Party Night on Union Station (EarthCent Ambassador Book 10) (18 page)

The action built to a crescendo, with Samuel parrying a rain of blows and shouting encouragement to the few guardsmen who had remained loyal. Then the hologram suddenly winked out, leaving a fourteen-year-old boy with a cane and a few middle-aged Vergallians clutching imaginary sword hilts in empty hands.

“Sorry, everybody,” the purser announced. “The license on the copies I bought for this trip doesn’t allow binge-watching. The next episode will have to wait a standard day.”

“You were great,” a ten-year-old Vergallian girl complimented Samuel. “You must have seen this drama like a million times.”

“Maybe twice, but I practice with a fencing bot that can do scenes from immersives if you preload them.”

“You what?” Kelly squawked, interrupting the conversation.

“Hi, Mom. I was just telling her how I practice fencing with the bot that Hert gave the training camp.”

“Since when are you interested in fighting? The only reason I ever agreed to let you start dancing three hours a day was because I thought it would encourage your artistic side.”

“It’s dueling, not fighting, Mom. It is art.”

“You were very good, even though I couldn’t understand what you were saying,” Hannah told him, drawing a scowl from Kelly.

“You can tell he’s trained in dance from his footwork,” the friendly purser contributed. “We have open ballroom practice every evening, though I don’t know how your clock lines up with our day.”

“I’ll be there,” Samuel promised. “We’re all going to get jump-lagged anyway, so we may as well live on your clock while we’re here.”

“Does your father know about this sword practice business?” Kelly demanded.

The boy shrugged indifferently. “I don’t know why you’re so mad. It’s not like I’m going to join the mercenaries or anything.”

“So why are you studying dueling.”

“A gentleman must learn the three D’s,” Samuel replied with dignity. “Dancing, dueling and diction. Diction is the hardest.”

The emergency lights blinked on and off, which was the signal for entering or leaving normal space. In this case, they were emerging from the Stryx tunnel at Forcroft, one of the later planets to be added to the Empire of a Hundred Worlds.

“Ugh,” Hannah said, moving a hand to her belly and then to her head. “What was that?”

“We just exited the tunnel,” Joe informed her, having tracked them down. “The feeling of dislocation is proportional to the distance traveled outside of normal space divided by the duration, so the Stryx intentionally lengthen the time in the tunnel for biologicals to lessen the effect. When ships jump with their own drives, they also stretch the time as much as practical, but it takes extra energy, so there’s the cost to consider.”

“We can’t be at Union Station already. They said that the trip would take over a week!”

“We’re at the first stop,” the ambassador explained. “It’s a direct flight.”

“That’s so cool,” the girl said, brightening up considerably. “I assumed it was nonstop, but this way I’ll get to see a little more of the galaxy.”

“We probably won’t be allowed to leave the ship,” Kelly told her.

“That’s right,” the purser said, showing that he had been following their conversation. “We aren’t even docking at any of the stops. We just release the magnetic couplings on the appropriate containers for each destination and they get picked up by the local shipping contractors. Tugs will match our speed and bring us any outgoing containers as we position for the next jump. It’s all off network from here until Union Station.”

“How can you swap cargoes in just a few hours?” Samuel asked.

“That’s the load master’s job,” the Vergallian explained. “He always knows where the containers we take on are heading, so he piles them onto the keel in an order that allows us to release the drops without doing any rearranging. But ninety-nine percent of this cargo is pig iron from the Sotti asteroid belt destined for the Chintoo orbital. The stops in between pay for themselves and maintain our status in the shipping guild, but their main purpose is to break up the jumps.”

“Could we visit your control room for a jump?” Hannah asked. “I’ve never seen one before.”

“You feel them more than you see them, but you’re welcome to come and watch,” the friendly purser replied. Samuel translated for the young woman, and she smiled happily. There were lots of jump descriptions in the alien romance novels she had been addicted to, and she wanted to see how much they got right.

Eighteen

“So this will be our only meeting before the ball,” Donna informed her ad hoc committee. The gathering took place in the patio area of the ice harvester in Mac’s Bones, and included all of Kelly’s friends, who had been stunned to receive invitations to a major event just one week before it took place. “Does anybody have any last-minute questions or recommendations?”

“What are we going to do about drinks for some of the aliens we’ve never encountered before?” Ian inquired. “Between the Empire Convention Center’s catering staff and the Little Apple merchants, I’m sure we have eating covered, but I wasn’t convinced that the Dollnick running the Empire’s cash-bar knew what he was talking about.”

“He promised me that they could synthesize a reasonable facsimile of a beverage for all of the aliens I’ve invited,” Dring reassured the restaurateur.

“Synthesize,” Ian huffed. “That’s what I’m worried about.”

“It’s a minor detail, and it will only affect the aliens who humans may never encounter again,” Donna said, putting a practical spin on the matter. “How are you doing with the names, Woojin?”

“I’m sorry, Donna, but even with Libby’s coaching I find most of them impossible to pronounce. I can manage the Vergallians and Drazens without a problem, but I thought we would only have time to announce the heads of empires. Other than the Cayl, I’d be lucky to get any of those names out without biting my tongue off.”

