Review Night on Union Station (EarthCent Ambassador Book 11) Page 7

  “I was just asking you questions,” Libby replied innocently. “I believe your Dollnick is waiting.”

  Kelly brought her eyes down to humanoid level and found herself staring at the chest of a giant Dollnick. She tilted her head back to peer up at the alien’s face, and introduced herself. “I’m Kelly McAllister, the EarthCent Ambassador.”

  “Glure,” the Dollnick trilled in reply. “I understand there are some jokes for me to read.”

  “Questions, about issues your people may have with humanity,” Kelly corrected him, handing over the plastic sheet. “Don’t hurt yourself trying to suppress it if you feel the need to laugh.”

  “I’m a professional,” Glure replied haughtily, accepting the sheet with one of his bottom arms. He glanced at the list, and immediately startled Kelly by giving a loud clap using his upper set of arms. She looked up again and saw that the Dollnick’s face was swelling in an alarming manner, as if he was holding his breath. Then he mastered his physical reaction and cleared his throat with a series of untranslatable whistles.

  “Are you ready?” Kelly asked.

  “So I go first?” Glure responded. “I thought you would start the dialogue in such a way that I would be required to use one of these lines in a naturalistic manner. All right then. Why do Human workers who have signed long-term contracts organize themselves into non-familial groupings and try to demand changes to the working conditions, compensation, etc.” Here the Dollnick clapped again, and let out a long burst of chirps and tweets.

  “What’s so funny about that?” the ambassador asked in frustration.

  “I’m just an actor, not a grammarian, but I’ve spent enough time working here to identify certain phrases that carry a different connotation in Dollnick than in your native tongue. My understanding of the question I just read is that workers who have signed an iron-clad contract sometimes put themselves to a great deal of trouble and aggravation in hopes of changing the terms with no chance of achieving their aims. How is that not funny?”

  “But surely the aggravation is shared.”

  “No, I don’t see that it is,” Glure replied seriously. “Nobody could terraform worlds or conduct interstellar trade if contracts were subject to reinterpretation on the part of unsatisfied parties. Let me give you an example. If I came in today and told Thomas that I wanted a raise in the negotiated rate I’m being paid under the contract, I’m sure he would find it amusing rather than upsetting.”

  “I’m not sure I agree, but how about the other questions?”

  “Variations on a theme. Whoever composed this list appears to believe that Dollnicks are bothered by Humans getting themselves worked up and complaining about this or that.” He shook his head. “What other species do you have left? Maybe you’ll get lucky with a different set of questions.”

  “Vergallian,” Kelly replied with a grimace.

  “I think our Vergallian got a real part last week because I haven’t seen her since,” Glure replied. “I’ll ask Judith.”

  Kelly felt deflated as she folded the script returned by the Dollnick and pulled out the only remaining unused sheet. She read over the English translations beneath the Vergallian script and shook her head.

  A tall young man approached the ambassador, a light fencing foil carried in his right hand. “Hi, Mom. Judith said you needed a Vergallian role player, and I’m the closest thing available today.”

  “When did you start working for the training camp?”

  “It’s a barter deal, in return for unlimited time with the fencing bot. I’m supposed to ask you some questions?”

  Kelly felt exceedingly awkward, but she didn’t want to embarrass her son by sending him away, so she handed over the sheet. “Here. You can just read the English.”

  “What’s the point of that?” Samuel asked. “The translations don’t actually match the Vergallian that closely, you know.”

  “Wait. You read Vergallian now?”

  “Sure, Libby taught me. When I start at the Open University, I’m going to combine Vergallian Studies with Space Engineering.”

  “When did all of this happen? I thought you were barely keeping up with your lessons and spending all of your time dancing and watching Vergallian dramas!”

  “Libby gave me credit in cultural immersion training for all of that. And I’m going to start working a few shifts at the station lost-and-found to pay for school.”

  Kelly stared at her son in shock. How could he have grown up so suddenly without her noticing? “Hold on a second. Are you taller than me now?”

