Last Night on Union Station (EarthCent Ambassador Book 16)

by E. M. Foner

  “Are you serious?” Marilla asked, but then her face fell and her skin flashed bright red. “I can’t.”

  “Why not?” Aabina asked her. “I’m a crown princess and I’m going to work for Humans.”

  “It’s different for me,” the Horten girl muttered, and then she blurted out, “What would Mornich’s family think?”

  “I don’t know,” Samuel said. “Why don’t you ask them?”

  “It’s not that simple,” Marilla insisted. “Mornich’s father is our ambassador.”

  “What if the Open University assigned you there?” Vivian suggested. “It’s not too late to sign up for the cooperative education program and Sam can get his dad to file the paperwork.”

  “But what if instead of sending Marilla the school assigns some alien who looks down on us?” Samuel asked.

  “You know that Libby is the one who actually runs the Open University. She’s not going to send your dad and Paul a bad match.”

  “Then why is my co-op job at the Vergallian embassy instead of EarthCent?”

  “Let’s see,” Vivian said, holding up her left hand and starting to tick off fingers. “You speak fluent Vergallian. You started at the Open University with a dual major in Vergallian Studies. You would have won the Junior Vergallian Regional Ballroom Championship if you had a better partner—”

  “That’s not true,” Samuel interrupted her. “You danced better than I did.”

  “Baloney.”

  “Vivian has a point,” Aabina said. “I was probably assigned to your embassy because I speak fluent English and I got a perfect score on the new tests for EarthCent’s diplomatic service.”

  “You took the EarthCent civil service exam?” Samuel asked. “Why?”

  “Curiosity.”

  “I’m going to miss you guys,” Grude said, getting up from the table. “I just wanted to check in before you left, but I’m going to grab lunch now. Good luck with the co-op thing, Marilla.”

  “I guess it’s worth a try,” the Horten girl allowed.

  Three

  Dorothy quietly placed the bassinet with her baby on the counter of her husband’s chandlery shop, which was located just a stone’s throw from the converted cargo container where they lived. Then she asked in her best piratical accent, “How much will you pay me for the little girl?”

  “Already have one at home,” Kevin replied, without looking up from his work. “I wish your dad and Paul could find somebody else for these assembly jobs. I’m happy to help when I have the free time, but these tiny screws are driving me nuts.”

  “You have to remember that they go in at an angle and turn the opposite way.”

  “It’s not righty-tighty, lefty-loosey?”

  “Nope. The Verlocks have the contract to manufacture Stryx controller interfaces for tunnel network members and they do everything backward.”

  “And on an angle.” Her husband set aside the alien screwdriver with the L-shaped tip. “It’s a good thing that the screws are softer than the parts they hold together or I would have wrecked it already.”

  “Your days of trying to assemble alien hardware without reading the instructions may be nearing an end,” Dorothy informed him. “Dad asked me to fill out the Open University forms to get a co-op student for Mac’s Bones.”

  “That would be great. If you’re planning on procrastinating, tell me now and I’ll do it for you.”

  “It so happens that I started the process on my tab while I was feeding the baby and I’m going to finish it right now.” She fumbled around in the diaper bag hanging from the end of the bassinet and produced the tab that she had never returned to the Open University after her own student days.

  “The sooner your dad and Paul hire somebody, the more time I’ll have to help you with the SBJ Fashions booth,” Kevin encouraged her.

  “How are you going to help with that?” his wife asked, activating the tab and paging to the top of the co-op employer’s form. “You think that fashion is wearing clean socks.”

  “It’s a trade show, and I’d like to think I know something about trading. Besides, I can carry stuff.”

  “That is why I married you.” Dorothy paused with a finger poised over her tab. “Do you know if my dad is incorporated or any of that?”

  “I’ve never heard him mention it.”

  “And how many employees does he have?”

  “What do you mean? It’s just your dad. Paul owns all those ships that Aisha bought, but your father and he aren’t even officially partners as far as I know.”

