Far Travels, The Gracchian Adventures, Book One
Page 4
Chapter 4
A Day in the Life, Gracchia
===============
The gradually brightening lights-- thousands of little chips-- in her bedroom ceiling and walls woke Abby up on this Thursday morning. She loved their house on Gracchia; and after only a month on this new planet, it already felt like home. Abby was eager to get up; this was the day at school that they were doing their class presentations on Vannevarian Art, and she was really proud of her project. She sprang out of her bed-- part of a large niche in the wall in the Gracchus style-- and began shuffling through her drawers for the right clothes. It was still very cool out and might rain later. This was the season the Gracchus called 'Cool Shyness' which eventually would change to 'Gently Warm Blossom.' They didn't have months, exactly, just change of seasons which all had funny names. Abby pulled out a favorite pink sweater for the cool day.
==============
Just after their arrival on Gracchia, Dad had announced that Tom and Abby would be starting school again in a couple of days. At first, Tom had thought his father was joking. After all, they'd just finished the school year on Earth, and both Tom and Abby were looking forward to summer vacation.
As Dad explained it, there were two things wrong with this assumption: 1) It wasn't summer on Gracchia. When the Ellsworths had arrived, the northern hemisphere (where Aurelia was located) was about sixty days past its winter solstice. In Earth terms, this meant that it was the Gracchian equivalent of February here. 2) The school year didn't exactly follow the same pattern as back in America. The school that Abby and Tom would attend had a month break for the Christmas holidays (Christmas came in early fall here) and otherwise kept a schedule of two months of school, two weeks off, throughout the year.
The seasons on Gracchia, while not being in coordination with those of the other Worlds except by chance, were similar in intensity to Earth seasons since the tilt of the planet's axis was close to the same. Bizarrely, there were still those who thought that all these planetary similarities must be due to pure coincidence.
The Gracchian year was close to the same length as an Earth year; it was longer by about three days. In fact, the length of a year on all of the 256 Worlds was the same to within one percent of each other. Most of the Humans staying for longer than a couple of days on Gracchia simply had an Earth chronometer showing what day and month it was back in their native solar system and used that as an approximate calendar. Humans simply imposed their seven-day week on their lives on Gracchia. It worked as well as anything else; the Gracchus were very relaxed about schedules and clocks. Wristwatches were worn as ornaments from Earth, not as timepieces. Naturally, each of the other species, too, had their own methods for marking time. The Aeris and especially the Elihu liked to divide time down into small increments and maintained a set schedule. The Nawak were more fluid, like the Gracchus. Humans and Vannevar fell somewhere between these two poles.
"In school, you'll meet the other Human children and make friends," Dad had said in a persuasive voice. "And I'll be busy setting up an office." Even before they'd left Earth, Oliver had consulted with Macready here on Gracchia about which educational choices he had for Abby and Tom. Oliver had trusted his friend when Macready wrote that the best school for them right now would be the one run by Miranda Tavish. 'She's sound,' were his words. Back when Macready had been in the Army, 'sound' was high praise. And he'd been right; Oliver thought Ms. Tavish was wonderful.
==============
Faintly, Tom could hear his sister stirring in the bedroom next to his, and he hurried up dressing so he could use the bathroom before her. Abby was always so slow.
The bathroom was one of Tom's favorite parts of the Gracchus house. He had experimented with the controls, and now the lights in the bathroom moved across the walls in shifting lines of light and dark blue; it was like being at the bottom of a swimming pool which was especially fun when he was taking a bath. When Abby was in here, she usually set the light controls to a rose pink, and Dad liked just a normal, boring white light. Tom and Abby had squabbled over which setting to keep with Dad threatening to impose his own choice on all of them until Tom had discovered that the preferences could be keyed to each individual's presence.
Also fun was the toilet. It looked more or less like a normal toilet if a toilet had been carved out of dark granite except for it was dry inside and didn't seem to have an outlet. If Prospero hadn't bothered to mention it, the Ellsworths might have thought it was out of use. After usage, a metal plate came across the opening and an automatic incinerator completely destroyed whatever had been left inside, and then the plate slid back, leaving an immaculate bowl behind. Without his father's knowledge, Tom had tried dropping various objects in the bowl to see what would happen. So far, the toilet had managed to incinerate a tennis ball, an old shoe and a ratty pair of shorts.
