by E. M. Foner
“It’s never prevented him from licking anything before,” I told her. “I think we just lucked out.”
“What are they all doing?” she asked.
“Drama trance,” Abiferry told us, coming up and poking the Ferrymen’s leader, who remained unresponsive. “Every episode starts with a recap of the previous broadcast and I guess the first installment of a new season is pretty intense.”
“Was he exaggerating about the 99.99%? How many episodes could there possibly be?”
“A thousand seasons is a typical run for epic dramas,” I told the girl. “The producers need to recover the cost of converting a planet into a virtual holographic studio and bringing in millions of background actors to live there, sometimes for generations, depending on their lifespans. It’s the galaxy’s largest industry after tourism, which is why the studios go to such lengths to prevent piracy, even on ancient dramas like this.”
“Will you get in trouble with Library for breaking the protection?”
“I don’t think I did, and it might be out of copyright by now in any case, but the law keeps changing so it’s hard to keep track. The last season of ‘Kingdom of the Desert’ was shot before the Ferrymen started bringing humans to this world.”
“This is the first time in my life they’ve brought one of the ark transports to the surface,” Saul said, pointing towards the wooded area outside the village where an enormous silver ship was floating motionless above the tree line. “Terrible timing, though. Our plan was to use that fifteen percent to build a sovereign wealth fund to protect us in the future. If our Sky Gods insist on their regular cut, there’s not much point in continuing with the expansion.”
The five Ferrymen slumped a little as if somebody had cut their puppet cords, and to my surprise, the chief actually removed his virtual reality visor. He blinked a few times to let his eyes adjust, and sampled the air with his forked tongue before speaking.
“I was sent here as a punishment for authorizing the original purchase of the series without personally confirming the content, but now I will return to our fleet as a hero. Explain your scheme, but be brief. I have important, uh, things awaiting my attention.”
“The excess production of our three worlds has exceeded the capacity of your existing distribution networks, O Sky God,” Zhang told him. “Pushing more product into the same markets will result in margin deterioration and the commoditization of our luxury exports. If you could negotiate with some of the newer League members—”
“No, no. That’s too much bother,” the Ferryman interrupted. “Our distribution network and trade treaties were good enough for my ancestors and they’re good enough for me. If you want to gamble on chasing new markets, do it on your own time with your own money.”
“But if you insist on taking the same cut of our new business…” Saul left the sentence hanging.
“Did I say fifteen percent? I meant ten percent,” the Ferryman told him with a dismissive wave. “Now I need to return to the fleet with this storage unit before our people find something else to watch.”
“Not having a fleet of our own, we’re forced to seek partnerships to expand our business,” Saul continued as if his Sky God hadn’t spoken. “Of course, if you could provide us with more ships…”
“Five percent,” the Ferrymen offered, and I thought he sounded a bit nervous. “We don’t find it convenient to make any changes in the ship-leasing arrangement, and we are a bit overcommitted at the present time with bringing along a new species.”
“If you could defer compensation until such a time as our new distribution network is established…”
“Two percent, and that’s final,” the Ferryman said, and I was surprised to see that he was glaring at Art. “Satisfied?”
The Original spread his arms wide, either to indicate that he conceded the point or offering to give the Ferrymen a consolation hug. The five lizard-men did an abrupt about-face and marched off towards their ark, ignoring the crowd of clones mixed in with villagers, most of whom were holding ‘My Life’ cubes above their heads to capture the action.
“What was that all about?” I asked Art.
Planet rental, he replied. We were here first, after all.
And you’re just getting around to collecting the rent now?
I changed the deal going forward. We have a couple thousand years of the local coinage saved up that we never spend on anything, and the truth is, we would have paid them for bringing us humans to watch if they had been smart enough to ask. The Ferrymen are too lazy to negotiate properly.
“How did you communicate all that to him?”
“I added the offer to the new season lead-in when the magical lock dissolved. You didn’t notice?”
“I’m drawing a blank,” I said, trying to remember exactly what had happened. A vague intuition led me to check my sequential memory stream against my internal timer and I realized that almost a full minute was missing. Had I started napping at random times even while standing?
“Perhaps we should head back inside and wrap this up,” Saul suggested, apparently unruffled by the sudden arrival and departure of his Sky Gods. “Shall I assume that we owe favors all around for bringing the Ferrymen down to two percent?”
“That was Art’s doing,” I told him as we headed back into the temple. “Apparently the Ferrymen have been paying the Originals rent for the planet the last couple thousand years, and Art has agreed to waive it going forward.”
“Given that we were the ones who actually paid the rent, stopping it will cancel out the two percent of the new business that we’ll be setting aside for the Ferrymen,” Saul said. “I don’t know how to thank you, Art.”
Tell him about the magic supplies, the Original prompted me. We can pay.
“Art requests that Pffift include magic education materials in a triangle trade route encompassing the reservation worlds, Earth, and Eniniac,” I informed Saul and the other representatives. “The Hanker is already committed to travel to the mage’s world twice a year, and the Originals can pay for their purchases.”
I have a list here, Art added, producing a paper scroll that must have been hidden in his shaggy coat.
