by E. M. Foner
“Are you kidding? The Stryx wait like six thousand years to auction off the unclaimed stuff. See this bracelet?” she demanded, holding up her free arm to display the odd alien artifact. “I found it on an empty shelving unit that had already been cleaned out. It’s my good luck charm, and it saved me from a gullible alien who thought I was a witch.”
“Come again?” Kevin asked, as Dorothy herded him into a lift tube.
“Lost-and-found,” she told the capsule before continuing her story. “I was flying around the Physics Ride with David—I’ll take you there—and some aliens who were here for the station open house picked a fight with us. Later, one of them came to the lost-and-found to kidnap me, but when he saw the bracelet, he ran away. Do you know what? My brother just started working at the lost-and-found last week and I think he’s there now.”
The capsule came to a halt, and Dorothy led Kevin down the corridor, regaling him with her lost-and-found stories about funny aliens.
“And you met your ex-boyfriend there?” David asked when she finally let him get a word in edgewise.
“Yes, and Flazint too. She trained me.” Dorothy turned into the lost-and-found and skidded to a halt when she saw a giant Dollnick at the end of the counter arguing with Samuel. “Figures,” she muttered to Kevin. “I was going to shout ‘Fire!’ or something, but there’s a customer here. Probably the first one he’s had in an hour.”
“It’s not very busy?”
“Most visitors who lose stuff on the station get it returned to them automatically when Libby checks the security imaging,” Dorothy explained. “The passenger liners all take lost stuff for delivery gratis, so the things that end up on the shelves are mainly items from station residents and small ship owners without a fixed mailing address.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to return lost items to station residents than to travelers who are just passing through?”
“Sure, but the degree of difficulty means nothing to the Stryx. They just don’t want station residents to turn the maintenance bots into a maid service, or everybody would get really lazy and leave things wherever.”
“That Dollnick looks pretty angry,” Kevin said, maneuvering his way in front of the girl as they started for the other end of the long counter.
“Maybe my brother doesn’t believe him,” Dorothy said. “Sometimes when visitors find out about the lost-and-found, they show up and try to guess stuff that might be here, thinking that they might get something for free. I remember a Sharf who came in once, spent like a half an hour working his way down the outside of the counter staring at the shelves, and then tried to convince me that he had lost a…”
“I demand to see the management!” the Dolly trilled, drowning out Dorothy’s words. “How dare you lie to me?”
“A gentleman does not lie, sir,” the teenage boy replied in a steely tone. “If you are looking for satisfaction, we must arrange for our seconds to meet and discuss the details.”
“Samuel McAllister!” Dorothy shouted, sounding very much like their mother when she was upset. “You are not arranging a duel with this Dollnick.”
“But he called me a liar,” Samuel replied, his poise remarkable for a fifteen-year-old who had just challenged a four-armed alien more than twice his size. “My honor is at stake.”
“You’ve been watching way too many Vergallian dramas,” retorted his sister, who had spent most of the last three months in bed or on the couch doing exactly that. She pushed past Kevin and confronted the towering Dollnick. “The lost-and-found is operated directly by the Stryx, and as a former employee here, I should warn you that the station manager will drop a maintenance bot on your head if you get out of line.”
“But this is preposterous,” the Dollnick blustered, trapped between an alpha-male culture that demanded a confident display, and the knowledge that maintenance bots were immune to such posturing. “I mislaid a data crystal containing plans for modifying the plumbing on W-class prospecting ships, the commercial value of which is inestimable.”
“And you found it, Samuel?”
“Yes, but that’s not the only thing on the data crystal,” the boy said, looking uncomfortable for the first time. “I put it on the easy round to confirm the contents, and there was a hologram of…”
“Family and friends enjoying a little recreation,” the Dollnick interrupted. The pitch of his speech had reached so high that had there been any crystal goblets nearby, they surely would have shattered. “I fail to see what the one has to do with the other.”
