Empire Night on Union Station (EarthCent Ambassador Book 18)

by E. M. Foner

  “But I thought the swag bags were for freebies from the tradeshow.”

  “Apparently the observers travel light and expect more. Samuel and Aabina are filling the bags with as many of the comforts from home as they can dig up for each species. We’re expecting a couple of dozen observers in the end.”

  “This is getting too complicated,” Kelly said, drawing a sympathetic smile from the embassy manager. “I’ll leave my door open so you can send Bork and Glunk in as soon as they arrive.”

  “If Samuel returns with Aabina, should I tell him to join you or Daniel?”

  “Daniel,” the ambassador said, and turned back guiltily to explain. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate Samuel’s help, but he keeps trying to get me to do things the way he learned in the Vergallian embassy. I should be used to it by now, but I don’t need our discussion about investing getting sidetracked into the superior returns available in the Empire of a Hundred Worlds.”

  “I take it you aren’t interested in producing immersive dramas about palace intrigues,” Donna said with a smile.

  “Absolutely not. And with Bork bringing Glunk, I’m hoping they’ll be able to tell me something about putting money in the alien businesses that are operating on Earth. We’re going to have to send some money back home for the sake of appearances if nothing else, and alien businesses just seem like a safer bet than—you know.”

  “We watched that documentary last night too. Stanley got so angry that I had to make him a glass of warm milk with honey.”

  “I wish I could remember what Glunk liked to drink,” Kelly said, not noticing that the two Drazens had just entered the embassy. “Bork claims to have developed a taste for all of our watered-down beverages, as he puts it, but Glunk spends most of his time on Earth, and he must be sick of making do by now.”

  “Not true,” the principal stakeholder in Drazen Foods joined the conversation in fluent English. “I have the final word on every product we export, and I’ve come to appreciate the subtle differences in flavor that are associated with the various growing regions on your homeworld. I can identify over a hundred strains of coffee beans just by the aroma and—what’s that I smell?” Glunk broke off, sniffing the air and turning in the direction of Daniel, who had just emerged from the conference room with a steaming mug of black coffee. “I detect a hint of caramel with nutty overtones, but there’s a fruity component that I don’t recognize from any roast I’ve ever encountered.”

  “Can I get anybody a cup?” Daniel offered. “I made it strong for my wife, but I can add a bit of water.”

  “I’m sure it’s fine as is,” Bork said, and turned to his friend. “Why don’t you and Associate Ambassador Cohan get acquainted and I’ll be back in a minute with a couple of cups.”

  “Glunk,” the Drazen introduced himself to Daniel and offered a handshake in perfect Earth fashion. “Can you tell me the brand of that coffee?”

  “I’m afraid I didn’t notice,” Daniel said. “Donna?”

  “It’s Flower’s special roast,” the embassy manager informed them. “She gifted us with a three-month supply when she stopped here for MultiCon. I don’t know if she’s planning to make the coffee commercially available, but from what Lynx told us, Flower started growing the beans as a proof-of-concept for some low-gravity agricultural theories she’s working on.”

  “Don’t scare me,” Glunk said. “Competition from the Dollnicks is the last thing I need. Before you know it they’ll be terraforming an ag world to mimic Earth’s growing conditions, and there goes my lovely monopoly.”

  “I wouldn’t worry,” Kelly told him. “I’m sure that Flower is just as concerned about competition from Dollnick ag worlds as you are. She’s heavily invested in growing the ingredients listed in the All Species Cookbook for her packaged foods business. And she’s still on the outs with her makers, even though they’re probably her biggest market for alcohol-infused baked goods.”

  “Here,” Bork said on his return, handing Glunk a mug of coffee. “Shall we grab ourselves chairs, Ambassador?”

  “I have three in the office,” Kelly told him and waved her door open. “After you.”

  The two Drazens preceded the EarthCent ambassador into her office, where Kelly was relieved to see that nobody had borrowed the two extra chairs by her display desk. She took her seat, stored her purse in the file drawer, and then fished out the notebook and pencil.

