Party Night on Union Station (EarthCent Ambassador Book 10) Read online

  “So what are you saying, Dring?” Donna asked.

  “The Hall of Praises is not to be,” the Maker replied. “I’m sorry to introduce a change in plans at the last minute, but I believe if we use the space as a card room for non-dancers, everyone will be happier.”

  Donna hid her relief that Dring was conceding defeat on organizing an evening of speeches and hurried to cement the alternative before he could change his mind.

  “Clive. Can you figure out what card games all of the aliens play, and make sure that we have the decks or whatever else is needed?”

  “Not a problem,” the director of EarthCent Intelligence responded. “My question for you is, have you heard back from any of the so-called ‘Fives’ I asked you to invite? It would be nice if we could help sort out this Vergallian mess before somebody gets hurt.”

  “All but one accepted,” Donna replied. “I only remember her because she has more A’s in her name than any upper caste Vergallian I’ve ever encountered. Aarania.”

  “Too bad,” Clive said. “According to our analysts, out of the names we dug up she’s the best candidate for being in charge of the movement. Of course, it could turn out that our sources are all wet and that we’ve wasted a dozen invitations on members of a legitimate historical preservation society.”

  “It would be a feather in the ambassador’s cap if we could deliver a diplomatic coup at the ball,” Dring said, perking up noticeably.

  “Alright, then,” Donna declared. “You’re all welcome to come to the orchestral rehearsal tonight, though it will probably be a madhouse. I sent invitations for the rehearsal to every person who ever attended one of my monthly mixers, and even with the short notice, the place will be packed. And thank you again for reserving the extra night and providing refreshments, Dring.”

  “Thank Gryph,” the Maker replied.

  As Beowulf mooched scraps and people began heading home, Jeeves materialized at Dorothy’s side and said, “I’ve asked Shaina and Brinda to stay for an emergency SBJ Fashions meeting.”

  “Emergency?” Dorothy repeated, trying to buy time. She had a sinking feeling that she knew what this was about. “I’ll try pinging Flazint and Affie, but I think they may both be on night time.”

  “I already woke them and they’re on their way,” Jeeves replied with none of his usual flippancy. “Perhaps we can move inside for privacy.”

  “Alright,” she said nervously, leading the way up the ramp into the ice harvester.

  Shaina and Brinda sent their husbands home with the children, and Dorothy suddenly felt like the youngest person in the room. There was some awkward conversation until Flazint and Affie arrived, the former looking a little wilted and the latter like a beauty queen. Jeeves launched into his subject matter without any introduction.

  “Seven thousand creds for a party when you include the cleaning bill, and that’s rounding down,” the Stryx complained. “Please explain to me what we got in return.”

  “I think we earned a lot of goodwill with influencers from all of the species who attended,” Dorothy replied, not bothering to pretend that she didn’t know what he was talking about. “And Chance did appear on the front page of the Galactic Free Press wearing one of our dresses. The reporter even got the initials right in our company name.”

  “Death earned a lot of goodwill with influencers by stripping off his clothes while he was singing,” Jeeves retorted. “I’ve been monitoring the social traffic for all of the station species since your flash party, and if you do the math and adjust for the statistical norm, which I did, each additional mention of SBJ Fashions cost us three hundred and twelve creds.”

  “But that’s more than my weekly salary,” Flazint exclaimed.

  Dorothy shot her friend a look and tried to defend the strategy. “Goodwill can’t be quantified that easily, it takes a while to seep in. Chastity always talks about the need for repeated exposure to get results from ads in the Galactic Free Press.”

  “Thank you for reminding me about the paper,” Jeeves responded. “While it’s true that Chance appeared on the front page wearing one of our dresses, that was strictly the Union Station edition. Do you think that people around the rest of the galaxy are interested in reading about university parties taking place so far away that they’ll all be long dead before the light reflecting off the station can reach them? And speaking of readers, how would you describe the human demographic we’re targeting?”

