by E. M. Foner
“She’s there,” Samuel declared joyfully, and then shifted to speaking Vergallian, “Ailia?”
“Hi, Samuel.” The response seemed to come out of the robot hologram’s mouth. “You’re early today.”
“What did it say?” Kelly’s father asked.
“I forgot you don’t have an implant,” Samuel said. “Ailia. My grandfather is here and he promised to keep our secret. Can we talk in English today, and then we’ll do two times of Vergallian in a row?”
“Okay,” the little voice came out of the hologram of Ailia’s robot. “Have you started taking dance lessons like you promised?”
“I’m still practicing with Banger,” Samuel mumbled. “I know he doesn’t have arms or legs, but he uses a holo-thing to teach me.”
“You need to dance with a real girl,” Ailia said with authority. “Baylit invites a different boy to practice with me every week. She says it’s important to honor their families, and that one of the most important skills I can learn as queen is how to dance with clumsy oafs without getting my toes crushed.”
“You’re talking with that little Vergallian girl who went back to her home?” Samuel’s grandfather asked in wonder. “How is that possible?”
“Jeeves made our robots to show how the toys would look, but he used Stryx ship controllers to make them work,” Samuel related excitedly. “Banger says they connect the same way as the Stryxnet, but because Jeeves made them as a pair, it’s all direct and it doesn’t cost us anything. They’re pro-types.”
“Prototypes,” his grandfather guessed.
“Oh, my lady-in-waiting is coming. I have to go,” the hologram of Ailia’s robot said hurriedly. “See you later.” The hologram winked out.
“That’s some secret,” Kelly’s father said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “I guess we’re even. Are you going to sign up for dance lessons?”
“I have to,” Samuel groaned. “Don’t want to turn into a Horten.”
Twelve
“I thought that the five of you might be interested in seeing how humans are adapting to the tunnel network,” Kelly said, though she suspected that Brynt was the only alien in the group paying attention. After several days of playing tour guide, she had grown used to walking backwards while being ignored by the emissaries from the Cayl Empire.
“Why do you think the Stryx are so keen on showing us the lower classes?” the Lood emissary remarked loudly to the others, as if Kelly wasn’t there. “Are they trying to tempt us by showing how easily we could dominate these species?”
“Who would want to?” the Nangor replied. “When my Dollnick host told me that they allow these Human creatures to settle on their open worlds, I laughed so hard that I began to choke and had to perform the Glurisch maneuver on myself.”
“Both of you behave,” the Cayl emperor barked, throwing in a few lightning jabs to make his point. “Please continue, Ambassador McAllister.”
“The trade show we’re about to enter is associated with the Third Annual Conference of Sovereign Human Communities. More than a third of the representatives are attending from the open Dollnick worlds you were referring to, Emissary Simba.”
“Timba,” Libby reminded Kelly over her implant.
“I know,” Kelly subvoced in reply.
“So these communities you are referring to are under the authority of your EarthCent government?” Emissary Geed asked politely.
“Oh, no,” Kelly replied. “EarthCent isn’t really a government, except in the sense that the humans spread around the tunnel network don’t have anything else. The conference represents an effort on the part of these communities to find common ground and potentially evolve in the direction of a representative assembly.”
“So it’s true what the Horten told me, that you’re all Stryx welfare cases,” Tarngol said. The Cayl responded with a threatening look, and the silvery alien decided that he needn’t repeat the rest of the Horten’s analysis.
“As a Stryx protectorate, Earth is off-limits for armed invaders from other species, and all tunnel network members living on stations benefit from the same protections,” Kelly answered smoothly. “The humans you’ll meet today are living on alien worlds and don’t have a direct relationship with the Stryx, other than buying some communications services. But as those worlds are also part of the tunnel network, they fall under the same Stryx rules that prevent member species from warring on one another.”
“And what about attacks from off-network species?” Brynt asked.
