by E. M. Foner
“Dewey,” Julie scolded the assistant librarian. “That’s hardly an appropriate question for a bride on her honeymoon.”
“I don’t mind,” Vivian said. “Sam used to be in love with a Vergallian princess, but I eventually showed him the error of his ways. And we were engaged for two years before we got married.”
“And it might have been even longer if her twin brother hadn’t eloped with a race floater driver from Chianga,” Samuel put in.
“That had nothing to do with it,” Vivian objected. “I was waiting for you to quit working for the Vergallians.”
“Fascinating,” Dewey said. “Well, as long as you’re both here in the library, is there anything I can assist you with? We have a fine collection of books about empires that you may find useful.”
“We had the Persian, Greek, Roman, Ming, and British empires in a survey course about Earth history at the Open University, but I don’t think they would make useful models for the new Human Empire,” Samuel said.
“I never would have suggested them,” the artificial person said. “I meant recent books about the alien empires. There’s an excellent series being produced by an academic community on a Verlock open world that does a good job with the Drazen and Horten empires. They started with the more recent oxygen-breathing tunnel network species and they’re working their way backward.”
“Why didn’t they start with the Verlocks?” Julie asked.
“Because of the amount of work involved. The Verlocks and the Grenouthians have been tunnel network members for nearly seven million years, while the Drazens and Hortens only joined around five hundred thousand years ago. And the series is already up to eighty books without getting to current times, so perhaps it would be heavy going for honeymoon reading.” Dewey looked thoughtful for a moment, and then he reached up to the end of the top shelf and brought down a book. “Here’s a good primer, Empires For Humans.”
“Who’s the author?” Samuel asked.
Dewey glanced at the title page and reported, “Staff. I’ve heard a rumor that most of the unattributed books are written by a young Stryx, but the information will be limited to what you could have learned by asking a teacher bot.”
“Then why not just ask a teacher bot?” Julie asked. She thought wistfully of the free box-like teacher bot with the kind voice that had provided her with her only formal education while growing up in the slums of Manhattan with a drug-addicted mother.
“With the For Humans books, you’re mainly paying for the editorial choices,” Vivian said. “My aunt Chastity owns the Galactic Free Press, which publishes those books through a subsidiary, so we have a lot of them at home. The acquisitions editor for the series decides on a general outline of what the average person wants to know about a given subject, and then they contract the work out to an author who can fill in the blanks. I think that Stryx Jeeves used to write a lot of them in his spare time to pick up money, so you have to take it all with a grain of salt.”
“Surely you’re not suggesting that a Stryx would lie,” Dewey said, his face taking on a skeptical expression.
“Not in such a way that we could ever catch them at it.”
“I know that Flower trusts the Stryx implicitly,” Julie protested.
Vivian sighed, sounding a lot older than her twenty years. “Have you spent much time around children?”
“The library has a program to help children with their reading that I volunteer for when I have time, but that hasn’t been often lately.”
“How about babies?” Vivian asked.
Julie shook her head in the negative.
“This won’t be the best analogy in the world, but start by thinking of the alien species that joined the tunnel network in the last million years as being adults, and humans being children,” Vivian said. “Then try thinking of the older tunnel network species like the Verlocks and Grenouthians being the adults, and the Drazens and the Hortens being children, which would make us the babies. Then think of some of the powerful species that never joined the tunnel network like the Cayl and the Farlings being the adults, and the Verlocks and Grenouthians being children, the Drazens and Hortens being the babies. Do you see where I’m going?”
“You’re saying that compared to the Stryx, the most powerful aliens are children, so we must be like ants or something,” Julie said.
“I don’t think ants are sentient, though that’s a question for philosophers.” Vivian exchanged a look with her husband. “I remember that Sam figured this out before I did when we were little and I cried when he explained it to me. The only reason we understand what our alien friends are talking about is because they are smart enough to assess our capacity and speak accordingly.”
“You mean the aliens are always talking down to us?”
“They’re just careful not to talk over our heads, like you would be if you were with friends who had different abilities,” Samuel reassured her. “And as artificial intelligence, I’ll bet Dewey is always restraining himself from bringing up math in his conversations.”
“Not always,” Dewey said. “Just ninety-eight point two-three percent of the time rounded down to two decimal places.”
Three
“What are you doing back for lunch, Harry?” Irene asked her husband as he put his tray down on the table next to hers. “I thought you wouldn’t be home until supper, and I already signed up for the afternoon talk.”
“Flower told me that none of the single aliens would be coming in for food today,” he said. “They had a get-together in the kitchen last night and broke into the samples that M793qK is supposed to be testing for the All Species Cookbook. They left the sink full of bowls and chopsticks.”
“So you’re taking the whole day off?”
“Flower has been cutting back on my hours since my last birthday. According to some new actuarial tables published by Thark bookies, she’s been overestimating my lifespan, and you know she follows Dollnick labor laws on how many hours we’re allowed to work on a prorated basis.”
“I’m not sure whether that’s good news or bad news,” Irene said, giving her husband a speculative glance. “You were always busy in our bakery back on Earth, and Flower has kept you employed ever since we joined the ship.”
