Carnival On Union Station (EarthCent Ambassador Book 5) Page 19

  “I stand corrected,” Apria said coldly. “Perhaps you could summarize the important points of your workshop for one so ignorant as myself.”

  “Ambassadors, please,” the Verlock protested. “Our analysts predict that in the absence of political change, the better part of forty billion clones will eventually be seeking new homes. The Gem fleeing the Empire will avoid Verlock worlds due to environmental incompatibility, but I assure you that they will soon be arriving at your doors in large numbers.”

  “We are seeing some of that already,” Ortha admitted. “And having read through the human materials myself, I’m afraid I must concur with the Grenouthians. Other than a charming naivety, I don’t see how they can help the clones reach a compromise. The basic assumption seems to be that both parties are rational actors, where we all know that it’s rare for diplomatic negotiations to include even one rational actor.”

  “You make it sound like we’re on a hopeless mission,” Kelly complained. “As my colleague has already pointed out, if the Gem can’t resolve this issue through reform, it’s likely that the Empire will produce a wave of refugees like the galaxy hasn’t seen since…”

  “Since last Carnival?” the Chert interrupted, having finished off all of the fresh cantaloupe and honeydew melon, grown locally on the human ag deck. “I understand your concern, Ambassador, but the galaxy sees a constant flux of refugees. Before my people found a new home and joined the tunnel network, we were refugees for more than a hundred thousand years. The Gem are already part of the network so the Stryx will help them.”

  “That’s your plan?” Kelly asked, staring at the other ambassadors. “Why even get together to meet if we’re going to count on the Stryx to do all of the heavy lifting?”

  “They do anyway,” Bork reminded her gently.

  “But isn’t it important that we try?” Kelly exclaimed. “I know that you’ve all been around a lot longer than humans and you’ve seen species come and go, but this involves us personally. I think of the Free Gem as my friends.”

  “Do you think we’re just here for the food and wine?” Czeros said, even though there wasn’t any wine on the table. Aisha took the hint and whispered to Torra, who pulled a bottle from the rack and gave it to the acting junior counsel. The Ainsleys had actually been good sports about Ian’s loss, but neither of them were quite ready to wait on the Frunge, especially after his earlier comment.

  “Well, maybe,” Kelly answered him uncertainly. “I thought our last meeting was productive, so I guess the problem must be me.”

  “Nonsense,” Czeros replied, cheered by the sight of Aisha removing the cork from a bottle of red. “It’s just that some of the present company don’t understand your objection to Stryx help when you are, after all, the only foster species present, not to mention your recent election victory.”

  “Your choice not to vote on any of the judging panels was discussed at the Naturals League post-Carnival party,” Bork added. “Most of the species thought that you were trying to show up their ancestors by violating a tradition that extends back for thousands of Carnivals, but I assured them that it was just a quirk of your personality.”

  Kelly gratefully accepted an unexpected glass of wine from Czeros and took a moment to absorb the criticisms of the other ambassadors. She replayed the comments in her head to “hear” them, a technique she intended to explain to the Gem in the workshop.

  During the conversational lull, Ian came forward with a small wooden box and offered it to the Verlock ambassador, who sniffed at the contents, and then tried a piece of whatever it was. After a bite, the bulky alien bowed his head at the pub owner, who smiled in satisfaction that none of his guests would go away hungry.

  “So do you think that our workshop idea is just a quirk of my personality as well?” Kelly finally asked her friend.

  “We’re all sure you have excellent reasons to publicly promote negotiations,” he replied, which struck the EarthCent ambassador as a strange response to come from a diplomat. “It’s hard to imagine Ambassador Gem will agree to any concessions, but nobody can fault you for trying. It seems to me that there was a civilization somewhere, once, that averted civil war through negotiations.”

  “I think I heard that too,” Czeros said in support of his traditional rival, while casting an appreciative look around the well-provisioned table.

  “Yes, the, er, uh,” Crute stammered.

  “Maybe. Once,” Apria agreed sourly.

