by E. M. Foner
“Here you go,” Lume said, bringing six cans on a tray to the table and placing it in the center. The aliens all stared at the cans with the flip-top tabs, and even the Dollnick appeared to be puzzled. “So how do we get the beer out, Captain?”
“Allow me.” Woojin took one of the cans and expertly popped the tab with an index finger. Beer sprayed all over him and the Verlock who was just taking the final seat, and Lume let out a shrill whistle of glee.
“Works every time,” the Dollnick crowed, making a vigorous shaking motion with one of his hands. “Don’t worry,” he added for the benefit of the others. “I only shook that one and positioned the tray so he would take it. Humans are so predictable.”
The Grenouthian held one hand close to his can as a furry shield while popping the tab, but the only thing to escape was some carbonation.
“Am I supposed to drink it out of this?”
“I’ll bring some glasses while I’m getting a towel,” Woojin said, casting a nasty look at the chortling Dollnick. “Do you want anything, Brynlan?”
“Is there jerky?”
“I’ll ask in the kitchen.” Just as the captain was stepping towards the swinging door, the light above it changed colors. He backed off as the door swung towards him and Bill emerged with a large platter of fruit slices and citrus wedges. Woojin slipped through the door while it was still open.
“Flower said that you’re drinking and to bring munchies,” Bill informed the aliens. “The food is going to be a while.”
“Sounds like something went wrong,” Razood observed.
“Harry said he’s making Kadoodle and—”
“No thanks,” the blacksmith interrupted. “I’ll just stop out for something later.”
“Same here,” Lume chimed in.
“Me too,” the Vergallian said.
“Done right, it’s disgusting,” Jorb added. “Done wrong, it’s deadly.”
“Won’t anybody try it?” Bill asked.
“No, and you wouldn’t either if you’d ever had it before,” Razood said. “Remember when I took you to Flower’s foundry and we melted down some scrap metal?”
“Sure, that was just a few days ago.”
“And I had you skim the scum off the top?”
“Dross, you called it.”
“Kadoodle is like that, only chewier.”
“I better tell Harry the Kadoodle is a no-go,” Bill said, almost running into the captain, who had already reemerged from the kitchen.
“Is Kadoodle really that bad?” Woojin asked, handing the Verlock a package of jerky along with a dish towel.
“I’ll put it this way,” Lume said. “It’s from an old edition of the All Species Cookbook that was published in a version of Universal that AI’s like Flower try to translate for fun. Here,” he added, offering the captain the last beer.
Woojin peered at the Dollnick suspiciously, tapped on the top of the can with his fingernails, and then shielding it with his off-hand the way the bunny had, popped the tab without any ill effects.
“If we’re all done playing games, I’m teaching the girls ballroom dancing this evening so I can’t stay long,” the Vergallian said. “Any volunteers for waltz partners?” The aliens all found somewhere else to look, and the proprietress of the finishing school sniffed loudly. “How about you, M793qK?”
The giant beetle, who had arrived late to the party, didn’t deign to answer. He picked up one of the cookies, examined it through his multifaceted eyes, and then set it back on the plate.
“I asked you all here today to get your thoughts about the emigrants from Bits who we’re transporting to destinations unknown,” Woojin said. “I’m sure you know that the population there does business with the pirates, and my chief of security has his people talking with as many of the Bitters as possible. We want to determine if there’s any information they’re willing to share.”
“Offer money,” the Grenouthian interjected.
“We’re saving that for our fallback position.”
“How many came aboard in the end?” Lume asked. “I heard it was going to be around twenty thousand.”
“Nineteen thousand, eight hundred and six,” Flower contributed.
“How come you wouldn’t tell me that when I asked?” the captain demanded.
The Verlock nudged Woojin to get his attention and pointed at the top of his own leathery skull to indicate the captain’s missing headgear.
“Lynx brought my tricorn hat to the cleaners and it’s the only one I have,” the captain complained to the ceiling. “You have to be reasonable, Flower.”
“I don’t have to be anything, but I’ll let it slide this time,” the Dollnick AI responded. “I took advantage of the cameras I had installed while Julie was being stalked to examine all of our guests from Bits as they boarded. Then I ran their images against the ISPOA database. Three hundred and nineteen have criminal records, but only eleven show outstanding warrants, and I passed that information on to your chief of security just a few minutes ago.”
“Will we be given an opportunity to interrogate them?” the Vergallian asked.
“I’m sure something could be arranged.”
“I mean, without having to pay.”
“In that case, you’ll have access to the report filed with ISPOA,” Flower replied. “Taken as a whole, the Bitters are as serviceable a group of Humans as I’ve come across, and I’m interested in keeping as many as possible.”
“By keeping, you mean you want them to move onto the ship permanently?” Woojin asked.
“Why not? Do you have something against computer geeks?”
“No. Well, maybe, but that’s not the point. I’m aware that you have ample capacity to absorb ten times that number—”
“Two hundred times.”
