Empire Night on Union Station (EarthCent Ambassador Book 18) Read online

“Don’t – mind – me,” the bulky alien rumbled at a glacial pace. “A – custom – chair. How – thoughtful.” He settled in the seat assigned to the Verlock ambassador at diplomatic meetings, folded his arms on the table, put his head down, and immediately began to snore.

  Dring reached across the table and flipped over the fabric swag bag that dangled from the new arrival’s wrist. He smoothed out the section Dorothy had embroidered.

  “What are you doing, Dring?” Samuel asked.

  “Getting his name,” the Maker said, transcribing the Verlock characters onto his scroll. “The key to writing good history is to put everything in, including the drunks and tunnel-lagged statisticians.”

  “How can you tell he’s a statistician?”

  “That’s the symbol embroidered after his name, the Verlock equivalent of a question mark. It’s too bad he’s sleeping because I’m sure he would have had something interesting to say about your auction proposal.”

  Ten

  Vivian’s twin brother Jonah looked up as the host of Let’s Make Friends came into the improvised dressing room tent that the Grenouthians had set up in the food court of the Empire Convention Center for the on-location shoot.

  “You look half-dead, Aisha,” he said. “I mean, really tired. Was there a problem with the temporary set?”

  “The set was fine, and they’re changing it out for your kitchen as we speak,” Aisha replied, sinking into a folding chair. “I’m just glad I don’t have to do this all week.”

  “Did something go wrong?”

  “It’s the children. I never imagined that having an all-human cast could make such a difference. The little girl from a Horten open world said that axes are for sissies, so a little boy from the Drazen open world shoved her. Then she held her breath until she started changing color, and I was afraid she was going to pass out right on stage.”

  “So what happened next?”

  “A boy from a Dollnick open world said something to a girl from a Sharf recycling orbital about sloppy engineering and I thought I was going to have a galactic war on my hands. I had to skip the rest of the introductions and go right to Storytellers.”

  “Well, that’s always popular,” Jonah said. “What was your opening?”

  “Once upon a time, seven children from sovereign human communities visited Union Station with their parents for a tradeshow,” Aisha repeated her starter line. “Then I pointed at the little boy from a Verlock academy world, and it took him thirty seconds to say that he wanted to go home where people are better behaved.”

  “Tough start.”

  “Then I pointed at the girl from Timble, a Grenouthian orbital that’s dedicated to the entertainment industry, and instead of one sentence, she stood up and delivered the soliloquy from ‘My Mother’s Pouch.’”

  “I’ve never heard of that one,” Jonah admitted.

  “It’s a classic Grenouthian play about childhood, and the speech goes on for five minutes about how the galaxy looks friendlier from inside a mother’s pouch. I wanted to stop her after the first few lines, but the director pinged me from the control booth and insisted that I let her finish. It’s the first time he’s contacted me during a live performance in years.”

  “What did the rest of the children think of it?”

  “The child from the Frunge open world started snoring and it sounded like somebody was sawing logs. Then nobody else wanted to go after the girl from Timble because she was obviously a child actor. I don’t know what I would have done if the assistant director hadn’t called a commercial break because the Grenouthian cameramen were all in tears from the soliloquy and couldn’t see what they were shooting.”

  “I hope I have better luck with the guest assistants they pick out for me,” Jonah said. “I’m kind of nervous since it’s the first time I’ll be working with girls who I don’t already know from the cooking class I teach for InstaSitter.”

  “It can’t go any worse than my show did,” Aisha said. “I was so desperate to just get them talking about something when we came back from commercial that I skipped right to what they wanted to be when they grow up.”

  “That’s always fun.”

  “Except what they want to be when they grow up are aliens! I started with the little boy whose grandmother is the designated stakeholder for the humans from the Two Mountains consortium world because I overheard him telling her before we started that he wanted to be just like her. Do you know what he said when I asked?”

  Jonah shook his head at the rhetorical question.

