by E. M. Foner
“That’s true, but were you aware that ending was only added after the success of ‘Let’s Make Friends’ on the Grenouthian network?”
“I guess I wasn’t.”
“What we’ve learned over the last couple of decades is that the business of the tunnel network is business. Until we had something more to offer the other species than our uneducated opinions, the aliens simply didn’t find us that interesting.”
“So EarthCent decided if we can’t beat ‘em, we’ll join ‘em,” somebody else called out.
“I would put it a little differently, perhaps saying that humanity is finally growing up,” Lynx said. “The Stryx have their own opaque reasons for doing what they do, but the biological species aren’t out there scouring the galaxy for charity cases. There are over six billion humans working on alien worlds at this point, and while the majority are contract laborers, an increasing number are living on open worlds, where our communities are self-governing within the framework set up by host species. And EarthCent itself may one day be replaced by the Conference of Sovereign Human Communities.”
“EarthCent recently gave us permission to open a research facility on Earth,” the beetle doctor spoke up through his external translation box. “If the business of EarthCent is business, does that mean I’m welcome to manufacture pharmaceuticals here on Flower and sell them on Earth?”
“Earth doesn’t have any trade barriers against imports, but there may well be regulations pertaining to medications. What kind of pharmaceuticals were you hoping to sell, M793qK?”
“Placebos. There shouldn’t be any problem with safety since they’re just colored sugar pills, and the profit margins are unbeatable.”
“Uh, don’t placebos only work if you tell people that they’re real drugs?”
“Not according to the research I’ve done. Most visitors to my office leave with a prescription for a placebo, and I always describe exactly what they’re getting. It’s been a particular boon for my older patients who have difficulty keeping the complicated timing regimen for their previously prescribed Earth medications straight, and placebos eliminate the issue of drug interactions. I’ve been able to wean approximately half of my patients completely off their meds.”
“Other than your placebos.”
“Your people are too habituated to taking pills to stop abruptly,” the alien doctor explained. “After I correct the underlying condition or assumption, I put them on a maintenance regime of placebos to prevent psychological withdrawal symptoms.”
“What did he mean about underlying assumptions?” Dave whispered to Harry. “Is he saying that I was overmedicated?”
“You’re better off not knowing,” the baker replied.
“I have a hypothetical question about the preserved food business,” Flower announced over the same public address system through which she was piping Lynx’s lecture. “Say somebody wanted to start manufacturing pre-packaged desserts.”
“Somebody like you?” the third officer asked.
“Well, yes. The release of the new All Species Cookbook has resulted in a sharp increase in demand for Earth’s agricultural products. I already dedicate the majority of my agricultural capacity to growing your crops, but rather than selling in bulk and leaving most of the profit on the table, I want to target a few verticals where I can control the whole supply chain.”
“So you want to grow the crops, process them into ingredients, cook the food, freeze it—”
“Vacuum pack,” Flower interrupted. “One of the advantages of traveling through space is that you get the vacuum for free.”
“Isn’t it easy to keep frozen food in space as well?”
“You still have to remove the heat, and then it needs to be stored in the shade. And don’t forget that refrigeration is required as soon as you send the food to market.”
“I see. Why pre-packaged desserts?”
“High margins, plus I have the personnel in place. I’m especially interested in holiday desserts that can be prepared well in advance, such as fruitcakes and tinned cookies.”
“Personnel—is that you?” Irene asked her husband.
“She’s been hinting lately,” Harry said. “Are you talking about me, Flower?”
“You do seem to have a gift for desserts,” the Dollnick AI replied. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned operating as a circuit ship, it’s the importance of achieving scale. I was planning a packaged food business already, and adding desserts will help flesh out my offerings.”
“You have bigger ambitions than taking over the galactic dessert market?” Lynx inquired.
“As soon as I can find the labor, I intend to start selling meal kits based on recipes from the All Species Cookbook. I’m counting on you to negotiate licensing terms with EarthCent so I don’t have to evade the trademark, and I’m willing to pay a premium for a monopoly. I believe you know all of the individuals involved in the cookbook’s production.”
“You’re springing this on me in the middle of a lecture?”
“You brought up business,” Flower pointed out.
“If Lynx can’t get them to agree, how would you go about evading the trademark?” Brenda asked, her legal curiosity aroused.
“While the phrase ‘All Species Cookbook’ is protected by the Stryx, it’s a weak trademark in the sense that it’s a literal description of the product using common words. If I have to publish the ‘Every Species Cookbook’ myself and base the meal kits on that, it will serve nearly the same purpose.”
“Where would you get the recipes?” Harry asked.
“From the All Species Cookbook,” Flower replied. “I’m not aware of any legal system that grants copyright protection for recipes, but I’d prefer to work with EarthCent on this.”
“Soup kits would be interesting,” the Grenouthian director said. “When I travelled with a theatrical company for fifty years, we rarely had time to prepare hot meals.”
“Can I quote you on that?”
“I’ll even say it on camera in return for the standard residual when the ad runs.”
