Party Night on Union Station (EarthCent Ambassador Book 10)

by E. M. Foner

  “With pleasure,” Dring responded, formally bowing to Kelly and extending a hand with blunt talons.

  The ambassador was still numb from the surprise, but she took the proffered appendage and followed Dorothy’s hissed instruction to curtsey, before letting Dring lead her out onto the empty dance floor.

  Bob Steelforth, who had placed himself next to Brynt since the Cayl emperor was the most important guest he knew and could hope to interview, asked the bear-like alien, “What do you imagine they’re saying to each other?”

  Brynt concentrated on the waltzing couple for a moment, his furry ears twisting on his head for directional gain, and then informed the reporter, “Dring is repeating, ‘One-Two-Three,’ over and over again. Wait, Kelly just asked why nobody else is dancing. That’s my cue.”

  The Cayl straightened up and stalked directly across the room to where Empress Pava was waiting, and then he whirled her out onto the floor. Soon after they were joined by Dictator Vissss and his brood mate, Horde Leader Gantu and his posse, and then the floodgates opened to mere royalty and diplomats who crowded onto the floor.

  “She’s not that great,” Jonah told his sister, as they watched Ailia float by with Samuel. “Come on, I’ll dance with you.”

  “Did you see her cheekbones?” Vivian asked miserably, ignoring her brother’s hand. “I’ll bet if you checked with a laser protractor they’d be within a hundredth of a degree of the parallel with Samuel’s. They move like they’re one person.”

  “She’s two years older than you, and those Vergallian royals have the best dance coaches in the galaxy,” Jonah said. “Besides, it’s not like she can give up her rule and move back to Union Station.”

  Vivian sighed sadly, but the music was doing its work, so she accepted her twin’s hand, and the twelve-year-olds glided out onto the dance floor.

  “Come on, already,” Dorothy said, tugging on David’s hand. “You promised.”

  “As soon as they play something I know,” the young man replied. “This isn’t the one you practiced with me.”

  “It’s a waltz,” Dorothy insisted. “You can sit out later if they do dances where you need to know the steps.”

  “One beer,” David pleaded. “There has to be a bar around here somewhere.”

  “May I have this dance?” a cultured voice inquired from behind Dorothy’s shoulder.

  “Metoo!” she cried. “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in ages.”

  “Do you like my suit?” the young Stryx inquired, floating back a step to show off the black pants he had belted around the lower part of his metallic casing, so the cuffs barely touched the floor. The jacket sleeve didn’t quite fit right around his pincer, but Metoo had never been a clothes horse.

  “Yes, and I’d love to dance with you,” Dorothy said, placing one arm on his casing and taking his pincer in her other hand. As Metoo waltzed her out onto the dance floor, the girl turned her head and stuck out her tongue at her boyfriend.

  “I can’t believe everybody managed to keep the secret,” Blythe admitted to Hert, as the head of Drazen Intelligence expertly threaded them through the traffic on the dance floor.

  “I was worried about the humans, but I never doubted the advanced species, if you’ll forgive the expression,” Hert replied. “I almost feel sorry for Aarania and her ‘Fives’ movement. She must have sensed that it was now or never to take such a risk, but I would have given ninety-nine to one odds that her plan would backfire, even without the rescue. Out of all the species in the galaxy, the Vergallians are the last ones who could justify interfering with a ball for any reason.”

  After Joe lost sight of Kelly and Dring in the mass of dancers, he began limping his way around the edge of the dance floor to the card room that Jeeves had told him about. He was surprised to encounter Donna and Stanley watching the action from the sidelines.

  “What’s your excuse, Stan?” he asked his friend. “I thought dancing at a ball was your wife’s dream.”

  “Putting on a ball, not dancing,” Stanley replied. “Look at her, she’s in a daze. I’ll bet she can’t even hear us. Of course, she hasn’t slept more than a couple of hours a night for the last week.”

  “Well, I’m going to try to get a seat at a poker table,” Joe said. “I haven’t lifted a card in a month.” Two limping steps away from the Doogals, he found his path blocked by a giant beetle.