  “I’ve been taller than you for months, Mom,” Samuel replied in a pitying voice. “Anyway, these questions are kind of silly in English, but in Vergallian, they’re hilarious. Why don’t you explain to me what you want and I’ll rewrite them.”

  “I appreciate the offer, Samuel, but EarthCent Intelligence came up with the list based on an analysis of our economic and political interactions with the other tunnel network species,” Kelly explained patiently. “The idea was to prepare me for any objections the aliens might raise to our becoming full tunnel network members.”

  “But they don’t care about any of this stuff,” the fifteen-year-old objected. “The Vergallians have a saying, ‘Better the smelly, uncouth servant that you know than a rogue robot,’ which is why they’re always willing to hire humans. Besides, if I learned one thing being on ‘Let’s Make Friends’ for two years, it’s that the other species all accept that the Stryx are going to do what they think is best in the end, regardless of any voting.”

  “That may be true, but I’m sure you can understand why I, and the other ambassadors, want to put our best foot forward,” Kelly said.

  “So when you have your meetings, listen to what the alien ambassadors say, and pretend you understand what they mean. I learned that on Aisha’s show, too.”

  Seven

  Paul manipulated the field of view for the Nova’s main screen and asked, “What do you think of this one?”

  “Looks like a small support vessel of some sort that got turned inside-out,” Joe replied. “I’ve never seen a ship anything like that, so it could just as easily be a colony transport for ant-sized aliens, or a tunnel hog for remote control asteroid mining.”

  “Can’t you ask the station librarian?” Kevin suggested from the jump seat on the rear bulkhead of the tug’s bridge.

  “I queried Libby, but she gave me the old ‘competitive information’ excuse,” Paul replied. “Do you think it could be two small ships that drifted into each other and got tangled up?”

  Joe shook his head. “I can’t imagine that Gryph would allow anything like that to happen, even if the former owners did stop paying their parking fees. With all of those outriggers and mechanical linkages it could be almost anything. That bit on the end looks like a giant pair of scissors.”

  Paul nodded. “I think you’re right, but it’s weird to imagine that any species advanced enough to reach a Stryx station would be holding onto rocks with claw attachments and making holes with twist drills. I guess we better take a closer look before we try hauling it back.”

  “That’s why we have spacesuits,” Joe said happily. He knew that Paul was in a hurry to get a handle on the hundreds of abandoned ships that Aisha had won at the auction, but some things just took time. The ex-mercenary savored the opportunity to go exploring a mere twenty-minute commute from Mac’s Bones, and he felt like he was entering a second childhood.

  “We have a spare suit that would fit you in the locker, Kevin, but it would be a big help if you could watch the bridge and release the tow cable if we need to place it manually,” Paul said.

  “As long as Beowulf promises to keep the puppies in line,” the young man replied, moving up and settling into the pilot’s seat.

  The dog opened one eye on hearing his name, managed a skeptical look, and then went back to sleep. Although he was a pure-bred Cayl hound by way of the Huravian monks, the original Beowulf’s dislike of Zero-G had made the transfer
through his reincarnation, albeit diluted. The puppies had no such issues with weightlessness, and by employing a combination of dog-paddling through the air and bouncing off everything in sight, they followed Joe and Paul to the lower deck.

  “When was the last time you suited up?” Joe asked over the helmet comm, after the two men were encased in their spacesuits.

  “Must be over a year ago, when we were helping out the circus troupe that bought a lemon of a transport from some con artist who set up a dealership in Earth orbit. They were lucky that their oxygen didn’t run out in the tunnel. First time I’ve ever seen a Sharf hull that couldn’t hold an atmosphere. The dealer must have bought it out of a salvage yard.”

  “I can’t remember the last time I used the evacuation lock,” Joe said, pushing gently off the bulkhead next to the suit locker and drifting slowly towards the emergency exit. “It would be a lot simpler to just open the main hatch and float out through the atmosphere retention field, but the puppies might try to follow us.”

