by E. M. Foner
“Sorry, Bee,” he said. “I guess that living in Flower’s Paradise has its downsides.”
“Are you banned from drinking coffee?” Irene asked Bianca.
“It’s my own fault,” the author admitted. “I agreed to one a day, and Flower is just helping to keep me on the straight and narrow. The last time I cheated she wouldn’t talk to me until I apologized.”
“Some people would consider that a bonus,” Brenda said with a snort.
“I count on her for too many things,” Bianca said. “Back on Earth, I used to hire personal assistants to help with my reader correspondence, especially after I appeared on Let’s Make Friends and started getting questions from aliens about my children’s books. Flower offered to help with all of that here, and she’s far more efficient than any of my part-timers ever were, not to mention being able to read all of the alien languages. And she arranges for all of my focus groups.”
“You run focus groups to test your children’s books?” Maureen asked. “I didn’t realize the marketing was that sophisticated.”
“I let my publishers worry about marketing, but I like trying my ideas on as many age-appropriate beta-readers as possible.”
“It’s about time to start,” Jack said. “I’ll announce the two of you and then sit down and you can do your thing.” He walked over to the double lectern that bots had brought in to replace the steam table and tapped on one of the mics. “Alright, it sounds like we’re live,” he continued, speaking right over all of the conversations still going in the common room. “Our guest speakers today are Bianca D’Arc the Sixth and Geoffrey Harstang, both of whom joined Flower in the last year. They’re going to talk about the writers colony they’ve founded on board, and that’s all I know about it. Please give them a warm Flower’s Paradise welcome.”
The audience responded with a polite round of applause as Jack returned to the table and the two authors moved up to the double lectern.
“Thank you for having us,” Geoffrey began. “Our real goal today isn’t to tell you about the colony we’ve founded but to get your feedback on what we’ve done wrong so far.”
“Like starting from scratch rather than accepting Flower’s proposal to set up here on the independent living deck,” Bianca said.
“And why didn’t you?” somebody asked.
“It’s something we had planned for a long time, or at least,” Geoffrey corrected himself, “talked about a long time ago. Outsourcing all of the work to Flower and simply declaring ourselves open for business would have seemed like a cheat. I had a very specific idea for how I would have gone about this on Earth. My plan was to rehabilitate an old country house for common living and add small cabins to the grounds for people who preferred their privacy. Bianca thought that cooking communal meals together would be important, and we both agreed it would be helpful to have a natural setting.”
“In space?” Harry asked.
“Flower was very accommodating and gave us a section of her outermost ag deck, which is mainly fruit trees and pasture,” Bianca said. “Then she brought in modular cabins that were either in storage or fabricated by bots, I never got a straight answer from her. We currently have private and semi-private apartments for thirty-six people in the first ring. When we finish filling them, Flower will install a second ring with seventy-two cabins, and then we’ll have to see.”
“In case you’re wondering, the cabins are arranged in a ring around a structural spoke containing a lift tube,” Geoffrey added. “And we have a kitchen and dining pavilion with a clear view of a mixed orchard of apple and peach trees.”
“But it sounds like Flower did all of the work after all,” somebody pointed out.
“So that’s the first thing we realized,” Geoffrey said. “I’m closer to eighty than seventy-five, and while I like to think that I could still saw a board straight, metal fabrication has never been part of my skill set. Thanks to help from Flower’s lawyer,” he paused and nodded in Brenda’s direction, “I’ve recovered more of my assets and rights than I dreamed possible after being imprisoned in a locked ward for a decade while my so-called family plundered my estate. So along with Bianca’s contribution, we have no issues with financing the work. But Flower is operating so far below capacity that her charges for leasing space and construction ended up being cheaper than I would have expected to pay anywhere else in the galaxy.”
“Sounds like you’re complaining about having it too good,” Dave commented from the entrance where he had remained standing after returning from his walk.
“Except for the one little thing,” Bianca said. “We’ve only convinced nine writers to sign up so far, and all of them were from the group who remained on board after MultiCon.”
“Have you advertised?” Maureen asked.
“We both announced the opening of the writers colony in the discussion forums of the professional groups we’re members of, and it never occurred to us that there wouldn’t be a flood of applications for subsidized housing from authors who have reached retirement age but still want to be productive.”
“Advertising would be like spending money to give money away,” Geoffrey added.
“How about free publicity?” Nancy asked. “Our cooperative didn’t really get off the ground until the local Galactic Free Press reporter ran a series of articles about the financial fraud that led to our banding together. Then Flower stepped in and started making media buys in advance of all of our stops.”
“I would be honored to do the same for the writers colony,” Flower put in.
Geoffrey and Bianca looked at each other. “We’ll think about it,” they said at the same time.
Four
Dewey removed his hands from the bookmobile’s controls and settled back in his seat to watch the final approach on the main view screen.
“I thought you were flying this thing,” Bill said to the artificial person. “Did you hand over control to Flower?”
