Last Night on Union Station (EarthCent Ambassador Book 16) Read online

  “No, of course you’re welcome. Just put it all over there on one of the folding tables next to the sink and the old games.”

  “Good morning, Ambassador,” Joe called from the top of the ramp. “Can I get you anything? A drink?”

  “Some of that bubbly stuff you make would be acceptable,” the Grenouthian replied, choosing a lawn chair that was constructed from carbon fiber tubing that could support his bulk.

  “I should go see if my daughter is around to help set up your things,” Kelly said, sensing an escape from speech writing. “She has a flair for marketing.”

  “No need, no need. My staff will handle it.”

  “You only mentioned your secretary.”

  “She’s supervising the staff, of course. I’ve just pinged her with the go-ahead.” The bunny leaned forward to pull another chair close and put up his feet. “Why don’t you tell me your opening joke?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “For your speech. You must have an opening joke.”

  “I, uh, I save that part for last.”

  “You end with a joke?” The Grenouthian ambassador turned his large black eyes on her and his furry features formed into a frown. “You should always end a speech with a call to action.”

  “I meant, I write the speech first, and then I come up with the opening joke,” Kelly fibbed. “You know, to fit it with what comes after.”

  “I’ve never seen it done like that before.” Shifting slightly in the chair, the Grenouthian accepted his drink from Joe. “Thank you, kind Human.”

  “You’re welcome, Ambassador,” Joe replied. “Are you helping my wife with her speech?”

  “Just a few pointers,” the bunny said. He took a long pull from the pilsner glass and let out a satisfied belch. “You should consider selling this beverage.”

  “I do, but only in small batches. I’m getting too old to shift the kegs around and none of the kids are that interested in brewing.”

  A group of burly bunnies pushing floating pallets led by a petite Grenouthian wearing a pink sash padded their way up to the patio.

  “Put those things on the tables near the sink and hurry back for the second load,” the Grenouthian ambassador instructed his subordinates. “We don’t want to intrude here all day.”

  “Yes, Ambassador,” the staff chorused, and set to work unloading the pallets.

  “Interesting collection,” Joe commented as he watched the bunnies work. “Looks like you brought some of everything.”

  “When opportunity knocks,” the Grenouthian ambassador said, and rapped his knuckles on the table. “A large number are decorative pieces, as you can see, though I’m told that the trash of one species can be the treasure of another.”

  “Is it really all from your embassy?” Kelly asked, recovering from her initial shock at the quantity of merchandise the ambassador was dumping on her.

  “And from my tenure. Gifts have a way of piling up, you know. Whenever we have a meeting at your embassy, I’m amazed at how clean you’ve kept the place.”

  “It’s my policy not to accept—Good morning, Bork.”

  “Evening for me,” the Drazen ambassador said, setting down a heavy sack. “I was weeding out some of my old reenactment costumes and I thought they might give a little color to your tag sale.”

  “I don’t know if they’ll sell, but you’re welcome to display them.”

  “Excellent. I’ll just leave these here for a minute and be back with the rack.”

  “Rack?”

  “No help required. It’s on wheels.”

  “Some aliens,” the Grenouthian ambassador commented as Bork hurried off. “Give them room to breathe and they’ll suck all of the air out of the room.”

  “Can I refill that for you?” Joe offered, pointing at the bunny’s empty glass.

  “Yes, that would be very nice. You wouldn’t have any of those green and orange sticks that the Gem caterers put out at our meetings, would you?”

  “Celery and carrots,” Kelly said, rising to her feet. “I’ll get them.”

  By the time the EarthCent ambassador and her husband had returned with the vegetable platter and a pitcher of fresh beer, Czeros had arrived pulling what looked like a child’s wagon. Unfortunately, twenty more wagons trailed behind the first like a train.

  “Good morning,” he greeted everybody cheerfully. “I knew I would find you at home today so I thought I’d bring a few things for your tag sale. I see that our colleagues have beat me to the punch.”

  “I’m helping the ambassador with her speech,” the Grenouthian said. “She was going to end with a joke.”

