Wanderers On Union Station (EarthCent Ambassador Book 6)

by E. M. Foner

  “Great, I’ll let you go then,” the president said enthusiastically. “Don’t be surprised if Hildy wants to deliver your goodies in person. She claims she misses traveling for business.”

  “We always have space, as long as she doesn’t mind dogs and kids. Oh, and did I mention that Aisha has unofficially adopted a little Vergallian girl who was abandoned on her set?”

  “No, you didn’t,” Stephen responded. “Perhaps if your show is a success, you’ll have the opportunity to adopt a grown-up alien.”

  “Uh, thanks,” Kelly said, signing off without asking where that suggestion came from. Stephen Beyer had been one of the founding ambassadors of the EarthCent Intelligence committee that launched humanity into the espionage game, but he had always struck her as a bit odd. Still, she assumed the Stryx knew what they were doing when they tapped him for president, and most importantly, they hadn’t manipulated her into taking the job.

  “Clive is waiting in the outer office,” Libby announced. “I took the liberty of contacting him when you mentioned that you intended to meet with us after the call. Blythe didn’t want to ask anybody to babysit the twins on short notice.”

  “Clive can fill her in later,” Kelly replied, rising and heading for the door. She hesitated for a moment. “Is that selfish of me? Should I tell her to just bring the Things?”

  “If you mean my goddaughter and godson, Blythe mentioned that they were all getting ready for a nap in any case,” Libby replied haughtily.

  With a hand gesture, the ambassador deactivated the security lock that she only used during sensitive holo-conferences, and the door slid open. Clive and Donna were chatting together, and either he or Libby had also pinged Lynx and Thomas, since both were waiting as well.

  “Great, everybody I wanted to see,” Kelly said. Then she flushed when she realized her words could be interpreted to mean she was relieved the twins were absent. “I mean, I didn’t think of asking Lynx and Thomas, but of course, you two were the ones who heard the Helper AI story first hand.”

  “It’s okay,” Clive said. “Blythe and I talked it over, and she’s going to stop bringing the twins to meetings. Some people just find them too distracting. Besides, in a few more weeks the InstaSitter ban will expire and we’re going to start paying for two sitters at a time.”

  “Why not three, so one can always be on break?” Lynx suggested.

  “We may as well meet out here rather than moving all the chairs into my office,” Kelly said, ignoring Lynx’s attempt to milk the twins topic. “Libby will be participating as well. I just got off a very interesting holo-conference with the home office. It turns out that your Helper AI, or something that acted very similar, recently showed up on Earth. They offered everything from a tech upgrade to unlimited labor, in return for the asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter, plus one of the smaller planets.”

  “But I thought artificial people were the only AI allowed to visit Earth,” Thomas protested.

  “It isn’t clear whether the president’s visitor was physically present or a long-distance projection,” Libby said. “But the offer itself represents the intent to violate our protectorate, which means we’ll be investigating.”

  “Investigating?” Lynx asked skeptically. “As in, you don’t know the answer already?”

  “Stryx are hardly omniscient,” Libby replied calmly. “To the best of our limited knowledge, omniscience on a universal scale isn’t possible, as developing the capacity to be omniscient would just lead to more physical states that would have to be known.”

  “So you’ve never heard of the Helper AI?” Clive asked.

  “They’ve popped up a couple times over the last few hundred years or so, mainly doing transport barters, but nothing quite as extraordinary as the offer to the EarthCent president,” Libby replied. “New forms of AI are always coming and going. Some of them follow stable strategies for growth, others find existence unbearable and self-terminate, a few turn into problems. We try to give them the same opportunity as biologicals to get their act together in privacy before debuting on the galactic stage.”

  “Will we be stepping on your toes if we investigate independently?” Clive asked.

  “Not at this stage,” Libby replied. “We would certainly tell you if it was an issue. In fact, I discussed it with Gryph as soon as I heard about the offer to EarthCent, and he delegated the task to Jeeves, so perhaps you can cooperate. After his performance at my school the other day, I suspect he could do with a little action.”

