“What are they might be a better question,” responded Sly. “The oldest records of Gavalkia indicate the Pickers were there from the beginning, standing beside the coffee bushes. They have always maintained the Gavalkia coffee plants, and they are very, very protective of them.
“Why are they called Pickers?” queried Amelia. Sly wasn’t sure this was the conversation Amelia wanted to have this early in the morning, but she asked so he began his explanation.
“Pickers are blind,” said Sly. “They have vestigial eyes in their eye sockets, not to see obviously, but to sense. They developed the ability to detect very small amounts of heat and movement; some say they 'see' electromagnetic radiation patterns. As I said Pickers are very protective. They are the size of two large men, stealthy like Agein cats, strong like Sadporite gorillas, and intelligent like the dolphins on Terra Bulga. They are also devoid of forgiveness if they believe you are on their planet to harm their crop or steal their beans.”
“So you purchased these beans from them?” remarked Amelia.
“Never,” said Sly, “It is said that people would rather go on a Belkie hunt at the Preserve with only a tooth pick and a sling shot than go to Gavalkia. Besides they won’t sell them, it’s the only thing they can eat; Pickers can only metabolize Gavalkian coffee beans, nothing else. That probably explains why they obsessively horde them. I’ve heard there are 600,000 kilos stored in cool caverns around the valleys. Having heard the same rumor, about two years ago a delightful chap went to Gavalkia with a complete business plan; Chey Singal I think was his name. He had calculated the Picker population size, the amount of coffee they needed per year, a sizable reserve of beans as a hedge against a bad crop (even though there has never been a bad crop) and a plan to sell the extra beans on the open market for a huge profit which they would split.
“Chey didn’t speak Gavalkian and the only two interstellar linguists who do didn’t want to go with him; linguists typically aren’t the death defying adventuresome type. Not to be deterred Chey went alone except for his shuttle pilot who watched from a nearby rock outcrop overlooking the village. According to the pilot’s official statement, Chey was getting on very well with body language until the Pickers understood he wanted some of their beans, at which point they put him through the garden grinder and added the output to the nearest compost pile. According to the official record, the pilot’s immediate departure resulted in no additional observations, not that any more were needed.”
Amelia was shocked and speechless momentarily then asked in a soft voice, “That is just awful, but how did you get these beans.”
“You can imagine what Gavalkian coffee beans are worth,” answered Sly, “so occasionally when an adventurer has nothing better to do but risk the prospects of becoming garden compost, one of them sneaks in and makes off with a few kilos of beans. Few are successful and most of those who say they have pulled it off are barking at the moon. Rumor has it that Pfeipher Conrad, the noted daredevil and wanderer from Xevenia 6, has successfully raided Gavalkia numerous times. The rumors are true actually, the last time we had dinner together at Sub-Bar Pfeipher had a bit too much mead and admitted his frequent outings. The man is making a small fortune that is not so small. He also let slip that he always takes a large sack of the highest quality organic fertilizer with him on the raids so he can leave payment after he grabs the beans. I’d appreciate it if you don’t repeat that last bit if you don’t mind. Anyway Pfeipher is convinced the Pickers sense he is there and they look the other way; apparently they really like that fertilizer. It would seem that one man’s fate is another man’s currency so to speak.”
Mark came into the room bleary eyed and groping for a coffee mug, “This smells delicious, what is it?”
“Coffee,” responded Amelia who couldn’t help but smile at Sly.
“Excellent,” said Mark, just what the morning ordered, it is morning isn’t it?”
“It is morning,” said Wayne entering the kitchen, “thanks,” he offered as he picked up the cup of coffee Mark had poured himself, and sat down next to Sly, “Uhmm, that’s good coffee.”
Nita and Blackie shlumped into the kitchen at the same time, “Morning,” said Blackie, “is there more coffee?”
“Man, this is superb,” yawned Wayne.
Soon everyone was awake and ready for an outing. Mark insisted on using some of their new restaurateur wealth to pay for brunch. “Where shall we go?” asked Mark.
“The Tree House is lovely for brunch,” suggested Vanessa.