  “That won’t do,” Czeros told Kelly, his voice taking on a serious timbre. “Let me just park these wagons by those tables and I’ll be happy to offer my expertise. And if somebody wants to buy the wagons, it will save me a trip back to pick them up.”

  “I’ll get you a glass,” Joe said, to which the Frunge ambassador replied with a thumbs-up.

  “So what’s the major thrust of your speech?” the Grenouthian ambassador inquired. “What’s the value proposition?”

  “Value proposition?” Kelly repeated.

  “What are you trying to sell them?”

  “The attendees will be leaders and businessmen from our sovereign human communities, plus a sprinkling of news correspondents. I’m not trying to sell them anything.”

  The Grenouthian ambassador choked on the celery stalk he was inhaling and thumped himself on the chest ineffectually. Kelly was about to yell for Libby to send help when Crute arrived and began drumming on the bunny’s back with all four fists. A stringy length of masticated vegetable shot out of the choking ambassador’s mouth and hit Srythlan, who was shuffling slowly towards the table, a large box in his arms.

  “Are you trying to kill me?” the Grenouthian ambassador demanded. “Who ever heard of giving a speech without a sales pitch? It’s like a drama without a plot.”

  “Sorry,” Kelly said. “It’s just the keynote to open the convention.”

  “That’s the most important speech of all.” The bunny glowered at the EarthCent ambassador, and then consoled himself by downing his refilled glass. “Somebody else explain it to her.”

  “I see I arrived just in time,” the Dollnick ambassador said.

  “Thank you for saving him,” Kelly acknowledged.

  “I meant in time to save your keynote address.” Crute took the chair on Kelly’s other side and yelled to his embassy staffers, “Just pile the stuff over there next to the Grenouthian junk. If you run out of space, they keep more folding tables out back.”

  “You gentlemen do remember what I told you about items that don’t sell,” Kelly said.

  “Sure, sure. You’ll charge us for disposal. How much of the speech have you written so far?”

  “Zilch. Nothing. Nada,” the Grenouthian answered for Kelly. “She doesn’t even know why she’s giving the speech.”

  “I remember now,” the EarthCent ambassador snapped. “I need to convince a certain furry species with big floppy ears to open some worlds for CoSHC and to license the manufacture of droopy swords.”

  “Noodle weapons,” Crute corrected her.

  “SBJ Fashions has invited me to a demonstration on the final day of the CoSHC trade show and I’ll be putting together a delegation of our businessmen to attend,” the Grenouthian ambassador said. “I wish I had recorded their presentation for you, it was given by the two sisters who ran the Kasilian auction. They opened with a joke, proceeded to their value proposition, and closed with a call to action.”

  “Statistics,” Srythlan suggested, setting his heavy box filled with commemorative plates on the table next to Kelly’s notepad. “Provide a hand-out with a mathematical proof of what you’re saying.”

  “I was just going to welcome everybody to the convention and tell them about all the great sessions,” Kelly said. “Maybe I’ll offer a few pointers about things to see on Union Station.”

  “Before Gryph
sells it,” the Grenouthian ambassador grunted.

  “I’ll just leave the rack right here,” the Drazen ambassador called from the edge of the rapidly expanding tag sale area. “Is this axe for sale?”

  “Axe?”

  “A hundred creds,” the Grenouthian ambassador shouted back. “It’s a steal.”

  “Done,” Bork replied. He slung the battle axe over his shoulder and joined the other ambassadors. “Here you go, Kelly,” he said, handing over a one-hundred-cred coin. “Do I get a beer with my purchase?”

  “Coming right up,” Joe told him, and returned to the ice harvester for another pitcher and more glasses.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” the bunny asked Kelly.

  “You’ll get your money after the tag sale,” the ambassador replied, holding onto the coin. “I don’t want to have to chase after anybody for disposal fees.”

  “Where did you get this axe?” Bork asked the Grenouthian. “It’s one of the nicest replicas I’ve seen in ages.”