  Twelve

  “It looks to me like a simple pile swap,” Joe said. He closed the hologram of the Drazen vessel he’d been studying as they approached the cluster of mammoth colony ships which had been joined together to create one huge habitat. “The Drazen manufacturer promised if the job gets approved, they’ll pay us handling fees for receiving the shipment at Mac’s Bones, in addition to our regular service rate. Since Gryph clamped down on the ferrying business to prevent all the counterfeit creds from trickling into the station, we’ve got the extra time. As long as we have the Nova and the space in Mac’s Bones, I’m not ready to hang up my tools.”

  “I still don’t get why Bork would call you to quote a repair for the Drazen Wanderers, or why he said you’d be doing him a personal favor.” Paul was inclined to be cautious about anything concerning the Wanderers, though brokering an expensive pile on credit provided by the Drazen embassy sounded like a sure thing.

  “I asked him about that,” Joe said, as Paul matched the spin rate of the habitat and eased the tug towards the universal docking arm. “According to Bork, the Wanderers have been known to entice visiting workers away from their families, and he doesn’t want to have to explain himself to any angry spouses. He also said that Wanderer ships tend to be pretty jury-rigged, and the Drazen mechanics on the station are all by-the-book guys.”

  “Well, nobody can ever accuse you of working by-the-book,” Paul replied with a grin. The docking arm airlock locked onto the port of the Nova, and the ship gave a small but noticeable lurch as the two masses became a rigid system. “But why did you think that bringing Beowulf along would be a good idea?”

  “That was actually your wife’s suggestion, though he needs the Zero-G practice if he’s ever going to get his space legs,” Joe told his foster son. “I guess Aisha was worried you’d run into a cute Wanderer girl, so she sent the dog along to drag you home.”

  “Either that or she wants to get rid of both of us, now that she has Ailia.” Paul delivered the line lightly, but Joe saw right through his attempted bravado.

  “It’s just that the poor kid needs so much right now, and your wife thinks she’s the only one who can supply it,” Joe explained. “I’ve even seen Aisha looking jealous when I talk with the girl in Vergallian. She does the same thing with Woojin. It’s too bad you forgot how to speak it because you were pretty good for a while back when you were around ten.”

  “Never had a need for it until now,” Paul said, loosening his safety harness and rising from the pilot’s chair. “I would never say anything against keeping her. The girl is as timid as a mouse, and she tries so hard to please that it breaks my heart at times. I just worry what will happen when she comes of age if she doesn’t have an upper caste Vergallian woman to teach her to control those pheromones.”

  “That’s a good twenty years off so I wouldn’t worry about it,” Joe told Paul. “Have you forgotten that they mature about half as fast as humans and live four times as long?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” Paul replied. He sounded relieved. “Make sure that Kelly knows. I think she’s a bit worried about the girl’s effect on Samuel if Aisha and I keep her and we don’t move out of your quarters.”

  Joe released Beowulf from the training net that kept the dog from flying around the cabin during the Zero-G flip between Union Station and the Wanderer mob. The dog remembered all the weightless time he’d spent coasting in space with the mercenaries in his previous life, and he also remembered hating
every minute of it. Why the humans didn’t maintain a constant rate of acceleration to provide a uniform weight all of the time was beyond him, but he guessed it had to do with money. From a dog’s perspective, humans were cheapskates. If Beowulf had been running the show, it would have been steak for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

  “I hope there’s somebody here to meet us,” Paul said over his shoulder to Joe. He stepped into the airlock and tried to squint through the pitted glass window into the Drazen habitat. “You’d think that people in need of an emergency pile swap would at least send a tech to show us where it is.”

  “I’m sure if we just wander around for a few minutes, somebody will point the way,” Joe reassured him. “You and I might not draw much notice, but how many Huravian hounds can there be on board?”

