Human Test

by E. M. Foner

  “Did you do this in PowerPoint?” Pffift asked when the first graph appeared. “I’m a bit burned out on it from visiting Earth.”

  “I’m afraid I’m unfamiliar with the term,” Ching said. “The video for the presentation consists of close-ups of hand-drawn graphics, though we do use wooden templates to trace some of the common shapes.”

  “It’s very professional,” I assured him. “Is the horizontal axis interval in years or decades?”

  “It’s decades, unless their calendar counts by tens,” Pffift said, leaning forward as if being a foot closer to the wall-sized graph would make a difference. “Your growth rate is decelerating faster than I would have guessed.”

  “And there lies the crux of our problem,” Ching told us. “Within a generation, we expect to reach market saturation through the distribution channels established by the Ferrymen, and our analysts believe we have already discovered the ideal price point.”

  “Exclusive, but not too exclusive to lose market share,” Pffift said.

  I nodded and tried to look knowledgeable about galactic retail so as not to be left out of the discussion.

  “Next slide,” Ching called, and Hilde pressed a button on the editing station. “Sorry we don’t have remotes but we rarely use the functionality to display stills.”

  A pie chart appeared, thankfully, the two-dimensional variety that actually conveyed information. A consummate professional, Ching eschewed reading from the slide in favor of explaining why the data mattered.

  “The Ferrymen’s trading network covers less than twenty percent of the densely occupied volumes of the galaxy. They haven’t added any routes or signed any new trade treaties in tens of thousands of years, if not longer. The most profitable part of their operation has long been their small network of outlet stores located in the capitals of important planets, but the bulk of our export goods are sold at wholesale to distributors.”

  “Do you maintain price stability across the different species?” Pffift asked.

  “Alas, no, which leads to a thriving grey market for our goods re-exported from one world to the next. We’re told that the League never managed to get more than a fraction of its members to sign a treaty supporting a manufacturer’s suggested retail price, and inter-species market arbitrage is common.”

  “Put ‘em all on allocation,” Pffift growled. “If you let some aliens buy at any quantity, they’ll just go into competition with you in your best markets.”

  “Our hands are tied in this matter,” Ester put in. “We can occasionally negotiate with buyers on the local level, but low-cost access to spaceports under the Ferrymen’s existing treaties is the name of the game.”

  “So you’re facing a ceiling to your unit growth, and at the same time you don’t have the ships to extend your reach within the League.”

  “Within or without,” Ching commented. “If we join the League, we lose the umbrella of the Ferrymen’s distribution network in addition to our transportation, not to mention opening our worlds to hordes of tourists. And given the time-intensive nature of our production, it’s not as profitable as you might think. But if we could slowly begin expanding beyond our current bounds while largely adhering to the Ferrymen’s covenant, we should be able to develop ample new markets for our goods while establishing a financial cushion against the inevitable breakup.”

  “You want to access the other eighty-percent part of the pie,” I said.

  “No, the other one percent,” Pffift corrected me, pointing towards the narrow white wedge at the top of the pie chart. “Your color choice wasn’t ideal in this instance.”

  “It’s what I get for hurrying,” Ching said. “You’re supposition is correct. Despite their inherent lack of ambition—”

  “Laziness,” Ester interjected.

  “—the Ferrymen are paranoid about their markets and employ agents to monitor their agreements.”

  “So it’s not as simple as obtaining alternative transportation and financing to set up a sales network in untapped regions,” I said slowly, as their problem began to make sense. “You almost need to create new goods for new markets that can’t be associated with the reservation worlds.”

  “That’s partially correct,” Pffift said. “New trading partners are certainly required, but I don’t see why you can’t stick with hand-crafted versions of whatever mass-produced accessories are already popular in your target market. Even the most egalitarian species have a market for luxury goods, though it may be limited to family heirlooms.”

  “But it’s impossible to keep a secret in retail,” Ester pointed out. “Some alien will wear a hand-stitched something to a trade show in a section of space where the Ferrymen’s agents are active, and next thing you know we’ll have a full-scale investigation breathing down our backs.”

  “Not if you launder your products through Earth,” Pffift said triumphantly. “My ship has three times the capacity of a Ferrymen freighter. How many trips would it take to make your one percent?”

  “Two a year at most,” Ching said, his voice rising in excitement. “Our focus has always been on quality, not quantity. But what about the paperwork?”

  “No problem,” Pffift said. “As long as I stop at Earth for a few weeks and activate my League location transponder after getting there nobody will suspect a thing. I could also get you citizenship papers for any nation on the planet, which probably isn’t a bad idea since you could start building groups of people with access to the portal network that way.”

  “And in return?” Hilde prompted the Hanker.

  “Exclusivity,” the Hanker said, and I’d swear from his body language that he was fighting off the urge to hug himself. “Earth stiffed me out of hundreds of tons of gold, so the opportunity to make something out of the connection is irresistible. Besides, if these suits I brought over are any indication, I should be able to earn good money on both directions.”

