Space Living (EarthCent Universe Book 4) Read online

  “But different professions require different vocabularies,” Laura protested. “I grew up working in my father’s shipyard, and my friends used to interrupt me all the time to ask what words meant because they just didn’t encounter them in their own lives. Even the names of the tools were all foreign to them.”

  “It’s understandable for unique tools and components to require proper names, but it’s another thing to use parallel words to describe the same characteristic or action,” Yaem said. “M793qK once complained to me that when he had to write up a medical case history for a legal action back on Earth, he needed to substitute words from a dead language to get the authorities to take him seriously.” The Sharf’s eyestalks suddenly stretched, and Julie turned to see what looked like a swarm of bots bringing together the pieces of a large machine. “That looks dangerous,” Yaem commented.

  “Some type of progressive stamping machine, I think,” Don said. “I’ve been reading up on metal forming, and you can’t stamp complex shapes in a single operation. Even heavy sheet metal can rip like paper or get stretched too thin in the wrong places.”

  “I’ll drop in and take a look when it’s all set up, but I’ve got to get back to WandererCon,” Yaem said.

  Julie grabbed the skeletal alien’s arm. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “It’s not an official con, just what I’m calling it,” the Sharf said. “Flower is pulling out all the stops to keep the Wanderers occupied, and it turns out that they’re willing to attend entertainment-themed panel discussions, even if it’s just to heckle the Human experts. Guess who got stuck coming up with a program?”

  “Better you than me,” Julie said, releasing the arm.

  “And I hope you’re capturing images of the assembly process so you’ll know how everything went together after the Zarents are gone,” Yaem said over his shoulder on his way to the exit. “You never know when information like that may come in handy.”

  “Oh, fudge,” Laura said and looked at Don, who shrugged. “Julie?”

  “I didn’t even think of it,” Julie admitted and pointed at her ear. “Is there any chance you’re recording all of this, Flower?” she subvoced.

  “Yes,” the ship’s AI replied. “I have optical cameras installed throughout the manufacturing space for quality control and safety enforcement. Watching the Zarent engineers working is a genuine treat. Once the assembly line is up and running, I’ll send all of the video to the Grenouthian director and ask him to create a documentary about the birth of Flower Shipyards. It could turn into a major source of free publicity. Please pay close attention and ask questions today because the director will likely want to conduct interviews for a voiceover to go with the video.”

  “Flower has it,” Julie told Laura and Don. “And she wants us to pay attention and ask the Zarents questions so we can get a documentary out of this and she can use it to generate sales leads.”

  “I’ll follow around the engineers setting up the basic assembly line,” Don volunteered. “I’m more of a structural guy than a machine guy.”

  “I’m going over there,” Laura said, pointing at where the largest machine was coming together not far from where they stood. “I think that one is some kind of automated welding rig that fabricates a hull from stamped pieces.”

  “I guess I’ll stick with the chief engineer,” Julie said, and then subvoced, “How much of this assembly line is automated? If Laura is right, it sounds like the machines do most of the work.”

  “The chassis fabrication is largely automated, but the machines require attendants,” Flower replied. “Mass production of hulls for small ships is one of the few manufacturing activities that nobody tries—oh, not again.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Julie spent the next five minutes jogging around after the chief engineer and his pair of robots before Flower spoke again. “While I was busy watching the Zarents work, the Wanderers cleaned out another dungeon. I’m going to have to stop recycling stories copied from the professional LARPing league and start making up my own. It’s been almost like the players are using cheat codes.”

  Sixteen

  Bill followed Flower’s directions to the Human Empire’s headquarters and was surprised to find the waiting area full of aliens. He thought he had walked into the wrong office and was about to leave when he noticed a Drazen waving his tentacle and realized that it was Jorb. It took another minute just to work his way through the crush, but he eventually made it to where several of the spies from the cafeteria had formed a cordon in front of a closed door.

