by E. M. Foner
“Ashiba agreed?
“She said she hoped Aainda knows what she’s doing,” Samuel replied.
“And the Farlings?”
“A Farling came to the embassy, I don’t know what they talked about.”
“Too clever by half,” Banda said. “Aainda sent the two of you to signal EarthCent’s acquiescence.”
“She did?”
“I want you to take a message to your mothers, both of you,” the admiral said. “Fleet will accept the arrangement if everybody else goes along.” She stepped back and touched her bracelet, turning off the privacy field. “You may go.”
“Are you going to turn us around in the tunnel?” Vivian asked.
“You don’t want to come out at your planned destination,” Banda said. “Most of the spies on the tunnel network will be there waiting for you by now. And Samuel—”
“Yes, Admiral?”
“Give my regards to my half-sister’s daughter, Affie. And tell her to upgrade her boyfriend or her mother is going to force her to return home. No queen’s daughter is so far removed from the throne that she can afford a bad marriage.”
Sixteen
“Mac’s Bones,” Blythe instructed the lift tube, and then explained to her son, “Dorothy, Jeeves, and Aisha are waiting for us.”
“You want us all to arrive at the network in the same capsule so the Grenouthians read something into it,” Jonah surmised. “I get that you think it’s important I learn how to negotiate business deals with aliens, but it would help if you explained things rather than making me guess.”
“I have faith you’ll figure it out. You’ve become Tinka’s right-hand man in the four years since you left school and started working for InstaSitter. She’s told me more than once that when you’re running the war room, calls from angry parents have never been followed by legal action.”
“I listen to them and take the blame, just like I was trained, but a cooking show on the Grenouthian network could turn into a really big deal.”
“Bigger than InstaSitter?” Blythe chided him.
“I guess not. I think it would be fun to host a show, especially if they go for the guests and stuff I worked out with Dorothy, but I won’t know until I try. I just don’t want to agree to something that doesn’t work out and then find that I’m stuck.”
“A contract is a contract with the bunnies. You can’t ask them to change it later unless you’re willing to give up something else that they want. Let’s concentrate on getting the best deal we can today, and then say you have to take it home for your father to check. The Grenouthians are a paternalistic culture so they can’t argue, and that way you’ll have time to sleep on it.”
Jonah nodded in agreement. “That works for me, but isn’t bringing Jeeves along to the negotiations kind of like cheating? They’ll think I have Stryx backing.”
“Jeeves is coming to keep Dorothy from over-committing in the name of SBJ Fashions. Besides, we need him to balance the numbers, though the Grenouthians will outweigh us by at least a factor of two.”
“And the bunnies will all be studio executives?”
“I’m guessing Aisha’s producer and director, plus a few staff attorneys. The Grenouthians originally offered to have their ambassador negotiate the deal with Aunt Kelly, but she felt it would be unethical to get involved since her son is engaged to your sister. The bunnies don’t see things that way, but meeting with us directly will probably save them a little on whatever they’re already paying their ambassador for bringing them the show.”
The capsule doors opened and Jeeves floated in, followed by Dorothy and Aisha. The latter looked up at Jonah in surprise. “When did you get so tall?” she asked. “I thought you were the same height as Vivian.”
“I had a growth spurt,” Jonah told her. “I missed the last few picnics at Mac’s Bones because of work so you haven’t seen me.”
“Vivian told me you were too busy LARPing with a bunch of your InstaSitter groupies,” Dorothy teased her future brother-in-law, and then looked disappointed when the young man failed to blush. “Do we have a strategy for this meeting?”
“Let Jonah do the talking, but jump in if you have anything to add,” Blythe said. “We have to think ahead to if he ends up hosting the show. It’s important that the Grenouthians accept him now as his own master or they’ll ignore him on the set.”
“If you feel like you’re being outmaneuvered, just say you’re thinking of hiring the Thark agent who helped me negotiate my last deal,” Aisha told Jonah. “The Grenouthians are terrified of her.”
“Then why aren’t we bringing her today?” he asked.
“You don’t want to put their fur up if you don’t have to. Oh, and do you have a cred you can give me?”
Jonah looked puzzled by this request, but he reached in his pocket and handed the wealthy hostess of “Let’s Make Friends” a coin just as the doors slid open on the Grenouthian network headquarters.
Aisha confidently led the group through a warren of passages to a surprisingly small conference room where a display panel read, in English, “Cookbook Negotiations.” Inside, they found a large table with four seats on one side and five seats on the other, the network’s not-so-subtle way of showing that Jeeves was expected.
“Where are they?” Jonah asked.
“They never arrive first,” Aisha said. “It’s a basic dominance play with the Grenouthians. They’ll expect you to sit near the center, so take one of the ends instead, and Dorothy, you and I will sit in the middle. Blythe, you take the opposite end to show that Jonah is independent or they’ll keep trying to talk to you instead of him.”
As soon as Jonah’s party settled in their seats with Jeeves floating casually by the young man’s side, the floor began to vibrate, and five enormous bunnies marched into the room, moving in lockstep. “False floor they installed for the effect,” Jeeves informed Jonah over his implant. “It would take a lot more than five Grenouthians to make the decks rattle on Union Station.”
