Soup Night on Union Station Read online

  “The usual. Didn’t the Open University send you an alert about the half-way thing later today? You’re supposed to take the day off.”

  “I know, but it’s not for another few hours and I wanted to get some work in,” the Horten girl replied.

  “I’m going to grab a nap, but I’ll set my implant alarm, so if you stop by the house we can go together.”

  “Wait a second, Sam,” Dorothy called after her brother. “Didn’t you say something about wanting to get Vivian out dancing again?”

  “Maybe?” the EarthCent ambassador’s son replied cautiously. “Why?”

  “SBJ Fashions is going to sponsor a series of fancy dress balls in cooperation with the Galactic Free Press and the All Species Cookbook. I’m thinking it would be a good idea to have some strong dancers available to help get things started.”

  “I know they haven’t even held the auction for rights to the All Species Cookbook yet because it came up at work today. Is the part about the Galactic Free Press true?”

  “It will be,” Dorothy insisted. “Just mention it to Vivian and tell her I’ll throw in a designer dress.”

  Samuel gave a noncommittal grunt and headed off for his nap. Joe led Marilla around the back of the chandlery to start working on the bumboat. Margie woke up and firmly requested her mother’s immediate attention, which Dorothy provided by moving the baby from her bassinet to the stroller.

  “When will you be home?” Kevin asked.

  “The usual time, unless Margie interferes with everybody’s work and I have to bring her home early. I’m not sure who else is even going to be in the office today, other than Baa and the Hadads.”

  “The who?”

  “Shaina and Brinda, that’s their maiden name.”

  “Old Peter is their father? I must have forgotten.”

  “Don’t let them hear you call him that. And he’s not much older than Dad.”

  “Joe’s pushing seventy himself,” Kevin said, but he took care to lower his voice. “I buy all of my can openers from Peter and I was going to stop in and see him about stock for the bumboat. It’s the odd little gadgets that nobody knows they need that sell for a good profit.”

  “That certainly describes Kitchen Kitsch,” Dorothy said, tucking a quilt around the baby. “Don’t work too hard, and don’t let my dad work too hard either.” There was a scrabble of claws scratching at the smooth deck as Beowulf arrived, and he looked questioningly at Dorothy and Kevin in turn.

  “Around the back,” Kevin said, jerking his thumb. “They’re waiting for you.”

  Three

  “Simmer down, simmer down,” barked the giant bunny, who stood at the front of the classroom alongside an even larger Verlock. “You, in the first row. Stick a tentacle in it.”

  “Fool me once, you’re the fool,” the Drazen shot back. “Do you think we’ve already forgotten that prank you and Grynlan pulled at orientation?”

  “Here by special request,” rumbled the Verlock. “Opening act.”

  A Dollnick princeling rose to his feet and glared at the mismatched duo. “Are you serious? On your honor?”

  “On our honor,” the pair intoned solemnly. Then the Grenouthian continued alone, talking at a clip that would put a used-spaceship salesman to shame. “I can understand why you wouldn’t trust us. The fact is that the Open University administration recognizes this halfway check-up for cooperative education students is a waste of everybody’s time, so they hired us to keep it light. We just have a three-point checklist they insisted on, and then Grynlan and I can do a little improv act we hope you’ll all enjoy.”

  “Are you going to make fun of humans again?” Vivian demanded.

  “Who, me? I got a perfect score on the sensitivity course for new Open University contractors. Grynlan and I are only doing the warm-up, so let us earn our money, and then we’ll take our seats with the rest of you.”

  “Get it over with, then,” the Drazen said, in a long-suffering voice. “What’s on the checklist?”

  “Performance,” the Verlock declared.

  “That’s right, performance,” the Grenouthian repeated. “How many of you feel that you’re in over your head at your current assignment? We all know that your first professional job can be a bit overwhelming, especially if you happen to be working for a species that’s, let’s face it, better than your own. Nobody? Not even a little?”

  “He’s looking right at me, Sam,” Vivian growled.

