by E. M. Foner
“Now I remember why I postponed it,” Kelly said. “I had to keep asking about which shapes you meant.”
“It’s not me, it’s the desk,” Libby told her. “I’m just inserting myself into the process to be sociable.”
A few minutes later, after correctly manipulating the legs of a parabola to move the black dot representing the focus along the axis of symmetry until it covered a white dot, Phillip asked, “Is that everything?”
“Yes. And Kelly, you have a call coming in from the president’s office.”
A hologram of the president of EarthCent sitting at his desk replaced the calibration pattern. As soon as he saw Kelly and Phillip in the projection above his own display desk, he shouted, “Surprise!”
“It certainly is, Stephen,” Kelly acknowledged. “My question is why?”
“I thought you liked surprises,” the president replied. “Besides, it came together very quickly. The Stryx still have approval over all of our tunnel network appointments, and I was in a meeting this afternoon when the word came through that Phillip and Janice had been accepted as the first replacement team. I just wanted to check in before I head home for the day.”
“I’m not complaining, I just thought it was a bit odd. And thank you for approving my sabbatical.”
“If anybody deserves one, you do,” the president told her. “Have you checked your embassy accounts? I pushed through a little housing bonus for your replacements.”
“Yes, thank you. As a matter of fact, Donna and Janice are looking through the listings for temporary lodging as we speak.”
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Stephen said, his eyes shifting away from the ambassador’s. “Coming, Hildy.” The hologram went dark.
“Janice is waiting at the door,” Libby announced.
“Why doesn’t she—oh, right.” Kelly got up and went to disarm the security lock. “Did you see how I did that, Phillip?”
“Yes,” he said, having followed behind her. “What’s up, Janice?”
“Donna found us super-discounted rooms at a Vergallian resort providing we get there in the next twenty minutes,” she said excitedly. “Libby said that they’re trying to raise their occupancy for the final quarter of the chain’s fiscal year.”
“Do you mind if I run out?” Phillip asked Kelly.
“Not at all. You should settle in and have lunch. Just be back for the Horten thing this afternoon. And don’t drag your luggage with you while you’re in a hurry. You can pick it up later.”
“Thank you,” Phillip said, and the two newcomers headed off to claim their discounted rooms.
Kelly glanced over at Donna, but her friend was busily sorting through holographic spreadsheets and the ambassador knew better than to interrupt her just to chat about their replacements. She returned to her desk, thinking about something Phillip had said.
“The two of them were really just here to transfer ships on their way for different assignments when you approved them as our sabbatical replacements?”
“Quite a coincidence,” Libby acknowledged.
“And when did our sabbatical requests get Stryx approval?”
“That happened a few seconds earlier, contingent on the availability of replacements.”
“Who just happened to be available,” Kelly said dryly.
“Don’t you think the two of them make a nice couple?” the Stryx matchmaker asked.
“You’re incorrigible, and you’ve rubbed off on Dorothy. She made me pester Ambassador Ortha until he agreed to meet the parents of a Horten girl from Samuel’s student committee.”
“Mornich and Marilla are almost through the initial screening process so an official introduction isn’t far off. If your daughter hadn’t put them together, I would have had a go at it myself.”
Eight
“I thought I’d seen everything in this place, but those guys are grossing me out,” Vivian said, pushing away her soup. “Do you want this?”
“Sure, give me your spoon.” Samuel pulled the bowl to his side of the cafeteria table and looked around to see who the girl was complaining about. “Which guys? The zombies?”
“Yes, the zombies. Ugh, they’re adding ketchup to their brains.”
“Those are just cauliflower heads. The zombies must have bribed one of the kitchen staff for whole ones.”
“I think this LARPing craze is getting out of hand. After Tinka announced her new InstaSitter league, kids started applying for babysitting jobs just so they can join.”
“I want to know why they get to be zombies and we’re stuck playing historical characters,” Samuel complained. Then he noticed that Vivian was staring in rapt attention at the costumed role-players who were carving their ketchup-drenched cauliflowers, so he lifted the soup bowl and drank off the contents in a few gulps.
“Way to go, Human,” Jorb said, setting his tray on the table and pulling out the chair next to Vivian. “You’ve finally learned something from your dogs.”
“Drazens are the last biologicals that have any right to criticize anybody’s table manners,” Marilla shot back, settling into the chair next to Samuel.
“The zombies must be in the intramural league,” Vivian finally replied to her boyfriend’s question, still unable to tear her gaze away from the heavily made-up students in their faux-tattered clothing. “They don’t receive any university credit.”
“But they get to have lots of fun,” the Drazen said, using his elbow to create a depression in a loaf of hard alien bread. He shoveled all of the contents from his plate into the crater and topped it off with hot sauce from his personal bottle. “The dojo was half empty this morning because everybody is off having real adventures.”
“Maybe Jeeves will let us do something other than talk after today,” Marilla said. “Some of the students who started before us said the for-credit LARPs get better as they go along.”
The Horten student’s words finally pulled Vivian’s attention away from the disgusting vegan feast taking place across the aisle. “I’m glad you’ve finally stopped saying ‘Stryx Jeeves’ all the time, like being a Stryx is a medical condition or something. Jeeves is a sentient, just like you and me. He’s actually younger than my father.”