“I wanted to rebuild our nest egg a bit after we lost it in the original independent living scam that brought us here,” Harry said. “I don’t envision us ever needing the money, but it would be nice to be able to leave the grandkids something.”
“The world has changed so much since we were their age that I’m not sure it matters.”
“Money always matters. What’s the talk you’re signed up for? Maybe I’ll sit in.”
“The two authors who started a writers colony on board are going to talk about their progress,” Irene said, and looked over as a couple more people set down trays and took their seats. “You look very nice today, Nancy. Are you and Jack going somewhere after lunch?”
“We’re going here,” the retired schoolteacher replied. “As the population of Flower’s Paradise grows, we’re now putting on classes and lectures in the mornings, afternoons, and evenings. Some events work best in different time slots, but I’ve realized that people only dress up for the after-dinner lectures. I think there’s an effect on the professionalism of the presenters, so I thought I’d try dressing for the afternoon lectures and see if it catches on.”
“My wife the fashion leader,” Jack said, patting Nancy’s hand. “The main difference I’ve noticed between the time slots is that everybody is alert in the morning, irritable in the afternoon, and sleepy in the evening.”
“Keep that in mind the next time you catch me snoozing at one of our board meetings,” Harry told the retired ag world worker, who served as the president of the independent living cooperative.
Dave, an ex-salesman in his mid-seventies with a bit of a potbelly, set his tray down on the table and gave Harry a friendly nod. “I haven’t seen you here for lunch on a weekday in ages. Did you get fir
ed from Flower Foods?”
“Flower can never fire Harry,” Irene said. “Her main product is named after him.”
“The fruitcake is less than twenty percent of the business at this point, and it’s only that much because the Dollnicks can’t get enough of them,” Harry said. “These days the big sellers are the ready-to-make soup mixes based on the All Species Cookbook, and looking around the cafeteria, I see they’re a lot more popular than my pot pies.”
“These soups are made from packages?” Nancy asked. “I thought they were from scratch.”
“You’d have to ask Flower to be sure,” the baker said, carefully removing a section of crust from the top of his pot pie with his fork. He looked up again as Maureen, a retired advertising executive who sat on the cooperative’s board, took her seat. She was accompanied by Brenda, who in addition to serving on the board, had been drafted into working full time as Flower’s lawyer for dealings with humans. “So all of you went for the soup-and-salad? I thought the pies would be a big hit.”
“It’s the calorie count,” Dave explained. “You know that Flower keeps track of what we eat.”
“It’s worth being careful at lunch to be able to pick any dessert at dinner,” Maureen concurred.
“We all assumed that Flower grants you a waiver since you do research and development for her food business,” Brenda added with an envious look at Harry.
“Not that she’s told me,” Harry said, spearing a chunk of gravy-drenched carrot with his fork. “It’s just that after baking for over forty years I’ve gotten out of the habit of eating desserts.”
“You should all eat balanced meals and listen to your bodies,” Flower addressed them via an overhead speaker. “I’m troubled by this Human obsession with calories.”
“What brought that on?” Irene asked, without even glancing up at the ceiling.
“The deal I made with the All Species Cookbook to certify products for their seal of approval. M793qK has informed me that we will be obligated to confirm all of the nonsense numbers on the packaging.”
“Shall I assume that you’re referring to nutritional data?” Nancy asked.
“Precisely. Nobody reads it, and even if they did, they wouldn’t understand it. I have almost eighteen thousand years experience looking over the shoulders of Dollnick dieticians, and five years of assisting with the eating choices of over a half-million Humans. Do you know what I’ve learned?”
“I have a feeling you’re going to tell us,” Harry said in an undertone.
“You have to communicate with people in a vocabulary they understand,” the Dollnick AI continued. “Do I tell Dave to watch his calories? No. I give him a list of foods and quantities he can eat throughout the day, and if he goes over that—”
“No ice cream,” Dave interjected in a mournful tone.
“—no ice cream,” Flower concluded on a note of finality. “And do I tell him three ounces of this or forty grams of that? No, I break it down into pieces of fruit or servings of soup. But those misguided nutritional labels are so ingrained in your collective subconscious that if anybody brings up the topic of diet you all revert to reciting numbers of calories that you can’t even measure without lab equipment.”
“Isn’t that a good reason to put the numbers on the labels?” Harry asked, winking at the others.
“First of all, my infrared sensors picked up that wink when the radiated heat from your left eye blipped,” Flower said. “Second of all, if you wanted to be part of the solution rather than part of the problem, you’d volunteer.”
“Of course we want to be part of the solution,” Irene said. “What do you want us to volunteer for?”
“Taste testing,” Flower said, her artificially generated voice overflowing with enthusiasm. “I think you’ll find it an enjoyable experience, and it will only take a few minutes of your time to fill out the forms after each sample.”
“Forms?” Irene repeated.
“To put your reactions to the products into words while the impression is fresh,” Flower said. “After all, the purpose of branding is to create a perception of quality and consistency. The EarthCent ambassador finally realized that allowing anybody to market their products as ‘Certified by the All Species Cookbook’ in return for an annual licensing fee was cheapening the brand. She’s hired us to help relaunch the certification program with a focus on safety and quality. When it comes to food, taste plays an important role in quality considerations.”
