by E. M. Foner
“Through our portal.”
“Well, they obviously can’t take a bus,” eBeth retorted, as if that solved everything. “It was fun hanging out, Art, but I’ve got to get some sleep. Will any of you be hiding in the garden at the back of my class tomorrow?”
One of the clones raised his hand.
“Great. See you there, or not. Coming, Spot?”
All sixteen of the Originals waved as eBeth headed upstairs, but the dog remained behind. The stream of village children coming by after school to challenge him had taught me that Spot excelled at stare-down contests, and he was probably hoping to get one of Art’s other clones to give it a try.
When are you going to introduce us to your Hanker friend? Art asked via his organically-generated radio frequency emissions. I noticed the signal was appreciably stronger than the last time we had talked, and his words came faster as well.
“This is the first I’m hearing about your interest,” I replied. “Pffift is in orbit making arrangements to send his ship to the other two reservation worlds but he’ll be back in the morning.”
How long will it take for the Hanker ship to pick up the negotiation teams and return here?
“About two weeks, I would guess. Everybody is pretty excited about the possibility of a joint venture and those exploration ships are as fast as anything in real space when you push them.”
“How did your superiors react to our message?”
“I haven’t had the chance to get back to Library since we last talked. Things have been hectic around here.”
Basement things? Art inquired dryly.
“Alright, I forgot,” I admitted. “I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
Like your upcoming nuptials? You’re an odd fellow for an artificial intelligence construct, Mark.
“Coming from a hairy clone-thing with its mind spread over hundreds of brains, I’ll take that as a compliment,” I shot back.
Spot snorted his appreciation at my wit, or at least, I think that’s what he was doing.
Pushing ahead with our magic studies is of paramount importance to us, Art sent. I understand that your Hanker friend recently traveled to Eniniac.
“He’s involved in business dealings there, something to do with tennis balls,” I replied, finding myself increasingly irritated with all the eavesdropping that was going on without my being party to it. “Or is listening into private conversations your idea of magic?”
“From a great distance, perhaps, but such skills are well beyond our current capabilities.”
“Are you implying that you’ve already mastered magic at a lower level?”
“A few basic manipulations,” Art transmitted
“Show me what you can do.”
Art sighed and reached for something under his shaggy coat of hair. Now it was his turn to look irritated, and when he turned to his clones, I could almost hear an unspoken demand. The other fifteen copies of Art searched their own persons, and one of them sheepishly produced a worn deck of playing cards.
“You’re going to do card tricks?” I demanded. “That’s not magic, it’s sleight of hand.”
You seem very sure of yourself for an AI who has already confessed to ignorance of magic, Art replied as he took the deck. Clutching the cards between his three-fingered hands, he managed to fan them out. “Pick a card.”
“This doesn’t prove anything,” I grumbled, tapping one of the cards near the middle of the spread.
The card I chose slowly worked its way up from the others, a trick I’d seen performed countless times on YouTube, and then it worked its way free and continued to rise. When the card had floated up to the height of our heads, it moved forward to split the distance between myself and Art. One of the clones stepped forward with a piece of string from my bench and tied the ends together. Then he used his claws to open the string into a loop, and passed it over the suspended card.
“Levitation?” I pressed my thumbs and forefingers together to make a closed loop and proved to my own satisfaction that the card wasn’t suspended from an invisible thread. Then I stepped back and ran a full spectrum scan, checking for magnetic fields, static electrical charge, anything that could explain what I was seeing. Finally, the card began to tremble, and then it fluttered to the floor, just missing Spot’s nose. The dog snorted again.
Sorry, Art transmitted. I can only manage light weights for short periods but I’ve never been that interested in levitation. A few of us who have kept at it since we occupied these bodies can move stones around, but in the end, it’s not the most useful skill in the world. After all, it takes less energy to just bend over and pick up the stone.
“So what’s the area of magic that’s worth all of this effort on your part? Is it the ability to infiltrate computing systems?”
Art waved a hand dismissively. I can’t imagine anything more boring than snooping around in the crude computing infrastructure of less advanced species, and there’s nothing we need from them in any case. The highest purpose of magic is to alter the space-time continuum.
“Like the transfer crystals created by the mages of Eniniac,” I guessed.
We know that the mages can create a void in a perfect crystal by singing ancient songs, and that the liquid that seeps out of that void will, when cast in the air, create a net around a similar volume of space that will transfer everything captured in its web back to the hollow crystal, wherever it may be. Mastering a similar magical transport mechanism is our own goal because it would allow for the exploration of distant galaxies and perhaps even other universes.
“The return problem,” I acknowledged. “We also have the ability to send ourselves places from which we can’t get back due to the amount of infrastructure that would have to be recreated, not to mention the increasing targeting errors that occur at intergalactic distances. Physical exploration is that important to you?”
It helps pass the time, Art replied with a shrug. Do you have something better?