Even though the toilet didn't have water, the sink area had a continuous flowing stream. The warmish water came out of a spout, flowed through a small trough, and continued out a drain. Tom didn't know where it went or if somehow the water was recycled. He liked to find these kind of things out. The bath was similar, but on a much larger scale, and it formed a deep pool before draining. As a concession to Human preferences, the bath water could be made hot, though it was the trough that was warmed rather than the water.
In all, it was a most novel bathroom.
Tom did what he needed to do then washed and went into the kitchen for breakfast.
================
“Good morning, Tom,” Dad said. He’d laid out placemats and silverware, and three bowls sat next to a pot of burbling oatmeal on the stove.
The kitchen wasn't novel except for the continuously running water in the trough sink. The appliances-- oven, stove, refrigerator and microwave were imported from Earth, adapted to use the Gracchian power supply grid.
“Abby’s up?” Dad asked.
Tom nodded. “Bathroom.”
“Ah. Help yourself to oatmeal.”
Tom spooned a bowlful and added a liberal helping of sweet dried fruit. He declined to top it with verdinger yogurt, one of Dad’s favorite discoveries here on Gracchia.
=================
After breakfast, Abby helped her father pack lunches while Tom cleaned up the breakfast things. She made a regular peanut butter sandwich for Tommy but added a few chocolate sprinkles for him when Dad wasn't looking. The bread was good, even if it was whole wheat. It came from a store here in Aurelia, 'Lady Macbeth's Bakery,' owned by a Gracchus. For her own sandwich, Abby used a red jam-- it tasted like orangy cherries- and crumbled a few graham crackers on the jam. Her Dad looked over this concoction with a dubious eye but said nothing. He sliced some Gracchian fruit and cubed some cheese for each of them and added it to their lunch sacks.
The food that the Ellsworths ate on Gracchia was a mixture of imported Human products like the peanut butter and the graham crackers, but also a great deal of the native foods as well. When they'd moved in, the local grocer named Vaux had given Oliver an information pamphlet with the heading 'Be Not Afraid: A Guide to Local Produce.' Vaux, a Vannevar with long black hair and reddish-brown eyes, said he gave the pamphlet to all the Human newcomers since they tended to be wary of strange fruits and vegetables.
Abby reflected that Vaux didn't know her father; she didn't think he'd ever met a kind of produce he didn't like. Every morning, Dad sprinkled some eyetles on his cereal, hot or cold. Abby's private name for eyetles was 'stinkberries.' Even though they were sweet after you bit into them, they smelled horrible, like old cheese. Dad said they were full of 'antioxidants,' but on Earth the imported fruit was too expensive. Now he could have some every day.
=================
“Bye, Dad!” Tom said.
“Bye, Dad. I’ll see you this afternoon, ” Abby reminded her Dad. He was going to stop by the school to drop off her class research project.
“See you then,”
Dad waved and closed the door.
Tom and Abby picked up Luke Whipple from next door. Luke and his parents had lived on Gracchia for more than a year, and he went to Ms. Tavish's school, too. Luke was twelve years old and had become Tom's best friend; Abby liked him, too. He'd helped guide them around the first few days.
" 'Bye, Mom!" Luke shouted back through the door at his Mom. Sometimes she tried to kiss him goodbye on the front doorstep. Luke hurried out to join Tom and Abby.
“Hi, guys,” Luke greeted them.
“Hi, Luke,” Tom said. Abby smiled; Luke was nice.
The street was filled with activity: people of all species walking to work, running errands. Infrequently, one of the brightly colored jellycars would go whirring by. A light fog had rolled in from the Blue Pearl Sea overnight, but the air was turning bright as the sun burned it off and began to shine through, though the coolness remained.
School was a short walk away, too close even to ride their bikes. It was funny in a way to have most of the people in the city on foot, but it felt okay since almost no one was in cars. Abby and Tom could walk almost everywhere in the small city of Aurelia; back on Earth Gemma or Dad had usually driven them. It was nice not to have to wait for an adult when they wanted to go someplace.