“If any of the advanced species want help defending one of their worlds, my understanding is that the Stryx will intervene on request. But after stopping the war, they will judge the cause and assign reparations.”
“You mean, if we became part of the tunnel network and some foreign species attacked one of our worlds, the Stryx might side with the aggressors after stepping in to end the fighting?” Z’bath asked in amazement. It was the first time he had addressed the EarthCent ambassador without being prompted to do so by Brynt.
“If you were at fault,” Kelly replied. “It’s not an area where I have any experience, but I’ve heard stories from other ambassadors. Suppose you had, uh, taken something from an off-network species without permission, like a world they had been terraforming, and then that species sent a fleet to demand compensation. Would it be fair to expect the Stryx to destroy them so that you could keep what you, er, took?”
The Lood came to an abrupt halt. He stared at the EarthCent ambassador, and she could almost feel his third eye boring in on her, even though it was concealed behind the golden mask. The three other emissaries appeared to be equally stunned, and even Brynt’s expression showed puzzlement.
“Tell me again,” Z’bath said. “Why exactly would we want to join this tunnel network?”
“My understanding is that the Cayl are stepping down as your protectors and the rest of you don’t get along well enough to be trusted with warships,” Kelly replied sharply. The Lood had a way of exhausting her diplomatic reserves in a hurry. “Of course, if you want to spend all of your money and resources building up fleets and destroying each other, that’s your affair.”
“Is this flexibility to assign reparations included in the contract that the Stryx and the tunnel network members sign?” the Cayl inquired carefully.
Kelly glanced around guiltily before replying, feeling ridiculous all the while, since Libby was clearly listening in over her implant. “The Stryx tend to reserve the right to do whatever they think is best in all of their contracts, even the simple leases for station real estate. There’s a legal term for it that I’m forgetting.”
“Divine right?” Geed suggested.
“You make the tunnel network sound so attractive,” Timba added sarcastically.
“Anyway, let’s put this discussion on hold and go inside,” Kelly said. “I’m aware that the goods at this trade show are unlikely to meet your standards, but the people displaying them worked hard to get this far, so I hope you treat them as you would your own citizens.”
“Don’t even think about it,” Brynt growled at the emissaries. “Treat them like you would treat me.”
“Thank you, Emperor,” Kelly said, belatedly realizing her mistake.
The ambassador was beginning to feel sorry for the Cayl and sympathized with him for wanting to be rid of such a fractious empire. She led the group through the lower entrance to the Galaxy room, which opened into the trade-show area beneath the seats. The four emissaries kept a curb on their usually derisive commentary for almost an entire minute before the group reached the first booth, a display of textiles from Chianga.
“Look,” exclaimed the Shuga, barely able to contain his mirth. “Textiles made from plant fiber. Have you ever seen anything so quaint?”
“I’ll bet the manufacturing process includes chewing,” Timba added. “And they probably color the fabric with dyes made from bodily effluents.”
“Actually, the clothes I’m wearing now are made from plant fib
ers, cotton to be precise, and early humans used stale urine to bind natural dyes to fabrics,” Kelly said combatively. The Cayl gave her a nod of approval. “I believe the textiles on display here are actually produced using a Dollnick process, Timba, so perhaps you’d like to save your observations for Ambassador Crute.”
“Isn’t that Yttrium?” muttered Z’bath, peering through the crowd at a hologram of an atom floating above a booth. “I make it thirty-nine protons, but I can’t be certain with this foolish mask.”
“Thirty-nine it is,” Brynt confirmed. “I’m warning you, though. Don’t cause a scene.”
“I just want to see what they’re selling it for,” the Lood said, setting off for the booth. Kelly and the Cayl stayed with him, but the three other emissaries followed at a leisurely pace, commenting to each other on the human products as if they were museum installations.
“How much for the Yttrium?” Z’bath demanded of the human behind the table.