“I admire your self-esteem, but I don’t have such a high opinion of myself or my species,” Marilla replied, and then turned an odd shade of orange. “Do you have to eat with your tentacle in front of me, Drazen?”
“It’s the only way to keep the loaf from falling apart,” Jorb said unapologetically. “The crust got soggy too fast because the cafeteria bakers don’t know how to make good bread.”
“It’s the closest thing to an all-species loaf they can manage,” Samuel told him. “I think it’s mainly synthesized.”
“Did you guys all study the material Jeeves sent us?” Vivian asked.
“Of course,” Marilla said.
“I looked at it,” Samuel replied, and dug into his pudding in hopes of avoiding follow-up questions.
Jorb made a noncommittal noise and then shoved enough of the Drazen-style sandwich into his mouth to remove himself from the conversation.
“We should just replace both of them with girls,” Marilla suggested to Vivian. “Why is it that men will stay up all night programming a new game, but if you ask them to learn anything useful, all of a sudden they suffer from some sort of collective attention deficit disorder.”
“Samuel’s not that bad,” Vivian defended her boyfriend. “He’s just not a big history fan. He used to take a double major in Vergallian studies and they overloaded him with a million years of imperial genealogy. That’s enough to make anybody hate history.”
“You know that Jorb isn’t going to do any preparation so you might as well just tell us,” Samuel suggested hopefully.
“I’ll read it to you,” Vivian said, pulling out her tab. “It will give me something to concentrate on so I don’t keep looking at the corpse-twins there.”
“Skip past the intro,” Marilla told her.
“I think it was written for students who didn’t grow up on the station.”
“All right. The date is, it doesn’t matter, it’s in Grenouthian, and the bunny network has signed its first deal for Stryxnet access, making the dream of a live news broadcast to all members of the tunnel network and beyond a reality. Unconfirmed reports have started coming in about Chert refugees arriving at Stryx stations in the tens of millions, but it’s not known who they are fleeing or if they are being pursued. A meeting is taking place at the Grenouthian network headquarters during which it will be decided whether to push the story, including exclusive footage of the normally elusive Cherts.”
“That’s our LARP? We’re going to stand around and talk about whether or not to run a news story?”
“It’s not just a story, Samuel. It’s Chert history.”
“So what did the Grenouthians decide?”
“The introduction said we shouldn’t do any research because it would prejudice our role-playing,” Vivian said. “Unlike the last LARP we did, in this one the characters all have a solid understanding of each other’s positions and motivations, so Jeeves sent us the character sheets ahead of time. He said we can all read them and decide who we want to play, but not to discuss the Chert story until our session.”
“Which starts in twenty minutes,” Marilla reminded them, before taking a dainty bite of her popover.
Jorb shifted his current mouthful into his cheek and said, “I dibs the top executive.”
“You haven’t even heard the character traits yet,” Vivian said in exasperation.
“I know bunnies, and I know there’s going to be an alpha fur-ball, so I want to be it,” Jorb reiterated stubbornly.
“Fine by me,” Samuel said. “Who else is there?”
“A young correspondent, an editor, and the network ombudsman.”
“What’s that last one?”
“The Grenouthians appoint a sort of roving official do-gooder to make sure the network serves the public interest,” Vivian explained. “It’s required by their contract for Stryx bandwidth.”
“So the ombudsman was new when this happened.”
“Yes,” Vivian said after glancing at her tab. “I don’t know how I missed that.”
“And who do you and Marilla want to be?”
“Editor,” the Horten replied, watching Vivian out of the corner of her eye to see if the other girl reacted. “I’ve already applied to the student news show as an assistant editor so it would be good practice.”
“Take it,” Vivian said. “I was going to try to get the ombudsman role, but if it means playing a newbie, I’d rather be the correspondent.”
“Fine, I’ll be the ombudsman,” Samuel agreed. “Does the LARP have a time limit?”
“It’s just one hour or until we reach a conclusion, after which the orchestrator is supposed to take a few minutes to tell us how everything would have worked out based on our role play. So let’s try not to start a war.”
Fifteen minutes later, the four students found themselves seated around a table in a room that wouldn’t have looked out of place at the Grenouthian network offices on Union Station. Jeeves, or a holographic instance of the Stryx, finished giving them the pre-LARP instructions, and then with a flourish of his pincer, declared, “Go!”
“What are you wasting my time with now?” Jorb inquired in a bored voice, but he was unable to keep from grinning at having the opportunity to play an alpha-bunny.
“Cherts,” Marilla replied in her role as the editor. “They’re pouring into the tunnel network. None of the competing news services have picked up on it yet because they think it’s just a local story, but our intelligence indicates that Cherts are showing up at all of the Stryx stations. This is confirmed by our intercepts of intelligence reports from the less advanced species.”
“Run it,” Jorb barked. “Where’s my yellow tea?”
“I’m sure you’ve already considered the matter of our Stryxnet contract, but perhaps we should talk it through so I can understand the implications,” Samuel said deferentially.