The schoolhouse didn't look much like a school as Abby and Tom had know them, and it didn't look like one of the softly rounded Gracchus buildings, either. It looked more like a modern art museum, all glass and angles. The building was saved from coldness by the rosy tint of the glass and stonework and by the large front door made from a dark wood with red undertones. Officially, it was called the Wooster Memorial School and according to Ms. Tavish had been built by the heirs to the Nigel Wooster fortune.
Outside the building, a girl with long, curly dark hair was waiting for them, Sara Vargas. She had a firm grip on the wrist of a small, thin boy: Luis Vargas, younger brother and all-around pain. Luis was nine years old and really should have been in with Clive Staples' class for the younger kids, but he was so intellectually advanced, especially in math, that he was in with the older kids. His social skills hadn't quite caught up with his brain.
"Hi Sara. What's up?" Luke asked.
Sara sighed. "I need you to talk to Luis."
"I just want to check on it!" Luis gritted through clenched teeth. "Let go!"
Sara explained, "Yesterday Kimmy told Luis that if he pulled out forty of his hairs and wrapped them around the seed of a womble fruit then buried it on top of Avoline Hill, the fruit from the new womble bush would make Luis grow taller."
Kimmy was their name for Andrew Kimble, one of the older kids, fifteen.
Abby noticed a small bald spot on the side of Luis' head. It made her think of her patch when she'd had to get the LMD, but Luis had done this to himself.
"I don't know how someone so smart can be so stupid," Sara said. "You'll be late for class if you go to Avoline Hill now anyway."
Luke took mercy on the smaller boy. "C'mon Luis. You know Kimmy was just being a jerk. He was teasing you."
Luis stopped struggling to get free. The opinion of Luke Whipple carried much more weight than the opinion of a big sister. Still, hope died hard. "But what if he's right?"
"Even if something like that was true, do you think Kimmy would know anything about it?" Luke reasoned.
Luis considered this. He wanted to be taller so much that it had caused him to overlook the fact that Kimmy wasn't the brightest student in class. "Probably not," he admitted: the triumph of reason over hope.
"Thanks, Luke," Sara said.
They all went into class.
==============
This morning was devoted to mathematics. Abby and Sara were in the beginning geometry group along with two of the Birnbaum triplets. When Abby and Tom had first started in Ms. Tavish's class, she had given them several placement exams to find out where they were academically. Tom was already in introductory algebra, but Luke was in trigonometry along with Luis and some of the older kids.
Ms. Tavish would call each group up to her desk and go over a new lesson, then the students would return to their desks and work on problems. She encouraged them to try to find a solution themselves before asking for help. Like Nigel Wooster, Ms. Tavish liked to use an old-fashioned chalkboard to present her lessons.
There were two mornings a week devoted exclusively to math. The other blocks of time were given to English, history (mostly Human but also some from the other species), physical and urban geography, chemistry and physics.
At least once a week, there would be a guest lecturer. The two best had been Macready, friend of the Ellsworth family, who had discussed the American Revolutionary War, and Carr Whipple, Luke's Dad, who talked about a play the class was reading, "The Merry Wives of Winsor." Mr. Whipple was a Shakespeare scholar and in fact made his living lecturing among the Gracchus.
For the most part, Ms. Tavish grouped them by ability rather than age, though often the two coincided. To Abby and Tom's surprise, one of the required subjects was learning Gracchian.
"Why do we need to learn Gracchian?" Abby had ventured to ask Ms. Tavish.
"You mean why do you need to learn Gracchian when you already have an LMD?" Ms. Tavish had asked. Abby nodded.
"Well, the first and most obvious answer is that you are illiterate in Gracchian and as such can't understand the richness of the written language. Secondly, pay attention now: What am I saying?" Ms. Tavish uttered some words in Gracchian.
“You said ‘I apologize,’” Abby said.
“I heard, ‘I nakedly apologize,’” Tom said.
"What I actually said was, 'I shave my fur,' " Ms. Tavish said. "That's how the Gracchus express an apology." Abby giggled.
