The Execution of Marketing [IICL, Ep. 3]
An Interstellar Industries Cruise Line Experience
The Interstellar Industries Cruise Lines travel to all the most luxurious planetary ports in the galaxy. Below decks and behind doors, though, it is not always the shining jewel the advertising would have you believe. Click here to read more or start from the beginning.
Jeanne closed the cabin door as the porter left. They had a gorgeous bubble balcony view of planetfall for sail away. The suite was as luxurious as expected, with even a bowl of assorted fresh fruit laid out on the table in the common room. The bed was huge and she was sure as soft as was economically possible.
“I don’t trust them,” she announced to her husband, standing at the balcony doors. “Why would they give us a free cruise? Us, of all people?”
“Because they want to show us that they aren’t as bad as we’ve been saying they are,” answered Oliver. He opened his luggage on the bed and began unpacking into the drawers and closet. “They want to wine us and dine us, and show us a wonderful time, so that we’ll agree to sign exclusive port access of Breton to them. Same with the other planetary dignitaries on board. The Malestroit is one of the newest, most luxurious ships in the fleet.” He turned from the view to take her in his arms. “I’d still wager the crew isn’t getting paid any better than the rest of the line. It’s criminal, the difference in class on these vessels, and I do not intend to be a party to hiding it behind glossy marketing propaganda.”
“Are we going to go on the other cruise lines, too, if they offer to bribe us?”
“If they want us to. We’ll go, we’ll smile, we’ll enjoy the excellent food and the pampering they want to give us, and then we’ll tip the porters and waitstaff well, and not have to pay the wealthy investors that run the line. Remember, Jeanne, I’m not trying to shut these tourist lines down. They do bring valuable opportunities to many indigenous peoples of their ports of call, and the employees of the line. Many spend their lives here on these ships to make their families back home more comfortable than they ever could on their own planet. But that’s no excuse for taking advantage of them and mistreating them the way the lines do. The local employees are all underpaid, overworked servants at best. The officers of every ship in the line are full blood human. They can’t explain that away with Bungresse caviar and Nilaxian champagne.”
“I still don’t trust them.”
“What’s to trust? They deal in entertainment and spoil. Even an accident would reflect very badly on them. They take every precaution to keep their guests safe and happy. It’s the crew I worry about.”
Jeanne smiled up at her husband. His golden beard could not hide the twinkle in his blue eyes. “You’ve the heart of a lion, Oliver Clisson.”
“Maybe, but I kiss like a seal!” He rubbed his beard across her cheeks, tickling her while he tightened his arms around her. Jeanne burst out laughing and pushed him away.
“You can kiss me later. We should get ready for dinner.”
In the Main Dining Room, the Clissons were sat at a table of honor, along with a handful of other invited guests. They knew them by name, though they had not met before.
“I am called Alain. This is my spouse Guilla. We are from Quédil. We publish the Travelers’ Guide for this arm of the galaxy.” The Quédilliacs were a smaller than average race of beings with very thin limbs. She was sure they had their athletes, like any species, but Jeanne had never seen or heard of one. In contrast, their heads were larger than average, sitting on two wiry necks, to fit their sizable brains.
“A pleasure to meet you both.” Oliver shook hands with Alain. “We have a subscription. Jeanne reads every issue. We’re from Breton.”
They marveled over the gold-plated tableware and singing crystal wine glasses while they waited for the rest of their table to arrive. The Plessians were not delayed long. They were an aquatic people, as Plessis was almost entirely covered in water. It was a very popular tourist destination for various water sports. Their skin was smooth and rubbery-looking with blue and purple hues.
“My name is Denis. This is my son, Geoffrioe.” Greetings and pleasantries were exchanged all around. The boy had apparently just reached the age of maturity for his people, and thus was now allowed to travel, so this particular trip was quite an experience for him.
After perusing the expansive menus (each page was a different planetary specialty), some small talk, and a round of drinks and appetizers, Alain checked over his shoulder for nearby waiters or ship staff before speaking in hushed tones.