Jorb glared at the ombudsman. “Idiot. What difference does it make whether or not you understand what’s going on? You’re here as a sop to the Stryx and nothing more.”
“Microseconds are wasting,” Vivian added. “We’re talking about a scoop, and I have plans for my bonus.”
“It just seems to me that there may be some degree of prearrangement in operation here,” Samuel said. “Everybody knows that the Cherts have been on the move across the galaxy for millions of years, but I can’t believe they would start showing up at Stryx stations in such large numbers without an invitation. Doesn’t anybody else find it strange that they’re getting their own deck right away, rather than milling around looking to rent temporary quarters.”
“Stop beating around the bush,” Jorb growled.
“If the Stryx arranged for the Cherts to move onto tunnel network stations all at once, they may have a reason for secrecy.”
“Haven’t you been listening?” Marilla said scornfully. “It’s not a secret. It just hasn’t broken as a galactic story yet.”
“What if their safety is at stake?” Samuel asked.
“How can they be in danger when they’re already here?” Vivian exploded. “The whole point is that the entire population of Cherts in the galaxy has suddenly pulled up stakes again and moved to Stryx stations.”
“But doesn’t that mean they’re running from something?”
“Of course they’re running from something. That’s why it’s news!”
“Now, wait a minute,” Jorb said, leaning forward. “Do we have any facts to substantiate that claim?”
“It’s obvious,” Vivian said stubbornly. “Why else would they show up with nothing more than their personal belongings? Those transports they arrived on are basically jump-capable dormitories with ship-wide stasis fields. They’re barely worth their weight in scrap.”
“That’s supposition,” the Drazen said in his role as the network executive. He leaned forward and pointed at Marilla. “What can we prove?”
The Horten student looked uncomfortable and glanced at her tab to see if her character sheet provided any hints on conducting herself in this situation. “Counting ships and estimating the capacities, we’re confident that this migration constitutes the bulk of the known Chert population, possibly including all of their members.”
“And their motivation for leaving their homes and moving to Stryx stations?”
“That’s, uh, not entirely clear yet,” Marilla said. She cringed as Jorb began tapping his fingers on his belly in a perfect imitation of how the Grenouthian on their student committee used to act before he lost his temper. “They, uh, nobody really knows that much about the Cherts as they previously stayed away from the tunnel network and their technology is concentrated on stealth ships and personal invisibility projectors. Our profilers say they must have been traumatized by—”
“More supposition,” Jorb shouted, slamming a fist on the table. He spun towards Vivian and ordered, “Tell me the story!”
“What?” the girl asked, obviously confused by the direction the LARP was taking.
“Pretend we’re on a lift tube and you have thirty seconds to tell me your scoop.”
“But the immersive footage is the—”
“Have I sinned?” Jorb inquired acerbically, looking up at the ceiling. “Is there something I did to offend the universe that I’m cursed with such incompetent subordinates?”
“Five-point penalty,” Jeeves announced. “Cultural mismatch.”
“Timeout,” Jorb said. “What did I do wrong?”
“Grenouthians have approval over their subordinates at all levels so they would never accuse them of being incompetent,” Jeeves explained. “It would be the same as publicly admitting your own failure for hiring them. Now play on.”
Vivian glanced at Marilla to see if any support was forthcoming from her editor and then began her lift-tube pitch. “
A wave of Chert refugees has poured onto Stryx stations around the tunnel network. They arrived in obsolete transports, carrying with them little more than their personal belongings, and appear to constitute the entire—”
“Appear?” Jorb interrupted.
“She’s young,” Marilla said apologetically. “The fault is mine for rushing ahead with the story based on phenomenal visuals.”
“If you could interview a Chert on the record,” Samuel suggested.
“Now the ombudsman is going to tell us how to report a story,” Jorb said disdainfully.
“It’s just that if we had their side, we might figure out what the Stryx would want us to do.”
“Do the Stryx pay your salary?” the Drazen asked in a tired voice. “Do they pay my salary, or hers, or hers? I have a news show to run and I’ll broadcast whatever is newsworthy.”
“The story is newsworthy,” Vivian began, but Marilla cut her off.
“We could do it as a special item from the shipping news,” the Horten suggested. “It would still be a scoop, and we could shift it to the political news later if the facts warrant a higher slot.”
“Have the announcer keep the tone light,” Jorb instructed her. “For all we know the Cherts may be taking advantage of some Stryx special offer for cheap deck space.”
“Just the facts,” Marilla promised.
Nobody spoke for a few moments, and then Jeeves announced, “Not very original, but I’ll give you a pass.”
“That’s it?” Samuel asked. “What did the Grenouthians really do back when it happened for real?”
“They made it the top story on their network for a cycle. Endless speculation about who the Cherts were fleeing and whether their presence would impact the economy on the stations. I’ve reviewed the historical records and the Cherts were happy to grant interviews, though they never said anything noteworthy.”
“So what was the outcome?”
“The correspondent won their ‘Best new reporter of the cycle,’ award, advertising rates crept up, and viewership hit a new peak. It turned out that a good mystery made better news than a presentation of known facts. The Grenouthian network has become progressively more sensationalistic ever since.”