  “Being obnoxious is his shtick,” Samuel reminded his fiancée. “I thought they gave Jorb and Grude a great sendoff.”

  “Well, that’s good news,” the Grenouthian continued. “The fallback plan was to put you to work picking up trash on the park decks, but the maintenance bots and the station scouts might have made trouble. Grynlan?”

  “Hours,” the Verlock droned.

  “Hours, that’s right. We know that some of you working for alien species must be having trouble adjusting to their clocks. Any complaints about sleep deprivation? Hallucinations? Is anybody seeing a giant white rabbit right now? We promise to use your data for the benefit of future co-op students. Who’s brave enough to admit it?”

  “I had a little trouble adjusting to Vergallian hours,” Samuel spoke up. “It’s more the length of the day than the constant mismatch with home, but napping helps a lot.”

  “Of course it does,” the Grenouthian said. “Everybody get that? If you’re having any problems at work, the Human recommends napping on the job.”

  “Napping,” the Verlock repeated loudly, drowning out Samuel’s protest that his reply was being mischaracterized.

  “And last on the list,” the bunny prompted his partner.

  “Permanent employment,” Grynlan pronounced, like he was speaking through a mouthful of gravel.

  “Permanent employment. Will those of you who received—strike that—those of you who haven’t received a permanent offer of employment, please raise an appendage.”

  Samuel and Vivian raised their hands and looked around. Aabina had her hand up, along with Wrylenth, but the four of them were it. Marilla sat on Sam’s other side with her arms down, and noticing his questioning look, she whispered, “Your dad asked me this morning if I’d stay on once the co-op assignment is over.”

  “Two things jump out at me,” the Grenouthian said. “First, one-hundred percent of our Human contingent hasn’t been offered a permanent job, and second, one-hundred percent of the remaining students who haven’t been asked to stay on are employed by Humans. I’m no mathematical genius, but it looks like more than random noise to me.”

  “Statistically significant,” Grynlan concurred.

  “It’s because most of you are working for a family business, and the only reason you’re in the co-op program is that your relatives are too cheap to pay you otherwise,” Aabina said scornfully. “As an official representative of EarthCent who has sworn to do her best for humanity, I intend to file a report with the Open University questioning your suitability as an opening act for mixed species events.”

  “Made that part up,” the Verlock ground out, and then the two large aliens performed a belly bump and dissolved in their respective versions of laughter.

  “Not again,” groaned the Drazen in the front row. “You swore on your honor.”

  “Everybody knows that oaths administered via translation don’t count,” the Grenouthian replied.

  “All right, settle down,” a tall Dollnick from admin shouted, putting an end to the legal debate about oath-breakers before it could start. He strode between the desks to the front of the classroom and glared at the comedy duo. “Sit down, you two, and if I catch you impersonating Open University employees again, I’ll personally see to it that we hire you.”

  The Grenouthian regained his seat in a single bound, and Grynlan made it back to his chair in record time. The Dollnick nodded approvingly.

  “All right, I don’t have anything to hand out today, so unless somebody has a legal complaint about their
employer to file, I’m going to keep this short and sweet.” The admin clerk did a quick headcount of those present and then blew through a small pitch pipe before whistling a song. “Thirty-nine co-ops and peers in the hall, thirty-nine versions of ears. If one of the co-ops should answer my call, thirty-eight co-ops, no jeering at all.”

  “What?” a number of voices demanded.

  “Hey, it’s not easy to come up with something that rhymes in twelve different languages,” the Dollnick said defensively. “Now who has a good work story to share? I need a minimum of five volunteers and then I can go have lunch.”

  Grynlan raised a hand, but the Grenouthian half of the duo was faster.

  “You two are banned,” the Dollnick from admin declared. “No other volunteers? Then let’s start with the troublemaker,” he said, pointing at Samuel.

  “Me?” the EarthCent ambassador’s son asked. “How am I a troublemaker?”

  “First you changed majors, and then you insinuated that the Open University administration made an error in your co-op assignment. So tell us, Mr. Diplomatic Studies. Are you learning anything?”

