Date Night on Union Station (7 page)

“I swear on the Ka of my dear, transcended sire, that I would lose money selling you that watch for two and a half creds,” Rupe proclaimed theatrically and piled all four of his hands on the region of his chest that Kelly assumed housed his enormous heart. “But I was only kidding with you of course. Shall we call it ten creds and rub elbows?”

“Three creds and this imported Brazil nut,” Shaina made her final offer, holding up the slightly damaged nut, which looked truly enormous in contrast to her small thumb and forefinger.

“Done,” the Dollnick replied, and the two bumped elbows, the girl stretching hers up above her shoulder, the Rupe crouching a bit to make contact using his lower set of arms. “Let me get you a box.”

“Three creds and a used Brazil nut?” Kelly stared at the girl wide-eyed. “Can you renegotiate the lease on my apartment for me? I swear I’m never buying anything again without you along.”

Shaina blushed and kicked at the deck plates, embarrassed by the praise. “It’s nothing, you just have to grow up around it and know what things are worth. Like Libby told you, nobody could really build a true mechanical watch as cheap as Rupe is selling them. The mechanically accurate counterfeits of the luxury names actually come from Earth. The nice wrist band and the box he’s getting are worth more than the watch. Those aren’t real gears, you know. It’s just a mass produced high-res display showing video of a real working watch with superimposed hands.”

“Oh, it’s still beautiful,” Kelly said, only a little disappointed to find she wasn’t getting a genuine knock-off of a true luxury item.

“Yeah, they’re pretty popular, despite the fact that nobody other than humans has any real use for them.”

“What do you mean?” Kelly asked. “I know that we’re the only ones using twenty-four hour days and sixty-minute hours, but surely a high-tech watch like this could be easily set to any time system.”

“It’s not that,” Shaina said and gave Kelly another odd look. “All of the aliens I’ve ever been around keep time in their heads, and even for humans, it’s easier to check an implant than to look at your wrist. Watches are jewelry.”

Rupe delivered a handsome black box to go with the watch, which Kelly decided to wear, and Shaina handed over the Brazil nut and three creds.

“Thanks, Rupe. This is Kelly, our acting ambassador. I’m taking her to the Dinery to check out the counterfeits.”

“Why is she pretending to be an ambassador?” Rupe asked. But then he realized that the human might be embarrassed by the question and added, “Never mind. Enjoy the Dinery and don’t let those Frunge thieves get the better of you.”

“I won’t, Rupe. See you around.”

“Nice meeting you, and I’m really not pretending,” Kelly couldn’t help herself from protesting as Shaina laughed and led her away. They soon crossed another invisible boundary, where the Dollnick merchants were replaced by Frunge, whose characteristic vine-like hair made their stands look like overgrown shrubbery. After negotiating several aisles of displays featuring the wing sets which made the Frunge a household name on most resort worlds, they came to a section that was given over to anything that could cut or stab.

From paring knives to great battle axes, if it had an edge, it was available for sale. Some of the pieces with intricate gold filigree inlays looked like they belonged in museums, and one vendor was even set up as a smithy, selling customized suits of armor. Shaina shouldered her way through the crowded aisles between the displays until they arrived at an impressive spread of tables featuring Earth cutlery, especially chef’s knives sets, along with artistic wooden blocks to hold the implements.

“This is it,” Shaina muttered out of the side of her mouth and gestured with her head. “Good, they’re busy with other customers. What jumps out at you about this stuff?” she asked, holding a carving knife up for Kelly’s inspection.

“Well, it all looks really high quality,” Kelly answered honestly. “My friend Donna has an expensive knife set, and these blades look kind of dull like hers, not shiny like you would expect from fakes.”

“How about the brand?” Shaina prompted her.

“Dinery,” Kelly read the odd sticker that appeared on all of the cutlery available for sale. “Why are the letters spread out funny like that, and how did they make the letters on the sticker look engraved?”