  “What’s going on?” Bill asked. “Flower told me this is the Human Empire’s headquarters and that Samuel needed my help with something.”

  “You’re her new Human food expert, and the negotiator for the Wanderers is insisting on dealing exclusively with Humans.”

  “Harry knows more about food than I ever will,” Bill protested. “I’ve only been working part-time in the research kitchen for a year.”

  “Harry stormed out,” Lume said, adding a mirthful whistle even while he corralled a Wanderer who was trying to slip into Samuel’s office. “His wife, Irene, works as a greeter at the amusement park and bazaar. It seems that Wanderers have been tormenting her with questions about how to get to places that are right in front of them.”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s the Wanderer way of making a person out to be a sucker,” the Dollnick explained. “Their goal is to get somebody to take the request for directions seriously.”

  “Like if you asked Lume right now how to get to Samuel’s office,” Razood chimed in. “Harry says that his wife likes to think the best of people but that leaves her vulnerable to these sorts of pranks. Samuel asked him here to explain the best way to store Harry’s Fruitcakes for the maximum shelf life, but when the negotiator laughed at Irene’s troubles, Harry got mad and left.”

  “I guess I would have left too,” Bill said. “But do they really need me to explain how to store an alcohol-soaked fruitcake? We include instructions in the box.”

  “It’s their way of doing business,” Jorb said. “They talk and talk until you can’t keep track of what’s been said, and then they pounce. Be careful in there.”

  Bill took a step towards the door and then halted. “But what are you guys and all of those aliens doing here?”

  “Even though the Humans on the Miklat made up just a couple percent of the population, the other species all decided to join their negotiations. They must have found out Samuel is so new at this that he got his job title from a reporter just a few weeks ago.”

  “What does that mean, joining their negotiations?”

  “It’s a standard tunnel network procedure,” Lume explained. “Whenever multiple species are involved in multi-party negotiations, they have the option to choose a single representative to settle the matter according to the laws and practice of that species. Typically the Wanderers would have given that responsibility to their most populous subgroup, but they went with their senior Human because they judge Samuel and the Human Empire to be the softest target.”

  “Then I’m not sure I want to go in there,” Bill said. “I could say the wrong thing and cost everybody a fortune.”

  “Vivian is in there too and she’ll stop you before you can do any damage,” Jorb said. “Just don’t make any promises of any kind and no harm can come of talking.”

  The office door slid open and an old man stepped out, closely followed by a middle-aged woman who apparently served as his aide. As soon as he appeared, the alien Wanderers all started making noise, stamping their feet, slapping their bellies, and generally acting like rowdy fans at a sporting event. The old man acknowledged his supporters and then set off across the room, his aide supporting his elbow.

  “What’s happening now?” Bill asked.

  “Bathroom break,” Lume told him. “All of us think it’s strange how old Humans revert to infancy when it comes to their capacity
to hold bodily fluids. He should probably go see M793qK.”

  “It’s a good time for you to go in,” Razood said and gave his former apprentice a gentle push towards the office door. “Tell Samuel to stay strong.”

  Vivian greeted him as he entered. “Bill. It’s good to see a friendly face.”

  “Yes, come in,” Samuel said, motioning with his hand. “Sit next to Vivian.”

  “I was just going to tell them about the best way to preserve fruitcakes and get out of your hair,” Bill said.

  “No, you have to stay,” Vivian told him. “We need every advantage we can get and these Wanderers must spend half of their lives negotiating with each other. Ronald is a tough customer.”

  “With you here, we’ll have them outnumbered,” Samuel explained. “It’s a psychological advantage, you don’t even have to say anything. Just try to look interested and nod your head from time to time.”

  “How about the fruitcakes?” Bill asked.

  “That was just a delaying tactic on Ronald’s part and he’s already moved on from it. We’ve been negotiating for three hours already and I haven’t been able to pin him down on what he wants. It’s incredibly frustrating.”

  “If he won’t tell you what he wants, why is he even here?”