  “I’m not putting zero, it makes Mac’s Bones sound pathetic.”

  “We’re talking about the Open University, right? Run by the Stryx? They’ll know if you’re lying.”

  “I’m not going to lie. You’re in the middle of putting together a ship’s controller for my dad, and I’m filling out business forms for him, so that’s two employees already.”

  “If you’re going to count that way, Sam still helps out on weekends.”

  “So that’s three, and Vivian hangs around with him so much that we may as well call it four,” the girl continued, pushing the slider higher. “And I’m counting Paul, it would be stupid not to.”

  “If you’re going to count Paul, then you can add his daughter. Fenna may only be ten, but she knows her Sharf socket colors backwards and forwards from assisting him.”

  “And Beowulf,” Dorothy said, raising the total to seven. “He does all of their coolant system troubleshooting with his nose, plus he’s in charge of security.”

  “Does Joe pay him?” Kevin asked.

  “Food, lodging, and affection. Cayl hounds don’t care about money.”

  From the other side of the counter, a loud thumping was heard as Beowulf’s son, Alexander, began whacking his tail on the deck. Kevin and his wife exchanged a significant look, and then the girl pushed the slider up another notch.

  “Who else can we add?” Dorothy asked.

  “Who else is left?”

  “Well, Aisha prepares food for the employee picnics, and my mom makes the coffee. Dring is away right now, but I’ve seen him do some fancy welding when my dad needed help. Hey, that’s it!”

  “What’s it?”

  “We’re up to eleven employees.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Sure. That’s double digits. Now let’s see. Type of business?”

  “Ship repair and campground rental.”

  “It’s not a choice,” Dorothy said, scrolling through the list of options. “I’m going with used spaceship dealership.”

  “Close enough.”

  “It popped up a submenu. How many ships do they have?”

  “In here for work right now or all together?”

  “It doesn’t say.”

  “Well, if you included all of the ships that Aisha bought Paul at the auction, it’s in the hundreds, but some of them are just derelicts.”

  “I’ll put nine hundred and two,” Dorothy said. “It sounds like we actually counted, and anybody who was going to cheat would have added a little more and put a thousand.”

  “If you say so.”

  “What qualifications are we looking for in a co-op student?”

  “Manual dexterity and the ability to read alien instructions,” Kevin suggested.

  “Is there a lifting requirement?”

  “You mean weight? I don’t think so. Whenever your dad sees me and Paul struggling to pick something up together, he tells us to work smarter, not harder. There’s plenty of equipment in Mac’s Bones for moving heavy stuff.”

  “Work hours?”

  “I don’t know. Negotiable? Your dad starts early, but he takes off afternoons when he’s brewing a new batch of beer, and Paul is as likely to be helping Jeeves with the latest Libbyland project as to be working on ships.”

  Dorothy advanced to the next page, and then moved back one before repeating the sequence to be sure. “I can’t believe it,” she said. “That was the whole thing.”
/>   “So you’re done?”

  “I just have to certify under the penalties of perjury that I’m Joe McAllister and that all of the information I’ve entered is accurate,” she said, scrawling her father’s signature with her forefinger. “All done.”

  “You signed it for him?”

  “Sure. This way, if the co-op student complains that the numbers were exaggerated, my dad can say that he never signed the form.”

  “But he just did.”

  “No, I just did. Aren’t you paying attention?”

  “I’m not sure about your legal grounds here,” Kevin said slowly.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Dorothy told him. “I’ve lived on the station my whole life and ignorance of the law is always the best excuse, especially for humans.”

  Alexander let out a deep growl. Kevin looked towards the entrance to Mac’s Bones and announced, “Baa alert.”

  “Oh, good. I invited her to consult about the booth.”

  “You’re going to include her enchanted LARPing fashions at the trade show?”

  “They’re our fastest growing product line and people like the novelty,” Dorothy explained. “Can you get Alexander to come around the back? She’s allergic to Cayl hounds.”

