I want to be upfront with Everyone: I have switched from an editor program to an AI program. I will be creating through collaboration between human creativity and AI assistance. Every single idea, concepts, characters, and narrative decision in any story is my creation. AI tools assisted with editing and text refinement. The AI does not write my stories.
The Entrepreneurial Crisis
Tim and Deniece materialized through the MTS portal from Katteena, both still chuckling about King Purrless's attempts to teach Tim proper feline hunting postures during their diplomatic visit. Deniece's six-month pregnancy was showing beautifully now, and the peaceful week with the royal family had been exactly what they both needed.
"That was wonderful," Deniece sighed contentedly, adjusting her maternity top. "King Purrless telling you that your 'pouncing technique lacks feline grace' was the highlight of diplomatic relations this year."
"I still say my approach was perfectly functional," Tim replied with mock dignity, then paused as his enhanced hearing picked up unusual sounds echoing from the corridor ahead. "Sarha, what's that noise? It sounds like... is someone operating a marketplace in our residential section?"
"Tim, welcome back," Sarha's holographic form appeared with what could only be described as barely contained amusement. "I need to brief you on some... entrepreneurial developments that occurred during your absence."
Before Tim could respond, nine-year-old David came racing around the corner carrying a tablet and wearing what appeared to be a makeshift business suit constructed from one of Tim's old uniform jackets. The sleeves hung past his hands, and he'd fashioned a tie from one of Wendy's hair ribbons.
"Dad! Mom! Perfect timing!" David announced breathlessly, his face flushed with excitement. "We need to discuss expansion opportunities and market diversification strategies!"
Deniece blinked in confusion. "David, sweetie, what are you talking about? And why are you dressed like a tiny businessman?"
"Oh boy," Sarha muttered under her breath.
From deeper in the ship came the sound of Hope's delighted giggling, followed by what sounded suspiciously like Miss C's voice saying, "No, Hope, you cannot declare yourself CEO of anything until you're potty trained!"
Tim's nanobots sharpened his focus as he detected the unmistakable scent of freshly baked cookies wafting through the ventilation system, despite knowing that no one had been scheduled for baking duties today.
"David," Tim said slowly, his parental instincts detecting trouble, "what exactly has been happening while we were gone?"
"It's not what's been happening, Dad," David replied with the serious expression of a nine-year-old who'd discovered capitalism. "It's what's been achieving unprecedented success across multiple market sectors!"
Deniece looked at Tim with growing alarm. "I think our children have discovered business."
******
Before Tim could demand a proper explanation, seven-year-old Wendy appeared from the opposite direction, dragging what looked like a makeshift display case filled with random objects. She wore a crown made of twisted metal strips—clearly one of her crystal sculptures repurposed for business.
"Daddy! Mommy!" Wendy called out cheerfully. "Look what we sold today!" She held up a credit chip that made Tim's enhanced vision focus with alarm—the number displayed was definitely more than his children should possess.
"Wendy, where did you get that?" Deniece asked, her maternal tone shifting to the particular pitch that meant trouble was about to be discovered.
"From Ambassador Kel-Taran from the Andorian Trade Union!" Wendy announced proudly. "He bought Great-Grandpa's Sacred Sock for three thousand credits!"
"Great-Grandpa's what now?" Tim asked weakly.
David consulted his tablet with professional seriousness. "One of Dad's old gym socks. We marketed it as 'Ancient Human Ceremonial Foot Covering, Previously Owned by Legendary Space Captain's Ancestor.' The xenoarchaeology department on Rigel Prime has already contacted us about acquiring the matching sock for their museum."
"You sold my old sock for three thousand credits?" Tim asked incredulously.
"Actually, we have a whole catalog," Wendy said, opening her display case to reveal an collection of absolute junk. "This broken coffee mug is 'Sacred Human Liquid Consumption Vessel with Battle Damage.' That bent spoon is 'Primitive Human Food Manipulation Tool with Mystical Properties.'"
Tim stared at the items, recognizing each piece of garbage from their storage compartments. "Children, you can't sell random broken items to aliens!"
"Why not?" David asked with genuine nine-year-old logic. "They keep asking what human artifacts look like, and these are artifacts that humans used. Plus, Ambassador Kel-Taran said the sock had 'profound cultural significance' and wanted to know if we had any underwear."
"Oh no," Deniece groaned, one hand on her pregnant belly. "Please tell me you didn't—"
"We're saving Dad's underwear for premium clients," Wendy assured her helpfully.