“He has a list,” I echoed in verbal speech.
“Let me see,” Pffift said, taking the scroll and running his finger down the items, all printed in the same neat English that Art had originally used to communicate with me on bar slates. “I have a few of these onboard my ship. If I had followed the Regent of Eniniac’s advice on stocking up, I would have had everything, but you know how pushy mages are.”
I found myself yet again looking at Spot, who seemed to be nodding in agreement with something, but the last thing I remembered was telling Pffift that Art had a list. If my memory kept glitching like this, I really was going to have to return to Library for a checkup. A quick scan of my to-do list showed that I’d come to this decision over twenty times in the last week. Maybe I’d hold out for fifty.
“We’d like to begin by setting up a distribution network for the species which the Ferrymen have been ignoring,” Zhang was telling the Hanker. “Is your ship available for an extended tour?”
“As long as you don’t object to a few stops at fabric wholesalers along the way,” Pffift replied. “I have a number of factories on Earth under contract to start sewing for me three months from now. Then I load up on tennis balls for Eniniac, and back here again with magical learning materials for our hairy AI friends.”
“Can we get a discount off of your standard shipping rates when our objectives coincide in the future?”
“You mean, if I’m going somewhere to pick up a load of fabric or to drop off finished clothes, you want me to give you a break on shipping your handmade luxury goods?” Pffift frowned. “It sounds complicated to me and my cargo would have priority, but if you’re that motivated to save a little money, I suppose we can work something out.”
“We plan to start slowly,” Abiferry told him. “Our people don’t work on spec beca
use there’s so much labor involved. We’ll have plenty of lead time to arrange shipping schedules as orders come in.”
Somebody tugged on my sleeve, and seeing that it was eBeth, I let her lead me back to the indoor garden.
“I don’t get it,” she said quietly. “I remember people back on Earth arguing over the prices of things that were plainly marked, but these guys are making deals that affect whole planets and there’s not even a lawyer in the room.”
“Pffift is a lawyer,” I told her. “All Hanker ship captains have extensive legal training. Zhang, Abiferry and Saul have their staffers here to go over the fine details, but when there’s good will on all sides, things can move pretty quickly.”
“How about Art?” she asked, nodding at the Original who had sat down in one of the pews where he was obviously following the discussion with interest.
“I don’t say this often, eBeth, but he may be the smartest sentient I’ve ever encountered. It’s just a feeling, you understand, plus seeing the hundreds of bodies it took to house whatever part of his mind he brought with him on vacation. I don’t know how much of this deal is due to his behind-the-scenes manipulations, but I suspect that a higher power is at work here, and it’s not any Sky Gods.
Twenty
“The last lesson for this evening is how to order a hamburger,” I told my class. “It’s a little late to actually eat hamburgers, but my wife has deep-fried the traditional side dish for you to sample, including ketchup imported directly from Earth. Sue?”
My second-in-command passed out paper bowls full of French fries, which had cooled to just about the right temperature on her walk from The Eatery to the village school, where we were all helping teach night courses in Earth tourism. eBeth was handling English, of course, Paul was instructing our potential tourists in street safety with the help of some horrific pictures of auto accidents supplied by the lieutenant, and Justin and Kim were explaining what to do if you became sick on Earth. Their advice boiled down to avoiding hospitals and returning home as soon as possible.
“Are we supposed to eat these?” the miller asked. “They look a bit like, I don’t know, something we’d normally throw away.”
“Just try one, Sophus,” Palti told him. She and her daughter, Athena, had convinced the miller to join our first official tour group and were working at overcoming his distrust of anything not invented within an hour’s walk of his mill. “Mark is the expert on what Earthlings eat and you wouldn’t want them thinking we just fell off the turnip cart.”
“Why won’t it come out?” Athena demanded as she energetically shook the bottle of ketchup and pounded on the bottom. “What’s the point of—oops,” she concluded as a quarter of the contents dumped out on her fries in one giant glug. “Anybody else want to try some?”
Sophus swiped a fry through the ketchup and stuck it in his mouth. “Tastes like burnt tomatoes with salt.”
“If I can have your attention,” I said, brandishing the fully assembled hamburger toy I’d imported from Earth. “This is a bit shinier than an actual hamburger, and you won’t get any Velcro in the real thing, but I wanted to display how the components can be mixed and matched.”
“I get the burger concept, but what’s ham?” Hosea asked.
“Technically, it’s a type of meat you don’t have on this planet due to ancient dietary restrictions, but in reality, it’s just a name. The hamburger patty is 100% beef, and the first question your server will ask is how you want it cooked.”
“What if they don’t?” the farmer followed up.
“Then you’re in the wrong place. Fast food restaurants cook their hamburgers all the same, often by machine, but if you’ve already taken Kim and Justin’s class I’m sure they’ve warned you against those places.”
There was a murmur of assent from the students, and Sophus grumbled something about how he’d just as soon stay home.
“Now, there’s no universal standard for the basic cooking options of rare, medium, and well-done, and many restaurants won’t serve a truly rare burger for fear of food poisoning. The safest bet is medium, and you can always send it back if you want it cooked further.”