  “You are Joe McAllister,” the Farling stated. “The station librarian requested my presence at the ball to handle medical emergencies. I can fix that knee for you if you’d like.”

  Joe glanced around to see if anybody he knew was listening before replying, “I think I’ll just give it another day to see if it improves on its own.”

  “I understand,” the Farling replied. “Good luck with the cards.”

  There was a crash from the dance floor as two aliens in metal-reinforced environmental suits collided, and the giant insect scuttled off to see if his services were required.

  Near the entry to the card room, Joe encountered a heavily scarred Vergallian woman, standing alone with her back to the bulkhead.

  “I guessed you were here when I saw Ailia dancing with Samuel,” Joe said. “It’s amazing how well they move together after not even seeing each other for eight years.”

  “They practice every day,” the former Fleet captain and current Royal Protector replied. “I worried that she was spending so much time alone, and as her older half-sister, I thought I had the obligation to find out what was going on. She’s uses a Stryx device disguised as a toy robot that provides real-time holographic communications. The technological prowess of the AI is humbling.”

  “So that’s how Jeeves knew where we were and guided our rescue. Did you hear that the Tharks underwrote my wife’s appearance tonight?”

  “I have no doubt that immersive studios around the galaxy are rushing to produce bad dramas depicting the whole affair,” Baylit said, smiling with the side of her face that wasn’t a mass of scar tissue. “You are living proof of the expression Vergallian children use to describe the only acceptable excuse for having ignored chores and homework.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Saved by the ball.”

  Joe snorted, invited Baylit to dinner at Mac’s Bones the next evening, then he entered the card room and found an open seat at a poker table.

  After several waltzes, the orchestra began playing a modern composition, and Donna hurried across the room to talk with the conductor. A dozen Tharks linked their arms and began doing a line dance, but everybody else took a break and began quaffing the refreshments offered by the Empire Convention Center catering staff.

  “Twins,” Chastity said, approaching Lynx and pointing at the cultural attaché’s wrist.

  Lynx almost fainted on the spot. “What?” she croaked. She resolved to kill both her husband and that Farling quack if Chastity knew something that she didn’t.

  “Twins,” Chastity repeated, holding up her own wrist and displaying the black countdown watch. “I’m at thirty-seven weeks, two hours and eleven minutes.”

  “You got help from the Farling doctor too?” Lynx asked.

  “One of our new reporters thought that he could land an interview with a visiting alien dignitary by sticking his foot in the door, but the door didn’t agree. I took him for treatment, and the med bay has scanners that check everybody who enters. The beetle told me that I’m pregnant, gave me the countdown watch, and said I should quit eating pizza with garlic when it comes time to nurse. How about you?”

  “Forty weeks, three hours, eleven minutes and eight, seven, six seconds,” Lynx replied, checking her watch.

  “What are you two talking about?’ Kelly asked, approaching the pair while fanning her face with one hand.

  “We’re both expecting, and the Farling doctor who recently set up shop on Union Station passes out these delivery countdown watches as gifts,” Chastity explained.

  “It must be the doctor’s idea of humor,”
Kelly said with a laugh. “Nobody could predict a time of birth that accurately.”

  “He only guaranties it within a twenty-four hour window, but he said if I keep to a strict diet and work schedule, that would increase the accuracy,” Lynx explained. “Our payment is held in escrow until my black-haired, brown-eyed son arrives. The Farling said he couldn’t put a precise number on height since a lot depends on nutrition. He offered me twins for a thirty percent surcharge, but I wasn’t ready for that.”

  “Well, he seems like a very caring doctor.”

  “Not in our sense of the word, though I guess he was pretty nice for a giant bug who looks down on humans.”

  “And you trusted him for this?”

  “Libby vouched for his work. It’s just that Farlings don’t care for humanoids in general. They refer to humans as Vergallian Lite.”

