by E. M. Foner
“Book club? My book club? What’s that got to do with anything?” Kelly pleaded.
“It’s so gratifying that all of my guests have arrived early,” Aainda said from Kelly’s side, and took the EarthCent ambassador’s arm in her own as if they were old friends. “From the little I’ve heard of the conversation, it sounds to me like our colleagues were having a bit of fun over your latest covert communications attempt.”
“I really don’t know what any of you are talking about.”
“The Ambassador’s Book Choice.” Seeing Kelly’s confusion, Aainda continued to elaborate. “The new feature in your Galactic Free Press that my intelligence service assures me is a cover story to announce a new cipher text being transmitted to your spies over public media. I asked our station librarian for a translation of your supposed choice, which has proven to be rather long but surprisingly compelling. I feel like I’m learning more about Earth from this one history book than from all of the intelligence briefings I’ve sat through.”
“My book club choice for the next meeting? But it’s Bleak House, the Charles Dickens novel.”
“Fiction or not, the author was quite clear about spontaneous combustion being well documented in your species,” Crute said. “My own intelligence sources suggest that going up in flames might have evolved as an evolutionary response to predation, sacrificing oneself to protect the clan. It’s the sort of brute-force engineering solution we’ve come to expect from Humans.”
“I’m sure spontaneous combustion isn’t a real thing or I would know about it,” Kelly protested. “And Bleak House really is my choice for our book club discussion this week. I had no idea that Chastity would announce it in the Galactic Free Press. She must have an ulterior motive.”
“Like helping out her big sister with their little spy business,” Ortha cracked.
“No, I mean like the bestseller lists she publishes. It’s probably a new trick to sell more books. Now that the Galactic Free Press has its own publishing arm, I bet we’ll be seeing much more of it.”
“And I bet that the young governess turns out to be Lady Dedlock’s daughter by the dead law writer,” Aainda said.
“You mean you really are reading it?” Kelly asked, wondering if she had fallen through the rabbit hole. “I thought you were joking.”
“It’s so much better than the books I used to borrow from my friends in our mercenary settlement. The multiple perspectives of the storyteller are much closer to our own literature, but I’ve only finished around a fifth.”
“Dickens was experimenting with a mix of omniscient narration and a first-person story related by Esther,” Kelly explained. “I can’t believe—have all of you been reading it?”
“Why did Jarndyce throw good food out the carriage window?” Srythlan demanded, sounding almost angry. “If Esther wasn’t hungry, he could have saved it for later.”
“It’s a common theme in Human literature of that period, throwing things out a carriage window,” the Grenouthian ambassador interjected. “In Vanity Fair, it was a dictionary.”
“Now, I know that YOU aren’t reading Victorian novels, whether in translation or otherwise,” Kelly declared, spinning towards the giant bunny. “Did I miss an announcement for ‘Fool the EarthCent Ambassador Day’ or something?”
“Our network acquired the rights to many of your old broadcast serials after your president invited us to open a studio on Earth.”
“You mean there’s an immersive version?” Bork cried. “I spent hours reading the intelligence synopsis when I could have been watching it?”
“There are several immersive versions of both books, but they’re all automated conversions from archaic two-dimensional footage, so you can’t expect the holograms to be particularly realistic,” the Grenouthian ambassador said. “Perhaps I can make them available free of charge in return for information about the promotion techniques the ambassador mentioned. How does making lists sell more product?”
“I know from Aisha’s show on your network how obsessed you guys are with ratings,” Kelly replied. “I think that bestseller lists work like that, except for books.”
“But how does the newspaper know who is reading the books and whether or not they finish?”
“They don’t, I guess, at least with the printed books. I wouldn’t be surprised if somebody tracks the electronic ones down to the last word read. But the bestseller lists are just that, based on sales. It doesn’t matter if the buyers actually read the books.”
“So it’s disinformation,” Crute concluded. “A force multiplier for marketing.”
“Smart,” the Grenouthian said grudgingly.
“We have awards, too,” Kelly said, seizing the opening to push Chastity’s latest innovation. “Just like you all have for shows, except for books. Our embassy is co-sponsoring a Union Station book awards show with the Galactic Free Press to raise funds for a library on Flower.”
“Do awards serve a commercial purpose?” the Dollnick inquired.
“Absolutely. I chose an award-winning book for my first club recommendation, and even though it didn’t go so well, everybody bought a copy.”
“The Galactic Free Press has a patent on bestseller lists and book awards?” the Grenouthian asked thoughtfully.
“Oh, no. They’ve been around forever on Earth. It’s not like we have a law about it or anything. All you need is a platform.”
“You’ve lost me,” Aainda said, giving Kelly’s arm a friendly squeeze. “What would I do with a platform?”
“It’s just another way of saying that you need a space visible to the public so that people will listen to you. Any of us could survey the bookstores on Union Station and draw up a local bestseller list, but who would pay attention? When the Galactic Free Press publishes a bestseller list, it could be seen by a billion or more humans. And I’ll bet you that Chastity runs book advertisements on the same page.”
