Guest Night on Union Station

by E. M. Foner

  “Uh oh. Everybody guard your celery,” Czeros slurred, and then began laughing at his own joke, which must have been funnier in Frunge.

  “Hi, Dring. Have you talked with Gwendolyn and Mist yet?” Kelly asked. The newly arrived Maker eased his way forward between the young reporter and Bork.

  “You didn’t see me cut in on the dance floor and dip each of them?” the chubby dinosaur replied. He blinked at Kelly’s skeptical expression. “Ask Libby for a replay if you don’t believe me.”

  “How come the sentient who lives the closest is always late to the party?” Czeros slurred. He pointed vaguely with his wine bottle in the direction of the Maker’s permanent parking space, which was hidden by scrap at the far end of the hold.

  “I’ve just come from the Cayl encampment,” Dring said. “Jeeves set them up in Libbyland, on the water treatment deck. It happens that I’ve visited the home worlds of all five columns at one time or another, but it’s the first time in history they’re all meeting each other. I don’t recall ever hearing of such an event before, where six branches of a species came back together after being out of touch for so long.”

  “Where’s Emperor Brynt?” Kelly asked.

  “He was going to stop in at the open house vote on his way back. It’s taking place right now in the Thark off-world betting facility.”

  “And as a historian, you didn’t think the vote was worth attending?” Bork asked in surprise.

  “I didn’t want to miss any more of the party,” Dring replied. “Besides, I’ve attended enough meetings where the representatives of different species were voting on entering or leaving this or that political entity. I could tell you the results without going.”

  “Do you know something, Dring?” Kelly asked suspiciously.

  “I hope I do know something at my age,” the Maker replied with dignity.

  “You’re not going to tell us?”

  “It wouldn’t be right to scoop Brynt when he took the time to attend the vote,” Dring replied.

  “Was Jeeves the one who thought of bringing all of those Cayl here?” Bork asked Kelly. “You know we don’t usually attempt to pry into Stryx affairs, but this is rather momentous, as Dring pointed out.”

  “As far as I know, he got the idea after talking with the emperor and Dring at our poker game,” Kelly replied. “I have to admit, as much as I like Brynt, the Cayl way of thinking is entirely alien to me.”

  “Jeeves is a fine young Stryx,” Srythlan said ponderously, as he shuffled his way into the conversation. “And I will miss the input of Gwendolyn at our meetings. She is a very sensible sentient.”

  “For a clone,” Czeros added.

  “What do you make of the Cayl reunion, my friend?” Dring asked the Verlock ambassador.

  “We projected such,” Srythlan replied slowly. Dring nodded.

  “Did you all see my little girl dance?” Blythe asked proudly. She elbowed through the crowd of ambassadors and passed a couple of Libbyland pilsner glasses to Joe for a refill. “Samuel did great too, but he’s not as pretty,” she added, for the benefit of the boy’s parents.

  “If you all crowd around here, nobody else is going to be able to get a drink,” Joe remonstrated the growing knot of friends. “We didn’t spend half the day putting out tables and chairs just for scenery.”

  “Clive and the gang grabbed a section near the dance floor,” Blythe told them. “Plenty of room for everybody. You guys should have dances more often.”

  “I remember when this place was a perfectly good junkyard,” Joe said to Paul, who nodded in mock seriousness.

  “Well, that’s where we’ll be,” Blythe said, accepting the full glasses back from Joe. “Thomas and Chance are in rare form trying to top each other with stories from their early years. They’re really a cute couple.”

  “I’ll be right over,” Kelly said. “I just want to check with Ian about the catering. I told him to wait a little, in hopes people would dance first.”

  “Make sure to ask about the celery,” Czeros choked out, and this time he began laughing so hysterically that Bork had to grab the Frunge by the elbow to keep him from losing his balance.

  Dring shook his head at the inebriated ambassador and led the Verlock off towards the EarthCent Intelligence tables.

  A sudden breeze passed over the bar, and movement in her peripheral vision caused the ambassador to look up. Sweeping around for a second pass was the two-man floater manufactured by the humans on Chianga, Jeeves at the controls.