The man looked back at the Lood blankly. Either he didn’t have an implant or it didn’t include languages from species that weren’t local.
“He’d like to know what you charge for Yttrium,” Kelly interpreted.
“We don’t have any for sale,” the man replied. “All of our production goes to the Drazens as part of our deal with the Two Mountains consortium.”
“Then why is the fool advertising it?” Z’bath demanded.
Kelly translated again, leaving out the slur, and the man replied, “It’s not an advertisement. It’s the logo of our mining consortium. I see the gentleman is partial to gold accoutrements. Shall I check the spot price for him?”
The Lood shook his head in disgust and stalked back towards the other emissaries, the Cayl staying by his side.
“I’m sorry,” Kelly apologized to the salesman. “He’s not from around here.”
“Let’s keep it that way, shall we?” the man replied.
When Kelly caught up with the group, the Cayl was herding them towards one of the short access tunnels that connected with the center stage of the Galaxy room. “Did I miss something?” she asked Brynt.
“Geed discovered that a manufacturer is showing a small ground transport of the floating variety,” the emperor replied. “She collects such vehicles, as do the other emissaries. It’s a popular way of displaying status without amassing wealth, since they depreciate so quickly.”
“You must be talking about the Chiangan floater based on the Dollnick design,” Kelly replied. “I’ve heard about it, though I missed the unveiling when you arrived. But why do the emissaries want to avoid getting rich?”
“My ancestors discovered in the early days of our empire that wealth had an unhappy tendency to concentrate under all of the native political systems we found ourselves supervising. To prevent this from happening to the extent that it destabilizes society, we put in place a special wealth tax on all of the member planets. Every Cayl year, the wealthiest person on each world must deliver half of their assets to a planetary beautification fund.”
“How does a special tax on just one individual per planet change anything?” Kelly asked.
“It changes mindsets,” Brynt replied. “The citizens of the Cayl Empire still chase after wealth and comfort, but nobody wants to be the richest. Charitable giving across the Empire always peaks before the annual assessment, as the individuals who worry they might come out at the top of the list maneuver for a lower seeding.”
“But don’t they cheat by making local laws that let them hide money in different ways?”
“The Cayl don’t allow cheating,” Timba said sullenly. “They have no respect for creative solutions.”
“Don’t let the fur and the fangs trick you,” Z’bath added. “Every year a greedy fool on some world or another thinks he can outsmart the Cayl inspectors, and instead of losing half of his fortune, he loses the whole thing.”
“All of the worlds in the Empire have very nice parks,” Geed added.
Kelly and her group emerged from the tunnel onto the center stage of the Galaxy room, where a two-seater version of a standard Chiangan floater was just coming to rest. It was driven by a girl who couldn’t have been much more than ten years old. A man, assumedly her father, broke off his sales pitch to an audience of convention delegates as the diplomats approached.
“Bob Winder,” he introduced himself to Kelly. “I’m the mayor of Floaters and I’ve been hoping for a chance to tell you how much I enjoyed your panel discussion. I spoke with Marge Frank about visiting Earth to raise investment capital and I think I might risk it.”
“Risk?” Kelly said. “I can personally vouch for Mrs. Frank. To tell you the truth, she’s my mother.”
“Family business, eh?” the mayor said, giving her an exaggerated wink. “Same here, that’s my daughter Sephia demonstrating the floater. Let’s get you introduced.”
The young girl exited the floater by stepping over the low gunwales and skipped over to her father.
“Can I go again, Daddy?” she asked. “It’s so much fun driving in here with all the giant steps.”
“They’re seats,” her father told her. “It’s just the way some species build amphitheatres.”
“Not very Dollnick,” his daughter observed dismissively.
“Hi,” Kelly said, offering the girl her hand. “I’m Ambassador Kelly McAllister, and these sentients are guests from the Cayl Empire. Apparently they’re all vehicle collectors, and they’ve expressed an interest in your floater.”