  “I thought they were hypoallergenic,” her husband said, moving around the front of the counter to corral the dog.

  “Don’t take him away on my account,” Baa called when she saw what Kevin was doing. “The beetle quack was right for a change. My reaction to Cayl hounds was psychosomatic.”

  “I don’t mind bringing him behind the counter. He’s gotten a bit nippy with aliens since we had the baby.”

  “They’re possessive about their packs. Do whatever makes you comfortable. I don’t nip that easily.”

  “You don’t trust very easily either,” Dorothy said, seeing that the Terragram mage’s eyes were on the bassinet. “Go ahead and count if it will make you feel better, but I promise you, I would be the first to notice.”

  Baa folded up the bottom of the blanket to reveal the baby’s feet, and working by touch, gently counted Margie’s toes. “Ten,” she confirmed. “It’s still her.”

  “Were you expecting somebody else?” Kevin inquired.

  “She’s too cute for her own good,” the mage explained. “You really should have her wear the ugly baby mask that Affie gave you at the shower.”

  “It’s what she gives everybody at baby showers,” Dorothy said. “The upper caste Vergallians worry that their babies are so beautiful they’ll be stolen by the gods or something like that.”

  “An ignorant superstition,” Baa scoffed. “I would never steal a baby. The real threat is one of the fay replacing Margie with a changeling.”

  “Fairies? Don’t you think that you’re beginning to take the fantasy role-playing a little too seriously? I mean, I know that it’s different for you because you can actually do magic stuff, but still, the fay only exist in LARPs.”

  “Art imitates life. Of course fairies exist, and while I haven’t actually seen one on Union Station, you can never be too careful. They’re very good at glamour, you know.”

  “They’re beautiful?” Kevin asked.

  “Magical glamour, appearing as something they aren’t. I would see right through it, but the two of you would be easily taken in.”

  “Libby would warn me if fairies were coming after my baby,” Dorothy said confidently. “She’s Margie’s godmother, after all.”

  “That was a clever move on your part,” Baa admitted half-grudgingly. She folded the blanket back down over the sleeping baby’s feet. “So, Jeeves tells me you’re doing a Baa’s Bags booth for the CoSHC convention.”

  “The booth is for the trade show that goes along with the convention, and it’s about all of the SBJ Fashions lines, not just your enchanted bags-of-holding for role players. And we’re not going there to sell anything.”

  “Congratulations. Despite my higher intellect, you’ve managed to confuse me. Why are we participating in a trade show if not to sell merchandise?”

  “Human manufacturing reps from all of the open worlds will be there. We’re looking for new suppliers.”

  “I thought Jeeves took care of all of that with his little robot friends.”

  “The Chintoo orbital is inhabited by artificial people from more than a dozen species—they’re artificial intelligences, not dumb robots. And I thought you were the one who wanted to expand into enchanting weapons.”

  “You’ve changed your minds about that?” Baa asked, her eyes lighting up from within.

  “Jeeves thought that the trade show would be a good opportunity to find a source for noodle weapons. There are human communities living on the open worlds belonging to half of the advanced species now, and many of them manufacture alien technology under licensing agreements.”

  “Thanks for getting my hopes up and then dashing them,” the Terragram grumbled. “I thought you meant real weapons.”

  “You know the professional LARPing league doesn’t allow real weapons.” Dorothy gave the mage a narrow look. “You don’t bring real weapons into the game, do you?”

  “I am a real weapon,” Baa said indignantly. “Besides, I’m far too experienced to hurt anybody by mistake.”

  “So what sorts of enchanted items are you going to display in the booth?” Kevin prompted, hoping to move the discussion back on topic before the Terragram mage felt obligated to give a demonstration.

  “That’s the thing,” Dorothy said. “I never really paid much attention to weapons, but we’re going to need some, just to be able to explain to the trade show attendees what we’re looking for. And maybe we’ll put on some demonstrations to draw attention. It seems like forever since I put together a fashion show.”

