by E. M. Foner
“You know, the regular sort,” Marilla replied, sounding slightly confused. “It’s a There Yesterday franchise, one of the Big Three rental agencies operated by Hortens. There Yesterday claims to be the biggest, with over a million ships available for rent around the tunnel network, but that includes all of the leases that businesses take for accounting reasons. There were only a hundred and fifty ships in the Union Station fleet, and there are generally around a dozen available for rental at any given time, though they always run out before the holidays.”
“And anybody can go in and rent, what, a small trader?”
“Single cabin excursion craft, strictly for tunnel network use. None of them are jump capable, but that doesn’t matter because the franchises only operate on Stryx stations and other places with a tunnel connection. Don’t you guys have rental agencies?”
“I’ve never heard of one,” Joe said. “Kevin?”
“There’s supposedly a Sharf outfit in Earth orbit leasing two-man traders, but I’ve heard they demand so much for the down-payment that you’re basically buying the ship up-front,” the chandler said.
“So what do Humans who don’t own their own ships do if they need to go somewhere that doesn’t have scheduled space liner service?” Marilla asked.
“They can barter with a trader to take them if there’s somebody willing,” Kevin explained. “I used to pick up a few loose creds that way, but in the end, it wasn’t worth cleaning up after greenhorns who never traveled in Zero-G, not to mention having to listen to them. For the main part, people only go places that have regular liner service or employer-provided charters.”
“What keeps the renters from stealing the ships?” Paul asked.
“The Stryx controllers,” Marilla said. “They’re programmed to only accept a tunnel network destination that has a There Yesterday franchise.”
“What’s to prevent me from renting one, bringing it in through our bay doors on the core, and scrapping it for parts?” Joe asked. He correctly interpreted the alien girl’s color change and added, “I’m just asking hypothetically because I want to understand the business model.”
“Oh. That’s a relief. The rental agency tracks the location of the controllers at all times so they would know where the ship was taken. And they wouldn’t rent to you to start with since you’re not Horten.”
“That doesn’t sound fair,” Dorothy protested. “I thought the Stryx had rules about public resources.”
“Rental ships aren’t public resources,” Marilla explained. “They’re more like an extension of the species-specific residential decks. Think about it. What if the agency rented a ship to a Fillinduck trio and one of them was molting? Or to a species who couldn’t manage the Zero-G bathroom?”
“Gross,” Dorothy said, remembering her own experiences on Kevin’s small trade ship.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Joe asked Paul.
“We do have a hundred smaller ships without jump drives that nobody will ever buy. But we could only rent them for round trips, and we’d have to take a big security deposit like the Sharf for in case we don’t get them back.”
“You’re thinking too small,” Dorothy said. “As soon as you launch the business, somebody with deeper pockets will see the potential and out-compete you. Probably Blythe and Chastity with InstaRentals,” she added, naming Donna’s entrepreneurial daughters.
“I’m not ambitious enough to run a business empire,” Paul admitted. “I just want to provide a service and get some use out of the ships that we restore.”
“You should talk to Daniel,” Joe said. “He’s the one who put CoSHC together so he knows everybody who’s anybody in the human business community. Maybe we could find partners who are willing to buy or lease ships with controllers restricting them to the open worlds on the tunnel network. Kelly has mentioned that our businessmen complain about having to wait for alien space liners that never seem to be direct flights and charge for using the bathroom.”
Four
“Caffeine,” Kelly groaned, frantically opening and shutting cabinets in the embassy’s kitchen. “Where could Donna have hidden the teabags?”
“Try the wooden box next to the coffee maker,” the station librarian suggested over the ambassador’s implant.
“Thank you, Libby. And thank you, Earl Grey.” She ripped the protective foil off of a bag, dropped it in her favorite mug, and hit the red button on the faucet for instant hot water. “I wonder if there really was an Earl Grey or if it’s just clever marketing.”
“Charles Grey, the second Earl Grey, was a British prime minister and the author of the First Reform Act.”