“Well, I’ll be happy to tell you about it,” Bob said. “We’ve been producing floaters from Dollnick components on Chianga for years, and we recently licensed the right to create a two-seater sports version based on our own design. It’s still Dollnick technology, and the performance boost comes from using the same drive unit that powers—Hey, where do you think you’re going?”
Kelly followed the mayor’s eyes and saw that the floater was racing away, the Shuga at the controls. Brynt cursed and dropped to all fours, sprinting after the floater, which barely cleared the lip of the first row of faux-stone benches. The craft was designed to float close to the ground, and while it could handle reasonable bumps, driving straight into vertical blocks while accelerating was risky business.
“What’s that alien doing?” Bob demanded of Kelly. “Trying to steal a floater on a space station?”
Incredibly, Brynt was gaining on the floater, bounding upwards three tiers at a time, when Tarngol threw it into a sudden turn. The craft tilted to a forty-five-degree angle as it took its ground reference from two rows of stepped benches. The floater gained speed as soon as it stopped climbing, and the Cayl’s attempt to cut the angle and leap aboard missed by a hair. The emperor crashed into a seating tier, but he got back on his feet immediately and began climbing higher.
“It can’t get in a wreck, can it?” Kelly asked anxiously. “I’m sure you must build them with anti-collision systems and such.”
“If that nut who’s driving gets it up to top speed in here, something has to give,” Bob replied grimly. “The seating in this room is banked like a racetrack, if you hadn’t noticed.”
“What’s the bear-guy doing?” Sephia asked excitedly.
Kelly looked up and saw that the Cayl emperor was back on all fours, racing along the seating tier a little higher up than the Shuga was driving. As the floater went into its second lap around the room, still gaining speed, Brynt leapt in the air. Kelly was sure he had miscalculated and the vehicle would hit him dead on, but instead he landed hard, half on the empty seat and half on the Shuga. The sudden weight increase almost flipped the floater, but it recovered, and the emergency program brought it to a rapid halt.
Kelly feared for the worse as she led the charge up the stairs, moving like she was twenty years younger. She couldn’t help wondering why the Stryx hadn’t interfered, grabbing the floater with a manipulator field or shutting it down remotely. When she reached the hovering vehicle, she saw why no help had been necessary.
Brynt was helping the shaken Shuga to his feet, and even brushed a hand over the alien’s crest to settle his ruffled feathers. At the same time, he was lecturing Tarngol on his manners.
“What did I tell you about how to treat the Humans?”
“But it’s not a Human, it’s a machine,” the Shuga protested. “Anyway, with the top open like this, I was sure it would have some kind of field to keep you from jumping in.”
“It’s a recreational vehicle,” the emperor replied. “The force field is to keep out the wind and the rain, maybe protect the occupants against an accidental bird strike. You thought it would stop a Cayl warrior?”
“I guess I didn’t think,” Tarngol admitted sulkily, then winced when he stepped down a row.
“I might have cracked one of your ribs with that landing,” Brynt said. “If I was a few hundred years younger, I could have matched speeds with the floater and it would have gone easier on you.”
Bob leaned into the vehicle and pressed a button.
“Running full self-diagnostic,” the floater announced. “Structural integrity, pass. Drive unit, pass. Levitation, pass. Field generator, overload. Degaussing. Retuning crystals. Field generator restart. Diagnostic retest. Field generator, pass.”
“Well, no serious harm done, I guess,” Bob said, shaking his head at the aliens. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t invite any of your other guests to try it,” he added, for Kelly’s benefit.
“No, of course. I think we’ve had enough driving for one day,” Kelly replied hastily.
“How much does one of these cost?” Geed asked. “I was favorably impressed with its ease of operation and survivability.”
“The sticker price is twenty thousand Stryx cred,” Bob replied after Kelly translated. He eyed the Tzvim speculatively.
“Do you offer a diplomatic discount?” Geed inquired.