Book Night on Union Station
Page 22
“You have a side job translating romance novels?” Kelly subvoced.
“Later,” the Stryx librarian replied. “I want to enjoy the moment.” The figure of a little old lady who looked almost human, except for a hint of vines about her hair, a tentacle bump in the back of her dress, and downy fur growing on her four arms, ascended the stage.
“Show-off,” Jeeves muttered. “She’s using data from my holo advertising business to appeal to everybody.”
The hologram shuffled across the stage like a Verlock, all while the color of her fur and bare skin shifted smoothly to a cheerful brown. The overall effect somehow produced a sense of beauty that could make a high-caste Vergallian jealous.
“Can I give you this?” Woojin whispered to the holographic projection, not wanting to ruin the illusion or his chances with Flower by dropping the heavy award on his foot.
The hologram nodded, and the presenter placed the stone-mounted medallion in her hands.
“Double-show-off,” Jeeves grunted. “She’s using manipulator fields to make the fingers solid. You wouldn’t believe the math involved.”
“I just want to thank everybody for all of the nice things you’ve said about my work, and I hope the Galactic Free Press gives me the opportunity to translate the new Bea Hollinder that they’ll be serializing over the next five cycles,” Libby spoke through her avatar.
“She means that she hopes Chastity doesn’t balk at her price,” Jeeves continued bellyaching to Kelly.
“Are you jealous of your parent?”
“They only asked her in the first place because I turned it down. Romances,” the young Stryx snorted dismissively.
“In the category of illuminated scrolls with an axe motif, we have a longer list of candidates than I have time to read,” Woojin continued after the station librarian’s hologram moved off with her trophy. “The winner is, A Hundred Axes, by Truk. Is the scribe here?”
The fortunate Drazen made his way out of the section of tables reserved by his compatriots, though he almost lost his balance from shock when he passed the table purchased by Dring, and the Maker called out, “Fine work, Truk.”
“You saw his scroll?” Paul asked.
“I read it,” the Maker replied. “I’d like to think that the other judges did as well, though I have my suspicions about—I promised not to name names.”
“Is this what you expected, Dring?” Aisha asked. “It reminds me of the broadcasting award show the Grenouthians put on.”
“Finest book awards event I’ve attended in thousands of years. In fact, it’s the first time in recent history I can recall so many species competing for the same prizes.”
“It’s not exactly a competition when they all got to add categories where their authors are the only ones with a chance of winning,” Dorothy pointed out.
“It strikes me as a novel way to sell books,” the Farling declared, eliciting a round of groans at the feeble pun.
“Don’t pay any attention to them, Doc,” Kevin came to the alien’s defense. “I haven’t forgotten how you fixed me up after that radiation poisoning, and I hope to see you at our wedding, if Dorothy ever finishes the dress.”
“Are you trying again because the first marriage didn’t take? You’re welcome to come and see me as a couple if you’re experiencing trouble mating. I recently purchased a whole collection of books you might find useful.”
At the adjacent table that Chastity had provided for the student committee, Marilla nudged Samuel and said, “I think your sister is really angry.”
The teen glanced over at Dorothy before responding, “No, we mainly turn red when we’re embarrassed about something. When people really get mad, they usually go pale.”
“Weird,” the Horten girl said.
“Look at this,” the Grenouthian student exclaimed, shoving his tab into the center of the table. “Sales of all of the books mentioned for our imaginary universe prize began spiking within seconds of being announced. You guys really do know something about marketing.”
“Fashion design too,” Grude said. “That uniform your captain is wearing demands respect. I wouldn’t be surprised if those three-cornered hats catch on with other navies. You know, Sam,” he added thoughtfully, “You might consider one of those grey wigs with a ponytail yourself.”
“I got an offer from Frunge Intelligence to go out on Flower when I graduate next cycle,” Lizant told the others. “They said that my work as the committee secretary demonstrates how well I get along with other species. They seemed to think that I’m the brains behind you guys,” she added apologetically to Vivian and Samuel.
“Have you thought about joining the ship yourselves?” the Sharf student asked the young couple.
“My mom says that just because I’m old enough to boss people around doesn’t mean I’m ready to live on my own,” Vivian replied.
“But you wouldn’t be alone,” Yvandi said, pointing her bony chin at Samuel. “Aren’t you getting married?”
“The Sunday after I turn eighteen,” Vivian replied, intentionally not looking in Samuel’s direction. “You’re all invited.”
Up on the podium, Woojin regrouped after butchering the pronunciation of a number of untranslatable Frunge titles, and announced, “In the category of new branded nonfiction published on Union Station within the last three cycles, the winner is, Economics For Humans. Humans and aliens alike have voted with their pocketbooks to make this title the business category bestseller in the authoritative Galactic Free Press list.”
“What are you doing, Jeeves?” Kelly asked the Stryx as he elevated above their heads.
“Shortcut,” he replied, and then floated over the front of the stage to accept his prize.
“I thought Walter said that the author was an anonymous academic,” Kelly whispered across the table to Brinda.
“Jeeves decided to take credit after he discovered that Libby would be accepting the translation award. Shh, he’s going to speak.”
“I want to thank my Human friends and business associates for their help in steering the development of my book, though some of the lessons they’ve taught me have been costly. And speaking of giving credit where it’s due, I want everybody to know that I got the idea for the targeted holo-marketing service we’ve been beta-testing on this station from my research into early twenty-first-century advertising on Earth.”
“We’re in for it now,” Kelly said. She gave Jeeves the evil eye as the Stryx launched into a sales pitch for his advertising service, complete with holographic charts detailing the before-and-after sales of various Union Station businesses. “The aliens will never forgive us.”
“I think you may need to read Economics For Humans again,” Blythe told her. “The other species are going to start taking us more seriously now that they know we’re good at something that matters. Have you forgotten that it was our success at the Verlock’s Raider/Trader game that got them to start talking with us twenty years ago?”
“But it’s advertising,” Kelly protested. “Everybody hates it.”
“Love it or hate it, it works,” Brinda told her. “My dad actually sold out of egg beaters for the first time ever after we started advertising Kitchen Kitsch with the holograms.”
Up on the stage, Jeeves wound up his marketing spiel with, “In conclusion, to borrow a phrase, it is the view of the Union Station Stryx that our investment in Humans is coming along handsomely. You can learn all about it in the soon-to-be released bestseller, EarthCent For Humans, the eventual award for which will give me one more than—”
A manipulator field disguised as an enormous holographic candy cane materialized around Jeeves and dragged him from the stage.
Book Night on Union Station is getting a sequel because I’m addicted to my own characters. You can sign up for notification of the next EarthCent release on my website, IFITBREAKS.COM.
If you believe there is still a place in science fiction for stories that aren’t all about death and destruction, please
help to get the word out. Posting an Amazon review on the first book of this series, Date Night on Union Station, will help new readers discover these books, even if you only write a few words.
About the Author
E. M. Foner lives in Northampton, MA with an imaginary German Shepherd who’s been trained to bite bankers. The author welcomes reader comments at e_foner@yahoo.com.