  “Is that a shirtless picture of Ambassador Crute?” Bork asked, looking at the cover which was upside-down to him from the other side of the desk. “It seems like a rather odd thing for you to have around.”

  “The Dollnick is one of Blythe’s cover models. I think she said he lives on Flower.”

  “Interesting choice of reading material,” Glunk said. “I’ve noticed the growing popularity of alien romance novels among our female employees who read during their lunch hour, and I’ve been thinking of bringing in an author for our weekly lecture series.”

  “You have weekly lectures at the factory?” Kelly asked.

  “Workers do not live by pay alone. I’ve modeled my business after the standard Drazen factory, though I substituted quiet time for choral practice after the dogs working in perfume quality control went on strike. Our employee retention rate is nearly a hundred percent, even if they complain about the stretching in the morning.”

  “You should talk to Flower. The two of you would get along like a house on fire.”

  “So I understand you have a little problem with your cookbook windfall, Ambassador,” Bork said. “You mentioned being up against the limit on your programmable cred?”

  “Right. If I don’t start spending the old money, the value will begin to decay on its own. Libby tells me that the Stryx have actually been cutting me some slack the last few cycles.”

  “I happened to be here visiting, and Bork requested I come along to give you my impressions of the investing environment on your homeworld,” Glunk said, and then smacked his lips. “This really is extraordinary coffee. I’ll have to visit Flower myself when she stops at Earth and see if we can work something out. Do you have any prior experience with investing, Ambassador McAllister?”

  “I was in hock before I got married and my husband has always handled our finances,” Kelly told the Drazen. “But I’ve been trying to educate myself, and according to the Thark ambassador, I should be looking for opportunities where I’ll have some control over what happens.” She hesitated before adding, “The truth is, I’m less worried about control than finding partners I can trust.”

  “I work with many Human suppliers, some of whom are looking for capital to expand their businesses,” Glunk said. “I can give you their contact information if you want to write it down.”

  “Actually, I was hoping to find alien partners.” The EarthCent ambassador flinched under the look both Drazens gave her. “It’s not that I don’t trust my own people, but I just saw a Grenouthian documentary that suggests we aren’t the most rational species, at least when it comes to money.”

  “Did the Thark ambassador tell you about the Copper Rule?”

  “Is that related to the Golden Rule?”

  “I’m not sure,” Glunk said. “I’ve never heard of that one. The Copper Rule dates back to the Verlock’s Copper Age, perhaps eight million years ago. It postulates that the risk of investing in an enterprise is inversely proportional to its need for outside funding.”

  “Just a moment,” Kelly said as she diligently copied the Copper Rule into her notebook. Then she frowned. “Does this mean that I should only invest in businesses that don’t want my money?”

  “It’s a quick way to quantify risk—the Verlocks are a very conservative culture.”

  “I’ll wager that Drazen Foods is in a very strong financial position,” Bork hinted broadly.

  “That’s exactly the kind of investment I’m looking for,” Kelly said.

  “Unfortunately, you run into the other side of the Copper Rule,” Glunk said. “As you yo
urself postulated, our strong financial position means we have no need for outside funding. I’ve heard that there’s a tradition on Earth of large corporations borrowing money whether or not they need it and then using the funds they raise to increase payouts to the shareholders and executives. But I’m afraid that goes against basic bookkeeping rules for a Drazen consortium, so I can’t take your money.”

  “If you can’t, you can’t,” Kelly said in disappointment. “I guess it won’t hurt to write down the contact information for the human-owned businesses you work with, and maybe I can convince somebody in our president’s office to look into the details.”

  Glunk reeled off a list of names and best contact information from memory, and the EarthCent ambassador diligently recorded them all. Then the entrepreneur gave her a quick rundown of business trends on Earth, and the meeting came to an end. Kelly escorted the two Drazens out of the embassy, and as they parted, Bork puzzled her by offering his services as an imperial mentor should the need arise.

