Assisted Living

by E. M. Foner

  “Let me go,” the boy demanded, twisting and turning, but the man looked strong enough to hold a horse.

  “What’s your name?” Irene asked the boy.

  “Hal,” he said in a surly voice. “And I’m not lost.”

  “Do you know where your parents are?”

  Hal shrugged. “They were on the stupid teacups ride the last I saw. That’s for children.”

  “And how old are you?” Irene asked.

  “Six,” the boy said, drawing himself up to his full height. “Let me go. I have rights.”

  “Do you promise not to crawl under the rides?”

  “Promise,” the boy said with a scowl.

  Irene nodded to the tattooed man who released his catch, and the boy scurried off in the direction of the rollercoaster.

  “Morton,” the man said, offering his hand to Harry. “They won’t let him on the rollercoaster. He’s not tall enough.”

  “Harry, and this is my wife, Irene. You work with the rides?”

  “I own some of them and I keep the rest running. It’s sort of a specialty these days.”

  “I imagine fixing carnival rides in space doesn’t come up that often, other than on Flower,” Irene said.

  “I’ve been with the circuit ship since the beginning so I’ve had the chance to visit alien amusement parks on some of the open worlds where we stop,” Morton said. “Their rides are so well engineered that they hardly require any maintenance. The rides in here are all from Earth, and even now that they’re out of the weather, the wear parts need constant attention.”

  “So you joined the ship directly from Earth?” Harry asked.

  “First cruise. They wanted to buy my rides and I made myself part of the bargain. Between the falling population and all of those self-driving floaters that can zip a family to a major theme park while they sleep, traveling fairs and carnivals were dying out. Another year or two and most of my rides would have been piles of rust.”

  “I always got motion sick on anything that went up and down or back and forth. If you’d told me a couple of months ago that I’d be retiring to a giant centrifuge, I’d never have believed it.”

  “It’s all a question of scale,” Morton explained. “If you try to spin a little ship in space to make weight, your head ends up weighing less than your feet, and that’s enough to make anybody nauseous. Flower is big enough that it feels like living on a planet.”

  “Have you ever had this much business between stops before?” Irene asked. “When Flower requested I come in for an extra shift, she said that the enthusiasm of the Bitters for the amusement park took her by surprise.”

  “Normally we only operate a few of the children’s rides between stops, and those on a limited schedule because the demand just isn’t there. I imagine that once the crowd from Bits gets all settled in things will go back to normal. Flower is a cagey old AI, though. Based on the questions she’s been asking me about my maintenance schedules, I suspect that she’d eventually like to keep this deck humming around the clock, whether we’re stopped or not.”

  “But where would the customers come from?”

  “She’d need to scare up a lot of passengers or permanent residents to make it work, but I imagine if we had a few million people on board, this place would be minting money. I told Flower about season passes and she asked me to bring it up with the other carnies at our next meeting.”

  “How can you have season passes without seasons?” Irene asked.

  “We’ll call a circuit a season, or maybe split it into the Earth-to-Union Station and back segments—that would be around three months. But it would give people a reason to come every day, and if they’ve invested in a season pass, that’s one more reason to stay on board. If the ride owners see a drop in revenue, Flower is offering to make up the difference in rent remission.”

  “I guess she really is leaving no stone left unturned in trying to boost the population.”

  “It was nice meeting you, Morton,” Harry said, “but I have to get to theatre practice. Irene, don’t work too hard, and sit if you get tired.”

  “I used to stand behind the counter at the bakery for ten hours a day if you’ve forgotten,” Irene reminded him. “A four-hour shift is like being on vacation.”

  Twelve

  “We must be at the wrong theatre,” Bill said, stepping back from the door, which whooshed closed again. “Ask Flower over your implant.”

  “You have one now too,” Julie reminded him.

  “I keep forgetting,” he said, and asked out loud, “Flower?”

  “Why are you standing outside? In two minutes, you’ll almost be late.”

  “Somebody else is using our theatre. There’re thousands of people in there.”

  “The director is waiting for you on the stage.”

  “I’m not getting up in front of all of those people and rehearsing a play about Grenouthian documentaries!”

  “The director dropped that idea after visiting Timble and I wouldn’t advise bringing it up again in his hearing. Now don’t be such a scaredy-cat and go see what it’s all about. Jorb and some of the others you know from the cafeteria are waiting.”

  “The alien spies are joining our theatre group?”

  Harry approached the pair and said, “Good evening, Julie, Bill. Why are you waiting out here?”

  “The theatre is standing room only.”

  “But it’s built to hold five thousand Dollnicks!”

  “That’s what I’m saying.”

  “Come on, guys,” Julie said with a sigh. “You know that Flower is going to talk us into going in there eventually so we may as well be on time and get credit. I think I know what this is all about.”

  Bill steeled himself and stepped forward again. The doors slid open on a crowd of hooting and hollering people, many of whom were easily identified by their fanciful outfits as having joined the ship at Bits. The long walk down the aisle seemed to take forever, but it gave the three of them time to realize that all of the attention was on the holograms floating at the front of the theatre, and the aliens on the stage weren’t even visible.

