Last Night on Union Station (EarthCent Ambassador Book 16)

by E. M. Foner

  “You should check with EarthCent Intelligence,” Samuel said. “Vivian told me they keep track of that kind of information for their business subscribers, and they might be interested in the idea as a way to gather more information.”

  “What sort of loyalty rewards did the Horten agencies give customers?” Paul asked Marilla. “Do you mean discounts for more rentals or hotel stays?”

  “They said I was too young to work the counter so I don’t really know much about that end of the business. I remember somebody telling me that the salesmen always went for the cash because their employers were paying for the rental so it was like getting something for nothing. Besides, why would anybody who travels for a living want a free trip?”

  “How about the customers who weren’t traveling for business?”

  “I don’t think most of them rented enough times to earn rewards. Keep in mind that even though we’re far more populous than Humans, most of our communities have been in the same place for tens of thousands of years, so they have good passenger liner service.”

  Thirteen

  Flazint and Tzachan were waiting for Dorothy and Kevin in front of the entrance to the honor court on the Frunge deck. “Thank you so much for doing this,” the Frunge girl said. “I feel awful about making you drag the baby out at this time of night on your clock, but it was the only slot the matchmaker had available. She’s very popular.”

  “Margie sleeps everywhere, providing that she wants to sleep,” Kevin said, adjusting the baby carrier strapped across his chest. “Alexander is the one who’s making a fuss.”

  As if to confirm Kevin’s point, the Cayl hound yawned like a hippopotamus, then collapsed to the deck and pretended to fall asleep.

  “You brought all of your legal documentation?” Tzachan asked.

  “Got the companionship contract and Ailia’s affidavit right here,” Dorothy replied, patting her shoulder bag. “Why are we going to Hazint’s legal shop? Are you and Flazint ready to get your own contract?”

  The Frunge girl made a choking noise and turned away to hide her embarrassment, but Tzachan’s training as an attorney helped him maintain his poise.

  “Mizpah rents an office in Hazint’s and they share administrative staff,” he explained. “We’re still a good ten years or so away from a contract, providing everything goes well.”

  “Are you coming in with us?” Kevin asked.

  “Technically, we’re not even supposed to be here, but there’s a bit of wiggle room when an alien species is involved. I’ll bring you in and make the introductions, but Flazint and I can’t be seen entering the office together at this stage in our relationship. And take this,” he said, offering a change purse. “I collected the fee in high denomination coins because a programmable cred would have been traceable.”

  “How much is in here?” Dorothy asked, accepting the purse. “No, don’t tell me. It’s better that I don’t know.”

  “This sum is just the down payment,” Tzachan said. “When Mizpah asks you for a sign that you’re serious about arranging a match, hand her the change purse, and say, ‘That’s not the end of the story.’”

  “What story?”

  “It’s a legal expression,” the alien attorney explained patiently. “Frunge aren’t supposed to charge each other interest, but when we pay for something in installments, it’s acceptable for the payments to add up to more than the whole, which implies an internal rate of return.”

  “What?”

  “It’s not important. Just remember to say, ‘That’s not the end of the story.’”

  “Got it,” Kevin answered for Dorothy. A loud snore coming from below their knees testified to the fact that Alexander really had fallen asleep. “Anything else we need to know?”

  “I’m pushing the envelope by telling you as much as I already have. Just answer her questions honestly and remember that you’re our only hope.”

  “No pressure there,” Dorothy muttered. “We may as well get this over with before carrying our companionship contract around gives me a compressed disc. It’s twice as heavy as Margie and not half as sweet.”

  Tzachan took a deep breath and then led the way next door and through the massive set of gates into Hazint’s legal shop. Kevin had to nudge Alexander with his foot several times to get the Cayl hound up and moving, so they trailed behind Dorothy. The group minus Flazint, who waited in front of the honor court, met up again at the lengthy reception counter. Behind the row of clerks, dozens of craftsmen were working with high-tech equipment to churn out contracts engraved in stone tablets.