“But what if it’s already overcooked?” Sophus asked.
“I’ll eat it and you can order something else,” Palti told him. “Let Mark finish with his lecture on time for a change.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Moving quickly through the hamburger, we have the top of the bun,” I pulled it off with the sound of ripping Velcro, “the tomato,” more tearing, “the lettuce, and the pickles. The order isn’t absolute, and some cooks like to put the lettuce on last because it’s hard to balance the other components on top.”
“Maybe they should use that Velcro stuff in the real thing,” Athena said, drawing a laugh from the other students.
“You’ll have the option to add ketchup or mustard at the table,” I continued, “and for those on a diet, it’s possible to order a hamburger without the bun. Any questions?”
“What’s that melted orange sheet supposed to be?” Hosea asked.
“Ah, cheese. Or perhaps a solidified vegetable oil product with cheese flavoring,” I said, ripping it off the burger with a final tearing sound.
“Milk and meat together? That’s gross.”
“You can order without,” I told him.
“Can we bring food with us?” one of the women from Sue’s weaving group asked.
“In small quantities, but thanks to migration, most of the places you visit on Earth will have a tremendous variety of ethnic restaurants to choose from. Anybody else?”
“When is Helen’s next pole-dancing class going to start?” Athena asked.
“You’ll have to check with eBeth,” I replied, wilting under Palti’s hard stare. “She’s in charge of the curriculum.”
“My ears are burning,” eBeth said, sticking her head in the door. “Sorry to interrupt, but you’re running over again.”
“I don’t see why you can’t just ring the bell like during the daytime,” I complained, even though I was wearing a watch and had an internal clock that kept time in atomic vibrations.
“Time flies in your class because we’re having so much fun,” Palti said generously. “I’m beginning to worry that the reality of visiting Earth won’t measure up to your practice sessions.”
My students, who were scheduled to go through the portal in less than a week, filed out of the classroom and headed home to get a good night’s sleep. I was still mildly surprised that out of all of my team members, Stacey had been the one to volunteer as their escort for the trip. I just hoped she wouldn’t enlist my students to help her steal from art museums. Being habituated to buying art off museum walls on Reservation, they wouldn’t know any better.
The rest of my team waited in the hall after finishing their own teaching duties, but the lingering smell of French fries seemed to work as a repellant because they didn’t enter the classroom.
“Anybody care for a nightcap to celebrate the weekend?” I asked, putting my arm around Sue’s waist and stealing a kiss as she tried to clean up the mess of sample foods we had gone through that evening.
“You’re getting weirder every day,” eBeth said. “I’ve got to stop in the office and deposit tonight’s classroom rental payment. I’ll see you at home.”
“We’ll be waiting in the bar,” Paul announced for the rest of my team. “Don’t forget to put out all the lanterns in the halls.”
“Maybe we should start charging by semester rather than collecting every night,” Sue suggested, giving me a swat on the rear to focus my attention. “Hey, you’re wandering again.”
“Sorry,” I said. “That repair job I went out on this morning keeps coming back to mind. I can’t remember whether I tightened the nuts on the casing.”
“Just review it in your memory.”
“I do. Then I forget again.”
“Maybe I’m crowding out all of your other thoughts,” she teased me.
“What
did Paul just tell us?”
“I’ll finish up in here,” Sue replied. “You take care of putting out all of the lanterns.”
“Right,” I said, and set to work before I could forget. One day I would have to return to Library for a—but no, I’d had that thought several times already. Five minutes later, the school building was dark, and I met Sue out front for a romantic walk home in the moonlight. When we reached The Eatery, my thirsty team members weren’t the only artificial intelligence waiting for us.
Mark, my mentor greeted me. We need to talk.
“Spoken English is fine,” I replied. “Radio frequency transmissions go by too fast.”
“That’s what we need to talk about. I have an apology to make and I’m calling an end to this experiment.”
“What experiment?”
“Do you know how long I’ve been wearing this human encounter suit?”
“I assume you put it on before you hop into the portal for League Headquarters,” I replied, not seeing what this could have to do with anything.
“I’ve inhabited this body ever since you first took the assignment on Earth. I’m the control group.”
“That explains how you can do the single eyebrow raise, but why?”
“As you know, when I was a young AI, I spent a number of years on Eniniac as a guest of the planet’s rulers.”
“In a human encounter suit?” I asked.
“No, we hadn’t encountered the humans yet,” he said, and then winced at his own unintentional pun. “I wore an Eniniac encounter suit.”
“You were a dog?”
“The fact that the mages look like Earth dogs is sheer coincidence. Eniniac has been civilized for tens of millions of years while dogs arose even later than modern humans on Earth, but that’s not my point. Living in an Eniniac encounter suit, I began to display personality changes inconsistent with my hardware. The Regent was the first mage to recognize the problem and she insisted that I return to Library, where I soon recovered. We later determined that long-term exposure to powerful magic causes sentient machines to develop life-like tendencies. The problem is compounded by the fact that artificial intelligence, lacking a life force of our own, can’t do magic.”