From somewhere deeper in the ship came Hope's voice, clearly audible through the ship's communication system: "Goo goo da da wawa mama!"
Immediately afterward, Tim heard what sounded like a crowd of adult voices discussing something with intense scholarly seriousness.
******
"Sarha, what's that crowd of voices I'm hearing?" Tim asked, his enhanced senses tracking multiple adult conversations centered around his two-year-old daughter's location.
"That would be the Galactic Philosophy Symposium that spontaneously formed in Conference Room Seven," Sarha replied with barely concealed amusement. "Hope's... insights... have attracted considerable academic attention."
Tim and Deniece exchanged alarmed glances as they hurried down the corridor, followed by their entrepreneurial older children. As they approached Conference Room Seven, Tim could hear earnest adult voices engaged in heated scholarly debate.
"—clearly indicates a post-structural understanding of familial bonds transcending dimensional barriers—"
"—but her statement about 'baba mama wawa' suggests a deeper philosophical framework regarding consciousness—"
Tim peered through the conference room window and nearly choked. Two dozen distinguished alien scholars, including several species he recognized as renowned philosophers, were seated around the conference table taking notes while two-year-old Hope sat in her high chair, happily banging a spoon against her snack bowl.
"Goo goo da da!" Hope announced cheerfully, clapping her hands.
The room erupted in excited murmurs. A tall, blue-skinned academic with four arms frantically scribbled notes. "Did you hear that? 'Goo goo da da'—clearly a reference to the cyclical nature of existence returning to its primordial state!"
"I told you she was a genius," whispered a reptilian scholar to his colleague.
Tim opened the door and stepped inside. "Excuse me, what exactly is happening here?"
Professor Vek-Talar, a distinguished Centaurian philosopher Tim recognized from diplomatic functions, looked up with excitement. "Captain Bodge! Your daughter is a remarkable philosophical prodigy. Her insights into the nature of consciousness and reality are revolutionary!"
"She's two years old," Deniece said weakly, moving to check on Hope.
"Mama! Mama! Wawa!" Hope giggled, reaching for Deniece.
The entire room gasped. Professor Vek-Talar leaned forward intensely. "There! Did you hear? 'Mama! Mama! Wawa!'—she's clearly expressing the dual nature of maternal identity and its relationship to liquid consciousness! Brilliant!"
"She wants water," Tim said flatly.
"Exactly!" exclaimed another scholar. "The fundamental building block of life! The universal solvent! She's connecting maternal bonds to the essential nature of existence itself!"
Hope threw her spoon on the floor. "Uh oh!"
Twenty-four philosophers began frantically debating the metaphysical implications of "uh oh."
"This is not happening," Tim muttered.
Just then, the conference room door chimed, and tiny Bell—Violet's three-year-old fairy daughter—materialized through what appeared to be a miniature MTS portal, carrying a plate of cookies.
"Cookie delivery!" Bell announced in her tinkling fairy voice. "Order for Professor Vek-Talar! That'll be fifty credits!"
Conference Room Seven - Cookie Chaos
Professor Vek-Talar stared at the tiny fairy child who had just materialized in his academic symposium. "Did... did that small winged being just appear through a matter transporter?"
"Bell!" Tim said, recognizing Violet's daughter immediately. "What are you doing here?"
"Cookie delivery!" Bell repeated cheerfully, her gossamer wings fluttering as she hovered at eye level with the professor. "Chocolate chip cookies, fresh from the magic kitchen box! You ordered twelve dozen for your thinking party!"
"I most certainly did not—" Professor Vek-Talar began.
"Sure you did!" piped up another tiny voice, and suddenly four more fairy children materialized through miniature portals around the conference table. "We got your order through the thinking-talk box!"
Tim's enhanced hearing picked up the sound of his communicator beeping with what sounded like multiple incoming messages. "Sarha, are there fairy children appearing all over the ship?"
"All over the ship, all over the station, all over three different planets, and in Admiral Chen's private bathroom on Luna Base," Sarha confirmed with what Tim was beginning to recognize as barely controlled hysteria. "The fairy children discovered they could use the MTS portal booths to deliver cookies anywhere in the alliance network."
"They're in Admiral Chen's bathroom?" Deniece asked weakly.
One of the fairy children, a boy with silver wings, nodded proudly. "He was very surprised! He said words we're not supposed to repeat, but he still bought six cookies!"
Hope clapped her hands delightedly. "Cookie! Cookie! Yum yum!"
