by E. M. Foner
“And what will you do if a million visitors show up?” Yaem asked.
“A million? I have room to put up four times that many guests and Union Station can easily host a magnitude more on short notice. I’m budgeting to break even on my investment at twenty thousand attendees, but with the contact lists I bought while we were visiting Earth, I’ll be disappointed if we don’t break forty thousand on Humans alone.”
“Who sells contact lists?” Lume asked. “They’re the crown jewels of any business.”
“Hackers,” Flower said. “I was able to purchase the contact information for attendees of every con on Earth that’s gone out of business in the last century.”
“Aren’t you forgetting something, Flower?” Harry said. “Most of those people are probably deceased, and I doubt many hundred-year-olds put on costumes to play their favorite cartoon characters.”
“Anime,” a number of voices corrected him.
“It came to over seven million names,” the AI said. “If I get a one percent response, that’s seventy thousand people. Besides, I paid for the lists in fruitcakes and soup kits. Did you think I was running my big shuttles back and forth to Earth for those Flower’s Paradise tours with the luggage compartments empty?”
“I’m not in a position to question your ability to make things happen, but I can’t just ignore my responsibilities to Sharf Intelligence,” Yaem said. “I could give you a few hours a day if you’ll let me out of the required calisthenics and community activities Lume was telling me about, but—”
“How often do your superiors expect reports?” Flower interrupted.
“It works out to, let’s see,” Yaem said, staring off into space and no doubt accessing a calculator on his heads-up display. “Two hundred hours on the Human calendar, give or take some of those funky minute units.”
“Lume, you share your reports with him,” Flower ordered the Dollnick. “The rest of you can chip in with the occasional tidbit when we visit Open Worlds. Yaem will be too busy with the con to fool around with intelligence work.”
“Not to mention acting in the upcoming season of Everyday Superheroes,” the Sharf reminded the Dollnick AI.
“We’re all paid as stand-ins,” Jorb informed him. “It’s supposedly scaffolding work, even though we say the lines and you recognized us from the chars.”
“If we win any awards, I’ll put you all on the books as principal animation actors,” Flower promised. “I have a good feeling about this.”
Three
“I still can’t believe I let Flower talk me into quitting my waitressing job,” Julie complained to the AI assistant librarian as she helped arrange the books on his shelving attachment. “I’ve spent the two weeks since I gave notice wondering if I’ve made a mistake. Why does Flower always have to get her own way in everything?”
“You must have been ready for a change or you never would have agreed to it,” Dewey said.
“She’s just good at figuring out our weak spots and going for the throat. Is she still pushing you to swap bodies and become an artificial person?”
“Flower correctly pointed out that the library collection has stabilized. For the first few years of the circuit, we were picking up millions of books on each of our semi-annual stops at Earth. This last visit it was just a few thousand paperbacks to replace worn-out copies, plus an abandoned university collection we’ll be delivering intact to a Verlock open world for the human community. There’s no reason to even unbox those books.”
“I thought that after you gained self-awareness during a hack-a-thon on Bits, you designed your body specifically to become a librarian.”
Dewey let out a mechanical sigh and his binocular cameras tilted down to look at his shelving attachment. “It seemed like such a good idea at the time, but I’m the only human-derived AI on board, even if my creation was accidental. You’re one of the few people I know who doesn’t treat me like a bot.”
“I guess I never really thought about that,” Julie admitted. “Are there many human-derived artificial people in the galaxy?”
“I don’t know the exact number, but it’s certainly in the thousands by now, and some of the aliens that continue to work with artificial intelligence have their own artificial people as well. I’d be buying a body from one of the other species, as humans haven’t achieved that level of manufacturing prowess.”
“Do you mean I could come into work one morning and you’ll look like an alien?”
“The exterior shell is just aesthetics. Most android manufacturers offer styles for all of the species that create AI, and if I can’t afford the price, the Stryx would give me a body mortgage. Flower says that I’m only attracted to working in the library because my creators were trying to build a smart filing system for gaming software modules when I became self-aware. She thinks that I should try a variety of professions before I’m too set in my ways, and the captain told me that there are a group of artificial people working for EarthCent Intelligence.”
“You want to be a spy?” Julie asked.
“Maybe an analyst, I don’t know. It turns out that the captain’s wife was partnered with an artificial person when she started with EarthCent Intelligence, and she said that Thomas is right up at the top of the command structure now.” Dewey hesitated for a moment, and then added, “Lynx also said that she and her partner rescued a female artificial person named Chance from a Farling orbital on their first mission and that Thomas and Chance live together.”
“Oh. Now everything makes sense. Flower used the same argument on me.”
“She wants you to change bodies?”
“I meant dangling relationships. Flower said Bill was worried that I was staying in my waitressing job so I wouldn’t make him feel bad about working as a baker’s assistant. She implied that I’m holding him back from going to the Open University.” Julie wedged a final book into Dewey’s shelving attachment. “I’m afraid to tell him that I’m trying to write a book because he already thinks I’m smarter than he is. Bill is always saying I can do anything I put my mind to.”
