by E. M. Foner
“Earth has its problems,” Stephen began. “The number of humans living on alien worlds exceeds the combined number of those who remain on Earth or live independently in space. Our best and brightest ignore the terrestrial university system and look to the advanced species for their role models in science, technology and mathematics.”
“I’m familiar with the discontinuities in our own development after encountering more advanced species because it’s one of the permanent exhibitions in our main branch,” Winka said. “I assume that’s why my old friend Bork invited me to Union Station to meet you, and though I doubt that saving artifacts for a future museum of your own transitional period is at the top of your list, I would be happy to consult with your curators.”
A look of disappointment flashed across the president’s features, but he covered it quickly and continued. “Any help would be greatly appreciated. You might know that the Verlocks have been experimenting with allowing humans to attend a few of their math academies, and this week they agreed to open a pilot campus on Earth. We’ve signed contracts with the Dollnicks to establish several industrial facilities that will include on-the-job training for human operators, and the Hortens have agreed to a joint venture in game development. Every alien business we’re able to bring to Earth represents a chance for humans to learn a new technology hands-on, and to begin building the missing bridge between our knowledge base and what currently passes as low-tech in the galaxy.”
“That’s exactly why I invited Winka,” Bork said, turning to the museum director. “Didn’t you tell me that after a half a million years in parking orbit, the Long Shot is in need of a complete overhaul?”
“Yes, but there’s no interest from donors in funding the project, and when I tried to get quotes from shipyards, they just laughed at me.”
“What’s the Long Shot?” Kelly asked.
“The first Drazen jump ship that didn’t blow itself up,” Winka explained. “You might be surprised to hear this, but when it comes to displays, our museum-goers care more about aesthetics than historical value. As an experimental robot-operated ship with no crew quarters or miniaturization, the Long Shot looks like a crude collection of drive parts. Since our inventory of early jump ships includes several famous and eye-pleasing vessels that opened colonization or contacted alien species, the Long Shot draws very little interest.”
“I thought the Humans might be interested in bidding on the overhaul,” Bork said, scratching behind an ear with his tentacle. “As long as you deliver the ship to Earth orbit, I’ll bet they could work within your budget.”
“Is that even possible?” Winka asked doubtfully. “It’s difficult enough for our own people to deal with such primitive technology, like shaped magnets and hand-wound coils…” she trailed off and gave Bork a penetrating look. “Would the Stryx allow it? I thought they discouraged transfer of jump technology to backwards, I mean, developing species.”
“It’s not so much a technology transfer as a job restoring an obsolete museum exhibit, and Humans are already part of the tunnel network,” Bork replied. “The problem, as the president so astutely described, is they are unable to bridge the divide between their current technology and the existing state-of-the-art. I thought the Long Shot might help them make the jump.”
Czeros groaned out loud at the pun, but Bork looked rather pleased with himself.
“I personally pledge EarthCent’s support for the project and I guaranty we’ll get it done within your budget, even if I have to sell indulgences,” President Beyer stated in a rush. “We’re very good with hand-wound coils.”
“Well, I’ll have to run it by the board but I don’t expect any objections.” Winka said. She sat back, looking thoughtful. There were a large number of unloved exhibits in the museum’s designated parking orbits and dead-storage areas. An inter-species exhibit-swapping program might create excitement for Drazen patrons interested in primitive Earth weapons, as well as benefitting the Humans.
“We Frunge have never been big museum-goers since living with our ancestors provides as large a window onto our past as we can stand,” Czeros said. “But as long as we’re talking about ancient history, perhaps I can encourage Vrazel to stick a branch in.”
The older Frunge glared at his young relation, who simply refilled his glass and took another sip of wine. Vrazel cleared his throat elaborately before speaking. “I employ over twenty thousand workers of all species in my factory on Thuri Minor, but the real estate market is making it impossible to do business on that world.”
“I was in the embassy there for a year when I was younger,” Kelly said. “I didn’t think there was much industry left, other than tourism and vacation home construction.”
“Somebody convinced me that building wing sets near the market would result in all sorts of efficiencies,” Vrazel replied. “I could be angry, but the land the factory is built on has appreciated more over the last three hundred years than the total manufacturing profits. Funny how life works out sometimes.”
“And you’re interested in manufacturing wing sets on Earth?” the president asked eagerly. Flying with wing sets had been the must-do activity of resort vacations for over a hundred-thousand years, and the Frunge even made a four-wing variety for the Dollnicks, who looked like giant dragonflies in flight.
“I once visited Earth to see the vast tracts of forest, areas with limited human habitation,” Vrazel continued. “An old friend of mine purchased large areas in your Northern Hemisphere with money from selling a problematic world of his to one of your rich entrepreneurs.”
“Kibbutz,” Kelly confirmed. “My stepson visited there. He said the people who survived were getting along nicely.”
“Glad to hear that,” the old Frunge said. “With the proper guarantees from EarthCent, I am willing to relocate my factory from Thuri Minor to a site on Earth. I may even retire there one day to wander the unspoiled woods. It’s very relaxing.”
