Alien Night on Union Station (EarthCent Ambassador Book 2) Page 2

  “I’ve never seen a vessel quite like yours before,” Joe continued conversationally. “Could you tell us what she is?”

  “In a word, obsolete,” Dring replied with a laugh. “My longtime companion here is a gravity surfer, and the universe never lacks for gravity waves. But the technology is better suited for wandering through the void than moving point-to-point, so it never really caught on. Thinking back, I’m not sure that anyone other than my people ever produced gravity surfers outside of research labs.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever come across your people before,” Joe continued, as Paul expertly grappled the end of the shaft with magnetic clamps on a guided tow cable. “What I can see of your ecosystem through the hull looks pretty similar to our own ag decks. Are you oxygen/nitrogen breathers?”

  “The atmosphere you are maintaining on your tug would suit me just fine,” Dring replied. “Speaking of which, I suppose we should agree on a price before you haul me back to the station. I’d be willing to pay extra if you could package the tow with a private docking space, since as you can see, my ship doesn’t provide much privacy. Do you know of anywhere I could lay up for a few cycles without attracting too much attention?”

  “Grapples connected,” Paul announced, and goosed the tug’s maneuvering thrusters a few times to wiggle the connected vessels. “Bond is good. We’re rigid.”

  “What do you think about slipping him in behind the old scrap pile?” Joe mused.

  “Docking him in Mac’s?” Paul moved his hands rapidly within the holo controller field and brought up a three-dimensional scale image of the gravity surfer docked inside the bay which was leased by Mac’s Bones. “The living section will be a tight fit, but it should be fine as long as it can stand a couple of bumps. The, uh, rotational mass is going to end up sticking into scrap.”

  “Don’t worry about my dimensions,” Dring interjected. “I can reconfigure the hull of the surfer to any shape, and the rotational mass storage position is in line with the spindle. It would take a lot more than a few bumps to do us any damage.”

  “If you’re really planning on staying a couple of cycles, how about five hundred Stryx creds for the tow and three hundred per cycle?” Joe offered.

  “That sounds very reasonable,” Dring replied. “And I like the sound of being docked behind a scrap pile since I do a bit of metal sculpture when I have the chance. Is it possible I could purchase materials from you?”

  The two humans exchanged a humorous glance. “I think we can throw in the sculpture material for free,” Joe replied with a grin. “To tell you the truth, our, uh, recycling facility is in a transitional period as we sort of move away from, uh, recycling.”

  “We’re the biggest Raider/Trader barn on the station,” Paul added, as he headed the Nova back towards the station.

  “I’ve been out of circulation for a few years,” Dring said. “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with this Raider/Trader activity.”

  “It’s the biggest thing in gaming,” Paul explained, immediately warming to his subject. “It came out of nowhere last year, though rumors are that it was developed by the Verlocks, because they’re the big math heads among the biologicals. The governance module is a set of mathematical algorithms that will run as a training task on just about any ship’s control system. But it’s integrated with Stryxnet and allows full virtualization of the gameverse on anything the host controller can handle. I’ve never seen the like for action or realism, and you can make a good living earning in-game currency as a trader, and then selling it for Stryx cred through Bill’s Exchange.”

  “It sounds like you’re talking about a game that employs actual ships instead of holograms or virtual consoles,” Dring summarized.

  “The game allows for real ships, but it’s much more than that,” Paul enthused. “You start out with a bare-bones ship, minimal propulsion, no weapons and a cargo of low-grade ore, and you have to earn Trader gold to upgrade anything. It all takes place in real-time, meaning an hour playing is the same as an hour in the real universe, and you can’t wave a magic wand and pop out here or there just to find action. And if you have a spaceworthy ship, rather than just a control system in a starter-shell or a bedroom mock-up, you can give the governance algo full control and actually fly the same mission as in the gameverse.”

  “I’m not sure I understand,” Dring admitted. “Do you mean you can take an armed ship out in space and fight real battles with other players?”

