Assisted Living

by E. M. Foner

  “Somehow, I don’t think that dangling me in front of him will be enough,” Nancy added, and winked at Brenda.

  “I may have a lead on new members if you can run some ads on Trume Six, Flower,” Jack said. “My friend recently heard from an acquaintance who was part of our first contract labor group to work for the Dollnicks, and his current group just finished up a terraforming job ahead of time.”

  “Trume Six?” Flower asked. “I keep up with all of our terraforming projects and there haven’t been any announcements about a schedule change. It’s been in the final landscaping stage for the last sixty years, and the inspection tours for potential buyers don’t start for another four cycles.”

  “The work crew’s contract has three cycles left to run, but the job is already finished, and they’re getting paid to rake beaches and mow prairie grass just to keep everybody busy. According to my friend, the only reason the workers haven’t been moved to a new project is that the Dollnick managers are trying to keep it quiet.”

  “Why wouldn’t they want everybody to know that they finished a job ahead of schedule?” Brenda asked.

  “Because it means that their estimates were off and they hired more workers than necessary,” Flower explained. “Dollnicks pride themselves on managing large construction projects, and any deviation from the original schedule means that somebody made a mistake.”

  “Where is Dave?” Nancy asked.

  “He’s on his way here now. It’s easier for him to stick to his diet if he doesn’t have to watch everybody else eating lunch.”

  “How about breakfast and dinner?” Harry asked.

  “They’re not part of the diet. It’s just lunch.”

  “I don’t think that will work.”

  “M793qK and I came up with the plan, and Dave has reduced his caloric intake by a little more than the five-hundred calories a day we targeted.”

  “You know that most people cheat on diets,” Brenda said. “They might not even be aware of it themselves.”

  “I’d know,” Flower asserted. “My infrared sensors are well suited to monitoring the heat created by your digestive tracts.”

  “I’m glad I missed the first part of that conversation,” Maureen said, taking the seat next to Harry and placing her large display tab on the table. “I’ve done some storyboarding for the new ads if we have time to look at them. If not, I’ll just go over it with Flower later.”

  “Sorry I’m late,” a slightly out-of-breath man with a pot belly apologized, taking the last seat. “I just got back from walking a full circumference of the deck. Last month I would have laughed if you told me I could ever make it that far on my own feet.”

  “That was before the doctor redid your knee and you started exercising again,” Nancy said. “It’s surprising even to me how much we can still do if we put our minds to it.”

  “Which is why I asked you to set aside two hours for this meeting,” Jack said, his voice now all business. “I know it may feel like I’m rushing things, but I want to launch the activities we’ve been advertising as quickly as possible so we can get the bugs out before we get too big. But first, we have a stack of applications to go through.”

  “How many?” Harry asked.

  “A hundred and fifty-three, but we only have to get through a dozen today. Flower has been pre-screening for obvious mismatches, like people who are too young, or who express a fear of alien artificial intelligence.”

  “That’s on the applications?”

  “It seemed prudent,” the Dollnick AI informed them.

  “What’s so special about a dozen?” Dave asked.

  “That’s how many were submitted from Timble, our next stop,” Jack explained. “Flower responded to the rest of the inquiries for us, telling them that their applications are under active consideration and they’ll hear back soon.”

  “So what are we screening for if Flower has already gone through them?” Harry asked. “It’s not like we’re hiring them for a job.”

  “That’s a valid point,” Brenda agreed. “If they pass Flower’s criteria and they can afford to pay, who are we to turn their money away?”

  “The management,” Jack said. “Remember, we’re the ones with our names on the prospectus, and our members are counting on us to make decisions that will preserve the nature of our cooperative. Maybe we won’t encounter any problems, but don’t you think that independent living facilities on Earth at least read the applications before taking people’s money?”

  “I doubt it, but we’re here, so we may as well take a look,” Harry said. “Did you have them printed?”

  “They’re all on my tab,” Maureen said. “I’ll just read them off and show you the video.”

  “They had to provide video of themselves?” Nancy asked.

  “It’s a good way to check the veracity of their statements,” Flower explained. “While I may open an assisted living facility and a nursing home in the future, for the time being Flower’s Paradise can only accept people who are in good enough shape to take care of themselves. I have several years of experience in putting Humans through their paces, and I can tell a lot about a person’s health from the way they walk.”

  “But what if they submit video of somebody else?”

  There was a pause before Flower asked, “Would they really do that?”

  “I tried a video dating service after my divorce, and if the video of the men I met wasn’t of somebody else, it must have been shot long before I met them,” Nancy said.

  “I think we’re safe with these,” Maureen said. “There are four couples and four singles applying, but three of the singles are sisters. They’re all professionals, by the way, so they’d be great for producing new commercials.”

  “Professional whats?

  “Performers. The sisters have a song-and-dance act, and they go under the name of the Barry Girls. Check this out.” Maureen spun her tab around and tilted it up so everybody at the table could see. Then she said, “Play.”

  Three women dressed in matching skirts and berets that brought to mind military uniforms performed a song and dance number before introducing themselves and giving their ages. All three of them turned out to be fifteen years older than they looked.