“Oh, that sounds familiar now. Maybe Trollope wrote something about it in the Palliser novels. You wouldn’t know if there are any—”
“In the refrigerator,” Libby interrupted. “Your steering committee meeting starts in two minutes.”
Kelly quickly located the cellophane-wrapped plate of leftover donuts and thanked her lucky star that Daniel hadn’t come into the embassy on Friday. She took her spoils back into the conference room where a large hologram of the president’s office with the superimposed message ‘Be back shortly’ was already visible over the jigsaw-puzzle table. The ambassador took a seat in a human-sized chair, and one bite of cold donut and sip of hot tea later, the hologram came to life.
“Welcome one and all,” President Beyer greeted the ambassadors who comprised the steering committee for EarthCent Intelligence. “I’m pleased to announce that this is our last scheduled meeting before the change to Universal Human Time, so those of you who woke up early or stayed up late will please keep that in mind and not resort to the usual grumbling. And let’s all give a big welcome back to Raj Tamil who has just returned from sabbatical.”
“I can’t tell you all how disappointed I am to be back,” Ambassador Tamil said after their polite round of applause died out. “I loved sabbatical. I wish I could get a job doing it.”
“That would be retirement, Raj,” the president told him. “You’ve got another nineteen years in the harness, assuming we don’t raise the age again.”
“How about you, Stephen?” Belinda asked the president bluntly. “I attended a party at the Frunge embassy this week, and one of their businessmen with interests on Earth approached me and demanded to know if it’s true that you’re quitting.”
“That’s the first I’m hearing of it. If I was planning on leaving, I’m sure that Hildy would have informed me by now.”
“Spoken like a true man,” Ambassador Oshi said. “As long as we’re on the subject of retirement, what can you tell us about Stryx Gryph’s plans to sell Union Station, Ambassador McAllister?”
“Arurraba,” Kelly mumbled with her mouth full of donut. She swallowed quickly and washed it down with a mouthful of too-hot tea. “Sorry. I’m sugar and caffeine loading to wake myself up.”
“What time is it there?” Svetlana Zerakova inquired, either forgetting or ignoring the president’s plea for the ambassadors not to go off on their usual tangents about the scheduling of meetings. “I’m at eleven in the evening.”
“Five twenty-seven in the morning,” Kelly replied after checking her implant.
“How can that be?” Raj asked. “It’s two past the hour on Echo Station and we’re all supposed to be in sync.”
“Two past on Middle Station as well,” Ambassador Oshi contributed.
“It’s exactly noon here, but my grandfather clock runs a bit slow,” the president said, getting caught up in the exercise. “Check your implant, Kelly.”
“That is my implant time,” she said. “Our station librarian agreed to start creeping our clocks forward so we don’t have to jump seven hours all in one go.”
“So how did you know when to show up for this meeting?” Raj inquired.
“I asked her for a reminder.”
“That’s brilliant,” Ambassador Fu said. “The time difference from Earth to Void Station isn’t as large as yours, but I
’ll ask our station librarian about the feasibility of doing the same thing here.”
“I’m more interested in hearing the ambassador’s opinion about the pending sale of Union Station,” the president interjected.
“Oh, sorry I brought up the whole time issue,” Kelly apologized. “I checked with our station librarian and the business about Gryph selling Union Station is just a silly rumor. If anything, he would evict all of the sentients onboard and remain here alone. The Verlock ambassador once explained to me that his people believe the first generation Stryx exist simultaneously in multiple universes and that their stations are the connection points for a multiverse network.”
“I can’t imagine that the Stryx are slaves to their own stations,” Ambassador White said slowly. “If Gryph wanted to leave and transfer his consciousness into a science ship, I’m sure he could manage it.”
“The Stryx outgrow science ships after a few million years,” Ambassador Fu contributed. “The sheer volume of their knowledge requires ever-increasing infrastructure to contain it.”
“Unless they take advantage of the multiverse and spread their minds across more and more dimensions,” the Echo Station ambassador chimed in.
