Guest Night on Union Station (20 page)

“He’s a Cayl warrior,” the emperor replied. “I can’t understand why the Stryx would hire five columns for this job. A dozen warriors and their dogs would have been ample.”

“How many warriors in a column,” the reporter asked, his fingers poised over his tab.

“Two-hundred and eight,” the emperor replied absently, watching the backs of the departing Cayl. “That includes the surgeon, cook, and command staff. It’s the standard size of a planetary garrison.”

“Do you mean you’ve been keeping the peace in your empire with just a couple hundred warriors per planet?” Kelly asked in astonishment. Beowulf gave a sharp bark. “And their Cayl hounds?”

Brynt absentmindedly scratched the giant dog behind the ears as he sniffed the air. “Warriors need to eat, as do their dogs. At the prices the planetary governments charge for hosting the garrisons, we can’t afford to make them larger. Besides, the ground troops are just there to keep the local politicians honest. Our strength is our warriors, but our weapon is our fleet.”

A strangely delicate Cayl hound hurtled around the corner with her nose to the deck and then skidded to a halt. Beowulf made sure she was watching him, and then he blatantly knocked back the flap of one of the emperor’s belt pouches with his nose and fished out a couple of biscuits with his tongue.

“Don’t get into the habit,” Brynt remonstrated.

Beowulf scraped one of the biscuits off his tongue against his front teeth so it dropped to the deck. Next he slid it over to the pretty hound with his nose. She picked it up, crunched, and eyed him speculatively. Then she trotted off, Beowulf following on her heels.

Twenty

The going-away party for Mist and Gwen might have turned out to be a depressing event if it had been limited to family and friends. Instead, both clones insisted that the McAllisters combine it with an end-of-open-house celebration, which brought the aliens out of the woodwork. Not only did Aluria put in a showing, but she offered grudging applause when Samuel and Vivian gave a brief demonstration of Vergallian ballroom dancing. After that, Thomas and Chance did an Argentinean tango interpretation which left no doubt that the artificial people had officially become a couple.

A lull in the dancing followed while the females of various species waited for the males to absorb enough alcohol to feel the rhythm. Dorothy and Mist dragged the unfortunate David onto the improvised dance floor and began teaching him the basics of couple dancing, while simultaneously making him feel like a third wheel by reminiscing about their best times together before he came into the picture.

“I wish they’d stop telling me that I wasn’t so bad for a clone,” Gwen complained half-jokingly to Kelly. The EarthCent ambassador had insisted that the Gem ambassador stand with her in front of the drinks table, forcing all of the other ambassadors in attendance to say something civil if they wanted to be served.

“A decade ago they would have snubbed both of us,” Kelly pointed out. “Besides, did you hear what the Fillinduck said to me?”

“You don’t smell as bad as he’d been warned.” Gwen laughed. “At least now we know why he kept skipping the emergency meetings. Then he got a pint of beer from Joe and drank it like it was water. He’s been standing over there staring at his stomach and hiccupping ever since.”

“As long as he keeps it down,” Kelly responded philosophically. “You’re going to miss some exciting times if those Cayl Empire species decide to sign up for the tunnel network.”

“We’ll find out soon enough. According to Gem Today, the Stryx will be making an announcement any time.”

“Gem Today covers events on Union Station? I didn’t even know they had foreign correspondents.”

“I helped them negotiate a deal for a syndication feed from the Galactic Free Press. Chastity isn’t looking to go into competition with the Grenouthians on covering news for all of the species, but a lot of the stories from Stryx stations affect everybody. Oh, look at Chastity dancing with her husband. They’re almost as good as Chance and Thomas.”

“I have to admit that Marcus is a great teacher.” Kelly checked over both shoulders and lowered her voice. “The truth is, I wasn’t that happy when Samuel started training for ballroom dancing with Blythe’s daughter. It just seemed like too big of a time commitment at their age, though sometimes I think that Vivian is six going on sixteen. But Chastity’s husband makes it fun for them, and if I had to choose for my son between three hours a day of dancing and three hours a day of playing holo-war games, I’d take dancing every time.”

“Ah, my favorite species,” Walter declared, approaching the pair of ambassadors. As the city desk editor for Union Station, he’d been the point man for the Gem syndication negotiations. “May I request the next dance?” He theatrically extended his hand to Gwen, who accepted with an elaborate curtsey she’d learned from Mist.

