by E. M. Foner
“All of your clothes and food for the trip are in that one pack?” Kelly asked doubtfully.
“I’m an expert backpacker. I used to go hiking with one or two other girls in the mountains every chance we got, because...” she hesitated, glancing at Samuel and Joe, and then whispered, “You know.”
“Are those sorts of, uh, encounters we talked about at the conference supposed to take place more often in the mountains?” Kelly guessed.
“The aliens can’t just land in cities and kidnap women. Everybody would see them.”
“Grabbing your foot now,” Joe warned the girl, as they reached the open airlock of the freighter. The three upright people and the unified clump of baggage with Hannah holding on fit easily through the hatch, which was intended for both crew and miscellaneous cargo. They cycled through, and when the inner doors slid open, they were met by a middle-aged Vergallian man with a purser’s tab.
“Nice of all my passengers to show up at the same time,” the purser said in a friendly voice.
“What did he say?” Hannah asked Kelly.
“You don’t have an implant?”
The young woman shook her head in the negative. Kelly explained to the girl that while the crew members likely had implants that would allow them to understand English, none of them would speak it.
“She doesn’t have an implant and she’s never been in space before,” Samuel told the purser in Vergallian.
The purser blinked, threw the mental switch on his own implant, and demanded of the teen, “Say that again.”
Samuel repeated himself, and the Vergallian broke into a wide smile. “I’ve met a few humans over the years who could get by in our language, but you speak like a royal consort. Let me show you all to your quarters and then I’ll introduce you to the crew. Can I give you a hand with all this stuff?”
Joe accepted the help gladly and winked at his son. He knew that Samuel’s fluency in Vergallian had made all of the difference in the way the crew of the Earth-bound ship had treated them, and he was pleased to see that it was looking the same for the journey back.
The purser led them through a series of long passages, which were thankfully large enough to accommodate the makeshift load of luggage, with Hannah riding on what she perceived as the top. After almost five minutes of shuffling along on their magnetic cleats, they arrived at a door with a graphic image of a humanoid figure being decapitated after sticking its head through an opening.
“Centrifuge ring,” the Vergallian announced. “We’re primarily a container carrier, and the engines and jump drive are in their own section at the end of the central keel, so there’s no reason to access the cargo section once we’re underway. Most of it is open to vacuum in any case.”
“You mean that once the ring is up to speed, there’s no way to get from the living quarters to the rest of the ship?” Joe asked. “How about the engineering crew?”
“If there’s an emergency, they take a lifeboat, but our chief engineer is fond of saying that repairs are for shipyards. Most of these container carriers run everything from an operations room in the centrifuge ring, and the engineer can always remote into the maintenance bots.”
“Sounds like you don’t need a very big crew.”
“Just fourteen of us, plus five spouses and twelve kids. We all inherited our shares in the ship. My own family invested before the keel was laid.”
“How long ago was that?” Kelly asked.
“I’m twenty-fifth generation, so around two thousand years,” the purser estimated. “She’s practically new.”
“How can a ship last so long, Joe?”
“No rust in space,” her husband reminded her. “All of the alien ships use active shielding to protect against dust and debris, so barring an attack or real careless handling, the structure is good until metal fatigue from stress and radiation sets in. The engines are bolt-in replacements.”
“The Vergallians have battleships that are over a million years old,” Samuel told her enthusiastically. “Some of them take thousands of years to build.”
“Don’t they use bots?” his mother asked.
“To build warships? That’s like, sacrilege,” the boy replied.
Kelly decided to drop the conversation, using the excuse of translating Samuel’s half for Hannah, since her son had persisted in speaking Vergallian.
“Deck is always blue,” the purser told them as they entered the stationary ring through what would later become the ceiling, and then shuffled down the curved wall to the deck. “It’s not like we can spin up in a hurry, but it’s always a good idea in Zero G to know which way will be down when we get going.”
The four humans were soon settled into their cabins, which were surprisingly roomy for a freighter. When Kelly asked the purser about the capacity of the ring, he explained that they often carried livestock between colony worlds, and most of the animals couldn’t tolerate Zero G for long, even when heavily sedated. After that, she regarded every old stain on the bulkheads with suspicion.
As soon as they detached from the transportation hub the donut began to spin up, and the constantly changing angular acceleration slowly pressed them against the outer surface of the ring, which now became the deck. Following the purser’s advice, they all tried to take a nap for the tunnel transit away from Earth. After they woke and had a family breakfast, Kelly took some fruit and went to check on Hannah.
“Thank you so much,” the young woman said, accepting the gift. “I only packed dried fruit because of the weight.”
“What are you making there?” the ambassador asked.
“It’s a dress I was working on that I couldn’t leave behind,” Hannah said, holding up the unfinished garment. “The sweatshop where I worked let us come in on Sundays and rent the sewing machines for personal use. I couldn’t finish this one in time to sell it, so I’m redoing it for myself. It’s been a while since I did a seam this long by hand,” she added ruefully.
“You worked in fashion? That’s my daughter’s business.”