  “How did you get it up so high?” Paul called to his Stryx friend. “I thought those floaters had a pretty limited vertical range.”

  “I improved it,” Jeeves said, bringing the craft to a hover beside the bar. “I wanted to license the technology to the Dollnicks, but Gryph squelched the idea. Still, Gwen will have the coolest ride on the Gem home world, and I swapped out the fuel pack with something that will last until well after Mist comes out of stasis.”

  “You bought the floater for Gwen?” Kelly craned her neck to stare at the Stryx. “I thought you bought it for Libbyland, to make a new ride.”

  “I bought it because Libby told me you took up a collection to get the Gem ambassador a going-away present but you didn’t know what to give her,” Jeeves said. “That and the Chiangans gave me a special discount because it had been in a minor accident. Give me the money you collected and you can tell Gwendolyn it’s from all of us.”

  “How much did it cost?”

  “Fifteen thousand, plus another two or three for the upgrades. How much did you raise?”

  “I’d have to check with Donna,” Kelly said evasively.

  “Ten thousand?” Jeeves prompted her.

  “Maybe not that much,” Kelly mumbled.

  “Five thousand?”

  Kelly grimaced and made the hand movement for “lower” that Joe had taught her to help land small craft flying by visual rules.

  “Five hundred?”

  “Oh, more than that,” Kelly said in relief. “It’s just that a lot of the ambassadors still have a thing about clones.”

  Two huge shapes barreled through the dancers, knocked over some empty chairs, and scrabbled to a halt on either side of the EarthCent ambassador. The latest arrivals were the Cayl emperor and Beowulf, both down on all fours in their “ready” positions. Brynt growled as the dog worked his jaws and swallowed, using Kelly as a shield. Steelforth fumbled with his reporter’s tab, trying to capture the action.

  “Emperor! What’s going on?”

  “It was bad enough that he kept sticking his big nose in my snack pouch and stealing biscuits, but this time he’s gone too far,” Brynt replied. “He bit off half of the ceremonial hardtack baton presented to me by the heads of the five columns.”

  The Cayl stood up and pulled the remains of a dark brown loaf from his belt. It was long and skinny like a French bread, nicely rounded on one end, and chomped off short on the other.

  “The cooks from each column contributed dough made with the sweat from every one of their warriors, and then they baked it with the concentrated light reflected from a hundred shields. It’s not intended for eating and I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t lose a tooth.”

  Beowulf had thought the strange bread tasted a bit gross, and on hearing why it was so salty, he began to gag and cough.

  “Go ahead and give him something to drink,” the Cayl told Joe.

  The owner of Mac’s Bones took the drip pan from under the tap and placed it in front of Beowulf, who lapped up the beer greedily.

  “I’m so sorry, Emperor,” Kelly said in distress. “He’s never stolen food right out of anybody’s hands before.”

  “That’s right,” Paul added. “He usually relies on bumping into elbows to make the food fall off of people’s plates.”

  Brynt looked down at the remaining half of his hardtack baton and sighed. “I should be apologizing to you. I didn’t mean to imply that you did a bad job raising him. My own Gurf once stole the centerpiece f
rom a banquet while we were all looking up to toast the universe. By the time I caught him, he had swallowed half of it down, bones and all.”

  “Did you punish him?” Joe asked.

  “Indigestion punished him. The poor hound was so sick that he wouldn’t even eat table scraps for a week.”

  Beowulf finished lapping up the beer and decided to gamble on coming out from hiding behind Kelly. He put on his most contrite look, kept his head low, and gave his tail an experimental wag. The emperor took Beowulf’s massive head in his hands and drew it up near his face. Then he said, “Bad dog,” and nipped Beowulf on the muzzle.

  The Huravian hound yelped in surprise and sprinted for the ice harvester. He’d never been so embarrassed in his life. The Cayl gave Joe an apologetic shrug.

  “He had it coming,” Joe agreed.