  As the EarthCent ambassador turned to reenter the embassy, a distinctive voice behind her proclaimed, “Rinty bubbles.”

  “Ptew?” Kelly guessed and turned to see that it was in fact the Fillinduck ambassador. “Were you coming to see me?”

  “If you have a few minutes to spare,” the alien said, gesturing for the EarthCent ambassador to preceed him into the embassy. “I just came from a meeting with our Thark colleague, and he happened to mention your embarrassing problem.”

  “Embarrassing?” Kelly asked, leading the Fillinduck into her office.

  “Excess wealth always comes as an embarrassment to those who least expect it. Given my friend’s humorous description of your financial acumen, I thought I would drop by and offer some plain-spoken advice from my own area of expertise.”

  “I appreciate that, especially in light of the decades in which our relationship was, if I can use the word, nonexistent.”

  “Before we talk creds and centees, have you pledged anything to the Colony One movement?” Ptew asked, ignoring the EarthCent ambassador’s usual attempt to fish for the reason the Fillinduck had boycotted every meeting she attended for nearly thirty years.

  “The group that’s raising funds to outfit a human colony ship? No.”

  “That’s a relief. Philanthropy is a bottomless pit full of broken dreams.”

  “If it’s bottomless, how can it be full?” Kelly asked, even as she jotted down the ambassador’s words in her notebook.

  “I never really analyzed the saying, it’s just something we’re taught in school,” the Fillinduck said. “Is that the book everybody is talking about?”

  “My diary?” the EarthCent ambassador asked. “The cover was just a spare. It’s not like I dream about trillionaire Dollnick—”

  “We’re all adults here,” Ptew cut short her disclaimer with a wave. “I just find it fascinating that you can do scribal work. It’s a specialty in our society.”

  “You don’t practice handwriting?”

  “Me? I learned as a child, of course, but now I dictate to my tab, and I have a signet ring for signing contracts.” He tapped his ring on the ambassador’s display desk and smiled at some private memory. “Returning to the purpose of my visit, how much do you know about Rinty bubbles?”

  “Just that they take a long time to grow, and maybe I’ve heard they have some, uh, special cultural significance for your people. I was impressed by the number I saw growing in your embassy the one time I was invited.”

  “Then you’ll have to return for a closer look,” Ptew said graciously. “Rinty bubbles play a key role in our mating practices. They take forever to grow and they can only be used one time. Popping them is required to release the payload, which acts as an aphrodisiac on all three members of a trio. Do you know what that makes them?”

  “Dangerous?” Kelly guessed.

  “Valuable,’ the Fillinduck said. “You can double your money every hundred years, and I’m talking about Stryx creds, not some inflation-riddled currency.”

  “But a hundred years is an awfully long time,” the EarthCent ambassador said doubtfully. “I’m sure we’ll need the money for something before then. Do partially grown Rinty bubbles have any value?”

  “It’s an issue,” Ptew admitted. “They can’t be moved without the risk of breakage, and to put it bluntly, anybody selling early is obviously in financial distress, so you couldn’t expect to get the best price. I suppose if your investment window is less than a hundred years, Rinty bubbles wouldn’t be the best option. Perhaps you could start growing a crop for your children?”

  “That would still be a little optimistic on the hundred-year window, but for the grandchildren, maybe. Joe keeps telling me we need to work on our estate planning, but somehow I never seem to have the time.”

  “It couldn’t be too hard to add the disposition of a few Rinty bubbles to your will,” the Fillinduck encouraged her. “It happens I could let you have some starter crystals at—you don’t have a will?” he concluded in disbelief when Kelly started shaking her head.

  “We’ve talked about it enough times. It’s just a matter of sitting down with the children and getting their input. I know Joe plans on leaving the lease to Mac’s Bones to his adopted son since Paul has always been the one most involved in the ship repair business. And with her share of InstaSitter, Vivian will be one of the wealthiest women on the tunnel network, so unless she breaks off her engagement with Samuel, he’ll never want for money. What?” she asked, noting the pained expression on Ptew’s alien features.