“Point taken. But why not just buy anchor crystals from the mages? Sure, they’re the most expensive objects in our League and the mages don’t make many of them, but compared to the time and money you’re investing…”
Time and money are of no importance to entities as old as ourselves. It’s the process that matters.
Seventeen
“I don’t get why you insisted on moving the meeting out back when we have a perfectly good dining room and bar area,” I complained to Sue, as I helped her spread a tablecloth over the row of picnic tables. “Talking is thirsty work.”
“eBeth and Peter are underage, or at least, they would be back on Earth, and I don’t understand why you invited Pffift to our team meeting.”
“I thought you liked Pffift.”
“I do, Mark, but as your second-in-command, I have to say that your approach to operational security has become—” she paused for a moment as if searching for the right word—“puzzling.”
“That’s because everybody on this planet seems to know more about what’s going on than we do,” I told her. “The Originals aren’t only spying on us, they’re spying on the humans who are spying on us. It’s a breach of ethics.”
“Spy ethics?” she asked, at the same time directing Helen to place the tray of fresh-baked cookies in the center of the table. Stacey and Paul followed, carrying between them the wheeled service cart that would have had rough going on the grass, which I now noticed needed cutting. Sometimes I wished I was back on Earth living in a government-subsidized apartment where the upkeep wasn’t my responsibility. “Put the lemonade and the iced tea on the table, and make sure everybody has a plate,” Sue instructed the couple.
“Pffift knows more about what’s going on with Earth and Eniniac than we do,” I continued, “and I doubt he’d be taking all the risks he does if he didn’t have strong support at League headquarters.”
“At least we have them all beat on Library,” Paul said, producing a bottle of single malt Scotch and placing it on the table. “Th
at’s my seat.”
“Are we late?” Kim asked, entering the backyard through the side gate. Justin trailed behind her like a good husband, carrying a large bowl of what turned out to be twelve bean salad. I couldn’t have named all of the different beans on a bet. “I looked in the window and the grandfather clock in the bar is showing five past,” she added.
“Sue set it fifteen minutes fast to encourage our customers to go home early,” I told her. “Plus, it brings me a little extra business in watch repair because everybody thinks they’re running slow.”
“All we’re missing for the perfect vegetarian picnic is potato salad, and Peter is bringing that,” Sue said, surveying the table with satisfaction.
“Peter cooks?” Stacey asked. “I thought he ate all of his meals here or at the baker’s.”
“Potato salad isn’t really cooking and eBeth is helping him. What’s that smell?”
“Surprise,” Pffift said, coming around the corner of The Eatery on the other side of the yard. “I brought pizza.”
“Where did you get pizza on this planet?” I demanded.
“I stocked up on frozen food while I was on Earth and brought these down in the gig. The baker next door let me use his oven in exchange for the recipe. When I translated the ingredients list for him, I left out all of the preservatives and artificial flavorings, so I’m betting whatever he comes up with will be pretty good.”
“I’ll take those,” I said to Pffift, reaching over the fence. “Come in through the house or go around to the other side.”
“Wow, this is shaping up to be a real picnic,” eBeth enthused, leading Peter into the yard. “I should have invited my students.”
“Let’s not stand on formalities,” Sue said. “Everybody grab a seat and dig in.”
“I seem to be getting hungrier every day,” Stacey told Kim. “My encounter suit diagnostics don’t show any problems, but maybe you could program up an appetite suppressant algorithm before I need diet pills.”
“That makes no sense at all,” I told her. “You don’t digest food, and as long as you rinse out your holding tank, you won’t gain any weight.”
“She meant it metaphorically,” Justin told me. I was trying to figure out how metaphors were relevant to encounter suit mechanics when Pffift reached the table, having entered through the front of The Eatery and emerged from the rear.
“You have a lovely garden, Sue,” the Hanker complimented my second-in-command. “Those flowers are gorgeous and they smell almost as good as the pizza. I don’t suppose Mark helped.”
“I don’t think he’s even noticed,” Sue said, and I caught an overtone of sadness in her voice.
“I’m out here every day,” I protested. “This garden cuts down on our grocery bill and the patrons can tell the difference between a tomato picked five minutes ago and one that was delivered first thing in the morning.”
“They’re talking about the flowers, Mark,” eBeth informed me.
“Flowers are critical to attracting insects to carry pollen to the stigma so that the fruits and vegetables can develop. I’m a big fan.”
“Over three years in that encounter suit and you still haven’t learned how to appreciate the beauty of flowers,” Pffift said, helping himself to a large slice of his own pizza. “Oh, that’s hot.”
“I’ll bet I’m more human than you are,” I challenged him.
“You’re on,” the Hanker replied immediately, and the fact that he took another bite of the pizza even though he had just burned the roof of his mouth told me that I was probably in trouble. “What did you score on the test?”
“What test?”
“You didn’t take a human test when you put on the encounter suit?”
“I don’t even know what a human test is.”
“I want to take it,” eBeth said. “Is it multiple choice?”
