. “Come on, this is an easy one. Senior Correspondent Daggert must have mentioned it at least ten times in his lecture this morning.”

  “She’s alone?” Bob said uncertainly.

  “Exactly,” Thomas replied.

  Three Hortens loomed into the hologram from somewhere behind the correspondent. One of them sat down beside her, so he also appeared as an interpolated white outline, but the other two sat across from her, giving the implant plenty to record. Both were heavily tattooed, and the female of the pair had a number of gemstones studded about her face. Nobody would mistake them for anything other than pirates.

  As soon as the newcomers sat, a waitress approached the table. She remained still for a moment while taking their order, swatted away the hand of the white-outlined figure sitting next to Katya, and then departed. The Horten across from the correspondent began speaking and gesturing with his hands, and after a long speech, the female next to him said something. Then both of the pirates whose faces were visible laughed long and hard.

  After that, Katya must have talked at length, because the pirates across from her were looking intently in her direction and occasionally nodding, with the male interrupting just once. Finally, the waitress returned with three drinks, two a deep green color for the males, and something split into brown and white levels, which went to the female. The correspondent handed the waitress a twenty-cred coin, and the pirates nodded their appreciation. The drinks disappeared rapidly as the conversation was batted back and forth, then all four of the figures rose and exited. The hologram blinked and returned to its original state, showing an empty bar.

  “So she went with them willingly!” somebody exclaimed.

  “Yes,” Thomas said. “In three of the four kidnappings you’ll see, the correspondents placed themselves in the hands of the kidnappers while pursuing a story. The exception was a war correspondent on a Vergallian world who was caught on foot after his quadruped threw a shoe and lamed.”

  “Five of you should have scripts for the first hologram,” Chance said. “We’ll be starting just before the pirates enter, so whoever is playing Katya, please take your place, and the rest of you join her as you see your characters appear.”

  Penelope walked into the hologram and disappeared from view.

  “Maybe we should turn down the power on the projection so they aren’t hidden,” Joe ventured.

  “It works better like this,” Chance asserted. “Chastity and Walter watched while we tried it a few different ways with InstaSitters.”

  “I’m Male Pirate #1,” Bob said. “Does that make me the guy next to Katya or across from her?”

  “Across from her,” Chance answered. “Everybody ready? Your implant will beep when it’s your turn to talk. Walk to your character in the hologram and just read the lines.”

  The action started, and with a push and a stumble, the three correspondents playing pirates entered the hologram and disappeared. “You’re Katya?” Bob’s voice asked, as the pirate he represented moved into the booth.

  “That’s right,” Penelope replied. “I was told you could help me.”

  “One hand washes the other,” Bob said gruffly.

  “Let me buy the first round,” Penelope offered, as the waitress approached the table.

  “What will you have,” asked a man’s voice, in perfect lip-sync with the Horten waitress.

  “Venom,” Bob replied.

  “Same here,” another man said.

  “Heaven and Hell,” the woman playing the female Horten requested.

  “Try that again and you’ll be missing a hand,” growled the man playing the waitress when the pirate next to Katya attempted a butt pat.

  Everybody watching the hologram gave a brief laugh.

  “Look,” Bob’s voice proclaimed, as the male pirate across from Katya leaned forward. “We don’t have much to do with Humans out here, and we don’t trust people whose skin color doesn’t show anything. Do you think I covered my face with tattoos because I love my mother? All I know about you is from our mutual contact, and she said you’re looking to embed with a trustworthy ship of freebooters
to write a journalistic piece. Hey, I enjoy publicity as much as the next pirate, but maybe you’re just a freelancer hoping for a story that will land you a job. I don’t put my head on the chopping block for every Human that walks into a bar.”

  “With a Dollnick and a Vergallian,” interjected the voice that was playing the female pirate.

  “Laughs loud and long,” Bob read. “Oh, sorry.” All three of the correspondents playing pirates attempted to laugh, and Penelope joined in.

  “The way I heard it, it was a human, a Vergallian and a Horten,” Penelope read when they stopped laughing. If it had been meant as a joke, it fell flat. “I work for the Galactic Free Press. That’s the biggest human news organization outside of Earth, and we must have a dozen correspondents out here just to cover the Brotherhood. I’m full-time on salary with paid expenses, so you can thank my employers for those drinks when they come. Don’t confuse me with some stringer who’s trying to break into the news business with immersive footage to sell to the Grenouthians. The bunnies will run anything they can get their hands on, but they’d never support a field correspondent who wasn’t born with a pouch and big, floppy ears.”

  “Keep talking,” Bob read from his script.

  “I can promise you a major feature,” Penelope continued in the role of the kidnapped correspondent. “No names, of course, unless you want them, but I’ll tell your stories in your own words. How you got into this line of work, what challenges you face, everything that gets across the true feeling of what you do. I’m not here to judge anybody.”

  The waitress arrived with the drinks, and the incongruous voice playing her grunted, “Fifteen creds.”

  “Keep it,” Penelope said, as Katya’s hologram handed over a twenty-cred piece.

  “Bright blood,” the three pirates declared in acknowledgement of Katya paying for the drinks.

  “There’s more where that came from,” Penelope said, lifting her own glass and actually drinking from it this time.

  “I’ve always had a healthy interest in the news business,” said the voice playing the pirate sitting by Katya’s side. “How does a newbie species like the Humans come up with the money to compete with the Grenouthians?”