“Ahem,” Jeeves said.

“Alright, you’ve been my fallback position all along,” Donna told the Stryx. “The entry will be down the grand staircase, so we’ll have to get all of the alien dignitaries lined up in the lobby or they’ll never make it inside before the dancing begins.”

“Will I be introducing the McAllisters, or will they arrive before the various heads of state?” Jeeves inquired.

Donna paused and chewed her lower lip. “I haven’t figured that out. Dring?”

“If the ambassador is in the ballroom with all of the invited guests before the dignitaries are announced, that would mean the surprise is already sprung,” the Maker observed. “Perhaps the best thing would be to complete all of the introductions and only bring Kelly and Joe to the ballroom afterwards.”

“But how will we maintain the secret between the time the McAllisters arrive home and the time to leave for the ball?” Donna asked. “Is there something you can do, Libby?”

“I’ll cheat their implant times and alter the deck lighting so they’ll think it’s almost midnight when they return,” the station librarian replied. “I’ll also edit Kelly’s news feed just in case she checks, but after all of the off-network stops that freighter is making, they’ll be so jump-lagged that they’ll want to go to sleep according to the clocks just to get back on schedule.”

“That would be great,” Dorothy enthused. “I’ve already made her ball gown and arranged to rent a tux for Dad. I’ll wake them up an hour before the ball and tell them that it’s a birthday party for Dring being thrown by the Stryx. There’s no way Mom would miss that.”

“How about that decorative watch that Kelly wears?” Lynx asked.

“I’ll take care of it,” Jeeves offered. “Remote reprogramming is a specialty of mine.”

“Where do we stand on the news coverage for the ball itself?” Donna asked, turning to her younger daughter.

“I’ve been in almost constant contact with the Grenouthians ever since Dring released the additional invitations for their high mucky-mucks, who practically begged for tickets in the documentary about balls,” Chastity replied. “They wanted press passes for so many immersive camera operators that it would have been wall-to-wall bunnies in there, but when I put my foot down, they backed off immediately and offered to use autonomous floating cameras. They’re bringing in their top hosts from the news channels to interview the important aliens, but I made them promise to stay off the dance floor.”

“It sounds like they’re excited,” Clive remarked.

“I’ve never seen the Grenouthians so worked up before,” Chastity replied. “They’re so flustered by the concept of a human being at the center of the greatest multi-species social event in ages that sometimes they even forget to be condescending. If the bunnies didn’t know that it’s all thanks to Dring, I think they’d be having nervous breakdowns.”

“How about Galactic Free Press reporters?” Donna asked.

“We’re sending all of the full-time Union Station correspondents and editors to maximize our opportunity to cultivate alien contacts. The live ball coverage will be a pictorial stream with Walter and I doing the captions. Of course, we’ll try to get interviews as well, and we can publish full transcripts of any speeches in the back section.”

“Have you finished lining up all of the speakers for the Hall of Praises, Dring?” Donna asked.

The Maker’s shoulders slumped, and his large eyes took on a tragic expression. “Despite my best efforts, none of the leaders from species who haven’t previously encountered humans were willing to go on the record praising Kelly. Emperor Brynt was the only guest who was enthusiastic about the idea, and I’m afraid that the other empire-building species consider the Cayl to be eccentric.”

“Given the news coverage and the chance to appear on stage before such an important audience, I’m sure that all of the local ambassadors would be willing to speak on short notice,” Daniel suggested.

Dring shook his head. “I miscalculated by inviting the leaders of so many off-network species. You know I’m not one to stand on formalities myself, but if I’ve learned one thing about diplomacy through my long life, it’s that power structures must be respected. Other than Emperor Brynt, none of the other potential speakers have the standing to address the likes of Dictator Vissss or Horde Leader Gantu. Imagine if a Grenouthian broadcast showed one of them looking away and yawning while a tunnel network ambassador was speaking.”

“So what are you saying, Dring?” Donna asked.

“The Hall of Praises is not to be,” the Maker replied. “I’m sorry to introduce a change in plans at the last minute, but I believe if we use the space as a card room for non-dancers, everyone will be happier.”

Donna hid her relief that Dring was conceding defeat on organizing an evening of speeches and hurried to cement the alternative before he could change his mind.

“Clive. Can you figure out what card games all of the aliens play, and make sure that we have the decks or whatever else is needed?”

“Not a problem,” the director of EarthCent Intelligence responded. “My question for you is, have you heard back from any of the so-called ‘Fives’ I asked you to invite? It would be nice if we could help sort out this Vergallian mess before somebody gets hurt.”

“All but one accepted,” Donna replied. “I only remember her because she has more A’s in her name than any upper caste Vergallian I’ve ever encountered. Aarania.”

“Too bad,” Clive said. “According to our analysts, out of the names we dug up she’s the best candidate for being in charge of the movement. Of course, it could turn out that our sources are all wet and that we’ve wasted a dozen invitations on members of a legitimate historical preservation society.”

“It would be a feather in the ambassador’s cap if we could deliver a diplomatic coup at the ball,” Dring said, perking up noticeably.