“Our trees aren’t sentient, you know,” the president said. “I wouldn’t want you making a decision based on a false premise.”
“Of course I know,” Vrazel responded, and barked a short laugh. “That’s what makes your forests such a pleasure. On Frunge worlds, any collection of trees that large is bound to include plenty of ancestors who do nothing but complain about how their offspring are neglecting them. Sometimes, it’s enough to make me wish we had a paper industry.”
Czeros spit his wine all over Vrazel and Kelly. He was so shocked by his distant relative’s words that he was struck speechless.
“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” Vrazel continued. “Why do you think so many Frunge opt for instant petrification or simply disappear in space? I’m looking into alternatives for myself for when the time comes.”
“Well, we’d be happy to have you on Earth in any shape or form you’d care to join us,” President Beyer said. “And if you decide to set up any joint-ventures with humans, I’ve been assured that the Stryx will extend their special tunnel rates for shipping.”
“And that brings us to my friend Glunk,” Bork said. “Tell him about your discovery.”
“It’s less of a discovery than an observation,” Glunk replied modestly. “You know that we Drazens enjoy cross-species cuisine, but we find many of your food exports to be too mild for our advanced palates.”
“Indeed,” the president replied. “I often had reason to regret our limited digestive abilities in my days as an ambassador.”
“Drazens rarely visit Earth due to the strange reaction our tentacles draw from some of your less, shall we say, cosmopolitan citizens. It never occurred to us that so many of you have trouble digesting your own agricultural products that you could be sitting on a potential goldmine without knowing it.”
“Such as?” the president said, winking at Hildy.
“On a recent scrap-metal buying trip to a recycling facility called Rojas Two, I was introduced to a product known as ‘hot sauce’ by the humans working as sorters. They assured m
e that there are nearly unlimited varieties of peppers on Earth with an astonishing range of potency, and that the black pepper served in shakers at most human restaurants is one of the weakest strains.”
“Absolutely true,” the president said. “Hildy?”
EarthCent’s public relations director retrieved the box that had arrived in the diplomatic pouch and gave each of the Drazens a canister. “It’s sold as a defensive weapon on Earth,” she explained. “It’s especially effective if it contacts the eyes, so please make sure it doesn’t splatter.”
Bork picked up the plate of burnt cookies, and using a hand to shield against back spatter, sprayed them liberally from the small canister. Kelly immediately began to sweat just looking at the cookies, or maybe a few molecules had escaped from the watered-down stream and found their way to her nose.
“Oh, these are excellent,” Bork declared, holding the plate out for his Drazen companions. “And the spray blends so well with the burnt spice taste. I can just imagine the possibilities.”
“Don’t forget that the peppers are highly diluted in water for the spray,” Hildy informed them.
“I’d like to open an industrial-scale food plant on Earth using advanced Drazen processing and packaging techniques,” Glunk said. “I believe with the proper marketing, we can make your peppers into a major export category. And I wouldn’t be surprised if we can find other neglected agricultural products that can be repurposed for non-Humans.”
“It’s a weapon and it’s a dessert topping,” the president joked.
“Pepper spray,” Kelly shouted. “That’s ninety across. It’s a dessert topping for Drazens. I’m going to finish this puzzle before the solution is published tomorrow evening if I have to work at it all night!”
Twenty
The densely printed banner read, “Congratulations to Vivian and Samuel - First Place Human Couple – Junior Championships.” Donna had drawn the line at adding, “Regional Vergallian Ballroom Dancing,” since it would have meant shrinking the font so much that the banner would have looked more like warning tape at a crime scene. The fact that the children were the only humans participating in the Vergallian contest had made it much easier to plan decorations ahead of time. The party was held in the dance studio attached to Marcus and Chastity’s apartment, where the children trained together three hours a day.
Vivian and Samuel were still dressed in their Vergallian ballroom formalwear, and Donna had confided in Kelly that her granddaughter’s gown had cost more than either of them earned from EarthCent in a year. Of course, Blythe could easily afford it, and the nine-year-old girl had looked just as sophisticated as any of the high-caste Vergallian girls at the competition. Samuel wore a rental suit that Dorothy’s friend Affie had helped them pick out, a process which included a trip to a fitting room to create an avatar for the boy.
“I still think those Vergallian judges have it in for humans,” Joe said to Stanley, who nodded loyally. “I kept my eye on those score cards, and our kids were the only couple who lost points for ‘asymmetric lift’ and some business about keeping their cheekbones in line. I’m not going to let Samuel get his molars pulled or starve himself before competitions for the sake of more prominent cheekbones, and I’m sure Blythe and Clive feel the same way about Vivian.”
“They were just better than us, Dad,” Samuel said, embarrassed by his father’s blind support. “I’m not strong enough to lift Vivian the way some of those older Vergallian kids can, and some of them have been practicing bone structure alignment with the same partner for ten years.”
“Which we can’t have done, since I’m only nine,” Vivian added. “And it’s not Sam’s fault about the lifting. I can’t jump as high as those Vergallian girls yet, which makes it much easier on their partners.”
