Soup Night on Union Station

by E. M. Foner

  “That follows the sort of twisted logic the older tunnel network species employ,” Joe said. “I remember Srythlan telling me that if a Verlock doctor can’t cure a disease, he’ll quote an astronomical price for treatment. If by some chance the patient has that much money, the doctor will just double the price. It’s the way advanced species deliver bad news and save face at the same time.”

  “So you’re telling me that when the Grenouthians realized they couldn’t actually come up with tasty recipes that all of the tunnel network species could share without poisoning themselves, they decided to make the cookbook indecipherable so nobody would actually use it?”

  “They created plausible deniability,” the Maker confirmed. “If anybody was to complain that they made one of the recipes and it was awful, the Grenouthians could always claim it was the fault of the translation.”

  “But what if somebody requested a recipe in the original language?”

  “On the day they published, the Grenouthians reported that an unfortunate fire had incinerated the editorial office and all of the records were destroyed. When the Verlocks edited the cookbook, they lost the archive to volcanic activity. The Frunge editors blamed the data erasure on a hacking attack, the Dollnicks claimed that their publishing tradition insists on the destruction of all drafts in the theory that they’re inferior, and so on.”

  “Is that really a Dollnick tradition?”

  “They may have pretended it was for a few cycles after the cookbook was published.”

  “Are you sure you want to go ahead with the bid, Kel?” Joe asked. “I know how enthusiastic you were about finding a new project to keep Aabina busy, but it sounds more like a punishment.”

  “I already told Donna she could be the editor if we win. You know how much she likes trying alien recipes by substituting ingredients. Besides, we cook for aliens all the time and they wouldn’t come back if they didn’t like it. Now that I think of it, whenever the Gem caterers know that there will be a number of species attending an event, they mainly serve human food. That reminds me, Dring. How come we can eat all of the vegetables from your garden?”

  “They’re all Earth varieties.”

  “Even the blue tomato things that taste like peppers and the stringy black-leafed lettuce?”

  “Heirloom seeds,” the Maker replied. “And while we’re on the subject, what’s for dinner?”

  “I’ll ask you again later,” the ambassador said, rising and heading for the kitchen. “We’re having Aisha’s leftovers and all I have to do is heat it up and put it out.”

  Two

  “It all comes down to marketing in the end,” Dorothy said, passing a large carton filled with individual serving-sized bags of pretzel sticks over the counter of the chandlery to her husband. “We have the best lineup of cross-species fashions on the tunnel network, but all anybody wants lately are Baa’s enchanted accessories for role-playing. And do you know why?”

  “I have a feeling you’re going to tell me,” Kevin replied. He gingerly removed a sample from the carton, taking the utmost care to prevent the biaxially oriented polypropylene bag from making any sound as he opened it. When he looked back up, both Beowulf and Alexander were on their hind legs with their front paws on the counter.

  “Like father like son,” the EarthCent ambassador’s daughter observed. “Better give them each a bag or they’ll be reenacting the Cayl invasion of Nangor.”

  “You really know your galactic history,” Kevin said. He came around the counter, dumped a bag of pretzels into each dog’s snack dish, and checked that there was plenty of water in the communal bowl. Then he grabbed the next carton from the stack and returned behind the counter.

  “The emperor stayed with us once when I was a kid. He and Beowulf could chase each other around Mac’s Bones for hours.” Margie coughed and stretched in her sleep, causing both of her parents and the dogs to freeze. Then the baby resumed her steady breathing and the pretzel munching and conversation recommenced. “Anyway, I was going to say that everybody wants Baa’s enchanted fashions because of all of the exposure they get from broadcasts of the Live Action Role Playing league.”

  “I assume that Jeeves is paying the LARPing federation a pretty cred for the privilege.”

  “He won’t tell me the amount,” Dorothy fumed. “How am I supposed to know what’s fair to demand that he spend promoting our ballroom fashions without the proper context?”

  “I’d say Jeeves is one step ahead of you there. Pass me that next carton.”