  “Probably a gift from your predecessor or the Drazen ambassador before him. I also brought a collection of swords and some very old bottles of liquor that I believe were bribes from the Frunge and the Hortens.”

  “Be right back,” Czeros said, spinning around and heading for where the Grenouthian embassy staff had just finished dumping off their second load.

  “Did you ever visit a doctor on Earth?” the Dollnick ambassador asked Kelly out of the blue.

  “Sure, when I was a girl. I grew up there.”

  “Start your speech with one of those stories about being bled for your health. Human medical practices are always good for a laugh.”

  “You’ve been watching too many Grenouthian documentaries, Crute. Bleeding went out of fashion almost two hundred years ago. That’s ancient history.”

  “Srythlan and I have been ambassadors on Union Station longer than that,” the Grenouthian ambassador pointed out. “It doesn’t feel like ancient history to us.”

  “Alright, I’ve got one for you,” Bork said. “A drunk Horten walks into a bar and—”

  “I hope you’re ready to use that axe,” Ortha interrupted the Drazen.

  “Ambassador Ortha. Welcome,” Kelly said. “These gentlemen were just trying to help me write a keynote speech and we’ve been trying to come up with a joke.”

  “A Drazen with a sword,” the Horten ambassador shot back. “That’s the funniest joke I know.”

  “Easy, easy,” Joe said, slipping between the two diplomats and handing Bork a beer. “Is that a self-propelled dumpster trailing behind you, Ambassador? I’m surprised it fit in the lift tube capsule.”

  “I took the service tube. It’s just a few things for your tag sale,” Ortha said, realizing he’d better play nice if he wanted to get rid of his junk. “Sorry if I lost my temper there for a minute.”

  “Is that the lava sculpture I gave you?” Srythlan asked slowly, pointing to a glassy oblong rock sitting on top of the jumble in the low-walled dumpster.

  “How did that get in there?” Ortha asked, his skin turning yellow. “I specifically told the staff I wanted to keep it.”

  “That totem looks very familiar,” the Grenouthian ambassador added.

  “I swear you didn’t give it to me,” the Horten said. “I got it from Srythlan with the rock.”

  “Guilty,” the Verlock ambassador said. “If not for re-gifting, I’d have brought a lot more than this one box of commemorative plates.”

  “Where do they come from?” Kelly asked.

  “Us,” Aainda announced her presence. “Our diplomatic service discontinued the practice of supplying plates to ambassadors for use as gifts when the imperial council found out how much they cost. There was a stretch of a few hundred years when embassies received a regular supply of plates to commemorate the coronation of every new queen around the empire. A complete set is quite valuable these days.”

  “I just brought these to show Ambassador McAllister,” Srythlan said slowly. He followed up by moving the box to the floor and guarding it with his legs.

  “How does it happen that all of you are showing up at the same time?” Kelly asked. “Did you coordinate?”

  “A note from our intelligence people suggested it was a good time,” Bork said. “I can check the exact wording.” He stared off into space for a moment, reading something on his heads-up display. “Something’s not right here. Let me confirm.”

  The alien ambassadors all fell silent for a moment as they either pinged their own embassies or rechecked messages on their implants, and the Grenouthian actually slammed his paw down on the table.

  “Spoofed,” he exclaimed. “The message wasn’t from my cultural attaché after all. But why would anybody—”

  “Is that who I think it is?” Kelly interrupted, pointing at the backs of several figures wearing environmental suits fleeing rapidly towards the exit. “Hey!”

  “Our intelligence confirms that the message originated at the Fillinduck embassy,” Bork said. “Their ambassador must have wanted to gather a crowd here so they could slip in and drop off their unwanted items without being noticed.”

  “He could have just asked,” Kelly said as the Fillinduck ambassador and his cohorts disappeared. “There’s no need to sneak around.”

  “Really?” a disembodied voice asked, and the Chert ambassador materialized, along with a floating sled loaded with an assortment of knickknacks. “I’ll just put these things out and be with you in a minute.”

