by E. M. Foner
“Would you?” Vivian asked.
“Maybe a few,” the Dollnick AI admitted. “It appears that the Chiangans choreographed our visit in advance because one of the planetary patrol craft requested permission to dock as soon as we came out of the tunnel. And I was asked to relay a request to Mrs. McAllister that she be present.”
“Who?” Julie asked.
“That’s me,” Vivian said. “I took Samuel’s family name since my mom took my dad’s name when they got married. This must have something to do with my in-laws.”
“Maybe I should go with you,” Julie said, casting a glance at the imposing scale model of the two-man trader. “Flower?”
“It seems that the Chiangans are in such a hurry to see my departure that the shipment of obsolete bots I negotiated for is already waiting for us in high orbit. I want you there to help with receiving.”
“I live to serve,” Julie said, flashing a grin at Vivian. “Let’s go.”
When the two young women exited the lift tube on the docking deck in the core, the Dollnick patrol craft had just landed. The hatch popped down and a team of four-armed marines wearing space-armor trooped out and formed an honor guard. Next came a particularly tall Dollnick, who had a long silvery feather stuck in a holder at the back of his environmental suit’s helmet, marking him as the highest official in the group.
“Do they have trouble breathing the atmosphere on board?” Julie subvoced.
“No,” Flower responded, as the rest of the similarly garbed inspection team exited the shuttle. “Those suits are totally unnecessary. They’re acting as if the Wanderers were a communicable disease rather than a social aberration. Now I know what a plague ship feels like.”
The last Dollnick to exit the patrol craft was wearing an ill-fitting environmental suit that bagged up below the knees and above the waist. Then Julie realized that the lower arms were empty because the suit was occupied by a human.
“That must be my brother’s father-in-law,” Vivian said, waving to the suited figure. “I better go meet him before he trips. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
Julie and Vivian shuffled over to the mayor, their magnetic cleats preventing any embarrassing high-steps. Bob waited for them at the foot of the ramp. He began to speak, and they could see his lips moving behind the transparent faceplate, but no sound came out.
“The mayor has requested that I relay a message for him,” Flower announced. “The biological hazard suit he’s wearing was designed for a Dollnick, and the external vocalization system is activated by high-frequency whistling, so the mayor’s speech won’t even trigger the transponder. First of all, he expresses his regrets to Vivian that he won’t be able to host her and Samuel during our stop.”
“Tell him that we were looking forward to meeting the rest of the family and we’ll have to return another time,” Vivian said diplomatically.
Bob nodded and produced a package with fancy wrapping paper from one of the oversized pockets. “A small gift to express our regrets that we couldn’t attend your wedding on Union Station,” Flower relayed for the mayor. “I spent almost a month away from Chianga with the ad hoc committee work leading up to the decision on the Human Empire and I couldn’t get away again.”
“Your daughter told us how sorry you were you couldn’t make it,” Vivian said, accepting the package. “She made my brother dance all night to make up for it.”
Bob chuckled behind the faceplate, and then Flower said for him, “She’s a firecracker, that one. But apologies aside, I asked to meet you to pass on a bit of information from a holo-conference I attended yesterday morning. The leaders of most of the big sovereign human communities attended, along with Associate Ambassador Daniel Cohan. I stayed on for a few minutes after it ended to chat with Daniel and a few of the more forward-thinking committee members. All of us were struck by the fact that in a three-hour holo-conference, the topic of the Human Empire never came up.”
“Not even as a joke?” Vivian asked.
“Zero mentions,” Flower confirmed for the mayor, whose lips continued to move soundlessly. “The consensus among us was that the thousand cycle timeline allows everybody to put the entire subject out of mind. We’re all very busy and none of us will be alive long enough to see how it turns out in any case.”
“I’m not sure whether that’s good news or bad news, but I’ll discuss it with Sam,” Vivian said. “Thank you for coming all the way up here just to deliver a gift and pass the information along.”
“I would have come even if you weren’t here,” Bob admitted. “Earth is far and away our biggest customer for floaters and we look forward to these semi-annual stops to take advantage of the low freight rates Flower offers. Given how dependent our city is on the shipment, I always come up to oversee the loading in person.”
“That’s a relief,” Vivian said. “I was worried that I was dragging you out of the way.”
“My wife handles publicity for our factory, and she suggested that you and Samuel might want to prioritize raising the profile of the Human Empire before everybody forgets that you exist. She says that it’s easier to keep a flame burning than to kindle a fire from scratch. Ah, there’s the first barge with our floaters coming in so I have to run. Very nice meeting you both.”
Bob began shuffling off in his baggy environmental suit, and Flower returned to speaking for herself, “The first shipment of bots is here and I’m putting it down close to a freight lift tube at the next spoke ring. Do you mind walking?”
“I’m just glad I don’t have to wear one of those Dollnick environmental suits,” Julie said.
“Nobody has to wear them,” Flower said in frustration. “You don’t catch laziness from a handshake or a sneeze.”
“Can I come along?” Vivian asked. “All of a sudden I have nothing on my schedule, and Sam is really into helping set up that LARPing studio. He said we can discuss the mayor’s message at lunch.”
