Date Night on Union Station (11 page)

“I understand,” he said kindly, and she took his proffered arm. As they walked out the entrance, Kelly blushed from embarrassment, but she gave Donna and the girls a wink. At the first turn in the corridor, when she was sure that they weren’t observed, Kelly renewed her promise to get Thomas to the trial on time the next night, and they went their separate ways.

Back in the ballroom, as Donna waited to settle the final bill with the Empire bartender, Blythe pulled Chastity out of earshot and asked, “Should we tell Mom?”

“Tell her what?” Chastity asked.

“That Aunty Kelly spent the night dancing with an artificial person,” Blythe replied in exasperation.

“Doesn’t she know that?”

“No, the grown-ups can’t tell real people from artificials at all. Haven’t you noticed?”

“I guess.” Chastity shrugged. “We better not tell Mom though, Aunty Kelly looked pretty embarrassed. I think she wanted to prove that she could get a date without our help so she hired a boyfriend.”

“Poor Aunty Kelly,” Blythe sighed, and the girls shook their heads sadly like old married women.

Fifteen

The first hour of the sit-down to determine the scheduling and rules for the gaming tournament was wasted on playing musical chairs without any music. None of the Natural League delegates were willing to sit next to representatives from the Fosterlings, the Natural’s derogatory term for the worlds aided by the Stryx. But the Drazens and the Dollnicks were engaged in a long-standing feud, the Frunge and the Hortens could barely stand to be in the same room together, and the Verlock didn’t want to sit next to anybody.

As the top local representative of Fight On, the human gaming guild co-sponsoring the tourney, Stanley believed he had solved the seating puzzle a half-dozen times. Unfortunately, each time the delegates took their places, somebody would be left standing, due to a previously unannounced objection.

A few years back when Stanley attended the sit-down for the big Horten tourney, he was surprised when the meeting was held in orbit around Horten Five. Each delegate was enclosed in an identical white sphere, floating randomly around a small volume of space, communicating with each other through electronic interfaces. They may as well have stayed home and done the whole thing with remote conferencing. At the time he had assumed it was related to the pathological fear of contamination that was a characteristic of the Horten relations with other worlds. Now he realized it was a no-nonsense solution to the seating problem.

An urgent subvoced consultation with Donna, the executive brain of the family, brought the suggestion that he introduce Kelly as a living spacer between Vergallian and the Verlock. The Vergallians were generally friendly to humanity and the Verlock delegate admitted he didn’t see much difference between a chair occupied by a human and a chair that was empty. Stanley sat on the other side of the Verlock, and the meeting got underway.

“I’m pleased to welcome you all to this planning session for the upcoming tournament sponsored by Fight On and the EarthCent consulate, I’m sorry, embassy, on Union Station. My name is Stanley Doogal, and I am the lead information trader for the Fight On gaming guild in this sector. Two seats to my left is Kelly Frank, who with the recent upgrade of our consulate to a full embassy, became acting ambassador to Union Station. She’s requested our indulgence to say a few words before we get down to the business of gaming. Ms. Frank?”

As Kelly stood, all around the table eyelids dropped shut, earflaps drooped, and sensory protuberances wilted or retracted in anticipation of a political speech.

“Gentlemen, and I’m told all of the gaming delegates present who manifest a gender are indeed men, a troubling incident has come to the attention of EarthCent and the Stryx management of this station. An attempt to adulterate the human food chain with an anti-competitive agent engineered by the Farling has been detected and neutralized. I want to assure each and every one of you that any attempt to interfere with these games will be viewed as an act of aggression by both ourselves and our Stryx hosts.”

Kelly stopped and glared her way around the table, attempting to make eye contact with all the attendees who sported eyes, though the impact was minimal since most of them kept their eyes closed. “And if any of you have any questions about visiting Earth or trade agreements, I’ll be more than happy to help,” she concluded brightly.

Kelly’s implant struggled to sort out the chorus of responses, ranging from “Whatever,” to “I’ll give you twelve to one the drug thing was the Dollnick’s play,” but she couldn’t tell who the speakers were. The run of comments turned quickly to recollections of previous diplomatic speeches at sit-downs, and the general consensus was that Kelly now held the record for the shortest lecture, probably because she was just pretending to be an ambassador. The Frunge thought there had been a shorter speech once, and before Kelly sat back down, they were already arguing over odds to bet on the proposition.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Stanley interrupted the flow. “We have a lot to get through today. I’m sure you are all aware of the unfortunate outcome of the recent Nova tournament on Felix Prime, where there was a disagreement over the allowable acceleration profiles and star buster yields in the final round. I also hear there was a fire fight in the poker room over the validity of the ‘Four Flush.’”

