Party Night on Union Station (EarthCent Ambassador Book 10) (10 page)

“I’m sorry, Customer, but I believe it will take nearly an hour to reach Incheon Airport at this time of day.”

“Yeah, it was a bit slow getting here, but that still leaves me an hour,” Joe said optimistically. “I’m a fast eater.”

“My apologies, Customer, but didn’t the airport staff tell you that trans-pacific passengers must arrive thirty minutes prior to boarding for screening?”

“Screening for what? If I have an infectious disease or something, well, I’m already here and I just came from there.”

“Security screening, Customer.”

“Are they afraid I’m going to steal their sub-orbital plane? Who am I going to sell it to? Besides, I’ve got my own space tug back home that could run circles around that thing. Four hours from Korea to New York, and now you’re telling me I have to waste a half-hour in the airport?”

“It’s a tradition, Customer. We are a very traditional people. My parents tell me that many years ago, passengers with inexpensive tickets had to show up as early as three hours before the departure time.”

“Three hours early for a four-hour trip? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“They also say the flights took fourteen to sixteen hours back then, depending on the direction of the wind.” The woman glanced around furtively to check if anybody else had entered the lobby, and added, “Sometimes I think our respected elders are exaggerating about the hardships of their youth.”

As Joe hailed an autonomous cab for the ride back to the airport, halfway around the globe, Kelly was attempting to answer Leon’s question about the relationship between station rents, tunnel fees, and the exchange rate of the Stryx cred. The problem was that she didn’t really know, but fortunately, Samuel had been paying attention in school and was able to provide a credible answer.

“Thanks, that’s how I thought it worked,” Leon said. “There was a great piece in the Galactic Free Press about Stryx cred exchange rates into precious metals, but the reporter implied that some of the advanced species may have figured out how to transmute elements, and a lot of our international viewers keep their family wealth in jewelry.”

“You read the Galactic Free Press?” Kelly asked.

“Doesn’t everybody?” Leon responded. “The teacher bots get the tunnel network edition for free, without the ads. But the paper has some kind of deal with the remaining Earth news services where they trade stories, so the version we get doesn’t include the syndicated local news.”

“We had a student newspaper when I was in school,” Kelly said nostalgically. A quick peek at her decorative watch told her that the interview only had a few more minutes to run, and she realized she would rather spend that time talking about the news business than evading more tough questions. “I was the book reviewer, and everybody used to get mad at me because I only read books published in the nineteenth century. Did you work for a student paper before starting with the news network?”

“I did the crop news for the Student Plains States Journal for a year before CNN launched,” Leon replied. “There must be hundreds of regional papers like SPSJ running on the Teachnet around the world, but they kind of suffer from TMI.”

“Too much information?” Samuel asked.

“Yeah. It’s like every paper has thousands of contributors, even more, and sometimes they end up with sub-editions for the various towns and villages if there are enough kids living there who like to write. The truth is, all of them could use a good editorial board, but how do you tell the kid who writes about fishing conditions in the local creek that his story isn’t newsworthy, especially when it doesn’t cost anything to include it?”

“That is an interesting problem,” Kelly said. “With free distribution to teacher bots, there’s no reason to limit the number of stories, but you end up with a paper that nobody can read all of the way through.”

“There’s a voting system for assigning trust ratings to the correspondents, but most of the writers just don’t get the difference between news and diary fodder,” Leon elaborated. “That’s the neat thing about the Galactic Free Press. Somebody pretty smart is picking the stories to report.”

“I’ll tell them you said that,” Kelly replied. “It’s been really interesting, Leon, but I’m afraid we’re out of time. I promised Daniel I would attend all of the sessions in the ‘Open Worlds’ track. Are you ready, Samuel?”

“I’m going to hang out with Leon,” her son replied. “He said if I carry his camera tripod, I can get in anywhere, and I want to see Ambassador Shin’s panel discussion on succession politics in the Empire of a Hundred Worlds.”

“We always get the most feedback when we do a story on Vergallians,” Leon added. “They’re practically human.”

