Space Living (EarthCent Universe Book 4)

by E. M. Foner

  “You ate them all.”

  “I think we can fudge the results without worry in this case. If you dropped a potato chip on the floor, do you think it would make a splat?”

  “No, it’s too light, and it’s hard, so even if it weighed more it would just crumble or break.”

  “Precisely. How about an orange?”

  “I guess it would depend on how hard it hit the floor,” Bill said.

  “It’s just a regular drop at average gravity, not a sporting contest,” M793qK said. “An orange would have to be rotten soft to go splat. And mayonnaise?”

  “A real mess.”

  “So just note it down on your tab when you bring the test products to Harry’s independent living cooperative tonight. I had planned to be there myself for the first tasting, but my Zarent patients require more attention and I should really be getting back.”

  “So no burning, no measuring, just note the splat,” Bill said.

  “And any other reactions the taste testers have,” the Farling physician said. “They’re supposed to self-report any issues with the food beyond taste, but if I’ve learned one thing treating Humans, it’s that they can’t be trusted to describe their own physical responses. Just yesterday I had a patient stop in complaining about a headache. I had to analyze all of his bodily fluids to diagnose that he was suffering from caffeine withdrawal after quitting coffee because he lacked the sense to tell me what was wrong.”

  “I’ll try to watch for everybody’s reactions, but I can’t make them eat in front of me one by one.”

  “Do your best, and clean up this mess,” M793qK said on his way towards the door. “When I have some free time again, I’ll teach you how to determine alcohol content with Frunge strips. That’s an easy one because all you have to do is soak the strip and read off the number.”

  “I don’t know any Frunge,” Bill said.

  “It’s just numerals, you’ll learn.”

  Bill cleaned up the mayonnaise and the potato chip crumbs after M793qK left, and then he double-checked the list the Farling had drawn up to make sure all of the products scheduled for testing were on the catering cart. He disengaged the parking brake on the cart so it floated free and set out for Flower’s Paradise. The common room was full of diners when he arrived.

  “Over here,” Harry called, waving at Bill. “I’ve had my eye on those olives in brine ever since they showed up on the kitchen shelves. M793qK finally released the products for testing?”

  “Some of them,” Bill said. “It depends on how many samples we have and how much further testing needs to be done. Have you ever heard people talking about the splat or crunch factor for food?”

  “When you and Julie have a baby you’ll become splat-factor experts,” Irene said. “We used to talk about the schmear factor too.”

  “Mainly for bagel spreads,” Harry added. “Schmear factor might have been a regional thing, but everybody cares about splat and crunch.”

  “On a scale from one to six-hundred and thirteen?” Bill asked.

  “You know how some aliens like quantifying things. Now let me have those olives.”

  “I didn’t know there were such things as purple olives.”

  “They’re actually black, but the brining process lightens them,” Harry said, then grimaced after trying and failing to unscrew the lid. “Here. You have the young wrists.”

  Bill took the jar of olives and twisted off the lid, taking care to make it look more difficult than it really was. “Who else wants something from the cart?”

  “Is that salt water taffy?” Dave asked, pointing at a package of pink candy.

  “Oh, that’s actually for me,” Bill said, grabbing the pack and sticking it in his pocket. “M793qK specifically prohibited it for your group. He said it could pull your dental work out.”

  “Those digestive crackers look interesting,” Irene said. “Why don’t you open the pack, Dave, and I’ll share them with you.”

  The retired salesman grumbled, but he tore open the package at the small notch, took one, and passed it around the table. The only other person to take one was Irene.

  “They aren’t that bad,” she said. “Nice and crunchy.”

  “How crunchy?” Bill asked, pulling out his tab. “I mean, on a scale from one to six hundred and thirteen.”

  “That’s rather specific. Perhaps around two hundred? What do you think, Dave?”

  “I think I’d have to eat some of those potato chips for comparison,” he said, eyeing a bag that was the twin of the one that M793qK had recently subjected to destructive testing.

