Last Night on Union Station (EarthCent Ambassador Book 16)

by E. M. Foner

  “Hey, we can’t just go home,” Grude said. “What time is it for you guys?”

  “Time to eat,” Jorb replied. “I’m starving.”

  “Works for us,” Vivian said. “We skipped supper because of the timing.”

  “I could do with a snack after all that dancing,” Marilla admitted, and then pointed at her ear. “Mornich just asked me if I want to go and grab something in the Little Apple. He’s been teasing me about going Human since I started working for Samuel’s dad.”

  “Have you guys ever been to Pub Haggis?” Samuel asked. “It’s my treat.”

  A group of tough-looking bunnies wearing silk belts rather than banners entered the dojo and immediately started throwing each other around.

  “Let’s go,” Jorb said. “We overstayed our time. Stick near the walls and they should leave us alone.”

  The students cautiously made their way to the exit and found Mornich waiting for them in the corridor.

  “The guys let me off roadie duty, so I owe them at the next gig,” the Horten singer said. “But, listen. I looked up haggis while I was waiting and I don’t think I want to eat any.”

  “Don’t worry,” Vivian assured him, “it’s just the name of the place. They don’t even serve haggis unless somebody orders it ahead of time.”

  “Last one in the capsule has to carry me home,” Jorb declared, and raced for the nearest lift tube. His friends jogged after him, and Grude made a point of letting the Hortens and the Humans enter the capsule before him.

  “Won’t be the first time I’ve carried him home,” the Dollnick said. “I’ve gotten used to you guys.”

  “You’ll have fun in Sharf space,” Samuel told him. “It’s only a hundred cycles, and that’s not long with your lifespan.”

  “I imagine the two of you will be married with a kid in the Open University by the time I finish my internship. How old were you when you started here, Vivian?”

  “Fourteen, but I’m going to make our children stay in the station librarian’s experimental school until they figure out what they want to do. I wasted my first three years at university.”

  “Alright, so you’ll be married and living in a fancy apartment by the time I get back.”

  “Shipping container,” Marilla corrected the Dollnick. “Young married Humans live in shipping containers.”

  “That’s just Dorothy and her husband,” Vivian told the Horten. “Samuel’s family isn’t typical.”

  “But when you get married you’ll belong to them so you’ll have to follow their traditions,” Grude said.

  “We’re not Dollnicks,” Samuel rushed to tell their four-armed friend before Vivian could get worked up. “Humans who get married belong to each other.”

  “Sounds complicated from a legal perspective,” Jorb said as the lift tube doors slid open. “We settled everything long ago by having singing competitions.”

  “But most Drazen males can’t even read musical notation.”

  “That’s what I’m saying. Which way is the stuffed intestine place?”

  “Pub Haggis. Just go straight.”

  “I never thought I’d say anything positive about Drazens, but I think that establishing who’s in charge with singing competitions makes perfect sense,” Mornich said.

  “Dream on,” Marilla retorted. “Are you sure they’ll have something we can eat, Samuel?”

  “Before we expanded the embassy my mom used to host meetings with the other ambassadors here. Ian knows what all of the oxygen-breathing species on the station eat.”

  “As long as he knows what we drink,” Jorb said. “Do you think he can make a Divverflip?”

  “No, but he buys the beer that my dad brews and you like that.”

  “It’s tasty, but it’s impossible to drink enough to numb your tentacle, if you know what I mean.”

  “Not really.” Samuel led the others to a table with six seats, making sure that the furniture was carbon fiber to bear Grude’s weight. Then he went up to the counter and caught Ian’s eye.

  “Hello, Samuel. Celebrating something with your friends?”

  “They’ve passed their competency tests, and our Dollnick friend is leaving the station. Can you send out something that everybody can eat?”

  “Not a problem. Is the Drazen going to want something strong to drink? We can order in.”

  “I’ll take two pitchers of my dad’s ale. How’s it been selling lately?”

  “The last few barrels were on the fruity side but it’s been going fast,” Ian said. He held a pitcher under the tap with one hand and began arranging beer mugs on a tray with the other hand. “Any idea what he put in there?”