“Oh, I’d so love to meet her, maybe she’ll hire me. I wouldn’t say that I worked in fashion, though. The sweatshop was just the best job I could find with my lack of education, and it was all piecework, so I’m pretty fast.”
“I’m sure Dorothy will be happy to meet you. You can stay with us until you get settled in,” Kelly added impulsively.
“I couldn’t,” Hannah protested, but it took no great effort for the ambassador to talk her into it, after which they went together to explore the ring that would be their home for the next week.
Cries of encouragement and applause led them to what must have been the main social room, where an area was set aside for holographic projections. A popular Vergallian drama from the previous season was being shown, and a few of the crew’s complement had moved into the hologram to play their favorite characters. The power of the projection was calibrated so that the participating crew members remained visible, and to Kelly’s surprise, Samuel had taken the role of a sword-wielding guardsman. In place of a real sword, he flourished his grandfather’s cane.
“If you love me, don’t let them take me,” cried the star of the drama, an impossibly beautiful upper caste actress who managed to convey the mixed emotions of overwhelming fear with the haughty disbelief that anyone could disrespect her person.
“Rally to me,” Samuel shouted in Vergallian. He lunged at one of the oncoming holographic swordsmen with his cane, taking the attacker through the chest. The boy’s uncanny mimicry of the voice and his fluid movement in the envelope of the character he was playing brought another round of applause from the watching crewmembers.
The action built to a crescendo, with Samuel parrying a rain of blows and shouting encouragement to the few guardsmen who had remained loyal. Then the hologram suddenly winked out, leaving a fourteen-year-old boy with a cane and a few middle-aged Vergallians clutching imaginary sword hilts in empty hands.
“Sorry, everybody,” the purser announced.
“The license on the copies I bought for this trip doesn’t allow binge-watching. The next episode will have to wait a standard day.”
“You were great,” a ten-year-old Vergallian girl complimented Samuel. “You must have seen this drama like a million times.”
“Maybe twice, but I practice with a fencing bot that can do scenes from immersives if you preload them.”
“You what?” Kelly squawked, interrupting the conversation.
“Hi, Mom. I was just telling her how I practice fencing with the bot that Hert gave the training camp.”
“Since when are you interested in fighting? The only reason I ever agreed to let you start dancing three hours a day was because I thought it would encourage your artistic side.”
“It’s dueling, not fighting, Mom. It is art.”
“You were very good, even though I couldn’t understand what you were saying,” Hannah told him, drawing a scowl from Kelly.
“You can tell he’s trained in dance from his footwork,” the friendly purser contributed. “We have open ballroom practice every evening, though I don’t know how your clock lines up with our day.”
“I’ll be there,” Samuel promised. “We’re all going to get jump-lagged anyway, so we may as well live on your clock while we’re here.”
“Does your father know about this sword practice business?” Kelly demanded.
The boy shrugged indifferently. “I don’t know why you’re so mad. It’s not like I’m going to join the mercenaries or anything.”
“So why are you studying dueling.”
“A gentleman must learn the three D’s,” Samuel replied with dignity. “Dancing, dueling and diction. Diction is the hardest.”
The emergency lights blinked on and off, which was the signal for entering or leaving normal space. In this case, they were emerging from the Stryx tunnel at Forcroft, one of the later planets to be added to the Empire of a Hundred Worlds.
“Ugh,” Hannah said, moving a hand to her belly and then to her head. “What was that?”
“We just exited the tunnel,” Joe informed her, having tracked them down. “The feeling of dislocation is proportional to the distance traveled outside of normal space divided by the duration, so the Stryx intentionally lengthen the time in the tunnel for biologicals to lessen the effect. When ships jump with their own drives, they also stretch the time as much as practical, but it takes extra energy, so there’s the cost to consider.”
“We can’t be at Union Station already. They said that the trip would take over a week!”
“We’re at the first stop,” the ambassador explained. “It’s a direct flight.”
“That’s so cool,” the girl said, brightening up considerably. “I assumed it was nonstop, but this way I’ll get to see a little more of the galaxy.”
“We probably won’t be allowed to leave the ship,” Kelly told her.
“That’s right,” the purser said, showing that he had been following their conversation. “We aren’t even docking at any of the stops. We just release the magnetic couplings on the appropriate containers for each destination and they get picked up by the local shipping contractors. Tugs will match our speed and bring us any outgoing containers as we position for the next jump. It’s all off network from here until Union Station.”
“How can you swap cargoes in just a few hours?” Samuel asked.
“That’s the load master’s job,” the Vergallian explained. “He always knows where the containers we take on are heading, so he piles them onto the keel in an order that allows us to release the drops without doing any rearranging. But ninety-nine percent of this cargo is pig iron from the Sotti asteroid belt destined for the Chintoo orbital. The stops in between pay for themselves and maintain our status in the shipping guild, but their main purpose is to break up the jumps.”
“Could we visit your control room for a jump?” Hannah asked. “I’ve never seen one before.”
“You feel them more than you see them, but you’re welcome to come and watch,” the friendly purser replied. Samuel translated for the young woman, and she smiled happily. There were lots of jump descriptions in the alien romance novels she had been addicted to, and she wanted to see how much they got right.