“Libby said it was pirated video, but the crystal is locked to prevent erasure,” Samuel continued. “I gave the Dollnick the choice of unlocking it or supplying a new crystal for the system to transfer the plumbing plans.”
“What I choose to view and how I obtain it is none of your business, you Human twerp!” the Dolly shouted, thumping the counter with all four fists. As Dorothy had predicted, a pair of maintenance bots appeared out of nowhere and bracketed the angry alien.
“It’s not my call, sir,” Samuel replied with dignity. “When I was hired by this establishment I agreed to work according to the rules. We are prohibited from returning pirated content when it comes to our attention.”
“But it only came to your attention because you went looking for it,” the Dollnick whined, his attitude having done an about-face with the appearance of the bots. “It’s true that I brought the data crystal to the station for a meeting, but it actually belongs to my boss. What is he going to say if I bring it back without his private collection? He’ll blame me for having left it behind in my room in the first place.”
“I’m sorry, but rules are rules,” the teenager replied. “You can appeal directly to the station manager, of course, but…”
“No need, no need,” the Dollnick muttered, looking a bit sheepish. “Here. Transfer whatever you can onto my personal crystal and keep that one. I’ll tell my boss where he can find it.”
Samuel quickly carried out the operation and replaced the data crystal on the shelf. “You can inform your superior that it will be filed at location LEV 18/7,” he informed the customer. “The data will be waiting for him the next five thousand and eight hundred years or so.”
The maintenance bots disappeared, and the giant Dollnick fumbled around for a moment, replacing his personal data crystal in a belt pouch. Then he slapped a coin on the counter and stalked out.
“Hey, a two-cred piece. I didn’t know the Stryx even made these,” Samuel said.
“I can’t believe he gave you anything after all that, but I see two-cred coins out on the frontier a lot,” Kevin observed. “That would buy a good dinner on some of the alien stations, or a bed for the night on most rocks, but things are expensive around here.”
“So I hear you’re working with my Dad and Paul,” Samuel said conversationally. “Did you know that Dorothy…”
“Shut up,” she interrupted her younger brother, giving him a death stare. “We’re looking for a Frunge pocket knife that Kevin lost here, like, how many years ago?”
“Seven-ish,” the trader replied. “It had my initials carved into the handle.”
“Kevin Crick,” Dorothy added.
Samuel waved his hand over the easy round to activate the system, and requested, “Frunge pocket knife with English initials carved in the handle, lost around seven years ago.”
“Frunge pocket knife located at JU 3/22,” the reply came immediately.
“Cool, this will be my first real retrieval,” Samuel said. “The only stuff I’ve returned so far came from the bins under the counter.” He walked along the shelves checking the location readouts and soon found the proper unit. “Top shelf,” he ordered, and the plate at the base of the shelving unit began lifting him up towards the ceiling.
“That looks kind of hazardous,” Kevin commented.
“There’s a force field or something so you can’t fall off,” Dorothy told him. “I really enjoyed working here,” she added wistfully. “And I learned a lot
by looking at how alien fashions changed over the last few thousand years.”
“Got it,” Samuel called out. The lift returned him to the deck where he waved off Kevin’s extended hand and headed back towards the easy round. “I’ve got to check it out.”
“Frunge pocket knife with English initials from location JU 3/22,” the lost-and-found cataloging system confirmed. “Shall I remove it from inventory?”
“Yes,” Samuel replied, passing the knife over the counter to its owner.
“Am I happy to have you back,” Kevin exclaimed, prying open a short blade with an oddly shaped notch near the tip. “I don’t know what the Frunge use this one for, but it opened cans like it was cutting through paper.”
“Do you want me to check and see if Libby has the security imaging from when the knife was lost?” Samuel asked.
“No thanks,” Kevin said hastily, slapping a coin on the counter and dragging Dorothy towards the exit.
“Don’t you dare get into any duels or I’m telling Dad on you,” the girl shouted back at her younger brother.
