Human Test

by E. M. Foner

  “Don’t worry about that. Any factory that exports to League worlds has to follow League standards, which includes not chaining the doors of fire exits. What passes as cheap labor rates on the galactic scale will seem like riches to anybody who’s currently working in one of those sweatshops.”

  “But if everybody quits working at making human clothes for better paying jobs making alien underwear, what will people wear?” Peter followed up.

  “Intelligent question,” Pffift said, and eBeth beamed at her boyfriend. “My theory is that rising prices are what lift an economy. When people in your country are willing to pay, say, a hundred dollars for a pair of jeans, you’ll find no shortage of locals willing to open businesses making jeans and paying their employees good wages. But if everybody on the planet would rather earn money making alien lingerie, you can always import high-tech alternatives or just go naked. It’s a pretty warm planet most of the time.”

  “What high-tech alternatives?” eBeth asked.

  “Lots of species use spray-on clothing. You just make your color choice and hit the button before getting out of the shower in the morning. Of course, it works better for bodies without hair,” he added thoughtfully.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’m finished, but you cost me at least one answer by spitting lemonade on the screen and the conversation was distracting. Everybody looked at me expectantly and I hit the ‘Score me’ button. “Eighty-four.”

  Pffift pumped his fist in the air, and Paul reached across the table with the bottle and poured me another drink.

  “A middle-B is nothing to be ashamed of, Mark,” Sue consoled me. “Just imagine if you had taken the test a year ago.”

  “I don’t get it,” I grumbled. “I thought that everybody liked me.”

  “They do,” Pffift said. “How many humans do you know who don’t have any enemies? You’re too nice.” He got up and came over to where I sat, and for a moment I thought he was patting me on the shoulder, but then I realized he was just wiping the pizza grease off his fingers before taking back the tab. “Let’s see, just as I expected. You blew all five questions related to selflessness. If you’d ever been in a human war, you would have gotten killed in the first battle.”

  “I think his willingness to sacrifice himself for others is sweet,” Sue said.

  “But it puts him at the end of the bell curve,” Pffift explained. “Passing as human isn’t about being better than the average man on the street. Too good isn’t good at this game.”

  “I’ve got flaws,” I argued. “Just before you came, Sue was pointing out that I’ve been ignoring operational security protocols and putting personal relationships before the mission.”

  “That’s why you scored as well as you did despite being such a choirboy. Listen, take me to Earth and I’ll buy a new set of questions. Six points isn’t that big of a deal on a standardized test. We’ll treat today as a practice run.”

  “He can have my place,” eBeth volunteered. “I’m not in any hurry to go back and I don’t want to lose a day of teaching.”

  “I don’t think Justin or I need anything,” Kim said. “Maybe a couple of magazines if you happen to be near a newsstand. I’m considering submitting a journal article about Earth’s pharmaceutical advertisements but I haven’t been keeping up lately.”

  “You may as well go before Pffift’s ship returns with official representatives from the reservation worlds,” Sue suggested. “Helen and I can take care of The Eatery while you’re gone.”

  “Bring back some games,” Helen said. “I’m going to hack that ‘My Life’ editing station to project streaming video.”

  “What if the villagers don’t want to watch you, eBeth, and Peter slaying monsters?” I asked.

  “We’ll play at night,” eBeth said. “Art is the only one who hangs out in the Ferrymen Temple after dark, and he’s cool.”

  I shook my head, wondering if the locals would one day remember me as the devil who introduced snakes to the Garden of Eden.

  “You know,” Pffift said, looking up from the tab he was still studying, “you got the last six questions in a row wrong.”

  “Where they changed from showing the answers below the question to above?” I asked. “I thought about checking the code, but the programming is so crude I was worried I’d see the answers by mistake.”

  “It’s not programming, it’s scripting,” the Hanker said. “Oops, I thought I fixed that. After a few tests, the buffer tends to overflow because I don’t reset any of the variables when the script launches.”

  “Where did you learn how to write script?” eBeth asked him in disgust. “Even I know better than that.”

  “Hey, I never even had one of these things in my hands before landing on Earth. I’m still having trouble figuring out the difference between the operating system and the advertisements.”

  “That’s on purpose,” I told him. “Humans are tricky that way.”

  “Well, you were choosing from the wrong row of buttons for your last six answers, though that’s reason enough to fail you right there,” Pffift said. “If you had put the answers in the right places, you would have scored—damn it.”

  “Ninety?” Sue asked, and the Hanker nodded in confirmation. “You see, Mark. You’re just as human as Pffift.”

  “He’s still not alive,” the disappointed alien mumbled.

  “What do you mean?” eBeth demanded. “Mark’s as alive as you or me.”

  “I don’t have a biological cell in my body, other than what I eat or inhale,” I told her. “Pffift is just being a sore tie-er. It doesn’t bother me. Artificial intelligence doesn’t judge its worth by biological standards.”

  “But you said that the Originals are AI, and they’re biological.”

  “The Originals are something I’ve never encountered before,” I admitted. “Art told me they took on biological forms specifically to practice magic, though they’re also on vacation.”

  “Do you think they’d be interested in some learning materials?” Pffift asked.