“Tree House it is,” agreed Mark. Soon they were all in Sly’s transport and off toward the hills. Wayne wasn’t sure how he felt about transports – no rubber on the road, no spirited gravel throwing slides, no running into curbs and blowing out tires. Ah, maybe hovering isn’t so bad after all he thought, remembering the price of two new front tires for the Nomad.
“It’s not far,” offered Vanessa, “and the view is exquisite. Sly drove over the top of a hill and there it was in the valley, the biggest tree they had ever seen. About 150 meters in the air sat the restaurant which was tucked between two enormous limbs.
“Only one of its kind,” said Sly, “the arborist society nearly had kittens when the owner announced he was putting a restaurant in. It looked like there was going to be a court battle until the society learned all the proceeds on arbor day would be donated to the society for tree research, including how best to propagate the restaurant tree.”
Nita looked very uncomfortable, “I’m not very good with heights, I didn’t realize it would be a real tree house, I think I prefer the Sub-Bar.”
Mark observed that Nita’s face had developed a slight green-tinge and said “how about you close your eyes as we go up. The tree is so big I can’t believe it will sway very much, there shouldn’t be any of that tossed-on-the-ocean feeling.” He could tell immediately his comment was a mistake because the green became more than just a tinge.
“Better idea,” said Mark quickly as they approached closely to the restaurant, “I’ll stay down here with Nita, the rest of you go up, order us some brunch and have it sent down.” Mark wouldn’t hear Nita’s protests and the group headed for the lift. “Wayne, make sure Amelia gets the bill or Sly will pay.” Mark and Nita made for a nice bench on terra firma as Mark put it, and the rest of the group entered the restaurant. “Actually I’m not very keen on heights myself,” Mark told Amelia, “I can endure it, but sometimes it’s just not as fun as it looks. I’m surprised Blackie was so willing, you should have seen his color on the rope bridge outside Vancouver – he was Hulk green. Nita had lost most of her green-tinge and was looking out over the valley.
“It’s beautiful here,” said Nita, and then added, “I wonder what’s going on at home?”
“I was wondering the same thing,” said Mark, “in fact last night I had a dream about my mother. She was standing in the field calling for Blackie and me. It reminded me of Auntie Em calling for Dorothy.”
“Is she your favorite aunt, Auntie Em?” asked Nita.
“Oh, no, but man it’s a great story,” said Mark who launched into a telling. “Turns out he wasn’t a wizard at all,” said Mark, “how disappointing. I expect we’ll meet a lot of strange people like that before it’s over, this trip I mean.”
“Well if you count the frog and insect at Tugurro’s restaurant, and Tugurro, we already have,” laughed Nita. “And by the way, that toast contract you dreamed up at Tugurro’s was pretty clever.” Mark’s face developed a noticeably red tinge.
Up in the tree the remainder of the group was just receiving their drinks. The swirling yellow and blood red liquid was made with juice from a Nikkel fruit, not unlike that from an orange, Quavat liquor, and glacier ice cream. “Outstanding,” put Blackie, “shall we send a round of these Quaviers down to Mark and Nita?” Amelia let the waiter know about the two stragglers below and ordered them drinks.
“Not to worry,” buzzed the waiter, “we’ll send down a carafe of Quaviers and several
sprots of blue glacier water,” as she turned toward the bar.”
“Vanessa, about the waiter,” started Wayne.
“The live in the tree,” said Vanessa, “they are Mantoids, we call them Jantoids - I’m not sure where the J came in, but there you are, Jantoids. They are the only ones of their kind in the entire Epsicron Solar System and as luck would have it, they live in this tree. There’s an entire nest of them in there somewhere,” she said, waving her hand at the canopy. “When the owner decided to build the restaurant, he offered them jobs. Turns out they are fairly good waiters, not like the Cerotodairhins, like your friend Tugurro, but quite proficient I think. Anyway, the owner who is a rabid naturalist couldn’t bear the thought of turning them out, so the construction crew had to skip through hoops while building the facility so as to not disturb them.
“You mean jump through hoops?” offered Wayne.