“—but I’m worried about socialization problems. We’re talking about people who have dedicated their lives to playing old computer games and programming obsolete hardware. They come from a hacking tradition in which breaking the rules is a virtue rather than a vice.”
“That’s very poetical of you, Captain Hatless, but they’ll quickly find that hacking sentient AI is out of their league. More importantly, these Bitters have an interest in holographic programming that I’d like to encourage. Rendering holograms is tedious work, even for AI. That’s why creating three-dimensional animations is typically a job that falls to the latest up-and-coming sentients who need the exchange currency.”
“Your plan is to draft all of the Bitters into making three-dimensional cartoons?” Woojin demanded.
“You make it sound unethical,” Flower complained. “My Stryx mentor thought it was a splendid idea, and I could use both the population boost and the hard currency.”
“We got out of the animation business millions of years ago because of the labor involved,” the Grenouthian commented. “The last I heard our studios were going off the tunnel network to find animators.”
“I thought all the work was done by computers,” Woojin said.
“All of the work is never done by computers,” Flower told him. “That’s the difference between computers and artificial intelligence. Computers can only execute tasks that are defined to the point that you may as well do the work yourself.”
“You’re exaggerating, and I have to go,” the Vergallian said, crushing her empty beer can and tossing it into the recycling bin. “If you do get any useful intelligence about the pirates out of the Bitters, Captain, I expect to be informed.”
“But wouldn’t you need artists for an animation business?” Woojin asked Flower after Avisia sashayed out.
“You don’t know much about games, for a Human. For every programmer working on the physics engine, there are ninety-nine plotting storylines and doing artwork. The Bitters are a perfect match, and possession is nine-tenths of the law.”
“I’ve heard that one,” Harry said, stalking up to the table. “Bill told me none of you are willing to try the Kadoodle.”
“
Did Flower really put you through the whole process of weaving the dough helix and flame hardening the top?” Jorb asked.
“I know how to follow a recipe. I thought it would be fun to try something from one of the old editions of the All Species Cookbook and Flower offered to translate for me.”
“Kadoodle was originally based on a Drazen recipe that’s as difficult to eat as it is to make,” Jorb told him. “But what really ruins it is the ingredient substitutions. The Kadoodle comes out looking all right, but it’s indigestible. It was only in the All Species Cookbook because the Hortens edited the last edition and they wanted to make us look bad.”
“I’ll have a slice,” Brynlan said slowly.
The other aliens turned to the Verlock in surprise, and he gave them a slow wink on the side of his face turned away from the baker.
“At least one of you is a good sport,” Harry said and turned back towards the kitchen. “I’ll bring a slice right out.”
“Ten creds we don’t see him again tonight,” Jorb said.
“I hope he didn’t bring his good knives,” Razood added. “Bill, tell him that I can repair any damage.”
“I take it that Kadoodle doesn’t slice easily,” Woojin guessed.
“Not unless you have a plasma cutter,” Jorb said.
“I wonder who’s going to manage the animation business?” the Grenouthian mused.
“I was planning on you, but if you quit the ship at Timble, it will have to be me,” Flower told him bluntly. “While my ultimate goal is creating a large contract studio to provide suitable employment for the Bitters and keep them on board, in the short run, we have a marketing problem.”
“What’s that?” Woojin asked.
“Have you ever heard of Flower Studios?”
“No, but from what my wife tells me, you’ve done so well with marketing Flower’s Paradise that the cooperative’s committee is running behind on reviewing applications.”
“Independent living is an easy product to sell,” the Dollnick AI explained. “The three major points of the value proposition are the food, the lodging, and the people, all of which are in place and are easy to show off with advertising. I don’t expect major animation producers to start sending me work just because I announce that I’m in business. What I need—”
“—is a completed production to showcase,” the Grenouthian director interjected. “My first choice remains directing documentaries on Timble, but it doesn’t hurt to have a backup plan. Will you give me full autonomy?”
“No,” Flower snapped.
“It never hurts to ask. Do you have a story or a script?”
“I was thinking about something with a mixed-species team of superheroes. I’m counting on you all for volunteer consulting.”
“But my position will be paid,” the bunny stated.
“I’ll double the salary Eccentric Enterprises has been paying you for running the community theatre project, but I’ll expect you to work three times as hard.”
“How many points do I get?”
“You want me to score your answer?”
“Points in the production. No self-respecting Grenouthian director could agree to a project without getting a percentage. The director normally gets ten points.”
“Five,” Flower responded immediately.
“Done,” the bunny said, slapping his belly with glee.
“Methinks somebody may have answered a little too quickly,” Woojin chortled, amused to finally see the aliens taking advantage of somebody other than himself.
“And methinks our furry friend is forgetting something,” Flower shot back. “Who do you think will be keeping the books for this production?”
“What do you mean?” the captain asked.
“The Grenouthian points system is based on net profits.”
“But five percent is still five percent.”
“Flower isn’t going into the production business to make a profit, she just wants to market her animation studios,” Lume explained.
“I get to audit the books,” the bunny growled. “All three sets.”