  “Cherries, I think. At least I remember there being cherries with breakfast, lunch, and dinner a while back. Donna gave mom this chocolate fountain thing for her birthday and they had a cherry-dipping party.” Samuel lowered his voice. “My dad had to hide it. He said she can use it on holidays or when we have special guests.”

  “Here, take these.” Ian placed the full pitcher on the tray with the glasses. “I’ll send the waitress out with a refill as soon as she finishes with that other table.”

  Samuel returned to his friends with the beer, and the pitcher was emptied into six mugs.

  “A toast,” the Drazen announced, raising his glass. “To beer.”

  “Beer,” the other students echoed dutifully. Jorb and Grude drained their mugs in one go and looked around for the next pitcher. Samuel sighed and returned to the bar for a refill.

  “Faster than I thought,” Ian said. “Food is going to take a little while. Do you want some snacks?”

  “Maybe something salty?”

  “Nuts should do the trick. You can’t get the Frunge to eat them, but all of the other species seem to like cashews and pistachios.” He reached under the bar and came up with an unopened can, studied the label, then broke the seal and poured them out in a wooden bowl. “Got to be careful with the Hortens and peanuts. They’re allergic.”

  Samuel returned to his friends with the new pitcher and the large bowl of nuts. He filled the empty mugs before returning to his seat, where Vivian promptly informed him, “It’s your turn.”

  “What’s my turn?”

  “To tell a co-op experience story.”

  “What about you and Marilla? I missed yours?”

  “You missed the discussion of who goes first.”

  “I’ve only been working one week.”

  “You must have done something by now other than dancing with old ladies.”

  “The ambassador mainly has me studying for the CoSHC trade show.”

  “But isn’t that a Human thing?” Grude asked.

  “Yeah, but they’re accepting booths from the other species this year and I’m going to be representing the Vergallians.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Marilla said. “You have a conflict of interests.”

  “That’s what I told them but they wouldn’t accept it,” Samuel said. “The ambassador said that she’s confident in my—she used a Vergallian word that translates to something like a code of ethics and loyalty to the queen—and that I have as much right to represent them at the convention as her daughter has to represent us, I mean, Humans.”

  “Did you just say ‘Humans’ with a capital ‘H’, Sam?” Vivian demanded.

  “I know, it’s confusing. I can’t imagine what Libby was thinking by sending me there and Aabina to mom.”

  “That wasn’t much of a story,” Marilla said. “You guys are never going to believe mine. On my second day at work, Mr. McAllister asked me to help him change out the blue box in one of the Horten ships they’re trying to convert into a rental.”

  “What’s a blue box?” Grude asked.

  “It’s a heat exchanger that we use in small craft for cooling ion drivers. I’ve seen them before when cleaning rental returns, but I never cracked one open and I was worried that the fluid might be toxic. Mr. McAllister called Beowulf in, he’s a giant Cayl hou
nd, and cracked the seal just enough to let Wolfie get a sniff.”

  “Wolfie?” Vivian asked.

  “He’s kind of adorable, don’t you think? Anyway, Beowulf gave Mr. McAllister the nod, and we took off the cover, drained the old fluid, and scraped off the crud. Then we put it in a Verlock hot tank, took a lunch break, and by the time we came back, the coils looked like new. By the end of the day, we had it reinstalled and tested. I never did anything like that before.”

  “How did you choose a replacement for the thermal fluid?” Grude asked. “Those systems are sensitive.”

  “Oh, Wolfie picked it out for us. Mr. McAllister stocks all of the common lubricants and thermal fluids behind their ice harvester and he says the dog knows them all by smell.”

  “Your turn, Vivian,” Jorb said, pouring himself a third beer. “Anybody else? Grude?”

  The Dollnick, who was juggling nuts in an intricate pattern using all four hands, made a slight adjustment so the nuts all ended up in his mouth, then chased them down with his beer and gave the Drazen the empty mug.

