by E. M. Foner
“It’s been a couple of months since our last meeting, so before I ask Ambassador McAllister to get us caught up on what her agency head is doing, do we have any urgent business that needs to be addressed?” The unelected president of EarthCent paused to watch the holographic representations of the six ambassadors for a response.
“Just to make sure I’m straight on this, we’re giving up on the code names and the zoo animal filter?” asked Mother.
“That’s right Belinda,” President Lin confirmed. “The six of you were probably the only ones who weren’t sure of who was who at our meetings, since the alien intelligence agencies certainly weren’t fooled. In fact, you may as well all go around once and introduce yourselves so you won’t feel foolish if you happen to meet at a conference. Would you start?”
“Belinda White, Hearth Station Ambassador,” Belinda complied willingly. “I never cared for the cloak-and-dagger nonsense, I’m just in it for the intelligence. I see you found the funds somewhere to pay the Stryx for a secure channel.”
“I borrowed the money from our lost and found,” President Lin replied. “Hopefully, nobody comes back looking for a Dreeb skin purse full of Stryx creds, or we could have a problem. My office manager thinks it may have been intended as a bribe from one of the visiting delegations, but they’re going to be disappointed since we don’t even know who purchased our good will. Stephen?”
“Stephen Beyer, Void Station Ambassador,” the former bird of paradise code named Troll introduced himself. “I hope everybody used the bug sweepers that Intelligence sent us by special courier.”
“Special courier?” the ex-python known as Tinkerbelle commented with a laugh. “Mine was delivered to our apartment by the InstaSitter who came to babysit the kids last week.”
“You have to admire that kind of efficiency,” President Lin said, shaking his head in despair over the contrast with EarthCent’s diplomatic organization. “Would you introduce yourself to the others?”
“Svetlana Zerakova, Corner Station Ambassador. The sweepers worked great, but I had to ask Farth to send a maintenance bot to actually remove the listening devices without destroying my embassy offices. Fortunately, the Stryx don’t see cleaning up the bugs after they’ve been detected as violating their principles.”
“Same here,” the other ambassadors all echoed.
“Not having station maintenance bots on Earth, we were forced to tear our offices apart,” President Chin admitted. “On the bright side, they were badly in need of remodeling, and I doubt the other species will go to the expense of sneaking in new bugs now that they know we can detect them. Carlos?”
“Carlos Oshi, Middle Station Acting Ambassador,” the former elephant with the odd code name of Pill Bottle introduced himself. “I’m looking forward to hearing some good news on progress.”
“Raj?” the president prompted.
“Raj Tamil, Echo Station Ambassador. I’d like to suggest a staggered schedule for future meetings so I’m not always getting up in the middle of the night for them.”
“Does everybody know Kelly?” President Lin asked.
There was a chorus of assents, an unnecessary comment about Kelly’s auctioneering attempt, and a gratuitous remark about frightening a young Stryx into a coma, all of which Ambassador McAllister took to mean that no introduction was necessary.
“First, let me say that the Oxfords are doing a fantastic job, and they are targeting the end of the year to begin producing regular reports on our list of action items,” Kelly said. “I’m officially returning from maternity leave next Monday, and Blythe has already requested that I give her or her senior staff a regular meeting slot each week to make sure that our diplomatic and intelligence efforts remain in sync.”
“Any progress on the Farling drug threat?” Ambassador Beyer asked.
“That’s one of the things I was going to talk about,” Kelly replied. “Thanks to our partnership with Drazen Intelligence, I’ve been provided with a case study of the traditional Farling business model. It turns out that the Farlings create a whole suite of horrific drugs for every new biological that appears on the galactic stage, and then they tip off the home planet government. Their goal is to sell inoculations and neutralizers. Prevention is a much bigger and safer market than selling dangerous mind-destroying drugs to criminals, which would just get the Stryx mad in any case. I asked Ambassador Bork, and it appears that all of the advanced species enforce harsh penalties for mind control that make it a crime for suicidal maniacs. He couldn’t find a single record of such a case in the Drazen legal system for as long as their current record system reaches back.”
“So the Farlings aren’t evil incarnate?” Belinda asked. “I’ve always heard that they are a bunch of amoral genetic manipulators who stay out of Stryx space because they know their experiments wouldn’t be tolerated.”
“That’s all true enough, but everybody would have gotten together and wiped them out long ago if they were that much of a threat,” Kelly replied. “Many species use their drugs for suspended animation rather than freezing themselves for extended space travel. The Farlings are just as willing to cure a disease as to create one, as long as the price is right. They just don’t see the rest of us biologicals as human, or maybe I should say, beetle.”
“How about this public attempt to recruit double agents from alien intelligence agencies I’ve heard so much about?” Raj asked. “The Gem ambassador here buttonholed me at a party and said that she would view any such attempt on Echo Station as an act of aggression.”
“Without going into great detail, I’m told that the Gem response to the double agent program has been, uh, atypical,” Kelly replied.
“A trio of Fillinducks came into my embassy looking for the cultural attaché in an attempt to sign up,” Belinda added. “I told them we hadn’t been assigned a spy handler yet but to check back in a few cycles.”