“What does that even mean, Raj?” the president asked. “We’re all just speculating here. Kelly tells us that Union Station’s librarian says it’s a rumor and that’s good enough for me.”
“It’s not that simple, Stephen,” Ambassador Zerakova objected. “Some of the aliens are taking the rumor seriously, and since we’re more dependent on Stryx patronage than any other species, it’s affecting our status. I was at an event the other day with the Dollnick ambassador, who’s also a member of the Princely Council of Advisers. He asked me whether the council should bother sending an observer to the Conference of Sovereign Human Communities convention, or if it would be cancelled at the last minute.”
“Because they’re worried that Gryph is selling Union Station,” the president surmised. “Alright. I see where that could be a problem, but it’s unclear to me what we can do about it.”
“I could bring it up at my pre-conference meeting with the alien ambassadors,” Kelly offered. “Daniel asked me to invite them all in so we could try to convince them to attend the trade show, and maybe we could prepare a joint statement denouncing the rumor.”
“I can see that backfiring in a spectacular manner,” Carlos opined.
“Perhaps, but I think it’s worth a try,” the president said. “I’d like for us to talk a little about the goals of the CoSHC convention, but first, I suspect you’d all like to hear about the results from our recently offered civil service exam.”
“That’s right,” Svetlana said. “My twins both took the test.”
“They’re interested in joining EarthCent?” Kelly asked.
“Not really. I had to bribe them.”
“They did quite well,” the president said, looking down at a report on his desk. “Their names showed up in the shortlist for possible cheaters due to the quality and similarity of their answers, but our human resources department concluded that their results were within the statistical range for identical twins.”
“How many people took the test?” Raj asked.
“Well, the turnout was a bit disappointing, but Hildy tells me that we made a mistake by not spending anything on promotions. Apparently, our brand value as a potential employer is a bit weak.”
“How weak?”
“A little over two thousand individuals sat the exam at all test locations and just over one thousand actually completed it,” the president recited, without having to look down again. “The test identified sixty potential candidates for the diplomatic service, of which,” a pained look fled across his features, “fifteen were human, including both of Svetlana’s daughters.”
“You’re saying that two-thirds of the candidates who passed the test are aliens?” Belinda demanded.
“Three-quarters,” Stephen corrected her. “Fifteen goes into sixty four times, which reminds me that we need to consider deemphasizing math on future exams.”
“Why would aliens even take the test? They must all be spies!”
“The last question on the exam asked exactly that. To paraphrase the forty-five aliens who took the test, they were curious.”
“Wait, I thought you said that forty-five aliens passed the test,” Belinda said. “Oh, you don’t mean…”
“I’m afraid so. The pass rate for aliens was one-hundred percent, while the pass rate for humans who completed the exam was less than two percent. And,” the president continued, turning to Ambassador McAllister in the hologram, “the only perfect score was achieved by the daughter of the Vergallian ambassador on Union Station. Do you know her, Kelly?”
“Uh, the thing is…” the ambassador fortified herself with another swallow of tea.
“Yes?”
“The thing is, I signed the embassy up for the Open University co-op program.”
“To get your son a paying job and some experience in diplomacy at the same time,” Svetlana correctly guessed. “I wanted to do that with my girls but they said I’ve already bossed them around enough for two lifetimes. How does he like working in an embassy?”
“He hasn’t started yet,” Kelly said. “The Open University has an orientation meeting for co-op students today, and then I think he’s going right over.”
“Don’t be too easy on him because he’s your son,” Ambassador Fu advised. “Spare the rod, spoil the diplomat.”
“He won’t be working for me,” Kelly confessed. “I was going to bring it up later in the meeting but you caught me off guard. The thing is, the Open University assigned us Aabina, and Samuel is doing his co-op at the Vergallian embassy.”
“Could you repeat that?” the president requested.