  “Well, I’m not supposed to talk about what I’m doing on my co-op job, but I guess I can tell you about my first test,” Vivian said.

  “Did they put you in spy school?” Marilla asked.

  “It’s not like that, exactly. I have a sort of a trainer, and she has me carrying out assignments that they evaluate to see what kind of work I have an aptitude for. But there’s one test they make everybody take, which is talking your way into a stranger’s apartment.”

  “What do you mean?” Mornich asked. “That could be dangerous.”

  “On Union Station? In any case, the only rule is that I couldn’t tell anybody that I was taking a test, and if they guessed, it didn’t count.”

  “Who would guess?” Samuel asked.

  “Every Drazen with an apartment near the Intelligence headquarters,” Jorb told them.

  “That’s pretty much what I found out,” Vivian said. “And they gave me some suggested scripts, like, to pretend I was doing a safety inspection for station maintenance or that I needed to use the bathroom, but nothing seemed to work. A couple of aliens let me in because they thought I was the InstaSitter they ordered, but that didn’t count.”

  “So you failed?” Samuel asked.

  “Until I tried the Dollnick deck. Then it was so easy that I got into four apartments in a row and my trainer gave me extra credit.”

  “How’d you do that?” Grude asked. “Most of my people are very private and protective of their nests.”

  “I told them I was there to count rooms,” Vivian said and grinned at the blank faces of her friends. “You know, to put a value on the residential deck for Gryph’s auction.”

  Nine

  “Where’s our baby?” Flazint asked Dorothy.

  “Margie? Kevin is babysitting. When I brought her to the office last week to get acclimated, she never settled down because you and Affie spent the whole time playing peek-a-boo.”

  “I wouldn’t hold out on you if I had a baby.”

  “I don’t know where you’re going to get one as long as you and Tzachan are afraid to be alone in a room together.”

  “We’re not frightened of each other you know,” the Frunge girl protested indignantly. “It’s just our culture. Tzachan is worried about my reputation.”

  “That and a half a cred will buy you a cup of coffee,” Dorothy retorted. “Do we have any?”

  “Coffee? Aren’t you nursing?”

  “Skip the lecture, I’ll have fruit juice.”

  A gorgeous young Vergallian woman entered the conference room and demanded, “Where’s our baby?”

  “At home,” Flazint told her. “Dorothy thinks we can’t control ourselves.”

  “I’ll have you both know that my royal training included building up a resistance to cute babies,” Affie said. She stared into space for a moment as if trying to remember something, and then added, “I might have failed that part.”

  Brinda arrived with her older sister Shaina, and after a brief scan of the room, asked, “Where’s Margie?”

  “Kevin wouldn’t let me bring her,” Dorothy lied.

  “I don’t blame him,” Shaina said. “They grow up so fast. My Grace is starting on ‘Let’s Make Friends’ this afternoon and she’s so excited that I could barely get her to go to school. And the little Stryx friend Libby assigned to Grace is even more nervous than she is, if that’s possible.”

  “Aisha mentioned that this is the first time a younger sibling of a former cast member is joining the show,” Dorothy said. “I’ll be watching from home.”

  “Is Jeeves here yet?” Brinda asked.

  “He’s probably hiding out in the corridor waiting for Baa to come in first,” Affie said. “You know how those two are always playing power games.”

  “We aren’t playing,” the Terragram mage announced as she joined the meeting. “We’re positioning. There’s a difference.”

  “Ladies,” Jeeves said, floating in right behind Baa and assuming his accustomed place at the head of the table. “The reason I asked you all here today is to discuss our strategy for the CoSHC trade show. I also want to take this opportunity to welcome Dorothy back from maternity leave. SBJ Fashions is a baby-friendly business, and in that spirit, I’ve added a changing station to the all-species restroom. Please return the fold-down table to the upright position against the wall after use.”

  “Does that mean you’re going to approve my new line of infant clothes?” the new mother asked hopefully.

  “No. We’ve been through this before, and while I’m willing to help you start a new business if you’re passionate about the idea, baby apparel does not fit with the SBJ Fashions brand image.”