“And I suppose I should hire a Human attorney while I’m at it,” Flower said. “Are you available, Brenda?”
“You mean paid work, on top of my volunteering?”
“Good point. We’ll start with free and see how much of your time I require.”
“Does anyone other than our Dollnick AI friend have a question?” Lynx inquired.
“I do,” one of the three sisters who performed as the Barry Girls spoke up. “Is our independent living cooperative dependent on the success of these business ventures? Are we going to have to move again if Flower doesn’t reach some level of profitability that nobody has told us about?”
“I can answer that,” Jack said. “Flower has promised that she can maintain our facility even if she goes back to work for the Dollnicks as a colony ship, though the loss of the rest of the human population on board would obviously put a crimp in our recreational opportunities.”
“Things have gotten a little more complicated,” Flower admitted. “It turns out that my case is without precedent in Dollnick jurisprudence. Like most of our colony ships, my construction was financed by a number of families whose descendants lived on board and shared in my profits. When they abandoned ship, they gave up their financial interest, but when I started working towards reinstatement, they filed suit for a thousand years of missed payments, plus interest. It’s basically a tactical move on the part of the heirs, an attempt to blackmail me into paying them to go away so I can proceed with my case.”
“A thousand years of compound interest?” Lynx exclaimed. “Would that leave you broke?”
“Deeply in debt, though I’ve appealed the ruling. The courts have frozen my accounts in Dollnick space, but fortunately, I do most of my banking with the Stryx.”
Sixteen
“I don’t mind helping Bill with a delivery, but why didn’t you just send a bot to carry this thing?” Julie asked out loud.
“I’ve learned that presentation counts and that my bots aren’t appropriate in all circumstances,” Flower responded. “It’s just down the corridor on the left.”
“Is that Bill waiting? I can’t see his face with that giant thing he’s carrying. What is it?”
“A fruit basket.”
“Are you really growing enough fruit trees to supply five million people?”
“I might have been overly optimistic in my population projections.”
“Hey, Julie,” Bill said. “I hope that thing isn’t as heavy as it looks.”
“It barely weighs anything at all,” the girl said. She let the end of the large cylindrical package fall to the deck and gestured at the door where he had been waiting for her. “Is this the place?”
“Unwrap the present before you go in,” Flower instructed Julie. “The plastic bag can be recycled later.”
“Let me do that,” Bill said, setting down the giant fruit basket and carefully slitting the sealed bag at one end with his pocket knife. He pulled out a giant stuffed cylinder that was too large to be practical as a pillow. “What is it?”
“Me,” Flower said. “Can’t you see the bay doors on the end?”
“I wondered why I was making a pickup at a toy store,” Julie said. “It really is a stuffed colony ship.”
“I’m trying to standardize on a gift package for new arrivals. Remember, you’re here as my welcoming delegation. If you can’t come up with anything to say, I’ll prompt you over your implants.”
“But when we were rehearsing Shakespeare for the Grenouthian, you said that prompting was a bad idea,” Julie protested.
“That was different because you had a script to memorize. We’ll just play this by ear.”
Bill picked up the fruit basket and pressed the door pad. “Delivery,” he announced.
“Come in,” a woman’s voice replied, and the door slid open.
Julie and Bill entered the cabin, where a young woman was sitting in an overstuffed chair with a tiny infant in her arms.
“We’re the welcoming committee,” Bill said, standing awkwardly with the giant fruit basket. “Did you just join us at the galactic heritage site?”
“Me? I’ve been on board for three years, but this one arrived two days ago,” the young woman said, turning a little to show off the sleeping infant’s tiny face. “I’m Sue, and this is Dawn.”
“What a pretty name,” Julie said. “He’s Bill and I’m Julie. I guess this stuffed colony ship is for Dawn.”
“I think it’s a little big for her right now. Maybe in another year or two?”
“The fruit must be for you,” Bill said, setting the basket on the table.
“Fruit is healthy for nursing mothers,” Flower prompted over his implant.
“Fruit is healthy for nursing mothers,” Bill repeated, and then turned red when both women looked at him oddly. “Flower made me say that.”
“Oh, she’s been giving me advice nonstop ever since I got pregnant,” Sue told them. “I didn’t think I was ready for a baby, and the father jumped ship as soon as I told him. Flower offered to be the godmother, and she promised free daycare when my maternity leave is up.”
“Did you just change cabins?” Julie asked. “Everything looks brand new.”
“Flower insisted that I spend two weeks in her maternity corridor, just to get away from it all and bond with Dawn. I guess it’s a Dollnick tradition, and it’s nice being able to meet other first-time mothers. Come in,” she added, when a new visitor announced herself.
The door slid open and another young woman with an infant in her arms entered. Julie nudged Bill, and they made their excuses and left the two mothers together to enjoy the fruit.
“You set up a maternity ward, Flower?” Julie asked.
“Dollnicks traditionally encourage new mothers to nest together for several cycles. There aren’t enough births on board yet for a full-fledged maternity garden, and your married women return home too early, but I’m hoping that will change. I have one more task for the two of you before your stand-in work.”
