Word Night on Union Station (EarthCent Ambassador Book 9) by Foner E. M

Author:Foner, E. M. [Foner, E. M.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Paradise Pond Press
Published: 2016-04-03T16:00:00+00:00

Eleven

Dorothy arrived at the Open University exhibition hall expecting the usual formal affair, but it turned out that the calendars of several species were overlapping on the equivalent of a Friday night, so the students and attendees were in party mode. The theme of the exhibit was bar design, and all of the students whose work could potentially be applied to the universal concept of a place to get plastered were displaying their concept pieces. The fact that they were actually distributing drinks added to the celebratory atmosphere.

“Human?” inquired the Frunge girl at the entrance who was handing out empty metal cups.

“Yes,” Dorothy said, accepting a cup. “We’re not very rugged, gastronomically speaking.”

“Try the Frunge ice tea,” the girl suggested. “Just remind them to run it through the grub filter for you.”

“Grub filter?”

“You know, the things that eat you from the inside out. Don’t you get grubs?”

“Worms, maybe,” Dorothy said, not wanting to make the girl feel bad.

“Just tell them to filter it. I saw a couple of Humans rush out of here earlier holding their stomachs.”

Dorothy carefully avoided the Frunge ice tea maker on display, though she had to admit it made an intriguing presentation from a safe distance. A machine that looked like one of her father’s old-fashioned compressors huffed away beneath the table, though the motor driving the belt looked like a dummy. She wondered if the concept was copied from human history, the same way she’d borrowed her hat design from the lost-and-found.

“Try sitting here,” a Verlock rumbled as she passed, though the complete sentence didn’t register until she was almost on to the next display. She turned around and returned to the hulking student, who was gesturing to a sturdy-looking stool with an equally beefy hand.

“It looks very strong,” Dorothy replied slowly, having plenty of experience with Verlocks. She was surprised to see that the chair was cushioned, given the predilection of the leathery aliens for stone furniture, but when she hopped up onto the seat, a shock ran through her tailbone. An involuntary “Ouch,” escaped her lips.

“Not good?” the Verlock forced out, looking concerned.

“The seat is harder than I expected,” Dorothy prevaricated, but then she decided it was more important to give the designer her true reaction than to save his feelings. “Actually, it seems even harder than stone, if that’s possible.”

“Thank you!” The Verlock looked about as joyous as Dorothy could ever recall seeing one of the normally stoic aliens. “Harder than it looks.”

Dorothy just nodded and smiled, unsure if the Verlock was referring to the cushion itself or to the labor involved in creating anti-padding. She slid off the stool, rubbed her backside for a moment, and then moved on to the next table, where a Chert girl was waving her hands in the air like a magician.

“Human?” the Chert’s assistant asked. “You’re pretty enough to be Vergallian.”

“Uh, thank you, I guess,” Dorothy replied.

“I’m Tissent, and I’m helping my sister perform her bar concept,” the Chert said, launching into a prepared speech. “Siffra has perfected a form of visual mixology based on hand movements.

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