by D.L. Morrese
~*~
Smoke curled from cooking fires among a few dozen modest wooden huts along the coast. This village was one of an increasing number of small settlements established by humans without any benevolent corporate assistance. The sandy soil provided few vegetables. Scraggly bushes and vines yielded few fruit, but the people here had learned enough about the sea to create a decent life. It provided their larder and their road.
Someone noticed the androids’ approach. A man of middle years wearing a flax linen tunic and a less than welcoming expression came to greet the trader.
“Master Trader?” he said.
“Yes. I’m Trader Tam.”
“My name is Zakat. We don’t get Traders here often.”
Tam smiled. “I’m not here to trade today. It’s more of a social call, really. I was in the area and thought I’d come by and see what you might need. The next time my people come through this way, we could bring what you want in exchange for whatever you have to offer.”
The villager regarded him coolly. “Don’t have anything you want, I imagine.”
“I’m sure there must be something.”
If necessary, Tam would offer their trade goods in exchange for sea shells or even goat dung. For rogue villages such as this, making a profit on the trade did not matter as much as gaining influence and leverage to ensure the settlement did not disrupt others.
“Nope, don’t think so,” the village-man said.
Tam’s eyebrows raised in involuntary surprise. Villagers normally greeted him with a certain amount of respect and eagerness. It sounded like Tam would have to work harder than usual on this assignment.
The android dog wandered away. Getting a corporation foothold here was his partner’s job. MO-126 had another.
A few village dogs barked wary greetings or paused for an introductory sniff as he made his way toward the sea. Triangular sails of small boats bobbed on calm, warm water. Other boats rested on the sandy shore. He approached one large enough to seat two and carry about half as much cargo as an average gond. Several people busied themselves around it. A young man stood nearby making marks with a thin stick in the wax facing of the wooden tablet he held in the crook of his arm. He mumbled to himself as another man unloaded the boat and stacked its cargo before him.
The android dog immediately assumed he witnessed another instance of symbolic writing. The man was obviously making a record of what the boatman brought, and MO-126 made a record of him making a record of it. That was his job. How Field Ops would mitigate this, he did not know, but he expected it would be difficult. They did little trade with this offshoot settlement, so they did not have that for leverage.
He turned to walk away but changed his mind when the villager with the wax tablet bent and picked an object from the pile.
“What’s this?” the man said, examining it. “Some kind of game? A musical instrument?” He held a rectangular frame supporting three parallel strings with ten wooden beads threaded on each. He flicked them up and down with a faint clicking noise and a bemused expression.
“It is what we call an abacus,” the boatman said. His accent marked him as being from a different village farther up the coast. “It’s for counting. We thought you might find it useful and wish to trade for it.”
“Counting what?”
“Counting anything. Here, I’ll show you.”
The boatman demonstrated the device. It represented a significant technology-development fault in its own right. MO-126 should have found the existence of the device disturbing, but he did not. He did find the thought of how it would further annoy the administrative androids in Field Ops amusing, however.
“What did you call it?”
“An abacus.”
“Hmm.... Ab-ah-kus.” The village man sounded out the word slowly as he wrote on his tablet. Since he obviously never heard the word before, he could write it only by using some kind of phonetic alphabet—a full type one scientific-discovery fault, and it would drive Field Ops nuts! A written language could run through a population like mock cabbages through a gond’s digestive system and spread ideas like natural fertilizer over a wide area. A writing system adaptable to any language presented a serious threat to the project, and this tiny village on the coast invented one. They also possessed a concept of money and established trade with neighboring villages. The android dog could almost see the panic in Field Ops when he reported this. He wished he could be there. Reporting it could also earn him a significant bonus, as much as a decade of work credit. He didn’t need it, but Tam certainly did. He might allow him to claim the bonus.
It did not take MO-126 long to find evidence of copper coins. This was, after all, the original reason for them being here, even if it no longer presented the biggest problem the place held to Corporation interests. He listened for the unmistakable sound of clinking metal and heard it not far away. It came from a small hut nearby.
“Here you are, Spayzy,” the man at the doorway said, handing two copper discs to the woman still inside the hut. The thin coins, each about an inch in diameter, clinked as he dropped them in her open palm.
She smiled, put her arms around his neck, and gave him a long, steamy kiss. MO-126 could smell the pheromones from ten meters away. When their lips unlocked, the man, well into his midlife, sighed and staggered. The woman, considerably younger, laughed. “I hope I didn’t hurt you,” she said teasingly.
“No, no, not at all. In fact, I’m ready to have another go, if you have the time,” he said, despite all evidence to the contrary. He still swayed as if fighting a strong, variable wind.
“Once is enough for you, I think,” she said giving him a gentle push on his chest. “Besides, you’re out of copper. Go home, get some rest, and maybe you’ll come back for another visit when you can, Okay?”
“You bet I will,” he said and staggered away.
And the beginnings of specialization and a fee for service economy, MO-126 thought as he observed the scene. Field Ops would definitely not have a good day when they got his report. Maybe rather than transmit it, he could deliver it person. That might be fun.