  After she recovered from the unexpected show of imperial dominance, Kelly asked, “What happened at the open house vote?”

  “The majority of the emissaries and lesser representatives all voted to join,” Brynt replied. “The Lood emissary voted against, and of course, the other species of their faction followed suit. Z’bath made an amusing speech, claiming that his son had been attacked on the station by a Teragram sorceress in human form. Of course nobody took him seriously.”

  Kelly groaned audibly. “Libby told me that if the vote was in favor, I have to chair a final planning meeting between the emissaries and the local ambassadors who hosted them.”

  “Most of the open house guests have already departed through the temporary tunnel and the rest will be gone by tomorrow,” Jeeves said. Everybody turned to look at the hovering floater. “Before your meeting, we’ll deliver a detailed plan for the construction of permanent tunnel connections to the Cayl region of space, a timetable for getting the individual systems hooked up, and a schedule for moving several stations to the region.”

  “You’re going to move whole Stryx stations to Cayl space?” Kelly asked.

  “Building a new station takes forever in biological terms, and they’re needed to keep the permanent tunnel hubs open,” Jeeves explained. “It’s all handled by the first-generation Stryx, I’m barely even in the loop, but Gryph asked me to attend your meeting tomorrow in order to manage expectations.”

  “Tomorrow? I thought you just said something about a detailed plan?”

  “Gryph prepared it as soon as the vote was taken,” Jeeves replied. “And Stryx Vrine asked me to relay a message from your wife, Emperor. Do you want to hear it now?”

  “Does it have to do with the children?” Brynt asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Is somebody hurt, or is she just worried about their futures.”

  “I would say worried about your oldest son’s future.”

  “Then it can wait until after the party.”

  “Celery,” Czeros declared. He began to laugh hysterically and then passed out in a heap.

  Twenty One

  “Thank you all for coming and, um, not spitting.” It wasn’t how Kelly had intended to open the meeting, but given the way that some of the ambassadors and emissaries were glaring at each other, and the trail of green goo trickling from the mouth opening of the Lood’s golden mask, the line just popped into her head. “Stryx Jeeves is here to answer any questions you may have about the proposed infrastructure, and Stryx Gryph will make himself heard if necessary.”

  “Never mind all of that,” Aluria said impatiently, glaring at the emissaries. “Did you believe you could demand a higher price by voting to join?”

  “You couldn’t pay me to join your tunnel network,” the Lood replied haughtily, and then pointed at the Cayl Emperor. “I’m only here because our excursion ships have all departed and he’s my ride home.”

  “How many times have I told you not to point?” Brynt growled at Z’bath.

  The Tzvim emissary rose from her seat and went to crouch behind the chairs of the Nangor and the Shuga. The three emissaries put their heads together and held a whispered consultation.

  “I don’t think we’re here for negotiations,” Kelly said uncertainly. “My understanding is that the species present will be seeing a lot of each other in the future, and this planning session is to help us coordinate the timetable involved.”

  “Life is negotiations,” the Grenouthian ambassador stated.

  “Am I missing something?” Kelly subvoced to Libby. “The vote is over, right? I even made Paul stay up late reading Gryph’s infrastructure plan so he could give me an executive summary.”

  “Some of your colleagues are still hoping to prevent the expansion of the tunnel network for business reasons,” Libby replied in Kelly’s ear.

  “I can see that, but why do they think they can succeed?” Kelly subvoced back. “Will you let them change their votes if they get a big enough bribe?”

  “The voting is over, but there are other things they can do.”

  The three emissaries finally broke their huddle and the Tzvim returned to her seat.

  “How much?” Timba asked. He addressed his question to Crute, who happened to be sitting directly across the table from the Nangor. The Dollnick held up two fingers in reply. “And how much from the others?”

  “Don’t try to be funny,” Ortha said. “We’ve met over this several times and that’s our best offer. It’s a lot of cash for you in return for not doing anything.”

  “And what do you offer, Stryx?” Timba inquired, turning towards Jeeves.