  “Is this really how your species does estate planning?” the Fillinduck asked. “Don’t you have any traditions or laws to tell you how to proceed?”

  “I guess we figure it’s up to the individual to decide how to dispose of their assets,” Kelly said. “In olden times, some of our cultures used to practice primogeniture, but these days, most people just do what they want, unless they die intestate.”

  “You mean there are people even less prepared than you who die with no plans in place?”

  “More than you might think, but then it just goes according to the local laws, though that means the lawyers get a larger share.”

  “Why don’t you ask the Stryx to handle it for you?” Ptew suggested facetiously. “I understand you’re on intimate terms with the station librarian.”

  “That’s right,” Kelly said. “I forgot that Joe and I asked her years ago to take care of the children if anything happened to us. But we didn’t really have any assets to dispose of, other than the lease to Mac’s Bones and all of the junk. Libby? What would happen if I died suddenly?”

  “We would all be greatly saddened,” the Stryx replied in a somber voice.

  “I meant, what would happen to my stuff and my EarthCent pension?”

  “In the absence of a will, the assets of a married person on a Stryx station go to the spouse. If Joe predeceased you, your assets would be divided equally among your children.”

  “We want the lease for Mac’s Bones to go to Paul,” Kelly said.

  “Then you should sit down and make a will,” the station librarian said. “As to the pension, once you reach retirement age, you can elect to reduce your payment by a third in exchange for Joe receiving half of the amount should you go first, but it doesn’t make sense from an actuarial standpoint.”

  Ptew couldn’t contain himself any longer and broke out laughing, though it sounded more like an owl hooting. “You asked the Stryx to take care of your children if anything happened!” he chortled when he regained his composure. “I’m not saying they aren’t capable of the task, but I would have thought you’d have somebody closer. Perhaps what you need is a mentor.”

  “Are you volunteering?” Kelly asked.

  “Is that an official request?” Ptew said, and something in his tone made the EarthCent ambassador pause.

  “I appreciate the offer, but not at this time.”

  Eight

  “The new office is too cold,�
� Dorothy complained, setting aside her embroidery needle. “Don’t you think so, Flaz?”

  “I’m fine with the temperature but the air is too dry,” the Frunge girl said. “It’s a good thing my day is over so I can go home and mist my hair vines. Don’t forget you’re chaperoning for us later.”

  “How could I forget? It’s programmed into the dating calendar I had to buy.”

  “Try talking to Baa about the climate controls again,” Flazint suggested. “She should be back in a few minutes. I’ve got to run.”

  As soon as her friend left the office, Dorothy pinged her husband. “We’re chaperoning after work today. I forgot all about it.”

  “What time?” Kevin asked.

  “I don’t have the calendar with me, you’ll have to check.”

  “Why didn’t you ask Flazint?”

  “Because then she’d know that I forgot. Are you at home or at the chandlery?”

  “At the chandlery, but I may as well close the counter for the next couple weeks and help Paul and Joe.”

  “Why’s that? Has something happened?”

  “It’s all the sales reps coming in for the tradeshow. Your dad and Paul started moving their project ships out to Gryph’s long-term parking this morning just to make room because it looks like every Tunnel Trips rental ship on the network is going to end up parked here in the next week. Marilla even brought in her younger sister to help her start cleaning them all.”

  “Is Margie with you?”

  “Last time I checked,” Kevin said. “We never should have taught her to walk.”

  “You have the gate up, don’t you?” Dorothy asked.

  “She figured out the latch. I think Alexander coached her.”

  “We must be the only parents on Union Station who have to worry about their Cayl hound teaching their toddler how to get in trouble.”

  “At least Alexander never takes his eyes off of her. Assuming I can find them, are we bringing Margie tonight?”

  “I don’t even know where we’re going,” Dorothy said. “Check the shelf where you keep the dates and figs, and if it’s not there, it must be at home.”