  “What’s a Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy?” Harry couldn’t help asking.

  “Military companies once employed buglers for communications,” Nancy told them. “I’m pretty sure that the routine we just saw was from a World War Two era movie. It makes sense if they’re on Timble for the theme park, but I thought it wasn’t open yet.”

  “It says in their application that they’ve been working in Grenouthian documentaries for the last two decades and they’re ready for retirement,” Maureen said. “The youngest of the sisters is a year older than me, and as healthy as they look, I can’t imagine that putting on multiple performances a day in a theme park could be any fun at that age.”

  “Did they fill in the section about their expectations?” Jack asked.

  Maureen turned the tab back around and read, “Two of us have outlived our husbands, and Jeanie hasn’t seen hers for a decade since he ran off with a magician’s assistant. We’re impressed with the active lifestyle offered by Flower’s Paradise, and we’re hoping to meet our volunteering requirement by sharing the music and dance we’ve always loved.”

  “Sold,” Harry said. “That’s three new members.”

  “I hope they’re all like this,” Nancy said. “I’d hate to have to reject somebody.”

  “So here’s the other single,” Maureen said, spinning her tab back around and tilting it up again. “Play.”

  A woman whose entire body was encased in a shiny black skin-tight suit that might have been artificial leather took a step forward in stiletto heels and tapped a riding crop against her leg. She leered at the camera and demanded, “Who’s a bad boy?”

  “No,” Nancy said. “Fail, fail, fail.”

  “Maybe she’s just lonely,” Dave protested.

  �
��Fail,” Brenda said. “How did she get past the screening, Flower?”

  “Her cash balance is substantial and her health appears to be good,” the Dollnick AI replied. “Is it her outfit you object to?”

  “What did she write about her expectations?” Jack asked.

  “I’m looking forward to new worlds and men to conquer,” Maureen read, unable to suppress a chuckle. “She seems confident in her abilities.”

  “I don’t want to sound like a prude, but I went through this with my ex,” Nancy said. “Let’s just pass on this one.”

  The four applications from couples were quickly approved, and Jack immediately returned to the subject of group activities. “Maureen and I have reviewed all of our ads that have run to date, and we made up a list of the implied promises. We’re already covered for the events managed by Flower, like our catered meals, the morning calisthenics, the team sport, and the volunteering, but we’re behind on the lifetime learning classes, the dancing, and the hobbies.”

  “You forgot the tour group at the stops,” Dave said.

  “It doesn’t seem right to count it while we’re taking advantage of the stops to recruit more members.”

  “As soon as we pick up the Barry Girls we’ll be set on singing and dancing,” Maureen said. “Flower can pipe in music for practice, and there should be no trouble finding an ensemble on board to play when we’re ready for a formal dance.”

  “Why don’t you tell everybody about the classes you’ve been working up?” Jack suggested to Nancy.

  “Well, nothing is carved in stone yet, but I’ve been canvassing our current members for suggestions. Some of the ideas are better suited to informal groups than classes, like a book club and a knitting circle, and we could have them right here if Flower would agree to shorten the legs on the Dollnick couches and easy chairs she brought in.”

  “Cutting down the legs is the last resort,” the AI told them. “I’ll have a few maintenance bots return the normal-sized furniture to storage this afternoon and find some Human-sized replacements.”

  “Thank you. When it comes to classes, I was a bit surprised by the requests. The most popular topics were galactic current events and galactic geography, followed by Earth history. I could teach the last one, but I’m afraid we’ll have to hire instructors for the first two, unless somebody in the cooperative has the knowledge and desire.”

  “We could ask Dianne, the reporter, if she’ll teach galactic current events,” Brenda suggested. “Even though she was an entertainment correspondent before coming here, I think she’s very well informed.”

  “Galactic geography sounds funny,” Dave said. “Are you sure geography isn’t limited to Earth by definition?”

  “I’m sure it once was, but words change meaning over time, and it kept coming up in conversations. Many of us have family spread throughout the tunnel network, and it would be nice to learn a little about the places that their messages are sent from,” Nancy said. “My niece and her husband are living on Corner Station, but their children have all left for worlds in the Conference of Sovereign Human Communities.”

  “I can teach galactic geography,” Flower offered. “How much were you planning to pay instructors?”

  “We were hoping for volunteers,” Jack said. “If you could count their teaching time against your community service requirement…”

  “Am I a charity now? My advice is to charge a fee for the classes because the students won’t take it seriously otherwise. The fees can go to the room rental and the teacher.”

  “I thought we’d just hold classes in here after meals,” Jack said.

  “That’s fine for a cooperative with fifty members, but I hope to see us at five hundred by the next time we stop at Earth, and I have a two-year plan to get to five thousand. If we’re going to be able to scale quickly, you need to do all of your planning with that expansion in mind.”

  “Flower’s right about charging at least a token amount for classes and guest lectures, I was going to suggest that myself,” Nancy said. “And I can tell you from my own teaching days that there never seem to be enough classrooms, so it’s a good idea to be prepared.”

  “Guest lectures?” Harry asked.

