Slow Living (EarthCent Universe Book 5) Read online

  Slow Living

  Book Five of EarthCent Universe

  Copyright 2022 by E. M. Foner

  One

  “Learn anything interesting in class this morning?” Harry asked his part-time assistant.

  Bill made a face as he donned a clean apron. “Flower is making me study Customer Relations Theory. I thought I had a deal with her to only take practical courses, the stuff I can use when I open my own café, but now she’s whistling another tune.”

  “Competency exams? Even a degree?”

  The young man nodded glumly. “She claims I already know as much about commercial baking as any of the students on her Open University campus so it would be a waste of time to stick with the vocational track.”

  “Don’t go blaming me,” Harry said with a laugh as he stirred a pot of bubbling beans. “I’ll be the first to admit that I never used ninety percent of what I learned at school, but without a time machine, there’s no way for a young person to know which ten percent they’re eventually going to need. Besides, I met Irene in college.”

  “I’ve been engaged to Julie for a year so I don’t need school for a social life. I had no idea what the instructor was talking about today, but afterward, the other students were complaining that he was going too slow. Have you ever heard of reverse psychology?”

  “If I said, ‘I’d let you stir these beans for me but you’d probably just make a mess,’ that would be an example of reverse psychology.”

  “Because I’d want to prove I can do it?” Bill asked, and then he noticed that Harry was looking at him expectantly. “Do you really want me to stir the beans?”

  “Another five minutes should do it,” the baker told him, letting go of the composite mixing spoon and stepping aside.

  “I thought you said that wooden spoons were best for stirring beans,” Bill said as he took over the job.

  “I’m expecting a Frunge guest,” Harry said. “You know how sensitive they are about anything involving wood or paper.”

  “And if they’re traditional, they don’t eat wheat or cereal crops because they believe their ancestors made a treaty with the grasses to share their homeworld. Razood explained it all to me when I was working as his assistant in the blacksmith shop.”

  “Can you keep a secret?”

  “Seventeen minutes and twelve seconds,” Flower’s artificial voice exploded from an overhead speaker grille. “Next time I have something I want to keep private I may as well just announce it over the public address system.”

  “I won’t tell anybody,” Bill said, keeping up a circular stirring motion. “It has something to do with the Frunge, right?”

  Harry glanced up at the speaker grille, and the Dollnick AI said, “Oh, go ahead.”

  “Have you been to the Blue Tea Café?” Harry asked his assistant.

  “A couple of times. Vivian likes it so she takes Julie there a lot, but it’s kind of expensive for what you get. Razood did all of the iron work for the tables and chairs.”

  “It’s a good example of an upscale café, though I doubt you’ll want to go into business selling baked goods from Frunge tribute recipes.”

  “Are you going to tell him or am I?” Flower put in impatiently.

  “Did you meet the owner?” Harry asked Bill.

  “No, but there was an article about her in the Galactic Free Press last year and Julie pointed it out to me. The owner used to work for the Frunge diplomatic service investigating internal problems or something like that. The guys,” he tilted his head towards the swinging door that led to the cafeteria where the alien spies came for meals, “talked about inviting her to eat with them when the story came out, but I never saw her here.”

  “Did Razood say anything when—”

  “You’re turning into an old woman playing twenty questions,” Flower interrupted. “Fandaz just exited the lift tube so give him the quick version.”

  “Flower wants to fix them up as a couple,” Harry said. “The Frunge take dating seriously—I suppose all of the aliens do—but Flower says that the Frunge usually work through professional matchmakers and there are none on board.”

  “Are they as strict as the Drazens?” Bill asked. “Jorb and Rinka had to pass a live-action-role-playing test on Union Station before they got engaged, and his parents are still against the marriage.”

  “The Frunge are stricter,” Flower said. “Do you remember how Jorb and Rinka met?”

  “He said he fell in love at first sight when she presented her idea for a remedial singing school back when he was on a committee with Samuel and Vivian at the Open University.”

