Con Living Page 5

  “My con will change all of that, and we’re in negotiations to produce an animated version of his Galactic War College series,” Flower said. “See if you can work something about it into your story, Dianne.”

  “I will, but you know that my editor is wise to your trying to get free advertising out of the paper,” the reporter replied.

  “You can only do your best. Now if Woojin will put his hat on, we have an important ship’s issue to discuss.”

  The captain plucked his tricorn hat off the table and placed it on his head to satisfy the Dollnick AI’s sense of propriety. Tyrell’s assistant took advantage of the pause to bring in a tray of coffee and cookies.

  “I want to join the Conference of Sovereign Human Communities,” Flower announced.

  “But you’re not human,” Lynx objected immediately.

  “My community is ninety-nine percent Human. Are you saying it’s okay for CoSHC to discriminate against artificial intelligence?”

  “Alien artificial intelligence.”

  “There’s one of me and well over a half a million of you. According to Kute’s Rule, that makes this a Human community.”

  “Who’s Kute?” Dianne asked, making a note on her reporter’s tab.

  “A famous Dollnick philosopher and mathematician. His rule made modern food labeling possible by defining the level of dilution at which point an ingredient can be considered nonexistent. ‘I think, therefore it isn’t.’ Without Kute’s rule, every label would be an encyclopedia of micro-contaminates, including detached molecules from packaging and stirring spoons. Even the Hortens adopted Kute’s Rule when they joined the tunnel network, and you know what hygiene freaks they are.”

  “You’re claiming that your presence is diluted by the humans on board?” Lynx asked.

  “Precisely,” Flower said. “Now, if there are no other objections, I’m requesting that the captain officially look into CoSCH membership. I think it would look better coming from you than from me.”

  “Which brings us to the sovereign part of the equation,” Woojin said. “I’m all for our having representation with CoSHC, but if they object to our community claiming sovereignty, I would have a hard time disagreeing.”

  “But I am sovereign,” the Dollnick AI said.

  “That’s the problem. You’re sovereign, we’re just along for the ride. And I’m saying that as your official hat-wearing captain.”

  “But they let the Traders Guild join en masse, and they aren’t sovereign, or even a real community,” Flower argued. “Besides, I consult with you about all of our important decisions.”

  “After the fact. I’m not complaining, mind you. This is the greatest semi-retirement posting ever, but I think EarthCent had something else in mind when we embarked on our mission.”

  “Is this really about the morning calisthenics? I stopped counting how many times Humans have complained about stretching when I got to a million, but everybody comes around in the end.”

  “Maybe we should just try applying and see how CoSHC responds,” Tyrell suggested. “I like calisthenics, and I don’t have to nag my trainees to stay in shape because Flower does it for me.”

  “Is there an official application process, or do we just send a delegation to the next CoSHC convention and see what they say?” Brenda asked.

  “Good point,” Flower said. “I’ll want you on the delegation, and—”

  “You’re doing it again,” Lynx interrupted. “The conventions are always on Union Station. Why not just send one of your bots and project your presence over the Stryxnet like you’ve done when we played poker at Mac’s Bones?”

  “For some reason that escapes me, my mentor excluded real-time bot control from my free bandwidth package. When we visit Union Station, I control remote bots using my own transmission hardware, and the Stryx allow the signal through their shields.”

  “I have a question,” Dianne said, half raising her hand. “What’s the advantage for you in joining the Conference of Sovereign Human Communities, Flower? They already account for practically all of our stops, and it’s not like they’re withholding anything from us for not being a member. Besides, what about the case for reinstatement you filed with the Dollnicks, and all of the counter-claims your original owners made? Wouldn’t joining a human organization look bad if you ever go to trial?”

  “Flower has directed the Dollnick firm representing her to push/pull her lawsuit,” Brenda said. “It’s difficult to explain because—”

  “The sophistication of our legal system,” the ship’s AI interjected.

  “I was going to say because of the peculiarities of your legal system. I’ve been studying Dollnick law for less than a year, but it seems that the push/pull maneuver dates back to their prehistory when advocates would settle civil cases through wrestling matches. Given that they all have four arms, if one party pushed with the upper set while pulling with the lower, and the other party does the same, it produces a sort of stand-off.”

  “A compromise?”

  “It’s more nuanced than that,” Brenda said. “Sort of like agreeing to cease hostilities without settling the root causes or admitting to weakness.”

  “So we’ll be able to travel to Dollnick open worlds without the special waivers?” Woojin asked.

  “That, and Flower will be able to bank in Dollnick space without worrying about her funds being seized.”

  “Which is no small thing, given the number of fruitcakes I’ve been selling to Prince Kuerda’s distribution network,” Flower said. “My legal position would have been much stronger if I was a member of a tunnel network empire as opposed to an outcast.”

  “But CoSHC is hardly an empire,” Woojin said. “Other than the independent traders and the Tunnel Trips rentals, they don’t even have a fleet.”

  “If I was a member, they’d have a stronger fleet than plenty of young civilizations.”

  “That’s circular reasoning,” the lawyer said. “Are you saying that if you join CoSHC and they somehow qualify as an empire because of your membership, you would take your lawsuit off pause?”