Ms. Tavish smiled. "The LMD gives the meaning, but not the true flavor of the language. And so that's why it's a good idea to truly know it, not just have an approximate idea. You'll understand the Gracchus and their culture better."
Once again, Tom’s LMD had picked up a little more meaning than Abby’s had, just as back on Earth when he had understood the Elihu word ‘ghost’ also encompassed the concept of ‘intruder.’ Language was slippery.
Tom and Abby had already learned the basic Gracchian alphabet-- twenty characters, but some of them changed pronunciation if there was a little * above the letter-- and they'd begun to read primer books. These were very simple, like preschoolers would use; they had a word printed out in Gracchian, then a picture above of the object. Having an LMD while learning Gracchian more deeply sometimes got in the way, but mostly it helped.
The smaller kids in Mr. Staples' class studied Gracchian too, and in fact picked the new language up quicker than the older students, Luke had told them. "At least we're still kids," he'd added. "The adults seem to have the hardest time like their brains get ossified or something."
================
Abby was glad when lunchtime came. Math was okay, and at least it was a lot easier to understand when Ms. Tavish explained something compared with some of her teachers back on Earth, but still it was hard to concentrate on geometry for an entire morning. She couldn't believe Tommy was doing algebra already, even though he'd always been better at math than she. He'd shrugged it off. "It's clear to me, that's all."
Lunch at the Wooster Memorial School was an informal affair. The eighteen younger kids in Mr. Staples class went first because the kitchen/ dining area couldn't hold all the students at once. The dining area consisted of a long refectory table and a galley-style kitchen area with a large refrigerator and a couple of microwaves. Ms. Tavish and Mr. Staples always kept a few basics on hand, 'Mr. Staples' staples,' as they were called, for any kids who forgot their lunches or simply needed more food: fruit, bread and peanut butter, canned soup. The littler kids didn't do such a great job of cleaning up; they left the long table sticky with little handprints and smears of peanut butter.
The students could also go outside. There was o
nly one picnic table out under the trees, but there was plenty of room on the grass and stone benches. This day in early spring was bright and beautiful; the fog from earlier that morning had burned off completely and the sky was clear so most of the kids opted to go outside. The grass was still damp, though, and Abby, Tom and Luke found an empty bench to sit and eat their lunches. Sara, followed by Luis, joined them. Five people on one bench was a bit crowded, but no one wanted to get wet on the grass.
"Are you guys done with your projects?" Luis mumbled, mouth full of sandwich.
Tomorrow a Vannevar artist was unveiling her latest creation, and Ms. Tavish's class was taking a field trip to see it. In preparation for the expedition, Ms. Tavish had given out a special assignment: everyone was to study some aspect of Vannevarian art and give a presentation in front of the class. Those projects were what Luis was asking about. Since the Vannevar considered every facet of life to be a possible canvas for art, the subject matter was plentiful.
"Keep it simple," Ms. Tavish had warned. "There is enough material for several lifetimes of study for entire universities. Art is the lens that the Vannevar use to view the world, and I want you to have some idea of how art affects their everyday lives. Choose just a simple aspect of it; don't pick a field like 'painting' or 'sculpture.' Those categories are too broad and they're more Earth-oriented than Vannevarian."
"I finished mine last night," Luke answered Luis. " Vannevar sports."
"That's not art," Luis said.
"It is to the Vannevar. Everything is to them, if you approach it the right way. Have you ever seen a really great baseball pitcher or runner? Even on Earth, that's a kind of art. The Vannevar just approach it more seriously."
"Luis, what did you do?" asked Abby. She’d finished her jam sandwich and was nibbling on the sliced fruit.
"Mathematics." Of course. "They have some really elegant mathematics."
"Elegant?" said Tom.
"It's a mathematical term," Luis said with a superior air.
"Abby, what did you finally choose?" Sara said, brushing crumbs off her lap.
"Food." Also of course. "I even made some kish-kish stew. Dad's going to bring it later."
Ms. Tavish came out onto the back steps and called them back inside for afternoon class.
