Family Night on Union Station (EarthCent Ambassador Book 12) Read online

  “What did I just agree to?” Dorothy asked.

  “Happiness,” Flazint said confidently, and then stepped in front of Kevin at the counter, producing a programmable cred. “I’ve got this.”

  “I can’t let you pay for our, uh…” Kevin trailed off.

  “Companionship contract,” the Frunge girl said. “I’m the one who insisted Dorothy get one, and it’s traditional to give a present to mark the occasion.”

  “But what if it doesn’t work out?” Dorothy whispered to Affie.

  “Don’t worry,” the Vergallian girl told her. “If I’ve learned one thing since I left home, it’s that our paths in life aren’t carved in stone.”

  Flazint approved the amount displayed by the Stryx register just as a workman appeared and placed a shallow plastic box on the counter. Kevin picked it up and grunted in surprise at the unexpected weight.

  “Let’s take a look,” Flazint said happily, popping off the cover.

  Dorothy stared at the Frunge characters cut deeply into the stone tablet and couldn’t help wondering what kind of equipment worked so fast.

  “High pressure water jets,” Libby explained over the girl’s implant. “Remember, six cycles, and then you have to marry whoever I pick out.”

  “You should join EarthCent Intelligence if you want to spy on people,” Dorothy subvoced back. “Anyway, I’m marrying Kevin—eventually. I just didn’t want it to look like we were doing it all of a sudden, like I was in trouble or something.”

  “There’s many a slip twixt the cup and the lip,” the Stryx librarian pronounced.

  Three

  “Rabbit food again?” the slender girl asked her lunch companion.

  “I’m trying every option on the Vergallian vegan menu for a research project,” Samuel replied. He chose a prepared salad from the case and slid it onto his tray before following Vivian down the counter.

  “You must be the only student in the history of the Open University with a double major in Space Engineering and Vergallian Studies,” Vivian said, pushing her own tray along until they reached the serious entrees. “Let’s see,” the girl continued, studying the steam-table pans in the human-safe section. “I’ll have the goulash, and plenty of bread.”

  “Can I get some bread too?” Samuel asked the four-armed server.

  “Bread is only free with full entrees,” the towering Dollnick female replied as she glowered down at the young man’s tray. “It will cost you fifty centees.”

  “Just eat some of mine,” the girl said in exasperation. “Why do you think I took so much?”

  The Dollnick gave Vivian a scowl and stretched out one of her upper arms to snatch back a roll, but the girl skipped out of reach to the dessert section.

  “Looks like fruit salad for us again,” Samuel groaned, after surveying the large array of choices, the majority of which were fatal to humans. “Am I missing anything?”

  “You wouldn’t have any chocolate chip cookies hidden back there, would you?” Vivian asked the Gem counterwoman, though she seemed to be pointing up at the ceiling with her index finger, rather than indicating the display case.

  “I don’t see any,” the clone replied innocently, flashing Vivian a peace sign.

  “I’m sure you could find a couple if you looked,” Vivian cajoled, displaying her own peace sign while pretending to rub her ear, but with one finger bent forward at the knuckle.

  The Gem nodded, reached under the counter with a pair of tongs, and drew out two enormous chocolate chip cookies. She deposited them on a pre-cut square of plastic film, wrapped them together, and handed them over the counter to the girl.

  “Thank you,” Vivian said, dropping a cred and a fifty-centee piece in the tip jar before moving forward to the drinks section. She slid the wrapped cookies into her purse.

  “I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Samuel grumbled. “My mom says that bribing counter workers for off-menu perks at places with a cash register just encourages corruption.”

  “The rest of the species have a very different definition for corruption than your mother. I’m surprised you haven’t covered that by now in your Vergallian Studies course. And I can eat both cookies if it will save you from a guilty conscience.”

  “I didn’t say that,” the boy protested, glancing down at his salad. Humans could survive on a Vergallian vegan diet, but most wouldn’t call it living. “Still not drinking coffee?”

