Career Night on Union Station Page 2

  Two

  “Nervous?” Samuel asked Vivian as they waited for the students in her Dynastic Studies seminar to take their places.

  “Why should I be nervous?” she shot back, paging through the presentation graphics on her tab for the fourth time in two minutes.

  “Just imagine them all in their underwear,” the ambassador’s son advised her.

  “Gross,” she said, looking over at him this time. “Have you already forgotten about that all-species open swim we went to our first year in the Open University?”

  “I guess I didn’t find it as traumatizing as you did.”

  “Right. You were still taking Vergallian Studies courses back then and drooling over all the upper-caste females.”

  “I did not drool—”

  “Are you and your minion ready, or should we wait a few million years until Humans develop their own faster-than-light drive?” a giant bunny inquired acerbically. It was the Grenouthian student’s first turn at moderating the self-directed student seminar and he meant to take full advantage of the role.

  “We’re ready, and he’s my boyfriend, not my minion,” Vivian responded firmly. “I’m just waiting for the room’s holographic display system to sync with my tab.”

  “Then you’ll be waiting a long time because it’s locked out,” the bunny told her. “The administration is trying to discourage students from over-reliance on fancy graphics.”

  “Since when?”

  “What’s that flashing symbol in the corner of your tab, Viv?” Samuel asked.

  “It’s a special notice from university admin,” the girl replied, quickly navigating to the announcement board. “Drat. As of now, student use of the holographic infrastructure will be limited to university-approved training simulations and formal reports.”

  “This isn’t formal?”

  “No, it’s our mid-semester peer check. It’s mainly an excuse for us to criticize each other.”

  “Still waiting,” the Grenouthian half-sang, tapping his furry foot on the floor.

  “All right already.” Vivian straightened up and addressed the dozen or so alien students crowded into the small room. “I’m going to skip the basic intro since we’ve all been sitting in the same courses for almost three years, but—”

  “Who are you?” a Dollnick princeling interrupted.

  “That’s Vivian Oxford,” the Frunge student squeezed in next to the Dolly told him. “You know, the babysitter.”

  “I’m not a babysitter,” Vivian retorted. “I’m an InstaSitter, there’s a difference. And as one of the three primary heirs to InstaSitter—”

  “Three?” the princeling interrupted. “Why haven’t you eliminated the other two?”

  “My twin brother and my cousin?”

  “Yeah, family are the worst,” the Dollnick replied in mock-sympathy.

  “Just ignore him,” Samuel urged her. “He’s trying to get under your skin.”

  “As I was saying,” Vivian continued, “as heir to one third of an income that would make your eyes water, I’ve sketched out a fifty-year plan that will allow us to consolidate our monopoly on Stryx stations and expand into the Cayl Empire.”

  “What about the other heirs?” a serious Verlock student inquired at his best speaking rate. “Are they participating in your planning?”

  “Well, to tell you the truth, I’m only doing this because it’s one of the course requirements,” Vivian admitted. “My brother is more interested in InstaSitter operations than I am. The business is currently being managed by our minority owner, Tinka, who as a Drazen, is going to outlive us all in any case.”

  “You allow an alien to run your family business!” The Dollnick princeling began whistling in untranslatable mirth and the majority of the students in the seminar joined in with their own versions of laughter.

  “She’s a friend of the family,” Vivian said defensively. “My mom and my aunt founded InstaSitter, but both of them are pursuing other business interests.”

  “Pursuing our business interests is more like it,” the Grenouthian moderator growled. “I know that InstaSitter money is behind the Galactic Free Press, and they’ve been skimming off some of our network’s potential ad revenue with an unpaid subscription model.”

  “That’s Aunt Chastity’s business,” Vivian said. “My mom publishes translations of alien fiction.”

  “And runs your spy agency,” a Drazen observed.

  “Intelligence is recession-proof,” the serious Verlock spoke again. “Good inheritance.”

  “First of all, my father is the director of EarthCent Intelligence, as if that’s any of your concern. Second of all—”

  “You have spy blood on both sides?” a Vergallian girl interrupted. “That’s the perfect start for a dynasty.”

  “Aabina has a point,” the Dollnick princeling said, seeing an opportunity to show off his knowledge of the technical side of succession planning. “I know a shipping heir who had to step aside when it became apparent he had inherited too much of an artistic nature from his mother.”

  “Time out,” Samuel called, making the universally accepted hand-signal as if they were all participating in a multi-species LARP. “Vivian put a lot of effort into preparing this presentation so the least you could do is listen to it before criticizing.”

  “Bah,” the bunny practically spat. “The point of this seminar is to attack one another until we’re left with a survivable path forward. What’s the point of our critiquing a plan for a dynasty she doesn’t even want to run?”

  “The point is moot since I kind of based the whole presentation on holograms,” Vivian told them. “Why doesn’t Grude go now and I’ll reschedule for later.”

  “I’m still working on my dynastic succession outline,” said a smaller Dollnick, who had sat with Samuel and Vivian on the committee to refit Flower. “After four semesters of failing to land an internship commitment from any of the princely shipyards, I’ve decided to complete my training elsewhere. I’ve applied for the visiting alien student slot in the design department for a leading Sharf naval architecture firm.”