Twelve
Kelly paused in the corridor and nervously smoothed her dress before entering the Drazen embassy. The mandatory review meetings with the other tunnel network species didn’t have to be scheduled in any particular order, and after consultation with Libby, Donna had arranged for the EarthCent ambassador to start with friends who would go easy on her. Although Kelly knew that the Stryx were unlikely to give any great weight to the opinions of the advanced species, she couldn’t help feeling a little nervous about having to go out of her way to solicit criticism.
“The ambassador just finished a holo-conference and he’s waiting for you,” the Drazen receptionist informed Kelly. “You know the way to his office.”
“Yes, thank you.”
The embassies maintained by the aliens all made the EarthCent embassy seem like a storage closet in comparison, but that was because the advanced species rented space using their own budgets. The door to Bork’s office was open, and Kelly entered the familiar space with its décor of battle axes and medieval-style weaponry.
“Ambassador,” Bork greeted her, rising rapidly to his feet and coming around the desk. “Can I get you anything? A drink?”
“I better not, thank you,” Kelly replied. “You’re my first meeting of the day.”
“I understand,” Bork replied cheerfully, bypassing the hidden bar and returning to his seat, since Drazen etiquette didn’t allow for drinking alone. “I hope you aren’t nervous. Keep in mind that none of us on Union Station have participated in a species review, so you know as much about it as we do.”
“That’s what makes me nervous,” Kelly replied with a forced laugh. “From what I understand, I’m supposed to ask you to tell me honestly what bothers you about humanity.”
“Really?” Bork tilted his head, shut one eye, and scratched behind an ear with his tentacle. “But I have the highest regard for your people, and I consider you a close friend.”
“I didn’t mean that you’re supposed to complain about me, Bork,” Kelly said, though she couldn’t help but feel warmed by the alien ambassador’s words. “Libby wouldn’t go into detail about what the point of these encounters is supposed to be, but I tried to prepare by asking actors employed by EarthCent Intelligence to pose a number of questions about topics we think might be bothering you.”
“That sounds very interesting. What did you learn?”
“Nothing,” Kelly admitted. “Well, the Frunge aren’t crazy about our deck lighting, but I guess that’s normal for them. I just had the feeling that the actors were all holding back from telling me what was really on their minds.”
“Well, most of your food is pretty bland,” the Drazen ambassador offered. “Does that help?”
“Now you’re doing it too,” Kelly accused him. “Come on. I’m sure there are things about humans driving you nuts that can’t be fixed with hot sauce. How can we improve if you don’t tell us?”
“What if I ask what you don’t like about Drazens, and you say that tentacles or second thumbs are offensive? Getting along with other species is just like getting along with other people. You have to accept the bad with the good.”
“I know that, Bork. But I’m afraid if I don’t get something from you, the Stryx will think that we aren’t taking the process seriously.”
“I suppose you have a point,” the Drazen ambassador allowed. “I did try digging through our archives to see if I could learn anything about prior reviews, but I came up blank.”
“So go on, hit me,” Kelly demanded.
“I only tell you this under protest, and I ask that with the exception of your report submission to the Stryx, it doesn’t go beyond our ears.”
“Agreed,” the EarthCent ambassador said confidently.
Bork let out a long sigh, then looked Kelly directly in the eye, and said, “It’s your singing.”
“My singing? As in, me?”
“No, no,” the Drazen reassured her. “It’s most of humanity. Your professional singers have talent, and the travel choir drawn from Human workers on our open worlds is a pleasure to hear. But your people sing at inappropriate times without giving the music their full attention. And there’s scientific evidence that a segment of your population can neither hear nor accurately reproduce relative pitch.”
“You’re saying we’re tone deaf?”
“In comparison to Drazens, I’m afraid many of you are. And that atrocity of a song you insist on screeching at your nativity anniversaries…”
“Happy Birthday?”