  “I thought you told me that the Regent of Eniniac suggested you stock up and you didn’t fall for it.”

  “I didn’t fall for it, but I bought a few things,” the Hanker said. “Do you really think I’m going to defy the wife of the Archmage over a potential inventory problem? I took a couple crates of nursery-school-for-mages kits, though they’re still on my ship since I didn’t think there was going to be a market for them here. I planned to unload it on the humans when I stopped at Earth to pick up the next shipment of tennis balls.”

  “You think that humans can learn magic?” I asked him.

  “No. What does that have to do with anything?”

  I have to admit, sales was never my strong suit.

  Eighteen

  “I’m sure Mark told us that the portal filters prevent the system from being used to move trade goods in order to protect the galactic shipping industry,” Saul cautioned the Hanker. “It’s going to be a tight squeeze as it is.”

  “There’s an exception for commercial samples carried by salesmen,” Pffift replied. “And it’s a portal, not a closet. Did you think we were all going to cram in there like college kids in a phone booth?”

  “What’s a phone booth?” eBeth asked.

  “Before your time,” I told her. “Pffift must have seen one in a movie.”

  “What are we waiting for?” the Hanker demanded. “This pack is heavier than it looks and the belt is cutting off circulation to my lower brain.”

  “Sue decided to come with us and she’ll be here momentarily. She spent the whole night baking for the children who used to be in her daycare.”

  “Here she is now,” eBeth said, as my second-in-command started up the stairs. “I’ve got to get to school, but you guys have a good time, stay out of trouble, and don’t forget what I told you about looking both ways before crossing the street. Spot, that applies to you too.”

  The dog gave a tail thump, his standard answer to instruction
s addressed in his direction that didn’t involve coming and eating. My artificial salivary glands began working overtime as Sue topped the stairs with a giant picnic basket full of fresh-baked cakes and cookies, and I couldn’t help thinking about Pavlov’s dog. Something was definitely wrong with my encounter suit, and I made another mental note to get it checked out on Library. My stack of mental notes was threatening to overflow.

  “Stop procrastinating and open the portal already,” Pffift said. “Some of us have important business on Earth.”

  “I was just working out the intra-dimensional math,” I lied, pulling open the closet door and issuing the command code. “Before we—” Spot brushed by my legs and jumped through, followed by the Hanker, whose giant backpack cleared a nice path for Sue to follow with her basket. Saul and Joshua looked at me expectantly.

  “Go ahead,” I told them, feeling more like the doorman than a mission commander. “I’ll bring up the rear.”

  The headmaster paused in the closet and asked, “Why does Earth look like a small office that hasn’t been dusted in years?”

  “The other end is in the basement of my old restaurant and the foundation needs repointing,” I told him. “Go.”

  Joshua stepped through the portal, followed closely by Saul. I grabbed Pffift’s second pack of fabric samples by the straps, and pulling the closet door closed behind me, joined them in my old office. Pffift had already started for the stairs, and Spot was likely ahead of him.

  Saul’s first words to me after stepping through an intra-dimensional portal to the homeworld of his ancestors were, “I know some good bricklayers if you want this fixed.”

  “The foundation has lasted over a hundred years and gravity is working in our favor,” I told him. “Could you grab my phone for me?”

  “Your what?”

  “The little shiny thing lying on the desk with the black cord running to the—never mind, I’ll get it,” I said. “Sue, can you show these two upstairs and I’ll be with you in a minute?”

  I unplugged the charger, swiped through the lockscreen, and groaned. Two-hundred and fourteen messages! I could see from a glance that they were all from old customers of my computer repair business who must have heard a rumor that I was back from Australia. I slung Pffift’s extra pack over one shoulder, closed the portal, locked the office door, and hurried to catch up with the others.

  “And this is a television,” I heard the lieutenant explaining slowly in an unnaturally loud voice. “Tel-e-vis-ion.”

  “Like a ‘My Life’ editing station,” the headmaster said. “Did you get everything, Saul?”

  “This translation device is amazing,” the safety inspector marveled. “I can even understand what the little people trapped in the box are saying.”

  “What’s he speaking?” the lieutenant asked. “It sounds a little like the weird language those brothers with the food truck are always yelling at each other. Good falafel, though.”

  “Joshua speaks some English but I brought you a translator so you can understand Saul,” I told him, putting my phone on the bar and pulling out another ear-cuff translator. “I just programmed it this morning so you’re the guinea pig.”

  The lieutenant accepted the device I handed him and placed it over his ear. “Somebody say something in alien,” he demanded.

  “It’s not alien. It’s a mishmash of Aramaic and ancient Mediterranean languages, just like your English grew out of German with major borrowings from Romance languages,” I informed him.

  “I hate to tell you, but you’ve got that wrong, Mark,” the lieutenant said. “Everybody knows that English is from the Latin. It’s even an expression.”

  “Very pleased to meet you,” Saul interrupted in his native tongue. Obviously, he knew the start of a pointless argument when he heard one and had decided to head it off at the pass. “May I ask the time of day?”