“No, skip,” said Vanessa in return as Wayne contorted his face trying to decipher - skip through hoops. “They have three sets of wings you know. They only use the outer pair and when those are worn out the next pair becomes functional and a third pair is grown under the second. I think that is right, you should ask Flevour, the owner. A few people find their eyes a little distracting,” she added.
Wayne sized up a waiter at the adjoining table. His back legs had two black segments, each with a series of ridges on the back, like serrations on a cutting knife, and each of the serrations was tipped in red. His torso was sleek like enamel, and gun metal gray in colour with a row of yellow dots right down the spine, he wondered if they had spines. The waiter’s arms were very long, which made placing plates and drinks in front of customers very easy. “That’s some head,” thought Wayne as the waiter moved to the other side of the table. “Woe,” exclaimed Wayne, looking at the waiter. His eyes were multi-faceted like the backs of large pale green diamonds, but that didn’t prevent you from looking deep inside them where there appeared to be a tiny solar system suspended just inside the lenses.
“It unnerves some people,” said Sly noticing Wayne looking at the waiter’s eyes.
“It looks like a solar system in there,” spoke Wayne quietly so the waiter wouldn’t notice.
“It is exactly that,” replied Sly. “Every Jantoid here has a small replica of the Epsicron Solar System in their eyes, just inside their lenses. Every image entering their eyes passes through the solar system replica before it impacts opticon cells embedded on the inner lining in the back of their eyes. The opticons register whatever they are looking at as if it were imprinted on the solar system. That collective image is passed through the optic nerve to their brain. At once the Jantoid’s brain evaluates exactly what they are seeing, and their location and bearing, all relative to the entire Epsicron Solar System. They are never disoriented and never lost.
“Seems like they would make great airplane pilots,” mused Wayne.
“They would make great cabbies too, but no one can get any of them to leave this tree.” Just then a small insect flitted by their table. The waiter turned and suddenly a two meter long tongue came thrusting out of its mouth. It retracted as quickly as it was deployed with the insect in-tow.
“You would think people would be a little unnerved over that,” said Wayne.
“You would think,” said Sly.
“Dessert anyone?” asked Amelia. They decided to share a Supernova and also sent a small one down to Mark and Nita.
“You are really going to like this,” said Martin. The boys played together so quietly Amelia had almost forgotten they were there. The waiter disappeared and returned in several minutes with a large tray.
“We always suggest you should lean back slightly” said the waiter. Vanessa and Sly couldn’t prevent a slight smile as he placed on the table a perfectly clear crystal plate about 18 centimeters in diameter, and in the middle of the plate there was a snow white sphere. The waiter stood back while focusing on the sphere shaped confection, then looked down the aisle toward the bar and snapped his fingers. Everyone turned to gaze in the direction of the bar. The bartender stepped from behind the counter with a contraption that resembled a desert camo bazooka. He pulled a bright yellow cartridge from his pocket the size of a tennis ball, slapped it quickly into the chamber of the gun and rammed the bolt closed.
As he swung it up into a ready position the crystal plate in the center of their table was struck by a rubber ram mounted beneath it. The impact thrust the confectionary globe 60 centimeters in the air and the bartender squeezed the trigger. A searing yellow burst of concentrated fire erupted from the tip of the bazooka, blazed across the room, and hit the confectionary globe in mid-air. Everyone gasped and leaned away from the table. The waiter smiled knowingly. Not to everyone’s surprise the confection burst into blue flames, but much to everyone’s surprise it hung in midair engulfed in fire that swirled around the surface like it was seeking something else to incinerate.
Without thinking, Wayne instinctively reached for his glass of blue glazier water subconsciously intending to douse the inferno. Just as he grasped it the waiter placed his hand on Wayne’s arm and said, “That will only make it worse.”
Wayne was entranced by the burning sphere, “Worse?” he said vacantly as he twisted toward the waiter, “how worse.”
“Trust me,” said the waiter, “in this stage it’s hydrophobic. A little of that blue water, any water actually, and we’ll have to ask three rows of patrons to move to another room,” he said, adding, “you should lean back a little more.”