  “Are you hiring the Humans?” the receptionist asked Tzachan. “The infant looks too young to sign a contract, and you must know that we don’t recognize alien power-of-attorney agreements.”

  “We’re here to see the matchmaker,” Dorothy told her.

  The receptionist’s hair vines turned pale, and she reached for the security button on her desk.

  “Not for she and I,” Tzachan reassured the horrified Frunge woman. “These two are already married and they’re here to see Mizpah about arranging a match for me. They have an appointment.”

  The receptionist let out her breath and moved her hand away from the alarm button. “That’s better,” she said. “I’ll tell Mizpah you’ve arrived. Please take them to privacy booth—” she glanced down at a screen on her desk “—seven and I’ll bring the matchmaker out.”

  Tzachan led the group to the privacy booth and then he waited by the door until the matchmaker arrived. Mizpah allowed him to make the introductions and then shooed him towards the exit before activating a privacy field.

  The elderly Frunge woman was tiny, but she had an air of authority about her that led the humans to undergo her scrutiny in silence. When she finally spoke, it was to request that Kevin place the baby on the table.

  “What are you going to do to her?” Dorothy asked.

  “If it hasn’t been explained to you, the child is your primary qualification to act as a matron for this match. I have to check that she’s not a changeling.”

  “Oh, that’s okay, she’s used to that. Here, I’ll pull off her socks for you.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Mizpah said, counting Margie’s toes through the cloth. “You can’t be too careful in this business. I have to make sure you’re serious about the match after all.”

  “Of course,” Dorothy said, and then frowned when Kevin nudged her. “What?”

  “Money,” he hissed out of the side of his mouth.

  “Sorry, right.” The ambassador’s daughter handed over the heavy change purse and added, “That’s not the end of the story.”

  “It better not be,” the matchmaker said, weighing the purse in her hand. “Why don’t I start with the Cayl hound so he can leave and we’ll have some more room in here. I assume he’s your pack leader?”

  “In his mind he is,” Kevin replied.

  Alexander thumped his tail on the floor and sat up straighter, as if he were on the parade grounds for a military review.

  Mizpah pulled out a small tab, activated the screen, and scrolled down to the information she was looking for. Then she held both hands up in front of the dog and began flashing signs by folding down a number of fingers on each hand simultaneously. She held each signal in place for a few seconds, and then produced a different combination. Alexander watched the show intently, and after several minutes of this, he nodded and presented a massive paw. The matchmaker solemnly shook it, and then opened the door for the dog to leave.

  “What was that all about?” Dorothy couldn’t help asking.

  “He agreed to extend his protection to the young Frunge couple if I place them in your care. You can ask him to explain the contract terms when you get home.”

  “But I don’t know Cayl finger speech.”

  The matchmaker shrugged. “So don’t ask him. Do either of you have anything you want to tell me before we begin?”

  “I don’t think so,” Kevin said. “Is there a specif
ic answer you’re looking for?”

  “Very good. Very clever. Let’s start with your proof of marriage.”

  Dorothy pulled the companionship contract out of the custom shoulder bag that Flazint’s cousin Barzee had given her when they visited the Frunge world where the latter lived. She placed the heavy stone slab on the table, and then fished out a document which read, “I, Ailia, heir to the throne of Avidiya, daughter of Atuba, granddaughter of Avilia, great-granddaughter of Aagra, do solemnly witness the fulfillment of a Frunge companionship contract engraved in the names of Kevin Crick and Dorothy McAllister of Union Station. They exchanged their vows in the presence of myself and the Cayl hound Alexander in the private dining room of the Mercenary Tavern in the ninth year of the reign of Royal Protector Baylit, my half-sister.”

  “Very good,” Mizpah said. “A Vergallian princess and a Cayl hound as witnesses. I have no further questions about the validity of your marriage.”