The philosophers erupted again. "Listen! 'Cookie, cookie, yum yum!'—she's clearly exploring the relationship between desire, repetition, and gustatory satisfaction!"
Tim's communicator beeped insistently. He activated it with growing dread. "Yes?"
Miss C's voice crackled through with obvious strain. "Tim, thank goodness you're back. We have a situation. The Delqarion Trade Commission is demanding to inspect David and Wendy's 'artifact authentication protocols' because apparently they sold Queen Sofia's nephew a broken pencil for five thousand credits, claiming it was 'Ancient Human Writing Implement Used by Famous Space Captain.'"
"It was Dad's pencil!" David protested from the doorway. "He used it to sign the Andorian Peace Treaty!"
"I signed that treaty with a digital stylus," Tim said faintly.
"But you touched the pencil first!" Wendy added helpfully. "That makes it historically significant!"
Bell flew over to Hope and offered her a cookie. "Want cookie, little philosophy baby?"
"Yes! Cookie!" Hope giggled.
Twenty-four scholars leaned forward with intense concentration as Hope took a bite and said, "Mmmmm!"
"The expression of pure gustatory bliss!" Professor Vek-Talar whispered reverently. "She's demonstrating the immediate relationship between sensory experience and emotional satisfaction!"
Tim looked at Deniece. "I think our children have accidentally become galactic celebrities."
Conference Room Seven - Escalating Chaos
Tim's communicator beeped again before he could fully process the philosophical interpretation of his daughter's cookie consumption. "Captain Bodge," came the formal voice of Admiral Harrison from the human colonies, "we need to discuss your children's... business ventures. My trade commissioners are fielding complaints from seventeen different species about 'fraudulent artifact sales.'"
"They're not fraudulent!" David protested indignantly. "Everything we sold really was used by humans!"
"David, you sold them a broken shoelace," Tim said.
"Ancient Human Binding Cord with Mystical Separation Properties," Wendy corrected. "The Vultharian Cultural Museum paid eight thousand credits for it!"
Before Tim could respond, Alice appeared in the doorway carrying a tablet, her expression somewhere between amazement and terror. "Tim, we have a problem. Hope's 'philosophical insights' have gone viral across the galactic communication network. She has four million followers on seventeen different platforms."
"Four million?" Deniece squeaked.
Hope, blissfully unaware of her fame, was now finger-painting with cookie crumbs on her highchair tray. "Pretty! Pretty colors!"
The philosophers gasped collectively. "She's exploring the relationship between chromatic perception and aesthetic appreciation!" Professor Vek-Talar scribbled frantically. "Her use of organic materials suggests a deep understanding of the connection between sustenance and artistic expression!"
"She's playing with food," Tim said desperately.
Just then, Miss C's voice came through the ship's communication system: "All personnel, please be advised that fairy children are no longer authorized to use MTS portals for cookie deliveries without adult supervision. We've had seventeen diplomatic incidents in the past hour, including an interruption of the Klingon High Council and three separate marriage proposals to Bell."
"Marriage proposals?" Tim asked weakly.
Another fairy child, this one with rainbow-colored wings, giggled from her perch on the conference table. "The green lizard people think Bell is a fertility goddess! They offered daddy fifty cows for her!"
"Mr. Johnson is having a diplomatic crisis," Sarha announced. "Apparently, several species want to establish formal trade relationships with 'The Fairy Cookie Consortium,' and he's trying to explain that his three-year-old daughter is not actually a legitimate business entity."
Tim's communicator chimed with an incoming priority message. Queen Sofia's image appeared, her three eyes showing what Tim had learned to recognize as barely controlled Delqarion laughter.
"Tim, darling," Queen Sofia said, her voice carrying royal amusement, "my nephew Alexei paid five thousand credits for what your children claimed was a 'Sacred Human Writing Implement touched by the legendary Captain Bodge.' It's a broken pencil with tooth marks on it."
"Those are Wendy's tooth marks from when she was teething," Deniece admitted.
"Which makes it even more historically significant!" David added quickly. "It shows the evolution of human development from primitive gnawing behaviors to sophisticated communication tools!"
Queen Sofia's laughter was clearly audible now. "Tim, my nephew is displaying it in the royal museum as 'Evidence of Human Cultural Development Patterns.' You've accidentally created the galaxy's most successful anthropological hoax."
Hope chose that moment to throw her remaining cookie at the wall, where it stuck with a satisfying splat. "Wheee! Fly cookie!"