“Brilliant,” the Grenouthian ambassador exclaimed, taking his admiration up a notch. “Does the newspaper include alien books?”
“Well, it’s only read by humans, plus your intelligence agencies,” Kelly corrected herself. “But if publishing lists for your species would give the paper the opportunity to sell more advertising space, I’m sure they would be happy to expand beyond the hundred or so bestseller lists they currently put out.”
“What?” Bork demanded. “How can there be a hundred bestseller lists? By definition there can only be one bestselling book. I assumed that the list consisted of the top title plus a number of runners-up.”
“They do category bestsellers,” Kelly explained. The entire conversation had taken on a surreal quality and she couldn’t remember the last time she had held the attention of all of the alien ambassadors for such a long span. “When our artificial friends published their book in the For Humans series, it became an instant bestseller because it was the only book in the category.”
“Genius,” the Grenouthian said in a hushed tone. “I request a meeting with the publishers, Ambassador. There is the potential for you to earn a commission.”
“I’m sure Chastity would be happy to meet you,” Kelly said, exhaling with relief as Joe elbowed his way into the knot of ambassadors and delivered a glass of chilled white wine to her free hand. “Do any of you want to buy tickets to the awards show? It’s not until the end of the cycle, and my office manager hasn’t made the final reservation with the Empire Convention Center yet because she’s not sure how large a room we’ll need.”
“Is it too late to have our books included?” Crute demanded. “It seems only right that at least one Dollnick book should get an award at a fundraiser for a Dollnick colony ship.”
“Here goes the competitive thing,” Joe whispered in Kelly’s ear, and then took a sip from the excellent bottled lager the Vergallian barman had miraculously produced.
“Verlock publishers will be interested,” Srythlan rumbled, proving that he had been paying attention even as he steadily consumed all of
the hardened salt-fish on offer. “Book marketing is always difficult.”
“But your people love books,” Kelly said.
“Textbooks,” the Verlock explained. “All work and no play.”
“Our own scroll makers would certainly qualify for best aesthetics,” Bork suggested modestly. “Do musical scores qualify as books?”
“If all of the species are willing to sponsor the event, I suppose we could let you add a category or two,” the EarthCent ambassador said, wondering how much Chastity would charge them for the privilege. She realized that she just didn’t know enough about the business to even guess, and added, “You’ll have to contact my embassy manager, Donna Doogal, for the details.”
“Your people would probably take it as an insult if we didn’t participate as well,” the Horten ambassador said, attempting to sound disinterested. “In the spirit of galactic cooperation, you can put me down for a hundred tickets.”
“A hundred?”
“Two hundred,” Bork declared, glaring at the Horten.
“I’m sure we have enough petty cash in the embassy’s culture fund to take two hundred as well,” Czeros offered.
“But I haven’t told you the price yet,” Kelly said, looking from one ambassador to the next. “I don’t even know how much tickets will cost.”
“I think we’ll go with a category for engineering romance,” Crute mused. “And three hundred tickets to start.”
“Five hundred,” the Grenouthian said immediately, as if they were all bidding at an auction. “Just because we lead the galaxy in live news and documentaries doesn’t mean we’ve given up on books. I predict a Grenouthian victory.”
“How did we get from an awards show to a battle?” Aainda playfully asked the EarthCent ambassador, whose arm she still held captive. “I’m afraid the only Vergallians I know on the station are my embassy staffers and some intelligence agents, though of course, I will order them all to attend. Will we vote on the awards at the ceremony? I’ve always been fond of reading at the table.”
“I don’t think attendees are expected to read the books,” Kelly replied slowly, vacillating once again over whether she should take the alien ambassadors seriously or if it was all some elaborate joke. “I’m pretty certain that the winners are selected ahead of time.”
“Ah,” the Grenouthian ambassador said. “I understand now. Do we purchase the awards separately or will they be included in the ticket price?”
“Can we buy prizes in the categories of other species?” the Dollnick followed up.
“I assume that the awards will be granted by judges,” Kelly replied, hoping that she wasn’t interfering with Chastity and Walter’s plans. “If you contact the embassy tomorrow, I’m sure we’ll have answers for you.”
“Check on the fee to purchase a judgeship,” Crute said. “And don’t forget to ask about a quantity discount.”
“Whatever they’re ordering, plus one,” the Grenouthian growled, favoring the Dollnick with a belligerent stare.
“My, my,” their hostess said. “Is it always this exciting on Union Station?”
“You should have been here for Carnival,” Joe muttered.
“Vendor space,” Srythlan suggested laboriously. “For award-winning books.”
“Oh, that’s a good idea,” Kelly said. “We are planning a small book display in the lobby before the show, and I think the vendors will want to sell nominated books as well, since the award hasn’t been granted yet. I’ve seen advertisements in the Galactic Free Press for books that boast about being nominated for this or that prize. It’s almost as big an honor as winning.”
A silence fell over the clustered ambassadors as they absorbed the concept, and then the Grenouthian remarked, “This just keeps getting better and better.”
Fifteen
The EarthCent delegation for negotiating Flower’s terms of employment trooped out of the shuttle in their magnetic cleats and gathered in a little knot in the cavernous landing bay.