Shaina took another look around to see if they’d been spotted yet, then peeled back the sticker, revealing the “Made in Germany” mark stamped into the blade. The sticker was nothing more than a white label with spaces cut out to let the letters “d  in er   y” appear.

“This is the other side of counterfeiting, where the customers know they are buying knock-offs. Take the knives home, peel the stickers, and you can impress your dinner guests.”

“Ouch, that’s really low,” Kelly marveled. One of the Frunge manning the booth finally looked up, and noticing the women, slid swiftly in their direction on its network of root-like legs.

“I have a budget of twenty creds to acquire some proof for a formal report. Can we afford one of these cutlery sets?” Kelly whispered to Shaina. The girl grinned in reply and turned to the approaching Frunge.

“May the rains nourish your seedlings, may the suns harden their bark,” she addressed the Frunge formally, then immediately launched into the bargaining. “I’ll give you a cred for the big set if you throw in those napkin holders.”

Five minutes later, the women left carrying two full sets of chef’s knives and various throw-ins, which taken together made an eight cred dent in Kelly’s budget.

“These knives really aren’t that bad, they hold a decent edge,” Shaina admitted, sounding a little guilty. “But they’ve never been closer to Germany than I have, and I was born and raised here.”

They continued browsing and shopping for another hour, examining fakes and occasionally acquiring an example piece. Finally, Kelly realized she had to carry it all back to the office and called it quits. The girl led Kelly to the nearest tube lift.

“I can’t thank you enough for all of the help, and I was serious about what I asked before. Maybe I can pay you a commission to bargain for me next time I have to buy something big?”

“Barter is better,” the girl replied automatically. “If you can figure out a way to slow down these counterfeiters, you’ll be helping us all.”

“At least let me pay you back for the watch. I didn’t even spend the whole twenty creds,” Kelly protested.

“No, no.” Shaina waved away the proffered money. “We don’t believe in something for nothing in the Shuk. Let me know if you need anything from me or my father, we’re fighting for our business here.”

“I’ll do my best,” Kelly replied, and on accepting the bags the girl had been carrying, found she could barely lift her arm for an elbow bump before she entered the capsule.

Nine

The gravity on the inner agricultural decks wasn’t much higher than that of the junkyard, so it let Beowulf snag a Frisbee that would have soared just over his nose if he’d been on Earth. On either side of the grassy band of parkland were orchards of fruit trees, narrow fields of vegetables and manicured rows of flowers. The apiaries rotated their bees through the sections of the inner agricultural rings set aside for the flora of compatible worlds.

Most foodstuffs on the station were imported as dry or frozen, of course. Only the giant colony ships carried a full complement of the flora and fauna needed to seed a new world and feed an isolated population. But there was always a market for fresh fruits and vegetables, and many of the station’s biologicals benefitted from spending time in the great outdoors, even with the low metal ceilings and artificial lighting.

Beowulf trotted back to the picnic with his prize and waited patiently for Joe or Paul to notice him. But it was the woman accompanying them who glanced up first, and she did a double-take. Then she rose to her feet, pushing herself up off of Joe’s shoulder.

“This is exactly what I was talking about,” she said and pointed at Beowulf. “None of you guys care about what anybody else thinks!”

Joe and Paul turned and looked at the Frisbee clamped in Beowulf’s mouth, and also at the Jack Russell terrier hanging onto the rim of the Frisbee by its teeth and growling as best it could under the circumstances. The terrier’s legs were churning away in a frantic dog paddle, as if trying to convince the world that it was suspended in the air through its own efforts. Beowulf didn’t appear to notice the little dog at all.

“Bad dog,” Joe said, though both Paul and Beowulf could tell from his tone that he didn’t mean anything by it. “Drop it.”

Beowulf let go of the Frisbee, and the Jack Russell took off running with it, making incredible time on his bandy legs.