  “You’re going over to the enemy?” the princeling whistled disdainfully.

  “They aren’t our enemy, and while I would have preferred to intern in our own space, there are more Sharf merchant ships in service on the tunnel network than any other type.”

  “That’s because the Humans have been buying up all of the used Sharf two-man traders,” the Grenouthian moderator pointed out. “It would take a hundred thousand of them to match the displacement of an average Dollnick colony ship.”

  “One hundred and thirty-two thousand, six hundred and nine,” the Verlock corrected him.

  “I will go where the opportunity to work leads me,” Grude said stubbornly. “My father’s profession as a baker is an honorable one, but I’ve chosen another path.”

  “And you’ll spend your entire internship in Sharf space?” a Frunge student asked, obviously intrigued by the idea of training with an alien species.

  “Yes, or the first hundred cycles,” Grude replied. “Perhaps with experience, I’ll be able to find work closer to home.”

  “That’s like fourteen years,” Vivian exclaimed.

  “The standard internship for ship engineers is five hundred cycles,” he informed her. “But I really can’t say anymore until they get back to me.”

  “I’ve often heard Humans bragging about thinking on their feet,” the Grenouthian moderator said to Vivian in the lull that followed Grude’s statement. “Why don’t you run with the Verlock’s idea for taking over your family’s spy business?”

  “Show us what you’ve got,” the Vergallian beauty dared the girl, and a few other students chipped in with similar challenges.

  “Well, I won’t say I haven’t thought about a career in EarthCent Intelligence,” Vivian said slowly. “But it’s not something I could just decide for myself.”

  “Why not?” the Verlock rumbled.

  “My pa
rents don’t own EarthCent Intelligence. I mean, my mom funds a lot of it, but they’re still working for EarthCent.”

  “Define your terms,” the moderator instructed her.

  “EarthCent? It’s our government, kind of, except we don’t vote for it. But EarthCent is administered from Earth, sort of, and there’s a president, though I’m told he got stuck with the job when the last one ran off. But it’s the only government we have.”

  “You’re talking about the system the Stryx set up so Humans would have diplomatic representation on the tunnel network,” Grude said. “How about Eccentric Enterprises, or that Conference of Sovereign Human Communities organization that Flower is helping?”

  “My mom kind of funds Eccentric Enterprises too.”

  “And CoSHC?” the Dollnick prompted her.

  “Good acronym,” the moderator said. “I haven’t heard that one before.”

  “Sounds mathematical,” the Verlock observed. He checked his student tab for a different translation and smiled fondly. “Ah, hyperbolic functions. Reminds me of kindergarten.”

  “CoSHC is more of a trade organization than a government,” Samuel explained. “The ‘sovereign’ part of the name means that those human communities have their own governments, though many of them are on open worlds where they are operating with limited autonomy under a planetary administration run by an alien species.”

  “You’re the EarthCent ambassador’s son,” the moderator said, almost as if it were an accusation. “When you succeed her, do you plan on making a play for the presidency?”

  All of a sudden the roomful of alien students seemed to be paying very close attention, and Samuel chose his words carefully.

  “My mother was hired by EarthCent and worked her way up through the ranks. Even if I wanted to be a diplomat, it’s not a career path I can choose for myself. You have to be—selected.”

  “He means the Stryx pick them out,” a Horten student interpreted.

  “You would make a fine diplomat, Samuel,” Grude encouraged him. “You ran our committee for Flower, and you’re always making peace between the students.”

  “What are you studying?” the Verlock queried the ambassador’s son.

  “Space Engineering.”

  “Why?”

  “Why am I studying Space Engineering?” Samuel repeated to buy time to consider the unexpected question. “I grew up in a spaceship repair facility, and I’ve always wanted—”

  “To be a mechanic,” the princeling interrupted. “Don’t you know the difference between creating new designs and patching meteor damage?”

  “You’re not being fair to the—” Grude began, but the higher ranking Dollnick silenced him with a piercing whistle that made all of the students in the small room flinch.

  “I am having trouble with some of the alien maths,” Samuel admitted, “But with the computational tools available, I think I’ll be able to contribute.”

  “You mean you’ll dream up pretty looking ships and ask the Stryx to do the engineering for you,” the princeling jeered.

  “You know the Stryx won’t help us with technology,” Samuel retorted. “And not everybody has to design jump engines or mega-structures. I’m thinking of specializing in reengineering alien ships for human usage.”

  “Interior decoration,” the Grenouthian moderator said dismissively, leading to a general outbreak of laughter.

  The Verlock student pounded the table in an uncharacteristic display of energy to get everybody’s attention. “Diplomacy is more important. Combine it with intelligence for a dynasty.”

  “What are you suggesting?” Vivian demanded over the din of argumentation that followed the Verlock’s remark. “You think Samuel and I should be planning some kind of empire?”