  “CoSHC is closer to being recognized as an empire than you think, there’s a basic definition in the tunnel network treaty that you can look up,” Flower said. “How about we just plan on sending a delegation to the next convention and we can discuss who chooses the delegates another time? We have a more immediate problem to deal with right now, namely the awards party.”

  “What awards party?” Woojin asked.

  “That’s what I’m saying. I just heard back from my contact at the Grenouthian network and it’s a go.”

  “The awards party is a go?”

  “The Grenouthian network is covering the Interspecies Academy of Anime awards show, and thanks to my Stryxnet connection, they agreed to carry live reaction shots from my party if we get any awards. A successful awards show will play back into more work for Flower Studios.”

  “Which would mean more employment for animators, writers, and production staff,” Lynx said.

  “And a bigger entertainment ecosystem on board, which will draw more studios,” Dianne added, nodding her head.

  “So everybody wins,” Flower concluded. “The live broadcast begins in nine hours and thirteen minutes, so we don’t have much time to prepare.”

  “That’s after one in the morning on Universal Human Time,” Lynx pointed out. “Where is the party going to be? One of your big theatres?”

  “I think it would be advantageous for various reasons to promote our entertainment community as employing more non-Humans than the facts may currently support,” the Dollnick AI said. “I want all of the stand-ins there, and if we hold it in the common room at Flower’s Paradise and keep the overall number of guests down, it will create the impression of diversity. Plus it will be easier for Harry and Dave to attend. Most of the cooperative members will be asleep by then and I’ll throw an audio suppression field over the whole thing.”

  “Do you expect the ship’s officers
to be there?” Woojin asked.

  “In full uniform.”

  “Then you can’t blame me for sleeping in and skipping calisthenics tomorrow morning.”

  “Fine, everybody who comes gets a one-day exemption from their required activities,” Flower said. “Can I count on you to write it up for the Galactic Free Press if we win anything, Dianne?”

  “It’s news even if you don’t win,” the reporter said.

  “Not the kind of news I want.”

  Five

  “All right, settle down,” the Grenouthian director shouted in the direction of the production staff, primarily writers and animators who had joined the ship the previous year at Bits. “It looks like the Humans are afraid of the advanced species and you’re all sitting too far back.” He pointed a fuzzy finger at a Drazen. “Jorb, I want you at a front table with the Human triple-threat, and Razood, didn’t you say you have a pair of new apprentices?”

  “They aren’t involved with the production so I didn’t invite them,” the Frunge blacksmith said.

  “Then this is your big chance to make some new friends,” the director said, beckoning the alien forward.

  Jorb and Rinka got up and moved towards one of the unoccupied tables just in front of where the Grenouthian director had positioned a floating immersive camera. Along the way, Jorb roped in Zick with his tentacle, getting Renée in the bargain, while Rinka did the same with Julie, drawing Bill along as well. Bill made sure to sit between Zick and Julie.

  “Crazy, huh,” Zick said. “A year ago I was back on Bits being ostracized as a heretic for wanting to modernize our approach to gaming, and today I’m a writer on an award-nominated multispecies anime drama.”

  “You’re not the only one doing something new this year,” Renée reminded him. “Who would have believed that I’d be attending the Open University?”

  “I thought you were still working at The Spoon,” Julie said. “I wouldn’t have quit if I had known you were leaving at the same time as me.”

  “I dropped a couple of shifts but I’m staying,” Renée said. “Flower tried to talk me into her work/study program, but with tips, I earn twice as much waitressing. What does she have you doing?”

  “I’m the assistant program director for MultiCon. I still don’t have a clue what’s going on, but the Sharf I’m working for says I’m doing great and to keep it up. We’re all going on a field trip to a gaming con on the Horten open world that Flower is stopping at next. Yaem says there’s no better way to learn how to swim than diving right in.”

  “I’ll bet he hasn’t seen those Dollnick sharks Flower keeps on the reservoir deck,” Bill said.

  “I wouldn’t advise swimming with any Dollnick fish,” the bony Sharf announced his presence, making Julie jump in her seat. “No, you’re fine, but I need the two of you to scootch over,” Yaem told Zick and Renée. “The director doesn’t want four Humans in a row.”

  “Who’s taking the last seat?” Bill asked, pointing at the oversized chair that remained.

  “The director—he wants to stay near his cameras,” the Sharf replied.

  A few steps to the left, Brynlan pulled out a chair for Harry’s wife at the other front table. “Please,” he rumbled.

  “Thank you,” Irene said to the bulky Verlock, and then remained standing awkwardly with her knees bent for another five seconds because he was so slow at pushing in the chair. “You can learn a lot about good manners from the advanced species, Harry.”

  “If I was awake I could learn a lot,” her husband groaned. “How can you be so chipper at one in the morning? I haven’t been up this late in decades.”

  “I think it’s exciting. You’ve never been nominated for an acting award before. Besides, you had a four-hour nap.”

  “I’m just a stand-in,” Harry told her. “Maybe if Flower had agreed to make us principal animation actors my character would have stood a chance, but whoever heard of awards for stand-ins?” He paused as a half-naked Vergallian beauty pulled out the chair on his other side. “Avisia. You’re wearing your costume.”