The blue fire enshrouding the sphere started to show streaks of yellow as it descended to the clear platter. When it touched the platter the fire exploded into bright yellow and blue flames and in an instant the flames were sucked into the platter where they coalesced into a blue mist that swirled slowly inside the glass. “When the mist turns silver its ready,” stated the waiter as if nothing interesting had just happened, “until then the platter is hot. I’ll just flit to the kitchen for more drinks,” he added as he turned and marched away.
As the plate swirled blue to silver the sphere settled into a dome shape with a white hot exterior. The waiter returned with drinks and a long sword that looked exactly like a Centorian Kitan. “The ancient warriors of Centoria wielded these swords with elegant grace and deadly accuracy,” said the waiter. “They could disembowel an opponent in one graceful spin, cleave their head from their neck, or trim off an arm in an instant.” Sly and Vanessa seemed as though they hadn’t heard this explanation before and appeared to be captivated by the story, as were the rest. “The Centoria Kitan is still the most elegant weapon in the universe,” continued the waiter, “at least while it is in the hands of a Centorian warrior.”
“Yeah, what about the Verdian laser swords?” asked Sly.
The waiter turned slowly toward Sly and replied matter-of-factly, “They are for loutish oafs.” In a blink of an eye before anyone could even flinch the waiter swirled the sword over his head, which was no small feat, brought the sword down on the confection and sliced it into eight perfect pieces without touching the platter beneath. While everyone recovered from what they had just witnessed the waiter produced a silver cake server from the tray. Another waiter joined the table with a stack of clear plates and one by one touched them to the platter. When he did, the plates siphoned off a portion of the silver mist and the first waiter immediately placed a slice of cake on the plate. “The plates will keep the dessert at the perfect temperature,” said the first waiter who summarily turned and left the table.
Wayne was first to finish his dessert and Amelia noticed the silver mist faded and the plate once again appeared like ordinary clear crystal. When all the plates were clear the waiter returned to collect them and ask if they required anything else. “Yes,” said Sly, quickly producing his credit card.
“Sorry sir,” responded the waiter, “the young lady has prepaid the bill,” as he pointed to Amelia.
“Mark warned me you would try that,” said Amelia with a sa
tisfied look on her face.
“This was a wonderful idea for brunch,” said Amelia. Blackie seconded the comment and suggested they come back sometime.
“We’re delighted you enjoyed it, “said Vanessa. “It seems as if every time we are here we have a new experience and learn something new, “she finished.
“Next time you are here we’ll come back at dusk to watch the falling,” said Sly.
“Ooh yeah,” said the boys at the same time.
“Did I hear you correctly, the falling?” asked Blackie.
“Every day, just before evening, “began Vanessa, “the foliage begins to turn yellow and orange, then, at the peak of their colour, in an instant all the leaves break free and fall to the ground with a soft swooshing sound. When they land,” she continued, “they begin to dissolve immediately into a sort of light green phosphorescent goo. As the leaf residue infiltrates the soil the shallow tree roots literally rise up above the surface of the soil to absorb the nutrients and the tree is stimulated to begin growing new leaves. By morning the tree has a completely new canopy of beautiful green leaves. Dinner lasts about three hours because the Jantoids will no longer allow anyone to leave until the goo is completely absorbed.
“Why is that,” asked Wayne.
“Apparently one of the guests, who had indulged himself too much, slipped out of the restaurant, stumbled and fell in the goo. On its own goo acts like a mild sedative but coupled with alcohol it becomes an overpowering narcotic. When dinner was over that evening the Jantoids found the guest’s clothing and nothing else on the ground beneath the fringes of the canopy; they say that’s where the most active roots are.”
“I can’t imagine the lawsuit over that,” said Blackie.
“No, no you can’t,” said Sly, “because there wasn’t one.”
“You must be joking.”
“Not at all. The guest had no living relatives and he had left his estate to a close friend, Theosophil Songtist. Songtist turned down offers of representation from half the attorneys in the System and turned them all down. He said Gorid went exactly the way he would have wanted, and the restaurant was not to be blamed and certainly not sued.”
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