  “Beat you there,” Paul challenged him, kicking off harder than the older man and zipping past him towards the round access door with the heavy plate of glass in the center. He hit the large green button next to the evacuation lock as he landed, and the door slid to the side, revealing a short tube that could accommodate a single space-suited humanoid. “See you outside.”

  Joe arrived just as the door slid shut, and he watched through the small window as Paul launched himself out of the tube and the suit’s maneuvering system began to steer him towards the strange alien craft that they had observed on the Nova’s main viewer. The outer hatch closed automatically, and then it was Joe’s turn to hit the green button. This time there was a loud hiss as the atmosphere from the ship rushed to fill the vacuum, but it was a small space, and it only took a moment for the pressure to equalize before the door slid fully open.

  Two minutes later, the men reached their destination at about the same time, thanks to Joe overriding his suit’s maneuvering system, which was programmed to make the most efficient use of limited fuel. From up close, the ship looked even weirder than it had on the view screen. Some of the various arms and crane-like mechanical contrivances might have been intended for asteroid prospecting, but one of the longest pieces looked remarkably like a conveyer belt, which made no sense in Zero-G.

  “Do you think this thing was capable of atmospheric reentry?” Paul asked. “I can’t see it happening, unless the ship can project some kind of force field as an envelope.”

  “Doesn’t make sense. Any species capable of manipulating energy like that wouldn’t be using a conveyer to move material. I’m slipping around the back side for a look.”

  “I’ll check out that bit that looks like a mounting bracket to see if it’s solid enough for a rigid tow cable.”

  The two men used the manual controls on their suits to head off in different directions, and almost immediately, Joe let out a low whistle.

  “It’s got treads! This thing isn’t a spacecraft at all. I’d say it’s a high-end wrecker or service platform. If we can get it working then it will really come in handy in Mac’s Bones. I still feel bad about selling off all the old heavy equipment when we got out of the junk business.”

  “Sounds good to me. I’m looking at this bracket, and going by the thickness of the alloy, it must be tied into the bones pretty well.”

  “Think you can snake the tow cable over from the Nova without getting caught up on all the gear? We could have Kevin release it and just place the grapnel manually.”

  “I could guide that tow cable through here with one eye closed,” Paul boasted. “Besides, it has to be a straight path or the cable could be damaged when we turn on the juice and it goes rigid. Beat you back to the Nova.”

  Joe was on the wrong side of the wrecker when Paul issued the second challenge and jetted off, so he satisfied himself with muttering, “Cheater,” and letting the suit maneuvering system plot the return on default settings. As the suit brought him around the undercarriage of the alien contraption, the light-beam from his chest-mounted suit lamp played over a boxy-looking structure with what appeared to be large, rectangular viewports, floating not far away. “I see something interesting that must not mass enough to have made it past your filter algo,” he reported to Paul. “It might be a candidate for the thing that Jeeves suggested.”

  “Is this a trick to slow me down, or do you really have something?”

  “It’s not a ship in any normal sense of the word,” Joe observed as he drew closer to the alien construct. “I’d guess it was a temporary habitat of some sort, maybe for a construction crew laying a keel. Wait. I see some large portal on this side that reminds me of the stackers that the Sharf put on some of their big container carriers.”

  “I’m homing on your location,” Paul replied. “Sounds like it could work out perfectly.”

  Joe continued his slow inspection of the small habitat from a safe distance, manually manipulating his suit light to examine the find. “I haven’t spotted any damage yet. The question is whether it has the structural integrity to stand up to gravity.”

  “It’s angular acceleration, not gravity,” Paul corrected him over the suit comm.

  “As long as there’s an up and a down and my feet don’t float off the floor, a giant centrifuge like Union Station is gravity enough for me.”

  “Right behind you,” the younger man announced as his suit brought him to a halt alongside Joe. He toggled his own chest-mounted light to high intensity and joined the survey. “I think it has potential. Is it all open space inside? There’s enough height for two or three decks, assuming that bit there is the base.”

