Word Night on Union Station (EarthCent Ambassador Book 9)

by E. M. Foner

  “The Hortens can teach you,” Noninth offered generously. “We build lots of small ships. My brother says ours are the best kind for trading.”

  Aisha looked on in amazement as the president led the children through a happy tale about Earth’s future. She had come to dread the Storytellers segment herself, because the communal plot development invariably led to monsters who ate little children, or witches who turned them into other aliens that their parents didn’t like. Not surprisingly, it was one of the most anticipated segments each week.

  “But do you know which species already owns a lot of land on Earth?” the president asked. The little children all shook their heads. “The Frunge. The Frunge traded a wealthy human a planet for money to buy some large forests.”

  “And the Frunge came and taught people to be nicer to trees,” Fajav said from behind her hair vines.

  “And how did the humans treat all of the aliens who came to help them?” the president asked Harry.

  “We gave them all ice cream,” the little boy declared. “And Sheezle bugs, and fertilizer, and giant carrots.”

  “Sheezle bugs?” Cudge asked hopefully.

  “Lots of Sheezle bugs,” the boy asserted.

  The Dollnick girl’s stomach began to rumble audibly, and thankfully a commercial break intervened.

  “Did you skip lunch today?” Aisha asked the girl.

  “Breakfast,” Cudge replied sadly. “Why do you keep changing the show time?”

  “The time is always the same for me,” Aisha replied. “It’s human time. Your parents live on Dollnick time, so it’s difficult for you. This is the last commercial break, so we only have a little more to go and then you can get something to eat.”

  “Will I have time to give you the award?” the president asked Aisha.

  “Can you keep politics out of it?” Aisha pleaded. “I don’t know how the producers are going to react to the fairy tale you turned into a campaign for the betterment of Earth.”

  The assistant director thumped his furry foot to get their attention, and then counted the show back in.

  “I think we have just enough time for Stephen to give me something he brought all the way from Earth,” Aisha said self-consciously. She always tried to make the children the center of attention and she hoped the president would keep it short.

  “EarthCent has created a special medal to thank Aisha for her show,” the president said. He turned to where Hildy stood in the wings, but she shook her head and pantomimed an action by sliding her hand down the outside of her hip. “And I have that medal right here,” he continued, reaching in his pocket and tugging on a loop of blue ribbon. The ribbon pulled taut, and then the heavy bronze medallion which had barely fit in his pocket popped out.

  “What’s it for?” Noninth asked.

  “To thank Aisha for creating this show,” the president replied patiently.

  “She means, what does it do?” the Drazen boy asserted.

  “Oh. I can hang it around her neck with this ribbon,” the president said, putting his words into action.

  “Is it a shield to stop arrows?” the Dollnick girl asked. “It’s awfully small.”

  “It doesn’t look like her,” the Frunge girl commented, peering out from her veil of hair vines.

  “That’s funny, I thought it wasn’t a bad likeness,” the president said.

  “The Surprise Day Aisha is much better,” the Horten girl declared, and the other children chimed in with their agreement.

  “What’s a Surprise Day Aisha?” the president asked, turning to the host.

  Aisha sighed, and retrieved the Dollnick Tan tuber from its place of honor on the mantle of the cozy set.

  The president took the tuber in one hand, squinted at the medal he had just presented, and asked, “Could I borrow the potato for a mold? We’ll have your medal recast.”

  “I want to see it again,” Harry said.

  “Me too,” the other children chimed in, so the president passed the tuber to the boy, and the children jostled each other for another look.

  The assistant director caught Aisha’s eye and made the wrapping-up movement.

  “Let’s show our new friend how we sing together,” Aisha said brightly.

  The children dutifully formed their double-ranked chorus line, with the taller cast members in the back. As the music began playing, they launched into the show’s theme song.

  Don’t be a stranger because I look funny,

  You look weird to me, but let’s make friends.

  I’ll give you a tissue if your nose is runny,

  I’m as scared as you, so let’s make friends.

  “That’s a wrap,” the assistant director called. “They want to see you in the booth, Mrs. McAllister. Good luck.”

  “Oh, I’ll see you tomorrow, children.” Aisha managed a weak smile at Hildy, who had come onto the set as soon as the immersive cameras went cold. Then the host headed up to the booth to face the music.

  “I think that went pretty well,” the president said to his public relations director. “I just hope that the parents watching with their children don’t judge us by the relief of Aisha on the medallion, since that potato put it to shame.”

  “I couldn’t see it that well from where I was standing,” Hildy said. “Where is it?”

  The president looked around the set where the parents were gathering their children. A towering Dollnick was carrying away his daughter, who munched happily on a Tan tuber.

  “Never mind,” the president said. “I don’t think that potato will be a problem in the future.”

  Thirteen

  “So you aren’t going to assign reporters to cover piracy anymore?” Penelope asked. “It seems like kind of an important news item to be ignoring.”

  “We aren’t prohibiting correspondents from reporting on lost ships or the impact of piracy in their zones of coverage,” Walter replied patiently. “The majority of our reporters will be assigned to worlds with large populations of human laborers or sectors where humans trade and travel. What we’re halting is the practice of sending correspondents to the frontiers of the tunnel network for the sake of reporting on piracy.”