Not in my experience, Kelly thought to herself, but she knew how young people were often deceived by appearances, especially when packaged in a form as attractive as members of the Vergallian upper caste.

Ten

“What a beautiful place,” the head of Drazen Intelligence remarked. “I can’t believe the Oxfords are the only people vacationing here at the moment.”

“It’s the wastewater treatment aspect,” Thomas explained. “The flora and fauna on this deck are from Earth, part of the standard Stryx program of creating emergency nature reserves for biologicals, but its other purpose is functioning as a natural cleansing machine. It’s capable of processing sewage from a number of species after pre-treatment.”

“Yuck,” Lynx said reflexively, even though the air smelled fresh and the greenery looked much more natural than the plantings on any of the park decks she had visited. “Where are the campsites?”

“You can’t see them yet because of the rocks,” Woojin told them. “I’ve been here fishing with the McAllisters a number of times. Paul told me that originally the Stryx hid this lift tube entrance with a waterfall, but you couldn’t get out without taking a shower.”

“They moved the lift tube?” Lynx asked.

“The waterfall,” Woojin replied. “The lift tubes are part of the permanent infrastructure. Just follow me.”

A pebble path led around the steep rock face, and the visitors soon found themselves on the shore of a small body of water, into which a waterfall was plunging. A few ducks looked at the newcomers expectantly, but quickly lost interest when no bread crumbs were forthcoming.

Across the water, a young couple was ballroom dancing. The girl was incredibly graceful, and her partner was a fair dancer, though not on her level. During a spin, the boy caught sight of the visitors and abruptly came to a halt. He waved, pointed upstream at a small bridge, and then ran to get his parents. Vivian looked a bit annoyed that her dance practice had been interrupted, but she walked along her side of the stream to meet the guests.

“Hey, Viv,” Lynx greeted Blythe’s daughter when they met up. “You and Jonah looked pretty good.”

“He doesn’t practice at all anymore,” Vivian complained. “And I had to agree to play some dumb game with two wooden paddles and ball in return.”

“Two wooden paddles for each of you?” the Drazen inquired.

“One paddle each, one ball for both of us,” the girl replied. “Like the Dollnick game, but without the mitt and the cup.”

“And how have you been enjoying your vacation?” Thomas asked.

“I miss Samuel,” the girl replied bluntly. “I practice with the hologram that Marcus recorded for us but it’s not the same thing. I doubt any of the Vergallian kids we compete against ever take off two days in a row, much less a whole month.”

“Is it Samuel you miss, or the dancing?” Lynx teased the girl.

“Both. But I like him more than he likes me, so there’s nothing I can do about it,” the twelve-year-old said with a sigh. She stopped and pointed at what looked like a small outdoor theatre. “My parents said they would meet you at the Wetlands Machine display. There are some stone benches and an acoustic suppression field there.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Vivian replied. She shook her head as her parents and brother came into view. “I’ll have to drag Jonah back to practice now. If he thinks I’m counting the last ten minutes, he’s crazy.”

As their guide sprinted off to catch her brother, Hert commented, “I’d recognize her as Blythe’s daughter even if I’d never seen her before.” Then he sat down on a bench and began searching through his leather shoulder bag for something.

“Welcome to our vacation,” Clive said, as soon as he and Blythe entered the acoustically protected area. “We ordered refreshments from Pub Haggis, but they haven’t arrived yet. I probably shouldn’t have told them that whenever they get to it is fine.”

“I had a large supper just an hour ago, so I’m all set,” Hert said, rising to exchange handshakes with Blythe and Clive. “The Vergallian situation is developing so slowly that I wanted to put off this meeting to the end of my visit, but I wonder now if that was a mistake.”

“Are you running late, Hert?” Blythe asked. “Why don’t we get started?”

“I’m not pressed for time, though I’ll be leaving the station after this meeting. What I meant is that I’ve received no new intelligence since arriving, so all I accomplished by waiting was to keep you in the dark for several days. In any case, I’ll be back for Dring’s party.”