  “You know,” Dorothy said, though it wasn’t something she had ever bothered putting much thought into. “Young women, mainly. Teens, twenties, early thirties?”

  “Really?” Shaina drawled. “You think I’m too old to wear our clothes?”

  “That’s not the point here,” Jeeves continued, as if he were prosecuting a trial. “Teens, twenties, and early thirties. You couldn’t have done a better job describing the demographic least likely to read the paper.”

  “David reads it every day. He pays for an ad-free subscription,” Dorothy protested.

  “And your boyfriend is in the habit of buying women’s clothing and accessories?”

  Dorothy clamped her mouth shut since she couldn’t think of anything else to say. It had been quite a lot of money to blow on a party.

  “Jeeves isn’t angry with you, girls,” Brinda said in the silence that followed. “It’s just that he feels—we feel,” she amended herself, making a gesture that included her sister, “that the three of you haven’t adjusted to the realities of running a business.”

  “Do you remember what our profits were last cycle?” Shaina asked the young designers.

  “About six hundred creds,” Affie replied.

  “That’s our office rent,” Flazint corrected her.

  “It was positive, right?” Dorothy asked.

  “It was nine creds,” Shaina told her. “On almost a million creds in sales, we netted nine creds. After three years in business, we really hoped to be much further along.”

  “And next cycle it will be a loss,” Brinda added.

  “Of around seven thousand creds,” Jeeves grumbled.

  “Do we need to raise our prices?” Flazint asked.

  “Finally,” Jeeves said. “A suggestion that doesn’t involve an expensive new prototype, followed by production setup costs, only to be told that you’ve come up with something better before the first delivery even reaches the station. Sometimes I think you’re all doing it on purpose to make me look bad in front of the other Stryx.”

  “We didn’t know,” Affie argued. “You didn’t explain it. I’ve never been in business before.”

  “So here’s your chance to learn,” Brinda said. “From now on, we want you to create a business case for introducing new products. Shaina and I are both convinced that the current cross-species lineup is gaining traction with residents on the stations where we have a presence, but we’re cutting our own throats with so many new product introductions.”

  “But designing new clothes is the fun part,” Dorothy protested.

  “And making a profit is the work part,” Jeeves retorted. “I don’t want to be labeled the mean Stryx who takes away the punch bowl when the party gets started, but in retail, past performance is a highly reliable indicator of future failures.”

  “So no more flash fashion events?” Affie ventured.

  “Short of providing free samples to twenty million InstaSitters, I can’t think of a faster way to throw away money.”

  “Jeeves! You’re a genius,” Dorothy cried.

  “You do have a gift for stating the obvious, but why just now?” the Stryx responded.

  “It’s the perfect way to reach young women on stations all over the tunnel network without spending a dime on marketing,” the girl continued enthusiastically.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” Shaina asked.

  “Well, some of them are males, I guess, but even the younger girls will have money to spend because they’re earning it babysitting.”

  “Do you thi
nk you could talk InstaSitter into it?” Affie asked.

  “InstaSitter is Blythe, Chastity and Tinka. I’m friends with all of them.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting something else?” Shaina tried again.

  “Well, giving samples to all of the InstaSitters could be overexposure,” Dorothy replied. “Maybe Tinka could help us pick a smaller group, like girls who have worked a certain number of assignments, or who have been with InstaSitter a long time.”

  “You’re forgetting the cost of the product,” Jeeves thundered, unable to keep it bottled up any longer. “Whether it’s two million or twenty million, who is going to pay to manufacture all of these promotional gifts?”

  “Oh. Well, the business side is your job. We just come up with the ideas,” Dorothy responded brightly. “Maybe Libby will loan you the money.”

  “To give away,” Jeeves pointed out. “Then instead of one foolish Stryx on Union Station, there will be two.”