“Just hearing it spoken gives me the shivers.”
“But I invite you to all of our birthday parties and you always have a good time.”
“I just move my lips and play white noise over my implant at top volume while you’re all singing,” Bork admitted. “Then there’s the drinking songs.”
“Joe picked those up during his mercenary service, but I try to stop him if he’s had a few.”
“Actually, most humans sound better when they’re inebriated, there’s more emotional color,” Bork said. “And whistling while you work? I have yet to meet the Human who can effectively multi-task at the required level.”
“I, uh, thank you, Ambassador,” Kelly pronounced stiffly. “I know how seriously Drazens take music. I guess I just didn’t realize that you found our primitive attempts so offensive.”
“See? Now you’re upset, I knew this would happen. Are you sure you won’t take that drink?”
“I’m not upset with you, Ambassador.” Kelly rose from her chair and inclined her head briefly. “I’m afraid I have an appointment with Czeros, who sings like a tree groaning in the wind, if you recall. I’ll be sure to pass your criticism along to the Stryx.”
“Kelly! Wait,” Bork said, rising from his chair, but she was already out the door. Rather than giving chase, he pinged the Frunge ambassador over his implant. “Czeros, it’s me. Kelly pushed me to give her something serious, so I mentioned their singing, and she left in a huff. What? No, I’m not a complete idiot. All right, we’ll talk later.”
By the time the EarthCent ambassador reached the lift tube, she was beginning to feel bad about stalking out of Bork’s office. After all, she had practically begged him to say something insulting, and the truth was, she could barely carry a tune herself.
“Frunge embassy,” she told the capsule. “And Libby, I’m sure you already know, but my official review finding is that the Drazens find our singing offensive.”
“Duly recorded,” the Stryx librarian replied. “You’re going to arrive at the Frunge embassy a half an hour early if you continue on directly. It appears to me that the Grenouthian ambassador is currently unoccupied, and I suspect he’s as anxious as you are to get this meeting out of the way. Would you like to swing by the Grenouthian embassy now, and I’ll let you know when you have to leave to see Czeros?”
Kelly only had to think for a second. “Yes. That’s great if he’
ll see me now. I’ll have an excuse to leave if he brings out a whole laundry list of complaints.”
“Rerouting your capsule to the Grenouthian embassy,” Libby reported, adding a moment later. “Appointment confirmed.”
When the lift tube door opened, Kelly headed directly into the Grenouthian embassy, which was just across the corridor. A number of young bunnies on a school tour stared with eyes bulging from curiosity as she made her way to the reception desk. She was intercepted by a guard wearing a silver sash.
“Follow me,” the officious Grenouthian ordered. Kelly was about to say that she knew the way, but she quickly realized that the path she had taken when she recently visited the embassy with Aisha to witness a contract had been changed. The dense hedges that broke up the floor space had apparently been uprooted and replanted in new configurations, and she couldn’t help wondering what the Frunge would make of the dim overhead lighting. After a final turn, Kelly suddenly found herself standing in front of the familiar bunny’s desk.
“You are late,” the Grenouthian ambassador announced.
“How can I be late?” Kelly protested. “Libby just arranged this meeting two minutes ago.”
“Two hundred heartbeats early is on time,” the ambassador stated. “On time is late, and a hundred heartbeats further along is as good as not showing up. You have come to hear abuse.”
“What? No, I mean, sort of. Are you saying I’m not really late?”
“I checked our diplomat records for prior Stryx reviews, so I know you are here to solicit my negative impressions of your species,” the ambassador said, ignoring his guest’s question. “Humans are rife with deficiencies, but it would be rude for me to point any of them out when I own a very valuable point in ‘Let’s Make Friends,’ thanks to you and your former assistant.”
“I forgot that the show was your idea,” Kelly said, trying to regain her mental footing. “Since you looked up the history of the Stryx reviews, you must know that politeness is uncalled for in this situation. Please just tell me the truth.”