  “Does anybody want to try almond butter on their digestive cracker?” Bill asked hopefully.

  “I will,” Irene volunteered immediately and nudged her husband.

  “I suppose we all agreed to be guinea pigs,” Harry said reluctantly. “Why don’t you just assign us each a product to try, Bill. That’s the way they would do it in a real testing lab. If you only get reactions from people who are pre-disposed to like something, it won’t be very useful.”

  “Great,” Bill said and began sliding packages of ready-to-eat foods around the table like he was dealing playing cards. “I’ll just take these around to the rest of the room and then I’ll be back for your reactions.”

  But when he tried to move the cart to the next table, he found the way blocked by a trio of elderly women dressed in garish robes.

  “Stop right there, young man,” the woman in the middle told him. “Bertha, get the nuts.”

  “These are test samples for certification,” Bill objected as one of the women outflanked him and grabbed a double handful of individual serving size packages of pistachios and cashews. “You have to give me your reactions and I need to note the crunch factor.”

  Behind him, the president of the cooperative rose from the table and stepped forward to greet the women. “I’m Jack. Welcome to Flower’s Paradise. I don’t recognize any of you so I’m guessing you’re here to explore our independent living cooperative.”

  “That’s right,” the woman said. “We saw the advertisements and it sounds like you’ll provide for all of our needs.”

  “Well, we like to think we have a pretty good system in place,” Jack said. “The rent is competitive with living in a regular cabin, but we also have a flexible meal plan, meaning Flower only charges if you eat in one of our cafeterias. We have classes and workshops on a daily basis, and we’re developing new activities that will meet our team sport requirement.”

  “Excuse me, I don’t think I heard you right,” the woman said. “Did you say you pay to live here?”

  “Of course,” Jack said, somewhat taken aback by the question. “Nothing is free on board Flower, but we—”

  “It’s free for us,” the woman interrupted. “We’re Wanderers. We don’t pay for anything.”

  “I don’t really have any experience with that, but this cooperative is owned by the membership. We may reduce the fees for hardship cases, but the rent is required to reimburse Flower for—”

  “There you go with rent again,” the woman interrupted irritably. “And who would choose to attend classes or workshops at our age? Are you all loonies?”

  Nancy jumped up from the table, looking remarkably spry for her eighties, and stepped in front of Jack.

  “Learning doesn’t stop with retirement,” she told the Wanderer who towered over the former school teacher by a head. “Independent living isn’t about sitting around watching each other atrophy. We’re an active community.”

  “We’re an active community too,” the woman declared, tearing open the package of salt water taffy she had fished out of Bill’s pocket while he was maneuvering the cart through the trio of Wanderers to escape. “We all work full time as unpaid entertainment critics. Ask me something about Vergallian dramas.”

  “I wouldn’t know the first thing about them,” Nancy said.

  “And you put on airs like you’re educated.” The Wanderer tore off a bit of taffy with h
er teeth, and then a strange look came over her face and she stopped talking.

  “These nuts aren’t salty enough,” Bertha called after Bill. “The pistachios are about a sixty-three on the crunch scale without the shells and five hundred and twenty with.”

  The third Wanderer, who hadn’t spoken yet, leaned towards Irene and whispered something. Harry’s wife blanched and then handed over her butter knife. The woman brought it to the leader of the trio, who accepted it with a nod and immediately started trying to work it in between her jaws.

  “Wouldn’t you like to sit down to do that?” Jack asked, offering his chair.

  The Wanderer just shook her head and continued probing and twisting with the flat knife.

  “Better go easy on that almond butter, Dave,” Harry advised his friend. “It’s healthy, but it’s high in calories, and I know you don’t want to lose your ice cream privilege.”

  Dave dropped his third digestive cracker like it was radioactive. “Are you sure? Flower told me I’m already on a short leash today because I had a water roll with lunch.”