  “I thought I’d let you have the first look inside since it belongs to you.”

  Paul goosed the maneuvering system to bring the suit alongside one of the large viewports and played his light around the interior. “Empty, but I can see a door and partitions, and it’s built on humanoid scale.”

  “We’ll have to get moving on this right away if you want it to be ready in time for the party.”

  “Did you see anything we could use as a tow point?”

  “No, but it’s a good chance to try out your new salvage net.”

  “We can’t bring it back to Mac’s Bones,” Paul said. “I want it to be a surprise.”

  “I already talked to Brool at the Dollnick small ship facility and told him we might bring something in. I’ve sent them a lot of business over the years, and besides, they’re more likely than we are to have tools that can cut whatever this stuff is without shredding it.”

  “I’m more worried about whether it will hold paint. These outer bulkheads are pretty pristine for having been exposed to space for however long.”

  “Gryph shields the whole area. Besides, it’s not a bad color.”

  “I think it’s the exact same shade of green as the bathroom walls in the Empire Convention Center,” Paul retorted. “Jeeves says it keeps most species from wanting to stay in there any longer than they have to, which translates into less space wasted on facilities. Come on. Let’s get back and deploy the net. If I have to pay the Dollies to do most of the work, I will.”

  “I’m not racing,” Joe informed his foster son as the younger man did a neat flip and shot off towards the Nova. The ex-mercenary again left his own suit-maneuvering system on the default settings and took his time looking around on the trip back.

  “Uh, we might have a bit of a problem,” Paul reported over the helmet comm from where he was floating by the evacuation lock. “Looks like one of the puppies figured out how to open the inner door and worked his way into the tube. He’s lucky he didn’t open the outer hatch by mistake or he’d be a goner.”

  “Where’s Kevin?”

  “All I can see is—aw, he’s licking the viewport. Good thing the hull hasn’t had time to radiate off its heat load or his tongue would freeze on there.”

  “Nova,” Joe commanded over his suit comm. “Voice patch with confirmation.�
��

  “Voice patch enabled,” the controller replied.

  “Nova. Disable control pad in evacuation lock until further notice.”

  “Pad disabled.”

  “I should have thought of that,” Paul said, then began tapping the viewport with one gauntleted finger. “Bad dog,” he mouthed through the transparent faceplate of the helmet. The puppy gave a toothy smile and licked the viewport again.

  “Nova, enable ship paging.”

  “Paging enabled.”

  “Kevin. One of the puppies has gotten into the evacuation lock. I’ve disabled the controls so he can’t vent himself into the vacuum, but you’re going to have to get him out.”

  “Can you hear me?” Kevin’s voice replied, sounding like he was talking from a distance with his head in an enclosed space.

  “We hear you,” Joe responded.

  “I’ve got a bit of a situation with the other puppy,” the young man said. “He figured out how to open the door to one of the lockers and got tangled up in some kind of netting.”

  “Oh, no,” Paul groaned. “He must have triggered the firing mechanism that spreads the net over the target. Now we’re going to have to drag it into place with our suits.”

  “Hey, I just realized something,” Joe said. “With both of the puppies bottled up, we can just drop the main hatch and float in through the atmosphere retention field. Be with you in a minute, Kevin.”

  “Do you have any idea how big that net is?” Paul grumbled over the helmet comm. The two men employed the manual maneuvering jets on their suits to work their way around the stern to the main hatch. “Jeeves said it would be illegal to use it in space if he wasn’t a Stryx.”

  “He’s just bragging. Nova, confirm atmosphere retention field integrity.”

  “Field strength optimal.”

  “Nova, open main hatch.”

  The top of the large hatch that doubled as a cargo ramp slowly moved away from the ship in an arc, and as soon as there was enough clearance to enter, both of the spacewalkers grabbed the lip and propelled themselves into the tug. They quickly removed their helmets, but left the suits on.