  “That brings us to finance,” Ching said, gesturing for Hilde to advance the slide. A dense grid of figures appeared, and Pffift actually rose from the bench and moved closer to study them. “Ever since taking over the business side of the operation from the Ferrymen, we’ve continued paying our artisans for piecework, and putting our eighty-five percent of the net into the planetary coffers.”

  “Do you share that across the three worlds?” I asked.

  “We all pull our own weight,” Ester replied.

  “The Ferrymen are overcharging you for use of their freighters,” Pffift said, as if the loss was his own. “Don’t tell me that you bank with them as well or your savings are as good as gone.”

  “We aren’t daft,” Ching replied. “All of our profits are converted to gold and brought back here on the empty freighters.”

  “That’s no way to run a business,” the Hanker told them. “The gold is fine, but running empty is crazy. Surely there must be goods to import that won’t break your deal with the Ferrymen or upset the workings of your society.”

  “Ball bearings, low-cost optical components, medical nanobots, some small things like that,” Hilde said. “But we’re trying to build up our savings, and you don’t do that by going on a spending spree. The ship leases are expensive, but we’re not on the hook for maintenance or insurance.”

  “Next slide,” Ching requested, and a picture of two proud-looking dogs behind a whole basket of newborn puppies appeared. “Oops. Family picture. I have no idea how that got in here.”

  A loud thumping came from below the front bench, and I leaned over to see Spot grinning at the projection, his tail whacking the floor.

  Sixteen

  “It’s getting late, eBeth,” I told the girl. “Let’s wrap it up for tonight and you can finish tomorrow. I’m not judging you on time.”

  “Was that your idea of clockmaker humor? It’s not helping.”

  “Seriously, eBeth, I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Zeno clocks are notorious for experimental variations, and I have no doubt that the reason this one sat in a barn so
long is that the previous owner gave up on restoring it. You’ve only been at it for a week.”

  “Is that what I’m going to tell a customer when I take their clock apart on a service call and can’t put it back together?” She glanced at her wrist watch and shot me an annoyed look. “It’s barely past nine. Do you still think of me as a kid?”

  “You’ve been at it since lunch with just a short break for dinner,” I pointed out, leaving her question unanswered. “Keep working if it makes you happy. I’m going to run down to Paul’s and pick up an armillary sphere he took in for repair.”

  “He couldn’t fix it?” eBeth asked.

  “Paul’s been building an experimental steam engine in his spare time now that everybody knows we’re aliens and he doesn’t have to pretend to be discovering incremental improvements on existing components.”

  “I thought the locals were sticking with the covenant.”

  “The ban is on internal combustion engines. Steam engines use external combustion to heat a boiler.”

  “Like burning wood or coal?”

  “That was the progression on Earth, but this world has limited coal reserves, most of which are used for steelmaking, both for heating the blast furnace and as metallurgical coal. Fortunately, Pffift had some glow-stones in his cargo. They’re quite cheap as far as energy sources go, so that’s what Paul will use to heat the boiler.”

  “If you see Peter, tell him I’m sorry for what I said about his idea.”

  “What idea?”

  “If I wanted you to know, I would have told you already,” eBeth said, turning back to the partially assembled clock.

  I headed upstairs and invited Spot along for his evening constitutional, but he ignored me, probably hoping that Pffift would return with more dog treats. The sun had long since set and there were only two partial moons overhead, so other than a few candles in windows and the lantern that Justin had hung in front of the apothecary shop, the village was dark. I didn’t encounter anyone on my way to the machine shop, where Paul and Peter were both working at lathes.

  “You’re not pumping the treadle,” I observed.

  “Popped through the portal to Earth a couple days ago and picked up some DC motors,” Paul said, stepping back from the machine. “I’m running them off lithium-ion batteries and recharging them myself.”

  “Why didn’t you just bring back a Tesla?” I grumbled.

  “You know it wouldn’t fit through the portal,” he replied seriously. “Besides, there aren’t any charging stations and the roads aren’t built for cars.”

  “So why now?”

  “Got a backlog of orders longer than your arm for carriage suspension upgrade kits and I’m finally earning some serious coin. Have the spaceport authorities been back in touch?”

  “Everything is going through Saul until the three planets have a chance to select negotiators. Practically all of their governmental functions happen at the county level, so the closest thing they have to worldwide representation is a business advisory committee that coordinates production of exports across the three worlds.”

  “How do they do that without the ability to communicate faster than light?” Peter asked.

  “Good question,” I told him. “They rely on correspondence, leaving each other mail at common distribution points the freighters visit, but it takes a couple months to get a message through. By the way, eBeth wanted to apologize for what she said about your idea.”

  “Really?” The teen’s face brightened. “How’s she doing on her apprenticeship graduation test?”

  “I should have found her an easier clock,” I admitted. “The truth is, I’m beginning to suspect that she only agreed to be my apprentice to please me. She talks to Sue about her teaching experiences all the time but she almost never mentions clock repairs. How about with you?”

  “She’s pretty into teaching,” Peter agreed. “She even talks about opening a night class to prepare tourists for visiting Earth. Not just English, you know, but how to fit in and stuff.”