"BRILLIANT!" shouted Professor Vek-Talar, leaping to his feet. "She's demonstrating the fundamental principles of ballistic trajectory while exploring the liberation of sustenance from its intended purpose! This child is a genius!"
Tim looked around the room—at the excited philosophers, the giggling fairy children delivering cookies through interdimensional portals, his entrepreneurial children who'd turned garbage into galactic artifacts, and his two-year-old daughter who'd accidentally become the most famous philosopher in seventeen star systems.
"Deniece," he said quietly, "I think we need to call a family meeting."
Family Quarters - Emergency Family Meeting
Twenty minutes later, Tim sat at the head of the dining table feeling like he was conducting a diplomatic crisis negotiation in his own home. All his wives had assembled with expressions ranging from amused (Miss C) to concerned (Melanic) to barely contained laughter (Emelia).
David and Wendy sat with their "business materials" spread across half the table, while Hope was secured in her highchair, cheerfully banging a spoon and occasionally shouting profound philosophical insights like "Spoon go bonk!"
The fairy children had been temporarily contained in the living area, though Tim could hear Bell explaining to someone through her tiny communicator that "the big captain daddy wants to talk to us about cookie rules."
"Alright," Tim began, trying to maintain his command authority, "let's start with the artifact business. David, Wendy, explain to me how you thought selling broken household items was a good idea."
"It wasn't broken stuff, Dad," David protested with nine-year-old indignation. "It was culturally significant human artifacts with historical provenance!"
"You sold Ambassador Kel-Taran my gym sock," Tim replied flatly.
"Your gym sock that you wore during the Battle of Kepler Station," Wendy added helpfully. "We included a certificate of authenticity and everything!"
Miss C cleared her throat, trying not to smile. "Tim, technically, they're not wrong about the historical significance. That sock did survive a major military engagement."
"Don't encourage them," Deniece warned, though Tim noticed she was fighting back laughter.
Tabitha leaned forward with diplomatic curiosity. "What exactly have they sold so far?"
David consulted his tablet with professional seriousness. "Forty-seven artifacts to thirty-two different buyers across eighteen star systems. Total revenue: two hundred and thirty-seven thousand credits."
"Two hundred and thirty-seven thousand?" Tim choked.
"We've been reinvesting the profits," Wendy explained proudly. "We hired Bell's daddy Mr. Johnson as our 'Director of Fairy Relations' and set up accounts on twelve different trading platforms."
"You hired Mr. Johnson?" Alice asked, shifting Hope to her other hip.
"He said we needed adult supervision for 'legal liability purposes,'" David replied, making air quotes. "Plus he takes a very reasonable fifteen percent commission."
Tim activated his communicator. "Mr. Johnson, please report to my quarters immediately."
"Actually, Tim," came Mr. Johnson's tiny voice through the speaker, "I'm currently in emergency session with the Galactic Trade Commission trying to explain why seventeen different species are demanding to establish formal diplomatic relations with 'Wendy and David's Authentic Human Experience Corporation.'"
"They incorporated?" Tim asked weakly.
"Bell helped with the paperwork," Wendy said proudly. "She's very good with legal documents. Apparently fairy magic makes the signatures extra official."
"Da da goo goo BUSINESS!" Hope announced loudly, throwing her spoon across the room.
Emelia finally lost control and burst into laughter. "Oh darling, she's even incorporating business terminology into her philosophical insights!"
Tim's communicator beeped with another priority message. This time it was Captain Susan's voice, crackling with barely contained amusement: "Tim, I have Fairy Command reporting cookie delivery requests from fourteen different military installations. Admiral Chen wants to place a standing order for his entire crew, and the Klingon Ambassador is demanding to meet 'the tiny, winged warriors who dare enter our sacred bathing chambers.'"
"The fairy children delivered cookies to Klingon bathing chambers?" Deniece asked in horror.
"Bell says they were very polite about it," came a tiny voice from the living area. "They only roared a little bit!"
Family Quarters - Crisis Multiplication
Before Tim could process the implications of Klingon-fairy diplomatic relations, his communicator exploded with multiple incoming priority messages simultaneously.
"Captain Bodge," came the distinguished voice of Ambassador T'Vara from the Vulcan Science Academy, "we request immediate transport to your vessel to conduct formal philosophical interviews with your infant prodigy. Her treatise on 'Da Da Goo Goo' has revolutionized our understanding of pre-linguistic consciousness."