“Don’t say anything on the record,” Kelly warned her friend in jest. Then she drifted back a couple of steps to the temporary bar, where Joe was in his usual role operating the tap, and Paul was handling the mixed drinks.

“Party is off to a good start,” Joe said. “Is the emperor still busy catching up with his long-lost colonists?”

“He had Libby ping me a few minutes ago to say he’d be back soon and to tell you to save him some beer,” Kelly replied. “I haven’t seen Beowulf all day either.”

“He must be out courting again.”

“Is that what you men call it? I just hope that in a couple of months we aren’t overwhelmed with legal actions for puppy support.”

“Can I get this refilled?” Czeros asked, setting down an empty wine bottle. Paul reached under the table for a new bottle and extracted the cork. “Thank you,” the Frunge ambassador enunciated, with the exaggerated care that indicated he’d been drinking for some time.

“Long day, Ambassador?” Joe asked.

“Long night,” the Frunge replied, after pausing to take a gulp directly from the bottle. “I’ve never understood why the Stryx didn’t create a standard day and night schedule for the whole station. This business of everybody following their own clocks on their own decks makes it impossible to properly schedule parties.”

“But your day is more than twice as long as ours,” Kelly pointed out. “Or look at the Verlocks. They intentionally halt the rotation on some of their worlds and just live on the hot side.”

Czeros looked at her bleary-eyed. “That’s the sort of objection I’ve grown to expect from a species whose members have more than one name. You like to make things as complicated as possible.”

“Good morning,” Bork said, winking at Kelly behind the Frunge’s back. “I can’t really imbibe since I have to go into the office later, but perhaps one Divverflip?”

“Coming up,” Paul said, pulling on thick rubber gloves and reaching for the thermos of acid he kept specifically for making Drazen drinks.

“And where is your lovely and talented wife?” Bork asked, while the mixologist donned protective eyewear for in case the reaction was too strong.

“She’s recording a special episode at the Empire Convention Center with the children of the open house guests who haven’t left yet. None of the local species would agree to have their kids on the same set with those aliens, and the Grenouthians refused to even let them in the studio. But Aisha can be pretty persuasive when she has to be, so the bunnies agreed to try it with a mobile rig.”

“Bob Steelforth, Galaxy Free Press. Nobody charged me at the door. Do we pay somewhere for the beer?”

“It’s a party, Bob,” Kelly replied. “We’re sending off the Gem ambassador and her sister, and we’re celebrating the end of the open house.” The young reporter continued looking at her and nodding, and she realized he was waiting for a definitive answer. “No, you don’t pay for the beer.”

“Uh oh. Everybody guard your celery,” Czeros slurred, and then began laughing at his own joke, which must have been funnier in Frunge.

“Hi, Dring. Have you talked with Gwendolyn and Mist yet?” Kelly asked. The newly arrived Maker eased his way forward between the young reporter and Bork.

“You didn’t see me cut in on the dance floor and dip each of them?” the chubby dinosaur replied. He blinked at Kelly’s skeptical expression. “Ask Libby for a replay if you don’t believe me.”

“How come the sentient who lives the closest is always late to the party?” Czeros slurred. He pointed vaguely with his wine bottle in the direction of the Maker’s permanent parking space, which was hidden by scrap at the far end of the hold.

“I’ve just come from the Cayl encampment,” Dring said. “Jeeves set them up in Libbyland, on the water treatment deck. It happens that I’ve visited the home worlds of all five columns at one time or another, but it’s the first time in history they’re all meeting each other. I don’t recall ever hearing of such an event before, where six branches of a species came back together after being out of touch for so long.”

“Where’s Emperor Brynt?” Kelly asked.

“He was going to stop in at the open house vote on his way back. It’s taking place right now in the Thark off-world betting facility.”

“And as a historian, you didn’t think the vote was worth attending?” Bork asked in surprise.

“I didn’t want to miss any more of the party,” Dring replied. “Besides, I’ve attended enough meetings where the representatives of different species were voting on entering or leaving this or that political entity. I could tell you the results without going.”

“Do you know something, Dring?” Kelly asked suspiciously.

“I hope I do know something at my age,” the Maker replied with dignity.

“You’re not going to tell us?”

“It wouldn’t be right to scoop Brynt when he took the time to attend the vote,” Dring replied.

“Was Jeeves the one who thought of bringing all of those Cayl here?” Bork asked Kelly. “You know we don’t usually attempt to pry into Stryx affairs, but this is rather momentous, as Dring pointed out.”