  “Why are you stocking up on salty snacks all of a sudden?” Dorothy asked, even as she complied with his request. “Are you planning to start selling my dad’s beer?”

  “Carbonized beverages don’t work in Zero-G. When there’s no weight, the bubbles aren’t displaced by the liquid and you end up with a stomach full. Rather than burping, the bubbles pass through your digestive—”

  “La, la, la, la, la,” Dorothy sang, putting her fingers in her ears. “Don’t want to hear where the bubbles come out.”

  Kevin raised his hands in a sign of submission and his wife dropped her arms. “You know that the official business launch for Tunnel Trips is next week,” he continued.

  “But Dad and Paul have been renting ships for months. I thought the only change was that some of the sovereign human communities with tunnel connections were opening their franchises on Monday.”

  “Until now, all of the rentals have been round trip because the ships had to be returned to Mac’s Bones. Starting next week, renters will be able to drop the ships at any franchise location. It’s going to make a big difference in demand.”

  “And you want to make sure they have enough pretzels?”

  “And popcorn, and chips. One-way means short trips. It takes less than a half hour for a small ship to get to the tunnel entrance from Union Station, and most of the destinations are space elevator hubs or orbitals that are within an hour of tunnel access. The main part of the trip will be coasting through the tunnels at Zero-G, so snack food should be a big seller.”

  “Is that why you bought all of those juice boxes with the rubber seal around the straw? I thought you were expecting more family traders with children.”

  “It’s not the seal around the straw that makes them special, it’s the bladder and the box. When you suck through the straw, you’re actually emptying a bladder, and there are little holes in the box that allow in air to fill the space.”

  “Why not just drink from squeeze tubes like we always did?”

  “People prefer the boxes because they’re less likely to get ruptured by accidents. Marilla said that the Frunge don’t allow squeeze tubes on their rentals because it’s a pain to clean up if somebody starts fooling around and squishes a tube just to see the liquid shoot out. With the juice boxes, you have to put the straw in your mouth and suck.”

  “How about water?”

  “I’ve got water boxes too, and there are tea and coffee versions with integrated heating circuits. I’ve been cutting down on bulk orders of canned goods to make room.”

  “See, that’s what’s so unfair. You can adjust to your market just by changing what you buy the next day while I spend months developing a new fashion. By the time it’s out of manufacturing and into a boutique, a half a year may have gone by.”

  “Do you want to compare selling prices and margins?” Kevin retorted. “If I sell the rest of the pretzels in that carton for the full retail price, I’ll just about break even on what the dogs are going to mooch.”

  “Look, you’ve offended them,” Dorothy said. Beowulf and Alexander sprinted off towards the training camp on the other side of the hold.

  “Are there any pretzels left in their bowls?”

  “All right, maybe they just finished. But the point is I spent years designing dance shoes and ball gowns, and if sales don’t pick up, I’m afraid Shaina and Brinda will concentrate on the enchanted stuff while other fashion businesses eat my market.”

  “I thought yo
u had a bunch of patents on the heels and those fancy gown features.”

  “We do, but being the best isn’t good enough in fashion. You have to keep your products in front of people or they forget about you and move on to the next new thing.”

  “Well,” Kevin said, removing a chewed tennis ball from the space below the counter where he wanted to store a box and throwing it in the general direction the dogs had taken, “I’d say that what you need are bigger balls.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Or more balls, it amounts to the same thing in the end.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “More potential customers for your shoes and gowns. I got to talking with Vivian about her competitive dancing days at our last picnic. She explained that even though the Vergallians are ballroom fanatics, they would never wear your dancing shoes because they aren’t certified as competition compliant. I don’t know if you ever looked into that, but—”

  “We did, and they just laughed,” Dorothy said. “Competition shoes can’t include any active technology, so the gyroscopic stabilizers and the adaptive heel height are prima facie disqualifications.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Oh, it’s the translation of some Frunge legal term I picked up from Flazint’s boyfriend. He said they use it for evidence that can refute a claim on the first sight.”