  “And he waited quite a while after he got here before asking you and Julie to help bring them together. I need you to do the same for Razood and Fandaz.”

  “I don’t think Julie knows Fandaz that well,” Bill said. “And I remember from that Galactic Free Press article that Fandaz had been working for their diplomatic service for a long time before she quit. Isn’t she too old for Razood?”

  “Fifty years was the fastest anybody has reached the rank of Inspector General in their diplomatic service, and differences of a hundred years or more are common in Frunge marriages. I need you to make friends with her to be the middleman between the two of them.”

  “What am I supposed to talk to her about?”

  “The café business,” Flower said. “The Blue Tea Café is one of the most popular spots on board and I’m thinking of copying her loyalty program for my LARPing studio. She’s entering the cafeteria as we speak.”

  “So I guess I can drop Customer Relations Theory.” Bill’s attempt to sound nonchalant while bargaining with the twenty-thousand-year-old AI failed miserably.

  Flower hesitated for a moment. “Deal.”

  The door from the dining room swung open, and an alien with green hair vines twined around a low-rise trellis on her head backed into the kitchen. Then she turned and they saw she was carrying a large tray loaded with small bowls of what might have been spreads or pastry fillings featuring every color of the rainbow.

  “You must be Fandaz,” Harry said. “You can put the tray on the counter there. I hope you didn’t walk all the way from your café carrying all of that.”

  “It’s nothing,” the Frunge woman said. “Back in the Shrub Scouts we used to practice carrying each other down mountains in case of a medical emergency. Our muscles are much stronger than yours.”

  “I noticed that when I apprenticed in Razood’s blacksmith shop,” Bill said from where he was stirring the pot. “His arms aren’t any bigger than mine but he can swing a heavy hammer all day.”

  “You know Razood?” Fandaz asked, and both men noticed that her hair vines darkened with a rush of chlorophyll.

  “The captain got me a job working for Razood when I first stowed away on board. But now I work for Harry and Flower, and I plan to open my own café one day.”

  “Are these fillings or dips?” Harry asked the Frunge. “I’ve never seen such an attractive display.”

  “Thank you,” Fandaz said. “I’d like to take credit for the idea, but Frunge chefs have a tradition of color samplers that goes back at least a million years. If I had used the standard ingredients from our cuisine, I would have produced the basic set of one hundred and twenty-eight, but as I limited myself to Earth exports and produce grown on Flower’s ag decks, I only managed thirty-two. To be honest, I couldn’t have gotten past twenty-six without the liberal use of beet juice and saffron.”

  “You didn’t use any artificial food colors?”

  “I never heard of such a thing. Do Humans really add chemicals to their food to change the color?”

  “It’s almost universa
l in pre-packaged foods,” Harry said.

  “But how can people judge whether or not the food is any good before purchasing it?” Fandaz asked incredulously. “Next you’re going to tell me that you have fake flavors as well.”

  “Artificial flavors, and I’m afraid they’re used even more extensively than artificial colors in manufactured foods and snacks.”

  “Like the products M793qK tests for All Species Cookbook certification,” Bill put in. “The Farling doctor comes in once or twice a month and I spend a day assisting him. He has a pretty low opinion of most of the food we analyze, and around half of the products sent to us get rejected.”

  “If artificial coloring and flavors are the norm, I’m surprised he doesn’t reject them all,” Fandaz said. “Out of morbid curiosity, may I ask if M793qK has ever praised any packaged foods from Earth?”

  Bill stopped stirring for a moment and took a quick look around the kitchen to make sure that the stealthy Farling hadn’t come in unnoticed. “Most of the manufacturers send us far more product than we need for the lab work and taste testing, and I’ve noticed that the leftover potato chips and pretzels usually go missing.”

  “Then I’ll have to try potato chips, but of course, I’m here for the opposite reason today,” the Frunge said. “When I announced that the Blue Tea Café would begin catering special events, the first request for a quote came from Flower. I was surprised when it turned out to be for an old age home she caters.”