  “He wants to be a Drazen when he grows up. The girl from the Sharf recycling orbital asked him how he could be Drazen without a tentacle or extra thumbs, and before I had time to think, the children were all discussing prosthetics like they were seventy years old rather than seven. Since they knew what they were talking about, and it’s better than hitting each other, I let them go on, but the whole rest of the show ended up being a discussion of how humans can be more like aliens. The worst part of it is that the assistant director told me it was my best show of the season.”

  An excited Grenouthian intern stuck her head in the tent and caught Jonah’s attention. “You’re on in five,” she told him before ducking back out.

  “Did they at least know the song?” Jonah asked Aisha as he tied on his apron.

  “Everybody in the galaxy knows the song,” she said tiredly. “I’m just glad I left Stevie home with Fenna rather than letting her bring him here.”

  “I’m sure it will be better tomorrow,” Jonah said.

  “I know it will because I’ll be back in the studio with my regular cast,” Aisha said. “This was a one-time special for me. I hope it works out better for you because they told me you’ll be here all week.”

  “The Grenouthians cut a deal with the Dollnicks to promote the Empire Convention Center in return for free use of the Galaxy Room for a network awards show. We got a huge banner with the Empire@Empire logo to hang over the set, and they even replaced my regular apron.”

  The tent flap pushed open, and the intern called, “In three,” before disappearing again.

  “I better get out there,” Jonah said. “I’m sure your show went better than you remember. The Grenouthians run a delay, you know, and they’re experts at live editing. I remember the time I forgot that I had a pot of oil heating up on the back burner for donuts and it burst into flames. When I got home and watched the recording Mom made, the editors had spliced in a scene from a previous show where I did one of those product placement ads for nutcrackers. The transition was so seamless that I wouldn’t have known what really happened if I hadn’t been there.”

  “Thank you for that, but I think I’d rather forget today altogether,” Aisha said. “Good luck.”

  Jonah exited the tent, and the young intern, who was related in some way to the producer or the director, walked him onto the temporary set and showed him his mark.

  “Testing, three point one four one five nine—”

  “I got it,” Jonah interrupted the voice coming over his implant. “Where’s my first guest?”

  “Minor change in plan,” the assistant director informed him. “You’re going to do the intro alone, talk up the product of the day, and then you’ll bring on Sephia.”

  “Who?”

  “Girl from Chianga, a Dollnick open world. When the manager of the Empire Convention Center found out that a Human from his homeworld was on the guestlist for today, he insisted that you do the whole show with her.”

  “Do we know anything about the girl? Has she ever been on camera before?”

  “Don’t worry. I checked with some Humans in the audience and they all said that she’s a looker.”

  “That’s not what I—” Jonah cut himself off as he saw the light on the front immersive camera go live and immediately launched into his intro. “Welcome to Stone Soup, coming to you live from the food court of the Empire Convention Center here on Union Station. We’ll be here all week with guest assistants from th
e Human Empire tradeshow. It all kicks off tonight in the Galaxy Room with a keynote address from our ambassador and an auction to determine the future of our sovereign human communities. But first, I’d like to tell you about one of my favorite ingredients from the All Species Cookbook.”

  The light on the immersive camera winked out, and the space above the counter was suddenly filled with a pre-recorded hologram which Jonah knew was now being broadcast in immersive mode. He waited a moment for the light musical score to fade and then began reading the scripted commentary on his heads-up display in time with the projection.

  “Mozzarella is made from buffalo milk in the Campania region of southern Italy on Earth. The cheesemakers start by separating the curd from the whey. Then they cut the curd into smaller pieces and place them in the cooker, which runs at a temperature just below the boiling point of water at sea level. The result is stretchy dough, which can be kneaded into shapes and soaked in saltwater to add flavor and help the curd form a smooth surface.”

  The music swelled again, and although Jonah couldn’t see through the holographic projection to the front, he knew that ordering instructions for the cheese were superimposed over the hologram in the language of whoever was watching via a home immersive system. The last element to appear was the official, “Certified by the All Species Cookbook,” logo, which meant the advertiser had paid a licensing fee to EarthCent, as there was no actual certification process.

