Bits of flower, p.1
Bits of Flower, page 1
Bits Of Flower
Book Two of EarthCent Metaverse
Copyright 2023 by E. M. Foner
One
“Set it down there, on the back table I’m using for a workbench,” Mouser said. “What do you think of my new location?”
“Probably good for business, but I’m not sure I want to hang out here for our weekly game,” Hercules replied. He placed the heavy box of legacy electronics components on the indicated workbench and surveyed the nearby booths in Flower’s bazaar. “Looks like they put you in with the aliens.”
“Entertainment section, since I mainly repair games. The booth across from me is a Horten who sells instant holograms with permanent projectors, and the double booth to the left is run by a couple of Grenouthians pushing every type of memory device in the galaxy loaded with pirated content.”
“So your semi-retirement lasted, what? Two months?”
“I got bored,” Mouser admitted. “To tell you the truth, that big push on A Mazing Earth before we left Bits took it out of me and I needed a little time to rest up. I still have the other workshop space on Flower’s hobby deck leased for the rest of the year, but I thought it would be fun to set up a booth where I’d have a shot at new business from the tourists who visit at our stops.”
“But you’re a specialist,” Hercules pointed out. “You never had any shortage of customers back on Bits.”
“I never had any shortage of repairs, but most of them were locals or mail-order from Earth. I’ve gotten to the age where chatting with old fogies like myself about the golden age of gaming is half of the pleasure of repairing the consoles.”
“I don’t get why everybody doesn’t just buy those cheap universal units the Dollnicks churn out that play every console game from every species. They probably cost less than your repairs.”
“You, my young friend, are truly a barbarian,” Mouser told him. “No wonder you’re in such demand as a videogame actor.”
“Somehow I suspect it’s all the time I spend pumping iron that gets me those gigs, not my attitude towards obsolete hardware,” Hercules said. “And I think, like your days as an eccentric technician working in a remote lab, my days of starring as a non-player character are coming to an end.”
“You got fired?”
“I wish. They keep promising to give me more lines, but somehow nobody gets around to writing them. I’ve signed up for a training course in space welding and infrastructure maintenance at Flower’s Shipyard.”
“Space welding as in outside?” Mouser asked, pointing down.
“Shouldn’t you be pointing up, or out?” Hercules asked. “I thought the ship was an enormous centrifuge.”
“It’s counterintuitive, but down is outwards, and unless you’re pretty near the end of the cylinder, down is also the shortest distance to the vacuum. The deck below us is the reservoir, and that’s right up against the hull.”
“I guess I’m just conditioned to planetary living where outer space is always up. Working in the vacuum pays big creds, and supposedly you can get a job anywhere from aliens who are trying to limit their use of robots.”
“Economists from the pre-opening would be rolling over in their graves if they knew that the solution the advanced species came up with for the post-employment economy was to just not go down that path,” Mouser said with a grin as he started removing parts from the last box Hercules had brought. “Anybody else from Bits sign up for the shipyard training?”
Hercules nodded. “They had to open a second section, there were so many of us. And there aren’t enough humans qualified to teach, so our instructor is a Zarent.”
“Never heard of them.”
“Neither had I until a little furry octopus rode into the shipyard on a unicycle and announced that she would be our welding instructor. At first, we thought it was some kind of joke, but then she climbed into a sort of saddle arrangement on one of those four-armed maintenance bots, and in less time than it takes me to make a sandwich, she demonstrated an emergency weld on a containment vessel.”
“Sounds like a good way to get your attention,” Mouser said. “I wonder why I haven’t seen any Zarents around the ship. It would be hard to miss an octopus riding a unicycle, or a bot for that matter.”
“It turns out that they prefer Zero-G, so they hang out in a reserved section of Flower’s core, behind the docking bay,” Hercules explained. “I got the whole story afterward from Don, one of the shipyard foremen. He said that the Zarents were created by another species, the Farlings, as a bribe to make the Wanderers go away. A couple of years ago, Flower encountered a Wanderer ship in distress and took it in tow. By the time it was fixed up, she made a deal to set up a sort of rest and rehabilitation facility for Zarents in return for their help setting up the shipyard.”
“I’ve heard of the Wanderers, hope we don’t run into any.” Mouser set aside the static-proof bag he was examining and turned to look at the big man. “What does Rayne think of your career plans?”
“The first thing she asked is whether Flower talked me into it, but when I explained that it was my own idea, and that if we’re ever going to live somewhere else it would be good to have some practical skills to fall back on, she was all for it. The funny thing is that for all of her talk about moving on one day, she’s taken over as comptroller for Flower Industries.”
“The whole shooting match? The shipyard, the anime production, the packaged foods, the convention business?”
“You’re leaving out the ferrying business, the ship rentals, and the package deliveries,” Hercules said with a wry grin. “Every time I take Rayne out, the first hour is her telling me how she’s not going to talk about work while she talks about work.”
“I must be getting old to have forgotten about the package deliveries,” Mouser said. “I had years of consignment repairs stacked up in storage that Flower took off my hands the first time she stopped at Bits. I should ask her how she did on them.”
