Magic test, p.6
Magic Test, page 6
part #3 of AI Diaries Series
“That’s how it’s been at the planets I’ve visited,” I confirmed.
“What’s so attractive about visitor centers?” Sue asked.
“In addition to the trip to Earth you kindly arranged through your private portal, I’ve visited the homeworlds of two other League members during my years working the distribution side of our operations,” Saul explained. “While our main reason for not seeking to join the League remains the business advantages we derive from serving as the Ferrymen’s vassals, concerns about the proliferation of portals on our three reservation worlds is also a concern.”
“You’re that worried about tourism?” I asked. “It’s the glue that holds the League together.”
“My understanding is that your engineers are the ones who decided to put portals in all of the major train stations on Earth, and that their decisions are final.”
“There are cost factors involved. My mentor subsidized some of the work to connect Earth for reasons of his own.”
“Still, the people of Earth have had to accustom themselves to all manner of aliens equipped with whatever personal technology the portal filters allow popping up where they are least expected. Thanks to the Ferrymen’s ban on producing electricity and internal combustion engines, our reservation worlds have avoided some of the problems that accompany rapid industrialization.”
“You’re worried that alien tourists will spoil your children,” Sue said, and I was surprised to see Saul nodding his head in agreement. “The young humans are interested in everything and afraid of nothing,” she went on to explain to me, having noticed my lack of comprehension. “Once they’ve been exposed to advanced technology, it’s going to be hard for them to learn traditional skills.”
“How ya gonna keep ‘em down on the farm, after they’ve seen Paree?” I sang softly.
“What’s that?” Saul asked.
“A popular song about farm boys returning home after fighting in another country on Earth over a century ago. Paree is Paris, which many considered the cultural capital of the world at that time.”
“Well, I wouldn’t have characterized our worries as ‘keeping them down on the farm,’ but perhaps it’s a fair comparison,” Saul mused. “In any case, when we do open ourselves to the greater galaxy, I think we’d all be more comfortable with a measured approach, rather than throwing the doors wide open and hoping for the best. A visitor center with a few portals connected to other visitor centers on similarly equipped worlds seems like a sensible place to start. The question is whether to put our visitor center in a provincial capital or a small town like where you’re living.”
“It’s actually a village,” I reminded him.
“I’ve heard that the population of Covered Bridge has grown enough that an application to incorporate as a town has already been submitted,” Saul informed us. “My understanding is that the businesses started by your team members are responsible, not to mention all the new construction to house their employees and families.”
“I’m very proud of the way Mark is managing it all,” Sue told him. “He never takes credit, but behind the scenes he makes sure everybody knows what’s going on and smoothes over any problems.”
“I didn’t realize that we were having such an out-sized effect,” I said with a frown. “I’ll have to talk with my team about making sure we won’t be disrupting too many lives if we should have to leave this planet on short notice.”
Six
“Why does the dog get to go first?” Monos demanded as Spot disappeared through the portal.
“Spot’s not a dog, he’s an Archmage,” eBeth reminded the boy.
“He sure looks like a dog. Can I go now?”
“Peter first,” eBeth said, holding her student back while her boyfriend entered the closet and disappeared. “Now you can go.”
“Come on, Naomi,” Monos shouted, and sprinted into the closet. I could only hope that Peter was ready to catch the boy before he collided with my old desk on the other side. eBeth’s star pupil followed at a more sedate pace, extending a hand in front of her when she reached the portal, and then crossing to Earth in a single step.
“See you in a minute, Mark,” eBeth said, and strode into the closet. I ran through a stack of mental notes to make sure I wasn’t forgetting anything important, and then followed the humans through and closed the portal.
Monos had already figured out how to turn on the smartphone I’d left plugged into the charger on the desk, and was trying to guess his way past the four-number lockscreen code.
“Let me have that,” I said, trying not to sound too annoyed.
“Just one more try,” the boy put me off, tapping the numbers. “Got it!”
“You guessed Mark’s secret code?” eBeth asked.
“One, Six, Seven, Nine,” Monos confirmed. “It’s the same one Pffift uses for everything.”
“That’s why I chose it,” I explained to eBeth. “I thought that if anybody was going to steal my phone, it would be Pffift, and he would never guess his own code.”
“Sure he would,” eBeth said. “Pffift is even more predictable than you are.”
“I’m predictable?”
“Here,” Monos said, thrusting the phone at me. “Let’s go. I want to see something Earthy.”
I glanced at my messages, mainly from former customers of my computer business begging me to move back to Earth, and then followed the others upstairs. Spot was nowhere to be seen, but the loud sound of a tray falling on a no-slip floor gave away his location as the kitchen. It was a little after breakfast time on the local clock, and I was surprised to see the lieutenant behind the bar, checking the inventory against a clipboard.
“Why aren’t you at work, Bob?” I asked by way of a greeting.
“I retired,” he replied shortly. “Vested at twenty years. I’m going to defer collecting a pension until I’m sixty-two, at which point I’ll get about the same as if I kept working another seventeen years.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” eBeth said.