“What’s that?” Bill asked.
“I want your impressions of a new decorating scheme for cabins.”
“Why us?” Julie asked suspiciously.
“If I explain first, I won’t get your natural reaction. It’s just down the corridor on the way to the lift tube. I’ll open the door.”
“Since when do you ask for our advice?”
“Don’t I always ask for your input before making decisions that impact your lives?”
“Not that I’ve noticed. If you do ask my opinion, you just ignore it anyway.”
“I like to think that I give Humans a vote but not a veto,” Flower explained. “There, the cabin on the left. Go right in.”
“It’s very pink,” Bill said uncertainly, halting just inside the doorway.
“If I were six years old I’d think you just made me a princess,” Julie said. “What’s it supposed to be?”
“A bridal suite,” Flower said. “I project solid growth in my business catering to retirees, but what I really need to make my long term population goals is natural increase. Doesn’t the décor make you want to procreate? Try the bed.”
“Send a bot to try the bed. I’m going to the theatre.”
“Wait up,” Bill called after Julie as she stomped out of the cabin. “I didn’t have anything to do with that.”
“I know. I think Flower’s legal problems are making her a little nuts.”
“A little more nuts.”
“I can hear you,” the Dollnick AI commented.
“Stop trying to push us around, Flower. It’s embarrassing,” Bill said. “Isn’t this why your original crew abandoned you in the first place?”
“Their main complaint was that rather than arguing over their choice of destination, I tricked them into believing I was following instructions and made a better choice for them.”
“They colonized the wrong world?”
“The right world, just not the one they chose. It was a great success. Don’t you think I make good decisions, Julie?”
“I’m not talking to you.”
Other than a few aliens on stage, the theatre was empty when the pair arrived. Bill found his shovel in the props box, while Razood handed Julie her tray and coffee pot. The Farling doctor was just demonstrating how he could create a powerful gust of wind with his wings, knocking Jorb off his feet. The martial artist managed to convert his momentum into a roll, all of which was captured by the circle of floating immersive cameras.
“You’re really the complete package,” the Grenouthian director said to M793qK in admiration. “Maybe we should make you the superhero and the rest of us could be villains.”
“The writers would revolt,” Flower said. “Have you captured enough of our good doctor’s motions for the animators to get started?”
“Whether you have or haven’t, I’m almost late for an appointment,” the beetle rubbed out on his speaking legs. “Somebody owes me a big basket of strawberries.”
“I had a bot drop them off at your clinic.”
M793qK disappeared backstage and the director pointed at Julie and Bill. “All right, the two of you are up next. Let’s see if you can decapitate anybody, Julie.”
“You want me to do what?” the girl asked.
“Throw the tray. Your character, Refill, is an expert with improvised weapons, including hot liquids and table utensils. The tray can be deployed on either offense or defense.”
“Send it my way,” Jorb offered. “I’ll catch it.”
“This is crazy,” the girl said, but she flung the tray in the Drazen’s general direction. It curved wildly and skipped off the stage before being snagged by Lume with one of his lower arms.
“Hey, that was kind of like a Frisbee,” Bill observed. “Maybe if you held it with the rim down and flicked it off your forefinger it would fly straight.”
“I never learned to play Frisbee,” Julie
said. “And it doesn’t seem like much of a weapon.”
“The animators will add rotating blades that pop out in flight,” the Grenouthian told her.
“So how is it an improvised weapon?”
“It’s entertainment, it doesn’t have to make sense. And who are you?” the director demanded of a figure who waddled onto the stage. The latecomer was wearing a floor-length overcoat with a row of false appendages fashioned from coat hangers running down each side.
“Dave. I’m standing in for M793qK.”
“You can’t stand in for a stand-in.”
“Doc said he’s going to be too busy for storyboarding but he’ll show up when you need him for vector mapping,” Dave explained. “He’s paying me.”
“Farling prima donna,” the Grenouthian grumbled. “There’s one in every production.”
“So what are we doing today?” Harry asked.
“Our goal was to see the characters interacting with each other and the villain to get an idea of possible matchups, but I don’t see how Pillowcase Man helps with that. I set up the cameras to begin some basic motion capture for scaffolding moves today, and I’ll send the results to the writers so they can get started on dialogue.”
“Don’t you need to have a story first?”
“We’ve got a back story, and that’s just as important. An unidentified colony ship is transporting the survivors of a peaceful galaxy that’s been overrun by aggressive aliens. Flower and I have discussed the objectives in depth, and we’re looking for humor and pathos.”
“And action,” Razood said, twirling his heavy hammer.
“And action, with a little mystery, a dash of romance, and plenty of suspense,” the director summed up. “It’s a pretty standard setup, and the writers estimated it will take a month to produce a full script for the first episode, with drafts for the next six to maintain the continuity.”
“I ordered the standard twenty episode package upfront,” Flower informed them.
“Right, but the writers won’t plot past six until we see how the premiere does,” the director said. “If the first episode bombs, they can kill off all of the heroes and make it a supervillain story.”