  “This must be the character competition for Flower’s new animation production company that Zick was telling me about,” Julie informed the other two, half-shouting to make herself heard.

  “Who’s Zick?” Bill shouted back.

  “A guy from Bits who came into the library and then stopped by the diner today. You’ll like him.”

  “You’ll hate him,” Flower said over Bill’s implant. “He’s interested in Julie.”

  As soon as they reached the stage, the noise from the large audience was greatly reduced, a sure sign that an audio suppression field was in use.

  “Are the three of you it?” the Grenouthian demanded of the new arrivals.

  “My wife is volunteering at the amusement park tonight,” Harry said defensively. “Flower approved it.”

  “I was asking about the rest of your theatre team.”

  “We don’t know where they are,” Julie said. “Maybe the crowd scared them off.”

  “No matter, I’ve only seen three Human chars I can work with in any case. And since you and Bill now have implants and Harry is wearing his ear cuff, I can get rid of this annoying external translator,” the director added, snapping the ribbon that held it around his neck and dropping the pendant in his pouch. “You missed all of the preliminary rounds to winnow down the choices, and we’re working through the elimination rounds for each species now. Humans are already finished.”

  “So what are we doing here?” Harry asked.

  “Storyboarding. Grenouthian style. From tonight on you’re all working as stand-ins.”

  “I thought the job of a stand-in was to hold an actor’s place for technical purposes.”

  “That’s substantially correct. You’ll be standing in for Gerryman.”

  “As in gerrymandering?”

  “As in geriatric. Flower and I have been studying the entertainment demogr
aphics for your species and I’m convinced that an older superhero will go over big. Julie, you’re a natural for Refill.”

  “Who?”

  “She’s a superhero who uses waitressing skills to uncover evildoers and defeat their schemes,” the bunny said. “Bill, you’ll be Digger.”

  “What kind of superhero digs?”

  The director shrugged his furry shoulders. “The Bitters presented so many characters that dig, we felt compelled to select at least one of them. Apparently there are a large number of legacy Earth games featuring miners.”

  “But how does a miner defeat his enemies?” Bill complained.

  “Hit ‘em with a shovel,” Jorb advised. “Or you could dig holes for them to fall into.”

  “What did you get, Razood?”

  “The Blacksmith,” the Frunge said, puffing out his chest. “When I saw the char, it was like a match made in heaven. Who knew your people had such talent as illustrators?”

  “And you want us to stand in for holograms?” Harry asked incredulously.

  “Not holograms, three-dimensional anime,” the bunny corrected him. “Well, technically they are holograms, but anime has its own ecosystem, with dedicated award shows and distribution channels.”

  “I wasn’t complaining about the technology, I just don’t see why you would need live actors to stand in for computer-generated cartoon figures.”

  “Anime,” the Grenouthian director growled, and Harry raised his hands shoulder-high in a sign of submission. “And the reason for using live stand-ins is to save money. Do you have any idea how expensive a single minute of 3D rendering can cost?”

  “But Flower could probably do it in her sleep. She faked a whole ballroom scene to advertise our independent living cooperative.”

  “She reprocessed existing content and pasted-in your faces. Creating live-action holograms on the fly is child’s play for the Stryx, but it would present a serious drain on Flower’s spare capacity.”

  “I’m Slomo,” the Verlock spoke up ponderously. “My char moves in slow motion and his superpower is that he can force everybody else to slow down to match him.”

  “Did you just make that last part up?” the director asked. “I like it. It will cut down on the production costs because we can reduce the overall frame rate whenever you’re in the hologram.”

  “I’m Battle Royale,” the stunning Vergallian who operated the finishing school informed the late arrivals. “A rogue queen with an unquenchable thirst for men.”

  “Combat,” the Grenouthian corrected her. “An unquenchable thirst for combat.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Who are you?” Bill asked Jorb.

  “I don’t have a char yet. They’re just getting to the Drazens now.”

  Above their heads, over a hundred holograms of Drazen characters appeared in fanciful garb, all bearing special weapons or tools.

  “Make it Axe Man, make it Axe Man,” Jorb muttered rapidly under his breath. “Not Juggler, not Juggler.”

  “I thought you just said that projecting holograms was too demanding for Flower,” Harry said to the bunny.

  “Projection is simple, the theatre equipment handles that. It’s creating the data for high-resolution animated holograms that requires intensive processing,” the director explained. “These chars have already been rendered and the creators are streaming them to the projection system. Can’t you see that the anime aren’t interacting with each other?”

  The Drazen with the axe who Jorb was rooting for took a roundhouse swing with the weapon that cut through several neighboring anime without having any effect.

  “So how do you pick a winner?” Julie asked.

  “It’s not about winning and losing,” Flower replied over the girl’s implant. “It’s about storytelling. Which of the chars says something to you?”

  “It’s a tough angle to judge from,” Julie hedged. “The Drazen acrobat juggling knives while doing tentacle stands looks kind of interesting.”

  “That’s the one I picked,” Flower said.

  “Juggler,” the Grenouthian director agreed. He made the announcement and all of the other holograms disappeared, leaving the acrobatic character alone to work through his extensive routine of pre-programmed moves.

