by E. M. Foner
“Libbyland is adding a game for young sentients to develop their career goals, though to tell you the truth, it sounds too educational to be fun,” Joe explained. “Paul and Jeeves have worked together on several Libbyland attractions, but you’d have to ask them yourself if you want to know who comes up with what. Even the Stryx can’t think of everything.”
“Do you really mean that or is it just a Human saying?”
“The Stryx don’t have a reason to think of everything,” Joe told her. “When you know the best way to get to the best answer, there’s not a lot of point in exploring alternative paths to reach solutions that can’t work as well.”
“I’ve never heard it put that way before,” the Horten girl said slowly. “I’ll have to think about it.”
“I see Thomas, Chance, and Judith have arrived, and we should tell them about the Dollnick so they don’t mistake him for a spy.”
“Maybe he is a spy.”
“You see? I didn’t even think of that, and I’ve been in the business.”
“Do they all work in Mac’s Bones? The information sheet from the co-op office showed that you have eleven employees.”
“Eleven?” Joe asked in astonishment. “There’s just me and Paul. Samuel and Kevin help out when they can, but for Dorothy to get to eleven she must have counted everybody who lives here, including Dring. She’s the one who filled out the forms.”
“Fewer is better,” Marilla said. “I’m actually kind of shy around aliens because of the whole color thing. If Thomas, Chance, and Judith don’t work here…”
“They do work here, but not on ship repair,” Joe told her. “Thomas and Chance, she’s the taller woman, run the EarthCent Intelligence training camp. Judith is on maternity leave, but she took over unarmed combat training from me when I retired. I’m not sure what she’s doing here today.”
“I remember all three of them from Dorothy’s fashion show. Thomas and Chance move very gracefully for Humans,” the Horten said, and then turned a molted yellow when she realized the implication of her words. “I mean—”
“Don’t worry about it, we have thick skins. And you should know that Thomas and Chance are artificial people.”
“They’re artificial intelligence? And they work for EarthCent?”
“Human-derived artificial intelligence. It’s not like EarthCent Intelligence would hire outside our species, unless they passed the civil service exam, I guess,” Joe corrected himself. “I’m not a big fan of politics so I don’t worry about it.”
“Morning, Joe, Marilla,” Thomas greeted them.
“Nice coveralls,” Chance said to the Horten girl. “Do they come in black?”
“Just the safety colors,” Marilla replied. “Green and violet.”
“That’s a nice picture of you on the badge,” Judith said.
“It’s kind of embarrassing, but we have to carry them with us to get paid.”
“There’s a Dollnick wandering around the hold taking measurements for in case Gryph sells Union Station,” Joe told the training staff. “Beowulf is keeping an eye on him. What’s scheduled for the camp?”
“We’re setting up this morning for a kidnap avoidance course,” Chance replied. “The Galactic Free Press has been saving up new employees for a while so it’s going to be a big class.”
“Thomas offered to teach me holographic programming,” Judith said.
“Where’s your baby?”
“Bob is watching him this morning. The paper put him on half-days after I gave birth. It’s a pretty sweet benefits package.”
“Hi, Grandpa Joe,” Fenna announced her presence. “Mikey and I are going to water Dring’s garden.”
“Do you want to bring Marilla along and show her?” Joe asked. He turned to the Horten girl and added, “The Maker is away, but you’re going to be working here so you should be familiar with his area.”
“Come on,” Mike said, grabbing Marilla’s hand and pulling her along. “You can attach the hose. Fenna is afraid of it and I always get wet.”
The Horten girl allowed herself to be led through the short tunnel in the barrier mound of old metal scrap that isolated Dring’s corner of the hold from the rest of Mac’s Bones. The area inside was a veritable sculpture garden, filled with the fruits of the Maker’s artistic labors from the past two decades. A large bare spot on the deck bore witness to the absence of the gravity surfer, a metamorphic vessel filled with living matter that was all more or less associated with Dring.