“They’re just playing, Trisha,” Joe objected. “You take everything too seriously.” The four of them watched the Jack Russell as it grew smaller and higher and then suddenly disappeared into the ceiling lights. The curvature of the inner decks was more noticeable than on the outer levels, where the pseudo-gravity generated by the station’s spin was higher as well.

The air on the agricultural decks was rich in oxygen content, and the station plumbing used it as a buffer for the atmospheric recycling systems. It wasn’t necessary, just elegant, and the Stryx, despite their nearly unlimited energy resources, prided themselves on taking the time to engineer things with style. The first robot joke Joe had ever heard went something like, “When you live forever, entropy gets to be a drag.” As with all robot jokes, he had to ask for an explanation, which made sense, but not humor.

“And you never took anything seriously enough, including me!” Trisha rebutted Joe. “I’m not saying the dog is the only reason it didn’t work out between us, but neither of you are as smart as you think you are.”

Beowulf cocked his head and gave Trisha a questioning look. Why was she lumping him in with Joe?

“Don’t you remember going to the market with Killer?” Joe asked. “He didn’t just shop by smell, he read the prices on the slates and if he thought the stall owners were colluding, he’d go nose to nose and stare them down. If that dog had opposable thumbs and the gift of speech, he’d be unstoppable. Trust me, he’s smarter than both of us.”

“I remember you taking Beowulf to the market and him intimidating all of the poor vendors. And that’s just like the two of you as well.” Trisha grabbed Beowulf’s head in both hands and staring down into his innocent brown eyes, addressed the dog. “If you’re so smart, you find him a woman. I can see my advice isn’t needed around here.” Then she turned about abruptly and began stalking off towards the lifts.

“C’mon Trisha, wait up,” Joe pleaded. He grabbed at her arm, missed, and took a couple jogging steps through the grass to catch up. “You know I respect your judgment and I’d be happy to take your friend on a date. But I have this Eemas subscription to use up, and you wouldn’t believe what I went through to get it squared away.”

“Do you really believe that an overgrown alien computer can do a better job at matchmaking than a  woman who knows you intimately?” Trisha glared and crossed her arms even as she continued walking rapidly towards the lifts.

“Of course not,” Joe lied, wincing at the memory of the half a dozen dates Trisha had talked him into after unilaterally deciding it would be better if the two of them were just friends. “But the Eemas thing was a barter deal, you know? I can’t just throw it out, and it turns out I can’t sell it either, so I’m basically stuck.”

“I think you’re hoping that Eemas studies your profile and sets you up with the same woman you got last time,” Trisha said cruelly, making Joe ask himself for the twentieth time why he told her the story. The failed date had seemed pretty funny the day after when he told everybody he knew, but Trisha and his acquaintances hadn’t stopped razzing him since. It made him miss his mercenary days when he carried enough weaponry to engage a platoon and nobody gambled on his good nature.

“If anybody knows that’s not true it’s you,” Joe spoke as she stepped into the lift, but he didn’t really expect an answer and Trisha lived up to his expectations. “You’re really so mad that you’re going home early?”

“Does this answer your question?” Trisha arched an eyebrow as she activated the capsule.

Joe turned away as the tube door slid shut, and began calling for Beowulf, who was nowhere in sight. Unfortunately, the dog could out-robot a Stryx in an “I can’t hear you contest,” when he didn’t feel like coming.  Of course, Paul had gone with the dog, so Joe jogged off in the direction the little terrier had disappeared with the Frisbee.

The truth of the matter was that Trisha liked Joe and the dog well enough, it was Paul who drove her to distraction during their brief experiment with living together. The boy was too quiet and self-contained, and he wanted no part of a substitute mother. Joe insisted that Paul was doing fine and there was no need to seek professional help or to send him back to Earth for a more “normal” environment. And in this, Paul and Beowulf concurred wholeheartedly.