  Bertha burst out laughing. “You let a Dollnick AI tell you what you can and can’t eat?” Even the head of the Wanderer trio whose teeth were still stuck together took the time off from prying to manage a sort of chortle.

  “Flower’s dietary suggestions are a valuable contribution to our independent living cooperative,” Nancy said indignantly. “She coordinates with the Farling physician, who holds a regular wellness clinic on this deck tailored for our age group. Nobody is forced to follow the diets they prescribe, but—”

  “If they don’t, no ice cream,” Bertha interrupted derisively, and then stopped to demand, “What?” as the third Wanderer tugged at her sleeve. The two put their heads together and began exchanging whispers.

  “You know I try to keep an open mind about people,” Irene said to Harry in a low voice, “but I don’t think the Wanderers would be a good match for our cooperative.”

  “Hey, you,” Bertha yelled in Bill’s direction. “Adel says that the granola bars you’re pushing are a four-eighty-six on the crunch scale, and they have excellent tongue feel.”

  “Thank you,” Bill called back, taking a moment to note it on his tab.

  “Blech,” the leader of the trio exclaimed, having finally pried her mouth open wide enough to speak. “I’d score the taffy thirty-seven out of a possible forty on the Horten stickiness scale, but there’s something off about the sweetness. Is it even possible to substitute for sugar in taffy?”

  “Do Wanderers know about all these alien scales?” Bill asked, returning to the table.

  “Of course,” the woman said. “Why would we use Earth’s archaic nutritional labeling for anything? It’s hard enough to keep the other species from laughing at us as it is.”

  “I’ve got some jerky in the bottom section of the cart that M793qK didn’t want me to test on any cooperative members, but if you—”

  “Real jerky?” Bertha interrupted. “Bring it on. I’ll cut my expert consultation fee in half.”

  “You charge for eating?”

  “No,” the woman said, grabbing the proffered snacks. “I charge for telling you what I think. If you just want me to take this stuff home and eat it, you don’t have to pay me a single cred.”

  “Oh,” Bill said. He realized that possession was nine-tenths of the law and he wasn’t going to get the jerky back. “I don’t really have a budget, but I guess I could pay a couple creds out of my own pocket.”

  “Each,” the leader of the trio said, and hooking the young man’s arm, began moving him towards the exit. “Bertha, bring the cart. Good food is wasted on these old fogies, they probably prefer raw vegetable sticks.” She tossed the butter knife to the third woman, who shot Irene an apologetic look and then dropped it in the dishpan on her way out.

  Eleven

  “How did it go?” Julie asked Dewey when the latter emerged from the bookmobile. “I’m sorry again about bailing out at the last minute, but Flower told me to wait here.”

  “And it’s a good thing that she did,” the artificial person said. “When I approached the Vergallian orbital, they told me if they detected any biological life on board larger than a bread box they would open fire.”

  “I don’t get what the aliens are so afraid of,” Julie said as she helped Dewey begin removing packages from the bookmobile’s cargo compartment. “Sure, the Wanderers are obnoxious and they don’t like to work, but—”

  “No buts,” Dewey said. “Once you let them in the door you can’t get them to leave. I’m surprised at how calm Flower has remained about it to this point. The Stryx may be subsidizing repairs to the Wanderer’s ship, but who knows how much business we’re losing through being turned away at stop after stop. Some of the vendors in the bazaar and the amusement park have basically shut down for the duration.”

  “The Zarents are nice,” Julie protested, placing another box on the cargo floater.

  “They aren’t Wanderers, they just live in the ships and take care of the maintenance and repairs.”

  “And these are the vector-whatsits that Flower was waiting on?”

  “Vector processors, specifically built for accelerating holographic computations,” Dewey said, retrieving the final box and triggering the hatch to close. “Flower tried to save money on the LARPing studio by using cheaper parts, but the quality of the holograms just wasn’t up to snuff and she had to work too hard herself just to get to that point. These weren’t cheap, but if they operate the way they’re supposed to, Flower will be able to serve as the game master without having to do so many calculations.”