===============
Tom went first. Originally, he had wanted to do a presentation on the Vannevars' attempts to control the weather, but this didn't offer much material since the attempts had been very short-lived. (There had been a couple of instances of catastrophic flooding). Instead, Tom's report focused on the influence of weather (uncontrolled) on Vannevarian music. There were Vannevar artists who composed pieces exclusively from the sounds and sights of storms moving across the great plains of their homeworld.
"These compositions weren't simply about what the audience could hear," he told the class, "but also could include flashes of lightning and showers of rain as a part of the music. When a new piece of music came out, audiences were advised what to wear, including what color clothing would best suit the purpose of the artist."
Tom had brought a large piece of sheet metal to class, one of the instruments that a Vannevar composer might use to simulate the sound of thunder. He shook it, and it made a convincing rumble. He had also brought along a super-soaker squirtgun for the rain effect, but Ms. Tavish said that it was unnecessary; they all understood the idea.
Sara told the history of kite flying on Vannevara. "The Vannevar don't call them kites. Their term for them is 'sky flowers,' and some of their artists have become famous for them," said Sara. She had made her own Vannevarian sky flower as an exhibit. It was truly beautiful, made of many shades of violet ribbons trailing from a gossamer cage.
Two of the older students, sisters named Shasta and McKinley Wannaker, had studied the Vannevarian art of face-painting, and Shasta demonstrated the art on her sister's face. The result was striking; McKinley looked more like a Vannevar than any of them would have believed possible with purple/red lips and amazingly elongated eyes. The Vannevars were the closest in looks to Humans anyway, and with the makeup and her naturally long, dark hair, McKinley looked like another species.
Abby went last as arranged. Just when she was starting to get nervous, her Dad tapped at the door of the classroom and poked his head around. He waggled his fingers at Abby, and she walked to the door and took the pot of kish-kish stew from him. He'd even remembered to bring the little paper cups and wooden spoons for the tasting.
"Thanks, Dad! You're the best," she whispered.
He kissed her cheek, waved at Ms. Tavish, and left.
Abby had found out that Vannevar cooking was a subject of serious disagreement. Hundreds of years before, duels had broken out between two warring camps of chef artists, the Utilitarians and the Sybarites. The history was long and complicated, but from what Abby could tell, the Utilitarians mostly confined themselves to eating root vegetables and other healthy things, and the Sybarites ate anything that stood still long enough and tasted good. The beliefs of each side offended the other. The issue had never truly been resolved, but most of the Vannevar people had moved on. Today, there were echoes of the long-ago Food Wars in the two major branches of Vannevarian cooking, or as they called it, Food Art. One side concerned itself with fulfilling nutritional needs sparingly and with little pleasure, the other, larger branch included all the spicy, elaborate and aesthetically complex foods that were traditionally thought of as Vannevarian. Abby decided that she liked this branch much better.
As part of her report, she made a large pot of kish-kish stew, made from Gracchian verdinger meat but seasoned with authentic Vannevarian spices that she'd bought from Vaux's Grocery. Dad had tried a bite after she'd finished it last night and expressed the hope that her schoolmates didn't think she was trying to kill them. The kish-kish stew was ferociously hot.
Abby explained the long-ago schism between the two camps and gave examples of food from each school of thought. At first, she was nervous about being in front of the class and her voice was a bit shaky. But after she warmed up to the topic, it was just like speaking to her friends, and she lost her momentary shyness.
"Kish-kish stew is a typical food of the Vannevar, complex and spicy" Abby concluded. "If you'd like to try it, I've made a batch." Abby gave a sample to Ms. Tavish and set out the paper cups and spoons for everyone else. The class left their desks and filed to the front for a taste. "It's really hot," she warned them.
Fortunately, the school's kitchen had a running water trough-type sink. The problem was that only a few people could use it at a time. Fred Birnbaum was the hardest hit by the burning stew; he simply poised his open mouth below the stream of water and let it rinse for about a minute. The only ones who seemed unaffected were Sara and Luis who didn't understand what all the fuss was about, and Tom, who hadn't taken any.
"Very good, Abby," Ms. Tavish said with a weak smile, eyes watering. "I see that you used the maximum amount of recommended spices: perhaps a bit strong for our tastes."