  “And we’re back,” Jonah said immediately after the light on the front immersive camera popped on. “Now I’d like to introduce today’s guest assistant who has traveled all the way here from the Dollnick open world of Chianga. Sephia? Come on out.”

  A stunning girl in her early twenties wearing an outfit that reminded Jonah more of a swimsuit than kitchen attire climbed up the stairs to the temporary stage and slipped behind the counter. He felt his jaw drop, and for the first time in over a year of hosting the show, found himself at a loss for words.

  “Give her the apron,” the assistant director prompted over the young man’s implant.

  “Apron,” Jonah repeated out loud, breaking the spell. “Right. Welcome to Stone Soup, Sephia. We provide all of our guests with an apron for the show that they can also take home, so let’s cover up your—I mean, safety first in the kitchen,” he stammered. The apron intended for the guest was folded neatly on the counter, but when he went to hand it to her, she stepped close and then turned her back, obviously intending for him to tie it on.

  “Allow me,” Jonah said, slipping the top loop over her head, and then reaching around for the dangling strings to tie a light bow behind her back. He felt the blood rushing to his face, and stepping away, he went to his standby line to buy time. “Have you ever watched our show, Sephia?”

  The girl turned around, and her shining blue eyes looked to him as large as saucers. “I’ve never missed an episode,” she said in a husky contralto. “You’re not going to believe this, but I’ve had dreams about you.”

  “Jonah! Jonah!” the assistant director’s voice cried in the host’s head five seconds later. “Snap out of it. Get started on the recipe.”

  “Our first recipe today is from Ambassador McAllister’s favorite section of the cookbook, and I’ll bet you all know what that means,” Jonah said in a rush.

  “Chocolate,” several audience members called out in a variety of languages.

  “That’s right, and this recipe for chocolate date balls comes from Sue, who lives on a Dollnick ag world, so my guest assistant may already be familiar with it.”

  “Is choosing this recipe your way of asking me for a date?” she asked, displaying a smile that could have competed with that of a Vergallian princess. “If so, I accept.”

  “Steady,” the assistant director murmured in Jonah’s head.

  “The great thing about this recipe is that there’s no cooking required, though if the dates are dried out, you may want to let them soak a bit in hot water to soften,” Jonah said, fighting to control his breathing. “We’ll use eight good-sized dates,” he continued, pointing at the ingredients already set out on the sideboard, “a cup of old-fashioned oatmeal, a half a cup of All Species Cookbook brand almond butter exported by Drazen Foods, two tablespoons of unsweetened cocoa powder, and for that flavor explosion, a half-cup of dried Sheezle bug flakes.”

  “You’re really going to use Sheezle bug flakes?” Sephia asked in surprise. “We always substitute.”

  “Just making sure you’re paying attention,” Jonah said, sounding a lot cockier than he felt. “We’re substituting unsweetened coconut flakes, because as I’m sure you know, coconuts have become a popular crop on Dollnick ag worlds.”

  “Dollnicks like coconut milk,” the girl confirmed.

  “If you can combine the oatmeal, cocoa powder, and Sheezle-bug-flake substitutes in the mixing bowl, I’m going to throw these dates in the blender with a dash of warm water to puree.”

  Jonah followed his own instructions, pulsing the blender on and off, then stopping to scrape down the sides with a flexible spatula. Sephia combined the other ingredients he’d named in the bowl and mixed them Dollnick style.

  “Can you remind our audience why we mix dry ingredients before putting everything together?” he asked the guest.

  “To make sure that the ingredients are evenly dispersed,” Sephia replied immediately. “My mother used to say that I was the worst cook on Chianga and nobody would ever want to marry me. Then I started watching Stone Soup and making all of the recipes, and now she says any man would be lucky to get me.”