  “The other ships aren’t in the same space, and the weapons usually aren’t real either, or almost nobody would be able to afford to play. But being out in space means you pull real G-forces in maneuvers, and the propulsion system and weapons have to be maintained and supplied. So when you give the governance algo full control, it sets the upper limit on your capabilities according to the gear you’ve earned or purchased with Trader gold. But if your real ship exhausts power for weapons or your propulsion system melts down, you’re dead in space.”

  “Tell him about the accidents,” Joe prompted sardonically.

  “Well, there have been a few idiots who got so caught up in the gameverse that they collided with something in real space or flew into a star, and of course, you don’t get to start over after that. And I guess there have been rumors about real weapons discharges causing problems, but you’d have to be a jerk not to employ a safety task to lock out weapons if any real targets come into range,” Paul mumbled.

  “And what’s this ‘barn’ concept you mentioned?” Dring inquired. “If we’ll be sharing the same hold space, I’d like to believe I won’t be in any danger.”

  “Raider/Trader barns are sort of like parking lots for game ships and starter-shells. We have over two hundred players using our hold at this point, but they’re all running the game as a training task, of course. Most of the players can’t afford spaceworthy ships, and we just sort of stumbled into the business, since there was a huge rush for salvaged control systems when the game got popular. We’d gotten rid of most of the scrap by that point, so we had plenty of space to rent out for starter-shells or mock-ups, for players whose living situation didn’t allow them to dedicate a whole room to setting up a command bridge,” Paul explained, with a renewed burst of enthusiasm.

  “And we do a good business towing the starter-shells away from the station and back, so the hardcore players can get the weightless practice while they’re saving money to finish building out the ship,” Joe added.

  “Ah, this is becoming confusing,” Dring said, blinking rapidly. “Do you make money playing the game or providing shipyard services?”

  “As a business, we make money selling starter-shells, equipment upgrades, and helping with modifications,” Paul answered. “We also let floor space by the month, plus we rent a couple of maxed-out game ships for players who want the full experience, especially for flying raids or battles. And I make money by playing on my own account and selling Trader gold for Stryx creds through Bill’s Exchange, mainly to rich players from other species who don’t have the patience to work their way up.”

  “Do the programmers charge a high price for using the game codes?” Dring asked. “It sounds like an expensive game to run, especially with the data transfer charges from the Stryxnet that you mentioned. Do they charge by time, or sell game items for hard currency?”

  “The game makers must have some kind of a deal with the Stryx, because they only charge a few creds a month for using the algos, and that includes permanent storage of your game state. All you need to do is enter your ID on any ship controller running the code and you’re off and running where you left off the previous time. The game only takes Trader gold for upgrading capabilities, so I don’t know what else they can make money on, unless they have a deal with Bill’s.”

  As the Nova autopilot adjusted course to line up entry with Union Station core, a thought occurred to Joe and he felt the need to caution their tenant-to-be. “And as long as we’re on the subject of the Stryx, Dring, I just want to make s
ure you understand that we aren’t smuggling you onto the station. The Stryx monitor all of the interior and the surrounding space, so if you were trying to slip in under their radar, it’s not going to happen.”

  “I would never try to evade the Stryx,” Dring replied with a chuckle. “If you’re going to hide, hide in plain sight is my motto. But I must admit I’m intrigued by the game your young co-pilot has so enthusiastically described, and I hope I might persuade him to bring me along as supercargo on one of his missions. The study of complex systems is my personal field of endeavor, and it’s been my experience that they often serve more than one purpose.”

  “You’re welcome to fly with me, Dring,” Paul extended an invitation. “Some people around here think I spend too much time playing Raider/Trader, but most of the gameverse time is spent traveling from place to place, so I can get my course work done or grab a good night’s sleep. You can go days at a time without anything happening, but if you expect to make any Trader gold, you do have to keep up with the markets on Stryxnet.”

  “It sounds like it could be very educational,” Dring observed.

  “Like a school for pirates,” Joe grumbled.