  Dorothy replaced the stone contract in its carrier and rose to her feet. “So that’s it? We can go? This wasn’t half as bad as—”

  “Sit down,” the matchmaker interrupted. “Establishing your eligibility to act as chaperones is only the first part of the process. Now tell me. How do you know the intended?”

  “I met Flazint on the job at the station’s lost-and-found and we’ve been friends ever since. We work together in SBJ Fashions now, and Tzachan is our outside legal counsel for intellectual property.”

  “Have you ever seen them alone together?”

  “No, of course not,” Dorothy fibbed. “What kind of Frunge do you take them for?”

  “I have to ask,” Mizpah said, fixing the ambassador’s daughter with a hard stare. “I’ve received a report that the subjects were seen together Live Action Role Playing. That sounds awfully close to unauthorized dating to me.”

  “It’s part of our business,” Dorothy said. “We sell enchanted bags-of-holding. Flazint participates in LARPs to get design ideas and assess our product performance, while Tzachan is on the lookout for trademark and patent infringements.”

  “Your fashion business holds trademarks and patents? Remember,” the matchmaker cautioned before Dorothy could answer, “I can have your story checked.”

  “Cross my heart and hope to die,” Dorothy said.

  “That’s acceptable,” Mizpah concluded, and turned to Kevin. “How do you know the subjects?”

  “I know Flazint because she’s been my wife’s friend since before we were married, and I’ve met Tzachan a few times at Dorothy’s work-related events.”

  “I see. Very good.” The matchmaker drummed her fingers on the table for a moment, coming to a decision. “Alright. The baby and the dog were impressive, and your contract is in order, so we can proceed to the initial round of testing.”

  “That’s great,” Dorothy said, rising from her chair again. “I can ping them if—”

  “Sit down. The testing is for you. Don’t you know anything about Frunge matchmaking?”

  “Not really.”

  “I can do this verbally or let you take a multiple choice test on a tab. What’s your preference?”

  “Verbally,” Kevin said, at the same time that Dorothy answered, “Multiple choice.”

  Mizpah frowned and made a note on her tab.

  “Multiple choice,” Kevin tried again, while Dorothy changed her answer to “Verbal test, please.”

  The matchmaker made another note on her tab. “Both it is,” she said. “I’ll give you the preliminary verbal test now and the multiple choice test at our next meeting, unless you prefer to take it at a proctored exam center.”

  “Would we have to schedule that?” Kevin asked.

  “No. Once I put in the order you can show up at any time. Do you read Frunge?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Then expect the exam center to charge a translation fee. Now, which one of you wants to go first?”

  “I will,” Dorothy volunteered.

  A few seconds later, the matchmaker said, “Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  “Are you going or not?”

  “Do you mean you want me to leave?”

  Mizpah sighed in frustration, then rose and opened the door. “There’s a waiting area in front of the reception desk. Your husband will come out and get you when it’s your turn. And take the baby with you, she’s too young to hear this.”

  Dorothy left the contract carrier, took Margie, and headed out to the reception area. Alexander had waited rather than heading home by himself, and he was enjoying the attention of two Frunge children, who were climbing all over the Cayl hound like he was a statue at a park.

  “Are you waiting for your husband to finish a test too?” Dorothy asked the mother of the children, who was intent on the door of a privacy booth.

  “A test?” the Frunge woman replied. “No. My husband is just having the terms of our lease checked so we’ll know where we stand when Stryx Gryph sells the station. What is a Human doing here, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “We’re trying to sponsor a match for our Frunge friends. So far the matchmaker tested my baby and our dog, and then she sent me out so she can ask my husband some questions.”

  “Did you practice?”

  “Answering questions? We’re just going to be honest.”

  “Oh, there’s my husband.” A Frunge man emerged from a privacy booth and lifted the smaller of the two children off of Alexander, who looked liable to fall asleep again without the distraction. The woman who Dorothy had been chatting with grabbed the hand of the larger child and gave the ambassador’s daughter an apologetic smile. “I have to run. Good luck with your test.”