“With the exception of getting to your martial arts class on time,” the assistant librarian said. “You’re going to have to make a run for it.”
Julie checked the time on the old-fashioned clock behind the circulation desk and grabbed her purse. “I was waiting for Bill to stop and pick me up, but I forgot that he was doing some special job for Flower today. See you tomorrow.”
When Julie arrived at the dojo, the Drazen instructor was fortunately too busy getting a new group of students oriented to comment on her tardiness. She slipped into the locker room, changed into the traditional sparring uniform, and emerged just as the students began lining up for drills. The forty-five minutes went by in a blink of the eye, and she was almost out the door when a tentacle tapped her shoulder.
“Sorry I was late,” she apologized before Jorb could say anything. “That was the first time this month.”
“Your month began yesterday, but that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about,” the Drazen said. “I was hoping to catch you and Bill at the same time, but I guess you can pass along the news.”
“What is it? Are you and Rinka engaged?” Julie asked. “I’ll have to think of a present to bring her for my next music lesson.”
“We haven’t even passed the second level compatibility test yet,” Jorb said. “How could we be engaged? Anyway, it’s been almost ten months since you and Bill started training here, and I want the two of you to transfer to the advanced class that I’ll be starting as soon as everybody can settle on a time.”
“Does a new class mean that you’ll be quitting your job at the Vergallian finishing school?” Julie asked.
“It pays too well, and it lets me keep an eye on Avisia to see if she’s recruiting the girls as undercover agents for Vergallian Intelligence.”
“I keep forgetting that you’re a spy too. There’s something weird about the whole setup.”
“I think it’s bri
lliant,” Jorb said. “Rather than EarthCent Intelligence having to worry about alien spies running all over the place, they collect fees from our agencies to take us around to the sovereign human communities where they can watch us watching you.”
“If you say so. I’ll tell Bill about the advanced class, and we’ll see you and Rinka for dinner tomorrow.” Julie was halfway to the lift tube before she remembered that she wasn’t going in to work at the diner anymore. “Where is this new job you signed me up for?” she subvoced to the ship’s AI.
“You can start by going home for a quick shower and a change of clothes,” Flower responded. “I scheduled the first meeting in the common room of the independent living cooperative because several of the staff I’ve hired for this project live there. I’ll have the serving bot save you something for lunch since you won’t be getting a shift-meal at work.”
“I forgot about lunch completely. You better be paying me enough to make up the difference.”
“Don’t waste too much time in the shower,” the Dollnick AI said as the girl entered the lift tube. “Brenda is already waiting in the common room, and you know how much lawyers charge for time.”
“I thought she was giving free legal aid as a retirement hobby and to meet her community service requirement.”
“When I realized how much aggravation she could save me I put her on retainer. Now hurry, I expect the others to arrive any minute.”
It took Julie just ten minutes to shower and change, a feat that would have been impossible without the alien hair-drying technology that stripped the water molecules down to her scalp. A lift tube whisked her to the independent living cooperative, which was located on a deck closer to the core of the giant cylindrical ship, where the lower radial acceleration dropped her weight to eighty percent of Earth normal.
“To the right,” the Dollnick AI instructed over Julie’s implant.
“I know where the common room is. Are you finally going to explain to me what this new job is all about, or am I going to have to ask somebody and look like an idiot.”
“I already told you that you’re starting as the assistant program coordinator.”
“You want me to learn programming?” Julie asked. “Like the game designers from Bits?”
“Not that kind of programming. Just be patient another minute, and stop by the steam table for your lunch.”
Julie detoured to the cafeteria line where she was the only person taking a tray since it was past the lunch hour. Without asking what she wanted, the four-armed bot gave her a big ladle of fruit salad and a large slice of quiche, which Julie noticed was the last piece remaining in the pie dish. Before she could move away, one of the bot’s four arms snaked over the counter and deposited a glass of milk on her tray.
“I didn’t want milk,” Julie said out loud. “I’m getting a coffee.”
“Milk is better for you,” Flower said in her head. “Now that you’re out of the diner, it’s time to start breaking your caffeine addiction.”
“If I’m addicted to caffeine, it’s your fault,” Julie said as she headed for the round table where she had spotted a woman waving at her. “You’re the one who keeps talking me into signing up for activities so that my time is scheduled from morning to night.”
“Would you rather spend your all-too-short life sleeping?” Flower demanded in response. “Introduce yourself and then we’ll have a brainstorming session. It’s just ten weeks to Union Station and the con, so we have a lot to accomplish.”
“Hi, I’m Julie, and I recognize some of you from the times I went along on your tours,” the girl said, setting her tray down at the table. “Flower shanghaied me to be an assistant program coordinator, whatever that is.”
“Brenda,” the lawyer introduced herself. “We talked at Nancy and Jack’s wedding reception.”
“Maureen,” the next woman said. “I was at the wedding too, and I’m in charge of marketing for Flower’s Paradise. Apparently, I was too good at my job because our AI friend recruited me for her new project.”