“Why do you remove the hose after watering?” Marilla asked, looking down at the coiled rubber tubing right below the faucet. “The valve stops the water from coming out.”
“Does it?” Mike asked. “I always thought you have to unscrew the hose first or it will explode.”
“Mikey’s imagination has gotten too good since he was on my Mom’s show,” Fenna explained to the Horten girl.
“My little sister Orsilla was in the same cast,” Marilla reminded her. “She misses telling stories about witches.”
Mike got the hose screwed on and found the other end, but Fenna stopped him from turning on the water.
“My mom wants us to harvest some of the carrots and celery first,” she told him, and then explained to Marilla, “The vegetables just go bad if you let them grow too long. We keep planting new seeds so Dring will have fresh food when he gets back.”
“Won’t the soil be tired?” the Horten girl asked.
“We have the compost from three houses to mix in,” Fenna explained. “And Grandpa Joe adds the leftover stuff from brewing beer. I can show you how to pick carrots if you want,” she added shyly.
Mike remained behind to guard the hose, just in case, and a minute later, the ten-year-old girl and the Horten co-op student heard the water start spraying, followed by loud whistling.
“Turn it off, Mikey,” Fenna shouted. “You’re getting the Dollnick all wet.”
“He’s sneaking around,” the boy objected.
“Mr. McAllister gave him permission,” Marilla told the boy. “Look, Beowulf is with him.”
Mike turned off the water, but he continued scowling at the towering Dollnick, who seemed to be quite amused by the whole situation. The Cayl hound had a different point of view. Stalking over to stand next to the boy, he shook himself vigorously, showering Daniel and Shaina’s son with water.
Seven
“Who’s that?” Kelly asked the Drazen ambassador, inclining her head towards a tall figure wearing an environmental suit.
“The Fillinduck ambassador,” Bork replied, as he edged around his host towards the buffet. “Just let me grab something to eat and I’ll fill you in.”
The Grenouthian ambassador darted forward to block the Drazen’s access to the fruit salad, but both of them were beaten to the punch by the Chert, who had snuck up to the buffet before turning off his invisibility projector.
“Animals,” the Frunge ambassador remarked, shaking his finger at Crute, who used his upper set of arms to clear a space while loading a plate with the lower set.
“Not hungry today, Czeros?” Kelly inquired.
“I just came from a wedding and it would have been rude not to eat anything.” He popped the cork from the bottle of wine that Donna had thoughtfully set out at his place and poured himself a glass. “Will you be joining me, Ambassador?”
“Never before lunch,” she replied, though given her expectations for the first part of the meeting, Kelly felt tempted. It was clear from the deep green shade of the Frunge ambassador’s hair vines that he’d gotten an early start on drinking at the wedding. “I hope Srythlan gets here on time. I’m counting on him to keep the others on an even keel.”
“I passed him right after I came out of the lift tube so he should be arriving in a few minutes,” Czeros said. “If the Verlocks walked any slower they’d need bots to carry them around.”
The Horten ambassador, who had been first to reach the buffet, deposited two loaded plates at his place. Then he surprised
Kelly by catching her eye and indicating the embassy’s reception area with his chin. The EarthCent ambassador discretely pointed a finger at her own chest to make sure that Ortha was signaling to her, and when he nodded in the affirmative, she made her excuses to Czeros and worked her way around the table to follow the Horten.
“Can you spare a moment?” Ortha asked, surprising Kelly again with his polite manner.
“Certainly, Ambassador. What is it?”
“This is a bit awkward for me, but I presume you know that my son has permission to begin courting the young woman who is now employed by your husband.”
“Marilla. Yes, Dorothy told me all about it.”
“Please give this to Joe,” Ortha said, thrusting something in Kelly’s hand.
“A programmable cred?”
“To reimburse him for whatever the Open University charges for co-op students these days. Some of the elders in my family may be uncomfortable with the idea of accepting a girl who works for aliens, but this way I can show that her position was officially funded by my embassy.”