  “You see?” Bork said encouragingly. “Perhaps your workshop will enable your friends to convince Ambassador Gem that everything she believes is wrong, and she’ll be the first of the Gem elite to step down. Stranger things have happened.”

  “Uh, thanks, Bork,” Kelly said, wishing she could believe that the ambassadors were suddenly being nice because they appreciated her professionalism, rather than the catering.

  “We should consider a fallback position, just in case the ambassador’s plan somehow falls short,” the Verlock ambassador added diplomatically, tapping on the table with one of the hard, white biscuits to force his speech into a faster rhythm.

  “Let’s look at the options,” the Grenouthian said, pausing from his self-assigned task of wrapping various food items in napkins to bring home. “The worst case is, what? That the Empire continues to exist and a huge number of low-skill clones flood the tunnel network worlds, while enough Gem remain loyal to retain their current real estate.”

  “That would be destabilizing,” Apria agreed.

  “We might offer them transport to a habitable world, rather than trying to absorb them,” Crute suggested. “Perhaps the former home system of the Brupt?”

  “Those planets aren’t exactly in ready-to-occupy condition,” Kelly objected, remembering the virtual shopping trip Libby had given the EarthCent staff for potential Kasilian homes.

  “I wasn’t finished yet,” the Grenouthian complained. “That was just the worst-case scenario, not the most likely. Another possibility is that the recent outflows represent those Gem most likely to leave, and the Empire may stabilize. Our analysts don’t agree with the Verlock assessment on this point. Or, the Free Gem might take over, and we could get a wave of refugees from the former elites who are unfit for any work.”

  “Assuming we aren’t going to offer military assistance to either side, I think that lining up a potential world or two for whoever ends up homeless may be the cheapest solution for us all in the end,” Czeros said.

  “The Stryx always keep a few nice worlds hidden for biological emergencies,” the Chert ambassador offered, then looked embarrassed.

  “None of us are in a position to offer up a planet in any condition on our own authority,” Bork said. “Why don’t we each talk the situation over with our people and plan on meeting again when the situation warrants a response.”

  “Good idea, Bork,” the Vergallian ambassador said. “I am supposed to be appearing at a celebration for our victorious dance team as we speak, so thank you for the food, and I’ll be on my way.”

  As usual, the moment one ambassador made a break for the door, the rest vanished as quickly as they could stuff their pockets with leftovers and mumble an excuse. Czeros remained behind because there was still a glass of wine left in the bottle, and Bork stayed to be sociable.

  Just before the Grenouthian exited the pub, he turned around and called back to Kelly, “The offer for the workshop show still stands. I don’t think that my producers would have any problem with dual use.”

  “What were those biscuits you gave the Verlock?” Kelly asked Ian, pointedly ignoring the Grenouthian. “I’ve never seen him actually eat cross-species before.”

  “Biscuits?” Ian gave her a strange look. “That was salt cod. And from the way he took to it, I think we may have discovered a new market.”

  “Do you think the Grenouthian was just being sarcastic about wanting to develop our workshop into a children’s show?” Aisha asked.

  “Don’t take it personally, Aisha,�
� Kelly told her daughter-in-law. “They’re always making fun of humans for one thing or another. The Grenouthians ran out of original entertainment ideas ages ago. That’s why they mainly produce documentaries.”

  “I wasn’t offended,” Aisha protested. “I was thinking, I don’t know if I’m cut out for diplomacy in the long run. Maybe I’d do better working with children.”

  “I know they pay well,” Bork contributed. “I do a little acting in historical dramas as a hobby, you know, and I’m always hearing that the Grenouthians pay top cred when it comes to working in the immersives.”

  “Et tu, Bork?” Kelly exclaimed soulfully.

  “Never attempt to win by force what can be won by deception,” the Drazen ambassador countered.

  “Hey, that’s from Machiavelli,” Kelly said in surprise.

  “Who?” Aisha asked.

  “I rest my case,” Bork said with a flourish. “At least consider the Grenouthian offer. As my father always told me, you can lead an acting assistant consul to water, but you can’t make her swim.”