“It looks like there’s some wind shear at the landing field, and I can keep us steadier by linking directly with the controls,” Dewey replied complacently. “While my hand-eye coordination is excellent, it’s difficult to make precise movements if the whole ship is getting bounced around.”
“I haven’t felt a thing.”
“The bookmobile is quite advanced, even though it’s not large. There! That was a bounce.”
“I still didn’t feel it.”
“I keep forgetting that you aren’t equipped with my absolute positioning system,” Dewey said. “I suppose your brain isn’t getting bounced around any more than it usually does just from walking.”
“Speaking of brains, I just remembered the dream I had last night. We were about to land at the factory, and suddenly the bookmobile just vanished. It was the two of us falling side by side, but somehow I was sure you could fly and I asked you to hold me up. You answered that flight was an expensive upgrade option and you decided it wasn’t worth it when you bought your body.”
“Funny, I don’t remember telling you about the pushy salesman with the jetpack, but I understand that dreams of falling are very common during jump transitions. Was this around three in the morning?”
“It was,” Bill said. “I checked the time on my implant when I woke up because I was hoping it was already morning and I wouldn’t have to go back to sleep again.”
There was a gentle thump as the bookmobile put down on the ancient tarmac that was surrounded on all sides by an enormous factory.
“That was the roof of a building on the view screen?” Bill asked in disbelief. “I thought we were landing on a pad at the center of a grassy field.”
“The Sharf always plant the roofs of their buildings with cereal crops or grazing land,” Dewey said. “It’s actually a very common practice among the advanced species. In addition to increasing green space, the organic layer provides insulation, protection from radiation, and a healthy habitat for nature.”
“But doesn’t it cost a lot to put up buildings t
hat can take the additional weight? I remember how the water would pour off of roofs back home, but if it rains here, all that water will get absorbed and add to the load.”
“It’s less of an issue than you imagine, even without the advanced materials the Sharf produce. I’ve read some books about commercial architecture on Earth, and people used to build structures in accordance with the depreciation allowances of the tax code, meaning they designed factories for a life of just a few decades. The aliens all take a much longer view, and I wouldn’t be surprised if this factory has been here for a hundred thousand years or more.”
“Somebody is waving a flag at us,” Bill said, pointing at the viewscreen.
“Excellent.” Dewey released his safety restraints and motioned for Bill to do the same. “Yaem briefed me before we left, and he said that it’s traditional for visitors to Sharf industrial sites to remain in their craft until an escort appears. Otherwise, they might mistake us for industrial spies.”
“The aliens sure do a lot of spying on each other.” Bill released his own four-point harness and followed the artificial person to the hatch.
Dewey hit the button, and the hatch folded down as a ramp. The two of them went out to meet their escort, who proved to be a youthful Sharf wearing some type of uniform. The alien hurried over and then asked in a loud voice, “CAN YOU UNDERSTAND ME?”
“Yes, you don’t have to shout,” Bill said. “I have an implant, and he’s artificial intelligence.”
The Sharf made the logical assumption as to who was in charge and turned to address Dewey. “We packaged all of the tooling and shipped it up to orbit in anticipation of Flower’s arrival. Why did she feel that a factory visit was necessary?”
“Flower said she arranged for us to meet with an engineer who had some experience with the discontinued model,” Dewey replied. “I’m told he prepared some instructions for getting the line up and running.”
“Gaer,” the Sharf muttered. “He’s an old fogey is what he is, but if you insist…”
Bill and Dewey followed their escort through a sliding door into a dimly lit area of the building that appeared to be operating on emergency lighting.
“Is the whole factory shut down?” Bill asked, peering around the gloomy space. “It’s completely empty.”
“And why do you think that is, young Human?” the Sharf inquired grouchily.
“Could this be the area where all of the tooling that Flower bought came from? If it is, I guess the equipment is going to take up a lot of deck space.”
“Production lines for metal fabrication have a way of spreading out, especially if you have the capacity to build more than a ship or two at a time,” Dewey said. “My understanding is that this one factory produced all of the two-man traders of that model that were ever built.”
“Millions of them,” the Sharf confirmed, pivoting to the left. “Ah, there’s Gaer now. Greetings, Engineer Gaer,” he said, lowering his eyestalks in respect. “I bring you guests from Flower, an artificial person and a Human.”
The new arrival carried a large satchel in one hand and seemed to be bent over from the weight of it. He shuffled forward slowly and then spent a good minute clearing his throat. Finally, he said, “Thank you, Technician Eeeks. You may return to your work and I will take responsibility for our guests.”
The young Sharf dipped his eyestalks again, and then hurried off, leaving Bill and Dewey with the ancient engineer. Gaer set the satchel down and tapped a button on a device he wore on his wrist. The light fixture above their heads came on full, almost blinding Bill until his pupils adjusted.
“I’m Dewey and this is Bill,” the artificial person introduced the two of them.