Joe kept calling Beowulf as he jogged up the deck, an exercise reminiscent of workouts on long-range troop carriers that included a centrifugal track to keep the soldiers from losing bone mass. Eventually Beowulf burst from a field of tomato vines and barked the signal for him to follow. Joe charged after the dog, in between the rows of fruit laden vines with their characteristic reek, an unreasonable fear gripping his heart that the boy had run afoul of some defective piece of farm equipment.

Just before the war dog and the old soldier reached the bulkhead at the edge of the field, they came upon Paul crouched on his haunches, studying something with rapt attention. He was staring at the ground, below the dense green leaves and heavy tomatoes that ran the color gamut from pale green to deep red. Joe followed the boy’s eyes and saw a Stygian black ground vine winding about the thick stems of the plants, its leaves undulating as if ruffled by a breeze, except the air was still.

“What is it, boy?” Joe demanded, relieved to find Paul whole and on his feet, and angry to find himself so out of breath.

Paul didn’t answer, he seemed to be in a trance. Beowulf whined at the boy, then growled at the black vines. Joe strode over to the boy and crouched next to him for a closer look

“What is it, Paul? You’ve seen this stuff before?”

“We had it in school last year. It’s on the prohibited list.”

“Do you remember what they called it? What it’s for?”

“It’s not natural, it only grows around plants it can feed off. It’s some kind of advanced alien tech that alters the plants it attacks without harming them, but the biologicals that eat the plants or their fruit get dosed with a drug. I remember because it’s used to cheat at gaming somehow,” Paul added.

“You didn’t touch it, did you?”

“You think I’d risk touching something that can mess with my game?” the boy asked incredulously. “Anyway, are you going to destroy it?”

“It’s not mine to destroy. Maybe the stuff is good for something. It’s hard to believe anything could grow here without the Stryx knowing about it, but it would be impossible to see this stuff from the ceiling cameras because the canopy is too dense. I’ll notify Gryph and you can run up to the Earth embassy and tell them to check up on the owner of the field, since tomatoes are a human crop. Have you been recording?”

“I forgot to activate storage,” Paul admitted. “I’ll record a few seconds now and download it for them.” He turned back again, crouched, and looking closely at one of the moving vines, triggered his optical implant to work in reverse. The implant began collecting the image data from his optic nerve, rather than projecting a virtual heads-up holographic display, its normal mode.

“I won’t be surprised if this has something to do with the big tournament,” Joe commented. “There’s a lot of money wrapped up in the popular games, both for the game makers and the players. I hope you aren’t pushing yourself too hard practicing with your friends, I hardly see you before dinner these days.”

“Don’t worry, I only play one full game of Nova a day. Most of the time we just fool around with pre-programmed maneuvers and learning the physics engine. The Stryx say it’s a great educational tool.”

“Paul, I want to ask you something.” Joe’s tone became uncharacteristically sober, leading the boy to rise and stand awkwardly in anticipation of an embarrassing question. “All of these war games you play, you’re not planning on becoming a mercenary in a few years, are you?”

“Do you think I’m crazy?” The boy exhaled in relief that it wasn’t something serious. “I saw enough of that life before I was ten. But if I could turn pro at Nova and make some money, that would be cool. Maybe I’ll buy you a new tug,” he added with a grin.

“All right, I just wanted to ask. Hey, don’t forget to give the consulate the ceiling coordinates for this patch.” Joe squinted against the lights to read the numbers and letters. “It looks like N5045 by E732.”

“I make it N8048 by E132,” Paul corrected him. “When’s the last time you had your eyes checked?”

“At my last fitness board,” Joe replied. “Let’s see, that was, oh, four years ago?”

“It’s a good thing you don’t have to shoot stuff for a living anymore,” the boy teased Joe. “It’s not like an eye test is a visit to the dentist. Anyway, I’ll see you later.”

“Not if I see you first,” Joe retorted.

“Yeah, that’s really likely,” Paul answered with a laugh. “And if you do stop and get your eyes checked, don’t use your implants to magnify the charts. That defeats the whole purpose.”