“Dring is having a party?” Clive asked. “Doesn’t seem like his sort of thing.”

“It’s not for him, it’s for Kelly,” Lynx explained. “Donna is making all of the arrangements. She still comes into the embassy every day, but she spends all of her time sending out invitations to aliens and going over contracts with Libby for the catering and travel arrangements. I gather it’s going to be some kind of formal-dress dance with a meal afterwards. She’s saving the human invitations until last, and she said we can read the details then.”

“It sounds like Ballmageddon has finally arrived,” Blythe informed the others with a wry smile. “My sister and I knew that Mom always wanted to put on a big ball, but she turned down our offer to host one for InstaSitter. Chas couldn’t get her interested in doing one for the Galactic Free Press either, even though the guest list would have been interesting. It had to be a diplomatic ball.”

“Well, it appears that your mother is getting her wish,” Hert observed. “I can’t imagine anybody will turn down an invitation from a Maker. We’ve been tracking the guest list, informally, you understand. If somebody wanted to wipe out the leadership of the tunnel network in a single blow, it would be a good place to plant a bomb.”

“I’m on it,” Woojin said, in answer to a sharp look from Clive. “Donna already asked if we could supply uniformed foot soldiers to make an impression on the species who will be expecting an upscale event. I figure we’ll use the trainees who will be in their last week of the course, plus some analysts to make up the numbers. Since it’s on the station, the Stryx will prevent the guests from bringing anything really dangerous to the party, but our people will serve as a visible deterrent.”

“We don’t have uniforms,” Clive pointed out.

“I’ll bet Mom said she’d provide the uniforms, didn’t she?” Blythe asked Woojin. “And now that I think of it, are you sure she asked for foot soldiers and not footmen?”

“Is there a difference? You’re right about the uniforms in any case. She said that Dring was buying, so I couldn’t think of a reason to refuse. And you’re all sworn to secrecy about this if you haven’t been already. It’s going to be a surprise for Kelly.”

“In more ways than one,” Lynx predicted.

“Don’t be shocked if Mom buys our agents powdered wigs,” Blythe said ruefully. “You don’t know how obsessed she is with nineteenth-century balls.”

“All of the species enjoy a good reenactment,” Hert reminded her. “Now that I think about it, a ball might make the perfect pretence to try to get the opposing sides of the Vergallian schism to the table. They’re the most dance-crazed species in the galaxy, so I’m sure they’ll attend if invited.”

“We’ve been hearing intelligence chatter about the Vergallian issue for weeks, but our analysts can’t figure out what’s going on,” Thomas said. “I read through all of the reports, and it appears that some younger members of prominent royal households haven’t been seen in public recently. But whether they’ve been assassinated, placed in custody, or run away from home, we can’t tell.”

“Your analysts are looking in the right place, you just don’t have the back story,” Hert explained. “The Empire of a Hundred Worlds is large enough to support dozens of major factions and conspiracies, and that’s without taking into account the twenty percent or so of their population who broke away a few hundred thousand years ago.”

“You’re talking about Fleet now?” Lynx asked.

“Yes. The Vergallians who didn’t agree with the tech-ban system of governing worlds and who wanted to move to a merit-based command structure once made up the majority of the imperial navy. Since they controlled most of the ships, they were able to withdraw from the empire, taking a substantial chunk of the populace and the newer worlds with them. Since then, the Empire of a Hundred Worlds has rebuilt its own navy, and the two entities cooperate in most matters, including weapons technology.”

“But I thought that the worlds run by the Fleet Vergallians were still ruled by royal families,” Lynx objected. “Dorothy’s friend, Affie, is from an upper caste family, but she was far enough down the line of succession to be allowed to leave home.”

“Fleet is hardly an egalitarian society,” Hert explained. “They do accept the illegitimate children of the upper caste as rulers and commanders, and they absolutely reject tech bans, but their top governmental authority remains vested in queens. Many species believe that Fleet is just a deception that allows the Vergallians to enjoy the benefits of the tunnel network without committing their entire population to Stryx rules.”