  “Like a diet product?” Kelly had never spoken with a Farling herself, and was beginning to have trouble following the flow of the conversation.

  “He didn’t have a lot of experience with humans, but he said we’re basically Vergallians with some of the good parts taken out. Then he said that he’s cross-bred dogs from different worlds that have more genetic space between them than humans and Vergallians.”

  “He’s really good with allergies,” Chastity added. “It used to be that Marcus couldn’t eat peanuts without going into shock, but one visit to the Farling and he’s cured.”

  “What was the treatment?” Kelly asked.

  “He said we weren’t smart enough to understand his explanation so he wasn’t going to waste his time trying. Marcus drank something the Farling gave him and that was it.”

  “Here you are, Ambassador,” Dring said, handing Kelly the glass of champagne he had gallantly offered to procure when they left the dance floor. “I hope you ladies are enjoying yourselves.”

  “Very much, though ironically, Marcus is so tired from giving last minute dance lessons that he’s dead on his feet.” Chastity said. “He’s supposed to be getting us drinks, but my guess is he’s sitting down somewhere.”

  “Champagne for all,” Walter proclaimed, approaching the group with a tray of pre-poured glasses that he had lifted from one of the many strategically placed tables around the periphery of the room. He was accompanied by Brinda, Shaina, and Daniel, all of whom welcomed the break from dancing.

  “It’s a wonderful evening, Dring,” Shaina addressed the Maker. “What made you think of a ball?”

  “Donna told me that it’s been Kelly’s secret ambition to have one ever since she arrived on Union Station,” Dring explained. “Do our humble efforts meet your expectations, Kelly?”

  “The ball exceeds my wildest dreams in every way,” the ambassador replied. “I’m looking forward to paying Donna back at the first opportunity.”

  -------------------------------

  The orchestra quit when their contracted three hours was up, but Thomas bribed a half a dozen musicians who professed knowledge of tango music to continue playing after Jeeves announced that dinner was served in the main exhibition hall. Joe limped out of the card room to escort Kelly in to dinner, and neither of them was surprised to see that Samuel and Ailia ignored the change of program and continued dancing around the room to the music in their own heads.

  “How’s Vivian taking the return of the prodigal Vergallian?” Joe asked his wife.

  “Better than you might expect,” Kelly replied. “Blythe told me that she explained to the girl about Vergallians maturing so much slower than humans and that Ailia will likely be forced to make a political marriage to preserve her family’s domain. I think Vivian’s strategy is to wait and see. She’s only twelve, after all.”

  “I’d add ten to that for being Blythe’s daughter.” Joe rubbed his stomach. “You wouldn’t believe how hungry I am. I wonder what the hold-up is,” he added, as they came up against the backs of a crowd of aliens.

  A large, leathery figure loomed up beside them. “Follow me,” Srythlan boomed, and moved off at his top speed, which left Joe thinking they would have been better served waiting in the slow-moving line. The Verlock ambassador led them out of the ballroom, and then through a side entrance into the large hall, which was now filled with hundreds of round tables. “We are at the head table,” he explained ponderously as they approached the dais at the front of the room.

  Most of the guests had indeed found their seats while the slow-footed Srythlan was taking the McAllisters on his shortcut, but Kelly used her implant to zoom in on the main entrance and saw a few aliens lingering around tables there, searching through the remaining name cards. “Donna must have been up all night arranging the seating,” she said with grudging admiration. “I hope that she had help.”

  “I’m sure that Libby pitched in to tell her if any of the off-network aliens are currently at war,” Joe said. He pulled out the closest chair at the head table for Kelly, and then slipped into the seat next to her with a groan of relief. “Maybe I will go see that Farling doctor tomorrow.”

  “Speaking of doctors, did you know that you were carrying around Woojin’s contribution to Lynx’s baby for the last two weeks? Apparently he’s the oldest son in his generation, and his family made him freeze a sample before they let him join the military in his teens.”

  Joe’s jaw dropped, and he stared at Kelly in surprise. “But when Wooj asked me to stop by that bank, I swear he said something about the family jewels.”