“If we’re going to waste the celebration party assigning blame, then it’s my fault for not teaching them better,” Marcus said. “The Vergallian techniques I picked up with the Wanderers are all out of date, and if it weren’t for those moves that Samuel learned somewhere, they wouldn’t have made the finals. I think that placing ninth with just two years practice is a tremendous achievement.”
“The students and teacher were equally brilliant,” Chastity added in defense of her husband. “And most important of all, your performance actually got the ambassador to stop staring vacantly into the distance and working on crossword puzzles from memory.”
“As if I would let anything get in the way of watching my son compete,” Kelly retorted. “Besides, I finished that puzzle this morning. I’ve broken the curse,” she added triumphantly.
“You got it all done, no mistakes?” Chastity asked. “I don’t think anybody has sent in a solution for last week’s puzzle yet, so if you submit it before the new crossword is released tonight, you could win the prize.”
“I don’t care about prizes, but I wish I knew who created this puzzle so I could thank him,” Kelly said. “Usually I get stuck at some point, and then no matter how much more time I spend, I get nowhere. This week’s crossword was pure serendipity. Every time I blocked, something would come up in the president’s negotiations that got me going again, especially with the borrowings from alien languages and cultures.”
“I know I’m going to regret this, but can you give me an example?” Donna asked.
“I needed a five-letter word for ‘alien sap’ with a ‘u’ as the second letter, so I pestered poor Czeros about it for an hour since I was sure it must be related to the Frunge. Then we met with the Grenouthians about setting up an immersive technology center on Earth in exchange for a royalty deal none of us quite understood, and it came to me in a flash. Human.”
“Huh?” Joe asked.
“Alien sap. Human. The Grenouthians think that we’re suckers. Saps.”
“That is something to be proud of,” Chastity remarked dryly. “I see Walter and Brinda are finally here so maybe he can tell you who created the puzzle.”
“Walter!” Kelly cried, waving in his direction. The managing editor and resident cruciverbalist of the Galactic Free Press grimaced at the sight of the station’s notorious puzzle-addict flagging him down. Unfortunately, the newspaper counted on the ambassador as their most reliable diplomatic source, so he put on a brave smile and prepared to play dumb about clues.
“We stopped by the office on the way here so I could approve the story about the Vergallian competition,” Walter told his publisher. “Got a great picture of the kids for the front page.”
“Kelly finished the puzzle this week and she wants to know who created it,” Chastity said.
“But it was one of the signed puzzles, last word across on the bottom,” Walter replied. “Are you sure you got everything right?”
Kelly’s face fell tragically, and she whipped the sheet of paper from her purse. “It can’t be,” she cried. “All of the down words mesh.”
“Let me see that,” Walter said, taking the sheet from her. His eyes scanned the puzzle, nodding, and then he made a ‘tch, tch, tch,’ sound and gave his head a little shake. “Do you want me to tell you?”
“You mean I made a mistake?” Kelly snatched back the sheet and studied the bottom right corner so intently that it was painful to watch. “Don’t tell me I messed up on ‘effect’ versus ‘affect’—I’ve been getting them confused since I was a girl. But it has to be ‘effect’ or I can’t use ‘rep’ as ‘type of government.’ I was a little nervous because ‘government’ wasn’t abbreviated as ‘gov’ but nothing else fit.”
“Raj?” Aisha suggested, leaning in over Kelly’s shoulder. “You know, the British government in India?”
“But that changes ‘constant irritations’ from ‘peeves’ to—
‘Jeeves?’ Oh, no,” Kelly went through a series of color changes that would do a Horten proud.
“I can still give you credit if you want to submit the solution,” Walter offered kindly. “I was afraid nobody was going to solve this puzzle. I gave up and looked at the solution after a
few hours myself.”
“Excuse me for a minute,” Kelly said grimly, and made her way to the bathroom. As soon as the door was shut, she subvoced Libby.
“Yes, Kelly,” the station librarian replied.
“Where’s that constant irritant of an offspring of yours?” the ambassador demanded.
“He’s left the station for a short business trip. I’m sure he’ll be pleased to hear that you solved his puzzle. He created it especially for you.”
“I’ll bet he did. How did he know what words were going to come up in the Dollnick negotiations or that Joe and Aisha would help me with particular clues. Is he time-traveling?”
“There is no such thing. While it’s theoretically possible to find and visit a parallel out-of-sync universe that might provide some guidance, it would be unlikely to reach the level of crossword puzzle clues. Besides, Jeeves hates that sort of math. He’s just a very good guesser.”
“Or a very good manipulator,” Kelly groused.
“A chip off the old AI.”
“Was that another artificial intelligence joke?”
“It’s not funny if I have to explain it,” Libby replied with a sigh.
…………………………
Jeeves entered the excursion lock of the Chintoo orbital and rapidly charged and discharged his casing to brush off the dust of interstellar space. The ionized particles practically threw themselves at the polarized filter in the ceiling. He glanced at the secure keypad and casually broke the advanced encryption, allowing him to trigger the inner door to open without going through the tedious business of knocking and identifying himself or bypassing the controls. Then he floated into the clean vacuum of the residential section of the orbital.