“So, I know why we’re getting the royal suite treatment, as I’ve not been overly generous in my articles regarding the cruise lines, and they would prefer more glowing testimonials to add to their pamphlets, but what do they want from you?”
“Exclusive and unrestricted port access to Breton,” answered Oliver.
“They already visit Plessis, but they want to build one of their ICCL resorts on the surface. Well, I say surface. I’ve seen the architectural plans. We have one unsubmerged landmass, and they want all of it, plus an entire system of floating bungalows surrounding it, and docking berths for a good hundred submarines of various sizes to tour our underwater cities. Absolutely ridiculous.”
“Yet you accepted their tickets?”
“Travel is a very good thing. Exposure to other cultures and ways of life.” He smiled at his younger companion. “But exposure is not the same as exploitation.”
“Hear hear!” Oliver raised his glass in agreement, and the table joined him in a friendly toast against the evil cruise lines before their waiter brought the meals. They watched the stars slip by through the MDR’s big bubble windows. They were out of the solar system before the second course.
“One thing cruise lines have always been known for, and rightly so, are the meals.” Alain wiped his mouth with the thousand-thread count stardust linen napkin. “The culinary skill is excellent, the setting glitzy, and the company of the highest possible class.” He smiled the compliment, and the rest of the table laughed. “Honestly, it is no simple task to balance multi-cultural preferences and sensitivities. Some planets’ delicacies very much resemble other planets’ monarchs!” The wine made the laughter all the easier to come by, and Jeanne found it to be a most pleasant meal with new friends when she had expected five courses of dull torture with cruise line executives or disdainful aristocrats.
As they left the table, Oliver, in his usual way, pulled their waiter to the side. He slipped a sizable bill into the waiter’s hand. “This is for your family that you said are still back on your home planet.” He slipped another bill of the same size into his hand. “This one is for you. Save it, invest it, spend it on yourself if you like, but it’s for you personally. Thank you for your service. We quite enjoyed the meal.” Expressions varied from species to species, but Jeanne was sure she saw tears in the waiter’s eyes as they walked away.
The night, however, was a restless one of strange engine noises and unexpected vibrations of the ship. Uncharacteristic of the modern galactic vessels, but nothing to worry about, she told herself as she tossed in the cloud-like bed.
The next morning, they sat at the same table for breakfast with the same companions. The odd behavior of the ship was the prime topic of conversation and conjecture.
“I tell you,” swore Alain, “I spent a fitful hour in the middle of the night on our bubble balcony, writing a draft of a scathing review by the waning light of the departing star system. Once we reached open space, the light was too dim, and I retired to my bed to try again to sleep.” He speared a sausage from his plate. “I don’t have to tell you that I found little success!”
A broad shouldered man in a very bright IICL uniform navigated to their table, with three more like him in his wake.
“Ah, finally,” smiled Denis, “our captain makes his appearance! Say hello, son.”
Before Geoffrioe could comply, the officer spoke. “I am not the Captain; I am the Chief of Security. You are Oliver Clisson of Breton, Alain of Quédil, and Denis of Plessis, yes?”
The seated travelers looked from one another. Jeanne did not like the tone of the question at all. Oliver stood up. Alain and Deni followed his example. “What is the problem, officer? I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”
“I didn’t give it. You are hereby charged with attempted sabotage and corporate espionage.” He did not look at the guards behind him as he commanded, “Take them into custody.” The guards moved instantly, taking each of the standing men by the arm.
“Now see here, you cannot just accuse us of something and throw us in the brig!” Oliver did not resist the guard, but gave him a look of steel that would tolerate no casual roughness. “We are men of high standing in our societies. I demand you present evidence and allow me to contact my legal representation.”
The chief of security allowed himself a brief smirk. “We are in open space on the IIC Malestroit, my lord; we can do anything we like. Throw them in the brig.”
Jeanne leaped to her feet. “Get your hands off my husband! This is absurd. We are invited guests of the cruiseline.” She reached for the guard holding Oliver.
“Jeanne, stop. Fighting with the guards won’t do any good. Call the attorney. I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding.” He walked resolutely away with the guard. Denis and Alain were much less calm about it, but, with the guards’ assistance, they, too, were led off to the brig.