  “Membership in the tunnel network comes with costs and benefits, as you know,” Jeeves replied. “If you’ll pull up Exhibit F in the infrastructure plan, I can explain how we plan to position the primary tunnel hubs, given the highly distributed nature of influence in your space.”

  “I’m not talking about that, Stryx,” the Nangor said. “I meant, what will you give us four, well, us three, for going along with your plan?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t follow you,” Jeeves said disingenuously.

  “The Dollnicks have come together with the Vergallians, Grenouthians and Hortens to offer us double their GSP to turn down your deal. Clearly that changes our negotiating position.”

  “What’s a GSP?” Kelly subvoced to Libby.

  “Gross Species Product,” Libby replied. The Grenouthian hopped over to the Dollnick and began whispering urgently, while Aluria leaned in from the other side.

  “Nobody offered anybody two times their GSP,” Crute said after the brief consultation. “The offer was two billion creds, which I understand will make the four of you some of the richest individuals in the former Cayl Empire.”

  “That’s only because of the fifty-percent tax the Cayl have been assessing on our most successful entrepreneurs each year, a thinly disguised employment program for the poor,” Tarngol replied. “Once we’re free from the Cayl, those of us with the talent and the work ethic to get ahead will be able to accumulate as much wealth as we desire.”

  “Putting aside the nonsensical nature of your demands, don’t you think you’re being extraordinarily greedy?” Aluria inquired in a chilling tone. “After all, we are talking about bribes here. If I choose to have a holo-recording of this meeting sent to your respective governments…”

  “All the more reason your offer is insufficient,” the Tzvim countered. “If we have to start spreading the money around back home, it’s hardly worth the bother.”

  “Two billion is appreciably more than the Stryx are offering,” Ortha pointed out.

  All of the diplomats turned again to regard Jeeves, who floated quietly next to Kelly.

  “Is it my turn again already?” the young Stryx asked. “I bid two yellows.”

  “Yellow stars?” the Nangor said hopefully. “With habitable planets?”

  “I think he means poker chips,” Kelly said. The Stryx bobbed in agreement.

  “What’s a yellow worth?” the Nangor asked.

  “Ten millicreds,” Kelly replied, bracing herself for the inevitable explosion.

  “So, this
whole open house had been a conspiracy to do us out of our just rewards,” Geed declared. “First you humiliated me by interfering with my private business transactions, and now you make me an offer that wouldn’t open the pay toilet door on a Wanderer ship. I think I’ve seen enough!” The Tzvim rose from the table, turned her armored back to the gathered diplomats, and began to stalk away. But she seemed to run out of steam just a few steps from the table.

  “Going somewhere?” the Lood inquired cruelly.

  “Looks like somebody just realized she doesn’t have a ride home,” the Grenouthian ambassador piled on.

  “Alright, we’ll take the two billion creds,” the Nangor hissed.

  “I’m afraid that offer has sailed,” Crute said mildly. “Allow me to confer with my colleagues.”

  “Fool!” Tarngol declared, rounding on Timba. “You should have taken the four-armed freak’s offer while it was good.”

  “Who are you calling a four-armed freak?” Timba trumpeted, making four fists. The Lood snickered as Brynt pushed between the feuding emissaries, bringing the brawl to a conclusion before it could begin.

  “You’ve embarrassed me in front of Ambassador McAllister and the Stryx for the last time,” the Cayl thundered. “The four of you are fired, and you can figure out how to get home by yourselves.”

  “You can’t fire us,” Geed retorted. “You’re giving up the empire.”

  “Well, I’m taking it back,” Brynt said, and then burst out in hearty laughter. “This whole open house affair was just a ploy to get me to keep the Cayl Empire together, wasn’t it, Mr. Jeeves?”

  “My elders do seem convinced that your species is the right match for the job,” the Stryx replied. “After all, you’ve been doing it for seven million years, give or take.”

  “That’s it? We don’t have to deal with these emissaries again?” Aluria asked.

  “They aren’t emissaries anymore,” Kelly said. “They’ve been fired.”