  “To get the maximum he can,” Vivian explained. “The Wanderers practice a form of negotiation where they try to get the other party, the Human Empire in this case, to make the first offer. Then Ronald will treat that as the starting point and start piling on demands.”

  “So my job is to get him to tell me what he wants first, without letting on what we’re willing to give him,” Samuel said.

  Bill glanced at the door to make sure it was still closed and asked, “What are you willing to give him?”

  “I don’t have anything to give. It comes down to what Flower is willing to pay, but the Wanderers won’t negotiate with artificial intelligence. The crazy thing is that it’s—”

  The door slid open and Ronald shuffled back in, accompanied by his aide and a young man who looked like he spent eight hours a day working out in a gym.

  “You added somebody, I get to add somebody,” the old Wanderer said. “It’s only fair.”

  “I can leave,” Bill offered, jumping up.

  “Suit yourself, but my athletic supporter remains,” Ronald said, and gave a snort. “So where were we, young McAllister?”

  “My title is First Administrator,” Samuel told him for what felt like the fiftieth time.

  “I once met a First Among Equals, as Horten pirate chiefs call themselves. A very colorful gentleman. He had a tattoo of a giant—”

  “You told that story two hours ago and I didn’t appreciate it the first time,” Vivian interrupted. “Perhaps you’re getting tired and you want to call it a day.”

  “Oh, no,” Ronald said. “I haven’t even hit my stride yet. Why we storytellers have contests that go on weeks at a time. At a recent gathering on the Miklat, I placed second only to the senior Verlock storyteller in the just-shoot-me category.”

  “Excuse me?” Samuel asked.

  “You know, a competition to tell pointless stories that go on forever until the audience is ready to put an end to their own lives to escape. I once bored a Frunge into a catatonic state resembling petrification.”

  “I don’t understand how bringing about my paralysis will help you get what you want. In fact, if I die, the only official representative of the Human Empire left to negotiate with you will be my wife, and I doubt she’ll be any more sympathetic to your cause.”

  “I won’t be,” Vivian promised grimly.

  “You said you could get us a new gym,” the muscular young Wanderer spoke up suddenly. “The Miklat was the only ship in the mob without the variable magnetic monopole technology that can create any resistance down to the weight of a sodium atom. I was too embarrassed to compete at other mob’s pose-downs because their lifters all laughed at me for training with free weights.”

  “Now there’s something I’m sure we can help you with,” Samuel jumped in before the old storyteller could react. “One of our goals for the next century is to set up a ministry of sports to represent humanity at inter-species competitions. I’d like to hear your ideas about—”

  “Out!” Ronald bellowed at the young athlete. Then he pointed at Bill and added, “You go with him.”

  “Not so fast,” Vivian said. “You just told us that your additional negotiator could stay even if Bill left, so the same must apply for our side.”

  “I’ll bring somebody else in,” the Wanderer said and began whispering instructions to his aide.

  “I don’t think I can allow that,” Samuel told him, pushing his newfound advantage. “If a gym kitted out with Verlock technology is your only demand for returning to the Miklat, we’ll get right on it. Vivian, can you check into pricing for exercise equipment?”

  “Now hold it right there,” Ronald said, his folksy manner suddenly replaced with steely resolve. “We’re talking about the outfitting and provisioning of a home for almost twenty-thousand inhabitants from a dozen species and you’re trying to buy me off with a gym? We haven’t even discussed this erroneous idea the Zarents seem to have about the ownership of the Miklat.”

  “I don’t understand what you mean. You abandoned the ship and it was granted to Flower as salvage under tunnel network law. Flower chose to barter it to the Zarents in return for help with an engineering project of her own. The status of the Miklat isn’t on the table.”

  “Then we have nothing to talk about,” Ronald declared, rising from his chair.

  “I guess not,” Samuel said, picking up a tab from his desk and pretending to be absorbed in its contents.

  “Don’t let the door hit you and your friends on the way out,” Vivian called after them.