  “I thought all AI loved doing math,” Julie said, shuffling alongside the artificial person as he guided the small cargo floater towards the nearest lift tube.

  “There’s fun math and there’s boring math. Keeping an illusion wrapped around a bot for the sake of letting a role player think they’re battling an ogre is boring math. And maintaining a virtual reality environment for hundreds of players at the same time in a large space takes an insane amount of calculating power,” Dewey explained. “It’s no big deal for the Stryx, of course, but the only LARPing studios on planets run on huge banks of vector processors.”

  “Will these be enough then?”

  “They’re the latest generation from the Fleet Vergallians, and Flower ordered twice as many as she thought would be required just to play it safe.” Dewey shoved the floater into the back of the lift tube and instructed the capsule, “Con deck.”

  “So was that your first time on the Vergallian orbital?”

  “I was there once before in my robot body and everybody ignored me,” the artificial person said. “Now I could probably pass as Vergallian if I wore the right clothes and touched up my cheekbones a little.” The lift tube door opened and he pushed the floater out onto the Con deck. “Has Flower begun training you in building LARPing studios along with all of your other jobs?”

  “She just wanted me there since it’s officially part of her entertainment division. Other than my one experience on Union Station during MultiCon, I’ve never LARPed. I think Flower is putting so much effort into this because she wants to get the studio certified for the professional LARPing league. That would allow us to start staging those events on board, and maybe even do a live broadcast over the Stryxnet. Have you ever LARPed, Dewey?”

  “Holographic illusions won’t work on me unless I go out of my way to match my frame rate to the projection, but I’m curious to try.” The artificial person scowled at a mixed group of Wanderers who were wearing the equivalent of T-shirts for their respective species, all of which were printed in English with misleading identifications.

  “Was that Horten wearing a T-shirt that says he’s a Verlock?” Julie asked Dewey. “That doesn’t make any sense at all.”

  “They’re mocking the cosplayers who try to stay in character around the clock. You know, the way Grynlan and the Grenouthian stole the best-in-species awards at MultiC
on without dressing up by pretending to be each other.”

  “You were there?”

  “The Grenouthians kept rerunning it on their network before the late show for a whole cycle,” Dewey said. He came to a halt at doors in a partition wall that stretched from the deck all the way to the ceiling. “Try waving your hand over that scanner. It looks like somebody added security to keep the Wanderers out.”

  “I’ve got it,” Flower said over Julie’s implant, and the doors slid open. “Bring the vector processors over to where Bill and Zick are working with Jorb and Razood.”

  “Why isn’t Bill in class?” Julie asked.

  “I had to cancel Open University classes this morning. Around a thousand Wanderers showed up and staged a sit-in.”

  “Why?”

  “They must have heard somewhere that student protests are a good way to make the administration crazy,” Flower said, and Julie would have sworn she could hear restraint stretched to the limits in the Dollnick AI’s artificial voice. “First, they asked for life experience credit for having visited so many places, and when I tried to humor them by granting it, they immediately followed up with a whole laundry list of demands for new clothes and other personal items. They’re claiming that under the tunnel network treaty, students living in temporary quarters due to disasters, including life-support failure on residential spacecraft, qualify for special aid.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Today is a loss, but I plan to tempt them out of the campus facilities with a banquet later, and tomorrow I’ll ask the captain to deploy his security team to limit entry to properly registered students.”

  “I still think you should throw them all in the brig,” Dewey said. They reached the group working on a section of deck where all of the plates had been removed, and the artificial person announced, “One shipment of Vergallian vector processors with K-type edge connectors in retail packaging.”

  “K-type?” Jorb’s tentacle drooped in disappointment. “We just finished installing a full array of J-type sockets.”