  “I like talking with Tzachan, but sometimes my implant just translates his legal vocabulary from Frunge words I don’t know into English words I don’t know.”

  “Mom says a lot of our legal terms are actually Latin, and that it comes up a lot in diplomacy too.”

  “When are we chaperoning Flazint and Tzachan’s next date?”

  “I forgot to tell you? A week from Wednesday morning at six. Mom offered to watch Margie until she goes in to the embassy, and then Fenna can babysit until we get back.”

  “Do you think Fenna is old enough to watch the baby by herself?”

  “Aisha doesn’t leave for the studio until mid-morning, and there will be plenty of adults around in Mac’s Bones, including the dogs and Dad.”

  “And what about Fenna’s school?”

  “They just started their long break, didn’t you notice? You’ll see a lot of her the next couple months, and probably her friend Mikey as well.”

  “Maybe I can hire them for something,” Kevin said. “I was helping my dad trade by the time I was ten. But still, it seems funny getting up early to take my wife on a double date.”

  “We all agreed that it’s only fair we start chaperoning half of the dates on the Frunge clock. Tzachan never would have let on, but I finally pried it out of Flazint that they’ve gotten up in the middle of their night on weekdays a few times to go out with us on our Friday evening.”

  “Can you pass me that last box?”

  “It’s too heavy,” Dorothy said, after trying to move it with her foot. “What’s in there?”

  “Air fresheners. Your dad said that Marilla suggested them.”

  “A whole box? How many air fresheners can they need? They barely have two dozen ships available for rental.”

  “I’ll be selling them to the renters, not to the agency. Marilla takes them out when she cleans the returns.”

  “Why not get them back from her and sell those?”

  “Wouldn’t be ethical, and besides, they don’t last that long by design,” Kevin said, coming back around the counter and hefting the box. “These are only good for seventy-two hours after you remove the wrapper.”

  “You know, Baa told me the other day that her enchantments all wear off with time.”

  “Does that mean that SBJ Fashions is going to get hammered with returns?”

  “No, they’re good for hundreds of years, and warranties on apparel and accessories never last that long. I was just surprised because I thought they were permanent. Of course, I thought that my shoes would go on selling forever too, and it turns out that they were just a fad,” she concluded in a sad voice.

  “They aren’t a fad, Dorothy,” Kevin said, storing the box of air fresheners on a lower shelf. “The fashion correspondent for the Galactic Free Press described your shoes as ‘Timeless classics.’ You just chose to design for a market that wasn’t as big as you thought. If everybody bought shoes like Chastity, you’d be richer than—“

  “Richer than Chastity,” Dorothy interjected. “Isn’t it weird that my babysitter when I was growing up is so rich that people on the station have started using her name as a benchmark for wealth?”

  “You said she’s your best customer.”

  “Chastity’s a ballroom fanatic and Marcus is a dance instructor. It’s a marriage made in heaven.”

  “Maybe you could sponsor a series of formal dances on Stryx stations,” Kevin suggested. “Then you’d have the kind of promotional opportunity that SBJ Fashions gets from the LARPing league for Baa’s Bags.”

  “That’s not a bad idea, but I doubt Jeeves would ever go for it. Between renting a venue, hiring an orchestra, and advertising, costs add up pretty quick.”

  “Maybe Chastity and Blythe would co-sponsor. They could buy tickets and give them to InstaSitter employees as a bonus.”

  Dorothy’s eyes took on a dangerous gleam. “I can’t believe I never thought of that.”

  “I’m not a complete idiot at business, you know.”

  “If EarthCent wins the bid for the All Species Cookbook, I’ll get Mom to co-sponsor too.”

  “Don’t make it more complicated than you have to,” Kevin warned her. “Besides, I don’t see the connection.”

  “Our fashions are cross-species,” Dorothy explained. “We’ll put on all-species dances and promote the All Species Cookbook for EarthCent at the same time.”