Blythe began to say something when she saw that the last bunny to enter was the head of Grenouthian Intelligence on the station, but he appeared not to recognize her, so she decided to play her cards close to the vest. The director and executive producer of Aisha’s show were easily identified by their professional sashes, and the satchels carried by the remaining two bunnies marked them as network attorneys.
“Aisha,” the executive producer began, making clear he saw her as the highest ranked human of the group, “are you absolutely certain that our holographic—”
“I’m certain,” Aisha interrupted, surprising both Dorothy and Blythe with her assertiveness. “Also, I should state for the record that I’ve been retained by Jonah Oxford to act as a paid consultant in these negotiations.”
The executive producer slammed his furry fist on the table before instantly regaining his composure. “So be it,” he grunted. “Director?”
“Our attorneys have prepared a standard contract—”
Aisha burst out laughing, a sound so infectious that Dorothy, Jonah, and Blythe couldn’t help joining in. Even Jeeves flickered some of the lights on his casing in appreciation.
“All right, I had to try,” the director said, motioning for the attorneys to keep their satchels closed. “But it doesn’t change the fact that this is a high-risk endeavor that could cost us ratings if the All Species Cookbook flops or EarthCent’s bizarrely optimistic production schedule is delayed. We’re already paying overtime to prepare the set, buying advertising time at last-minute rates on other shows to promote the pilot, and the whole thing could go ‘pop’ overnight if the recipes make everybody sick.”
“Creds don’t grow on bushes,” the executive producer chimed in. “I know that Humans think we advanced species are all made of money, but business is business, and you’re asking us to pair an untested host with an untried concept that has been tied to more than one inter-species feud. If it weren’t for our ambassador’s unjustified enthusiasm, I wouldn’
t even be sitting here.”
“I know you,” Jonah said out of the blue. “You came to the InstaSitter office to request we reconsider the ban on your household.”
“That was you?” the producer asked, squinting across the table at the young man. “You all look so alike.”
“It was around three years ago,” Jonah continued. “Your children kept sneaking Vergallian dramas in their room and your wife was always calling in complaints and yelling at our InstaSitters. I think we agreed to probation.”
“They were great grand-nieces, not my children, and my wife has been away on a sightseeing trip ever since they moved in with us,” the executive producer said, obviously justifying himself to his own colleagues rather than Jonah. “As the head of my family, I was obligated to deal with the issue, but I can assure you that the immersive systems of my direct descendants are permanently locked to our network.”
The head of Grenouthian intelligence snorted and caught Blythe’s eye, at which point she realized he had recognized her as well, but had done a better job of concealing the fact.
“Our information is that you are currently eighteen years old,” the director said. “You left the Stryx station librarian’s experimental school at fourteen and began training for InstaSitter management, a position attained through nepotism.” The Grenouthians all looked at Blythe and nodded their approval. “Most recently, you have been in charge of creating an exclusive LARPing league for InstaSitter employees, where you have also developed a following as a heroic raid leader. What are your plans to promote the cooking show to your fan base?”
“My contract with InstaSitter prevents me from doing any outside promotions without the approval of our managing partner, Tinka,” Jonah replied smoothly. “However, I do have an idea for bringing on a guest cook from InstaSitter each show, rotating through the species we employ, which includes all of the oxygen breathers on the tunnel network.”
“All young females?”
“While our most active employees are predominantly females in their species-adjusted teen years, the majority of the sitters who have ever worked for us keep their profiles active and take the occasional assignment to earn spare creds and keep their hand in,” Jonah explained. “If I start with co-hosts from the cooking class I teach, they’re mainly my age or a little older.”
“A harem show,” one of the attorneys said approvingly. “Very popular these days. I like it.”
This time Jonah blushed bright red and stuttered a denial, giving Dorothy an excuse to jump in. “In addition to co-hosts, we,” she pointed a finger at her own chest and waggled it back and forth to cover Jonah and Jeeves as well, “have been discussing the addition of a dance segment to help pass the time while the food is cooking.”
“I see you’ve never worked in production,” the director scoffed. “We edit out the dead time for baking, boiling, and molecular resonance. It’s impossible to do a live cooking show in real-time unless you stick with raw food or frying.”
“Too much fried food is bad for the health,” one of the Grenouthian attorneys chipped in. “Liability issue there.”
“If you’re going to be editing the show, fitting in a few dance sequences will be even easier,” Dorothy said brightly. “The point is, we,” she did the finger-pointing thing again, “are a package deal.”
The executive producer leaned forward and raised his furry chin at the head of Grenouthian intelligence, as if to ask, “Do I have to put up with this Human?”
“Ambassador McAllister’s daughter,” the spy chief grunted. “Her mother has final say over any subsidiary rights for the All Species Cookbook because she signed the bid for EarthCent.”
The executive producer tilted his head back and wasted a long-suffering look on the conference room ceiling before exhaling and starting anew. “Do you have any idea how many cameras it takes to do a professional job on dance numbers? Do you have any idea how much our cameramen are paid?”