“They weren’t paid for upfront?”
“That’s when I was experimenting with cash-on-delivery. Those Horten pirates who used to come around were going to do the deliveries, but when they found out how little money was involved, they got cold feet.”
Hercules watched Mouser sorting components for another minute before asking, “Was there anything else, or can I take off?”
“Sorry, I keep forgetting that we’re not back on Bits,” the older man said. “Thanks for your help, and I’ll see you Sunday morning at our game.”
“Here, or your other space?”
“I don’t have room for the old couch or the overstuffed chairs here, which is a shame, because there are plenty of snacks for sale in the food court over on the other side of the amusement park.”
“Never thought I’d see a roller coaster on a spaceship, but then again, I never thought I’d leave Bits,” Hercules said. “See you Sunday.”
It took Mouser another two hours to unpack the remaining boxes and finish setting up a workspace at the back of the booth. He had just figured out how to connect his universal Earth power supply to the Dollnick inductive coupler when a man with immersive-star looks strode up with a basket of fruit.
“Dewey,” Mouser greeted the artificial person. “What brings you to my grand opening?”
“Flower asked me to deliver a gift basket,” Dewey said. “It’s standard procedure for new bazaar vendors.” He set it on the table and shook his head. “Don’t you know anything about marketing?”
“Didn’t need to on Bits,” Mouser said. “Everybody knew where to find me, and I was never in that end of the gaming business.”
“If you want, I can ask Flower to send you a co-op student from the Open University business program. At the least, you should get a holographic sign so that customers know what business you’re in. Maybe a couple of balloons to give the booth a festive look.”
“That’s not a bad idea. The booth across from me is run by a Horten who does holographic portraiture and maybe he can make me a sign. Any idea when he’ll open?”
“Didn’t anybody explain to you how the bazaar works?” Dewey asked, and then answered himself. “That’s right, none of you lot gave Flower permission to talk to you without being addressed first.”
“Us lot?” Mouser asked with a smile.
“Your gaming group,” the artificial person said. “If you’d let her explain it, Flower would have told you that three-quarters of the booths in the bazaar don’t open unless we’re at a stop, though that’s twice as many as five years ago. There just isn’t enough interest from the million or so people living on board to make it worthwhile for tourist-oriented businesses to keep regular hours. Some of the vendors have other jobs, the ones who sell crafts usually have another workshop on the hobby deck, like you do, where they create the goods that they sell. The only booths that stay open through the tunnel transits and the occasional interstellar jump are the ones that do a good business with locals.”
“Makes sense.” Mouser took an apple from the fruit basket, polished it on his pants leg, and took a bite. “The truth is, I’d put up with a lot for this fruit.”
“You didn’t see me hanging around Bits any longer than necessary after I had my own body,” Dewey said by way of agreement. “Have you met Third Officer Pyun Lynx?”
“The captain’s wife? She wasn’t in her office when I went to rent the booth, but the guy who took my money told me that she would stop by once I was set up.”
“Lynx used to be an independent trader, and she’s Flower’s point person fo r all of the commercial activity on this deck. If you need anything special or have any complaints, Lynx is your best bet since you avoid talking directly with Flower.”
“I don’t avoid talking with her,” Mouser said in exasperation. “It’s just that I’ve found once you start a conversation with a twenty-thousand-year-old Dollnick AI, it’s not easy to stop. The first month we were on board, I probably spent more time talking with Flower than with my wife. That’s not a formula for a successful marriage.”
“You’ve been married forty years,” Dewey pointed out. “I seriously doubt that your wife will be jealous of your sparing a few words for Flower.”
“It’s not that, Sophie loves Flower.” Mouser climbed onto his technician’s work stool like he was settling in for a long conversation and spun the seat to face the artificial person. “You and Flower played me like a fiddle back on Bits and I haven’t quite gotten over it. We’re still friends, Dewey,” he continued, holding up a hand to forestall the other’s protest, “but whenever you bring up Flower, I get the feeling that you’re working for her and she has some new job in mind for me.”
“You served as the hands to build my first body and I’ll never forget that. I’d give you the arm off this android, but they aren’t detachable.”
“There’s no need to be so dramatic.” Mouser sighed. “Working for Flower on A Mazing Earth was the experience of a lifetime, and I already agreed to be a panelist at the next gaming con.”
“A Mazing Earth is going to win the Best New Vertically Integrated Game award,” Dewey said. “If you don’t own a tux, Flower Textiles has a formalwear subsidiary. I can get you a deal.”
“Let’s do this,” Mouser said. “I appreciate the fruit, and if we’re really going to get an award, I’ll wear a tux, but I’m renting, not buying. Now, if there’s something Flower wants you to talk me into, give it to me straight so we can get back to being regular friends.”
“Just one more thing first,” Dewey said, holding up his index finger. “You know that Flower has a thing about putting everybody to work, but you might not know the reason. It’s because the Dollnicks don’t design the artificial intelligence for colony ships, they just put all of the pieces in place and let it develop spontaneously.”
