"You're catering the Ambassador's Ball on Nova-7?" asked Mimsy, fifty-percent robot and one-hundred-percent friend. We were on a much-needed bar crawl through the lower galaxies when I got the news.

 

"Yes. It's huge," I said. My plucky start-up was already a hit thanks to Mimsy's social media influence and my moxie. #BeezlesBulbs

 

"You're serving pizza?" Mimsy laughed, and I swear her aerial drones were too.

 

"It's not just pizza. Beezle's Bistro and Dojo provides the best damn pie in the galaxy." I grinned broadly at the drones' cameras, but they flew away. So much for free advertising. #EatBeezlesPie

 

Mimsy's eyes glazed over as she scrolled through her various social media apps within her system matrix: Twi-X, Treads, GreySky, Instamatic, Limber, and the ultra-spicy PepperGrinder.

 

"Mimsy, Earth to Mimsy! Even with your Botox, I see that you're worried. Spill it."

 

"Beezle, darling, this is not just any ball. It's the biggest federation gathering of the tri-systems. They're going to establish new trade routes through the known Universe. Each planet's ambassador will be clamoring for the fastest course through space-time. Afterward, there will be dinner and dancing." Mimsy struck a pose and fogged video screens all the way to Nova-7.

 

"I know! Atomic Space Witch is playing! I hope they play 'Rock Me Like an Anticyclonic Storm!' Wait… are you saying my pizza, especially the viral Devil's Red Clam Pizza, is not Ball-worthy?"

 

"It was viral for all the wrong reasons."

 

"Who knew clams carried viruses?" My apology video was number one for sincerity, and #MyBad trended for weeks on DikDok. Urologists are still salty about that name grab.

 

"Plus," I added, "My pizza ranks highest across social media platforms for its cheese-to-sauce ratio, general crustiness, faux-wood smokiness, and overall garlickiness. It's a God-damn gift to what is left of humanity!"

 

"We'll see about that," Mimsy said, sending a drone after me.

 

* * *

 

The Ambassadors' Ball was held in a megadome stadium. Each delegation had its own sector. After ensuring the catering team was making my pizzas, I went to the Earth box to see what passed for diplomacy these days. I hoped they would fight it out. #SpaceTheFinalFrontier

 

Projected overhead was a map of the known Universe. Each ambassador had a small tablet that mirrored the projection but could be manipulated.

 

A gong sounded, followed by seat vibrations, smells, and flashing lights, calling the entire stadium to order. #SpaceIsAccessible

 

"We shall start with the Milky Way. Planets of Sol, please rise," said a disembodied voice. My ear translator put it into what passes for English these days. Up stood delegates from eight planets. #PlutoWasRobbed

 

They bowed to each other in a slow, methodical fashion that already had me on high-boredom alert. #BoredConThree

 

"Please, go first," said the Martian ambassador.

 

"No, please, you go first," said the Venusian.

 

"No, no, I must insist, you go!" Earth’s delegate's nose was at his knees, so deep was his bow. #ClimateChangeHotYoga

 

This back and forth would go on for an hour. It was painfully slow despite everyone's interest in the fastest trade routes. My pizzas were growing cold! I took this opportunity to hack into a tablet. I could grab the choicest routes for my growing intergalactic business. Needs must if you know what I mean.

 

I plotted a pattern of highways and byways taking me to the farthest galaxies imaginable: no tolls, optimal pirate policing, wormholes, and light-speed gravitational slipstreams. Interstellar navigation was my jam! I submitted my requests and gave Mimsy's drone a wink.

 

"It has been chosen!" said the High Ambassador, an Alpha Centaurian with a big-ass hat.

 

Everyone looked skyward as the projection displayed my carved-out time-space zones for Beezle's Bistro. Every delegate stood and emitted anger in their unique way. I won't tell you how the Morganites vent displeasure; it would scar you for life.

 

As I tried to escape the stadium, the drone started buzzing erratically about my head like a mad bee.

 

"What did you do?" Mimsy's face projected over the drone.

 

"I maaaayyy have overstepped the natural and painfully slow methods of negotiation. I maaaayyy have caused an intergalactic snafu in my favor. Shouldn't have been so easily hackable," I said, shooing away the noisy drone.

 

All eyes, pheromone sensors, and auditory appendages turned to me. Guards blocked my exit.

 

I wasn't going down easy. I was MMMA (mixed media martial arts) trained. A.I. had culled all Earth's videos to produce this deadly art form.

 

I got into a "When you're a Jet" stance followed by a "Beat It" hip thrust. Everyone in the stadium gasped.

 

"I have all the Bollywood moves and am not afraid to use them!" I took my "Rocky on the Stairs'' stance. Not to be outdone, the Martian contingent started "Macarena," and rows upon rows of non-humanoid races began preparing for claw-to-tentacle combat.

 

Before it dissolved into a chaos of killer moves, #LetsGetReadyToRumba, the High Ambassador's grinning mug filled the megadome and bounced off every screen.

 

"This miscreant has bungled into the most perfect intergalactic trade route I have ever witnessed! Let's celebrate!" he announced, throwing his big-ass hat in the air.

 

After arresting me, federation members devoured my pizza. Atomic Space Witch performed for a mass of writhing bodies, squirting pheromones, and undulating tentacles. #PartyLikeIts1999LightYearsAway

 

I watched remotely from a secure containment facility before being shipped home.

 

* * *

 

The punishment for hacking into their software was extra tolls to travel federation trade routes and two years in stasis. They waved the last bit because of my free pizza contribution, as if I had a choice.

 

According to Mimsy, space was filled with shut-ins obsessed with social media and hammering for takeout. My "PizzWizz'' app provided them the fastest routes for the hottest pizza. Downloaded a trillion times, the sheer magnitude of new orders paid for any extra tolls and jet fuel. I could now afford franchises in lesser-known galaxies and would soon be the Universe's major pizza power broker. Like MMMA, I had all the best moves. #BeezlesPiesFTW