  After the three Wanderers left the office, Bill asked, “What just happened? The last thing I heard, Flower was so desperate to get rid of them that she was considering Jorb’s idea to force them off the ship with bots.”

  “This is the third time Ronald’s walked out of the negotiations this morning,” Vivian said. “It’s getting rather monotonous, actually. Is he doing anything different this time, Flower?”

  “He’s going over to talk with the representatives from the other species again. The former captain is asking him how it’s going, and he’s saying that he has you eating out of the palm of his hand. Now they’re talking about plans for a victory party, and the Frunge is saying something about returning to the mob in time for—this is interesting.”

  “What’s interesting?” Samuel asked.

  “They weren’t kicked out of the mob after all. This whole thing was a ploy to get their ship fixed up by requiring a rescue. They were willing to risk losing the Miklat as salvage because they just assumed that getting the ship back would be a necessary part of any deal to get rid of them.”

  “But we can’t return the ship since you already gave it to the Zarents,” Bill said.

  “Exactly. We’ve broken their playbook.”

  “What else are they saying?” Vivian asked.

  “Ronald asked about lunch, and the Drazen suggested ordering pizza from the food court. Then they started discussing toppings, and the Verlock wants his with the crust burned. Now they’re arguing over whose turn it is to pay, and Ronald is telling them to charge everything to the Human Empire headquarters.”

  “They can’t do that,” Samuel said, jumping up.

  “Let it go, Sam,” Vivian said. “We’ll just confiscate one of the pizzas when it gets here.”

  “Are you sure you want me to stay?” Bill asked.

  “Absolutely. We weren’t making any progress at all before you arrived.”

  “And you’re making progress now?”

  “We have him on the run with the gym thing,” Vivian said. “When he comes back in, I bet he puts a real proposal on the table for the first time.”

  “This isn’t like any of the negotiation workshops I to
ok at the Open University, or anything my mom ever told me about either,” Samuel said, sinking back into his seat. “The only part of it I understand is why the other species picked Ronald to represent them.”

  “He seems like a tough negotiator,” Bill said.

  “Yes, but some of those aliens live more than ten times as long as we do and have more experience than Ronald or I ever will. The reason they chose him to do the negotiating is that they’re accustomed to running affinity scheme extortion rackets going after their own species, but there aren’t enough aliens living on board Flower to extort anything worthwhile. For example, the Miklat carried thousands of Vergallian Wanderers, but I doubt Flower has even fifty living on board. Even if Flower’s Vergallians coughed up a hundred creds each, it wouldn’t buy the Miklat’s Vergallians lunch.”

  “It’s less like diplomacy than a business deal,” Vivian said. “The Wanderers know they can’t stay on board forever, but they want to get the maximum for leaving. And they won’t negotiate directly with Flower because she’s artificial intelligence.”

  “And smarter than they are,” Samuel added.

  “Could you get a neutral third party to help, like a judge or something?” Bill asked.

  “Too risky. The Wanderers are experts at bribery.”

  The door slid open and Ronald returned with his aide. The weightlifter was conspicuous by his absence.

  “All right,” the old Wanderer said. “Lunch will be here soon, but I’d like to get this little negotiation out of the way first, so why don’t you put your cards on the table?”

  “Me?” Samuel said, affecting an innocent look. “I don’t hold any cards. I still don’t have a clue what exactly it is you expect me to do for you.”

  “Not you as an individual, you as the embodiment of the Human Empire. As the First whatever-you-called-yourself, you are our only official rep—”

  “I keep telling you that I’m not,” Samuel interrupted. “You can’t just declare yourself a member of somebody else’s empire and expect them to go along with it. Sure, you’re human, but there are billions of humans roaming around out here, and less than twenty percent of them live in the sovereign human communities that make up the initial membership of the Human Empire. And I’ve explained a hundred times that the empire hasn’t even entered the planning stage yet. We’re still working on the broad outlines.”