“It is, actually,” Pffift replied, shaking a ruggedized tablet out of the crudely-fashioned man-purse he insisted on passing off as a shoulder bag. He looked at his fingers, which were already greasy from the pizza, and pushed the tab in eBeth’s direction with his elbow. “You do it. The password is 1679.”
“Is everything with you the Arecibo message?” I demanded.
“It’s one less thing to remember,” Pffift said unapologetically. “Tap the little icon of the maze with the rat and the cheese, eBeth.”
“Eat first,” Sue urged her.
“I can do both,” eBeth said, and taking a slice of pizza in one hand, navigated to the human test icon with the other. “You’re the high scorer, Pffift?”
“Ninety,” the Hanker boasted. “Of course, I watched a lot of your satellite TV before I ever set foot on Earth.”
“Who are all these scores in the twenties?”
“Some of my crew insisted on trying it. How can anybody score under twenty-five when there are only four choices per question? Losers,” he concluded. “And don’t read any of the questions out loud because I only paid for enough to take the test once.”
“Where do you buy such a thing, Pffift?” Kim asked.
“Back on Earth, the dark web. I think somebody ripped it off from a psychology textbook but I wasn’t motivated enough to investigate.”
I tried not to look nervous as eBeth flew through the test with one finger, alternately scrolling down and clicking multiple choice buttons, but I was already regretting that I never took her advice to read less and watch more TV myself. The potato salad was edible, the twelve bean salad was delicious, and the cookies had raisins, so I avoided them.
“Done,” eBeth announced. “Ninety-eight.”
“Very impressive,” Pffift said, though I thought he sounded a little disappointed at getting beaten so handily. “Pass it to Mark.”
“I am human, you know,” the girl told him. “If the test was really that accurate, I would have gotten a hundred.”
“I want to try,” Sue declared, intercepting the tablet as it was passed down the table.
“You’re going to kill it,” Helen told her. “You’re the most human AI that I know. And I got next.”
“I’m trusting you all not to feed answers to Mark,” Pffift said. “That includes, radio frequency, infrared, quantum—”
“I’m not going to cheat, Pffift,” I interrupted him.
“And that’s how I already know I’m going to beat you,” the Hanker said. “A human would cheat without even thinking about it.”
“Done,” Sue announced, in half the time eBeth had taken. “Ooh, I got a hundred!”
eBeth high-fived my second-in-command, and the tablet passed to Helen, who barely seemed to look at the questions before answering. My nerves were starting to go and I nodded at Paul to pour me a stiff drink from his bottle of Scotch.
“Pressure,” Pffift sang under his breath. I was really beginning to hate the Hanker.
“What did you guys bet?” Peter asked.
“If I win, he has to let us use the portal for Earth tourism,” Pffift answered without hesitation.
“We didn’t agree on anything, and the whole team has to vote on that,” I told him.
“I’m good with it,” Stacey said, followed by a chorus of me-too’s that covered everybody present. Spot even joined in with a friendly bark.
“Then free dinner whenever I’m here,” Pffift offered.
“You just said the bet was for portal usage,” I objected.
“And you said it wasn’t.”
“Ninety-seven,” Helen announced her results. “If those questions about pets had been about baking, I would have aced it. I’ve never had a pet.”
“Let me see it,” I said, unable to keep the note of doom from my voice as I accepted the tablet.
“Don’t think, just go with your first instinct,” eBeth advised me.
I braced myself and tapped on the maze, getting a flash screen showing the high scorers before the questions began.
“You’re moving your lips while you read,” Pffift observed. “Maybe you’re
going to do better at this than I thought.”
“Don’t distract him,” Sue defended me. “Try the lemonade. I just came from Earth and the lieutenant let me raid the storeroom for sugar.”
“I’ve never been through an observer team portal,” the Hanker said. “Do they have the same filter limits on manufactured goods?”
“You can always use Rynxian cloaking technology if you’ve got a lot of stuff,” Paul told him. “It’s not the full filter set that you get on the regular network portals.”
“What do you want to bring to Earth?” eBeth asked the Hanker. “I mean, the hand-crafted goods here are nice and everything, but it’s not that different from back home. People there only buy the factory-made stuff because it’s cheaper.”
“I want to bring some cloth samples that I picked up on the way here from Eniniac,” Pffift explained. “We did a business assessment of Earth while we were there and concluded that there’s money to be made in the garment industry.”
“You want to sell clothes made of alien materials to people?”
Pffift spit a spray of lemonade out of his mouth as he failed to suppress his body’s natural reaction, and I accidentally clicked the wrong multiple-choice button as I attempted to wipe the screen clear.
“You have it backwards,” the Hanker told the girl when he regained his composure. “One thing Earth has in common with the rest of the galaxy is that the garment industry is always seeking lower production costs. I’m talking about the low-end, here. Your planet doesn’t have the machines in place to work with any of the technologically advanced fabrics, but most species prefer natural fibers in their sensitive areas, and I’m betting we can turn Earth into the underwear capital of the galaxy within a century.”