  “It’s ten o’clock in the morning and we won’t be opening for lunch for another hour so you showed up at a good time,” the lieutenant replied, again speaking loudly and over-enunciating his words. “Are you hungry?” He pantomimed spooning invisible food into his mouth and making exaggerated eating sounds.

  “They’re aliens, Bob, or technically speaking, foreigners,” I told the lieutenant. “They’re not hard of hearing.”

  “But this is how they trained us to speak to aliens at the special seminar the state made everybody attend after the big incident a couple months back.”

  “What incident?”

  “With the alien tourists. Man, were they angry,” he recalled with a chuckle.

  “I appreciate the effort,” Saul said diplomatically. “I don’t mean to rush anybody, but I’m anxious to see the world outside and I understand that you’re starting a travel business. Do you have an itinerary for us?”

  “I thought we’d wing it the first time and just go wherever you want,” the lieutenant replied. “I’ll be guiding you myself and then you can return the favor back on Reservation.”

  “Excuse me?” I cut in. “You were planning on going back with us?”

  “My clients are in a hurry so we can talk about it later. You’ll be here to open the portal next Tuesday at ten?”

  “I’ll make sure he doesn’t forget,” Sue said, which, given how many balls I had in the air, was both wise and generous of her. “And I’ll see you back home, Mark. I don’t want to miss snack time at Lilly’s daycare.”

  My second-in-command gave me a quick peck on the cheek and followed the lieutenant and our two beta-tourists out of the restaurant. Pffift winked, slipped behind the bar, and helped himself to a shot on his new business partner’s tab.

  “Looks like it’s just me and you,” he said happily. “I’m not in any particular hurry to head to the train station.”

  “You’re taking a train somewhere?”

  “To the closest major train station with a portal,” he replied. “Then it’s off to the waystation, and then back to Earth again in the Far East. I’m planning on visiting factories in China, Bangladesh, Indonesia, India and Vietnam.”

  “You’re planning on racking up hundreds of light years running back and forth through portals to travel a few thousand miles on Earth?”

  “I told you that flying on this world is miserable, unless you go first class, and I’m not paying five times as much to arrive a fraction of a second before a couple hundred people sitting a few rows behind me. Your engineers made the smart call putting the portals in train stations because they go everywhere I need to visit in the countries with the sewing machines.”

  “How convenient for you,” I muttered. “Are you planning on dragging both packs?”

  “I’m going to leave one here and come back for it when I start running out of samples,” Pffift told me. “Unless you want to tag along, that is.”

  “Maybe next trip. I want to return to Reservation and spend more time with Art before the negotiating teams from the other two reservation worlds arrive. I have the feeling that I’m missing something in all of this.”

  “Do you have time to drive me to the spaceport? The lieutenant always uses the Jeep that young Peter left behind so we can take the company car.”

  “The closest spaceport to here is more than a thousand miles away and it takes them years to schedule a launch,” I said. “What would you do at a spaceport anyway?”

  “I want to check on my spaceport, at the old mall. You really are having trouble with your memory, aren’t you?”

  “Just because you brought down a lander a few times doesn’t make it a spaceport,” I argued. “You need a lot of infrastructure, not to mention government permission at more levels than you can imagine.”

  “Guess again,” Pffift said, adjusting the position of his pack and pulling a keychain from a peg beside the cash register. Apparently he really had spent a good chunk of his time on Earth hanging out with the lieutenant and hatching plans. “The railroad spur to my spaceport should be finished by now. The federal government granted us extr
aterritorial status and a few other perks in exchange for returning everybody’s gold. I went with all prefab construction for the buildings.”

  “You returned all the Swiss gold and invested your own money to improve the property? That doesn’t sound like you.”

  “The tennis ball contract pays big bucks and I needed somewhere to store them,” Pffift explained. “The governments around here don’t work that badly as long as you promise to create a lot of jobs. I even got a fifty-year remission on property taxes.”

  “You just said the spaceport was granted extraterritorial status!”

  “All the more reason not to get in trouble with the locals,” the Hanker remarked as he followed me out the door. “You better drive. I never got the hang of dodging all of the idiots on the road.”

  “That’s the company car?” I asked, staring at my old van, which still had ‘www.ifitbreaks.com’ on the side. “All you did was cut the top line off of my magnetic sign. Why did you keep my website address?”

  “You let the domain name expire so I picked it up cheap. We’re using it for the tourism business.”

  “You couldn’t have come up with something that had ‘travel’ in the name?”

  “All of the good ones were taken.”

  Spot ran past us towards the van, and knowing that he would claim the passenger seat, I maliciously beeped the cargo door open. The dog hopped in and I climbed into the driver’s seat while Pffift struggled out of his pack and set it in the back. The Hanker came around to the passenger door, opened it, and smiled at the dog.

  “You know,” he said conversationally. “Humans call where you’re sitting the death seat.”

  Spot yawned, settled into a curled up position, and pretended to fall asleep.

  “Just get in the back,” I told Pffift. “It’s not a long ride.”

  “You mean, in the back with all the food?” the Hanker asked with exaggerated innocence. “The lieutenant keeps telling those kids that the van isn’t a storeroom, but it looks like somebody never brought in—”