“Gaer,” the old Sharf said, dropping his professional title, perhaps in an attempt to put his guests at ease. “I’ve never heard of the intellectual property owners of a ship design licensing it to aliens before, but I have to admit that I’m pleased. Our two-man traders were solid little ships, practically took care of themselves, and the replacement model costs five times as much. I convinced the management to mothball the equipment around five hundred years back when the market dried up completely.”
“When did they start manufacturing the old model here?” Dewey asked.
“Long before my time,” Gaer said. “I couldn’t find any of the manuals for operating the equipment. As near as I could discover, the factory didn’t want to pay for them.”
“Then how did the original operators learn?” Bill asked.
“Now you’re asking me to speculate about something that happened tens of thousands of years ago, but I’ll guess they bought a subscription to access holographic materials from the equipment manufacturer and let it expire after the first generation of workers was trained. These days we build our own machinery in-house, and at least we end up owning all of the documentation.”
“So up in orbit, as we speak, Flower is loading antique assembly line equipment that comes without any instructions?”
“There’s always a wiring diagram and safety warnings on the insides of the access panels,” Gaer said, and then his ancient features cracked in the semblance of a smile. “Ha. Had you going, didn’t I?”
“You sure did,” Dewey said, and to Bill’s ears, the artificial person actually sounded relieved. “So the manuals are in the satchel?”
“Just what I was able to draw up from memory since the management informed me of the deal,” the old Sharf said. “You have to realize that with a production line this old, most of the equipment had been replaced a hundred times over, with a focus on cutting costs and increasing efficiency. Engineering is the art of creation on a budget. If you have infinite resources to solve a problem, you can just hire scientists instead and they’ll get you there eventually.”
“But the machines are in working condition?” Bill asked. “We’ll be able to build the discontinued model of the two-man trader with them?”
“I’m sure your Dollnick colony ship could have her bots fabricate two-man traders without any of the equipment she just purchased, but it will save you some time and expense compared to doing everything from scratch,” Gaer said. “Speaking of which, I wonder what’s taking them so long.”
“What’s taking who so long?” the artificial person asked.
The old Sharf bobbed a single eyestalk, the equivalent of a wink for his species. “Right. Say no more. Why don’t you show me the ship you arrived on, Dewey, and then the two of us can go over these operating instructions while we wait.”
“What about me?” Bill asked.
“You just remain here a few minutes and I’m sure they’ll be along,” Gaer said, bobbing his eyestalk again. “You don’t imagine you’re here just for me to pass over some poorly reconstructed documentation.” There was a sharp whistle from somewhere outside of the bright circle of light they were standing in, and the old Sharf nodded. “They’re here, then,” he said and took Dewey by the elbow. “Three’s a crowd.”
Dewey resisted being dragged off towards the exit for a moment, but Bill said, “Go ahead. I think I just guessed what this is about.”
“We’ll be in the bookmobile,” Dewey said. “Give me a shout over your implant if anything comes up.”
Bill remained alone in the brightly lit area as his friend escorted the elderly Sharf out of the factory. Then the overhead light dimmed again, and another of the aliens approached. This one appeared to be in the prime of life, with more meat on his bones than most Sharf that Bill had met. He stopped about five steps away and said, “Four moons are rising…”
“And a comet approaches,” Bill replied, completing the passphrase Yaem had given him in case he ever encountered somebody in Sharf Intelligence. “Do you work for Yaem?”
The Sharf agent barked a laugh. “Work for that dilettante? I’m not even sure whose side he’s on anymore. The reports he’s been submitting since he transferred on board Flower are so good that I’m sure somebody else must be writing them for him.”
�
��I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Bill said. “I just help him with recruiting.”
“When he’s not too busy running conventions or acting like an idiot for that animated series Flower produces.” The Sharf paused a second, staring intently at Bill’s face. “You’re on the show too, aren’t you?”
“I was, but I think the writers are going to kill me off as soon as it’s convenient,” Bill said. “Flower has been holding focus groups for Everyday Superheroes and the feedback is that there are too many humans.”
“That was certainly my impression,” the Sharf said. “So, I understand that you’ve taken to recruiting agents like a Snook takes to water.”
“Is that a good thing?”
The spymaster shrugged. “The Snooks seem to like water, so I suppose it is. And we’ve already started receiving reports from the Human sources on open worlds that you recruited for Yaem, but our analysts have noticed an interesting pattern. They seem to be avoiding sending us any information about their hosts.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
The spymaster paused, uncertain whether Bill was playing dumb or was truly as innocent in the ways of the intelligence world as Yaem had made him out to be.
“It comes down to budgeting,” he said finally. “While every station chief in Sharf Intelligence is allowed a certain amount of leeway in developing their own network, we set specific goals by which we can judge their performance. The majority of station chiefs are permanently located on a target world, or at least in a fixed region of space, and they are expected to develop sources of intelligence in that region.”
“But Flower is always moving, and some of the people I recruited for you were from worlds we’ve never even stopped at,” Bill said, and then gambled on a little disinformation. “That’s why Yaem talked Flower into hosting MultiCon, to bring people from all over the tunnel network to us.”