by E. M. Foner
“But I thought you sort of ran CoSHC,” Samuel said to Daniel. “Do you really need to consult with all of the communities, or is the final decision up to you?”
“I’m more of a referee than an executive,” the associate ambassador replied. “I’m authorized to make decisions related to the tradeshow, but nothing like this has ever come up before, and we don’t have a true governing structure in place. To the extent that CoSHC has official leadership, it’s an ad hoc committee, but the biggest single decision they’ve taken to date was extending a membership invitation to the Traders Guild.”
“This is why everything works better with queens,” the EarthCent ambassador’s son said in frustration. “How can humanity expect to make any progress when everything goes to committees and votes?”
“We’re not Vergallians, Sam, other than myself,” Aabina reminded him. “Why don’t we start with the checklist on the last page of Wrylenth’s contingency plan?” She swiped and tapped her tab, which brought the conference room display system to life. An image of the checklist appeared on the large display mounted on the wall that separated the conference room from the kitchen.
“It looks like it’s in shorthand,” Donna commented. “What does it mean, Wrylenth?”
“Decision,” the Verlock read off the top item. “The first step for CoSHC is deciding whether or not to start the empire certification process that will eventually lead to being recognized as a full tunnel network member with all of the privileges and responsibilities that entails.”
“I asked the ad hoc committee members to try to get here a week before the tradeshow starts so we can at least decide how to decide,” Daniel said. “How long do we have to make up our minds?”
“One cycle. As long as you’ve reached a decision by the end of the tradeshow, you’ll have ample time to fill out the required forms.”
“So a little under two months,” Daniel said, missing the Verlock’s pained look at the crudity of the associate ambassador’s calendar-unit conversion. “Does this mean that our decision to get out in front of the Grenouthians by using the Human Empire label ourselves first was a mistake?”
“We got lucky on that front,” Clive said. “I talked to Chastity first thing this morning. The executive producer of the Grenouthian news channel woke her up in the middle of the night to compliment her strategy. They can’t run the Human Empire story as breaking news since it’s already been out on a dozen other networks and in the Galactic Free Press. Even better, their analytics group is standing by the conclusion that reporting on the tradeshow as straight business news will match their advertiser requirements better than a satire. We’ll take our licks from some of the news anchors who can’t pass up a good joke, but as long as the visitors don’t get into a brawl, coverage should remain positive.”
“Are you awake enough for a question, Shaina?” Daniel asked his wife.
“Who made the coffee?” she asked.
“Me,” Samuel said.
“Make it stronger next time,” Shaina instructed him. “What’s the question?”
“The branding we talked about when you got home from the Libbyland party Friday night,” her husband said.
“Good news there,” she said. “I was able to drag two members from our design team in to SBJ Fashions on Saturday morning and asked them to volunteer a little time to help out. Dorothy and Flazint worked their magic and came up with a very inexpensive Verlock-made bag that meets all of your needs. All we have to do is settle on the branding and have stickers printed locally.”
“That’s all right for attendees, but going by what Aabina told me, any alien observers who show up will expect something that looks expensive,” Daniel said. “Kelly has authorized us to spend cookbook money supporting the Human Empire tender, so funding won’t be a problem.”
“If we decide on the design today, we could get embroidered patches with sticky backs for the bags,” Shaina offered. “Or depending on how many observers you’re expecting, I could ask the girls to hand-stitch something for them.”
“So we’ll run with the Human Empire for the tradeshow, and if our members decide against it in the end, the bags and tablecloths will become collector’s items.”
“For a brand, you want something catchy that evokes the idea in a fun way.”
“Crossed swords?” Clive suggested.
“Too martial,” Daniel said immediately. “The bunnies would have a field day with it.”
“There’s always the globe,” Donna said, pointing up at Dring’s lacquer-on-copper construction that was suspended over the table.
“Too close to EarthCent’s trademark symbol. It would get confusing.”
“This may be a one-time thing, and we have no time left to build brand recognition,” Shaina said. “Leveraging somebody else’s brand might be the best way to create a meme for viral marketing.”
“We’re not trying to sell the bags,” Daniel said. “They’re free for tradeshow visitors.” His wife gave him a look, and he added, “Okay. I’ll be quiet now.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Samuel said. “The whole event is taking place at the Empire Convention Center, right?”
“And I came in yesterday to make provisional reservations on a block of premiere suites with all-species facilities in the attached hotel to host the observers,” Donna told them.
“Empire@Empire,” Samuel said confidently. “I mean with the ‘at’ sign from those old Earth character sets, not the word.”
“Empire@Empire,” Shaina repeated. “I like it. I’ll check with our Frunge intellectual property attorney.”
“What for?” Daniel asked.
“It really is piggy-backing on the Empire Convention Center brand, but I doubt they’ll object since it will be good marketing for them too.”
The door to the corridor slid open and Kelly entered, slightly out of breath. “Sorry I’m late,” she said. “The doctor at the travel concourse said that nothing was broken, and now I’m never going to hear the end of it from Joe. Are you working through Wrylenth’s checklist?”