“Did you just talk to him? You’re really good at subvocing.”
“Yes, we have a private channel. We actually tried linking our implants as an experiment one time but it turned out to be a disaster. There’s no way to selectively block out what the other person is hearing, so if you’re both with people, it’s incredibly confusing.”
“You know, if you’re interested in publicity, we have a Galactic Free Press reporter on board who’s very nice. Dianne interviewed me about my history with the drug syndicate and I actually felt better after talking to her. The paper didn’t add any stock images to make the story more lurid or anything like that.” Then Julie remembered something and had to restrain herself from slapping her forehead with her palm. “I forgot that your aunt owns the Galactic Free Press. Never mind my babble.”
“No, it’s a good idea, and if you could introduce us to the reporter, Sam won’t feel like we’re taking advantage of my family relations,” Vivian said. “I don’t want to dump a lot of teenage angst on you, but the reason I kept working for Drazen Intelligence after completing the Open University co-op assignment was that I wanted to prove to everybody that I could accomplish something on my own. When your mother is the co-owner of InstaSitter, everybody just assumes you’re being handed life on a silver platter. My brother was always a lot more involved with the family business than I was, even though with his new cooking show, I think he’s stepping away from it.”
“I’ll ask Flower to ping Dianne for me as soon as we take care of this shipment of bots,” Julie said, and then hesitated before adding, “You might not believe this, but I know exactly how you feel about people thinking you’re being handed everything on a platter. When I first came on board in the witness protection program, I had a pretty normal job in the library that covered my basic expenses, and I worked half-time as a waitress for spending money. But since I started working directly for Flower, she gives me jobs I’m not qualified for and then micromanages me so I can’t fail. It’s sort of how I figure it must be for rich kids whose parents want the best for them.�
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“Then I’m glad I didn’t grow up with any rich friends,” Vivian said with a laugh.
“Take this shipment of bots,” Julie continued, finding relief in being able to talk about her fear of being promoted beyond her level of competence. “What do I know about bots, or shipyards for that matter? I never even went to school.”
“Do you know how the Stryx pick the EarthCent ambassadors?’ Vivian asked.
“Excuse me?” Julie said, knocked off-kilter by the seeming non sequitur. “Actually, I thought there was a civil service exam.”
“There is now, and we plan to use it for the Human Empire as well. But the test is a new thing, and the Stryx still have approval for all of the high-ranking positions in EarthCent since Earth is officially a protectorate. You’re not going to be able to guess so I’ll just tell you. The Stryx pick humans who can empathize with artificial intelligence and aliens.”
“Can’t everybody?”
“Are you serious?” Vivian laughed again. “Not even close. Don’t take this the wrong way, but there’s something about you that reminds me of Samuel’s mom, the EarthCent ambassador. I must have seen her a hundred times at parties putting all of the alien diplomats at ease, and she’s the only one of them who can come right out in the middle of a conversation and start asking the Stryx station librarian questions like they’re old school friends. You’re like that with Flower.”
“I’ve noticed that people look at me weird sometimes when I start talking to her, but I thought that was just because I forget to subvoc,” Julie said.
“No, Flower needs you as a go-between, and Bill is the same way,” Vivian said. “I’ve seen him and Jorb together a few times now, and you can tell that Bill doesn’t see Jorb as an alien, even with extra thumbs and the tentacle.”
“I’ve seen you with extra thumbs and a tentacle,” Julie reminded Vivian, who had mastered prosthetics while working for Drazen Intelligence. “And I don’t notice them anymore myself when I’m taking my singing lessons from Rinka.”
“That’s exactly my point. You might think that everybody is comfortable around aliens and AI, but if you start paying attention, you’ll notice that most people aren’t. Tell me, what do you think of the Zarents?”
“The furry octopus aliens that the Farlings created? The little ones are so cute I wish I could take them home. I saw them make a puppy pile in Zero-G and it looked like a giant fuzzball with hundreds of tentacles.”
“For most people, that would be a nightmare,” Vivian said. “You and Bill are actually pretty rare, so don’t sell yourselves short.”
“But you and Samuel are at home with AI and aliens,” Julie pointed out.
“We went to the Union Station librarian’s experimental school, and Sam’s mother always had aliens visiting. I grew up around my aunt’s friend, Tinka, a Drazen who manages InstaSitter, not to mention that over ninety-five percent of our sitters are aliens. We learned how to be comfortable with all forms of sentient life, but you’re a natural.”
“Flower?” Julie subvoced, as they approached the barge transporting the obsolete Dollnick bots. “Were you listening to all of that?”
“Vivian is largely correct, but I wouldn’t have made you my executive assistant just because I like you,” the ship’s AI replied. “There should be two hundred and four bots in this load. You’re good at counting, and somebody has to sign off on the delivery.”
Ten
“You want me to burn these potato chips?” Bill asked the Farling. “What’s that going to prove?”
“Whether or not the caloric information on the label is correct,” M793qK said. “I agree with Flower that the nutrition labeling Humans put on food packaging is misguided, but part of our deal with the All Species Cookbook is confirming that the data presented is accurate.”
“And the only way to do that is to start a fire?”