  “How about war coverage?” another correspondent asked. “My series about the succession wars on Hwoult Five won an award from the mercenary guild for best coverage on Vergallian tech-ban worlds last year.”

  “We’re still discussing where to draw the line on that, but we’ll want at least episodic coverage wherever there’s a significant presence of human mercenaries,” Daggert replied. “I find that I’ve been shanghaied into accepting a new position as the roving conflict editor, so you war junkies will be reporting to me from now on.”

  “Follow-up question,” the correspondent stated, bringing a laugh from the reporters gathered in the newsroom of the Galactic Free Press. “What’s a significant presence?”

  “That’s the part we haven’t settled on yet, but barring special circumstances, we’re talking about something like regiment or brigade strength, say a couple thousand guys. There are plenty of Vergallian royals who keep a few human infantry or cavalry troops on the payroll, but they serve more as ceremonial guards than strategic assets.”

  “How about off-network wars?” another correspondent asked.

  “Nix,” Daggert said. “We’re restricting off-network coverage to special assignments on topics with a direct impact on humanity. As long as we’re under Stryx protection, which aliens are killing which other aliens halfway across the galaxy just doesn’t rate as news our readers can use.”

  “But that was my suggestion box entry for the new slogan and you didn’t give me credit,” Bob Steelforth protested indignantly. “News our readers can use.”

  “I’m afraid it’s not original,” Chastity told the young reporter with a smile. “I did a historical check with Libby, and it appears that over eighty percent of newspapers ever published on Earth employed some variation of ‘News you can use,’ for a motto at one point or an
other. We’re going to give it a try, so my apologies to those of you who independently came up with, ‘All the news that’s fit to print.’ And whoever submitted, ‘If it bleeds, it leads,’ you might want to check if the Grenouthians have any job openings.”

  “Katy Hicks,” the Dollnick ag worlds correspondent identified herself. “So we’re going to focus on business and sports from now on?”

  “All the news our readers can use,” Walter repeated. “I had a chance to talk to EarthCent’s top public relations expert at the president’s reception, and she suggested simply surveying our readers about where they feel our coverage is lacking. We did that in yesterday’s issue, and I have to admit that the results came as something of a surprise.”

  “Not enough sports coverage, right?” a reporter called out.

  “That was on the list, but fourth down,” the managing editor replied. “The number one complaint was our lack of a ‘Home’ section. Readers living on alien worlds want to see more recipes, shopping tips and consumer advice, how to incorporate alien technologies into their daily lives. Basically, they’re less interested in news than they are in practical help for living.”

  “What was the second most popular request?” Katy asked.

  “An improved personals section and relationship advice,” Chastity answered. “We’re going to establish a number of advice columns with permanent bylines, so if any of you are experts on broken hearts or angry teenagers, feel free to try out for the positions.”

  “But we aren’t going to start publishing personals,” Walter said. “There are plenty of other places people can go for that already, and there was a turf conflict with our back-office support in any case. The third request is the one that surprised me the most, which was more coverage of Earth.”

  “Really?” several voices asked at once.

  “It may have to do with all the press we’ve been giving the president’s visit, but most people still have family back on Earth and it turns out there’s more interest than we thought,” Chastity confirmed. “It’s a minority, but they were very passionate about it.”

  “How do you know?” Bob said.

  “The survey form asked readers to rate their top five coverage requests in order of importance. Only one in four readers mentioned Earth, but most of them put it at the top of the list. Maybe some of them are planning on retiring there, maybe it’s just nostalgia, but we’re negotiating with several Earth news syndicates to exchange stories on a one-for-one basis. If you knew what they wanted to charge for full syndication rights, you’d all run screaming from the room.”

  “If sports came in fourth, what was fifth?” somebody called out.

  “It wasn’t important,” Walter said. “Now what we’d...”

  “Go ahead and tell them,” Daggert interrupted him. “We’ve just pulled the rug out from under some of our best correspondents so the least we can do is be honest.”

  “It was just something about the crossword puzzle,” Walter muttered irritably.

  “Are we cancelling it?” a reporter in the back asked, sounding hopeful. “That thing drives me nuts.”

  “The readers love my weekly crossword puzzle. They would just like to see the work of a guest cruciverbalist from time to time.”

  “That’s your problem in a nutshell,” the same reporter said, snorting in disgust. “Cruciverbalist. You keep using words I’ve never heard of, and I write for a living. Why not do a puzzle that only uses vocabulary from our published stories?”

  “Crossword puzzles aren’t supposed to be easy,” Walter retorted. “They’re supposed to challenge you, to leave you gnashing your teeth in frustration. Most cruciverbalists feel they have to choose between offering cryptic clues or demanding arcane knowledge. I try to combine the two by tying the clues into the puzzle title.”

  “But they don’t make any sense,” another correspondent complained. “Every week, I get through almost the whole puzzle except for a missing word here and there. Then when the solution is published, I find out that half of my answers were wrong, even though they meshed together perfectly. It’s like you’re intentionally choosing ambiguous clues to lead me down the garden path.”