The last bit brought a burst of laughter, convulsions and odd scents from the attendees, all of whom had their own way of expressing their appreciation of humor. Then the discussion shifted to the physics engine of the Nova game, and this time it was Kelly’s eyelids that began to droop. Fortunately, the chime dinged in her ear and it was Libby with the long awaited lab results from her counterfeit shopping outing.

“I can confirm that all of the purchases you believed to be counterfeits were indeed manufactured far from Earth,” Libby spoke through her implants. “However, as none of them violate Stryx rules on toxic, explosive, radioactive, gene-altering, or other dangerous products being smuggled onto the station, it’s nothing we can involve ourselves in directly.”

“But it’s false advertising and patent and trademark infringement!” Kelly subvoced in reply, as a mind-numbing discussion of n-space droned on around her.

“The first is hardly a crime, or I’d have to stop advertising Eemas. The second is a civil issue which you could take up in Thark Chancery, but you won’t get the offenders to show up for the proceedings unless you hire a mercenary fleet for the process servers. Even then, simply locating the counterfeiters can be an impossible task, and there’s nothing to prevent them from moving if you do find them.”

“So what do you suggest I do? What was the point of requesting evidence that Earth laws were being broken if you can’t enforce them?”

“It’s a question of ‘won’t,’ not ‘can’t,’” Libby replied a bit testily. “The finding means that we won’t interfere if you choose to undertake enforcement activities on the station.”

“What, you mean I can go confiscate the cargo of incoming ships and you’ll back me up?”

“I mean the Earth merchants can hire enforcement personnel and we won’t interfere. We’d like to do more, but there’s a difference between helping you and taking direct action against the counterfeiters. Most, if not all of them, are operating within the laws of their own cultures, and they don’t even officially recognize Earth’s existence in any case. There’s no justification for us to value your laws above theirs.”

“As important as trade is to Earth, I don’t want to be remembered for starting a war over nut crackers and carrot peelers,” Kelly stated firmly. “There has to be another way, just give me some time to think.”

“Of course, and if I see an opportunity to do something else to help, I’ll let you know.”

“If you really want to help, could you project a hologram of me and do some tricks with the room lighting so I could sneak out without anybody noticing?”

“Kelly, these are gamers discussing the maximum theoretical efficiency of mass transference weapons within a steep gravitational gradient. If you danced naked on the table, maybe one or two of the humanoids might look your direction, but I wouldn’t bet on it. If all you want to do is leave unnoticed, just don’t hit anybody over the head with your chair after you stand up.”

Kelly stood up self-consciously and headed for the exit. Common courtesy demanded that she excuse herself before leaving the table, but uncommon situations call for uncommon conduct. It’s funny, she thought, as the door slid closed on a heated discussion about significant decimal places. There was a pacifist movement back on Earth that wanted to ban war games lest they brainwash kids into signing on as mercenaries, but if you dumped this gaming bunch into a diplomatic crisis, they’d solve it by boring everybody to death.

Sixteen

Joe reverted to the silver suit for his third Eemas introduction since his dress uniform now sported a hole through the pocket to match the newly healed scar on his leg. He threaded his way through the corridors of the Little Apple on high alert for flower girls, but arrived safely at the Beer Garden in time for the date with his pocket change intact.

The open-air café was walled off from the main corridor by chest-high partitions, and the entrance was blocked by a young woman trying to maintain her balance on improbably high heels. The girl was wearing too much makeup and not enough dress, and she was engaged in a loud argument with a Beer Garden employee who was impeccably turned out in black and white lederhosen with red suspenders.

“First of all, I am eighteen years old, and second of all, there is no drinking age on Union Station!”

“First of all, you look around fourteen to me,” the man said, ticking off the point on a fat finger. “Second, we do not allow corridor tramps to solicit business in our restaurant.”

“Bastard!” The girl made a wild attempt to slap his face, but lost her balance on the wobbly heels and might have fallen over if Joe hadn’t caught her from behind.