  “How to sleep on the job,” somebody called out.

  “I don’t sleep, I power nap,” Samuel insisted with dignity. “The ambassador had a cot put in my changing room.”

  “You have a changing room?” a Drazen female asked.

  “Well, it’s really a storeroom, but I needed a place for all of the formalwear and shoes the embassy provides.”

  “You get free shoes with work?”

  “I’m on my feet for hours dancing most shifts. I go through soles in a hurry.”

  “So tell us about your typical day,” the admin clerk said in a bored voice. “Try to include at least five action verbs.”

  “Since I’m working as a confidential assistant to Ambassador Aainda, I can’t really talk about what I do,” Samuel said apologetically. “I can say that we host a dinner most evenings for our visiting dignitaries, and—”

  “Human dignitaries?” a Vergallian male interrupted incredulously.

  “Vergallian dignitaries, mainly businesspeople, but some scientists and actors as well. There’s usually dancing for a few hours after the meal, but some nights the ambassador hosts more intimate gatherings, and then we play parlor games, like Coronation.”

  “Coronation?” Vivian asked. “You’ve never mentioned that before.”

  “It’s a cross between an unscripted play and a board game where you compete for the royal succession on one of the planets in the Empire of a Hundred Worlds. You have to make extemporaneous speeches to win the other players to your faction, but there are also cards and dice that let you make secret deals. I’m usually the worst player at the table and the ambassador always ends up on the throne. She can see at least five moves ahead of the rest of us.”

  “Good enough,” the admin clerk called out. “Who’s next?”

  “Let’s do this by degrees of separation,” a Frunge student suggested. “Who’s closest to the Human?”

  Everybody turned and looked at Vivian.

  “All right, but I changed my major course of study to Intelligence so I can’t tell you where I work. I guess I can say that I’m learning a lot about surveillance methods, and I got this poison detection ring,” she concluded, displaying her left hand.

  “Looks like a diamond,” a Drazen student commented. “Are you sure it works?”

  “Oops, I guess I forgot the poison detector today,” Vivian said disingenuously. “That’s my engagement ring.”

  “You need to use more action verbs,” the Dollnick from admin insisted.

  “Fine,” Vivian said. “I work in an organization that requires flexibility and creativity in taking the initiative and providing leadership for analytical problem solving and communication of the results.”

  “Excellent,” the clerk said, tapping rapidly on his Open University tab. “Anybody here have a connection to Spy Girl?”

  “I work for her parents,” Wrylenth announced, speaking at a terrific clip for a Verlock, thanks to his months of co-oping at EarthCent Intelligence. “Wrylenth, co-op student, 4135843803.”

  “Is that all you’re going to say?”

  “Name, rank and serial number,” the Verlock confirmed. “You can torture me, but I won’t talk.”

  “You have to talk,” the Dollnick clerk insisted, brandishing his tab. “There’s a gaping blank space on this form that needs to be filled with five action verbs.”

  “Accelerated, accommodated, accomplished, achieved, acquired,” Wrylenth rattled off, to the astonishment of his friends.

  “Thank you,” the Dollnick whistled with exaggerated politeness. “Who’s connected to the walking dictionary?”

  “I see him in meetings,” Aabina said. “I’m working for the EarthCent embassy as an assistant to the ambassador and it seems like I learn something new every day. Last week, the ambassador had a sore throat and she let me make her weekly report to the EarthCent president’s office, and I also get to help write her speeches and moderate discussions at conferences. We sponsor lots of conferences,” she added. “I’ve been pushing my mother to have the Vergallian embassy host more of them.”

  “Aren’t conferences expensive?” a Grenouthian asked.

  “If you do it right the attendees foot the bill,” Aabina explained. “Plus, if you host events frequently enough, you can get free days and discounts from the Empire Convention Center. The individual who makes the reservations accumulates points that can be spent at associated hotels on other Stryx stations.”