“SBJ Fashions is willing to underwrite—”
“Half of the cost,” Jeeves spoke over Dorothy. “And I have a Thark auditor on retainer for checking the books.”
“Half of the staffing cost, studio rental, and all of the costumes, practice time, and music, whether live or recorded, plus liability,” the executive producer countered.
“Half of the staffing cost. I’m not paying for equipment or space rental when you own it all anyway. I agree to the wardrobe, music, and practice time, but why should I underwrite liability when the most likely accident would be one of your overpaid cameramen running a floating camera into one of our dancers?”
“My daughter owns a pair of the shoes that you sell,” one of the attorneys spoke up. “Every time she raises the heels and goes out dancing I wonder if she’s going to fall and break a bone.”
“I’d offer to put her on the show, but the Grenouthians on Union Station all dance in their birthday suits,” Dorothy said. “As Jeeves is always reminding me, we’re in business to sell our fashions. Still, if her partner is any good, it might be worth having them on for the shoes.”
“We decided to stick with InstaSitters for now, Dorothy,” Jonah reasserted himself, having recovered from the embarrassment of being accused of planning a harem. “Don’t forget the cost-sharing arrangement.”
“Then I think we have enough to start bandying numbers around,” the executive producer said. “What sort of figure did you have in mind?”
“I’m waiting to hear your offer,” Jonah said.
The bunny nodded to one of the attorneys, who produced a Dollnick writing board and a stylus. The executive producer made a big show of doing some finger math, and then shielded the Dollyboard with one furry paw while writing a number. Then he gave a pained look, like he had just stuffed a box with sharp corners into his belly pouch, and slid the Dollyboard down the table like a puck.
“I thought I could read numbers in Grenouthian script but I guess I was wrong,” Jonah said, and passed the Dollyboard to his right. Aisha glanced at the figure and her eyes widened, but she didn’t say anything and moved the device on to Dorothy, who like Jonah, didn’t read Grenouthian script, and wasn’t particularly interested in any case. The Dollyboard stopped with Blythe, whose lips took on a grim set.
“You have our apartment under surveillance,” she accused the head of Grenouthian Intelligence.
“Just for the last few days,” the bunny replied complacently. “It’s standard practice prior to negotiations.”
“The woman who came to clean the carpets. She was on your payroll?”
“A gentleman never tells. Isn’t that the figure your family decided on? Surely you can’t complain about the efficiency of our negotiation process.”
“Live action figures,” Aisha announced, trying to regain momentum for the humans. “In addition to fifty percent for his own figure, Jonah wants the same terms for all of his guests.”
“Isn’t that a little greedy?” the director asked. “We would have offered them ten percent and settled at twenty-five, but not if you’re insisting on half.”
“I want fifty percent for the guests, not for me,” Jonah said. “The same thing goes for the residual split.”
“It comes out of your end,” the executive producer said. “Shave the fur off your own butt if it makes you happy.”
“That includes the dancers,” Dorothy spoke up. “We agreed that everything would be divided by live time on camera. Do you track that?”
“We track everything, including whose brother and whose sister goes where and why,” the spy chief said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Blythe demanded.
“Come now, you don’t think I attended this meeting just to confirm a few facts for my network friends. We know that young Jonah’s twin and her fiancé have been playing tunnel tricks. We admire the tight coordination between your families on both the diplomatic and the business fronts, but we’ve been at this game for longer than you can imagine. I advised the network to play along for a
piece of the action, but your attempts to obfuscate the ultimate goal with throw-ins like dinner dancing are becoming a bit much.”
“You’ve lost me,” Blythe said. “It’s no secret that the Open University sent my daughter to work for Drazen Intelligence, but I had to ask Herl what she’s doing at work because she won’t tell me herself for security reasons. Whatever the Vergallians have Samuel doing, I can’t believe he’s making diplomatic policy, and the fact that our various business interests all benefit from co-branding with the All Species Cookbook is because SBJ Fashions and InstaSitter both employ and market cross-species.”
The Grenouthian spy chief snorted again, clearly unmoved by the denial. Then, to her surprise, he shifted to speaking heavily accented English, and said, “So your motivation in paying for the cookbook was purely alt—ruistic.”
Something about the way the bunny paused after the first syllable of ‘altruistic’ kept Blythe from responding immediately, and the executive producer jumped back in again.
“Of course, if InstaSitter or SBJ Fashions would like to sign on as co-producers and participate in the first round of funding, I can offer you an above-market rate of return, and more importantly, a place in the opening credits when the show is watched by Human audiences.”
“You want me to extend unsecured financing without giving us any points in the production?” Jeeves scoffed. “No sale.”
“I’ll pass as well,” Blythe said, still trying to work out what the spy chief had been getting at with his odd pronunciation.
“Then let’s get the legalese out of the way so we can assign some writers and start on the pilot. It would be helpful if you could supply a draft of the cookbook to our staff, unless—” he leaned forward again and raised his chin, and this time, the head of Grenouthian Intelligence responded with a wink, “—never mind.”
The two network attorneys each pulled a document printed in both Grenouthian and English from their respective satchels and passed them to the executive producer. He laid them side-by-side and rapidly scanned the dense text. “Looks right to me. Director?”