The chief of security stood with his hands folded behind his back and kept a firm eye on Jeanne and the rest of them until the prisoners had been removed from the dining room. The entire chamber was staring, but Jeanne didn’t care. Once her husband was out of sight, she turned her attention to him.
“I want to speak to the captain immediately.”
“He’s a very busy man, miss.” He smiled as though placating a drunken guest who was complaining about towels. “But I’ll let him know as soon as I see him.” He bowed to the table and left.
That afternoon, Jeanne walked into the brig. The lawyer had been useless. They were outside of any solar system, and floating in unregulated open space. The laws of protection and justice couldn’t reach them. Usually, in such situations, the Cruise line imposed its own laws and justice, bringing prisoners or suspects back into lawful regions to deal with their alleged crimes, but there was no law that said they had to.
“Oliver?” There were five doors in the brig, each with a tiny, barred window, and a guard in front of the middle one.
“Jeanne?!” His golden beard appeared in the little window of the center door.
The guard stepped sideways to cover the window. Jeanne stepped forward.
“I will give you a hundred credits to let me talk to my husband.” She pulled the money from a pouch at the side of her dress and held it out straight-armed like a sword. She held the pose for ten shallow breaths. She knew the crew aboard these ships were underpaid, but how willing would that make the guard? He finally took his eyes off the money long enough to scan the otherwise empty room and throw a furtive glance at the camera over the door. The guard covered her hand and pushed them away from his face. The credits vanished from her fingers like a magician’s trick, and the guard turned to walk the row of doors, looking inside each very closely and throughly inspecting every perceivable corner of the cell, empty or not.
“Jeanne, what are you doing here? Did you get in touch with the attorney?”
“He’s no help. What evidence do they have?”
“They won’t share it with us. They only say it is enough to be sure of their accusations.”
“Are you okay? How are they treating you?”
“We’re fine. They’ve done no more than imprison us and try to scare us.”
“Scare you how?”
“By implying that if the captain determines us guilty of espionage and sabotage, he’s authorized to sentence us to death.”
Jeanne gasped and drew back from the door, her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide.
“I’m certain it is just blustering, Jeanne.” Oliver stretched his fingers through the bars. She grasped them and closed her eyes. “No space captain, especially a civilian captain of a luxury liner, has ever mitigated such a punishment. They’d surely have hell to pay when they docked back in regulated space again.”
Jeanne was not willing to take that risk. “Guard!” She turned her attention, though she kept her fingers entwined with her husband’s. “Open this door, and I will get you a hundred times those credits!”
“You open that door, and you’ll find yourself on the other side of it!” The voice of the chief of security cracked from the other side of the room. He’d entered from a door marked Officers Only, and was followed by another decorated man in uniform, one with even more brass at his collar. “Seize the woman. Put her in a different cell.”
The guard, now under the watchful eye of his direct superior and the captain of the ship, as well, did not hesitate to follow orders. He hurried toward Jeanne.
Jeanne, however, was not a person of hesitation, either, and leaped toward the guard, catching him by surprise. She grabbed at the baton as he withdrew it from its sheathe and threw herself to the floor in a slide between his knees. He would have to either let go of the enforcement weapon, or follow her between his own knees. He was not quick thinking enough to let go of the weapon, but as he landed in a twisted pile on the carpeted floor, the rod slipped from his grasp.
Jeanne dashed for the hallway. Heavy footsteps pounded the deck behind her. She ran for the promenade; it would be full of people at this time of day. She lost herself in the crowd. The cruise line may want to discredit her husband and the other ‘honored guests,’ but they didn’t want to incite a panic among the general masses. Criminal hunts did not inspire shopping. She slipped out of the crowd and into the labyrinthine passageways that led to the cabins. She could not hope to find safety in her own cabin, they would be looking for her there. She headed to the Quédilliacs’ cabin. She felt she could trust Guilla. She should tell her what she knew, anyway. She opened the door immediately at the sound of Jeanne’s voice.
