by E. M. Foner
“Hostages,” Lynx muttered under her breath.
“Hostages are especially honored guests,” the empress replied, blissfully unaware that the human had expected the comment to go unheard. “It works both ways, you know. You can think of my husband as being hostage for our good treatment of you.”
“Gurf here misses the emperor?” Woojin asked.
“The two of them have been inseparable since the hound was a puppy, but Brynt heard that he’d be staying with an ambassador’s family and didn’t want to impose. Gurf’s been moping around ever since my husband departed, though I’ll have to say it hasn’t affected his appetite.”
“Brynt?”
“Emperor Brynt,” Pava said, without a hint of condescension. She began leading the humans back to the wreck that served as the imperial palace, talking all the while. “The whole business with titles and bloodlines is very old-fashioned, but we Cayl decided long ago that somebody had to be in charge. The alpha-male of Brynt’s line drew the short straw some ten thousand generations ago.”
“The same family has ruled for ten thousand generations?” Lynx asked.
“They’ve tried abdicating, of course. At least ten thousand times, but the rest of the Cayl were having none of it. My mother cried like a lost Skreelink when I told her I was marrying Brynt, but he chased me so hard that I couldn’t help myself. I do hope the Stryx choice for a host is treating him well.”
“He’s staying with the ambassador for our species, the humans,” Brinda said. “They live in the crew quarters of an old interstellar ice harvester that’s permanently parked in one of Union Station’s holds, so the Emperor should feel right at home.”
“That’s wonderful.” Pava sounded genuinely relieved. “The Dowager Empress has been at me about not accompanying her son ever since he left, but I’m babysitting all of the cubs in the family while their parents are running around the empire visiting garrisons to reassure the warriors. The truth is, Brynt left things in a bit of an uproar, but his mother thinks he’s perfect,” she added, rolling her eyes. “I’ll deliver you to her after you get a chance to rest up.”
“Is she the official hostage keeper?” Woojin asked.
“Yes, but I’m in charge of feeding you,” the empress said. “The Dowager Empress wanted to hold the meal immediately after you arrived, but I explained that you’d be tired from traveling and that I’d need some time to study up on your biology to synthesize a decent meal. Nutrition is easy, but before I took over the kitchen, our alien guests used to complain that everything tasted like wet dog fur.” A steady rain began to fall on the group before they made it halfway to the palace wreck. “Of course, it does rain here every afternoon, and the dogs do like shaking themselves off indoors.”
Eleven
Joe looked up from reading a service manual when his father-in-law returned. “So what did you think of the fishing, Steve? Worth the trip from Earth?”
“They looked kind of like overgrown goldfish,” the old man replied, easing himself into one of the patio chairs. “The truth is, Marge gets restless sitting around the house counting her money, but she worries that I’m not in good enough shape to travel. So I try to guess where she wants to go, and then I insist we make the trip. Did you really think I spent five days in stasis on that ship because I wanted to go fishing on Union Station? Still, if that park is your idea of a sewer plant, this is a pretty sweet spot you’re living.”
“Sorry I couldn’t go along with you and Samuel this time,” Joe said. “It’s just me and Thomas running the training camp while Woojin and Lynx are visiting the Cayl Empire. I don’t think you ever met them, Steve, but I’ve known Woojin longer than I’ve been married to your daughter.”
“So where are our girls?” Steve asked. Samuel stared at his grandfather, round-eyed. That anybody could refer to his mother or grandmother as girls was beyond the nine-year-old’s comprehension.
“Kelly’s out with Brynt on another round of embassy visits and Dorothy is at work,” Paul answered. He set down a tray with two glasses of Joe’s latest microbrew, a small bottle of prune juice, and an apple for Samuel. “Marge went with Aisha to the studio to watch her shoot the show, and they took Fenna with them, even though she sleeps through it.”
“I sure feel bad drinking beer in front of you like this,” Joe said to his father-in-law.