“And that would make it kosher?”
Ortha gave Kelly a funny look. “What do the dietary restrictions of a Human religious sect have to do with anything?”
“It’s another way of saying ‘legitimate’ or ‘admissible.’”
“Strange language,” the Horten ambassador remarked. “Don’t tell Marilla, but I’ve signed her up for the Peace Force. If my elders make problems, I’ll use the Stryx statements for my embassy’s programmable cred to prove that she was doing outreach work to a primitive species.”
“I’m sure Joe will be thrilled to—” the EarthCent ambassador began before she realized that Ortha had already started back for his seat. Kelly grimaced, but the Horten ambassador had calculated correctly on her unwillingness to stand in the way of romance, and she resisted the urge to return the coin.
“Ambassador,” a familiar voice called, and she turned to see Aainda coming out of Daniel’s office. “I haven’t had a chance to thank you for hiring my daughter. She and your Associate Ambassador are working up quite the presentation.”
“Daniel has been monopolizing Aabina’s time so I’ve hardly had a chance to say two words to her,” Kelly said. “I hope it won’t be awkward for you when they join our meeting.”
“Not at all. I would have brought your son along but the other ambassadors might have taken it the wrong way.”
“I still haven’t gotten over how the Open University swapped children on us. I assume it’s one of Libby’s schemes.”
“I think their co-op assignments fit them perfectly. Aabina has been studying up on Humans since we arrived on Union Station, and I’m pleased she’s getting a chance to practice her new language skills.”
“Do you mean she speaks English? I assumed I was hearing her through my translation implant.”
“English and Chinese. She’s fluent in both.”
“Ambassadors,” a low voice grated out behind the two women. The Verlock didn’t pause as he passed, making his way directly to the ravaged buffet. Kelly noticed Srythlan’s head slowly turning back and forth as if he was searching for something, and she went to investigate.
“Is something wrong, Ambassador?” she asked the leathery alien.
“It seems that somebody got to the salt cod before me,” Srythlan replied sadly, gazing at the empty wooden box. “Did you expand the guest list for this meeting?”
“No, but the Fillinduck came for the first time. I have no idea what he eats.”
“Salt cod, apparently.”
“I’m sure there’s another box in the kitchen,” Kelly said. “You go and sit and I’ll bring it to you.” She waved off Srythlan’s objection that he was fine and slipped into the attached kitchen where she quickly located a new box of the dried and salted fish. The EarthCent ambassador reached the Verlock’s place at the conference table before he did.
“Sit,” Bork called to her, gesturing to the open chair between the Frunge ambassador and himself. “I know you’ve already had breakfast but I made you a plate of crackers and cheese. If you don’t want it, I’ll eat the crackers and Czeros can eat the cheese.
“I think I’ll just get started because we have a lot to discuss,” Kelly said and re-pitched her voice for public speaking. “I want to thank you all for—”
“Get to the point,” an unfamiliar voice cut her off. She looked over and saw the Fillinduck ambassador resealing his face mask. From the action of his jaws, it was apparent that he’d taken advantage of the opening to stick another piece of hard salt cod in his mouth.
“And I especially want to thank our Fillinduck colleague for gracing my embassy with his presence,” Kelly continued pointedly. “In just a few minutes, my associate ambassador will be giving a presentation on the upcoming CoSHC convention and trade show. But first, as I promised in the update to your invitations, I want to address the rumor about Gryph selling Union Station.”
“Next Tuesday,” the Dollnick ambassador spoke up.
“What?”
“That’s what I’m hearing for the auction date.”
“My information put the auction on the last day of the current cycle,” the Grenouthian ambassador contributed.
“Ditto,” Ortha added.
“Why would Gryph sell his station?” Srythlan asked, tapping the table with a piece of salt cod to increase the cadence of his speech. “Our intelligence offers no independent confirmation.”