  “He’s right, Dorothy. If you want to try licensing your designs to another manufacturer, Tzachan can help with the legal stuff,” Flazint said.

  “On his own time,” Jeeves cautioned them. “While we’re on the subject of manufacturing, I’ve heard back from Chintoo and it’s too expensive for our supplier there to gear up for noodle weapon production on a small scale. In addition, the technology originated with the Grenouthians, and they have a contract with the professional LARPing league that imposes limitations on the promotion of generic noodle weapons.”

  “Those bunnies are getting too big for their sashes,” Baa muttered.

  “Be that as it may, I’ve contacted several Grenouthian manufacturers, and after I made it clear to them that I was shopping in my capacity as the buyer for SBJ Fashions and not as a Stryx, they fobbed me off on their authorized distributors. I’ve discussed the necessary price points with Shaina and Brinda, and we aren’t going to get there if we have to pay the same price as retailers for the raw stock.”

  “Let me negotiate with the manufacturers,” the Terragram mage begged.

  “Don’t forget the deal under which Gryph allowed you to remain on the station,” Jeeves cautioned her. “In some ways, your restrictions are even tougher than mine.”

  “Shaina and I have been looking into this, and since noodle weapons aren’t forged or hand-finished, they’re basically sold by weight,” Brinda said. “The Grenouthians are charging an outrageous amount for the material, but the weapons themselves are produced by 3-D printers.”

  “Can we find some humans on a Grenouthian open world who manufacture noodle weapons under license?” Dorothy asked.

  “The bunnies don’t allow us on their open worlds,” Shaina told her.

  “Well, they should. My mom said something about Grenouthians making a fortune on a new business taking aliens to Earth on documentary tours. Maybe that will give us leverage.”

  “Ai-hem-sha,” Jeeves said as if he was clearing his non-existent throat. “I seem to have picked up a bug somewhere. Ai-hem-sha.”

  “Do you mean, Aisha?” Flazint asked.

  “I couldn’t venture to say because my parent is threatening to send me to my room for interfering in the competitive balance between tunnel net
work members.”

  “Aisha does host the Grenouthian network’s most profitable non-news show, and the local ambassador has a point in the production, so maybe he’ll listen to her,” Shaina mused. “I’ll ask when I see her this afternoon and maybe she can get the producer on our side. We could offer them exclusivity on shooting our commercials.”

  “But we’ve always hired Grenouthian production crews for our ads,” Dorothy said.

  “Offering something they already have is a veiled threat, the bunny will understand. In the meantime, Baa could get started with enchanting some noodle weapons that don’t weigh much, like daggers. Maybe that would help persuade the bunnies that it’s worth getting their paws wet.”

  “Baa already has my honor dagger,” Flazint said.

  “And my rapier,” Affie added. “Have you done anything to them yet, Baa?”

  “Enchanting weapons, even noodle weapons, takes a lot more energy than creating bags of holding or adding magical protection to a cape,” the feathered mage replied. “I try to keep the draw on the station infrastructure below the point where Gryph starts adding surcharges.”

  “It shouldn’t take that much power to get the effects you want in a LARP studio,” Jeeves said. “Are you up to something I should know about?”

  “It was Dorothy’s idea.”

  “What was my idea?” the ambassador’s daughter asked.

  “Enchanting some of our products for use outside the LARP environment,” Baa replied. “I know, I know. I promised Gryph that I wouldn’t employ my abilities on the station in a way that the other species could interpret as hostile or intimidating, but giving some stat boosts to toy weapons that I’m not personally wielding can hardly be considered a violation.”

  “What kind of stat boosts?”

  “You know, the usual,” Baa said evasively. “I’m working on Samuel and Vivian’s swords as well, since they’re our best bet for putting on a demonstration duel in the booth.”

  “Is there anything else you want to share with us?” Jeeves asked in an icy tone.

  “I borrowed a noodle axe from Samuel’s Drazen friend because I wanted to practice on something with a little mass. And the Horten girl working in Mac’s Bones let me have her sword as well.”