“I would have thought it plays the only role,” Dave said.
“It’s that kind of thinking that put you on a restricted diet,” the Dollnick AI chided him. “Taste provides an important feedback signal to your brain about what your body needs if the food is unprocessed, but as soon as cooking and additives come into play, your taste buds are easily fooled.”
“Just how difficult will these forms be to fill out?” Irene asked.
“Maybe I’ll just pay Bill to bring the samples and record your reactions,” Flower said. “Now that you’ve agreed, I’ll begin introducing samples to the lunch selections as soon as M793qK finishes his chemical testing.”
“For everybody?” Jack asked. “Don’t we get to vote?”
“If you recall the review of my food service contract for the cooperative at the last board meeting, informed consent from one regular diner per location is all I require to introduce new menu items,” Flower said, and then quickly changed the subject. “Last night’s transit took us to a tunnel exit on the Sharf frontier, and tonight I’ll be jumping to one of their older industrial worlds for my elective stop. It’s quite a distance, so I’ll be stretching the jump for twenty-six hours to give your brains time to adjust. The majority of you will be asleep during both transitions, which should ease any symptoms.”
“What do you want at an old Sharf world?” Harry asked.
“Mothballed factory tooling for the discontinued model of Sharf two-man traders that have proven so popular with your species. I want to have an assembly line up and running in time to be able to demonstrate the ships and start taking orders when I host the next Rendezvous of your Traders Guild.”
“I get that you have plenty of empty decks where you can set up manufacturing, and we all know how good you are at attracting new employees, but where are you going to get the parts?” Jack asked.
“My deal for the intellectual property rights and tooling requires me to purchase the drives and fuel packs from the Sharf, and the ships will be equipped with controllers that the Verlocks produce under license from the Stryx. Our assembly line will fabricate the hulls and mechanical components, and we’ll add value with custom interiors for Humans, including the Zero-G exercise equipment, bathrooms, and kitchenettes.”
“And you think you can compete on price with pre-owned ships that have been reconditioned?”
“All of the used inventory has already been absorbed by your people—that’s the reason I’m getting into the business,” the Dollnick AI said. “You asked me to inform you when the guests of honor arrived, Nancy. Geoffrey and Bianca just exited the lift tube.”
“Don’t jump up,” Jack told his wife, putting a restraining arm on her shoulder as he rose. “I’ll go greet them.”
“You got yourself a real gentleman,” Irene said, giving Nancy a wink as Jack went to meet the guests.
“I think he feels guilty about taking a salary as the president of the cooperative while the rest of the board members only get profit-sharing,” Nancy replied, after swallowing a bite of lunch. “He works hard at organizing the tours we take at all the stops, and everybody grabs him in the corridor whenever they have a complaint.”
Brenda glanced towards the exit to make sure that Jack was out of earshot, and then said, “I think your husband underrates himself because he didn’t have much education and worked on an ag world for most of his life. He’s the only one of us who shows up for all the board meetings and actually knows everything that goes on with the cooperative, rather than just the part
s he’s interested in.”
“Jack really does make it a full-time job, but he likes to keep busy,” Nancy agreed. “Could you grab another chair for the table so that there’s room for both of our guest speakers?” she asked Dave, who had already polished off his soup and salad.
“One of them can have my seat,” the retired salesman replied. “I’m going to walk up and down the corridor for fifteen minutes. Doc said it might help make my digestion more efficient.”
“Immediately after the meal?” Harry asked. “My doctor used to give me grief about eating on my feet and not taking time off after lunch at the bakery.”
Dave shrugged. “M793qK has repaired more of my organs than I can remember. If he thinks it’s worth trying, I’m game.”
Jack returned with an elderly couple, both of whom had been working as authors for over fifty years. “Bianca D’Arc and Geoffrey Harstang,” he introduced them to the others. “Some of you already know each other from working on MultiCon, but it can’t hurt to refresh everyone’s memories at our age.”
The occupants of the round table dutifully gave their names, and then Harry said, “Grab a tray and get some lunch. It’s free for guests.”
“Jack already offered, but we ate before we came,” Bianca said. “Your common room seems quite cozy,” she added, looking past the grouping of circular tables to the area with overstuffed furniture. “Given the number of people Flower claims live here, I take it most of them must eat in their cabins.”
“There’s a cafeteria that seats five hundred just down the corridor, and the other independent living cooperatives on this deck have their own dining facilities as well,” Nancy explained. “Most of us who eat here are the original cooperative members and we just kept coming out of habit, but the new members prefer the big cafeteria because it employs waitstaff. The people eating there who are coming to your talk will start trickling in any time now.”
Over the next fifteen minutes, diners who had completed their meal and weren’t interested in the after-lunch talk left the common room to be replaced by cooperative members coming from the large cafeteria. There was a bit of excitement when Geoffrey attempted to smuggle Bianca a cup of coffee, only to be intercepted by one of Flower’s maintenance bots. He returned to the table with the glass of milk the bot had given him in exchange.