  “Why not put advertisements for the new rental fleet on the backs of the dresses?”

  “No, that won’t work,” Dorothy said, missing her husband’s gentle sarcasm. “Showing some skin is part of the allure.”

  An alien girl wearing safety-color coveralls and carrying a toolbox approached. “Morning,” she whispered. “Is Margie sleeping?”

  “Out like a light,” Dorothy confirmed. “Do you have a minute?”

  Marilla glanced around before replying, “I think so. Your father told me to meet him here.”

  “Joe must be planning to start on that bumboat out back,” Kevin said, breaking into a wide smile.

  “What’s a bumboat?” Marilla asked. “It translated to something that’s not very nice in Horten.”

  “It’s kind of specialized vocabulary. Bumboats are the smallest type of ship’s tender. Joe said he only learned the name himself reading Kelly’s old books. Back on Earth, bumboats used to go out to ships that were anchored in rivers or just off the coast and sell supplies, mainly to the sailors.”

  “I don’t understand,” the Horten girl said. “I thought that crews were provided for by their employers.”

  “I don’t know much about history myself, but I think the bumboats mainly sold stuff that the sailors couldn’t get otherwise without going on shore. Basic provisions for the whole ship would have been bought by the captain through a chandlery.”

  “But you’re running a chandlery,” Dorothy pointed out.

  “Just for the little family ships that come in and need a sack of potatoes or a few spools of twine,” Kevin said. “I can take the bumboat out to the big cargo ships and colony vessels that don’t enter Union Station’s core.”

  “And what will you sell them?”

  “Potatoes and twine? I don’t know, I’ll work that part out once I have a bumboat to reach them. Your dad was willing to let me try it with the Nova, but it would be wasteful to use a tug to deliver a pack of playing cards, and she’s too big to fit in a lifeboat berth.”

  “Wait a minute,” Dorothy said. “Do you mean to tell me that the old Sharf lifeboat out back is going to be your new bumboat?”

  “It’s perfect,” Kevin confirmed. “They’re real fuel misers, and
it’s almost impossible to get into an accident. And because it will fit in the standard lifeboat berth, there’s no messing around with flexible airlocks or spacesuits.”

  “But aren’t all of the lifeboat berths on cargo ships always filled?” Marilla asked.

  “Ships crewed by humans are the bottom of the barrel, so there are usually a number of lifeboats missing,” Kevin told the Horten girl, who turned grey with horror at the news. “Sorry.”

  “Morning,” Joe announced himself. “Has anybody seen Beowulf? I want him to check your bumboat for coolant leaks.”

  “He and Alexander were here a few minutes ago, but they ran off in the direction of the training camp,” Dorothy replied.

  “Well, we’ve lost him for at least ten minutes. Thomas and Chance are starting a new kidnap avoidance class for Galactic Free Press reporters and there’s always a breakfast buffet the first morning.”

  “What kind of repairs will we be doing?” Marilla asked. “I thought Sharf lifeboats were guaranteed for the life of the propulsion unit, and after that, the buyer is required to recycle them.”

  “This one sort of slipped through the cracks,” Joe told her with a boyish grin. “I dug up a spare propulsion unit with a few years of life left on it that we’ll be installing, and then it’s mainly a reconfiguration job. The life support pods were removed by somebody else a long time ago, so I was planning on putting in a cooler and as many Zero G storage lockers as will fit. Do you have any special requests, Kevin?”

  “Could you mount the lockers without welding so I can take them out if we get a special order for something that wouldn’t fit otherwise?”

  “I’ve got a couple of quick-release clamps around here so we’ll work something out.” Joe caught a movement in his peripheral vision and turned towards the entrance of Mac’s Bones. “I see our weary co-op student is home.”

  Samuel noticed the gathering at his brother-in-law’s chandlery and jogged over. “Is it really morning?” he asked.

  “On the Human clock, it is,” Marilla replied brightly. “Long day at the embassy?”