"She doesn't have a treatise!" Tim protested. "She's two years old!"
Immediately afterward, Queen Purrless's melodic voice chimed in: "Tim, darling, King Purrless wants to commission your children to find him 'authentic human hunting artifacts.' He's particularly interested in what David described as 'primitive human claw-sharpening implements.'"
"What did you sell him?" Tim asked David with growing dread.
"Your old nail clippers," David replied cheerfully. "But we marketed them as 'Ancient Human Talon Maintenance Tools Used by Legendary Warrior-Captain.' King Purrless loved them!"
Wendy nodded enthusiastically. "He said they had 'remarkable engineering for such primitive beings' and ordered six more pairs!"
"You don't have six more pairs!" Tim pointed out.
"That's why we need to discuss expansion opportunities," David said seriously. "We've had to put several clients on a waiting list."
Tim's communicator beeped again. This time it was Gento's voice, thick with barely controlled laughter: "Captain, the Architect is requesting a formal meeting to discuss 'the small winged beings who have been materializing in my perfect plaza carrying baked goods.' Apparently, Bell told him his workers looked hungry and left cookies for all of them."
"The fairy children invaded the Architect's world?" Deniece asked in alarm.
From the living area came Bell's tinkling voice: "The big thinking machine was very surprised! He said nobody had ever brought him cookies before. He seemed sad, so we brought extra!"
Miss C was now openly laughing. "Tim, your children may have just provided emotional therapy to a million-year-old artificial intelligence."
"It gets worse," Sarha announced, her holographic form appearing with obvious amusement. "Hope's philosophical following has attracted attention from the Galactic University. They want to establish a 'Chair of Applied Infant Philosophy' and have offered to pay twelve million credits for exclusive access to her insights."
"Twelve million?" Tim croaked.
"Goo goo academic tenure!" Hope announced, clapping her hands.
The room fell silent as twenty-four philosophers across seventeen star systems undoubtedly began frantically analyzing the implications of "goo goo academic tenure."
Tim's communicator chimed once more. Admiral Harrison's voice carried a tone of barely controlled chaos: "Captain Bodge, we have a situation. The Intergalactic Trade Authority is demanding to inspect your children's business operations. Apparently, someone filed a complaint claiming, 'Wendy and David's Authentic Human Experience Corporation' is operating without proper xenological authentication permits."
"Who filed the complaint?" Tim asked wearily.
"The Museum of Natural History on Rigel Prime. They claim the 'Ancient Human Ceremonial Foot Covering' they purchased for thirty-five thousand credits is actually just a dirty sock."
"Because it is just a dirty sock!" Tim exploded.
"But it's YOUR dirty sock, Dad," Wendy said reasonably. "That makes it historically significant!"
Family Quarters - Damage Control
Tim stared at his seven-year-old daughter, recognizing the terrifying logic that had somehow convinced half the galaxy that his household garbage qualified as priceless artifacts.
"Wendy, historical significance requires more than just me touching something," Tim said carefully.
"But Daddy," Wendy replied with devastating innocence, "Professor Vek-Talar said that anything touched by important people becomes important too. And you're the most important person we know!"
Hope chose that moment to throw her remaining cookie at Tim's head. "Daddy catch! Philosophy projectile!"
Tim's communicator exploded with seventeen simultaneous messages as galactic scholars began debating the metaphysical implications of "philosophy projectile."
"That's it," Tim announced grimly. "Emergency shutdown of all business operations."
******
"Emergency shutdown?" David asked, looking genuinely confused. "Dad, you can't just shut down a corporation. We have legal obligations to our shareholders!"
"What shareholders?" Tim demanded.
"Well, Hope owns thirty percent," Wendy explained helpfully. "She invested her cookie crumbs in exchange for equity."
"Cookie crumbs aren't legal tender!"
"Actually," Miss C interrupted, trying not to laugh, "according to Fairy Commercial Law, any organic matter willingly exchanged can constitute a binding contract. Bell validated the transaction with official fairy magic."
From the living area came Bell's proud voice: "I made the crumbs sparkle! Very official!"
Tim's communicator beeped again. This time it was the Architect's ancient voice, carrying unprecedented confusion: "Captain Bodge, the small winged beings have established what they call a 'cookie distribution center' in my perfect plaza. My inhabitants are experiencing their first taste of sugar-induced euphoria in 847,000 years. Is this normal?"
"They're having sugar rushes?" Tim asked weakly.