  “It’s an independent living cooperative, and many of us still work,” Harry said. “Flower provides the food services under contract, and she features alien cuisine nights on a regular schedule.”

  “Really? What was the main course the last time she offered a Human interpretation of Frunge cooking?”

  “Sashimi. Primarily fish from Earth that she’s started farming in a section of the reservoir deck she partitioned off for saltwater.”

  “It’s hard to go wrong with raw fish,” Fandaz said, bobbing her head in approval. “I know that you’re the Harry behind Harry’s Fruitcake, and I was worried that her request was a ploy to steal my vegetable spreads for Flower Foods. Now I understand she chose you to evaluate my sampler because you’re also a member of the old—I mean—independent living cooperative.”

  “Unless your spreads freeze particularly well, Flower wouldn’t be interested,” Harry said. “The reason she got into the fruitcake business is that the high alcohol content gives them a long shelf-life without refrigeration or artificial preservatives. Bill, that’s enough stirring. Turn off the heat, cover the beans, and help me evaluate these spreads.”

  Bill did as he was told and joined the baker at the counter where Fandaz had set down the tray. “Do Frunge really eat a lot of vegetable spreads, or did you come up with these special for the catering job?” he asked the alien.

  “Vegetable spreads are very popular, especially on raw meat. You understand we have no tradition of breads or crackers, though some Frunge have decided that the puffed rice cakes exported from Earth by Drazen Foods are acceptable. Unfortunately, they’re also tasteless, so a good vegetable spread is practically a requirement. Flower said that she’s tried introducing rice cakes to the independent living cooperatives as a healthy snack food but it ended up having the opposite effect.”

  Harry chuckled. “I remember Dave loading his with peanut butter, and after a few of the women found a source for chocolate spread, Flower stopped pushing the puffed rice.” He pulled open a drawer under the counter and brought out a freezer bag full of tiny plastic spoons. “Think M793qK will mind if we use these, Bill?”

  “You don’t have to keep bringing it up,” the young man mumbled, the tips of his ears turning red.

  “Am I missing an inside joke?” Fandaz asked. “I was a diplomatic inspector in my previous career, so I hope you’ll forgive me if my question is intrusive.”

  “It was just an ordering mistake,” Bill said. “The doctor got tired of me raiding his supply of tongue depressors to use at public tastings so he told me to order a thousand of these sampler spoons from a catalog. I got the scientific notation wrong and ordered a million. The shipping from Earth cost as much as the spoons themselves so it wasn’t worth returning them.”

  The Frunge picked up one of the tiny spoons and examined it closely. “That’s an interesting concept. I’ve been giving out free vegetable sticks when customers in my café want to try a spread from the display case, but a little spoon like this would cut down on wastage.”

  “So it’s win-win,” Flower joined the conversation. “I’m in business with the Farling doctor doing the All Species Cookbook certifications and the spoons were purchased on my account. Take all you want and we’ll just say you owe me one.”

  “I’d prefer an invoice, if you don’t mind,” Fandaz said dryly.

  “Smart,” a voice came from the door, and they turned to see that Jorb had entered the kitchen. “I know that I’m late for lunch but—are we sampling spreads?”

  “Let me and Bill try them first,” Harry told the Drazen. “This is an official testing to see if they’re suitable for Alien Night at the independent living cooperative.”

  Jorb picked up one of the tiny plastic spoons and inspected it dubiously. “It’s no wonder Humans shrink when they get old if you make them eat with these. You probably use more energy spooning up the food than the calories it replaces.”

  “Let’s go in order and try the same ones so we can share our opinions, Bill,” the baker told his assistant. He took a tiny spoonful of the black paste. “Oh, that’s surprising.”

  “Not good?” Fandaz asked.

  “It’s excellent, but I expected something bitter because of the color.”