  The three exited the airlock and almost tripped over a furry octopus that was waiting to greet them. The short creature wore a sort of harness, to which a wide array of tools were attached by small reels, similar to the type Joe used himself when working in Zero-G. The octopus tilted towards them, leading both humans to bow politely in return. Then it tipped back and forward again, at which point they realized it was working to maintain its balance on a small unicycle. Beowulf whined and hid his head behind Paul.

  “Greetings,” Joe ventured. “Can I assume you’re here to meet us about the estimate for a new pile?”

  “Ah, human,” the creature replied in scratchy English through a translation device. “Please forgive my mechanical speaking contrivance, we Zarents do not vocalize in a way your implants would recognize. I am an engineer for the habitat chain of which this colony ship is a part. Please follow me and I will take you to the pile.”

  Without waiting for an answer, the Zarent turned about and pedaled off, impatient to be moving in a straight line again rather than trying to balance in place. The two humans and the giant dog set off after him, discovering they needed to walk at a rapid clip to keep up. They found themselves moving through a park-like environment, the inside surface of the outer hull of the spinning colony ship. Campsites abounded, with groups of Drazens lounging about outside of their traditional round tents, eating and drinking. A few of them pointed at the Huravian hound and made comments to each other, but the humans and the furry octopus on the unicycle passed unnoticed.

  “Looks like we’re headed for the tube lifts,” Paul commented.

  “If that little fellow can use all of those tentacles at the same time, he must be a crackerjack Zero-G mechanic,” Joe said, huffing a bit to keep up with the Zarent.

  Suddenly, Beowulf lunged passed them, going airborne to snatch a piece of meat tossed in their direction by a Drazen campfire chef. All of the Wanderers who were watching the giant dog hooted their appreciation as he made the snag and swallowed.

  “Chew your food, boy,” Joe said to the dog. “You’ll enjoy it more.”

  Beowulf leapt into the air again, snatching another piece of meat and swallowing it whole once more. He gave Joe a triumphant grin.

  “I guess his method has its pluses as well,” Paul said. “Keep the decks clear so you’ll always have room for cargo.”

  The trio followed the Zarent past the bank of lift tubes, and continued through a rougher area of terrain, where teams of mechanicals were working at removing old stubble and tilling the soil for a planting. Above their heads, a different crew of mechanicals was replacing burnt-out lights in the ceiling. Another little octopus on a floater appeared to be supervising the job.

  “Service entrance,” the Zarent announced, wheeling into a large tube lift that stood alone and looked like it had seen better days. “Direct access to the inter-deck utility levels and engineering.”

  “I’ve never heard of Zarents before,” Paul said, in an attempt to get a conversation going with the little creature. Inside the lift, the Zarent climbed down from the unicycle seat, and with its furry tentacles folded underneath, it barely came up to Paul’s knees. In fact, up close and stationary, it looked a bit more like a giant tarantula than an octopus, though neither semblance was more than a human attempt to make the alien seem familiar.

  “Not heard of the Zarents?” the creature creaked. “You must not have spent much time around Wanderers.”

  “We haven’t,” Joe said. “I was out with my wife for the envoy’s reception, but other than that, neither of us has spent any time with the mob. We did keep pretty busy shuttling folks back and forth before the Stryx clamped down.”

  “Problems with counterfeiting?” the Zarent asked, showing curiosity for the first time.

  “You got that right,” Joe answered, crouching down and sticking out a hand. “I’m Joe McAllister, this is my son Paul, and that’s Beowulf.”

  The Zarent studied Joe’s hand for a moment, and then tentatively swiped it with an appendage. Paul crouched down and went through a similar procedure. Beowulf remained at the far side of the lift capsule, looking doubtful.

  “I am third engineer Koffern,” the Zarent said, after puzzling out the meaning of the ritual.

  “Pleased to meet you, Koffern,” Joe responded, straightening up.

  “Ah, you misunderstand,” the Zarent said to Joe. “This colony ship is the Koffern, I am her third engineer. It is how we designate ourselves.”

  “Gottcha,” Joe replied easily. “Do you have a nickname you go by, something shorter than your full title?”