Mouser pulled open the tab on an aluminum soda can, caught a fleeting expression of concern on the artificial person’s face, and said, “It’s sugar-free. I’ve dropped five kilos since moving here and changing my diet, though I suppose the mandatory morning calisthenics and required team sport have something to do with it as well. We all admit that Flower has our best interests at heart, but sixty-two is too old to have a nanny.” He took a sip and continued, “Isn’t that a risky game for the Dollnicks to play? How do they know the ship will end up with a viable AI if they don’t design it for stability?”
“Experience, and good building blocks,” Dewey explained. “A colony ship is so much like a living organism that the interconnected computer systems are on the border of sentience just doing their jobs. The AI that emerges ties it all together, but on very rare occasions, like with Flower, they eventually become so opinionated about every aspect of life on board that the Dollnicks abandon ship.”
“So that’s how EarthCent ended up with Flower,” Mouser said, nodding in understanding. “All right, get it over with. What does she want me to do?”
“Another game, but not for a vertically integrated franchise,” the artificial person added hastily when he saw his friend wince. “Just a basic role-playing game for the tabletop or virtual reality headsets.”
“And why come to me and not one of the hundreds of game designers from Bits?”
“Thanks to A Mazing Earth you have her complete confidence, plus I told her that our group was getting near the end of our current Sunday game,” Dewey said. “It’s sort of a vanity project, there’s no pressure or deadlines.”
“A vanity project for a Dollnick colony ship?” Mouser laughed at the thought. “Does she have a game that she’s developed but it needs some polish from professionals?”
“You’re not too far from the truth. She wants us to develop it in the direction of what we’re doing right now.”
“Us as in you and Flower?’
Dewey shook his head. “She wants you to leave her out of it. Flower is looking for a role-playing game about living on a colony ship that’s been hired to visit sovereign human communities on a circuit that includes stops at Earth and a Stryx station twice a year. But without her as the ship’s AI.”
Mouser took another sip from his sugar-free soda and reflexively looked around for the bag of chips before remembering he had beat the salt habit. “It’s not likely to be very accurate,” he said slowly. “Given how little time I’ve been on board I’d need a lot of help with the basics.”
“You’ll do it?”
“I admit that I can use a change from elves and sorcerers, which is why I’ve got gamemaster’s block with the new adventure I’ve been working up for the group. The layout of the ship with all of the concentric decks is ideal from the leveling perspective, but I’m having a hard time picturing the goal.”
“It’s to successfully operate the ship,” Dewey said. “Think of it like one of those old farming games where the idea is to build up your resources.”
“And you’re sure she isn’t going to turn around and ask us to adapt it for Live Action Role Playing?” Mouser asked.
“Strangely enough, that’s where she initially got the idea. Some of the Old Way community members we transport to Earth Two were willing to try LARPing, but rather than fighting monsters, their interest was in crafting.”
“From the little bit I’ve seen visiting their temporary encampments, that’s pretty much how they already spend most of their time.”
“But in the game, they can experiment with crafting in a way that has no consequences for the community,” Dewey explained. “Somebody with no talent for farming can try their hand at a crop and its failure hurts no one. A carpenter can be a baker and a dyer can take a turn weaving. It’s almost like beta testing a new career path for them.”
“I’ve heard of holographic training applications, so maybe it’s similar,” Mouser said. “Okay, I’ll think about it, but I’m going to need buy-in from the rest of the group. If they aren’t interested in role-playing their lives on the ship, we’re going back to the ancient Mediterranean for another cruise.”
“That’s all I can—Hello, Lynx.”
Mouser turned in the direction Dewey was looking to see a woman in her mid-forties approaching with a fruit basket that looked suspiciously similar to the one already on the workbench.
“Not again,” Lynx said in exasperation. “Flower, if you’re going to send somebody else with a fruit basket, tell me first.”
“Mouser prefers that I don’t interfere with his day-to-day life,” the Dollnick AI replied through an overhead speaker so that all three of them could hear. “I try to err on the side of caution.”
“I’ll take the fruit, it keeps great in the fridge,” Mouser said, accepting the second gift basket. “Hey, is that a cake box peeking out from behind the bananas?”
“Harry’s Fruitcake,” the third officer confirmed. “I’m Lynx, and as you can see by my lack of a uniform, I try to keep things casual whenever possible. If you have any questions or concerns about operating in the bazaar, feel free to have Flower ping me.”
“You don’t have a smartphone?”
“Just the implant, but with all of the new people from Bits living on board, I’ve been thinking of getting one.”
“You wouldn’t know anything about this new role-playing game that Flower wants me to develop, would you?”
“That’s a new one to me,” Lynx said. “Flower?”
“No, you don’t need to ask her about it,” Mouser said. “I was just curious.”
“She mentioned to me that some of the new immigrants from Bits were less comfortable talking with her than the original group of twenty thousand we took on board a few years ago. Since you’re friends with Dewey, it’s obviously not a problem with artificial intelligence.”
“Bits was an anarchy. We’re used to doing things our own way, or at least, being able to kid ourselves that we were the authors of our lives. Then Flower sent Dewey to hire us to create a vertically integrated game franchise for her, and the next thing you know, we were leaving our homes and moving here.”