“I was about to start on the administrative options for empires without a sovereign ruler or royalty,” Aabina said. “The next step is to establish a transparent mechanism for making the decision whether or not to begin the process.”
“Wouldn’t a vote by the ad hoc committee be sufficient?” Clive asked.
“Since they’ve never claimed to be the official leadership of CoSHC, you would have to do something to establish their authority,” Wrylenth explained. “I would suggest transparently repeating the process by which the current ad hoc committee was selected, but I couldn’t find any information about how that was done.”
“Here we go with committees again,” the EarthCent ambassador’s son muttered to Aabina.
“To the best of my recollection, the ad hoc committee is self-appointed,” Daniel said. “Nobody wanted to be in charge so I got stuck as the central point of contact. When issues arose that I thought required buy-in from our member communities, I would invite their representatives onto Stryxnet conference calls, and the ones who showed up most often eventually evolved into the ad hoc committee.”
“Too opaque,” Wrylenth said.
“But the community leaders are all elected,” Shaina pointed out.
“Not necessarily,” Daniel said. “In some instances, communities elect or otherwise appoint a mayor or governor. In other cases, I’m dealing with the manager of the communal business enterprise or the winner of a beauty contest.”
“Beauty contests?”
“Or singing competitions. You know how humans living on open worlds tend to go native, so they generally appoint leaders in imitation of their alien hosts. For example, on Verlock and Grenouthian worlds, everybody has to take a civil service test, and they rotate the high scorers through office.”
“But the Verlocks have an emperor,” Samuel protested.
“Only because there’s no provision for abdication,” Wrylenth said. “On the l
ocal level, everybody is appointed through competitive testing.”
“The Human Empire could adopt EarthCent’s civil service exam,” Kelly suggested.
“That’s an idea, but there isn’t time to announce it and arrange for testing across the tunnel network before the tradeshow,” Daniel said. “We have two weeks to work something out before the ad hoc committee members start arriving. I suppose if all else fails, we can just hold an election by show of hands after the keynote address. That’s pretty transparent.”
“But CoSHC represents a billion people living in over a thousand communities spread over more than a hundred worlds and orbitals. Less than one percent will attend the convention and trade show.”
“Less than one-hundredth of one percent,” Aabina corrected the ambassador.
“I’m just saying it doesn’t meet the requirement for a transparent and democratic process,” Kelly said.
“If the currently appointed community leaders do the voting, it would be a form of representative democracy,” Daniel countered.
“Excuse me,” Wrylenth spoke up. “You’re reading something into the transparency requirement that isn’t there. You can choose your leadership through a lottery or a wrestling contest as long as the process is transparent. When the Hortens became an empire, they sold imperial offices to raise money for a new sports stadium.”
“Everybody think about it,” Daniel said. “We don’t have to decide today.”
Four
“Are you sure you’re okay to come along?” Kelly asked her husband for the third time. “It’s only been a week and you’re still limping.”
“It’s just a bruised foot,” Joe said. “Beowulf dragged me around the whole perimeter of Mac’s Bones this morning, and you know he wouldn’t have done that if he thought I was injured. Besides, I like the Thark ambassador. He’s the funniest alien diplomat I’ve met.”
“He must have a sense of humor to co-locate his embassy with the off-world betting parlor, but I suppose that there’s some sort of nepotism involved.”
“I gave up trying to work out their family relations,” Joe said. “I think the ambassador’s nephew is the one who provides the optional insurance for our ship rentals, and they’re both related to the Thark who rescued us from the Vergallians in time for Dring’s ball. They’re like the Grenouthians with clans that extend out to fifth cousins five times removed.”
“Wouldn’t that include pretty much the whole species?” Kelly asked as they exited the lift tube.
“Maybe it does. Have you been here since the Carnival election?”
“Oh, don’t remind me,” the EarthCent ambassador said as they entered the cavernous off-world betting parlor. “I can still picture Metoo draped in a wall-hanging from our living room floating next to the tote board and rigging the results to make me Carnival Queen.”
“Isn’t that the ambassador at the fourth window from the left?” Joe asked, pointing at the row of cashier windows along the wall.
“I think so,” Kelly said, altering her course to intercept. “He looks cheerful enough.”
“Maybe he just won.”
“You don’t think the Thark ambassador gambles, do you?”
“I’d be shocked if he didn’t,” Joe replied.
The Thark diplomat spotted the EarthCent ambassador and her husband and waved them in the direction of the giant tote board where he had apparently reserved a front-row table. When Kelly and Joe caught up with the wrinkly-skinned alien, he was already perched on a chair and working a device that looked like a marriage between a Dollnick tab and a Grenouthian abacus.
“Sit, sit,” the Thark said without looking up. “I just need to finish a quick calculation and get my bet in before—there,” he concluded, sliding all of the beads to the top of the abacus and giving the screen a final tap. “I’m honored that you thought of consulting me about your little money problem, Ambassador. My sister manages our loan operations, but given your request for privacy, I decided to handle your account personally.”