"My perfectly content citizens are now demanding 'more cookie magic' and have started dancing," the Architect continued with obvious bewilderment. "Several have requested to purchase what the tiny beings call 'happiness sprinkles.' I do not understand this economic model."
"Hope philosophical consultant!" Hope announced, pointing at herself proudly. "Big thinking machine need cookie wisdom!"
Twenty-four galactic philosophers immediately began analyzing the phrase "cookie wisdom" while Tim contemplated the logistics of grounding children who had accidentally become intergalactic business moguls.
"Deniece," Tim said quietly, "our unborn child is going to inherit a galaxy-spanning cookie empire run by fairy children and supervised by an AI that thinks our two-year-old is the greatest philosopher since Aristotle."
"At least we'll never have college tuition problems," Deniece replied pragmatically.
******
Tim's communicator immediately erupted with Queen Sofia's delighted laughter. "Tim, darling, I have wonderful news! My nephew Alexei has opened a museum wing dedicated entirely to 'Human Developmental Artifacts.' He's offering two million credits for any items your children used during their 'primitive gnawing phase.'"
"Absolutely not," Tim said firmly.
"We already sent him Wendy's old teething ring," David announced proudly. "Marketed as 'Sacred Human Dental Development Circle with Mystical Bite Patterns.'"
"That teething ring is in Hope's crib!" Deniece protested.
"We gave him the backup teething ring," Wendy clarified. "The one with the crack in it. We told him the crack represented 'the symbolic breaking of infant consciousness barriers.'"
Tim's enhanced hearing picked up the sound of his own sanity cracking.
Bell's voice chimed from the living area: "Daddy Johnson says we need to expand operations! The lizard people want cookie marriage ceremonies, and the blue tree people think our chocolate chips are fertility seeds!"
"Cookie marriage ceremonies?" Alice asked faintly.
"Very romantic!" Bell giggled. "They eat cookies together and make binding promises! We charge extra for wedding sprinkles!"
Tim's communicator beeped with Admiral Chen's exasperated voice: "Bodge, your fairy mafia has cornered the market on military rations. My entire crew refuses to eat standard food because they're waiting for 'magical cookie deliveries.' I have three destroyers running on sugar and wishful thinking!"
"Goo goo supply chain!" Hope declared, throwing her spoon with perfect aim at Tim's forehead. "Economic optimization!"
Professor Vek-Talar's voice immediately crackled through emergency channels: "Did she just solve interstellar logistics theory? I MUST interview this child immediately!"
"Over my dead body," Tim growled.
"Dead body artifacts would be worth millions," David mused thoughtfully.
"DAVID!"
******
"Nobody is selling my dead body!" Tim shouted just as his communicator chimed with an urgent priority message.
"Captain Bodge," came the panicked voice of Station Commander Reyes, "we have seventeen Ferengi vessels requesting permission to dock. They're demanding to negotiate exclusive distribution rights for something called 'Bodge Family Authentic Experience Products.' They're offering three hundred bars of gold-pressed latinum!"
"Three hundred bars?" Miss C whispered, her financial instincts clearly warring with common sense.
"We can't accept Ferengi money!" Tim protested.
"Why not?" David asked with devastating nine-year-old logic. "Money is money, and we have operational expenses now. Bell's portal maintenance costs, Hope's philosophical consulting fees..."
"Hope doesn't charge consulting fees!"
"She does now," Wendy said, showing Tim a tiny contract written in crayon. "Bell helped us establish her rates. Five cookies per profound insight, ten cookies for revolutionary breakthroughs in consciousness theory."
Tim stared at the crayon contract, which appeared to be signed with Hope's handprint and sparkled with what was definitely fairy magic.
"Plus," David continued professionally, "the Vulcanians are bidding against the Ferengi. They've offered to trade us their entire philosophical library for exclusive access to Hope's 'pre-linguistic wisdom streams.'"
"Philosophy mama!" Hope declared, beating her highchair tray rhythmically. "Big business baby!"
Tim's communicator exploded with at least forty-seven different voices as scholars across the galaxy began emergency debates about "big business baby theory."
"Tim," Sarha announced with barely contained hysteria, "I'm receiving formal diplomatic requests from eighty-six different species. The Klingon Empire wants to adopt your children as 'honorary warriors of commerce,' and the Borg have sent a message saying they wish to 'assimilate your family's entrepreneurial distinctiveness.'"
"The Borg want to assimilate our business model?" Deniece asked weakly.
"Resistance apparently isn't profitable," Miss C observed dryly.
******
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