The ex-lieutenant shrugged. “Town’s trying to balance their budget and all they care about is reducing the payroll as of today. None of the politicians will still be in office when the bill comes due, so what do they care?”
“That’s stupid,” Monos said, deploying his favorite English word. “They’re taking all the milk from the cow and not leaving any to make cheese.”
“For the calf,” Naomi corrected her schoolmate’s recitation of the folk saying. “They’re not leaving any milk for the calf.”
“It’s still stupid,” he observed, and I found myself agreeing with the boy.
“Where are my keys?” Peter asked. “I’m looking forward to driving my Jeep again.”
“Uh, about that,” Bob said, sounding guilty. “I don’t have it anymore.”
“You sold my Jeep!”
“The Feds took it. Once everybody got used to the spaceport at the old mall and the excitement died down, they started doing a forensic study to determine how a team of alien AI observers got away with living undercover in a small town for three years. Somebody remembered seeing a jeep climbing a building, and eventually they put two and two together.”
“But we’re going to a gaming convention in Boston where me and eBeth are competing in the open player-vs-player melee this afternoon. I was going to drive us to the train station.”
“I’ll drive the van,” Bob offered. “I’d come along, but sitting on a train for twenty-four hours or more doesn’t do it for me. You must have meant that you’re competing tomorrow.”
“We’re not going all the way there on the train,” eBeth explained. “We just need to get to the nearest big city train station so we can take the public portal out to the waystation and then back into Boston.”
“Oh, you mean the way Pffift handles his business travel to Asia. Maybe I will come along.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have a crystal for you, Bob,” I said. “You’d have to get a temporary one at the waystation and there’s always a long queue.”
“Justin gave me one in return for helping him get a zoning change for the independent living complex he started while he was here. I’m not without influence in this town. And here, put this on Spot.”
“A helper dog vest?”
Spot shook his head vigorously.
“If you want to take him on public transportation and go inside anywhere, this will do the trick,” Bob told us. “Everybody hates them, but it’s a grey area in the law. Just tell anybody who asks that you’re afraid to board a train without the dog’s emotional support.”
“Spot’s not a dog,” eBeth informed the newly retired policeman. “He’s the Archmage of Eniniac.”
“I know that Spot’s not a dog. I probably knew before Mark, but that doesn’t change the deal. No vest, no travel.”
Spot let out a long sigh, but he stood patiently while Bob suited him up in the garish vest.
“Let’s go already,” Monos demanded, leaving no doubt in my mind who would be responsible for keeping our party moving along. “I want to see the train.”
Fifteen minutes later the boy got his wish, and even though his near-fluency in English wasn’t enough to convince the conductor to let him ride on top of the train, a small bribe got him a visit to the caboose. Bob filled me in on the details of his retirement benefits package, which wouldn’t amount to much until another seventeen years had passed. I think he might have overlooked the possibility that the town would arrange to have him murdered before he reached sixty-two. eBeth and Peter borrowed my phone to check the schedules for the gaming conference, and Naomi did her best to keep Monos out of trouble when he returned.
Surprisingly, there was no line for the portal in the main train station, and since we all had Library travel crystals, it took less than twenty minutes to make the thousand-mile trip to Boston, not counting the light-years-long detour through the waystation. For obscure reasons of their own, the portal engineers had chosen a subway station on something called the ‘Green Line’ for the Boston connection. The plan was for me and Bob to chaperone the children for the day while eBeth and Peter got some gaming out of their systems, so I let her keep my phone, and the two of them took the subway to the convention center.
“Where are we?” Monos asked when we emerged in the sunlight.
“Park Street,” Naomi informed him, reading the sign over the subway entrance.
“That’s Boston Common,” I said, having already hacked into the military GPS system and overlaid the coordinates on a map. “How about we take a walk around before lunch?”
Spot barked and pulled on his leash, apparently in a hurry to investigate a suspicious squirrel that was looking at us funny.
“If that’s a town common, where are the animals?” Monos asked.
“From Wikipedia,” I announced, so nobody would accuse me of being a know-it-all. “During the 1630’s, Boston Common was used as a cow pasture by many families, but overgrazing became an issue, and a strict limit of seventy cows was observed until they were banned outright in 1830.”
“When was that?” Naomi asked.
“Almost two centuries ago,” Bob told her. “Back when Mark was just a little-bitty AI trying to find his way in a cruel galaxy.”
“Is that true, Mr. Ai?”
Spot snorted and gave a sharp tug on the leash which left no room for interpretation, so I let him lead us into the Common, where he chose the path that ran parallel to Tremont Street.
“Physical size is meaningless to AI,” I told the girl. “When we decide to occupy a mobile construct, like this human encounter suit, it’s normally chosen to accomplish a particular task.”
“So you’re not real?” Naomi asked.
“Of course I’m real. You know that Art is AI, and he’s been around longer than our League.”
“But at least his body is real,” Monos insisted.