  “I promised my mom to wait until I’m sixteen,” Vivian replied. “I think she’s worried that I’ll turn into a total addict, like my dad.”

  Samuel guiltily filled a mug with steaming black coffee, a drink that was almost as popular with several of the alien species as it was with humans, and placed it on his tray. Vivian took a bottle of Union Station Springs mineral water from a pan filled with crushed ice.

  “I know you have money and everything, but why do you pay for that stuff?” the ambassador’s son scoffed. “It’s the same water you can get for free out of the cafeteria fountain, and they don’t charge for the cups.”

  “It is not the same water,” the girl insisted. She turned the bottle in her hand and began reading the label out loud. “Triple-filtered through the finest sand and oxygenated by a natural waterfall, Union Station Springs mineral water is a cut above.” She placed the bottle on her tray triumphantly.

  “A cut above what?” Samuel objected. “And you know exactly what waterfall they’re talking about. It’s the one on the wastewater treatment…”

  “Lah, lah, lah, lah, lah,” Vivian sang, placing her hands over her ears.

  “Come on. You’re holding up the line,” a Drazen complained loudly. “It’s bad enough that I’m stuck behind a Verlock without the two of you making a big production over choosing your lunch. Besides, this cafeteria is for students, and little Miss Songbird doesn’t look old enough to be in here.”

  “Easy, Gorb,” the Drazen’s companion said to him. “That girl is kicking my butt in Dynastic Studies. She’s one of those pierogies.”

  “Prodigies,” the Verlock student corrected the Drazen as the young humans moved ahead to the register.

  “I’ll get this,” Samuel said. “I got a big tip at the lost-and-found last night for returning an egg to a Huktra. We reran the security imaging and it turned out that one of the early hatchlings pushed it out of the nest when the mother was taking a brooding break. A maintenance bot assumed the egg was lost and brought it in.”

  “I didn’t know we had any of those dragons living on the station.”

  “I think she’s sort of a refugee,” the boy replied, handing a ten-cred coin to the Horten cashier and indicating both trays. “She’s staying on the park deck that the Gem abandoned before their old empire fell. Libby said that Gryph made the Huktra promise not to eat any sentients.”

  “Then you better not go near her,” the eavesdropping Drazen cracked, and then dissolved in laughter at his own joke.

  Samuel ignored the jibe, accepted his change, and surveyed the grid of cafeteria tables for two empty places. Vivian undertook a blocking maneuver to prevent Samuel from approaching a table occupied by Vergallian students and steered him instead to side-by-side vacancies with a mixed group consisting of Frunge, Grenouthians, and a Verlock. The alien students were engaged in an energetic argument when the humans arrived.

  “Competency tests are the only thing that matters,” a beefy bunny stated with finality. The two other Grenouthians at the table were too well brought up to voice their support with their mouths full, but they glared at the Frunge students, who apparently disagreed with the first bunny’s position.

  “Just because the Open University has always done it that way doesn’t mean that there aren’t alternatives,” an attractive Frunge female protested. “In our metallurgy schools at home, students can take a certificate for successfully smelting different ores…”

  “So it’s still a test,” the same Grenouthian interrupted.

  “But it’s not an all-at-once thing,” th
e girl continued. “Some students get through the basics in a few cycles, others need several times that. As long as they master the basic techniques…”

  “You’ll end up with more dross than pure metal that way,” the bunny interrupted again. “Can’t you understand that aptitude is more than just a head start? It’s amazing your species ever got into space with that wishy-washy attitude.”

  “Humans give partial credit,” the Verlock rumbled loudly. The other students paused to give him a chance to continue, but he had spoken just before raising another slab of a leathery substance to his mouth, and was already engaged in chewing.

  “You two look like Humans,” the Frunge girl said, turning to Samuel and Vivian. “What’s partial credit?”

  “We went to school on the station,” Samuel replied. “I think it’s an Earth thing, like grading on a curve.”

  “Earth tests all include trigonometry?” the Grenouthian asked skeptically. “I have a hard time believing that. Your species is notoriously bad at math.”