  “It would come back to us ten-fold!” the girl enthused. “I thought you said you liked doing all that marketing math. This could be our big break.”

  “You want me to do the math? Fine. Let’s say we give away lightweight travel cloaks to just one percent of InstaSitters. Thanks to somebody’s insistence on using a metal clasp rather than synthetic material,” Jeeves paused and dipped in Flazint’s direction, “the manufacturing cost is six creds. Figure one percent of InstaSitters comes to around two hundred and ten thousand, so your giveaway, assuming InstaSitter handles the distribution, will cost us over twelve hundred thousand creds.”

  “That’s less than a million,” Dorothy said hopefully.

  “No, it’s one point two million,” Shaina corrected her.

  “But I’ve seen our travel cloaks selling for twenty-four creds in boutiques,” Affie pointed out. “Even if it takes four giveaways to sell one cloak, we’ll break even.”

  “No,” Brinda said. “If it takes four giveaways to sell one cloak, we’ll lose six hundred thousand creds, because we sell them to the boutiques for twelve. And you should understand that it’s only the Stryx infrastructure that allows us to ship direct from Chintoo to stores, eliminating middlemen. If you ever do business away from the stations, you’ll find out that wholesalers and distributors take a large cut, not to mention all the extra shipping costs.”

  “How many giveaways will it take to sell one cloak?” Dorothy demanded of Jeeves.

  “It’s impossible to answer with precision because I don’t have any close comparisons to work off of,” the Stryx hedged. “It’s true that InstaSitters enjoy a certain cachet on the stations, and a travel cloak which might be worn every day over other garments could maximize exposure. Predicting the potential behavior of over two hundred thousand young females from so many different species involves a large number of calculations, and then I have to estimate how the various sentients who see an InstaSitter wearing our cloak will react…”

  “Stop delaying, Jeeves,” Dorothy cut him off impatiently.

  “One and a half,” the Stryx admitted.

  “Does that mean we’ll make a profit?” Affie asked.

  Shaina made a restraining gesture with both hands to quiet the younger women who sat to either side of her and addressed Jeeves. “Are you sure you’re taking all of the factors into account?”

  “It seems a bit unbelievable, but our branding on the cloak is prominent, and it’s always worn as the outer layer. I wouldn’t recommend marketing lingerie this way.”

  “I came up with a good business idea,” Dorothy crowed. “Does that mean I get a raise?”

  “Actually, I believe it was my idea,” Jeeves reminded her. “You were simply the first to acknowledge my genius. Does anybody want to hear the conversation played back?”

  “I think both of you may want to delay taking credit until the actual sales results are in,” Brinda said. “You’re really, really sure about this, Jeeves? Can you check your math with Gryph or something?”

  “It’s a one-off,” the Stryx explained. “After the first giveaway, the effectiveness will diminish to the point of negative returns, but I took the novelty into account while doing my calculations. And I fudged increased sales of our other products into that one-and-a-half number—the cloaks will just about break even. Most of the profits will be due to the InstaSitters who receive a freebie purchasing something else from us.”

  “So we’re not fired or anything?” Flazint asked.

  “I can’t fire you,” Jeeves told the Frunge girl. “It was in the terms of the first loan I took from—the Thark said what?” he interrupted himself. There was a loud “pop” and the Stryx vanished.

  “Did our boss just run away from our meeting?” Affie asked.

  “He’s not responding to pings,” Dorothy replied.

  “Jeeves only goes supersonic when he’s in a real hurry,” Brinda told them. “I’ll bet he’s off the station by now.”

  “Libby? What happened to Jeeves?”

  “A prior business commitment,” the station librarian responded. “Don’t worry. I’m sure everything will work out fine.”

  Nineteen

  A piercing alarm siren began to wail, and a hard lurch caused Kelly to miss the piece of bread with the butter knife, thus spreading a liberal serving of raspberry preserves on her arm. The streak looked more blue than red under the emergency lighting.