“Timing is everything in business,” Crute said. “Maybe Gryph has identified the top of the Stryx-built station market and knows he’ll never get a better offer. Prince Drume is on his way here to bid on behalf of the Princely Council.”
“My own people are on the fence about this,” Czeros said. “The report from our rumor analysts suggests that for so many species to be talking about this at the same time, there must be something to it. On the other hand, our economists can’t figure out what Gryph would possibly want in return for the station.”
“Capital for investment,” Crute suggested. “Maybe he wants to pull out the equity so he can build more stations elsewhere.”
“He’s a Stryx, not a real estate magnate,” the Vergallian ambassador objected.
“What do your intelligence people say?” Bork asked her.
“Nothing that merits repeating,” Aainda replied. “I hate to agree with practitioners of the dismal science, but my instincts tell me that the Frunge economists have it right. Unless somebody can explain what Gryph could possibly want in exchange for Union Station, I have to believe that it is simply a rumor after all.”
“As do I,” Kelly said. “I know that all of you are reticent to speak directly with the Stryx so I’ve taken it upon myself to do it for you. Libby?”
“Yes, Ambassador,” the station librarian responded.
“Is Gryph available to make a statement?”
“I’ll tell him you’re ready.”
“Now you’ve done it,” Czeros muttered to Kelly. “Snatched defeat from the jaws of victory.”
“This is an all-decks, all-species public announcement,” Gryph’s synthesized voice thundered. “I’ve been requested to address the rumor that I intend to sell Union Station. The probability of that event occurring is zero. Any tenants who fail to pay their rent in the theory that I won’t be around to collect will find their possessions in the corridor. And the recycling bins are here for a reason. Use them.”
“I think I just heard the price drop,” Crute said, rubbing all four of his hands together.
“What?” Kelly practically shouted.
“Stryx Gryph has never made a public announcement about a rumor before,” the Dollnick pointed out. “Why start now, unless it’s true and he’s covering up?”
“I’m sticking with the first of the new cycle, but I’ll keep next Tuesday open,” the Grenouthian ambassador said.
“Gryph denied the rumor at Ambassador McAllister’s request,” Srythlan pronounced laboriously.
“Exactly,” the Chert said. “It doesn’t even count as lying if somebody asks for it.”
“Not what I meant,” the Verlock protested, but the conversation had already left him behind.
“Stop!” Kelly begged. “This is silly. The Stryx don’t do things because I ask them to.”
“Right,” the Grenouthian said. “They’re using you as a tool.”
“So you’re all going to insist on believing that Union Station is on the market?”
“My information is that you’re running a tag sale so you’ll have less to pack when the time comes to move,” Crute said. “It’s in your best interest for everybody else to believe that Gryph isn’t selling the station because they’d never buy your junk otherwise.”
“I have a report that you’re even selling your plumbing fixtures,” the Chert chipped in.
“Joe redid the master bathroom for our anniversary and the old sink is in great shape,” Kelly protested. She resisted the urge to slam her fist into the table for emphasis since she knew just how thick the onyx puzzle pieces were. “What can I say to prove to you that we’re just trying to reduce the clutter and we took a few things from friends to make the tag sale more attractive?”
“I’m sure I have some items lying around the embassy that I won’t be taking with me if we lose the bidding war,” the Grenouthian ambassador insinuated. “If you’ll accept them on consignment, that would go a long way to convincing me that you’re telling the truth.”
“Fine, whatever,” Kelly snapped. “Bring all of your junk. But if something doesn’t sell and you don’t pick it up, I’m going to charge you to get rid of it.”
“Does that apply to all of us?” the Chert ambassador inquired. “A whole corner of my living room is off limits with furniture my wife got tired of looking at.”
“And now she never turns her head in that direction?”
“We set up an invisibility projector so nobody can see it, but the space is lost.”
“I can visualize the advertisement in the Galactic Free Press,” Bork said, gesturing with his hands as if he were smoothing out a poster. “Giant eight-species tag sale at Mac’s Bones.”