  “You are aware that the enchantments I’ve been doing for SBJ Fashions only work in the LARPing studios,” Baa reminded her. “Even our top of the line five-feather bags-of-holding don’t provide weight reduction or more space on the inside than the outside if you aren’t in the game space.”

  “I forgot about that,” Dorothy admitted. “Couldn’t you enchant a few items so they would work outside of a LARP?”

  “Uh, Dorothy?” Kevin cautioned his wife, but it was already too late.

  “Done,” the Terragram declared. “I’ll start with some noodle weapons.”

  “I’m not sure that—” the ambassador’s daughter began, but the feathered mage was already halfway to the exit. “What did I do?” Dorothy asked her husband plaintively. “One second she was counting baby toes, the next she was pulling that verbal contract trick on me.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it,” Kevin said. “Jeeves has his money on the line here, and even a young Stryx is more than a match for a Terragram mage.”

  Suddenly Alexander sniffed the air and his ears perked up, but he looked puzzled, as if he recognized a scent but couldn’t quite place it. Kevin let the Cayl hound resume his guard position on the other side of the counter below the baby’s bassinet, and a half a minute later, an attractive Horten girl approached the chandlery.

  “Marilla,” Dorothy greeted the girl. “I haven’t seen you since our last fashion show. Sam isn’t home right now, but I’ll tell him you stopped by.”

  “I’m not here to see Samuel,” Marilla said. The yellow shade of her skin betrayed her nervous state.

  “Have you decided that you’re interested in fashion? We don’t have a Horten on the design team yet so I could give you a tryout, but I thought Samuel said you were into space engineering.”

  “I am. I’m here about the co-op job.”

  “The one I submitted ten minutes ago?”

  “That’s when the school admin pinged and instructed me to report immediately for a tryout. The message said something about a Stryx controller interface that requires assembly?”

  “Oops, I’ve got that right here,” Kevin said, and moved the box with the partially assembled controller to the counter. “Do you read Verlock?”


  “A little,” Marilla replied. “I won’t need the instructions for this, though.” She went to work without another word, setting aside the screws with bunged-up threads, and then dry-fitting all of the parts like a puzzle. Then she found some undamaged screws, took up the Verlock screwdriver, and assembled the controller. Dorothy and Kevin were so intent on the alien’s rapid finger-work that they didn’t notice the two men arriving at the chandlery.

  “I just got a ping from Libby that our new co-op student is here,” Joe said. “You must be my son’s friend from the Open University.”

  “Greetings, sir,” the Horten girl said, dropping a formal curtsey. “This young one is honored to be under your tutelage.”

  “Glad to have you. I didn’t realize the school would be sending somebody right over so we haven’t had the chance to figure out exactly where we’ll be using you.”

  “That’s fine, sir,” Marilla said. “I didn’t expect to be starting so soon myself, but the ping said there was a controller that required assembly.”

  “You have experience with the Verlock manufactured interfaces for Stryx controllers?” Paul asked. “We just got a kit on evaluation but the screws were too small for my fingers.”

  “And I could barely see them,” Joe added. “We gave it to Kevin here because he has young eyes.”

  “This controller interface?” Marilla asked, holding up the device she had just finished putting together. “I was about to peel the protective tab off the power pack and run the self-test.”

  “That’s pretty impressive for somebody without any experience,” Joe said. “Sam told me that you wanted to get your hands dirty with some repairs before taking a desk job in the design department of a Horten shipyard.”

  “These controllers are the only bit of space engineering that I do have experience with, and that’s limited to putting together the kits. A friend of my father’s owns a rental franchise and I used to work there cleaning returns during Open University vacations. When the owner upgraded all of the controllers in the local fleet, he picked me to put together the interface kits because I have small fingers.”

  “Ship rentals?” Paul asked. “What kind?”