“There isn’t an interview process with the Open University co-op program, they just assign the students to available jobs according to their judgment of the best fit. My husband has a Horten girl starting next week in Mac’s Bones, and Clive and Blythe’s daughter Vivian is going to be working for Drazen Intelligence.”
“Let me make sure I have this straight because I know it’s early in the morning for you,” the president said, again breaking his own rule about referring to the time. “The daughter of the Vergallian ambassador is going to be working in your embassy—”
“Like you said, she aced our civil service exam,” Kelly interrupted.
“—while your son will be working in the Vergallian embassy,” the president continued, as if Kelly hadn’t spoken. “The daughter of the director and the chief funder of EarthCent Intelligence is going to work for Drazen Intelligence—”
“With whom we have an excellent working relationship,” the Union Station ambassador interjected.
“—and a Horten girl is going to be working for your husband in the same hold where he rents space to EarthCent Intelligence for the training camp.”
“Marilla is a friend of Samuel’s from the Open University,” Kelly explained. “Her younger sister was on ‘Let’s Make Friends’ so the family are practically humanphiles. She’s very colorful.”
“Hortens are all very colorful,” Belinda pointed out. “I still get mixed up on the ‘philes’ suffix. Does that mean they like us or hate us?”
“Marilla definitely likes us. My daughter set her up with her boyfriend, the Horten ambassador’s son.”
President Beyer groaned and theatrically banged his head on his desk, apparently harder than he intended because he came up rubbing his forehead. “How do you intend to keep track of which side you’re on in this soap opera you’re living, Ambassador McAllister? You should talk to the Grenouthians about doing a reality program. They could call it ‘Let’s Make Friends for Adults.’”
“Sounds too much like a hook-up show,” Svetlana objected.
“I saw that the Grenouthians are promoting documentary package tours to Earth,” Ambassador Oshi said. “Does anybody know if they’re for real?�
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“That’s right,” Kelly confirmed, jumping on the opportunity to change the subject. “I saw an advertisement on a corridor display panel. I wonder if they’re getting any aliens to sign up.”
The president cleared his throat and said, “As it happens, the Grenouthian entertainment group sponsoring the tours sent my office a pair of tickets to the premier as a token of appreciation for my efforts in cutting through the red tape and granting them the required permits.”
“What red tape? What permits?”
“The Grenouthians persist in believing that doing business on an alien world requires greasing palms. We’ve found that it’s easier to humor them and accept their little bribes than to explain that no special permits are necessary. Hildy bought me a stack of impressive-looking ‘Most Improved Student’ certificates that I sign and hand out if they insist on getting something in writing.”
“I’m planning on taking the family on a vacation to Earth just to let my kids see the place, and the price I saw advertised for the documentary package tour is cheaper than what I came up with for renting hotel rooms on my own,” Ambassador Oshi said. “I was thinking of signing up and just skipping the tour part, but I’d be curious to hear how it went.”
“I suppose it was the best vacation I’ve been on,” the president said grudgingly. “We visited a number of locations featured in Grenouthian documentaries about humanity’s slow advance towards modernity.”
“They took you around to famous universities, and breakthrough infrastructure projects like dams and bridges?”
“The tour started in London on a street where a cholera outbreak was halted by a doctor who convinced authorities to remove the handle from the pump of a contaminated well. We also visited a number of locations where child labor was once endemic, and a museum dedicated to sanitary plumbing. Do I need to continue?”
“So how was it the best vacation you ever took?”
“The food and lodgings were all fantastic, and the young bunny who led the group had the logistics down to a science. We’d no sooner step out of a museum and the bus would be waiting to take us to the next stop, and there were always umbrellas available when it rained. I also got the chance to speak with a number of alien tourists who I suppose were humanphiles of a sort. It seems that we’re amassing a cult following among aliens who watch Grenouthian documentaries. The only uncomfortable moment of the whole tour came when I used the bathroom at a restaurant. A Frunge was waiting by the sink when I came out, and he asked if he could capture an image of me washing my hands to prove to his friends back home that we actually understand basic hygiene.”