“I gave up beer at eighty, wine at eighty-five, and I’ll give up Scotch at ninety if I make it that long,” Kelly’s father replied. “But I only drink the Scotch at night, after Marge goes to bed.”
“Why’s that, Grandpa?” Samuel asked.
“So she doesn’t see me,” the old man replied. “But don’t tell her. It’s a secret.”
Beowulf scrabbled out from under the table and loped off towards the entrance of Mac’s Bones.
“Somebody new must be coming,” Samuel said through a mouth full of apple. He made a mighty effort to swallow, and then he set out after the dog.
“Pretty efficient alarm system you have there.” Steve took a sip of his prune juice and coughed. “I don’t want you boys to think that I’m more senile than Marge makes me out to be, but I’m still a little confused about the whole dog situation. You started with some sort of genetically engineered cross between an Earth mutt and a Huravian hound, that dog died, but then he came back as a full-blooded Huravian?”
“That’s right,” Joe said. “And now we’ve learned that the Huravian hounds aren’t native to Huravia. I knew the Huravian monks claimed to be an ancient military order, and apparently they were trained by early Cayl explorers who left them some dogs. I asked Dring to join us this evening and we’ll find out if he knows anything about it.”
Samuel returned to the patio area in front of the ice harvester and breathlessly reported, “It’s a big kid. He must have food or something because Beowulf is walking back with him.”
“Maybe I’ll bring up a pitcher and another Libbyland glass,” Joe said. “Does anybody else want something?”
“Aisha was saving a coconut curry for Dring,” Paul said. “It’s one of the few cooked dishes he likes, but don’t heat it up.”
As Joe got up and headed off on his errand, Beowulf broke away from the approaching visitor and streaked off in the direction of the training grounds.
“He only runs that fast for one of us or for Brynt,” Samuel observed.
“Must be Dring coming,” Paul agreed.
Kelly’s father chuckled.
“What’s funny, Grandpa?” Samuel asked.
“You know, I’ve only been off of Earth three times in my life, and all three were to see my daughter and her family. I can’t get over how you boys talk to all of these aliens just like they’re humans, even Dring, that clone friend of Dorothy’s, and this Cayl fellow who’s visiting. If I saw any of them coming my way in a dark alley on Earth, I’d run the other direction.”
“You shouldn’t run,” Samuel said, taking his grandfather literally. “Mommy told me I shouldn’t even make you walk fast.”
“Hello?” the newcomer called as he approached within earshot of the seated group. “Is this the McAllister residence?”
“Yes it is,” Paul replied. “The chief of the clan is getting you a beer, providing you pass the beard test. Were you looking for a place to park the family ship?”
“What? No, I don’t have a family, or a ship,” the kid replied. “I came to talk to Dorothy’s father.”
“Well, I’m her grandfather, young fellow, and these two are her brothers, so I hope your intentions are honorable,” Steve said, doing his best to look stern.
“Yes, sir,” the boy replied, turning a dull shade of red. “My name is David Coughlin, I think, and I...”
“Hold on a minute,” the old man interrupted. “You better wait for her father to come back so you don’t have to repeat yourself, unless you wanted to practice a bit first. You sounded pretty unsure about your name, there.”
“What’s in the box?” Samuel asked.
; “Oh,” David said, looking down at his hands. “I asked Mr. Ainsley what I could bring to make a good impression, and he said that your family likes leftovers. Then Mrs. Ainsley waved a kitchen knife at him and she gave me this. It seems heavy for a cake.”
Joe emerged from the ice harvester with a pitcher of beer, another glass, and a casserole dish of coconut curry. The Maker and Beowulf timed their arrival perfectly, and the dog immediately shifted his attention back to the white box held by the young man.
“Thanks for coming, Dring,” Joe said. “We seem to be having a males-only party this evening.”
“I’m honored to be invited,” Dring replied politely, taking care to position himself between Paul and Kelly’s father, so as not to scare the stranger. “I don’t recall meeting this young man before.”
“He’s David something, and he’s here to complain about Dorothy,” Samuel said.