She cleared her throat and continued, “Now that you have had a sampling of the Vannevarian arts, let me tell you what they consider to be the highest art: that of negotiation.”
“Like Dad!” Abby whispered to Tom.
“Negotiation is a broad term, and the Vannevar divide it into two classifications: the common, everyday form, and the high form, practiced by a few superb artists to negotiate treaties or even terms of war between nations, between cultures. They’ve done great work for the Gracchus,” Ms.Tavish lectured. “I would encourage you to study their work further.”
Neither Tom nor Abby could imagine that the Gracchus ever went to war with anyone. They were too small and furry for war.
Andrew Kimble raised his hand.
“Yes, Andrew?”
“But the Vannevar are dueling all the time. I know; I’ve seen them.”
Ms.Tavish laughed. “That’s just the negotiator
s at play. It’s rarely serious.”
===============
"I told everyone that it was hot," Abby said indignantly as she walked home with Tom and Luke. She felt like a poisoner.
"There's hot like a sidewalk in summertime, then there's hot like a nuclear bomb," Tom pointed out.
"True. But did you see the look on Wooly's face?" Luke said. "I thought he was going to cry." John Woolsey, aka 'Wooly,' was one of the older students and very good looking.
"No he wasn't!" Abby defended Wooly. At least now he knew she existed.
"Anyway, school today was fun," said Luke, deflecting the course of the conversation.
"And tomorrow's the field trip," Tom added.
================
After Abby and Tom left for school, Oliver spent a little time tidying the house and getting ready for work. He fiddled with the lights in the bathroom before reverting to his usual plain white light. Still, it was fun to play around with them a bit. In truth, Oliver was enjoying the novelty of the foreign house. He'd even tried putting an old sock in the toilet, just to see if it incinerated completely, and it did. Couldn't tell Tom or Abby, though. Being a father meant setting a good example. Thank goodness he didn't wreck the toilet; he wasn't sure how he'd explain that one.
He took a bath; Oliver was still getting used to baths rather than showers. On the whole, he thought he preferred showers. Yet at least for now, he had the leisure for baths. Business was still slow; arbitration was a matter of reputation and trust and it took a while to become established. The best advertisement was word of mouth, and he knew that things would pick up.
================
Oliver was able to walk to his office. Both Tom and Abby had been a little shocked at having to walk everywhere, he knew, but Oliver was enjoying it immensely.
His office was located on a small side street near the central business district. Unlike the retail shops, it didn't need to attract the walk-by business, yet had to be near the trading areas, convenient for his clients. On the way to his office, Oliver walked through the commercial district. Many of the larger two-story buildings housed an amazing assortment of businesses. One honey-colored building had more than a dozen tenants, including a bookstore with the latest in Earth literature, a 'Hot Drinks!' shop, a clothing store that seemed to be for Vannevars with a great deal of rich velvet in the windows, and what was probably a toy store, although it might have been a home décor center.
Oliver stopped by the bookstore. He had become friendly with the proprietor, an elderly Gracchus named Bob.
"Ah, let me guess, my friend," Bob said as Oliver came through the door. "You want the latest adventures of the Lady Marissa!" Bob brandished a book that showed an astonishingly well-endowed woman clutched in the embrace of a pirate. The book had been a runaway bestseller on Earth and was doing well on Gracchia.
"Or perhaps you seek to know the further exploits of Flint Razor?" Flint Razor was an independently wealthy international crime fighter. This book cover had a steely-eyed hero standing in front of what appeared to be an exploding bomb with a beautiful woman clutching the hero's bulging shoulder, seemingly unaware of imminent atomization. The Gracchus had eagerly read the works of Shakespeare, but they also had a taste for some of the lighter literature from Earth.
"I think I'm going to have to pass on both of those," Oliver said. "I think I know how they're going to end."
"Ah, you've read them already?"
"Not exactly. But I do need your help," Oliver said.
"Problems in love?"
This time, Oliver laughed. "No, no. I need to get some business cards printed to give out at the trade shows." Oliver got out his wallet and rummaged around. There. An old card from his job back on Earth. "Like this, only with my Aurelia address on it." Oliver scribbled his new office address and business name on the back.