Eighteen
“So this will be our only meeting before the ball,” Donna informed her ad hoc committee. The gathering took place in the patio area of the ice harvester in Mac’s Bones, and included all of Kelly’s friends, who had been stunned to receive invitations to a major event just one week before it took place. “Does anybody have any last-minute questions or recommendations?”
“What are we going to do about drinks for some of the aliens we’ve never encountered before?” Ian inquired. “Between the Empire Convention Center’s catering staff and the Little Apple merchants, I’m sure we have eating covered, but I wasn’t convinced that the Dollnick running the Empire’s cash-bar knew what he was talking about.”
“He promised me that they could synthesize a reasonable facsimile of a beverage for all of the aliens I’ve invited,” Dring reassured the restaurateur.
“Synthesize,” Ian huffed. “That’s what I’m worried about.”
“It’s a minor detail, and it will only affect the aliens who humans may never encounter again,” Donna said, putting a practical spin on the matter. “How are you doing with the names, Woojin?”
“I’m sorry, Donna, but even with Libby’s coaching I find most of them impossible to pronounce. I can manage the Vergallians and Drazens without a problem, but I thought we would only have time to announce the heads of empires. Other than the Cayl, I’d be lucky to get any of those names out without biting my tongue off.”
“Ahem,” Jeeves said.
“Alright, you’ve been my fallback position all along,” Donna told the Stryx. “The entry will be down the grand staircase, so we’ll have to get all of the alien dignitaries lined up in the lobby or they’ll never make it inside before the dancing begins.”
“Will I be introducing the McAllisters, or will they arrive before the various heads of state?” Jeeves inquired.
Donna paused and chewed her lower lip. “I haven’t figured that out. Dring?”
“If the ambassador is in the ballroom with all of the invited guests before the dignitaries are announced, that would mean the surprise is already sprung,” the Maker observed. “Perhaps the best thing would be to complete all of the introductions and only bring Kelly and Joe to the ballroom afterwards.”
“But how will we maintain the secret between the time the McAllisters arrive home and the time to leave for the ball?” Donna asked. “Is there something you can do, Libby?”
“I’ll cheat their implant times and alter the deck lighting so they’ll think it’s almost midnight when they return,” the station librarian replied. “I’ll also edit Kelly’s news feed just in case she checks, but after all of the off-network stops that freighter is making, they’ll be so jump-lagged that they’ll want to go to sleep according to the clocks just to get back on schedule.”
“That would be great,” Dorothy enthused. “I’ve already made her ball gown and arranged to rent a tux for Dad. I’ll wake them up an hour before the ball and tell them that it’s a birthday party for Dring being thrown by the Stryx. There’s no way Mom would miss that.”
“How about that decorative watch that Kelly wears?” Lynx asked.
“I’ll take care of it,” Jeeves offered. “Remote reprogramming is a specialty of mine.”
“Where do we stand on the news coverage for the ball itself?” Donna asked, turning to her younger daughter.
“I’ve been in almost constant contact with the Grenouthians ever since Dring released the additional invitations for their high mucky-mucks, who practically begged for tickets in the documentary about balls,” Chastity replied. “They wanted press passes for so many immersive camera operators that it would have been wall-to-wall bunnies in there, but when I put my foot down, they backed off immediately and offered to use aut
onomous floating cameras. They’re bringing in their top hosts from the news channels to interview the important aliens, but I made them promise to stay off the dance floor.”
“It sounds like they’re excited,” Clive remarked.
“I’ve never seen the Grenouthians so worked up before,” Chastity replied. “They’re so flustered by the concept of a human being at the center of the greatest multi-species social event in ages that sometimes they even forget to be condescending. If the bunnies didn’t know that it’s all thanks to Dring, I think they’d be having nervous breakdowns.”
“How about Galactic Free Press reporters?” Donna asked.
“We’re sending all of the full-time Union Station correspondents and editors to maximize our opportunity to cultivate alien contacts. The live ball coverage will be a pictorial stream with Walter and I doing the captions. Of course, we’ll try to get interviews as well, and we can publish full transcripts of any speeches in the back section.”
“Have you finished lining up all of the speakers for the Hall of Praises, Dring?” Donna asked.
The Maker’s shoulders slumped, and his large eyes took on a tragic expression. “Despite my best efforts, none of the leaders from species who haven’t previously encountered humans were willing to go on the record praising Kelly. Emperor Brynt was the only guest who was enthusiastic about the idea, and I’m afraid that the other empire-building species consider the Cayl to be eccentric.”
“Given the news coverage and the chance to appear on stage before such an important audience, I’m sure that all of the local ambassadors would be willing to speak on short notice,” Daniel suggested.
Dring shook his head. “I miscalculated by inviting the leaders of so many off-network species. You know I’m not one to stand on formalities myself, but if I’ve learned one thing about diplomacy through my long life, it’s that power structures must be respected. Other than Emperor Brynt, none of the other potential speakers have the standing to address the likes of Dictator Vissss or Horde Leader Gantu. Imagine if a Grenouthian broadcast showed one of them looking away and yawning while a tunnel network ambassador was speaking.”