  “Graduate school,” Paul corrected him, as the rigidly bonded ships entered the Union Station core and began to spin up to the station’s rotational speed. Stryx traffic control handled all of the vessels in the core using field manipulators, which eliminated accidents that might have resulted from anti-collision systems that lacked a common protocol. Once a ship was spinning around the invisible central axis at the same speed as the station, the weight that resulted from angular acceleration would gradually increase as the ship moved outwards to a docking bay.

  Joe checked the status of the atmosphere retention field on the bay that housed Mac’s Bones before triggering the outer hold section at the edge of the bay to slide open. With help from the autopilot, Paul backed the tandem into the cleared area behind the remaining mound of scrap, which was piled almost to the height of the bay doors. As the hull of the gravity surfer touched the decking, it began to flatten, rather like a water balloon placed on a hard surface. After a few moments, Dring’s ship was transformed from a sphere to something more like a rapidly melting snowball, and the flora began a slow-motion shift to adapt to the new version of up-and-down.

  “Wow!” Paul breathed, “I’ve never seen anything like that before!”

  “You can retract the grapples now,” Dring replied, even as he let go of a moving tree limb with his tail, and dropped onto a pile of soft moss that seemed to hump up below his position on command. “It will take a little time for my ship to settle in, and I should remain with her until equilibrium is achieved. Thank you for the tow and the information. I will take you up on your offer to demonstrate the game as soon as possible.”

  Three

  “I don’t understand what you have against trying InstaSitter,” Joe reasoned with Kelly, as she worked at arranging her hair. “Now that Laurel is in the paid internship part of her chef training and Paul is running a Raider/Trader squadron when he’s not working or studying, we can’t expect either of them to be available for babysitting, especially on short notice. Of course, I’d be happy to have Dorothy all to myself while you go to the party.”

  “It’s not a party, it’s a diplomatic reception. I don’t know why I’m starting to get invitations all of a sudden, but it’s part of my job to go to these high-level functions. And it’s part of your job to escort me,” Kelly concluded, casting an accusatory look at Joe.

  “Then let me call InstaSitter,” Joe argued again. “Chastity would have been in touch by now if she was available, and Paul is taking Blythe to the flower show tonight.”

  “Does she ever let Paul choose where they’re going?” Kelly asked crossly. As much as she loved Donna’s girls, she worried that Blythe frequently took advantage of Paul’s willingness to let his first girlfriend lead him by the nose.

  “You can’t really blame Blythe for that,” Joe replied. “If she let Paul have his way, they’d spend every date on his Raider building up Trader gold. Unless you want to bring Dorothy along or let the Stryx keep an eye on her, InstaSitter is the only option at this point. I know they aren’t cheap, but this game business is bringing in more money than the junkyard ever did, and now that LoveU is paid-off, we can afford a few luxuries.”

  Kelly glanced guiltily at the new shoes and handbag sitting on the bed next to the designer suit that had replaced her long-serving cocktail dress at diplomatic functions. One thing about being married to an ex-mercenary was that his old uniforms were always acceptable as formal wear, and he showed no interest in shopping for new clothes. She gave in with a sigh.

  “If I call InstaSitter, Libby will answer, and then I’ll have to explain again why it’s not right to let Metoo babysit for Dorothy,” Kelly replied. “For some reason, Libby doesn’t understand the difference between being friends and taking care of somebody.”

  “I wonder why that would be,” Joe mumbled with a sideways glance at Kelly, as he requested the station exchange to ping InstaSitter through his implant.

  “Welcome to InstaSitter. How may we help you?” Although Joe knew the voice was artificially generated, it sounded like a cross between Blythe and Chastity, with a bit of Donna mixed in for maturity. Years of selling flowers outside of the restaurants and bars of the Little Apple had provided the girls with valuable marketing skills. He had no doubt they had Libby try different voice mixes and carefully track the customer response for each species in order to hone in on the perfect pitch.

  “Hi Libby. Is that you doing the voices? I finally talked Kelly into giving InstaSitter a shot.”