  “And what’s with all the extinct animals?” Penelope piled on. “In the middle of a puzzle about the history of transportation titled, ‘Night Moves,’ you had ‘Ectocion’ and ‘Eohippus.’ When I got back to a Stryx station and asked the librarian for help, he said they were dog-sized creatures from fifty million years ago.”

  “At least they maybe, just maybe, evolved into horses,” said the reporter who had first objected to the crossword puzzles. “That same puzzle was full of prehistoric plants that all ended in ‘oideae.’ There were as many black squares as open spaces because he couldn’t come up with crossing words.”

  “The horsey things had to eat something,” Walter defended himself. “If you think you can do better, go ahead and submit a puzzle.”

  “Will we get authorship credit?” the reporter asked.

  “I had an idea about that,” Chastity said. “Why not save the bottom-right across space for your name or initials? I think it would be fun.”

  “You don’t even do the puzzles,” Walter chastised the owner and publisher.

  “Maybe I’ll start,” Chastity retorted. “Shall we move on to our main business for the day?”

  “My feelings exactly,” Walter agreed huffily. “The most important editorial change we’re planning didn’t make the top five request list, though many of our readers mentioned it when we asked for general comments. We want to leverage our ongoing coverage of the president’s visit to step up our reporting on nascent human political movements throughout the galaxy.”

  “Why?” Katy asked. “What does it matter to my readers on Dollnick ag planets what some demagogue on a Drazen open world has to say, much less what politicians are arguing about back on Earth?”

  “Politics may seem like a luxury to contract laborers who are living on alien worlds, but we want to report on new political movements before they grow into governments. Otherwise, potential candidates who don’t happen to be on the spot with good timing or know the right people will be left out of the process.”

  “But reporting on politicians will create a self-fulfilling prophecy,” Penelope objected. “You’ll be putting our correspondents in the position of king-makers, since the people we choose to write about in the paper will be turned into public figures through our efforts. Even if the articles are critical, they’ll have the effect of lending the paper’s credibility to the subjects.”

  “And we’ve anticipated that problem, which is why we intend to adopt a version of Horten rules for our coverage,” Chastity said.

  “Horten rules?” Bob asked, looking bewildered. “But I’ve been studying up on the governing systems of the tunnel species through the Open University extension program, and I still don’t understand how the Hortens run their worlds. The Vergallians and the Dollnicks have a form of royalty, the Frunge have bizarre elections, the Drazens have singing competitions and the Grenouthians and Verlocks use civil service tests. The only thing I understood about the Horten system is that it involves their military.”

  “We aren’t talking about adopting their system of fighting simulated wars to select leaders,” Chastity explained. “It’s how their press covers the fleet officers and reservists who are eligible to stand for executive positions. It’s not some free-for-all where anybody can get into the fight. They have a selection process for the candidates at every command level, which isn’t so unlike the old Earth campaigns. It’s a multi-party system that produces cohesive governments, since the war simulations can’t end in a draw.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “The Hortens have political parties, think of them as sides in a multi-party war, which each have their own group of supporters. Every election cycle, the supporters outfit a virtual fleet and elect members to man the ships. All of the ships, well, think of them as game pieces, must be purchase
d from the Horten election commission, which uses the money to pay for the government which is eventually installed. The new government serves until the money runs out.”

  “That’s crazy,” Penelope said. “They sell the government to the highest bidder?”

  “It doesn’t work that way, though what you’ve described is a fair approximation of how the Frunge operate. After the Horten political parties field their fleets, the largest of which represent tens of billions of citizens, the smaller parties can make alliances to perform as auxiliaries. Or, they can choose to arrive late at the battle and hope that the large fleets will decimate each other, giving survivors an opportunity to pick up the pieces. The elective government positions are eventually staffed by the best-performing members of the winning fleet or coalition.”

  “So the admiral doesn’t automatically become Grand Leader?”

  “Right. They use a complex scoring system that makes it statistically possible for any member of the winning fleet to qualify, though the odds certainly favor those in command positions. And like all advanced species, most government functions are run by career civil servants, so the leadership changes have limited impact.”

  “So what’s so special about the way their press covers the fighting, or the simulated fighting?” Bob persisted in asking.

  “It’s not about the fighting at all, though they do cover that when the battle occurs. It’s about how the candidates present themselves to the paid-up party members who elect them to their positions for the fleets. All of the officer ranks stand for election, and since nobody knows how they will end up in the scoring if their side triumphs, the candidates, in essence, don’t know what positions they’re running for.”

  “Good grief,” somebody muttered.

  “It makes a lot of sense if you think about it,” Chastity said. “The Hortens aren’t looking for politicians who will turn their system upside-down or rush them off to war. They just want leaders with, well, leadership ability. So their press apportions coverage according to the rank of the candidate, but they also create an election book each year that gives an up-to-date biography of all of the candidates in each party. The voters concentrate on who they want to select from their own party since they have no say over who the other parties will select in any case.”