  “I thought it would be interesting to bring in speakers for a weekly lecture series, including aliens. Some of the most interesting speakers I saw back on Earth had backgrounds in business and entertainment rather than academia or politics. It’s always easy to find college professors and politicians willing to talk about their pet subjects, but I like hearing first-hand accounts from travelers and people who have dedicated their lives to their passions.”

  “So the dominatrix is back in?” Dave asked.

  “Not that sort of passions.”

  Six

  “What’s this?” Lume asked Bill, who approached the table and extended a plate.

  “Compliments of the chef. He’s trying dessert recipes from the All Species Cookbook.”

  “That was fast. The new edition published by Humans was just released.”

  “Dollnick Intelligence spies on cooks?”

  “The cookbook is a bigger deal than you may realize. The previous editions have come close to causing wars.” Lume chose one of the round black objects with yellow and green inclusions from the proffered plate, knocked it against the metal table, and then made a show of checking for a dent.

  “I’ll try one,” Jorb said. “Everybody knows that Dollnicks have weak teeth.”

  “Are you sure it doesn’t have flour?” Razood asked his part-time apprentice.

  “Harry said it meets everybody’s dietary restrictions and they’ll keep for months in a cookie tin,” Bill responded. “They actually smell pretty good.”

  The Drazen bit into the cookie and made a face. “Too sweet.”

  Both the Frunge and the Dollnick took that as a positive indication and sampled their own cookies.

  “Not terrible,” Lume said, using his boarding house reach to snag a couple more cookies from the plate with one of his upper arms. “The green bits remind me of algae.”

  “I think they’re colored candy of some sort,” Razood ventured. “These really aren’t that bad for something that everyone can eat.”

  “Who brought cookies?” a stunning Vergallian woman inquired as she took the seat next to the Dollnick. “Is it somebody’s Naming Day?”

  “Harry is experimenting with the new All Species Cookbook desserts,” Bill explained. “I’ll just leave the plate here.”

  “I thought the captain called us together for a debriefing,” Lume said, as Bill returned to the kitchen. “Where is he?”

  “I passed him on my way here from the lift tube,” Avisia said. “He was walking with Brynlan.”

  The other aliens all let out a groan on hearing that Woojin was accompanying the slow-footed and even slower-spoken Verlock. Then a giant bunny entered the cafeteria and took a seat at the table. He eyed the cookies with suspicion.

  “Go ahead, Director,” Jorb said. “They’re too sweet for my taste.”

  “Everything that wouldn’t dissolve this table top is too sweet for your taste,” the Grenouthian shot back, but he took a cookie in his furry paw and nibbled a bit off the edge. “Edible.”

  “You seem to be in a particularly cheerful mood today.”

  “I’ve been contacted by the biggest production company on Timble and they want to interview me for a job.”

  “Directing immersive documentaries?”

  “They wouldn’t have paid for a tunneling call to offer me a position as a third grip.”

  “Congratulations,” Jorb said, thumping the bunny on the back. “It’s what you’ve always dreamed of.”

  “This calls for a drink,” Lume added, getting up and heading for the bar. “Who’s joining me?”

  “Divverflip,” Jorb said.

  “I’ll have one of those bubbly Human drinks,” the bunny requested.

  “Champagne?” the Dollnick asked, pulling on a pair of heavy rubb
er gloves as a precaution before mixing the Drazen’s toxic beverage.

  “The one for working stiffs, like me.”

  “You mean beer,” the Vergallian woman said. “It’s not as good as their wine, but it has a certain authenticity that I enjoy. Some of our royal families have started brewing their own.”

  “I think I saw a box of them here somewhere,” Lume said. He finished adding a measured quantity of acid to the Divverflip and then gave it another dash from the bottle. “Come and take this, Jorb. I don’t want to risk sloshing it on myself.”

  “Who keeps adult beverages in a box?” the Grenouthian asked. “I’ve seen their children drinking from waxed paper containers with a straw, but they didn’t look suitable for high volume consumption.”

  “I’ve tried Human wine in boxes and you’re better off taking a pass,” Avisia added.

  “You must have drunk beer in taverns where it comes out of a barrel,” Lume told the Grenouthian. He reached with his lower arms and fished a six-pack of cans out of the back of the bar fridge. “Humans distribute retail quantities of beer in bottles or cans, and if you buy enough, you get a box as well.”

  “Are we celebrating something?” Woojin asked, entering the small cafeteria with his shuffling Verlock companion. “I’ll have a beer if you’re buying, Lume.”

  “In a manner of speaking, you’re the one buying,” the Dollnick replied. “Keeping the cafeteria bar stocked is one of the benefits EarthCent Intelligence grants alien agents in return for our cooperation.”

  “The business stuff is above my pay grade but I’ll gladly accept a beer. What brand is it?”

  “Is there more than one kind?”

  “There are thousands of brands. Maybe tens of thousands. A friend of mine on Union Station brews his own at home and sells it to restaurants.”

  “He must have a large cabin or a small family,” the Grenouthian observed.

  “Joe’s got one of the largest private spaces on the station, right on the core,” Woojin explained. “It used to be a junkyard, but now they run it as a ship repair facility, and they recently started a rental agency.”