  “No, my dad said they used a grading curve for everything when he was in school,” Samuel explained. “Like, if you had a test where a perfect score was a hundred but the best student got eighty, then eighty became a perfect score.”

  One of the Frunge students was so stunned that he forgot to swallow properly and began to choke. The burly bunny next to him thumped the Frunge on the back, causing a piece of meat to dislodge from his throat and shoot across the table, where it bounced off of Vivian’s shoulder. The girl deftly caught it with her spoon before it could fall into her goulash, and reached across the table to deposit it back on the Frunge’s plate. Then she carefully wiped off the spoon on her napkin before continuing to eat.

  “You’re joking about grading on a curve, right?” the Frunge girl demanded.

  Samuel swallowed a mouthful of salad, as much to save himself from having to prolong the tasteless mastication experience as to clear his mouth, and replied, “No. And the way my dad described it, they didn’t want to make any of the students feel bad about themselves, so they did the same thing with the bottom of the curve.”

  “They gave the students with no correct answers perfect scores?” the bunny demanded, his eyes bugging out. “That explains a lot.”

  “No, no,” Samuel protested, employing his Vergallian chopsticks to play with his salad while hungrily eyeing Vivian’s goulash. “They made the bottom of the curve the average, so everybody scored between average and outstanding. My mom said it was the same at the university she went to before the Stryx recruited her.”

  Vivian sighed and broke a roll in half. Then she carefully spooned some meat out of her goulash and passed the improvised sandwich to Samuel, who accepted it with a guilty look of thanks.

  “Let me get this straight,” the Frunge girl said. “They had tests, but everybody passed? What’s the point of that?”

  Samuel took his time chewing his first bite of the savory stew sandwich before responding. “Not everybody. They took attendance or something, and if you didn’t come to class enough, you got an incomplete and you had to take the course again.”

  “Different now,” the Verlock said. Like most students of his species at the Open University, he had learned to minimize the number of words in his utterances to participate in mixed-species conversations. “Academies and teacher bots. My seventh cousin works on Earth.”

  “Humans let other species run schools on your homeworld?” one of the other bunnies asked.

  “I met a kid there who grew up where there weren’t any schools nearby, so he just studied with a teacher bot,” Samuel replied. “He recently became a journalist for the Galactic Free Press, and I saw him on the station if you want to talk to him about it. I know that EarthCent invited the Verlocks to set up an alternative education network on Earth, and Astria’s Academy of Dance…”

  “Every planet on the tunnel network has some of those,” the Frunge girl interrupted. “I can understand bots for students whose families can’t afford real teachers, but bringing in aliens to run your schools just seems weird.”

  “Like hiring aliens to babysit for your children?” Vivian countered.

  “Hey, have you seen InstaSitter’s latest commercial?” the third Grenouthian asked. Everybody turned to the bunny like he was offering an inside tip on the upcoming Horten gaming championships. The student made the most of his time in the spotlight by acting out the whole ad, concluding with, “…and then, when the couples from all of those different species are taking their seats at the opera, a voiceover says, ‘Without InstaSitter, life itself would be impossible.’”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Samuel noticed Vivian mouthing the words as the bunny spoke them.

  “Good business, InstaSitter,” the Verlock remarked, then added sadly, “No public shares.”

  A Dollnick student chose that moment to approach their table. “Hey, can you guys spare a moment?”

  “Are you selling wax-coated Sheezle larvae or something equally disgusting?” the Frunge girl asked suspiciously.

  “I’m an activist,” the alien said proudly. “We’re petitioning the Stryx to include student representatives from all of the tunnel network members on the mission to the latest species that tested a faster-than-light drive. I heard that they have four arms.”

  “Waste of time,” the Verlock declared, and lifted another slab of food from his plate. “Stryx won’t change.”

  “Well, we have to try, don’t we?” the Dollnick said with undiminished enthusiasm. “In addition to a petition, we’re planning a rally with music and dancing on the next partial convergence day. It just doesn’t make any sense to leave something as important as choosing members for a tunnel network invitation mission to the Humans.”