“Recruitment of double agents has been going well, but I’m only supposed to supply details on a need-to-know basis,” Kelly told them. “Does anybody have a need to know?”
“I’d rather not,” President Lin replied. “Anything else?”
“I’m glad you brought up the cultural attaché situation, Belinda,” Kelly continued. “Intelligence will be graduating the first class of agents this weekend, we’re having a picnic at, er, the training camp. Filling the attaché slots, at least temporarily, is one of the top priorities for the Oxfords. And the second class is already well underway, as is recruiting for the third. So if you have any personal recommendations for agent trainees, please pass the names along when your cultural attaché arrives.”
“How about your spy show?” the president asked. “That was officially an EarthCent event, correct?”
“Before we hear about that, I have a confession to make,” Raj interrupted. “I was able to attend the first day of the show, and I seem to have overdone it at a party.”
“You should have told me you were on the station, even though I was on leave,” Kelly protested. “Or at least you could have stopped in at the embassy.”
“I was worried about security, and I wanted to experience the show as a paying attendee,” Raj explained. “As I was saying, I drank a bit too much and I might have been a little indiscreet with a certain young lady.”
“Indiscreet?” Svetlana asked coldly. “What does that entail, exactly?”
“I’m not quite sure,” Raj replied guiltily. “Nothing like this has happened before in my career. A woman asked me to buy her a drink, we started dancing, and the next thing I knew, a waitress was waking me up and asking if I wanted another bottle. I seem to remember discussing some things related to our committee work,” he concluded in a deflated tone.
“Did the woman have a name?” Kelly asked.
“Just something she made up for the evening,” Raj replied. “Who would name a daughter Chance?”
“I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” Kelly told him. “Chance is an agent, and I’m
told she’s the top of the class when it comes to extracting information in bars. But it’s a good learning opportunity for all of us, and it supports Clive’s view that this committee focus on policy rather than getting involved in operational details.”
“I’ve been reading through some of the so-called training materials that were provided to our original two agents, and I learned that the old national intelligence agencies usually had a cabinet minister or government appointee providing direct oversight and liaison to the government,” the Void Station ambassador said. “It seems to me that Ambassador McAllister is already filling that role, and the whole operation is being run out of Union Station, so perhaps we should formalize her position.”
“Excellent idea, Stephen,” President Lin seconded the motion before Kelly could protest. “All in favor of appointing Ambassador McAllister the Minister of Intelligence, raise your hands. One, two, three, four, five, and myself. Excellent.”
“How can I be an ambassador AND the Minister of Intelligence?” Kelly protested. “Besides, EarthCent isn’t really a government, and even if it was, we’re hardly a parliamentary system!”
“You’re outvoted six to one,” the president replied. “My staff will be thrilled that arranging and paying for these committee meetings is off our plate. Shall we call it a day?”
“What does being Minister of Intelligence have to do with running the committee?”
“Makes sense to me,” Raj observed. “Please don’t forget my scheduling request.”
Kelly glared around the virtual table at her five fellow ambassadors and the EarthCent president, but they were all looking at somebody else when she tried to catch their eyes. “Fine,” she growled. “Meeting adjourned.”
The five holographic ambassadors winked out, but the president remained, holding up a finger to indicate he wanted a minute to talk alone.
“Yes, President Lin,” Kelly said, stressing the title which carried little actual power in the distributed EarthCent hierarchy that had been imposed by the Stryx in any case.
“Just two things, Kelly,” the president said mildly. “First, I want to thank you for expediting the return of my wife’s family silver. I never would have heard the end of it.”
“You’re welcome,” Kelly replied cautiously. “It’s lucky our agent was in a coma for nearly two weeks, so she didn’t have time to sell it.”
“Second, I just wanted to tell you, well, warn you really, that you showed up in the top five on the latest version of our depth chart.”
“What depth chart is that?” Kelly asked before the meaning caught up with her. “No! You don’t mean that if something happens to you, I’m in line to be the unelected president!”
“We’re still officially wards of the Stryx,” the president reminded her. “I don’t know if we’re one generation or a hundred generations away from being deemed responsible enough to self-organize, though I believe this intelligence agency is a step in the right direction. In the meantime, EarthCent depends on the Stryx for recruiting personnel, and even though we make our own decisions, I wouldn’t claim for a minute that we are acting in accordance with the majority view of the humans we represent. Yet, it does seem to be working.”
“So you’re saying the Stryx have moved me into the number five slot?” Kelly asked, crossing her fingers.
“No, I’m saying you appear in the top five, but as you’ve become fond of saying lately, the exact slot is on a need-to-know basis,” President Lin answered playfully. “Until the next meeting, then.”
“Wait!” Kelly said to the empty space above her display desk. “I’m not even officially back from maternity leave yet,” she concluded with a groan.
“Were you talking to me?” Libby asked.
“Libby!” Kelly cried, like a drowning woman grasping at the oar of the war galley that had just sunk her fishing boat. “No matter what, don’t let them make me president. Promise!”
“It’s not that simple,” Libby replied after a pause. “I can only promise that you’ll never become president against your will.”