“So is the current conflict in the Empire of a Hundred Worlds a fight between royalists and citizens who favor a republic?” Thomas asked.

Hert appeared to be shocked by the question. “A Vergallian republic? I’ve never heard even a hint of such a thing in all my years doing intelligence work. When the rulers of a tech-ban planet in the Empire of a Hundred Worlds lose touch with their subjects, they find themselves strongly opposed in the next war of succession. The battles usually take place according to an astrological cycle designed for the particular planet, but occasionally, an underground movement will put forward a new slate of queens for multiple worlds to push a single issue.”

“That’s pretty much what Keeto, the Vergallian trader who took me in as a child, told me,” Clive commented. “But he said that such movements were usually just an excuse for people to join a secret society and hold ceremonial dinners.”

“He was largely correct,” Hert confirmed. “But every ten thousand years or so, an issue arises that draws enough popular support to create a state of civil war in some regions of Vergallian space. In this case, the casus belli is Earth.”

“What?” Blythe exclaimed. “The Vergallians want to fight each other because of something we did?”

“Some elements of Vergallian society feel that Earth should have been integrated into their empire,” Hert replied.

“You mean conquered,” Woojin said. “I’ve met several Vergallian generals over the years who say they had infiltrated operatives onto Earth a century ago, and were ready to take us over when the moment was ripe. But the Vergallian plot was spoiled when the Stryx stepped in and gave us early entry to the tunnel network to save us from economic self-destruction.”

“The Vergallians see themselves as the archetypes for the five-fingered, five-toed branch of humanoids in this region of the galaxy, and they pride themselves on having built a homogenous empire out of bio-similar species,” Hert explained. “The Imperials don’t talk about it publicly, but the Fleet Vergallians base their science of evolutionary biology on Stryx interference.”

“So that’s why the Farlings call us Vergallian Lite,” Woojin said. Before he could add anything else, Lynx glared him into silence.

“If the Vergallians think that we’re all related through Stryx tinkering, why would they want to conquer us?” Blythe asked.

“It’s not imperial policy, just a powerful secret society we call the ‘Fives.’ They weren’t particularly upset when the Stryx got to you first because, frankly, you and your Earth were nobody’s idea of a prize. But you’ve become highly visible in the last few decades, and there are plenty of out-of-power Vergallian royals who would happily take over governing a large concentration of humans.”

“Why haven’t you ever mentioned the Fives before, Hert?” Clive asked.

The Drazen Intelligence head made an apologetic gesture, and then admitted, “It has a derogatory connotation in Drazen. Like saying that somebody is ‘One thumb short of a hand,’ means they’re lazy and likely not sane. I wasn’t sure what your translation implants would make of it.”

“But the Stryx won’t allow the Vergallians to take over humanity,” Lynx objected. “Everybody is prohibited from attacking Earth, and the majority of humans who’ve left home live on alien worlds or Stryx stations. What’s the point of building an insurrection with unachievable goals?”

“Since when do stated political aims have any relationship to the ultimate prize?” Hert replied seriously. “Our own assessment is that the Fives are planning to use humans as an excuse to contest a number of thrones in the Empire of a Hundred Worlds. Should they actually win power on some planets, they’ll likely make a showy attempt to woo you into joining them, and then forget about the whole matter. It’s a way for young royals to get a new round of succession wars going without waiting for their turn.”

“It would be ironic if human mercenaries made the difference in some of those conflicts,” Clive commented. “There are humans living on Vergallian worlds who have already gone native and acknowledged the local queen as their ruler, so the whole thing isn’t as far-fetched as it sounds.”

“And where does Fleet stand in all of this?” Woojin asked.

“They’re just mad that the Stryx haven’t admitted to biological plagiarism or paid royalties for borrowing segments of the proto-Vergallian genetic code,” Hert said. “It’s all hubris, if you ask me. The Stryx science ships probably fiddle with humanoid genetics according to their own aesthetic preferences, or based on the template of some vanished species that none of us have ever heard of. We Drazens don’t waste time speculating about it.”