“Hey, friend,” Joe addressed the gatekeeper over the girl’s heaving shoulders, and fixed him with the special barroom stare developed over twenty years of dealing with locals who refused service to mercenaries. As usual, he found himself taking a strange female’s side without even thinking, a reaction that had resulted in a number of uncompensated injuries over his career. “There’s no call for that sort of talk. My niece may lack fashion sense, but that doesn’t make her a corridor tramp.”

The man drew his lips back in a mirthless smile as he tried to assess Joe’s physique beneath the material of the poorly fitting silver suit. After cracking his meaty knuckles, he apparently decided it wasn’t worth getting all sweaty this early in the evening. “Es tur me leid,” he mumbled, stepping back and allowing them both to enter.

The evening had barely started and the Beer Garden was just beginning to fill up. Joe guided the enraged girl to an empty picnic table in the corner where it would be easy for his date to spot the silver suit when she arrived. A cheerful waitress wearing a short skirt and tall white socks, basically the female version of the lederhosen worn by the doorman, arrived briskly to take their order. Joe ordered a Bock, and the girl, who was still casting ferocious glares towards the entrance, requested a hot apple cider.

“That guy was just being mean because he could never hope to date a girl as pretty as you,” Joe told her gallantly. “Is this your first time in the Beer Garden?”

“Yes,” the girl lisped in an accent Joe couldn’t quite place. “I’ve only been on the station for a week, and I had to borrow these clothes to come out. I’ve never really worn make-up before and I’m afraid it’s not quite right.”

“Not a runaway from a labor contract, are you?” Joe asked in jest.

The areas of the girl’s face not covered with artificial blush turned bone white, and a few blue veins appeared. The contrast with her jet-black hair and nearly black eyes made her look like a Kabuki actor masquerading as a girl. She jerked away from the table and looked at him fearfully.

“You’re not going to turn me in for a bounty, are you?”

“What? No, of course not. I was just joking, but I’m no friend to anybody who deals in kids,” he insisted. “Look, here’s your hot cider already. Just drink that and calm down or you’re going to have a long night.”

Joe blew the foam off of his huge mug of Bock and wondered how he was going to explain the girl to his date when she finally arrived.  The girl’s hands were still a little shaky from adrenalin as she lifted the glass, but she managed to take a long sip without spilling any, for which he was thankful. If she added cider dripping down her chin to the overdone girlish makeup and the skimpy dress that looked more like a short nightgown, she just would have looked too pathetic.

“So what’s your name?” he asked her after they drank for a minute in silence. She stiffened up again, her face masklike, and glared at him suspiciously. “I swear I won’t turn you in. You don’t even have to tell me your real name, just something I can call you. I’m Joe.”

“Laurel,” she offered hesitantly.

“Laurel, that’s a pretty name, and old-fashioned too. Were you born on Earth?”

“Do you need to know that? I was told there wouldn’t be a lot of questions.”

“You were told?” Joe probed reflexively. “Do you mean you’re here to meet somebody in particular? You have to be real careful of people who claim to want to help a runaway or you can end up even worse off than you started.”

“But surely I can trust the Stryx,” Laurel protested. “Are you testing me or something? I know they do labor barter themselves, but I can’t believe they would want to cause problems for a human runaway who was sold to a labor contractor the day she turned twelve!”

“The Stryx will treat you straight,” Joe confirmed. “And they have a soft spot for humans, nobody really knows why. But are you saying the Stryx sent you here for some reason?”

“You know better than me,” she replied with a shrug, and gave him a sideways look. “There can’t be two silver suits like that, even on a place as big as Union Station.”

Joe did a double-take as the meaning sank in. Eemas thought his perfect match was a runaway teenager? He slumped in defeat. At least he could stop watching the door for his date.

“Listen, they have pretty good food here, if you don’t mind eating a lot of meat and cabbage. You look half starved to me, so how about I order us something.”

“I won’t argue with that,” Laurel said, and she seemed to relax a little. “Look, I’m beginning to think I made a bad impression. I shouldn’t have trusted Zella about the dress and makeup. But she took me in and she’s been really nice to me. I would have been sleeping in the corridors or on the ag deck without her, and that’s a quick way to get caught by some labor agent.”