  “What’s happening, Joe?” she demanded, looking around to make sure that Samuel hadn’t been thrown into a bulkhead.

  “I’m guessing it’s either a general power failure or we’ve been hit with some kind of energy suppression field, though it will take quite a while for the ring to spin down.”

  “I’m going to the common room to ask,” Samuel announced, and fled before his parents could object.

  “Does this sort of thing happen often on space trips?” Hannah asked nervously.

  “It’s not unheard of,” Joe reassured her, and rose from his bolted-down chair to go after the boy.

  “Wait, we’ll come with you,” Kelly said, and failing to locate the napkins, licked the jam off her forearm. “Ready.”

  The three adults followed in the boy’s footsteps to the common room, where most of the crew had gathered around a holographic projection. It showed a close-up of a warship, with a swarm of little figures in bulbous orange spacesuits heading directly towards the camera.

  A young Vergallian woman entered immediately after the humans and breathlessly reported, “The captain sent me to say that all communications are being jammed. The vessel that halted us is positively identified as the imperial class destroyer that went missing from the home fleet several weeks ago. They’ve disrupted our power and are demanding that we turn over our passengers. The captain said to prepare to repel boarders.”

  “Hold on,” Joe shouted, trying to draw the attention of the Vergallians, who began retrieving weapons from the lockers lining the bulkhead of the common room. He had to grab the purser to get the crewman to listen. “You can’t fight marines in armored spacesuits. Just one of those guys could carve up this ship with his suit weaponry.”

  “Vergallians don’t submit to acts of piracy, even if the criminals are from our own navy,” the purser replied curtly.

  “Tell them something they’ll listen to, Samuel,” his mother urged. “We can’t let all of these people get killed just to protect their honor.”

  “We’ll have to go to the bridge and talk directly with the captain,” the boy said decisively. “Follow me.”

  Again the adults found themselves chasing Samuel through the central corridor of the centrifugal ring, and they entered the control room that served as a bridge for the freighter just a few seconds behind him.

  “Do not sacrifice your families in a meaningless gesture,” a beautiful woman on the main display was saying as they came in. “You have my word of honor that your passengers will not be harmed.”

  “That doesn’t give you the right to stop and board a free Vergallian merchant vessel,
” the freighter’s captain replied in an icy tone. “I think you’ll find that we’re worth our salt.”

  “Invite us!” Samuel shouted at the screen image in Vergallian. The freighter captain spun about in irritation at the interruption, but the upper caste female on the screen immediately shifted her gaze to the humans.

  “I, Aarania, extend a cordial invitation to our human friends to spend one day aboard my ship, after which I will personally see that you are re-embarked on transport direct to Union Station.”

  “We accept,” Samuel declared formally, waving off the freighter captain’s pleas. “We await arrival of a craft suitable to the transfer of my mother, the EarthCent Ambassador, and her luggage.”

  “Agreed,” Aarania said, and the display image shifted to the outside, where the figures in combat suits were executing U-turns with varying degrees of grace.

  “Bunch of amateurs,” the freighter captain grumbled. “I would have shown them a thing or two.”

  “We appreciate everything you’ve done for us, Captain,” Kelly said diplomatically. “You have my sincere apology for causing a delay in your schedule.”

  “What’s happening?” the purser demanded, pounding onto the bridge in an exoskeleton suit that bristled with weaponry.

  “It seems that the boy has denied us our chance at glory,” the captain replied in a wondering voice, as if still coming to grips with the rapid change of fortune.

  “Those of us with children on board thank you,” the purser told Samuel. “We are a lightly-armed container vessel, after all, and such a mismatch can only end one way.”

  “Looks like she’s sending the captain’s gig,” another of the crew commented, as a large craft emerged from a hangar bay in the destroyer’s side.

  “How will they dock with the ring?” Joe asked the purser. “It doesn’t feel like we’ve lost any rotational speed with the power outage.”