Jupiter and the Donut Idea
Even Royals must eat.
[Author's Note: This story follows the story Jupiter Makes An Offer Not To Be Refused.]
Jupiter Jones frowned as she studied the menu of Jake's Famous Crawfish, purportedly the best and fanciest restaurant in Portland, Oregon, Earth. She didn't know what half of these things were, let alone how to pronounce them. Didn't they have anything with fries?
She put down the menu and sighed. She had a feeling that a Royal should know how to order things, choose wine, speak to waiters, et cetera. It was all a mystery to her.
A year had passed, she mused, since she had received the mark certifying her as the True Royal Owner of Planet Earth. That had also given her possession of many other worlds, and the settlement of Balem's estate had given her even more. She was now the owner, in effect, of an entire quadrant – although now she thought about it she not entirely sure what a quadrant was.
Despite the impenetrable menu, she was glad to be back on her home planet – her planet. And she was glad to be by herself, for once. One thing a Royal did not get, especially after several serious assassination attempts, was privacy.
She certainly liked having Caine around, and finding him in her bed occasionally was wonderful. It was even better than them going flying together, and that was pretty damn good. She would have liked to be with him more often, but she accepted that he had responsibilities with the Legion.
She liked Razo Tatto as well. As a former mercenary, she was incredibly effective as a bodyguard. Jupiter did not know anything of Razo's back story – and Razo had refused to discuss it – but she got the feeling that there had not been much joy there. These days, Razo was even known to smile occasionally. Jupiter had asked her why, and Razo had grunted 'have friends now' and walked away.
And then there was Kiza and Karrick, who between them were building an organisation to support both the burgeoning company that was Transworld Enterprises and Jupiter's political moves. They both seemed remarkably good at it, as if the opportunity had tapped into a wellspring of talents and entrepreneurial energies.
It was two months, now, since Jupiter had announced, on one of the omni-verse media channels, the outlawing of slavery in her quadrant. Gras Traxati had, at the same time, released a statement freeing all the slaves he owned and declaring that he was leaving the business. Most of the other traders and owners had followed within a week. She had been a little surprised that Traxati had kept his side of the bargain – but Kiza had pointed out that a case of damaskatine buys an awful lot of agreement. And, of course, Razo was capable of being very, very scary.
True, there had been some problems and disruption, but Jupiter's request that the former slaves look to the future rather than seek revenge for the past had been remarkably effective. The statements of support from the heads of the charities that had been given Balem's palaces had been another part of that, but there had also been a strong feeling that the time had come. The Terran books on freedom and rights had been the trickle that had turned into the flood. In some cases, former slaves had become employees, forming unions and negotiating work conditions. In others, such as M'B'ary – Razo's home planet – the former owners had been asked – 'asked' – to depart, leaving all their goods and assets behind. They had done so, and quickly.
Jupiter looked around. This was an expensive place, so it was a good thing she had money now, in actual American dollars. Quite a lot of money. She had bought a little apartment in Chicago, moving out of the family home and, she hoped, leaving toilet cleaning behind. Caine and Razo had been apprehensive about her living in Chicago while on Earth, since her enemies knew the city. If you are going anywhere alone, they had insisted, go somewhere other than Chicago, and keep a weapon handy.
So here she was in Portland, with a mini-blaster in her pocket. Good thing it didn't show up on airport security devices and looked like a lipstick.
Suddenly, there was shouting from the kitchen, and a crash, and then more shouting. A young man in the white uniform of a trainee cook came storming out, muttering nasty things. Then he saw Jupiter, saw the mark on her arm. He stopped and stared.
Jupiter took the mini-blaster from her bag.
The man suddenly fell to his knees. "Your Majesty," he said.
"Stop that, please," she whispered. "People are staring. Please get up and stop the majesty thing."
He stood up. Then he bowed. "Please allow me to present myself, Your Majesty," he said. "I am Vincente Tirelli-Abrasax, of the house Tirelli-Abrasax, of the – "
"Yeah yeah, I know, third-tier heirs, you own a system called D'Lagi Binary. Not a very big system."
Vincente Tirelli-Abrasax gave a start. "I am surprised it has come to the attention of someone as important as yourself," he said.
"I read a lot." She sighed, and gestured for Vincente to sit down in the other chair at her table. "Comes with the job. What is someone from the D'Lagi Binary system doing in Portland? Of all places."
"Until a few minutes ago, I was trying to learn to cook. Being 57th in line to the position of Clan Proctor doesn't pay anything, you know. And I like to cook. But everything here is too fancy. That's why I just got fired. All I want to do is make plain, simple food that people can enjoy."
"Huh. So you came to Earth to learn?"
"Sure. Quite a few people from the rest of the galaxy live here. Generally, the food is better."
"I have a friend who would agree with you on that. She has a serious donut addiction."
Vincente nodded. "Donuts," he mused. "Perhaps the best thing in the galaxy."
"After sex, of course."
Vincente look inclined to disagree with Jupiter on that. "The trouble with dounts," he said, "is that they have to be made and sold fresh. Transporting them across deep space would ruin them."
"Yes, we've tried and it doesn't work," said Jupiter. "What we need is a donut-making machine that we can take off-world. A number of them. With all the needed ingredients. But I have no idea where you could get a donut -making machine."
Vincente stared at her. "I do," he said. "And I know how to operate one."
Jupiter considered. "You want a job?" she said. "Since you just got fired, I mean."
"You mean ... making donuts?"
"No," said Jupiter. "I mean being the head of the Donut Division of Transworld Enterprises. I'm thinking a franchise structure might be best."
Vincente Tirelli-Abrasax bowed his head. "Your Majesty," he said. "I would be honoured."
"And Razo Tatto will love you forever. One more thing, though. Do you know where a girl can get some decent food around here?"
"There's a McDonalds just around the corner."
Jupiter picked up her bag. "Let's go," she said.
END