by E. M. Foner
“How about Velcro?” the Horten suggested, casting a guilty glance in Dorothy’s direction.
“Human technology? Great in theory, but it’s too noisy and you can’t make it thin enough for an application like this. You’d be better off with their carbon-fiber reinforced elastomers. There was a group of scientists from Earth at our last polymer job fair showing a surprisingly useful adhesive system they want to have mass-manufactured. Apparently they copied it from lizard feet almost a century ago, but never quite managed to make it work outside of the lab.”
The Horten beckoned the artificial person to step closer, and the conversation proceeded in whispers, leading Dorothy to toss her head in irritation and stalk off to the next display.
Kevin trailed behind, trying to figure out who would possibly wear the fashions on display. Like most traders, he had a professional interest in almost everything that could be bartered or sold, but his dealings in clothing had usually been limited to rugged coveralls for laborers and baby clothes, which went well everywhere. Then he realized that Dorothy had been standing in the same spot as if paralyzed for several minutes, and he shuffled forward up the inside of the giant sphere to see what was wrong.
“It’s the future,” she breathed in an awed voice, grabbing his arm with one hand and pointing with the other. “This changes everything.”
“The Verlock with the little stick things? What are they, tent stakes?”
“They’re heels, you idiot. Look at the hologram. They feature gyroscopic stabilizers that kick in at critical tipping points, a dynamically expandable base plate that automatically adjusts to the contact surface to prevent sinking in or punctures, and a memory metal matrix that offers continual adjustment through the full height range.”
“Did you swallow a technical dictionary when I wasn’t looking?”
“I’m serious. This is big. That guy isn’t a fashion designer, he’s just an inventor. According to the holo-presentation, his wife wanted to wear heels, but Verlocks are so heavy that every alien shoe she tried either broke or popped a hole in the floor.”
“This isn’t the beginning of another diet thing, is it?”
“What’s wrong with you? I want to get those heels for our new line. We won’t just have the best looking and most comfortable shoes on the market, but they’ll be the most technologically advanced as well.”
“So what are you waiting for?” Kevin asked. “I’m sure the guy will be thrilled that somebody is interested in his invention.”
“I’m nervous,” Dorothy admitted. “It’s like that once-in-a-lifetime deal you traders are always talking about. What if he doesn’t like humans?”
“I’ll talk to him.”
“No, wait,” the girl said, pulling back on his arm, and then letting it go. “Okay.”
Kevin intentionally swallowed several mouthfuls of air as he approached the display, and then let out a rumbling burp, the closest he could come to approximating the Verlock greeting.
“Biological or artificial?” the inventor asked, minimizing his word count to avoid testing the potential customer’s patience.
“Biological. Human. We’re interested in acquiring a test batch of your heels for a new line of shoes under development at SBJ Fashions.”
“Cost prohibitive,” the Verlock stated honestly. “Handmade. Chintoo manufacturers uncertain.”
“You mean you made all of these yourself and you haven’t found a group that can mass manufacture them yet?”
“Magnetic monopoles, superconductors, nano-gyroscopes,” the Verlock replied, and his tone of despair survived the translation. “Complicated.”
“Of course they’re complicated,” Dorothy entered the conversation. “It’s a brilliant invention, and you can’t let all these egghead engineers get you down.”
“I’m an egghead engineer,” the Verlock protested.
“Nonsense, you’re an artist. If you can’t find a manufacturing group here on Chintoo, I’m sure we can do something on Union Station, even if it does require hand assembly. I must have those heels!”
“Eighty Stryx cred a pair to manufacture,” the Verlock groaned. “Who would buy? Long trip, no purpose.”
“Are you kidding? Eighty creds is nothing. Well, it’s something, but you talk to our guys here and we’ll help with the financing. Has Ug bid on your job yet? I was supposed to ping him as soon as we got here, but I wanted to have a look around first.”
“Ug. 34F9ug21?” the Verlock asked laboriously. “Eighty-seven creds, plus machining.”