“I think you misunderstood my message,” Kelly said. “I don’t need money, I have too much. I’m seeking advice on what to do with it, but the station librarian wouldn’t help me because—”
“The Stryx consider it competitive information and don’t want to give you an unfair advantage over the other species,” the Thark ambassador interrupted. “Very interesting. And the station librarian recommended you consult with me?”
“Actually, I tried Dring for advice next, and he suggested talking to you since your species runs so much of the financial industry.”
“The Maker recommended me? Then I’ll have to do my best to give you honest advice.”
“What if the Maker hadn’t recommended you?” Joe asked.
“Then it would be caveat emptor,” the Thark ambassador replied with a jolly grin. “Well, let’s see. The betting is already closed for the fifth race on Horten Prime, which is a shame because I could have put you on a very good thing.” He looked up at the tote board and rapidly scanned the odds. “Nothing else is jumping out at me in the next few minutes. Do you have a particular preference?”
“What do you mean?” Kelly asked.
“Races, fights, political events. You might be interested in the prop bets relating to your new Human Empire. My nephew just posted the odds of CoSHC going through with the process within the next cycle, though I think he’s just throwing a dart at the board and waiting to see how the money comes in.”
“I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood me again,” Kelly said. “I don’t want to gamble with my money.”
“You want to gamble with somebody else’s money?” The Thark ambassador shook his head disapprovingly. “It’s considered very bad form.”
“I’m not interested in gambling at all. I want to invest the extra money the embassy is bringing in from the All Species Cookbook. Didn’t I make that clear in the message I left you?”
“I may not have listened past the first thirty seconds. So you came to me for help in starting a new business?”
“Joe, you explain it to him,” the EarthCent ambassador said in frustration.
“The Stryx told Kelly that if she lets the cookbook income keep piling up on the embassy’s programmable cred the balance will start to decay,” Joe told the Thark. “She’s looking for a risk-free alternative so the principal will grow until EarthCent needs it.”
The Thark ambassador listened intently to Joe’s speech and then broke out laughing. “Funny one, Joe. You had me going there for a minute. I’ll have to incorporate that into one of the stories I tell about the Aurillians. Everybody will believe it about them.”
“But we’re serious,” Kelly protested. “What’s so funny about wanting to invest for the future?”
“Maybe there’s a translation issue,” the Thark said, tapping the side of his skull above the spot where his implant was located. “You tell me. How do you differentiate between investing and gambling?”
“Well, investing is where you put your money to work for a guaranteed return, while gambling is just betting on stuff.”
“Betting on stuff?” The alien ambassador laughed again. “Give me an example of a guaranteed return. I’d like to get in on that bet, I mean, that investment, myself.”
“Bonds,” Kelly said, glancing at Joe to see if she had guessed right. Her husband shrugged.
“You mean promissory notes that allow the borrower to defer paying back the principal to a future date in return for regular payments?” the Thark asked.
“Yes, that sort of thing.”
“Many species issue bonds, but there’s always a risk. I should know as we often make book on them, though some customers insist on calling it insurance. Governments fall, businesses fail, currencies fluctuate, and poorly managed ones have inflation. More often than not you’ll come out ahead, but buying bonds isn’t what I would call investing. The closest thing to a risk-free asset I’m aware of is the Stryx cred, but the Stryx don’t allow anybody to stas
h large sums of money on programmable creds to prevent the wealth of the tunnel network from concentrating in just a few hands.”
“That’s what Libby told me,” Kelly said. “But if I can’t buy bonds or invest through a brokerage…”
“A brokerage? You want to put your money in commodities like Dollnick Tan tubers or ice harvesting futures? We handle those bets on the tote board as well, though the odds aren’t anything special.”
“How did we get back to gambling? My mother used to be in an investment club on Earth, and she did very well doing—what did she do, Joe?”
“Purchased shares, mostly,” the ambassador’s husband replied, and then added for the Thark’s benefit, “Large businesses on Earth are usually organized as corporations, and many of them have publicly traded stocks so that anybody can own shares in the company.”
“Like a Drazen consortium?” the alien ambassador asked.
“I thought to invest in a Drazen consortium you have to become a partner of sorts and work there.”
“Of course. Do you mean Humans buy shares in these corporations without having any say in how the business is run?”
“They get to vote for a board of directors that oversees the management, though in most cases, the votes don’t mean anything,” Joe explained.
“But say I bought stock in a corporation that built apartments,” the Thark ambassador posited. “Would I always have a place to live? Or if the corporation built furniture, could I stop in once a year and pick out a nice chair?”
“No, but they pay dividends, sometimes. That’s the excess earnings divided over the number of shares after the management decides how much they want to distribute.”
“It sounds to me like the management does pretty much whatever it wants, and the only thing you get in exchange for your money is an entry in the bookkeeping system as a fractional owner. I suppose if they went bankrupt you could always try to repossess your share of the equipment and sell that, though divvying up the real estate and goodwill would be tricky.”