  Twenty-One

  Joe was putting a new group of EarthCent Intelligence trainees through their paces when a strange scrabbling sound, followed by a loud clatter, started coming from the direction of the converted ice harvester. He backpedalled a few steps away from the column of joggers for a clear line of sight, and saw that a few pieces of patio furniture had been knocked over. But there weren’t any children sprawled on the ground, and now that he thought about it, he had seen Dorothy and Mist heading over to Dring’s a few minutes earlier.

  Before he could tell the recruits to take a break while he went to investigate, the crazed scrabbling noise repeated, this time coming from the other side of the column of trainees. Joe tensed as a gap suddenly opened in their line, with several of the joggers collapsing to the deck as an enormous black shape bowled through them. Warnings were shouted as the scrabbling started up again and the beast launched itself towards their drillmaster.

  “Down, boy!” Joe shouted to no avail, as the excited puppy once again forgot about the lack of cornering traction to be had on the metal deck. Claws scratched frantically, but the dog only managed to turn itself broadside to the owner of Mac’s Bones, before slamming into his legs like a giant furry cannonball. The two went down in a heap, and the recruits looked on in amazement as the giant beast began to lick their trainer’s face. Joe tried to fend the dog off and to get a look at him at the same time, which isn’t easy to do with your eyes clenched shut against a giant, wet tongue.

  “Beowulf?” he asked.

  On hearing his name, the puppy sat back on his haunches and tried to look innocent. With paws the size of dinner plates, it was clear that the pure-bred Huravian hound would be even larger than the original Beowulf when he filled out.

  “Uh, five-minute break,” Joe instructed the gaping recruits. “No, better yet, do a lap around the hold while I take care of this.”

  The future intelligence agents shuffled off in an uninspired jog, a few of them nursing limps from their unexpected service as a puppy backstop. Joe regarded the reincarnation of his old friend, trying to figure out how much of the old Beowulf was still there. It hadn’t even occurred to Joe yet to wonder how the dog had suddenly showed up at Mac’s Bones, when he heard a hail from the direction of the entrance.

  “Sorry, Joe,” Laurel called, wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes. “We couldn’t hold him back, but it was so funny!”

  “Laurel! Patches!” Joe strode over to greet them, keeping a grip on Beowulf’s ruff. “How did you find him?”

  “He found us,” Paul’s former co-pilot from the Raider/Trader squadron explained. “We swapped duty with a chef and purser’s assistant on the Union Station run to bring him home as quickly as possible. We thought it would be better to make it a surprise, just in case we were wrong about recognizing the incarnation.”

  “Were you on a Huravian route?” Joe asked. “I didn’t think they were social enough to attract the cruise lines. We’d been thinking about taking a family vacation out that way ourselves, just to check in with the monks who breed the war dogs. I’ve been studying up on the whole thing, and supposedly they set aside the puppies that show signs of remembering a previous life.”

  “Beowulf latched onto me two weeks ago when we stopped at Hearth Station, and he wasn’t going to let us go anywhere without him,” Laurel explained. “We don’t know where he came from before that, but I asked the Stryx librarian, and it seems he had been patrolling the arrivals area for a month, sniffing humans and mooching meals. We had to put him in stasis for the trip, though. Cruise line wouldn’t accept a loose animal his size without proof of toilet training.”

  “Here, I saved his begging bowl,” Patches added, handing Joe a large plastic bowl emblazoned with an image of a dog looking up at the stars. “According to the Hearth Station librarian, when the Huravian monks are convinced that a puppy really is a reincarnation, they give it the special bowl and somebody escorts it to one of the stations.”

  “It’s funny, but after Beowulf found me, Patches and I both realized that we’d seen plenty of Huravian reincarnations hanging about the main transit points on the tunnel network, trying to pick up a familiar scent,” Laurel said. “I’ve fed enough of them without even thinking about it. I guess I always assumed they belonged to somebody who was trying to sort out a lost luggage claim.”

  “Dorothy is going to be so thrilled that I’m almost afraid to see it,” Joe said, still maintaining his grip on the dog. “What do you think, boy? Can you meet Dorothy without knocking her down?”