  “It’s sweet,” Bill agreed. “Did you use octopus ink? One of my instructors last semester said it’s the best natural black coloring.”

  “Activated charcoal,” the Frunge told them. “I make my own. I priced the octopus ink exported by Drazen Foods and it was outrageous.”

  Harry moved ahead with tasting. “All of these browns are going to be a major hit. Did you use different grades of cocoa for the coloring?”

  “And a type of organic coffee bean that Flower is growing experimentally. It has a wonderful aroma with dark chocolate undertones.”

  “They’re all really good,” Bill said, passing the small bowl of the lightest brown to Jorb before joining Harry in sampling the maroon color. “This one tastes a little like blueberries.”

  “The base is a purple sweet potato, but I did use blueberries and grape juice to change the flavor profile,” Fandaz said. Then she scolded the Drazen, who was licking out one of the small bowls. “Mind your manners, Jorb.”

  “You know each other?” Harry asked.

  “Rinka likes the Blue Tea Café and we usually go early in the morning on the Human clock when Fandaz is there working on the special of the day,” Jorb said. “Hurry up and get to the red ones. I’m hoping they have a bit more bite to them.”

  “Did you use red cabbage for the blue?” Bill asked the Frunge.

  “I got the idea from the appendix of the All Species Cookbook,” Fandaz said. “It’s an excellent resource for learning about Human foods.”

  “I’m going to get a little club soda to clean my palate because I know I’m starting to miss some of the subtle flavors,” Harry said. “So far I would recommend all of these without reservation.”

  “Say you’d love to see how she makes them,” Flower privately prompted Bill over his implant.

  “Are these recipes all secret, or could I maybe visit your café one morning?” Bill asked Fandaz. “I just dropped my Customer Relations Theory course to make room for more independent study.”

  “Would I have to grade you?” the former inspector general asked, and her hair vines paled noticeably. “I don’t do that sort of thing anymore.”

  “There’s no grading involved. I think I just have to write a paper—I mean—a report,” Bill corrected himself hastily.
r />   “You don’t have to mince words around wood products and grains with me,” Fandaz said. “My customer base is ninety-nine percent Humans, and some of the recent arrivals from Earth like to lecture me about paper bags being more environmentally friendly than plastic. I tried to explain to them that Flower recycles everything in a closed system, but it’s hard to overcome cherished biases.”

  “Here,” Harry said, giving Bill a glass and then pouring in a bit of seltzer. “Do you want some, Jorb?”

  “That tasteless stuff? No, thank you. I’ll just go out to the minibar and grab a beer.”

  Fandaz answered more questions about colorings and ingredients as Harry and Bill worked their way through the samples. Just as they reached the brilliant white coconut spread, Flower announced, “Time’s up.”

  “I was hoping to rinse and dry the bowls before heading back,” the Frunge said. “Do you have somebody else coming in to use the kitchen?”

  “Time’s up for Harry, not for you,” the Dollnick AI said. “I have to keep a tight lid on his working hours or he’ll overdo it.”

  “Drain those beans and mash them up for filling,” the baker told Bill while removing his apron. “The dough for the red bean buns is in the proofing cabinet, and you know how to steam them the way the captain likes. There’s a potluck reception for the new executive officer this evening, and there was almost a mutiny when Captain Pyun brought spoon worms to the last one.”

  “He should have given them to me,” Jorb said, setting his beer on the counter. “I love spoon worms, and they’d go really well with some of that green spread.”

  “Chili,” Bill told him. “That was the only one that was a bit strong for me. When you make these in your café, do you only serve them with vegetable sticks?”

  “That’s just for samples if people want to try one before buying a takeout container,” Fandaz replied. “Keep in mind that we serve Frunge tribute food, and many of the ideas come from recipes that Human contract laborers on our worlds have developed. They’re extremely clever about coming up with baked goods that can be made without flour, and I’ll admit to trolling through some old gluten-free cookbooks in Humanese for ideas.”