“Jeanne, are you okay?”
“They are looking for me. I talked to my husband. The cruise line is determined to paint them as criminals. We have to get them out of there.”
“It would do little good if we did. We need to get away, back to our home planets, where we can bring legal and political pressure on the cruise line to rescue them and clear their names. We cannot fight this from here. We can use the Traveler’s Guide to get word of this to billions all over the galaxy. They won’t be able to suffer such bad publicity. They’ll have to release them. Trust me.”
“I trust you, but how do we leave? They certainly won’t turn the ship around to take us home.”
A youth Jeanne hadn’t noticed in her distress stood from the couch. It was Geoffrioe, Denis’s son. “I was able to get word to our people. They are sending a ship to get us and are not far away.”
“They won’t let us leave the ship, especially with what we know. They’ll just put us in the brig, too.” Jeanne no longer trusted the officers of this ship. The pleasure cruise had become a political trap.
“What can we do?” Guilla wrung her hands and looked out their bubble balcony.
The view out of the balcony gave Jeanne an idea. Not all balconies had such a nice view. Whole decks had obscured views. Obscured by emergency vessels and tender shuttles for taking passengers to small planet side ports.
“How close are your people, Geoffrioe?”
“A few hours, at most, half a day.”
“If we steal one of the tender shuttles, his people could pick us up in open space.”
“If we what?” Guilla looked shocked.
“Would you rather wait for them in the brig?” Jeanne looked to Geoffrioe. “Are you with me?”
“Aye aye!” He nodded. Youth were often ready for adventure. She would just need to keep him safe enough to see the other side of it. Guilla grabbed her coat. “Well, I’m not staying here by myself!”
Reaching the nearest tender ship was easy. The liners were designed to make emergencies as simple and safe as possible. As a result, there was no lock on the emergency doors. There was surely an alarm raised on the bridge as they launched, but that could not be avoided. By quickly escalating to the ship’s top speed, the other vessels on the cruise liner should not be able to overtake them. This was not built to be a ship of war. They did not need to worry about cannon fire.
The radio crackled to life. “This is Captain Les Halles of the Cruise Ship Malestroit. You have taken unauthorized control of one of our emergency tender shuttles. This is a criminal act against the cruise line. However, if you turn back now, I promise you we will not press charges. We’ll just call it a little ‘unplanned excursion’ and forget it all happened.”
Jeanne opened the communication channel. “What about Oliver, Denis, and Alain’s ‘unplanned excursion’ to the brig?” She kept the nose of their shuttle pointed away from the cruise line and increasing speed.
“Those men are being held in connection with an incident of sabotage and espionage. Please turn the shuttle around.”
“We’ll just see what the rest of the galaxy thinks about that, shall we?”
“If that’s the way of it, you may want to turn on the video channel we are currently broadcasting to you.”
Guilla activated the screen. Oliver, Alain, and Denis filled the screen. Their hands were cuffed in front of them, and they were standing in an airlock.
“What are you doing?” Geoffrioe yelled at the communication screen. “Let my father out of there!”
“Last chance,” responded the captain. “Turn the shuttle around.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” breathed Guilla.
The captain stepped into the edge of the screen and gestured towards the captives. A guard stepped forward and strapped a small tank of air around the chest of each man, attaching the breathing mask over their faces.
“Let it not be said that we did not give them a chance. Perhaps, if you turn the shuttle around and are quick enough, you can even rescue them from deep space before they run out of air.” He waited a mere seconds, just enough to let the situation sink in.
“Gentlemen, for crimes against the IIC Malestroit and the Interstellar Industries Cruise Lines in general, including sabotage and espionage, it is my duty as captain to ban you from the cruise line permanently. Your disembarkation of the ship will be immediate. Good luck to you in your future travels.” The captain stepped back, and the airlock doors cycled closed. Oliver stood ramrod straight, head high, as the exterior doors opened. In seconds, they were lost to the vast blackness of space.
“Captain,” Jeanne growled into the microphone, “I swear on my husband’s life that you and your superiors will pay for this.”
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