  As the couple with their children left the law office, Dorothy overheard the woman telling her husband, “They’re taking the verbal test for sponsoring a match and they didn’t practice.”

  Kevin emerged from the privacy booth and came over to the waiting area. “That was easy,” he said. “She just asked me a few questions about—”

  “No kibitzing,” Mizpah called from where she stood in the doorway. “I’m on the clock, you know.”

  Dorothy passed the baby to her husband and hurried back to the privacy booth where she shut the door behind her and resumed her seat.

  “What’s your husband’s favorite food?” Mizpah asked without any preamble.

  “Hamburgers?”

  “Which side does he sleep on?”

  “His back, but I’m trying to get him to stop because he snores,” Dorothy answered confidently.

  “Does your husband like your hair vines long or short?”

  “Short. And it’s just hair, not vines.”

  “What was your husband’s last dream?”

  “He doesn’t tell me his dreams.”

  “Really?” Mizpah looked up sharply. “How do you know what he’s thinking?”

  “I suppose I could ask him if it was important. I think I have a pretty good idea what he’s thinking most of the time.”

  “Are you a mind reader?”

  “No, not like you mean.”

  “Tell your husband to come back in with the baby and the dog.”

  “Did I pass?”

  The matchmaker ignored Dorothy and busied herself making notes on her tab until the whole family was back in the privacy booth. Then she announced, “We have a problem.”

  “What’s wrong?” Kevin asked.

  “Your wife thinks that your favorite food is hamburgers, that you like her hair short, and that you’re the one snoring.”

  “At least you know we didn’t cheat,” Dorothy said.

  “Obviously. The problem isn’t that you guessed the wrong answers, it’s that neither of you were offended that I would ask such intimate questions. How can you supervise the behavior of a young couple when our value systems don’t align? I’ve never worked with Humans before and I can see that our usual tests won’t apply.”

  “So can we just skip them?” Dorothy asked h
opefully.

  “It isn’t done that way. You need to find a Human matchmaker to vouch for your basic suitability before I can proceed.”

  “But we don’t know any matchmakers,” Dorothy said. Then a thought occurred to her, and she asked, “Would Eemas count?”

  “The all-species matchmaking service run by the station librarian?” Mizpah asked in disbelief. “Was your match made by the Stryx?”

  “No,” Dorothy said, beating Kevin’s “Yes” by a microsecond.

  “You two really are bad at this. If the Stryx are willing to guarantee your suitability, I can accept that.”

  “Libby?” Dorothy asked out loud. “Can you tell Mizpah that Kevin and I are fit sponsors for Flazint and Tzachan?”

  “I have to turn off the privacy field first,” the matchmaker told her. “Some people would use their implants to cheat on the verbal tests otherwise. Try it now.”

  The station librarian replied to Dorothy’s second attempt in the affirmative, and Mizpah put aside her tab.

  “That’s it, then,” she said. “The artisans will have your contract prepared in a few minutes. Carry it with you whenever you are chaperoning your charges.”

  “Is it going to weigh as much as our companionship contract?”

  “Yes, but you don’t need to carry both at the same time as long as you’re on the station. If you want to chaperone your charges in Frunge space, it would be best to bring your proof of marriage, along with your baby and the dog.”

  Kevin and Dorothy thanked the matchmaker and were on their way to pick up the new contract when Mizpah called after them, “And read Frunge for Humans. I’ll be testing you on acceptable dating behavior at our next meeting.”

  Five minutes later, after a short argument over who would carry what, they left Hazint’s law office with Dorothy holding the baby and Kevin and Alexander each burdened with a stone contract.

  “You got it!” Flazint squealed when they emerged. “Let me see the calendar.”

  “What calendar?” Dorothy responded.