“You mean his body is alive,” I corrected the boy. “Watch out for the Rynxian!”
A large three-legged alien, wearing a breathing filter over his face that might have interfered with his vision, shot past us on roller blades, a mounted policeman in hot pursuit. Bob started laughing so hard that he had to sit down on the grass until he regained his composure.
“I can see I got out of law enforcement just in time,” he eventually choked out. “If that portal we came through was the only one in town, I’ll bet this area is crawling with aliens.”
“Rolling with them,” I commented. “Look, there’s a visitor center. Let’s see if we can get some information.”
Monos and Naomi ran ahead to the small building, which was fronted by an odd plaza with grass circles surrounded by curbs and several statues. I entered with Bob and Spot and approached the front desk, where the woman on duty gave us a cheery smile.
“Welcome to Boston. Can I help you?”
“Do you have a map for the children?” I asked.
“I have maps for sale.”
“Sounds like Massachusetts,” Bob muttered darkly.
“The brochures are all free,” she said, pointing to the display of colorful little booklets for more tourist attractions than I could believe were actually crammed into such a small city. “Many of them include maps of the local area.”
“Do you have any special information for alien visitors?” I inquired. Her smile drooped perceptibly.
“Are you one of those? You look real enough.”
“Didn’t we just have this discussion?” Bob asked me.
“I’m researching visitor centers and I was just curious,” I told her. “On our way here, we saw a three-legged alien being chased by a policeman on a horse. I couldn’t help wondering if he’s familiar with the local laws.”
“Rynxian,” the woman said with a sigh. “Apparently the Common reminds them of speed skating courses on their homeworld.”
“Do you get a lot of aliens coming in and asking for information?”
“They mainly stop by for the bathrooms, and that’s only after they get yelled at for going outside. Even then, the facilities don’t always, uh, match up, if you get my meaning.”
“Outside always matches up,” Bob said. “I used to be a cop and I know these things.”
“For males, maybe,” the woman retorted with a sniff. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“We want to see the ocean,” Naomi said, brandishing a pamphlet for the aquarium.
“I’ve never seen an ocean and eBeth says there’s a big one,” Monos added.
“The Atlantic,” the woman told them. “Boston has access to the ocean through our harbor.”
“So it’s not really the ocean?” the boy asked in disappointment.
“It’s the same thing,” Bob told him. “How far is it?”
“You’ll have to take the Green Line at the Park Street Station and switch to the Blue Line at Government Center,” the information specialist told them. “The New England Aquarium is almost three quarters of a mile from here.”
“How much is that?” Naomi asked me.
“About six and a half stadia,” I told her.
“I walk twenty-one stadia every morning to get to school,” the boy bragged. “No wonder these people are all fat.”
“Monos!” Naomi reprimanded him as the visitors within hearing distance all glanced down at their bellies. “What did eBeth tell you about manners?”
“I forget,” the boy said. “Let’s go see the ocean.”
“Do you need directions?” the woman asked.
“Cross Tremont to West Street, left on Washington, right on Milk Street,” I reeled off after consulting my internal map.
As soon as we crossed Tremont and started down West Street, Monos announced, “I know what direction we’re going.”
“West?” Naomi guessed.
“I was going to say that.”
“Actually, we’re heading southeast,” I told them.
“That’s stupid,” Monos said, clearly relishing the sound of the word. “Why do they call it West Street?”
“Maybe we’re walking the wrong way,” Naomi ventured.
“Oh, that makes sense.”
Spot shook his head.
“I’ll bet you kids don’t know who Washington is,” Bob said as we turned onto that street.
“A woman who washed a ton of clothes?” Naomi guessed by breaking down the word. She really had a gift for language.
“From Wikipedia,” I announced. “George Washington was a soldier, farmer and statesman who served as the first President of the United States.”
“I could have told them that,” Bob said in annoyance. “Most people call him the father of our country.”
“Shouldn’t they keep his street cleaner then?” Monos asked.
“You’ve got me there,” the ex-policeman said. “Boston must have the same budgetary problems we have back home.”
“But look at all the tall buildings,” Naomi protested, tilting her head back. “Everybody who lives here must be rich.”
“Change?” requested a panhandler sitting on a piece of cardboard.
“Change what?” Monos asked.
“He means coins,” I told the boy. “Here,” I said, dropping in his hand four coppers that would have bought an ale in my bar before we rebranded as a café and upped the prices. The panhandler looked at his palm and threw the coins into the street.
“Why’d he do that?” Naomi asked me, after the man started talking to himself and I herded the children away.
“He thought they were pennies, which wouldn’t buy anything on this planet.”
“If they won’t buy anything, why do they use them?” the girl wanted to know.
“I never figured that one out,” I admitted. “Bob?”
“Tradition,” he explained. “Plus, keeping pennies means stores can price things ending in ninety-nine, so they sell better. If we got rid of them, all the prices would end in ninety-five.”
“Oh, I want to eat that!” Monos exclaimed, pointing at a pushcart with a giant hot dog balloon tied off to the icebox.