  The Frunge girl grabbed one of the excited Dollnick’s hands to get his attention and indicated Samuel and Vivian with a tilt of her head, but the large alien kept right on with his pitch.

  “It’s not just the commercial opportunities, though those are obviously important. It’s about making a good first impression. Just imagine if you’d never seen an alien before and the Stryx sent a Human delegation to your world. You’d probably start shooting as soon as they came out of the ship!” Some untranslatable whistles of laughter escaped the Dollnick at his own joke, and a couple of the Grenouthians couldn’t help grinning, but the Frunge girl stood on her chair and whispered something in the activist’s ear.

  “Oh, sorry,” the Dollnick addressed Vivian and Samuel. “I thought you were Vergallians. You should really come up with a system to keep the rest of us from getting confused, like wearing different color hats or something.”

  “My mom is the EarthCent ambassador, and she didn’t say anything about the newcomers having four arms,” Samuel said calmly. “And she didn’t ask for the mission either. We’re stuck with it because the alien ship jumped into our homeworld’s system.”

  “I heard that the new species lives in hydroponic tanks,” one of the other Frunge students offered. “Supposedly they evolved from seaweed or something.”

  “That would make an interesting documentary,” the biggest Grenouthian remarked. “Hey, do you think your mom would go for an upgraded visual implant if we paid for it? My dad works for the network, and I’ll bet they’d be happy to do it in exchange for exclusive footage.”

  “So what about my petition?” the Dollnick pressed on. “You guys can sign it too if you want,” he added, offering a bonded tab to Vivian. “No hard feelings.”

  “No hard feelings,” Vivian repeated, ignoring the tab.

  All three of the Grenouthians signed, followed by the Frunge students. One of them felt she had to offer Samuel an explanation, and said, “It’s not that we have anything against your mom or Humans. It’s just that we’re for us, too.”

  “I understand,” Samuel said. “When is that rally coming up?”

  “End of the current cycle,” the Dollnick replied. “Tickets are five creds now, ten creds at the door,” he added ho
pefully.

  “I’m pretty sure that my mom is leaving before then,” Samuel informed him. “And I agree with our Verlock friend that the Stryx aren’t going to change their decision because a bunch of Open University students throw a big party.”

  “What kind of music?” Vivian asked.

  “Uh, you know, dancing music. It’s not really my thing,” the alien admitted, looking from one human to the other. “Are you sure about the timing of the mission?”

  “I’ll take two,” Vivian said, fishing a ten-cred coin from her change purse. “Vivian Oxford and Samuel McAllister,” she declared for the Dollnick’s tab to record the cash purchase.

  “You don’t really expect me to dance at a rally against my own mother’s mission,” Samuel protested.

  “I want to pay you back for lunch. Besides, she’ll be gone by then, so it’s kind of moot.”

  “We might try to move it up,” the Dollnick said.

  “That’s silly,” Vivian told him. “If you don’t hold it on a convergence day, who’s going to come? A bunch of Dollnicks? You guys run the weirdest daylight hours of any species on the station.”

  “She’s right,” the biggest Grenouthian affirmed. “Dollnicks are always out of synch when we do live shows.”

  “Yeah, let me have a pair of tickets too,” the Frunge girl said. Instead of handing over a coin, she pulled out her university tab and tapped a couple of symbols, transferring the money to the Dollnick’s tab.

  The Grenouthian students had all finished eating by this point and rose with their trays as the activist moved on to the next group. A couple of humans took their places at the end of the table. The friendly Frunge turned her head from one side to the other, remarking, “I feel like a Bliznick,” causing the hair vines of her two companions to rustle in silent laughter.

  “What’s a Bliznick?” Vivian asked.

  “A type of cookie made from two pieces of cured meat sandwiching fermented cheese,” the Frunge explained. “I’m the cheese in this scenario.”

  “Thanks for reminding me.” Vivian opened her purse and retrieved the chocolate chip cookies. She undid the plastic wrap and passed one to Samuel.