  “Nobody would recognize my char without these,” the stunning alien said, adjusting her bosom in the halter top. “I’m hoping to get a still out of this broadcast that I can use in the promo material for my finishing school. Where’s Lume?”

  “I sent him to fetch M793qK,” Flower responded from an overhead speaker grille. “The Farling claims to be busy evaluating patients for sleep apnea, but I know he’s just dodging the party.”

  “So the whole cast is here, and you invited the writers and animators to help fill the room, but what’s with all the aliens from the bazaar?” Harry asked.

  “I invited whoever I could get to keep it from becoming a Human-fest,” the Dollnick AI said. “It cost me a number of one-week waivers from required ship’s activities, but it will be worth it if we win any awards and the network cuts to my Stryxnet feed for reaction shots.”

  “Here we are,” Lume announced. The alien was carrying a collapsible chair with one of his lower arms, and a Dollnick-sized chair with his top arms. “Avisia, could you clear a space?”

  The Vergallian got up and showed off her furniture-arranging skills, an elective course at the finishing school. Lume set down his own chair and then unfolded the carbon-fiber-and-metallic chaise-lounge for the Farling.

  “This is embarrassing,” M793qK rubbed out on his speaking legs as he eased his carapace onto the custom-made lounge. “What if somebody in the hierarchy sees me cavorting with the soft-skinned species?”

  “Do they watch anime?” the Dollnick asked.

  “No more or less than anybody else,” the giant beetle responded. “I was never a fan myself, but I know there’s a con for it on our homeworld.”

  “The Farlings have cons too?” Irene asked. “That’s so interesting. I thought that cosplay was strictly a human thing.”

  “You don’t need to dress up in costumes to make a con a con,” Avisia said, and then she and the other aliens burst out laughing at Irene’s acceptance of the claim. “Humans are so gullible. We all have cons for our entertainment industries and dressing up is part of the fun. I could tell you stories—”

  “All right, everybody,” the Grenouthian director shouted, stamping his furry foot for attention. “I’ve got a live link with the control booth on Union Station and the show is about to start. They’ll warn me before they use this feed for a reaction shot, so if I do this,” he raised a paw and clenched the fist, “I want you all to go crazy like you’ve been waiting your whole lives to be on camera. Flower?”

  “Just a quick word before the ceremony begins,” the ship’s AI said. “According to my information, we’re up for three categories. A win in any of them would allow us to call Everyday Superheroes an award-winning show, in which case the network will run the commercials I’ve prepared. The broadcast will last a little over five hours—”

  Harry moaned and dropped his head on his arms.

  “—but all of the categories we’re up for come at the beginning. Even though it’s called the Interspecies Academy of Anime Awards, most of the productions are species-specific, and the Grenouthians tailor the broadcasts for each language feed so that viewers don’t have to sit through the awards they aren’t interested in. If we were watching the standard Dollnick feed, it wouldn’t start for another two hours. Then we’d see the Dollnick anime awards in real-time, followed by a recorded version of the interspecies awards that we’re about to see now.”

  A large hologram flickered to life at the front of the common room, but other than two figures on stools in the foreground, it was mainly empty stage. One of the figures was a Drazen, and he deployed his tentacle to prod his companion, jarring the Horten from his daydream.

  “Coming to you live from the Grenouthian network studios on Union Station, it’s the two million, three hundred and seventeen thousand, six hundred and thirteenth Interspecies Academy of Anime Awards,” the Horten announced. “I’m Poga—”

  �
�And I’m Bunk,” the Drazen co-host introduced himself. “We’re taking a break from broadcasting the professional LARPing league tonight because the network has us under contract and they didn’t allow us a choice in the matter.”

  “In addition to our studio audience, we’ll be checking in with remote locations around the tunnel network where nominees who couldn’t make the ceremony are standing by on the Stryxnet,” Poga continued. “I’d tell you more about the IAA, but you’ve heard it all—”

  “Two million, three hundred and seventeen thousand, six hundred and thirteen times,” Bunk interjected.

  “—so without further ado, let’s bring out the winner of last year’s best director of an interspecies-anime-romance award to introduce clips from the finalists.”

  “We don’t need to see that,” Flower said, and the hologram froze. “I’d like to take this opportunity to remind you that volunteering to help with my con will count against your community service requirement, and that includes the dry run we’ll be conducting a week before the actual con begins.”

  “If we work more hours than the community service requirement, will we get paid?” somebody called out.

  “I’ll let you out of your team sport as well.”

  “But we never do the team sport while we’re stopped.”

  “You can bank the extra hours,” Flower countered. “You should be grateful to get into the con for free.”

  “Even on the shifts we’re not volunteering?” a young woman asked.

  “I suppose,” the Dollnick AI said after a moment’s hesitation, “but only if you come in a costume.”

  “Is there going to be an art show?” one of the animators asked.

  “Of course,” Yaem replied in Flower’s place. “The art show will include prizes, and if anybody is interested in judging, give Julie your contact info.”

  “But if we judge, can we still enter our art?”