“As far as I know, he got the idea after talking with the emperor and Dring at our poker game,” Kelly replied. “I have to admit, as much as I like Brynt, the Cayl way of thinking is entirely alien to me.”

“Jeeves is a fine young Stryx,” Srythlan said ponderously, as he shuffled his way into the conversation. “And I will miss the input of Gwendolyn at our meetings. She is a very sensible sentient.”

“For a clone,” Czeros added.

“What do you make of the Cayl reunion, my friend?” Dring asked the Verlock ambassador.

“We projected such,” Srythlan replied slowly. Dring nodded.

“Did you all see my little girl dance?” Blythe asked proudly. She elbowed through the crowd of ambassadors and passed a couple of Libbyland pilsner glasses to Joe for a refill. “Samuel did great too, but he’s not as pretty,” she added, for the benefit of the boy’s parents.

“If you all crowd around here, nobody else is going to be able to get a drink,” Joe remonstrated the growing knot of friends. “We didn’t spend half the day putting out tables and chairs just for scenery.”

“Clive and the gang grabbed a section near the dance floor,” Blythe told them. “Plenty of room for everybody. You guys should have dances more often.”

“I remember when this place was a perfectly good junkyard,” Joe said to Paul, who nodded in mock seriousness.

“Well, that’s where we’ll be,” Blythe said, accepting the full glasses back from Joe. “Thomas and Chance are in rare form trying to top each other with stories from their early years. They’re really a cute couple.”

“I’ll be right over,” Kelly said. “I just want to check with Ian about the catering. I told him to wait a little, in hopes people would dance first.”

“Make sure to ask about the celery,” Czeros choked out, and this time he began laughing so hysterically that Bork had to grab the Frunge by the elbow to keep him from losing his balance.

Dring shook his head at the inebriated ambassador and led the Verlock off towards the EarthCent Intelligence tables.

A sudden breeze passed over the bar, and movement in her peripheral vision caused the ambassador to look up. Sweeping around for a second pass was the two-man floater manufactured by the humans on Chianga, Jeeves at the controls.

“How did you get it up so high?” Paul called to his Stryx friend. “I thought those floaters had a pretty limited vertical range.”

“I improved it,” Jeeves said, bringing the craft to a hover beside the bar. “I wanted to license the technology to the Dollnicks, but Gryph squelched the idea. Still, Gwen will have the coolest ride on the Gem home world, and I swapped out the fuel pack with something that will last until well after Mist comes out of stasis.”

“You bought the floater for Gwen?” Kelly craned her neck to stare at the Stryx. “I thought you bought it for Libbyland, to make a new ride.”

“I bought it because Libby told me you took up a collection to get the Gem ambassador a going-away present but you didn’t know what to give her,” Jeeves said. “That and the Chiangans gave me a special discount because it had been in a minor accident. Give me the money you collected and you can tell Gwendolyn it’s from all of us.”

“How much did it cost?”

“Fifteen thousand, plus another two or three for the upgrades. How much did you raise?”

“I’d have to check with Donna,” Kelly said evasively.

“Ten thousand?” Jeeves prompted her.

“Maybe not that much,” Kelly mumbled.

“Five thousand?”

Kelly grimaced and made the hand movement for “lower” that Joe had taught her to help land small craft flying by visual rules.

“Five hundred?”

“Oh, more than that,” Kelly said in relief. “It’s just that a lot of the ambassadors still have a thing about clones.”

Two huge shapes barreled through the dancers, knocked over some empty chairs, and scrabbled to a halt on either side of the EarthCent ambassador. The latest arrivals were the Cayl emperor and Beowulf, both down on all fours in their “ready” positions. Brynt growled as the dog worked his jaws and swallowed, using Kelly as a shield. Steelforth fumbled with his reporter’s tab, trying to capture the action.

“Emperor! What’s going on?”

“It was bad enough that he kept sticking his big nose in my snack pouch and stealing biscuits, but this time he’s gone too far,” Brynt replied. “He bit off half of the ceremonial hardtack baton presented to me by the heads of the five columns.”

The Cayl stood up and pulled the remains of a dark brown loaf from his belt. It was long and skinny like a French bread, nicely rounded on one end, and chomped off short on the other.

“The cooks from each column contributed dough made with the sweat from every one of their warriors, and then they baked it with the concentrated light reflected from a hundred shields. It’s not intended for eating and I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t lose a tooth.”

Beowulf had thought the strange bread tasted a bit gross, and on hearing why it was so salty, he began to gag and cough.