  Beowulf shook his head up and down rapidly and gave a little whine of impatience. He had calmed down enough to begin paying attention to the scents assailing his nose, and he was eager to be on the trail.

  “Alright,” Joe said, releasing his hold. “Just wait—Hey!”

  For a moment, the puppy looked like he was running in place on ice, his claws scratching at the metal flooring. Then he gained enough forward momentum that his paws started to find traction, and he accelerated off towards the passage through the scrap heap.

  “Slow down or you’ll impale yourself on something, you crazy mutt!” Joe yelled after him.

  Either Beowulf remembered from his former incarnation’s mercenary days that impaling was bad, or he recognized that the metal scrap wouldn’t be as forgiving a backstop as the bodies of humans, because he locked all four legs and slowly skidded to a halt, well before the improvised partition that separated Dring’s parking spot from the rest of Mac’s Bones. From there, he moved cautiously, placing one paw at a time, as if the deck had a crust he was afraid to break through. Then he disappeared into the passage.

  “You two go see Kelly and the baby, she came home early for a meeting today,” Joe told the young couple. “I’ll be finished up here in a little while.”

  “Are you running some sort of day camp for adults?” Laurel asked, as the ragged line of recruits straggled in from their circuit of the hold.

  “Sort of a training camp for EarthCent Intelligence agents,” Joe explained. “Secrecy isn’t our strong suit.”

  Laurel and Patches walked up the ramp of the ice harvester and knocked at the frame of the open hatch that served as a front door. Kelly said, “Come in,” without looking up. She was arranging place settings on the big table and it looked like she was expecting a lot of guests.

  “Hi, Kelly,” Laurel said, hiding any disappointment she might have felt at the casual reception.

  The ambassador’s head jerked up at the voice and she turned to stare at the young couple.

  “Laurel and Patches, what a surprise!” she cried, running forward to give each of them a hug. “You haven’t seen our Samuel in almost a year, he’ll be two before you know it. But he’s asleep now, so don’t wake him. Did you see Joe and Dorothy? She’ll be so excited.”

  “She’s probably all excited already, Mrs. McAllister,” Patches said politely.

  Kelly looked pu
zzled for a moment, but then she remembered that she was in the middle of preparing for the Gem negotiation workshop.

  “I hope you plan to stay with us while you’re on the station,” Kelly said rapidly. “You’ve caught me in the middle of getting ready for a diplomacy workshop we’re putting on for the Free Gem, to help them prepare for their negotiations with the Empire. They should be arriving any minute. You’re welcome to stay and watch, of course.”

  “Watch?” Laurel replied with a smile. “You just relax and get ready, and Patches and I will handle the kitchen and the hospitality. We’re professionals, don’t forget.”

  “Aisha’s already in there cooking,” Kelly called after them as they headed into the kitchen, but the truth was, she could probably use the help, since all twelve of the Free Gem who made up the local leadership were invited.

  “Ambassador?” Libby’s voice spoke in her ear. “There’s a broadcast of Gem Tomorrow beginning. I suggest you sit down and watch.”

  Kelly glanced out the door to see if the Free Gem delegation had reached Mac’s Bones yet. There was no sign of them, which was strange, since the clones were usually early. A large hologram popped into view over the projector where Paul usually played Nova with Jeeves, so Kelly settled onto the couch to watch. A professional music track that reminded her of the Grenouthian news service was just winding down, and a well-dressed clone standing at a lectern appeared.

  “Welcome to Gem Tomorrow,” the clone began, her shallow breathing belying her calm demeanor. “We’re broadcasting live from the studios of the former Gem Today with a message for our sisters all over the galaxy. The revolution has come, and we have won!”

  The screen suddenly cut to a series of views showing clones wearing uniforms slumped over desks or the controls of ships, sprawled in hallways, and even collapsed outdoors. Teams of lower caste Gem were moving about with stretchers, picking up some bodies for removal, and even more strangely, administering an injection in the arms of others.