Bob took the card and gently flexed it back and forth. "Good stock, non-dissolving. Yes, I could make facsimiles of this. You give them to others to keep in the money pouch?"
"Exactly. Then when and if they need my services, my name and address are there to remind them."
"Do you have the patent on this idea?" Bob asked.
Oliver smiled. "No. Many people on Earth use them."
Bob was excited. "This could be a big seller. You don't mind if I market the concept?"
"Please do. I'll stop in tomorrow, then?"
"Wonderful," Bob said. As Oliver left the shop, Bob gave him an absentminded wave of the hand. He was already designing cards on a spare piece of paper.
=================
The sign on Oliver's office door read "Ellsworth Arbitration. Trade Disputes Resolved." The message was repeated in different languages down the length of the door. There were sweet-smelling flowering shrubs in pots along the front of the building. Here on the street, the captured warmth made plants bloom more than a month before they would in the open field. His landlord was a Gracchus named Flora, and the name suited her; she had a marvelously green thumb.
============
Oliver had found this office with only a little difficulty. During the first week that the Ellsworths had been on Gracchia, Oliver had inquired in several buildings about vacancies, but all had been unsuitable for one reason or another: One had been located above a Vannevarian restaurant with spicy odors so strong Oliver's eyes had watered. Others had been too large or too small. In one strange case, Oliver had the distinct feeling that the landlord hadn't liked him for no discernable reason. Maybe the landlord didn't like Humans, maybe he was just having a bad day. No way of telling, so no use fretting over it.
The first place he had entered in this charming small building was a shop with charts all over the walls. There were dark coverings on the windows, and the only light came from a yellow globe hanging from the ceiling. A tall, thin Elihu was seated at the sole table. "You desire prognostication? Odds on the next Bonebreaker Race?" His whiskers quivered.
Was this a bookie's office? "Uh, no, sorry. I'm wondering if you know if there are any available offices in this building?" Oliver asked.
"Mere commerce doesn't offer the essence of chance. I'd suggest you try the woodworker," the Elihu said, not discourteously.
"Thank you," Oliver said as he turned to leave.
On impulse, he turned back. This was the first Elihu he’d spoken with since meeting Ebben on Earth. “Uh. Have there been any problems with ‘ghosts’?”
The Elihu waved a thin hand. “Ghosts and rumors of interlopers.” He turned away, dismissing Oliver. Oliver left.
Oliver had noticed a furniture maker in this same building. That must be what the Elihu meant by woodworker. But what in the world did the Elihu mean by ghosts? And what was the Bonebreaker Race? Oliver sighed.
The woodworker was a small, dark-furred Gracchus. She was in the middle of beveling a table's edge with a hand tool. Oliver looked around her shop while she finished; the place was filled with tables and chairs of all sizes, made with exotic wood with swirled, burled patterns. Or at least they looked exotic to a Human, but for all Oliver knew, these gorgeous woods grew like weeds down at the local vacant lot. He'd need a desk for his office; Oliver discreetly checked out the prices on the tables.
The Gracchus finished and dusted her hands off. Oliver introduced himself, explained that he was looking for an office and told her what kind of business he did.
"This…..arbitration? It doesn't involve duelling, does it?"
"Heavens no. I work impartially to solve trade problems. Without violence or lawyers," Oliver explained. He knew Gracchia had laws-- as any civilization did-- but he doubted that any planet had quite the profusion of lawyers of his home planet.
"Good. The Vannevar have a tendency to solve little problems with duels, you know. Even in fun, it gets tiresome.”
Oliver didn't know. There was a lot he didn’t know.
"Anyway, I do have a space available.
My name is Flora; this building belongs to my family-clan," the Gracchus said.
She led Oliver out to the sidewalk and to the end of the building. "The space is off to the side; it's not a wonderful location for a shop, but perhaps it would be adequate for your needs." Flora showed him the door and added, "Take a look inside, see if it agrees with you. I'll be back in my shop."