“Alright, then,” Donna declared. “You’re all welcome to come to the orchestral rehearsal tonight, though it will probably be a madhouse. I sent invitations for the rehearsal to every person who ever attended one of my monthly mixers, and even with the short notice, the place will be packed. And thank you again for reserving the extra night and providing refreshments, Dring.”

“Thank Gryph,” the Maker replied.

As Beowulf mooched scraps and people began heading home, Jeeves materialized at Dorothy’s side and said, “I’ve asked Shaina and Brinda to stay for an emergency SBJ Fashions meeting.”

“Emergency?” Dorothy repeated, trying to buy time. She had a sinking feeling that she knew what this was about. “I’ll try pinging Flazint and Affie, but I think they may both be on night time.”

“I already woke them and they’re on their way,” Jeeves replied with none of his usual flippancy. “Perhaps we can move inside for privacy.”

“Alright,” she said nervously, leading the way up the ramp into the ice harvester.

Shaina and Brinda sent their husbands home with the children, and Dorothy suddenly felt like the youngest person in the room. There was some awkward conversation until Flazint and Affie arrived, the former looking a little wilted and the latter like a beauty queen. Jeeves launched into his subject matter without any introduction.

“Seven thousand creds for a party when you include the cleaning bill, and that’s rounding down,” the Stryx complained. “Please explain to me what we got in return.”

“I think we earned a lot of goodwill with influencers from all of the species who attended,” Dorothy replied, not bothering to pretend that she didn’t know what he was talking about. “And Chance did appear on the front page of the Galactic Free Press wearing one of our dresses. The reporter even got the initials right in our company name.”

“Death earned a lot of goodwill with influencers by stripping off his clothes while he was singing,” Jeeves retorted. “I’ve been monitoring the social traffic for all of the station species since your flash party, and if you do the math and adjust for the statistical norm, which I did, each additional mention of SBJ Fashions cost us three hundred and twelve creds.”

“But that’s more than my weekly salary,” Flazint exclaimed.

Dorothy shot her friend a look and tried to defend the strategy. “Goodwill can’t be quantified that easily, it takes a while to seep in. Chastity always talks about the need for repeated exposure to get results from ads in the Galactic Free Press.”

“Thank you for reminding me about the paper,” Jeeves responded. “While it’s true that Chance appeared on the front page wearing one of our dresses, that was strictly the Union Station edition. Do you think that people around the rest of the galaxy are interested in reading about university parties taking place so far away that they’ll all be long dead before the light reflecting off the station can reach them? And speaking of readers, how would you describe the human demographic we’re targeting?”

“You know,” Dorothy said, though it wasn’t something she had ever bothered putting much thought into. “Young women, mainly. Teens, twenties, early thirties?”

“Really?” Shaina drawled. “You think I’m too old to wear our clothes?”

“That’s not the point here,” Jeeves continued, as if he were prosecuting a trial. “Teens, twenties, and early thirties. You couldn’t have done a better job describing the demographic least likely to read the paper.”

“David reads it every day. He pays for an ad-free subscription,” Dorothy protested.

“And your boyfriend is in the habit of buying women’s clothing and accessories?”

Dorothy clamped her mouth shut since she couldn’t think of anything else to say. It had been quite a lot of money to blow on a party.

“Jeeves isn’t angry with you, girls,” Brinda said in the silence that followed. “It’s just that he feels—we feel,” she amended herself, making a gesture that included her sister, “that the three of you haven’t adjusted to the realities of running a business.”

“Do you remember what our profits were last cycle?” Shaina asked the young designers.

“About six hundred creds,” Affie replied.

“That’s our office rent,” Flazint corrected her.

“It was positive, right?” Dorothy asked.

“It was nine creds,” Shaina told her. “On almost a million creds in sales, we netted nine creds. After three years in business, we really hoped to be much further along.”

“And next cycle it will be a loss,” Brinda added.

“Of around seven thousand creds,” Jeeves grumbled.

“Do we need to raise our prices?” Flazint asked.

“Finally,” Jeeves said. “A suggestion that doesn’t involve an expensive new prototype, followed by production setup costs, only to be told that you’ve come up with something better before the first delivery even reaches the station. Sometimes I think you’re all doing it on purpose to make me look bad in front of the other Stryx.”

“We didn’t know,” Affie argued. “You didn’t explain it. I’ve never been in business before.”

“So here’s your chance to learn,” Brinda said. “From now on, we want you to create a business case for introducing new products. Shaina and I are both convinced that the current cross-species lineup is gaining traction with residents on the stations where we have a presence, but we’re cutting our own throats with so many new product introductions.”

“But designing new clothes is the fun part,” Dorothy protested.

“And making a profit is the work part,” Jeeves retorted. “I don’t want to be labeled the mean Stryx who takes away the punch bowl when the party gets started, but in retail, past performance is a highly reliable indicator of future failures.”

“So no more flash fashion events?” Affie ventured.

“Short of providing free samples to twenty million InstaSitters, I can’t think of a faster way to throw away money.”

“Jeeves! You’re a genius,” Dorothy cried.

“You do have a gift for stating the obvious, but why just now?” the Stryx responded.