“What will you want from the rest of us?” the Verlock spy asked slowly.
“Script consulting and help with character development,” Flower answered him. “I have access to an extensive library of animated entertainment, but I admit that the popular taste eludes me.”
“I’ve always found you to be pretty down-to-earth for an AI,” Woojin said. “Can you give us an example of what you mean?”
“Take the reliance on unsympathetic characters. Why do you all watch dramas about people you wouldn’t want as friends?”
“To create tension,” the director explained. “That’s why nobody has ever produced a drama set on a Stryx station. There’s no way to ratchet up the stakes when the station management knows what the villains are planning before they know themselves. It would be like reading a mystery without a murder.”
“What’s wrong with everything working out for the best?” Flower demanded. “I’ve watched every episode of ‘Let’s Make Friends’ and—”
“That’s a show for little children,” the Grenouthian interrupted. “You need to have heroes and villains if you want to get older viewers hooked on your production. And the characters have to have flaws.”
“Like Humans and their limited math skills?” Brynlan rumbled.
“Amateurs,” the director cried, throwing his arms up in the air. “I’m talking about character flaws, like lying and cheating or being addicted to drugs and alcohol. How do you keep the lovers apart until the end of a romance if you don’t keep throwing obstacles between them?”
“Why keep them apart?” Flower asked. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to bring them together right at the start so everybody could watch them building a family and contributing to society in a positive way?”
“You’re confusing life with entertainment. Forget about your desire to micromanage everything on board for the best outcome and think in terms of what’s going to keep their butts in seats.”
“Safety restraints?” Lume ventured.
“Laugh all you want, but there’s a lot more to this business than any of you can imagine,” the Grenouthian growled. “And in the exceedingly unlikely chance I don’t take the job on Timble, my price just went up.”
“Fighting is always popular in dramas,” Razood said. “I can be the weapons consultant, and Jorb can handle the fight choreography.”
“Anything to get some new sign-ups for the dojo,” the Drazen agreed.
“But there won’t be any real weapons to consult on or fighters to train,” Woojin protested. “Flower just explained that it’s all going to be done by the animation artists and programmers from Bits she’s going to hire.”
“I’ve just started negotiating with them,” Flower admitted. “There are still plenty of details to hash out, but I think for my first production it would be wise to accommodate myself to their standard practices as much as possible.”
“That’s the first intelligent thing you’ve said since we walked in,” the director said.
“But no plots involving serial killers, sadists or cannibals,” the Dollnick AI told them. “I have my standards.”
Seven
“Think you’re up to covering the main desk for the final hour before lunch?” Bea asked.
Julie looked at the head librarian in surprise. “Do you mean completely by myself, with nobody else around? Where will you all be?”
“The community that came aboard at Bits brought an extensive digital library with them and they’re interested in licensing us a copy. I have mixed feelings about getting involved with electronic books, but we’re having a meeting to give them a fair hearing. Dewey and I are gathering the rest of the staff in the reading room for a presentation, so if there’s an emergency, you can ask Flower to ping us.”
“I’ll be fine,” Julie said. “Oh, just in case, can you show me how to access the For Humans collection? I know where it is, but the p
anel won’t open for me.”
“Ask Dewey,” Bea replied and stalked away in a huff.
“You know that she hates those books,” the AI assistant librarian said. He motioned for Julie to follow him to the blank section of bulkhead where the popular collection of For Humans books was kept under lock and key. “The code is ‘Open Sesame.’”
“Open Sesame,” Julie said uncertainly.
“No, you have to send it electronically. Basic machine messaging is built into your implant.”
“It is? Nobody told me. How do I do it?”
“You should be able to access the menu via your heads-up display, but I need to get to the meeting, so ask Flower for the details,” Dewey said. “See you after the presentation.”
“Flower?” Julie subvoced, her lips barely moving.
“I didn’t tell you about the heads-up display because I thought it would be too much for you to take in all at once,” the Dollnick AI replied defensively.
“But what is a heads-up display? I’ve never even heard of one.”
“Maybe you should go back to the circulation desk and sit down. I understand it can be very disorienting the first time you use one.”
“I remember you telling the Farling doctor to give me a high-quality implant. Am I the only person on the ship to have one?”
“The ship’s officers have diplomatic grade implants from Union Station, and most of the alien businessmen are equipped with the top versions from their own species. Dianne’s implant was supplied by the Galactic Free Press, and I’m sure that either she or Lynx would be willing to coach you if the help screens aren’t sufficient.”
“What do I do?” Julie asked, sitting down on the high stool behind the circulation desk.
“Invoke the ‘heads-up’ command.”
“How do I do that?”
“Concentrate on the words.”
“Something seemed to flash in front of my eyes but then it vanished.”
“You got distracted. Try again.”
“I—oh, wow,” Julie said, gaping at the dense text that suddenly overlaid her vision. “Is it always like this? I’d fall over if I tried to walk.”
“Are you giving me permission to access what you’re seeing?”