“Uh, don’t worry about the dress and whatever, you look fine,” he said, carefully avoiding her eyes. After a quick look at the blackboard and an explanation of the specials from the waitress, he ordered bread soup, pretzels and stuffed cabbage rolls. Laurel appeared content to wait quietly, so silence descended again as he sat there feeling like a dirty old man. In the end, he couldn’t help asking, “So how old are you anyway?”

“I’m eighteen,” she replied, and blushed naturally this time, looking down at her cider.

“Fifteen?” he suggested.

“I’m really seventeen,” she asserted, a little too uncertainly, still not looking up. Joe sighed and waited. Finally she lifted her eyes and admitted, “OK, I’m sixteen, but I’ll be seventeen soon, and what does that have to do with it anyway? Plenty of girls in the ag settlements are married by sixteen. I was taking care of myself even before my mother’s creditors took possession and sold my contract. I know I can learn how to do anything you need.”

Now it was Joe who turned dark red with embarrassment. This was even worse than getting set-up with a dominatrix or a black widow. But it would be too cruel to just leave the girl without waiting for the food. Maybe I can get her to take some money, he thought. I’ll just have to pretend it’s intended as a loan.

“I guess I don’t really need anything,” he told her, watching the kitchen door for the waitress and willing her to hurry up. “But if there’s anything I can do to help?”

“What is this, some kind of game you’re playing?” the girl demanded. “I knew it was all too good to be true when Jeeves told me about the job, and I should have listened to Zella, but I…”

“Did you say Jeeves?” Joe interrupted, his voice rising a full octave.

“Yes, he’s the Stryx I was telling you about. He comes around the under-deck corridors at night and talks with the kids. I thought he was really cool, but I guess he’s just some robot clown.”

“Wait, don’t go!” Joe reached across the table and grabbed the girl’s hand as she pushed herself wearily up from the table. “I do know Jeeves. He’s a friend of my foster son, they play Nova together. Please, just explain what Jeeves said to you so I’ll know what we’re talking about. I came here for, well, a different appointment, but maybe I got my dates confused.”

Laurel looked skeptical, but she was hungry and she didn’t have anywhere better to go, so she sat back down and launched into an explanation.  “Jeeves said you were looking for a housekeeper, somebody to do some cooking and cleaning. That you couldn’t pay much but you’d give me a room and board, and that I could start Stryx school in my spare time. He said, once I had a legitimate job and was studying, the Stryx would buy out my contract and I could pay them back in trade.  I know that weeding and picking aren’t great qualifications for housekeeping, but I did spend a month working in the kitchens when my ankle was broken in the rainy season and I couldn’t stay in the fields.”

“That little Stryx bugger said all that?” Joe sat back, astounded. As much as he hated being boxed in by a robot, he was too old to reject a good deal and hurt a kid’s chances just because he’d been tricked. “Well, I guess we can’t disappoint him then, can we?”

“Do you mean it?” Laurel clapped her hands and the weary look fell away from her eyes. “Cross your heart and hope to die?”

“Yeah,” Joe replied, and made the required hand movements over his chest. “I hope you like dogs, scrap metal and shy adolescent boys.”

“Thank you! And I get along with everybody and everything. You have to in a labor camp.”

“I imagine you do,” Joe said, adding a rueful chuckle. But he was still planning on hitting the Stryx with a crowbar the next time he saw him.

The hot pretzels and bread soup arrived, and Laurel dug in like she hadn’t eaten in days. Joe munched on a pretzel reflectively as he nursed his Bock and watched her drain the soup. It wasn’t just that Jeeves was different from every Stryx that Joe had ever dealt with, or even heard of, for that matter. The Stryx kid was unlike every other artificial intelligence he’d run into as well. More than anything, Jeeves reminded him of a young man. A bit immature, but human.

The main course arrived and Joe made a point of questioning Laurel about trivialities, like how much she’d seen of the station, to keep her from eating too fast. Then he told her some stories about Paul and Beowulf, so she wouldn’t feel they were total strangers when she moved in. When the food was finished, he offered to walk her back to Zella’s room, and the girl’s face fell.

“I thought I could go home with you and get started,” she said hopefully.

“Don’t you need to get your things, tell Zella where you are?”

“I don’t have any things, other than the clothes I stowed away in, and they’re in worse shape than this dress,” the girl confessed. Then she added sadly. “Zella won’t be home until morning, if at all. She works nights, you know.”

And then Joe did know, and he decided not to hit Jeeves with a crowbar after all.