“He’ll make you a deal if I tell him to. Trust me, you’ve got something great here. The gyroscopic stabilization alone is worth a hundred creds on the selling price. What do you think shoes sell for anyway?”
“Don’t know. Wife shops.”
“I can’t believe these shoes haven’t taken over the Verlock market at any price. I’ve never even seen one of your females wearing high heels.”
“Uh, Dorothy?” Kevin said. “Maybe his wife is the only one who wants to wear heels. I imagine it’s pretty uncomfortable for humanoids of their, er, proportions, to wear fancy shoes.”
“Yes,” the Verlock confirmed.
“You guys are dense,” Dorothy said angrily, forgetting that the heavy alien would take it for a simple statement of fact. “If Verlock women don’t wear high heels it’s because they can’t buy shoes that won’t break. Comfort and safety just don’t come into it.” She pointed at her ear and stared off into space for a moment, which really meant looking at the floor a little higher up the curvature of the sphere. “I can’t connect to the central exchange on this stupid orbital. How am I supposed to ping Ug?”
“Access with registration,” the Verlock said. “I will contact 34F9ug21.” After a long pause, he continued, “Ug will meet you in Corridor Two, Number Four. On the way.”
“Don’t go anywhere or sell your heels to anybody else,” Dorothy commanded imperiously.
“I’ll be waiting,” the Verlock said to their departing backs. He wasn’t at all insulted or surprised by the abrupt departure because he had seen enough Grenouthian documentaries to take strange alien behavior in stride. Besides, the Chintoo manufacturer had agreed to meet the girl without hesitation, saying something about a Stryx being a partner in the business.
Corridor Two turned out to be all the way around the other side of the sphere, and by the time the humans worked their way past the first three numbered spaces, a tall Sharf artificial person was already waiting for them in front of the fourth.
“SBJ Fashions?” he inquired in flawless English.
“Yes. I’m Dorothy and this is Kevin. I’m sure Jeeves has told you all about our trip.”
“Enough,” the Sharf said. “Forgive me for not inviting you back to our pod, but you aren’t wearing spacesuits, and I’m not sure that all of my team are as liberal minded about provisional bonding contracts as the Frunge. Let’s go in.”
“In where?” the girl asked, looking away from the artificial Sharf to see where they were going. “Why isn’t there a sign?”
“Signage on Chintoo consists of digital signals,” the artificial Sharf replied. “Human Burger opened last cycle and I’ve been meaning to try it.”
“Told you so,” Dorothy muttered to Kevin. “They’re going to ruin the whole galaxy.”
“What can I do you for?” asked the cheerful artificial person behind the counter.
Ug’s eye stalks waggled with humor when he saw the tinfoil hat worn by the clerk. “What do you suggest?”
“We have a wide array of fuels for micro-turbines, and harmonically flavored inductive chargers at the tables that are compatible with most power packs. There’s a degaussing booth around the back, and if you choose any three items from the full menu, you get entered in our daily drawing for a free diagnostic test in the Chintoo clinic. In addition, your entry code is added to the random sequencer for one of three chances for a grand prize, an all-expenses-paid trip to Earth.”
“Has
anybody won one of grand prizes yet?” Kevin asked.
“Nobody has even bought three items from the menu, but we’re making adjustments,” the artificial person replied.
“I’ll take a pure grain alcohol, plus whatever these two are ordering,” Ug said.
“We’ll have the fruit salad,” Dorothy requested in a resigned voice.
The clerk’s shoulders slumped. “We dropped that from the menu after two cycles because nobody ordered it. Unloaded the starter inventory on a trader.”
“We’ll just have water,” Kevin said.
“I’m not sure we have any. Water isn’t very popular with robots.”
“It’s on your mixers list,” Ug pointed out. “Give us three alcohols and two H2O mixers.”
The clerk grabbed a little silver hammer and dinged the bell which hung over the counter. “You’ve won a free diagnostic, plus you’re entered for the grand prize. I’ll bring your drinks right out to your table.”