“So, do we just start talking like on a Stryx station?” Blythe asked.
“That’s one approach,” Flower’s voice echoed through the colony ship’s pressurized core. “Or, you could wait until you’re in the lift tube and then I won’t have to strain my speakers to make myself heard.”
“Got it,” Clive said. The director of EarthCent Intelligence started in the direction indicated by the blinking lights in the deck, Daniel staying alongside him. Blythe and Lynx lingered behind a step as little Em began to wail.
“Get her to swallow,” Blythe advised. “It’s the change in air pressure giving her an ear-ache.”
“Poor thing doesn’t understand,” the mother of the two-year-old replied. “It’s a good thing Woojin isn’t here or he’d be going out of his mind. Come on, Em. Swallow for Momma. It’s what Uncle Beetle would want. Now, who’s a big baby?”
“Dada,” Em replied reflexively, and immediately stopped crying.
“Is that your cure-all?” Blythe asked. “It’s like you threw a switch.”
“Didn’t both of your twins always cry after one started? When Em hears herself crying she thinks there must be something to be upset about, but as soon as she gets distracted and stops, she decides it must be okay.”
“Smart baby.”
The two women shuffled forward on their magnetic cleats and caught up with the men at the lift tube. The door slid open and they all entered the capsule, where sounds resembling soft birdsong could be heard in the background.
“I take it the little heat signature isn’t part of your negotiating team,” Flower’s voice intoned from somewhere above. “State your names so I’ll know which of you is which.”
“Clive Oxford, Director—”
“I know, I know,” the ship’s AI cut him off. “Just the names will be sufficient.”
“Blythe Oxford.”
“Daniel Cohan.”
“Lynx Pyun, or Pyun Lynx if you’re Korean, and my little heat signature is Em.”
“I am keeping acceleration to a minimum for Em’s sake, so don’t get it into your heads that my lift tubes are slow. Does she do tricks?”
“Em?”
“She is a baby. All Dollnick babies do tricks.”
“Em smiles, and claps, and she has a really strong grip.”
“She’ll need it with just two hands. Where’s the rich one?”
“You mean me?” Blythe asked.
“No, the really rich one, Ambassador McAllister. Does she think that negotiating with a colony ship is below her?”
“Kelly’s not rich, and she didn’t come because Associate Ambassador Cohan is the moving force behind the organization for the sovereign human communities you’ll be visiting. He knows more about their requirements than anybody.”
“Come now. Do you think I was born yesterday? I saw the Kasilian auction over my Stryxnet feed and that stuff was worth trillions of creds.”
“Oh, she gave all the proceeds to the Stryx to finance the Kasilians moving to a new world.”
“Is she insane? I would have moved them to a new world for a fraction of that and bought myself a crew with the leftover.”
“She couldn’t have kept it anyway,” Daniel spoke up. “EarthCent policy prohibits ambassadors from accepting gifts over a certain value.”
“How much?”
“I don’t remember, but a lot less than trillions of creds. Maybe tens of creds, like a decent bottle of wine.”
“And I thought that my makers had too many regulations,” Flower said, as if speaking to herself. “I’m bringing you to a classroom where we can talk.”
“Why a classroom?” Clive asked.
“The large display panel may be useful, and the children’s seating means that your feet will reach the floor. I’ll have difficulty taking you seriously otherwise.”
A moment later the doors slid open, and again, lights embedded in the deck began blinking in sequence to guide the visitors to their destination. The room was apparently intend
ed for use by early grades, and colorful artwork that looked like it had been produced by finger-painting adorned the walls. A large display that took up the entire front wall of the classroom came to life as the visitors entered, and Flower electronically erased the contents with a sigh.
“The children were just starting on their Base20 math,” the AI commented. “I always enjoyed watching them count the fingers of their four little hands.”
“Did you teach the classes?” Lynx asked.
“My crew wouldn’t let me. I understand from the Stryx that Humans actually allow AI to teach their children.”
“Our twins went to school where all of the classes are taught by the station librarian, as did the ambassador’s children,” Clive volunteered. “Daniel’s son goes there now.”
“Hmm. Well, take your seats, we have a lot to get through. Shall we begin with the big issues or the small ones?”
“Could you give us an example of each?” Blythe asked, suspecting that the alien AI would likely see things very differently than the humans.
“Very well, here’s a small thing. Many of the species I’ve carried for the Stryx have asked that I change the music in the lift tubes.”
“It sounded like birds signing,” Lynx said. “Most people will probably like it.”
“Good, because it’s non-negotiable,” the AI stated flatly.
“All right,” Blythe asked. “What is negotiable?”
“Cabin furnishings. I’m currently storing the bulk of my proper furniture on the low-gravity decks, and if that space should be required by you at a later date, which I find doubtful, the Stryx have offered to provide free storage.”
“So you expect us to bring in whatever we need for our people,” Clive surmised.
“No, we can talk about what you need and come to a negotiated agreement.”
“Why would you care what sort of beds people sleep on or what kind of chairs they sit in?”