“Done!” Kelly declared, experiencing a wave of relief. “It’s not just the job, you know. Union Station is our home now. I wouldn’t know how to live somewhere without a ceiling, not to mention having to deal with the weather and all of those mosquitoes.”
“At least you don’t have parrot-flies on Earth,” Libby remarked slyly. Parrot-flies? The office door was closed, but one of the Dollnick bio-bugs could have easily followed her all the way from Mac’s Bones, going through the lift and the doors with her. Where was a Dollnick dragonfly when you needed one?
A line of illuminated dots appeared on the front display wall of her office, lighting up in sequence to point at a spot near the top of the door. Kelly removed her sandal and approached stealthily, pretending to be examining the stitching of the sole. When she was just beyond the detection range that triggered the door to open, she sprang forward, swinging the sandal at the spot indicated by the lights.
SPLAT! A small green stain appeared on the wall, matching a little pulped mass on the bottom of her sandal.
“As long as we’re bending the noninterference rules today, how about an opinion on President Lin’s assessment of our progress?” Kelly asked, as she reached in her purse for a bit of tissue to clean up the bug. Fortunately, she had a whole package of baby wipes, which made quick work of the remains.
“I’m not sure what you mean about bending the rules,” Libby replied innocently. “On the subject of self-determination, you know that our policy is to protect humans from themselves. Have you seen the Grenouthian documentary about human democracy through the ages?”
“Aisha mentioned something about it, but I decided to pass when I saw it was listed as a comedy,” Kelly admitted. “What’s wrong with government by the people for the people?”
“It’s a wonderful thing, and humans have occasionally achieved it in small groups where everybody knew each other. When we opened Earth, the elder Stryx determined that your electoral systems for selling offices were in large part responsible for the economic collapse that forced us to intervene. EarthCent, to the extent that it governs, is truly a government by the people for the people.”
“But the Stryx pick the people,” Kelly protested.
“Yes, and I believe we do a fine job, thank you very much,” Libby responded dryly. “Back on Earth, your old national governments are nominally in charge, but all of the real work is done on the local level, providing basic services in return for fees. Integration into the galactic economy has provided all humans with the option to pick up and go elsewhere, to vote with their feet. EarthCent is the only official representative of humanity as a whole, and you don’t see a line of people outside of the embassy every morning begging for more laws.”
“But that’s because the Stryx run everything on the station,” Kelly protested again.
“That’s not really true if you think about it,” Libby replied. “We enforce a few laws related to property and interactions among species, but on the whole, station inhabitants are self-governing. Humans do very well as guests, and humans are guests everywhere but on Earth and a couple of modest colonies, which have so far avoided the governance problem through low population density.”
“You’re saying that people can only manage democracy if you split the demo from the cracy?” Kelly ventured, wondering if she had the Greek etymology correct.
“You really should watch the Grenouthian documentary,” Libby answered. “Your electoral systems have always favored candidates who say what the people want to hear, and your great vice as a species is your ability to believe them. It’s the same mechanism of believing in impossibilities, even when the outcome means life or death, that doomed your global economy.”
“Well, all’s well that ends well,” Kelly said defensively. “If you hadn’t bailed us out, I understand we would have been taken over by the Vergallians sooner or later.”
Samuel woke up from his nap and made
a “guh” sound.
“Did you hear that, Libby?” Kelly exclaimed, racing to pluck her nearly six-month-old out of his bassinet. “He said Ma!”
“Didn’t we just talk about humans hearing what they want to believe?” Libby inquired.
“Actually, I think you said we believe what we want to hear,” Kelly retorted, setting Samuel down on the surface of her display desk. “Did you see that? He lifted his head and his chest. I think he’s almost ready to crawl.”
“So you put him on your desk near the edge?”
“Guh,” Samuel repeated.
“He’s trying to say Ma again!” Kelly proclaimed proudly.
“It sounds more like he’s trying to say Gryph,” Libby observed.
“Up!” Kelly declared, lifting Samuel and heading for the door. “Mommy is taking baby home where the people aren’t mean to us.”
Twenty
The graduation ceremony for the first class of EarthCent Intelligence agents was held on the training grounds at Mac’s Bones, followed by the typical McAllister picnic. Eighteen humans had completed the course, helping to create the curriculum for the next batch of trainees as they went along. Six of the graduates who showed diplomatic skills and were willing to move had been assigned to the cultural attaché program and would be shipping out to other Stryx Stations in the coming days. The remainder had been divided evenly into field agents and analysts, with the field agents to undergo further training as itinerant traders under Lynx’s tutelage.
“This is the first spy school graduation I’ve ever attended,” Bork told Kelly as they stood together at the back of the line for the barbeque. “I’m not sure if that’s because none of my friends ever became spies, or because Drazen Intelligence keeps the ceremonies secret.”
“One of the things Clive insists on while he’s running the agency is that we don’t try to fool ourselves,” Kelly explained. “He says that even with all the technology we picked up at the spy show and Drazen help in implementing it, we’re a long way from being able to run a secret agency. For the time being, he thinks we’re better off just operating in the open and learning what works as we go along.”