Ug froze for a moment when the data packet about the prize was forwarded to him by the register system. “Talk about making things unnecessarily complicated. If you printed these rules and conditions on a roll of paper, I could walk to Earth on it.”
“You don’t want to go anyway,” Dorothy said, leading the way to the closest table. “Lots of particles in the air and acid rain. My friend, Chance, is an artificial person, and she wore a spacesuit outside when she went.”
“Thanks for the warning. Jeeves said that you’re in charge of new business development and I should offer my full cooperation. Drilyenth told me that you’re interested in manufacturing his invention.”
“Was that his name? I forgot to ask.” Dorothy paused while the clerk deposited a small tray with five cut-crystal glasses on the table. “Those heels are a breakthrough product. You could put them on anything and it would be a smash hit. We have to get them.”
“My rough estimate was forty thousand creds for the machining setup, and eight-seven creds a pair at quantity ten thousand,” Ug said, getting right down to business. “I used spot pricing for the nano-gyroscopes, which are a Gem product, but we could probably beat them down on quantity, and I know they need the business. The Verlock has a source for magnetic monopoles, which are a specialty item with them, and we have a group manufacturing cheap superconductors right here…”
“I don’t really have any experience with purchasing,” Dorothy interrupted. “Shaina and Brinda handle the business stuff on the station, and Jeeves has been dealing with you. What did he say, exactly?”
“My interpretation of the authorization I received from Stryx Jeeves extends sufficient leeway in terms of credit and negotiating power for me to make the deal.”
“Are you sure about this, Dorothy?” Kevin asked.
“I am. Just do it, Ug, and send Jeeves the details. What kind of lead time are we talking about?”
“Between setting up the machining and bringing in the materials, I estimate two point seven cycles before the first samples come off the line. But be aware that Drilyenth’s algorithms are specific to his wife, and somebody will have to tweak them for every humanoid type. A torque change that indicates a Verlock female losing her balance will be very different from whatever stresses you generate.”
“I’ve never fallen off of heels,” Dorothy fibbed, and took a sip from her glass, which she instantly spat out on the Sharf artificial person’s chest. “That burns!”
“We wouldn’t drink it if it didn’t burn—cleanly, I might add,” Ug replied. “Fortunately, it also dries without leaving spots.” He took the glass that the girl had returned to the tray, and before downing the contents, he spilled a safe amount off into one of the glasses with water to create a weak cocktail for her. “I know that your species has a limited sensor suite, but couldn’t you have at least sniffed it first?”
Fifteen
“I hope your rooms were suitable,” Kelly said to the Alt leader when she picked up the delegation at the casino/hotel complex just up the corridor from the Empire Convention Center. “I usually try to host visiting diplomats in my home, but you’re such a large group.”
“The rooms were splendid,” Methan replied, though Kelly had an intuition that something wasn’t quite right.
“Are you sure there isn’t anything else you need? Was the simultaneous translation of the entertainment feeds hard to understand? You don’t have to be embarrassed to tell the Stryx about things like that, but I’ll be happy to talk to them for you.”
“The translations were almost too good,” Rinla said, causing her husband to grimace. “Ambassador McAllister said we needn’t be embarrassed, and I don’t want to think what the children might get into their heads over the course of a few days. Just look how it affected us.”
Kelly nodded sympathetically. “I think I understand. I haven’t stayed in a hotel for a while, but I imagine that some of the entertainment options they bring in could strike you as offensive. Did you activate the parental monitor? These hotels count on family business, and I’m sure they have a filter that would limit your feed to just the news and shows for children.”
“It’s the news that was the problem,” Methan admitted. “Rinla and I shut it off after just a few minutes, but we had trouble getting those images out of our heads. Then the children came in and said that they had been watching in their own room, and of course, they had nightmares.”
“I still don’t understand why we had to sleep apart from the children in the first place,” his wife said. “That was scary enough for them to start.”