  “Run with it,” the moderator instructed her, clearly amused by the turn of events. “How will you and your minion take control?”

  “Control of what?” Vivian said. “Even if I end up in charge of EarthCent Intelligence and Samuel becomes an ambassador or the president, it’s not like we’d be running an empire. It’s just a few hundred embassies and consulates and a couple thousand spies. Earth has its own local governments, and so do all the sovereign human communities.”

  “A fleet would be a good start,” the Vergallian girl commented. “You’re already buying up our military-surplus patrol craft for the police forces being deployed to some of your asteroid mining communities. You should infiltrate your loyal family retainers into those positions.”

  “I don’t have any family retainers,” Vivian objected.

  “What about him?” the moderator gestured at Samuel.

  “I’m not posing as a policeman so I can turn on the people I’ve been hired to protect,” Samuel said firmly.

  “Humans wouldn’t recognize a good plan if you held them down and whistled it in their ears,” the princeling said to the Vergallian, who nodded her agreement.

  “Diplomacy and intelligence,” the Verlock repeated.

  “You could talk the sovereign communities into joining together in a new Human empire,” Grude suggested. “You’re good at that.”

  “Offer them free babysitting,” the Drazen student contributed.

  “Now just you wait a minute,” Vivian said, glaring around at her classmates. “What you’re all suggesting makes no sense at all. If humanity is as backwards as most of you are so fond of pointing out, why would Samuel and I want to take over in the first place?”

  “Charity?” Aabina suggested. “After all, you couldn’t do any worse.”

  “I thought that the point of Dynastic Studies was to preserve family assets,” Samuel objected.

  “And what do you think my family’s assets consist of?” the Vergallian girl challenged him.

  “Well, I don’t really know anything about you.”

  “I’m ambassador Aainda’s eldest daughter,” Aabina replied proudly. “My mother will be queen one day and I will be queen after her. Our extended family owns several planetary systems.”

  “You mean, your family provides the hereditary government,” Vivian said.

  “No, they’re ours, though we would never ask everybody to pick up and leave. In the end, stars are big balls of hot gas and planets are cold balls of rock. It’s the living things that matter.”

  “A fine dynasty,” the Verlock said. “My own family shares in a respectable chain of academies.”

  “But the goal of EarthCent is to promote democracy, and EarthCent Intelligence only exists to serve that cause,” Vivian asserted.

  “Actually, I’ve read through the charter and it doesn’t say anything about democracy,” Samuel told her. “It would be pretty strange if it did, since EarthCent has yet to hold an election.”

  “But the oath for EarthCent Intelligence was copied from the diplomatic one and we’ve both heard it a hundred times at graduation picnics,” Vivian protested.

  “I solemnly swear to do my best for humanity,” Samuel repeated the oath. “That leaves a lot of wiggle room in how you go about it.”

  “The way I see it, you should leverage your intelligence service to expand your family’s business until the Humans come to see you as their natural leaders,” the Grenouthian advised. “With the backing of the Galactic Free Press, I see no reason you couldn’t be running everything from the shadows before you’re too old to remember what you want everybody to do.”

  “Humans,” the princeling said in a voice dripping with scorn. “Can’t you all see that neither of these two knows what they want to do with their lives? I don’t understand why they’re even here.”

  “I’ll bet they ignored their ASAT results,” the Frunge student speculated. He asked Vivian, “What’s your deviation factor?”

  “My what?”

  “How far have you deviated from your ASAT projections?”

  “What’s an ASAT?” Samuel asked.

  “How did these two ever get into the Open University?” the princeling demanded dramatically. “The Advance
d Species Aptitude Test is required.”

  “For advanced species, which they clearly aren’t,” the Grenouthian reminded the Dollnick. “Still, taking the test might help you clarify your career goals,” he told the two humans.

  “Is this one of those week-long things I’ve heard alien kids talking about?” Vivian asked.

  “No, those are competency tests. The ASATs were developed by the Open University to help place incoming students in courses of study that will help them reach their full potential.”

  “You mean it’s a Stryx thing?”

  The students all shifted uncomfortably in their seats, and finally the Verlock said slowly, “The station librarian administers the test. We employ a similar psychological profiling and aptitude screening process in my family’s academy network. I could test you now, if you allow it.”

  “I don’t know,” Vivian said. “What good would a psychological test for Verlocks do for me? And we’re so different from a physiological standpoint.”

  “I’ll try it,” Samuel volunteered, and whispered to Vivian by way of explanation, “Ten more minutes and you’ll get credit for the seminar.”

  “The number of questions required for an accurate reading depends on the test subject,” the Verlock informed him. “The minimum I have heard of for our test is five, the maximum is two hundred and eleven.”

  “He’ll need a hundred questions just to figure out what he wants for lunch,” the princeling predicted.

  “I will begin. Would you prefer to read a book at a party or speak loudly while building a sand castle at the beach?”

  “Uh,” Samuel said, taking a moment to consider his options. “Build the sand castle, I guess.”

  “When talking about your feelings, do you logically analyze the actions that fed into your emotional state, or try to make yourself the center of attention?”