  “That’s great, Joe. But please pretend you don’t know me when you call in, or I’ll have to treat it as my personal business and I won’t be able to charge BlyChas Enterprises the management overhead fee.”

  “BlyChas Enterprises?” Joe echoed. “I guess the girls really are moving up the food chain. Anyway, we’re going to this Grenouthian Embassy thing, but you know that. Kelly is just starting on her hair, so you can work out when we’ll be ready to go.”

  “Your sitter will be there in forty minutes and the charges will be added to your rent for the cycle. Thank you for choosing InstaSitter,” the synthesized voice concluded and closed the connection.

  “That was easy enough,” Joe reported, receiving a grunt from Kelly in acknowledgement. “I’m going to give Dorothy a bath and get her ready for the sitter.”

  Five minutes later, a boy in his early teens approached the door of the ice harvester and knocked gingerly on the already open door. Beowulf looked up from his bed, examined the visitor through one eye, and returned to his dreams. The boy was uncertain what to do, but eventually he entered the living room and called out, “Hello? Is anybody home?”

  Kelly shouted back, “Just a minute,” followed by, “Can you get that, Joe?” But between the running water and the years spent being too close to explosive devices when they went off, her husband didn’t hear. So Kelly hastily belted her robe and went out to see who had gotten past the dog.

  “Hi, I’m Thomas from InstaSitter,” the boy launched into a prepared speech as soon as Kelly entered the room. Then he stared for a moment and asked, “Kelly?”

  “Yes, I’m Kelly,” she replied. “Aren’t you rather early?”

  “Don’t you remember me?” the boy asked. “I’m Thomas, from your embassy mixer. You made sure I got to my Turing/Ryskoff test on time. I passed,” he added proudly.

  “Thomas!” Kelly exclaimed in surprise and shock at seeing the time-deficient artificial person in an adolescent body. “You’ve grown younger!”

  “Oh, I can explain that,” he said. “When the Stryx recognized my personhood at the gaming tourney challenge, I gained the rights of an artificial intelligence, but I lost the use of the rental body the university had provided. The Stryx immediately offered me a loan through their new AI administration branch, but I didn’t want to end up with a
huge mortgage, so I took a smaller body. I didn’t realize that appearing to be so young would impact my earnings potential,” he added ruefully.

  “But babysitting for InstaSitter is the best you could do?” Kelly asked incredulously.

  “Well, I was tired of bussing tables in restaurants, so I talked it over with Gryph, and he thought that spending time working with children wouldn’t be a bad education. I’ve babysat for fifty-two different species so far. In fact, I’m sort of the top employee for InstaSitter because I don’t need to sleep or breathe. Things must have been slow tonight since you’re actually my first human assignment, which will make it fifty-three species.”

  “Well, that’s great, Thomas. I’m glad to see you doing so well. Let me just finish getting ready and I’ll introduce you to our daughter.”

  “I’m looking forward to that,” Thomas replied enthusiastically. “Does she dance?”

  Kelly flinched and shouted, “Joe, the sitter’s here early,” before retreating to the bedroom to finish getting ready. Thomas evinced no particular curiosity in his surroundings, or maybe he was afraid of disturbing Beowulf, because he remained motionless until Joe appeared in his old dress uniform, followed by a scrubbed and night-gowned Dorothy.

  “Art-ficial person,” Dorothy pronounced happily. “Do you know Metoo?”

  “I knew your mother a few years ago, but this is my first time meeting you,” Thomas replied.

  “Joe McAllister,” Joe introduced himself and shook hands with Thomas. “I’m sure you have a great deal of babysitting experience since InstaSitter sent you over.”

  “Oh, yes,” Thomas replied. “I’ve already told Kelly they consider me their top employee. Do you have any special instructions?”

  “Dorothy’s already had supper and her bath,” Joe answered. “She can stay up another hour if she doesn’t act too tired, but it’s in bed by 19:00, even if she says she’s not sleepy.”