“No, you didn’t understand,” David protested, his face turning a brighter shade of red. “I wanted to, uh, ask about her.”
Joe reached the table, looked the boy up and down, and then turned towards Beowulf to get his opinion of the stranger. The dog was staring in rapt concentration at the white box from Pub Haggis and missed the unspoken request.
“You look old enough for a beer, so don’t say no,” Joe said, pouring out a glass from the pitcher and handing it to the boy across the table. “Somebody open up that box before Beowulf decides to swallow the whole thing.”
David set the box on the table, and as the resident expert at Pub Haggis deliveries, Samuel undid the cover flap and flattened out the sides. A deep glass dish with a brown crust was revealed, and the rich smell of shepherd’s pie invaded willing nostrils.
“Why don’t you two get some plates and silverware,” Joe said, nodding to Paul and Samuel.
“Sir?” David asked in trepidation, as soon as the younger McAllisters entered the ice harvester.
“Will it spoil your appetite to wait until after we eat?” Joe replied in irritation.
“Yes, sir,”
“What’s on your mind, David Something?” Joe asked in resignation. He’d been hoping that this particular scene wouldn’t play out until Dorothy was at least twenty, but she was already as tall as her mother and better educated than he’d ever be.
“Coughlin, sir. I think. I want your permission to ask your daughter to go on the Physics Ride with me. It’s the new...”
“I know what it is,” Joe cut the boy off abruptly. “I’m down there every other day fixing the damn steam organ. Have you talked to Dorothy about going to Libbyland together?”
“No, sir. I don’t know much about how to act around family people, but Dorothy explained that on the station, I could ask the Stryx librarian for help about anything.”
“Libby sent you to ask me whether you can take my sixteen-year-old daughter on a date?”
“Yes, sir. I mean, not a date, sir. But Dorothy has helped me so much, and I want to do something for her.”
“Quick, before the boy gets back. Where did you come from and why aren’t you sure about your last name?”
“I don’t remember anything before being cabin boy on a small trader with Coughlin. He said he was my father, but I think that might have been a lie. When I started growing and asking questions, he indentured me to a mining outfit as a powder monkey. I stowed away on a Gem tramp freighter three months ago and ended up here.”
“Powder monkey,” Joe repeated. “You mean they sent you in the narrow tunnels with a laser drill to set charges.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What do you think, Dad?” Joe asked his father-in-law.
“When Kelly was that age, she was too busy reading about boys in books to meet any. We were pretty worried about her until you came along.”
“All right, David. Sit down, drink your beer and stay for dinner. But if you make her cry, I’ll find you and feed you to the dog.”
“Thank you, sir,” David said. He started breathing normally again and settled awkwardly into a patio chair.
The two younger McAllister males chose that moment to start down the ramp, confirming Dring’s suspicion that Paul had been holding Samuel back from returning while Joe interviewed the young man. The whole scene fit nicely into the Victorian novels Dring was fond of borrowing from Kelly, and he felt privileged to have witnessed the human ritual of vetting Dorothy’s first suitor.
“Kelly pinged me to ask what we were doing for dinner,” Paul said, while Samuel noisily dealt the plates as if they were playing cards. “She’s stuck at a Verlock reception with Brynt and she says they won’t be home until late.”
“Fine fellow, the Cayl emperor,” Dring commented. “Oldest dynastic bloodline in the galaxy, to the best of my knowledge. I met several of his ancestors on my last surf through that part of space.”
“Did you see any Huravian hounds while you were there?” Paul asked. He handed around silverware, wrapped in cloth napkins like the utensils at a catered event.
“The Cayl hounds weren’t all quite as large as Beowulf, but that’s just a matter of gravity, environment, and natural selection playing out over a couple of million years,” Dring replied. “Just as smart, though.
Beowulf looked away from the shepherd’s pie long enough to acknowledge the indirect compliment with a lolling tongue.
“Why didn’t you ever mention it?” Paul asked.