  “I don’t get what the big deal is,” the EarthCent ambassador complained. “Is it that hard to get rid of each other’s gifts?”

  “None of the merchants on Union Station would take them,” Crute admitted. “They’re afraid to offend the diplomatic service of another species.”

  “If you don’t want the stuff you give each other, why not re-gift, like Srythlan?”

  “We didn’t know that’s what he was doing until just now,” the Grenouthian ambassador replied.

  “All lava over the dam,” the Verlock ambassador said. “What’s important now is Kelly’s speech.”

  “Start with a joke,” the Chert ambassador called over his shoulder.

  “Doesn’t EarthCent have speechwriters on staff?” Crute inquired.

  “I never knew there were such people,” Kelly replied. “I can hire somebody?”

  “A good one is invaluable,” Czeros said, returning to the table with several dusty old liquor bottles, the seals still intact. “They can help you establish a coherent theme for your presentation and make sure that the message comes across clearly. There’s nothing worse than a speech that draws applause for every sentence and is forgotten before the audience leaves the room. Not that I’ve ever needed to employ a ghostwriter myself,” he concluded as the other ambassadors peered at him suspiciously.

  “Good speechwriters pay for themselves in the invitations you’ll get to host business gatherings once you build a reputation,” Bork added. “Not that I use one either.”

  “Of course not,” the other ambassadors muttered.

  “Our Guild of Speechwriters guarantees anonymity and is bonded by the Tharks,” the Grenouthian ambassador contributed.

  “Speechwriting is part of Vergallian royal training, but most queens still keep one or two ghostwriters on staff,” Aainda said. “After all, giving speeches is a huge part of what we all do.”

  “Does that mean Aabina is trained in speech writing?” Kelly asked eagerly.

  “Of course. I’m sure she’d be happy to help you.”

  “When are you planning on holding the sale?” Czeros asked, examining the labels on the dusty bottles of liquor he’d found. “Can I take these with me today or do I have to come back and bid on them?”

  “It’s a tag sale, not an auction,” Kelly explained. “We’ll put prices on some of the bigger items if we can figure out what they are, but with all of the new inventory that showed up this morning, I think we’ll just have to sort it into price ranges
.”

  “You mean, like the one-cred store on the market deck?” Bork asked.

  “Except almost everything they sell costs more than a cred. I used to take the children there but it was always a disappointment.”

  “Maybe you could have an exclusive viewing before the tag sale to get the best prices for some of the more expensive items,” Czeros suggested. “I’d go two hundred creds for this lot.”

  “That’s because it’s worth at least five hundred,” the bunny grunted. “I’ll have my staff come back and mark prices on the bottoms of our items. I don’t want any of it back because it will just cost a fortune to move when Gryph sells the station, but there’s no reason to give it away. I suggest the rest of you do the same.”

  Twelve

  “You must have started practicing again,” Ailia complimented Samuel after their first dance. “The last time we visited together I thought your hologram was going to step on my toes.”

  “It’s my co-op job. The ambassador makes me dance with all of the unescorted Vergallian women who come to embassy dinners. My starting times for work are all over the place since our clocks don’t match, but she usually doesn’t even want me coming in until mid-afternoon on their time.”

  “Most formal balls in the Empire don’t begin until long after the farmers are in bed. Vergallian royalty are expected to keep late hours. Shall we try a new ballroom piece?”

  Samuel nodded in the direction of the supposed robot toy supplied by Jeeves which made their cross-galactic visits possible. He stepped towards her hologram and assumed the classic starting position. The modified magnetic flight suits from the Physics Ride they both wore provided tactile feedback that made the holograms feel real.

  “Yellow Star Memories,” the princess announced. Music swelled from their quantum-coupled bots, and for the next eight minutes, the pair traced the complicated figures of the dance, Samuel in his bedroom, and Ailia hundreds of light years away in her study.

  “How did I do?”

  “You really have returned to form. I can’t say I blame Vivian for losing interest in Vergallian dancing after the way you were treated at the competitions, but it would be a shame to give it up altogether after you’re married.”