  “You men just can’t talk about the important things in life without making jokes, can you?”

  “Look who I found,” Czeros said, approaching the head table with Gwendolyn in tow. Her friend looked so different from Kelly’s memory that she wouldn’t have recognized the clone if she had passed her in a corridor.

  “Gwendolyn!” Kelly jumped up to hug her. “How long has it been? I didn’t see you dancing.”

  “I’m too out-of-practice,” the Gem replied. “I watched you and the children until the floor got so crowded that I couldn’t see anything, and then I found a game of eight-handed Flonk going on in the card room and lost track of time.”

  “Is Mist still in stasis?” Kelly asked. “Dorothy is in the fashion business now and she’s saving a spot for her.”

  “I’m sure that Mist will jump at the prospect when she wakes,” Gwendolyn said, slipping into the seat next to Kelly.

  Dring leaned in over Kelly’s shoulder and whispered, “I have an award to present if you would join me at the lectern for a moment.”

  Kelly wanted to ask what it was about, but the Maker had already moved away, so she rose and followed him to the little raised platform with the speaker’s stand at the center of the dais. Loud conversations in dozens of languages came to an abrupt halt when the guests saw that Dring intended to speak, and an eerie silence filled the giant hall.

  “My friends,” the Maker addressed the audience. “You’ve all danced and played hard, and I won’t keep you from your supper any longer than necessary. We are gathered here today to honor the achievements of a diplomat who you may never have heard of from a species that some of you have yet to encounter. I have seen many civilizations come and go, and it is my fondest wish that the Humans prove to be more than a passing fad. I am presenting this award on behalf of my own species to the ambassador who restored our relations with the Stryx.”

  Dring reached into the interior of the lectern and brought out a hand-crafted trophy that reminded Kelly of something that her father had won at a fishing tournament back on Earth. Instead of a bass, it featured a thick golden book open on a pedestal, like the dictionary in the living room of her mother’s home. There was a round of polite applause as the Maker handed over the award.

  “Perhaps you could read the inscription for our guests?” Dring suggested.

  Although she couldn’t think of anything that would be more embarrassing, Kelly didn’t see any way out of it, so she read out loud, “Best Human Ambassador to Union Station.”

  There was another smattering o
f applause, and a few wise-acres began crying “Speech! Speech!” and tapping their silverware on anything that would make noise.

  Dring stepped down and returned to his place at the head table, gesturing for the Best Human Ambassador to Union Station to say something. Her implant pinged with a level-ten alert from the Galactic Free Press, only the second one she had received as a subscriber, but she couldn’t afford the distraction and mentally waved it off.

  “I’m speechless,” Kelly began, and was immediately drowned out by a roar of approval from the guests, whose translation implants had taken the two words at face-value. As the ambassador moved away from the lectern to return to her seat, she caught a glimpse of her mother, who was sitting next to the EarthCent president at one of the nearby round tables. Marge was shaking her head in disbelief.

  “I don’t see why Dring had to be so specific about the inscription,” Joe groused as his wife sat down. “You’re the only human ambassador Union Station has ever had.”

  “You know he hates to offend anybody,” Kelly said absently, still watching her mother’s table where an active discussion was taking place among several of the guests. Then Chastity and Walter both rose from their seats, to a mixed chorus of boos and laughter from the humans present, and approached the head table.

  “We want to apologize and to assure you that a correction has already been issued,” Chastity told Kelly.

  “It was just a bit of harmless fun, but the intern we left in charge of the newsroom made a small error in judgment,” Walter added. “We’ll make sure it’s never repeated in the future.”

  “What are you talking about?” Kelly demanded, and then it occurred to her to check the level-ten alert on her heads-up display. The story featured a close up of Dring handing her the trophy, and the large caption read, “Ambassador Meets Maker.” She snorted. “That’s pretty clever.”

  “Read the story,” Chastity urged her.

  Kelly got through two sentences before she stopped and exclaimed, “But this is my obituary!”