Dring took a forkful of cold coconut curry and chewed slowly before answering. “You know, it’s statistically implausible that so many sentient species of widely varying forms and biology are blessed with companions that not only fill the role that dogs played in Earth’s history, but are outwardly similar in form.”
“What’s he mean?” Samuel and his grandfather asked Paul at the same time.
“Xenobiologists take it for granted that somebody subtly altered the genes of predecessor species on worlds all over the galaxy to produce something like dogs,” Paul explained.
“And what’s HE mean?” Samuel asked his father.
“You’ve heard of Stryx science ships, haven’t you?” Joe inquired. Samuel nodded. “The aliens don’t consider it a fit topic for conversation, but the general feeling is that the Stryx do more than just observe. Some scientists think they interfere to help civilizations develop, and it could be that making sure everybody gets a dog is at the top of the list.”
“Except the Grenouthians,” Samuel commented. “Dogs chase bunnies.”
Paul and Dring kept up a conversation about dogs and space travel as they ate, with frequent interruptions from Samuel. But Joe was uncharacteristically uncommunicative, and David barely said a word throughout the meal.
When the food was gone and the pitcher of beer was empty, Joe instructed Samuel, “Wake up your grandfather and help him get to his room.” As soon as the boy and the old man were up the ramp, he turned to his daughter’s admirer. “Put that casserole dish down for the dog and he’ll save you the trouble of cleaning it.”
Beowulf perked up as the boy put the shepherd’s pie container on the deck. The dog calculated that through strategic begging and licking off the individual plates as they became available, he had already eaten more of the pie than any of the humans, but the crunchy bits left in the baking dish were his favorite part.
“Dorothy won’t be home from work for another two hours if you were waiting,” Joe said.
“No, sir. I knew she was at work. I just came to talk to you.”
“So the two of you have already been seeing each other.”
“No, sir. I mean, after she got me the job at Pub Haggis, she comes to check on me sometimes when she gets out of work, so I sort of know her schedule. I think she wants to make sure I don’t embarrass her with the Ainsleys.”
“I’m sure that’s it,” Joe snorted, wondering what his daughter saw in the gangly boy. Maybe Kelly would be able to explain it. “Well, thank you for coming to ask. If Dorothy agrees to go anywhere with you, I expect you to come here to meet her moth
er.”
“Yes, sir,” the boy said, taking it as a dismissal. He rose to go, retrieving the sparkling casserole dish from the floor.
“Don’t waste your money renting gear for the Physics Ride,” Paul added. “The suit rental clerks know Dorothy if I’m not there. If she didn’t mention it already, I’m sort of the Libbyland engineer.”
David headed home to his temporary lodgings, and Joe busied himself studying the translated Sharf engine-rebuild manual on his tab while he waited for his wife to get home.
Inside the ice harvester, Kelly’s father said to Samuel, “Remember not to tell Grandma about the Scotch.”
“I have a secret too,” Samuel told his grandfather shyly.
“You can tell me,” the old man said. “That will make it even.”
“You promise, cross your heart and hope to be turned into a Horten?”
“Cross my heart and hope to be turned into a Horten.”
“I have to show you,” Samuel said. “It’s in my room.”
The boy led his grandfather through the crew quarters of the converted ice harvester to his own unique space, which had once contained all of the field generation equipment for the ice sweeps.
“Beowulf, Banger and Jeeves are the only other people I let in here,” the nine-year-old told his grandfather earnestly. “Well, Mommy sticks her head in sometimes, but only if I’m being really quiet.”
“That makes sense,” the old man replied seriously.
“It may not work right now. It depends on whether she’s home and what time it is there,” Samuel added, as if he was afraid he might disappoint his grandfather’s expectations. The boy took his robot souvenir from Libbyland off of its special shelf and set it on the floor. Next he picked up the remote and touched a number of symbols. The little robot’s eyes lit up with an emerald green glow, and a hologram of the other little robot from the Libbyland gift shop appeared right in front of it.