“Earth’s calorie unit is defined as the energy required to raise the temperature of a specified mass of water by a specified number of degrees. Didn’t you learn about this in the Open University?”
“I’ve only been going for a couple of months and I’m not taking the Food Science track,” Bill said. “I guess I can see it working for a potato chip because of the oil, but what about wet food, like fruit?”
“That’s what the dehydrator is for,” M793qK said, pointing a limb at an appliance suspended under the cabinets. “I already set up the burner, and you’ll use the infrared temperature reader on this scientific tab rather than a contact thermometer which would alter the outcome when using a small mass of water. The most important things are to make sure the food samples are completely burned and to top off the water to the line on the beaker after each test run.”
“How about all of the other numbers on the label?” Bill asked.
“I’ve got an atomic spectroscopy setup in my clinic that I can use to fill in the rest of the data,” the Farling said. “I’m working on outsourcing all of this busywork to a Horten who joined up at MultiCon—they like making finicky measurements. In fact, forget about burning the potato chips.” The giant beetle pushed the lab equipment to the back of the counter with one appendage while grabbing the bag of chips with another. “A more important part of our contract with the All Species Cookbook is to supply the sort of enhanced labeling that the other species expect to see.”
“Jorb told me that Drazen snack foods have to list the cyanide content.”
“The Drazens are a strange species,” M793qK said. “We’ll be focusing on the three main figures of merit that most sentient species require on their food labeling, and it all starts with the crunch factor.”
“You mean, like, whether or not the food is crunchy?”
“Exactly, but we put it on a scientific basis. The crunch factor is determined on a scale from one to six hundred and thirteen, where one is water, and six hundred and thirteen is quartz.”
“Who eats quartz?” Bill asked.
“Verlocks. Not all the time, but they claim it’s a good way to encourage new tooth growth,” the Farling said as he opened the bag of potato chips. “Go ahead, take one. Then again, better take a few.”
Bill did as he was told and stood ready.
“Now we chew them,” M793qK said, and holding the bag above his head, poured the rest of the contents into his maw and began masticating. “Not quite as good as those pretzel things Humans enjoy with their beer, but not bad either,” he rubbed out on his speaking legs.
“They’re pretty crunchy,” Bill said after swallowing, feeling a momentary pang of jealousy that the Farling could talk with his mouth full since he didn’t use it for speech. “But I think I would need to try some foods that already have an assigned value on the scale to come up with a number.”
“Three sixty-one, or maybe three sixty-two,” M793qK said after a moment’s contemplation. “How good is your sense memory?”
“I’m not sure I understand the question.”
“Could you tell me the temperature of this room on any scale of your choice without consulting a thermometer?”
“I’d just be guessing,” Bill admitted.
“Then I’m not going to try to train you up on crunch factor because it requires the chewing equivalent of a sommelier’s nose and sense memory,” the giant beetle said, crumpling up the potato chip bag and tossing it in the recycling bin. “Let’s move on to something that will be easy for you to measure. Open up that jar of white stuff.”
“The mayonnaise?”
“I thought it was marshmallow fluff, but it will do. Now enable the stopwatch function on your implant.”
“I didn’t know it had one,” Bill said. He accessed the heads-up display that Julie was coaching him on when they had time. “Oh, there it is. Huh, it’s kind of annoying,” he added, as a zero with a decimal place followed by a long string of zeros appeared in the corner of his vision.
“Two significant digits will be sufficient,” M793qK informed his assistant, and produced a ruler of sorts
from his utility pouch. “Now, take this ruler, hold it upright on the counter, and crouch down so your eyes are level with the first major gradation. I’m going to place a large dollop of mayonnaise right in front of the ruler. As soon as the mayonnaise is free from the spoon, I want you to start your stopwatch and note the color of the ruler gradation that most closely marks its height. When your stopwatch reaches sixty-four seconds, call out the color at the final height.”
“Is this a real thing?” Bill asked suspiciously as he crouched to eyeball the ruler.
“Slump. It’s a universal measure for foods that ooze. Ready?” Without waiting for his assistant’s response, the Farling took a big spoonful of mayonnaise and plopped it down in front of the ruler. “Go!”
Bill noted the blue line on the ruler and triggered the stopwatch with a movement of his pupil. A long minute passed, and when the counter reached sixty-four, he noted that the mayonnaise was now closer to the red line.
“It went from blue to red,” he reported.
“Ten percent,” M793qK said. “We’ll do it twice more and see if we get the same result. It’s also temperature-dependent, of course, but I’ve noted that on the tab.”
“Doesn’t the shape of the mayonnaise when it comes off the spoon make a difference?”
“That’s why I’m the one dropping the dollops, but you’re correct that you wouldn’t be able to do this test yourself.” The giant beetle tossed the spoon in the sink while drumming a few of his middle appendages on the counter in thought. “I’ve got it. You can do the splat test.”
“Is he making these up?” Bill subvoced to Flower.
“I can see your lips moving, and no, I’m not making it up,” M793qK replied before the Dollnick AI could answer. “The splat test produces a binary outcome so it should be easy for you to perform, but you can always check with me if you run into any borderline questions. Let’s start with the potato chips.”