  Jorb groaned and wrapped his tentacle over his eyes so he wouldn’t have to watch.

  “Now comes my favorite part,” Flower told Julie.

  “Dollnicks?” the girl guessed immediately.

  A new set of characters appeared, all sporting four arms and feathered crests. It quickly became apparent that the computational models underlying movement generation for the alien anime were based on two-armed humanoids, because the lower set of arms on most of the figures moved awkwardly, if at all.

  “I don’t like any of them,” Lume said, crossing all four of his arms across his body. “I never thought I’d envy Brynlan his Slomo character, but it’s better than standing in for an obvious marionette.”

  “They are rather disappointing,” the Grenouthian agreed. “Maybe we could commission a new character designed by the joint winners for the other species.”

  “Thinker isn’t bad,” Harry observed, pointing to the seated character whose artist had reinterpreted Rodin’s iconic sculpture so that the hands of the Dollnick’s upper arms were under his chin, while the hands of both his lower arms gripped his kneecaps. “I was never a big comic book fan, but he could be the brains behind the outfit.”

  “A stay-behind mastermind,” Lume mused. “I could live with that. It would certainly make for easy stand-in work.”

  “Is Flower paying all of you for this?”

  “She waived my volunteering requirement, or maybe it was my team sport. It’s getting hard to keep track since she’s always asking for favors.”

  “So if all the characters are picked out, are we done for today?” Julie asked.

  “Were you planning on standing in from home?” the director inquired genially. “After we pick the character I’ll be standing in for and an initial supervillain, I’ll want you all for the next hour so I can start working on the promo.”

  “You can direct and stand in?”

  “I’m multi-talented.”

  The holographic display switched to Grenouthians, and it suddenly became much lighter in the theatre because every last designer had chosen white fur. Several of the animations hopped around like kangaroos, but most remained in place working through karate-type exercises.

  “That’s a tough-looking bunch of bunnies,” Bill couldn’t help observing. “What’s with the one playing the weird instrument?”

  “That’s not a musical instrument, it’s a type of traditional abacus used by our traders,” the director informed him. “I think he’s the best of the bunch.”

  “A superhero accountant? What’s he going to do? Bring the production in under budget?”

  “The Producer,” Brynlan pronounced. “A valuable asset.”

  Flower must have agreed, because all of the holograms except for the abacus-wielding bunny disappeared, and then one by one, the other winners began popping into view. There was a Frunge blacksmith with a massive hammer, a human wearing a hardhat with a shovel over his shoulder, Slomo the Verlock, a dangerous-looking waitress with a steaming pot of coffee, Juggler, who was keeping a glittering arc of knives airborne, Gerryman, who hobbled forward leaning on a cane and then deployed it as a spinning shield, Brains, the four-armed thinker, and finally Battle Royale, with her gravity-defying bosom barely held in check by a scanty halter top.

  Flower gave the winning chars a few minutes to exhaust their pre-programmed library of moves for the cheering crowd before announcing, “And now we’ll move on to our starting supervillain.”

  “Let me be a Drazen villain,” Jorb begged. “I don’t want to play an acrobat.”

  “Maybe Juggler is a superhero during the day and a villain at night,” Razood suggested. “It’s been known to happen.”

  “Are you guys all cartoon fans?�
�� Julie asked as a new collection of holograms began popping into existence overhead. “I thought they were for kids.”

  “Anime,” the Grenouthian director repeated in a tired voice. “The visual storytelling has many similarities to theatre.”

  “Why did all their faces start glowing?” Bill asked, pointing out at the crowd.

  “The Bitters are powering on their tabs to vote for the villains,” Razood told his apprentice. “We did the same thing in the preliminary rounds for superheroes.”

  “I thought Flower and the director were picking the characters.”

  “They are, but it doesn’t hurt to get an opinion from the audience, and it keeps them involved.”

  “The voting is rigged?” Bill asked.

  “No comment,” Flower said over his implant. “What do you think of the giant insect with all of the pincers?”

  “He reminds me a little of the doctor.”

  “That’s perfect. Most people have an unconscious fear of Farlings. The only problem will be getting him to stand in.”

  “He’s too busy?”

  “Too expensive,” Flower groused. “Director?”

  “The bug is the best of the bunch,” the Grenouthian concurred. “What did the voting show?”

  “The teenage girl in the school uniform with the katana. You can see why I don’t take Human votes seriously.”

  “You’re only picking one villain?” Harry asked. “It doesn’t seem fair, not to mention limiting the dramatic possibilities.”

  “I want to have the first episode ready in three months, and the last thing we need is too many plot complications,” the Dollnick AI responded. “Besides, supervillains have minions.”

  “Speaking of time, we have less than an hour left,” the director said. “Do you have a strategy for getting all of those Humans to leave?”

  “Just watch me,” Flower said, and gave a shrill whistle through the theatre’s public address system. “All of today’s competitors have demonstrated excellent skills and I intend to provide work for each and every one of you. As a special thanks for participating in our contest, I’ve issued instructions to the owners of all the bars and restaurants on board. For the next two hours, anybody presenting a ticket to today’s event is entitled to free drinks and desserts. Furthermore—”