  “eBeth never mentioned it to me,” I said.

  “Then don’t tell her I told you,” he amended himself hastily.

  “The sphere is on the counter over there,” Paul told me, pointing at the storage bench where he kept the more intricate pieces customers brought in. “I quoted five silvers for a cleaning, plus parts and labor if anything needs replacing. I didn’t take a lot of time with it, but it looked to me like it’s all there and nothing is corroded.”

  “Thanks.” The armillary sphere consisted of a number of concentric rings and partial shells mounted on an arm attached to a heavy bronze base, but the whole thing was a bit lopsided and flattened on one side. “It’s been dropped.”

  “I don’t think she would have brought it in otherwise. You’re good at bending.”

  “If the metal hasn’t stretched too much,” I said, picking up the sphere. “What happened to your steam engine project?”

  “Back burner until this order is finished. Then I’m going to use it to power an overhead shaft and convert the whole machine shop to belt drive.”

  “Seems like a lot of effort for a couple of lathes, a drill press and a bench grinder.”

  “You’re not the only one with an apprentice to keep amused,” he said, turning back to the still-spinning work in the lathe. “Plus, I’m building equity in the business.”

  There’s something hypnotic about watching a ribbon of metal getting shaved off of a turning part and creating a spring-like coil on the floor. I wondered if this is how humans felt when watching somebody carefully peel an apple without breaking the spiral of removed skin. Eventually I snapped out of it and said, “I better get back and see how eBeth is doing on her test. Don’t forget our meeting tomorrow. You too, Peter.”

  “I’ll be there Mr. Ai.”

  On my way back to The Eatery, I reflexively glanced over at the apothecary shop’s security camera and saw that the lens had again been covered with gum. I considered taking a minute to clean it, but that would have involved finding a ladder since my arms weren’t as long as those of the Originals.

  Your camera is gummed up, I sent to Kim.

  What else is new? she shot back. I’ll send Justin out to clean it in the morning. It’s easier after the gum dries a bit.

  Don’t forget our meeting tomorrow.

  I put a note on the cash register to remind myself.

  The gum on the camera had me expecting to see Art and his three clones waiting at the bar when I entered The Eatery, but the room was dark, which meant that Sue had called it quits for the night. I considered once again simply closing the bar after dark on weeknights since the villagers just weren’t tippling enough to bother staying open.

  From the top of the basement stairs, I heard a fuzzy whine that sounded like something between Spot expressing his displeasure at being left behind on a trip and the waterfall at the miller’s dam. The stairwell was open, so I set aside the sphere, got down on my hands and knees, and stuck my head out to peer around the corner.

  “Enough, already,” eBeth shouted at Spot and the Original who was lying on the floor, nose to nose with the dog. “If you want to play stare-down, do it without the sound effects.”

  The two ceased their noise just as I began analyzing the audio stream and recognized a modulated carrier of sorts. The Original had obviously been trying to communicate with the dog, and it made me grin to think that an artificial intelligence who claimed to be older than Library could be taken in by Spot’s ability to mimic sounds within his vocal range. I straightened back up and announced my return by intentionally clomping down the stairs.

  “What’s that?” eBeth asked as I stepped over the supine Original and placed the armillary sphere on the to-do bench.

  “Paul’s overflow,” I told her. “They’re so busy turning out suspension conversion kits for carriages that he can’t be bothered with repair jobs. I hope Art and his clones haven’t been pestering you.”

  “Art’s cool,�
�� eBeth said, making a vague gesture to take in the Originals, all sixteen of them. I did a quick double-check with my active scanning suite to make sure they were all Art and he hadn’t snuck another AI into the mix. “So what do you think?”

  “What do I think about—you’re finished?”

  “Yeah. I guess I was just nervous with you looking over my shoulder the whole time. It was the same when you were teaching me how to drive.”

  “Don’t blame that on me,” I protested as I studied the assembled turret clock. “You learned to drive from video games.”

  I couldn’t help noticing a number of slates from the bar now displayed hand-drawn, step-by-step assembly instructions for the tricky part of the movement. eBeth saw my eyes stray and hastily made a pile of the slates, face-down.

  “Have you started it yet?” I asked.

  “I was waiting for you,” she replied, and gave the pendulum a nudge.

  The escapement began ticking away and the gear train functioned smoothly. If the clock-face linkage had been attached, I had no doubt it would function, though I’d need more data samples to judge the accuracy. I suppose I could have lectured Art about kibitzing during tests, but I was relieved that eBeth had finished the project, which I now suspected she had only undertaken so as not to disappoint me.

  “Looks great,” I said. “There’s no point trying to calibrate it here with just the bench weight to keep it moving. I’ll install it in the clock tower of the Ferrymen Temple tomorrow morning and do it onsite. Congratulations on completing your apprenticeship.”

  “I think we both know now that I’m not going to go into business competing with you,” eBeth told me. “I like puzzling things out, but all the cleaning and metal splinters were beginning to get on my nerves. I want to talk to you about setting up a sort of a training school for tourists going to Earth.”

  “Through our portal.”