“How many retired people live here now?” Julie asked, and then took a quick bite of her quiche.
“Just under five hundred with the new batch we picked up at Earth, but we already have three more cooperatives operating on this deck, so the total independent living population is over eighteen hundred and growing rapidly.”
“Why not keep everybody in one big cooperative?” Geoffrey inquired as he took his seat. Julie barely recognized the man who had escaped a locked ward on Earth just sixteen days earlier. He looked about two decades younger, his face had filled out, there weren’t any gaps in his teeth, and his eyes were bright as jewels. “From what Flower told me, there are over a hundred thousand cabins on this deck.”
“We don’t discriminate or anything, but most people prefer to live with native speakers of their own language, so we have a Chinese cooperative and a Hindi cooperative. The fourth group is, well, a nudist colony.”
Julie choked on her quiche and started coughing, so Brenda reached over and thumped her on the back.
“It’s not as bad as you’re thinking,” Maureen said. “They aren’t all nude all the time, they just wanted to have the option. With Flower’s willingness to partition off new deck sections, why not let everybody suit themselves?”
“In their birthday suits,” Brenda snorted.
“You’re the young lady who made the heavenly eggs,” Geoffrey said, while Julie recovered her breath. “I’m going to treasure that memory for the rest of my life, and it gave me an idea for a new story. I’m starting to write again.” His head jerked around to stare at the latest arrival. “You’re a—”
“Sharf,” the skeletal alien identified himself via a speaker pendant he wore around his neck. “Yaem is the name, and I’m the program director for the con. Flower informed me that some of you don’t have translation implants, so I’m forced to use this external device until I master your primitive tongue.”
“I have an implant,” Julie volunteered, trying not to stare at the Sharf’s impossibly long neck. “Flower made me your assistant.”
“Then I look forward to working with you. Before we begin, have any of you attended a con?”
“Hundreds, if not thousands,” Geoffrey said. “Primarily on Earth, but I did a few years on the Horten TourneyCon circuit as a Guest Human. Even though their main draw was gaming tournaments, they ran animation and fantasy tracks at the conferences. In addition to my science fiction books, I used to ghostwrite anime dramas.”
“Would you take charge of the panel discussion participants?” Yaem asked.
“As much as I can squeeze into five hours a day. Flower has informed me that at the advanced age of seventy-six, that’s the maximum number of hours I can work for her under Dollnick labor law. Funny, because I haven’t felt this good in a decade.”
“I’ll get you a list of anime con professionals and ask you to contact them, but feel free to invite anybody you know from your own circles,” the Sharf said. “I intend to focus on workshops and screenings, especially previews of coming releases. I’m told that Humans expect a lot of talking heads at cons, but if we’re going to attract any of the other species, they’ll demand more hands-on activities.”
“Since our core team is here, I’d like to start with a brainstorming session,” Flower announced via an overhead speaker grille. “I’ve put an audio suppression field in place around this table, so don’t worry about bothering the people who are coming in to watch their afternoon melodrama. Let’s start with the name for the con.”
“You haven’t chosen a name yet?” Yaem asked, and even with the mechanical-sounding translation, his surprise was apparent. “I thought you said you bought the rights to AnimeDramaCon.”
“I did that primarily to get their contact list and to eliminate them as a competitor. But I want a catchier name with a broader scope, and all of the ideas I come up with are already taken by one species or another,” Flower said.
“Anime
Con?” Maureen suggested.
“Five different species are litigating over the trademark rights.”
“FlowerCon?” Julie said, just in case the Dollnick AI was playing hard to get.
“No, the florists have that one locked up.”
“Is our main goal here to promote Everyday Superheroes and Flower Studios, or is it to maximize attendance?” Yaem asked. “I’ll have to plan the program accordingly.”
“I want the maximum number of attendees to have the best possible experience,” Flower replied. “It’s much easier to monetize happiness than disappointment.”
“Really?” Brenda said. “I’ve always thought the opposite.”
“That’s because you’re a lawyer,” the Dollnick AI retorted. “Don’t take it the wrong way, but nobody seeks legal help because everything is going right in their lives.”
“The most successful cons I’ve been involved with offered something for everyone,” the Sharf mused, and then hastily backtracked. “You have to have a general theme, of course, but we can cast a pretty wide net around anime. The background material you gave me about Humans suggests that anime was once associated with a particular geopolitical entity on Earth, but that the term has since evolved to include any animated storytelling with a dramatic arc.”
“Which is how the tunnel network species define anime as well,” Flower said. “But it turns out that the contact lists I’ve acquired were for cons related to science fiction, fantasy, and romance.”
“Books or immersives?” Julie asked.
“Both. I’ve been able to recover the programs from some of those old cons on Earth and I’ll send copies to all of your tabs.”
“I don’t have a tab,” Geoffrey said.
“There will be one in your cabin when you go home.”
“CombiCon?” Brenda suggested. “AniSciFanRomCon?”