  “Smart mother,” Jonah said under his breath, giving the blender a final pulse. “This is looking a bit thick, so I’m going to add another drop of water and give it one more go. We’re shooting for a creamy paste, not date juice, so those of you who accessed the recipes ahead of time on the Grenouthian network and are following along at home, don’t over-blend.”

  “Is there anything else I can do?” Sephia breathed over the host’s shoulder, making him jump.

  “Go ahead and add the All Species Cookbook brand almond butter to your bowl, and then hold it out so I can pour in the date puree,” Jonah said, removing the blender jar from its base and setting aside the lid. “When you’re working with a puree of this consistency, always have a soft spatula ready to help get it out of the jar or you’ll lose a quarter of the product.” He held the blender jar by its glass handle with one hand, and using the other hand to work the spatula, scraped the date puree out into the bowl held by the girl. “You can see where an extra pair of hands always come in handy in the kitchen.”

  “That’s why Dollnick chefs win all of the big cooking competitions,” Sephia said, as proudly as if she was a four-armed alien herself. “They can hold a bowl, add ingredients, and stir them in, all at the same time.”

  “And Dollnicks are famous across the galaxy for their hospitality industry,” Jonah added, figuring it was as good a time as any to segue into the negotiated commercial plug. “If you’ve never visited an Empire Convention Center, the chain has locations on most of the Stryx stations, serving all species around every clock. Just mention Stone Soup and receive a ten percent discount on your first stay at the hotel.”

  “We’ve stayed at the Empire every time I’ve been to Union Station and the whole family loves it,” the girl added.

  “The last step is to stir the mixture into a dough, so put the mixing bowl on the table and—”

  “I can just hold it,” Sephia interrupted. “I trust you not to get it all over me.”

  “Uh, all right,” Jonah said. He could feel his face redden again and hoped that the Grenouthians were running a color compensation filter. “If we were making enough for a banquet I’d use an industrial mixer, but for a small quantity like this, you can’t beat a wooden spoon. Unless of course, you’re Frunge, in which case a nonstick metal mixing spoon would work just as well.”

  “Do Frunge eat oatmeal?”

  “It depends on how traditional t
hey are. I see we’re about to break for a commercial, so everybody following along at home, just keep mixing your dough, and we’ll be back in ninety-four seconds.”

  “Perfect,” the assistant director declared, hopping onto the stage immediately after the status light on the front immersive camera winked out. “Brilliant work, young lady. The cameras love you.” He slapped a furry palm on Jonah’s forehead and added, “No fever. You might want to have your circulatory system checked out after the show. Your capillaries keep opening wide and changing your skin color.”

  “So this isn’t your first time on Union Station?” Jonah asked his guest, keeping up a steady stirring motion as the bunny headed back to his usual position.

  “I come with my father to every tradeshow,” Sephia said. “He’s on the ad hoc Human Empire committee, but his real job is being the mayor of Floaters and managing outside sales. I race them.”

  “Floaters?”

  “Yes. I turned sixteen the year the racing circuit started—that’s the minimum age for competition drivers—and I’ve been in the top ten every season for all seven years of its existence. I also do the test driving for our factory’s new models.”

  “So you’re twenty-three?” Jonah asked.

  “You say that like I’m ready for retirement. How old are you?”

  “Nineteen, but I’ll be twenty next month.”

  “If you prorate our ages for life expectancy, we’re perfect for each other,” Sephia said happily.

  “Five. Four. Three. Two. One,” the assistant director concluded his countdown, and the status light on the front immersive camera went hot. “That means you start talking, Jonah,” he prompted via the young man’s implant.

  “Welcome back to Stone Soup, coming to you live from the food court of the Empire Convention Center on Union Station,” the host managed to say. “Our dough is just about mixed, so why don’t you put the bowl down on the counter here and we can hand-roll some balls.”

  “It’s not sticky at all,” Sephia said a minute later, rolling a dollop of dough between her palms. “Do they have to cool in the fridge?”