  The little multi-limbed mechanic seemed to hesitate for a moment. Then he replied modestly, “My friends call me ‘Giant’ because I am the smallest of my age group. It is a sort of humor,” the Zarent added by way of explanation, in case the humans were dimwits.

  “Giant. That’s what we’ll call you then,” Joe said. “Do you call this service lift Speedy?”

  The Zarent rose up on all of its tentacle-like legs and made a clicking sound beneath its body. Beowulf tensed, and the fur on the back of his neck stood up, but Giant soon lowered himself back to the floor.

  “That is an excellent joke,” the Zarent declared. Apparently its clicking display was the creature’s version of laughter. “I will have to tell my friends. The service lift is indeed slow, and it would be even slower if I operated it within the safety specs for its age. You will find that all of the equipment on the Koffern is in a similar state, as are the other colony ships in our habitat cluster, and most of the vessels in the mob.”

  “Don’t you maintain them?” Paul asked, then immediately regretted the seeming rudeness of his question. The Zarent, however, didn’t indicate the slightest offense. Rather, it removed a device that looked something like a flashlight from its harness and pointed it at an open space on the capsule’s wall. A schematic of the colony ship appeared.

  “I don’t know if my spectrum selection suits your visual range,” Giant said apologetically. “Please tell me if you don’t see four distinct wavelengths in the projection.”

  “Green, blue, black and red,” Joe reported.

  “It’s fine.” Paul nodded, but Beowulf shook his head in disgust. He only saw two colors, and the high-pitched squeal the capsule was making in the tube track was beginning to give him a headache. However, it was his first field engineering trip and he didn’t want to start whining.

  “Excellent,” Giant said, the scratchy mechanical voice conveying the impression of a presenter at a lecture. “The black layer represents the infrastructure of the ship that is relatively sound, primarily structural members with sufficiently long operational lives to be considered unaffected by the passage of time.” He manipulated a control on the projector and the black layer separated itself from the three-dimensional image and slid off to the side.

  “The green layer represents infrastructure and equipment that is currently maintained at a satisfactory level, such as ceiling lights, ducting for temperature control and ventilation, plumbing for the ag decks, hydroponic farms, kitchens and bathrooms. The moving green shapes are mechanicals that are fully operational.”

  “Uh oh,” Joe muttered, when Giant cau
sed the green layer to slide off to the other side of the main projection. It was clear that a large proportion of the ship’s systems were in trouble.

  “The blue layer shows the parts of the ship for which maintenance is scheduled. In some cases, we simply haven’t had the time as we concentrate resources on maintaining life-support systems for the ship’s company. In other cases, we are in the process of fabricating the required parts, or we’re waiting for the opportunity to obtain replacements, such as the main pile.”

  “Uh oh,” Paul echoed Joe. The Zarent slid the blue layer off the schematic, leaving just the red. Judging by eye, it looked like approximately a fifth of the colony ship’s equipment was in a critical state, including the service lift they were riding in.

  “You see the problem,” Giant said, causing the green, black and blue layers to disappear, and expanding the red into the vacated space. “This layer shows the systems which are, for lack of a more technical term, worn out. We keep them going on a break-fix basis, patching and jury-rigging, but no amount of maintenance or repair parts can make them new again. The Koffern and the cluster of Drazen colony ships forming this habitat are in average condition for the mob, primarily because they were built to last.”

  “I’m glad I don’t have your job,” Joe declared. “I guess the Wanderers must work harder at keeping things together than they let on.”

  The Zarent rose up and emitted a series of loud clicks again, a greater quantity than previously. Beowulf sank to the floor and put his paws over his ears.

  “You are so funny!” Giant exclaimed. “My friends will buy me many rounds of Slurish for repeating your words. The Drazens on this ship are better than some of the Wanderers at cleaning up after themselves, and we even had a young woman helping with the planting last cycle, though she has abandoned the mob for work on Union Station. I was sorry to see her go, but there is too much social pressure on the Wanderers who don’t fit in for the ambitious ones to stay here.”