Oliver opened the door into an elongated room. It had a single, large window looking out onto the street on its short side, then the room extended back with a series of small windows up high on the wall to let the light enter. The place was stark; the walls were unrelieved white and the floor made of dark stone. It put Oliver in mind of a monastery cell. Still, despite the lack of comforts, he thought it would do. And it had a small bathroom in the back. Oliver envisioned a few rugs, a bit of color on the walls, a nice desk made by Flora. He'd also need some furniture for his clients who might range in height from four feet to seven feet tall and whose weight would vary even more dramatically. Again, he could undoubtedly get advice from Flora.
================
Now, almost a month after meeting Flora and finding this place, Oliver opened his office door and looked around with pleasure. When he had first seen the office, he hadn't understood that the walls were embedded with the same tiny light chips as were in his house. With a simple push of a button, the walls were illuminated with a soft peach light that took away the starkness of the white paint. The floors had coverings made out of plaits of woven grasses. Oliver's desk was one of the tables he'd seen in Flora's shop, made of a warm, swirled chestnut colored wood. Flora had said that it came from an Albeartus tree.
Oliver sat at his gorgeous desk and looked at the case he was currently working on. He was confident it was close to a resolution:
=============
DANEGOLD AND HONORABLE
Name: Dannar Ericsson
Business: Danegold Trading Co. (Human)
Item in dispute: 1000 Cases Pickled Herring in Sour Cream
………………….
Name: Cynwulf
Business: Honorable Trading Co. (Nawak)
Item in dispute: 10 Modified Hydrogen Fuel Cells
………………….
Summary: The hydrogen fuel cells need never be opened; they are designed to work as a closed system. The Nawak have included a detonator inside the fuel cell that will explode if the unit is forced open. Ericsson says that having an explosive device inside the cell will violate import laws. Cynwulf says that Ericsson knew about the devices before agreeing to the deal and is trying to get the explosives removed so that engineers on earth can copy the Nawak fuel cell design.
Note: Cynwulf destroyed an electronic notebook belonging to Ericsson during the dispute. The Nawak have acknowledged this and have agreed to reimburse Ericsson for the cost of the notebook or deliver an equivalent replacement.
===============
Oliver spent the rest of the morning researching the European import laws. It seemed likely that Ericsson had a point, but he could not blame Cynwulf for wanting to protect their technology. Perhaps the Nawak could be persuaded to swap the explosive detonator for a tiny molecular de-bonder--of course, they were all tiny, they didn't work on a large scale. This could get around the European ban on explosives import while still satisfying Cynwulf. The problem was that molecular de-bonders were more expensive than the detonators and thus Ericsson would have to pay more of the herring. Still, the fuel cells would be a bargain and there was no equivalent to them on Earth. They'd fetch a good price. He'd go to Ericsson later and present this proposal to him.
Then Oliver realized that he had better hurry if he was to get the incendiary kish-kish stew to school on time for Abby's presentation. He rushed home, picked up Abby’s project and sped to the classroom.
================
Walking back to his office from the Wooster Memorial School, Oliver reflected that Ms. Tavish was a very attractive woman. Maybe he'd ask Macready if she was seeing anyone.
================
When Abby and Tom got home, there was a note on the counter from their Dad: "Please stop by Vaux's market for vegetables and coffee. Thanks, Love Dad." Then there was an addendum: "Scoop out the litterbox NOW!" This week, that was Tom's job.
Abby walked along the curving corridor to Tom's room and knocked on his door.
"Tommy, Dad wants you to scoop Wilson's box!" she shouted through the door.
"Okay, I'll do it later!" Tom yelled back.
"I'm going to Vaux's. Want to come?"
"No, thanks. Wait!" Tom cracked his door. "Would you get some of the crezzle nuts?" Crezzle nuts were a favorite of the Aeris and of Tom, extremely salty. Vaux's market carried them.
"Sure. I'll be back in a bit." Abby grabbed a sack and left.
===============
Tom hurriedly scooped and bagged the waste from the litterbox. He dumped the bag into the regular Human toilet, and as usual it incinerated everything without a blip. Tom wondered if Wilson could be taught to use the toilet directly. Probably not, but it would be nice.
After doing the necessary chore, Tom heard a knocking at the door. That would be Luke; he’d promised to come over and tell Tom all about the Bonebreaker Race, one of the best and most exciting events held all year.
============