“How could we not use both of the rooms when the Stryx insisted on giving us such a beautiful suite?” Methan replied. “It would have been fine if not for that so-called news.”
“The Grenouthian broadcasts do tend to focus on, er, strong visuals,” Kelly said apologetically. “I hope that at least you had a good breakfast.”
“It was almost like home,” Rinla replied. “Everything was very similar to what I would serve, though it all tasted just a bit stale.”
“I can’t even imagine where they came up with the produce and baked goods,” Methan added. “I know from our initial reception on the science ship that the other aliens can all eat our fruit without harm, but I’m sure we were told that it doesn’t work the other way around.”
“It generally doesn’t,” Kelly agreed, leading the group into the Empire Convention Center. “The Drazens have cast-iron stomachs, and the older a species is, the more likely they can eat cross-cuisine without getting poisoned, but that doesn’t mean they enjoy it. My guess is that you were given a synthesized meal, probably based on a chemical analysis of your native food provided by Stryx Wylx.”
“The dining room manager said that we were eating off of the Human menu,” one of the other Alts volunteered. “Maybe the species that look similar can eat the same food.”
“Not as a rule, though we can eat some of the Vergallian produce,” Kelly replied, coming to a halt in front of the entrance to the Nebulae Room. A glimmer of suspicion about the Alt’s breakfast crossed her mind, but she shoved it aside for later consideration. “Now I want to warn you before we go in. I’ve gotten the impression that your culture is very non-confrontational, so some of the salesmen may strike you as a little pushy.”
“They’re going to hit us and push us?” Meena squeaked, wrapping her arms around her mother’s waist.
“No, nothing like that,” Kelly backpedalled, cursing the imperfect ear-clip translators that the Alts had brought from their own world. Jeeves had reprogrammed them to work with the tunnel network languages, but their hardware lacked the capacity to contextualize language in real-time. “I meant to say that salesmen can be aggressive—I mean, aggravating.”
“It’s not so different from what we’re used to,” Methan said. “Our artists and craftsman can get pretty carried away with sharing the fruits of their labor, and it’s hard to walk through an exposition without getting loaded down with gifts.”
“Just don’t sig
n anything or agree to offer verbal confirmation if somebody specifically asks you to state your acceptance,” the EarthCent ambassador warned them. “If you have questions, just ask me or any of the other ambassadors, except maybe the Grenouthian, since he works on commission. Come to think of it, maybe you should stick with asking me.”
After the group fanned out into the enormous exposition hall, Kelly trailed along with Methan’s family, trying to stay out of the way. The first booth in their path was empty, save for an impressive hologram of a slowly rotating world. As soon as the Alts came to a halt, a giant Dollnick stepped forward and began pointing out salient features of the world with his four hands working at once, all while talking a light-year a minute.
“Some species waste generations exploring the galaxy in search of suitable worlds to colonize, or even just for a vacation home. With our terraforming skill, we can start with a lifeless rock, and in a few short generations you’ll have the ideal world, built exactly to your specifications. I understand that your homeworld is the result of terraforming.”
“Yes, it is,” Methan replied. “We weren’t aware that it was so common.”
“Done commonly, yes. Done well, no,” the Dollnick said. “We have the largest inventory of properly titled planets on the tunnel network so there will never be a question of ownership, and of course we provide Stryx certification that no native life forms are present before we begin. How many can I put you down for?”
“If nothing is living there, why would we want to go?” Meena piped up.
“So you can bring all of your little friends from home. Here, let’s zoom in on a simulation we’ve been working up in anticipation of your arrival. It should be finished by now.”
Even though the hologram remained the same size, the surface seemed to rush outward until the blue water and white clouds gave way to rolling fields and vast forests. A small herd of some sort rushed into view, and then the perspective eased into a new angle, showing the world from ground level. Baby deer frolicked around a small girl who was feeding a unicorn something out of her hands. She looked up and smiled out of the hologram, a mirror image of the Alt girl.