  “Don’t rush off after the meeting,” the Dollnick clerk told the Vergallian. “I want to pick your brain. Who’s next?”

  “I work for the EarthCent ambassador’s husband and he just offered me a permanent job,” Marilla volunteered. “I’ve learned more about how to keep spaceships running in the last two cycles than I did in four years of Space Engineering at the Open University.”

  “Second-hand junks,” the princeling jeered.

  “Hey, I specifically said no jeering,” the clerk shouted at the Dollnick, despite their difference in rank. “Are you challenging the administration, Prince Barely-Squeaked-By-His-Competency-Tests?”

  The princeling sank a little lower in his seat and didn’t respond.

  “Any fool can call for warranty service on a new spaceship, and the colony vessels fix themselves,” Marilla continued. “In addition to second-hand ship repairs and rebuilds, my employer is launching a new rental network next week. If anybody is traveling to Open Worlds where there’s a Tunnel Trips franchise, we’ll meet or beat the price of any other rental agency.”

  “How many ships do you have available?” a serious Chert student inquired. “We did a class project on starting a new tunnel network rental agency in my Business Theory Models course, and the minimum number we came up with was eighty-seven thousand and three.”

  “That’s exactly what’s wrong with academia,” Marilla said. “You sit around in armchairs trying to apply statistics to psychology and all you get is garbage. Our starting fleet across all the franchises is just over two hundred ships, and I’ll bet you any amount that we’re in the black before the end of the next cycle.”

  “A black hole, maybe,” the Chert muttered, but he didn’t take the Horten girl up on the bet.

  “That’s five students, five action verbs, and my work here is finished,” the clerk declared. “Those of you who spoke today qualify for a free meal in the cafeteria, just keep it under five creds. The rest of you can take the day off, go to work, do what you want, but do it somewhere else. I have another group coming in right after lunch.”

  Several of the co-ops complained loudly that they would have shared stories about work if they had known about the free lunch, but their protests fell on deaf ears. Samuel and his friends waited for the rest of the classroom to empty out while Aabina shared contact information with the admin clerk, and then they rose as a group and made their way to the Open University cafe
teria.

  “It seems like ages since I stood in this line,” Vivian said. “The other students all look so young.”

  “It’s only been two cycles,” Wrylenth observed. “Not even three and a half months on your calendar.”

  “You have to remember that she’s only eighteen,” Aabina told the Verlock. “Three months seems like forever to young Humans.”

  “I’m not that young,” Vivian said, winking at the Drazen behind the counter who was taking a large baking tray of some sort of seaweed concoction out of the oven. He shook his head in the negative. “No pizza today,” she reported to the others. “We’ll have to order off the menu.”

  “I was going to do that anyway,” Marilla said. “Don’t forget that we’re getting a free lunch. The Drazen’s smuggled-in pizza is cash-and-carry.”

  “Why is there a line at the old Vergallian vegan section?” Samuel asked. “I thought they pretty much gave up carrying that stuff after I stopped buying it.”

  “It’s something new,” Aabina said, wrinkling her nose. “Smells deep-fried. Jorb could have told us if he was still here.”

  “Falafel?” Marilla sounded out after the crowd shifted and she could see the sign. “It’s written in Humanese, but I’ve never heard of it.”

  “They have falafel?” Samuel said. “Let’s get in line. I’ve had it at a place in the Little Apple near Pub Haggis that started selling it less than a year ago and it’s good. I hear it’s popular with the Frunge because it’s made from chickpeas.”

  “Are they meat or vegetable?”

  “Chickpeas are a type of legume,” Wrylenth informed the others as they all got into the queue for falafel. “I’ve been studying the etymology of Earth product names in my free time and Humans have a marked tendency for misnaming foods. If there is any relation between chicks and peas, it’s that the former eat the latter. Have you ever heard of peanuts?”

  “Sure, we eat them all the time,” Samuel said.

  “Another legume, not nuts at all.”

  “I’ve never seen so many different species ordering the same thing in the cafeteria before,” Aabina said. “It must be really good.”