Artists on the Galactic Tunnel Network (EarthCent Auxiliaries Book 4) Read online

  Artists

  On the Galactic Tunnel Network

  Book Four of EarthCent Auxiliaries

  Copyright 2022 by E. M. Foner

  One

  The thirteen-year-old boy carefully filed the edges of the shape he’d just cut from a strip of brass, and then checked it against the beach ball printed with a map of Earth Two.

  “Which continent is that?” Fiona asked him. “The one we’re on?”

  Marco shook his head and pointed at one of the larger continents where the terraforming process hadn’t progressed much past the soil-creation stage. Then he stood up and test-fitted the shape on the spherical framework of steel wires that he had been adding to since morning. He nudged Semmi with his foot, and the drowsy gryphon, whose eyes could spot a fish under the surface of a lake from the height of a skyscraper, glanced at the nearly completed sculpture and clicked her beak in approval.

  Fiona scanned the immediate area to make sure that there weren’t any potential customers approaching the blanket where their trade goods were displayed, and then asked, “Do you want me to hold the globe steady while you crimp the tabs?”

  Marco nodded enthusiastically, and Fiona went around to the other side of the post with the lashed cross arm from which the metal globe was suspended by a steel wire. She placed a hand on each side and was again impressed with the rigidity of the construction, which measured about two-thirds the size of the beach ball the boy was using as a model. Marco held the final continent in place with one hand while using a pair of needle-nose pliers he’d modified for working in tight places to carefully crimp the thin tabs around the wires he’d previously tack-welded at their intersections.

  “Every one of these you’ve made this week was better than the last, and this one looks perfect,” Fiona said, stepping back and picking up the beach ball to compare it to the finished sculpture. The wires of the spherical mesh, where not covered by brass continents, perfectly coincided with the lines of latitude and longitude. “I don’t understand how you can eyeball it so accurately. I worked one winter in an art reproduction sweatshop and I was useless at doing freehand stuff.”

  Marco shot her a questioning look, and then continued with the finishing touches, adding a drop from a tube of Frunge liquid solder to each of the crimped tabs from the rear so they wouldn’t loosen up and rattle. Semmi, who had been half-napping all afternoon, sat up on her haunches and turned her attention to Fiona.

  “That was around three years ago in New York, when I was fourteen, and I only took the job because the office building where they were set up was warm in the winter,” the girl answered the unspoken question. “You guys know I can’t draw to save my life, but I have steady hands and I’m good at mixing paint, so they made me a colorist. The food was okay, and they let us sleep under our workbenches, but the pay was barely enough to buy time for my smartphone, so I quit as soon as it got warm.”

  “Excuse me,” a voice came from behind her. “Is this your last day?”

  Fiona turned and recognized Gloria, one of the Old Way peddlers who had visited earlier in the week and been very informative about the local market conditions.

  “We’re leaving tonight,” Fiona confirmed. “If you wanted to see John or Ellen, they both spent the last two days at the meeting house watching the debates. I guess the Alts aren’t happy about some of the proposed infrastructure projects on the human half of the continent.”

  “Our people are anxious to build a coastal road and the Alts want us to take it slow,” Gloria acknowledged. “Today I’m here to buy. I thought we might come to a deal on any stock that you don’t want to pack up again.”

  “What you see on the blanket is everything we have left of the hand tools,” Fiona said. “John unloaded all of the big stuff, like the treadle-powered letter presses and the pianos, the first two days we were here. I think he and Ellen have had their fill of tech-ban worlds because we didn’t restock last time we went to Earth. And before they left this morning they told me not to accept any more fresh produce in barter, because we already have too much.”

  “I’m a cash buyer today, Stryx creds,” the peddler said. “One good thing about dealing in hand tools is that shelf life is never an issue, but they take up a lot of space and they’re heavy, so I don’t carry duplicates on my route. Maybe someday I’ll get a donkey or a pony, but for now it’s just the handcart, so I have to be careful about weight.”

  Fiona quickly surveyed the remaining collection of hammers, chisels, drills, and bit-braces on the blanket. “How about fifty?”

  “Stryx creds?” Gloria responded incredulously. “I doubt they cost that much new three hundred years ago, and I’m adjusting for inflation. I was thinking five.”

  “We’re planning to eat supper at the food tent the local community set up for visitors from Flower to raise hard currency. Five creds won’t go far.”

  “You can get two chickens with three side dishes and drinks for five creds,” Gloria protested. “Maybe your parents could eat a whole chicken between them, but I can’t see you or your brother managing more than two pieces.”

  “John and Ellen aren’t our parents, we’re all business partners, and two whole chickens is barely a snack for Semmi,” Fiona said, indicating the gryphon. “I’d love to save packing this stuff up and carrying it back to the ship, but I’ve got to get at least forty.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t want a hungry gryphon angry at me, so I could go ten,” the peddler said. “But you have to understand that all of my customers deal in barter and I haven’t seen many creds, Stryx or otherwise, since Flower brought us here three months ago.”

  “You were with the first group?”

  Gloria nodded. “It’s been the experience of a lifetime. If it weren’t for the wild fruits and berries, we’d all have vitamin deficiencies, but the Dollnicks did a good job stocking this continent with flora and fauna from Earth. It’s amazing how much progress they made in less than a century. I was surprised how knowledgeable Ellen and John were about Earth Two’s history.”

  “Ellen is the reporter for the Galactic Free Press who broke the news last year about the Container Prince terraforming Earth Two,” Fiona said. “I’m kind of studying to be a journalist myself, and she made me read all of her recent articles. John is with EarthCent Intelligence, and he was in charge of investigating all the nature stuff that went missing from Earth and ended up here.”

  “He mentioned something about his work in passing,” Gloria said. “So, how about we close at ten?”

  “Where was I? Forty?” Fiona again surveyed the tools that she really didn’t want to pack up and noted that several of the wooden handles needed replacing. “Twenty sounds fair.”

  Gloria produced two coins, a ten and a five. “My absolute limit is fifteen because that’s all I have. It’s what John paid me as an advance on keeping my eyes open for alien visitors. I guess I sort of work for EarthCent Intelligence now myself.”

  “I didn’t realize that spies worked so cheap. Will you be able to carry everything?”

  “I’ll fetch my cart.”

  The peddler handed the coins to the girl who deposited them in the tin can with their takings. They hadn’t bothered bringing out the mini-register because John didn’t expect any of the Old Way colonists to pay using programmable creds, an assumption that proved to be correct.

  “What are you looking at?” Fiona demanded of the gryphon. “Do you think you could have gotten more than fifteen?”

  Semmi didn’t deign to answer, instead picking up the can in one paw and pouring the coins out on the b
lanket. Marco immediately came over and began sorting them into little stacks.

  “That’s not all earnings,” Fiona reminded him. “We started with eighteen creds for change.”

  The boy finished counting and held up both hands with just one pinkie folded over.

  “Fifty-four?” the girl asked hopefully, but Marco shook his head. “Forty-five, then. Sometimes I think I should have taken my share of the prize money and bought a restaurant back on Earth, including the building. What we’re making as traders doesn’t even cover the ship’s expenses.”

  Semmi stared intently at the girl, who winced at the strength of the Tyrellian gryphon’s telepathic projection.

  “I know you and John saved me from becoming collateral damage in an alien medical experiment,” Fiona grumbled. “You don’t have to keep on reminding me. And, yes, Ellen has been teaching me about journalism,” she allowed when a new mental image appeared. “I’m just saying that if we’re going to pose as traders everywhere we go, the least we can do is show a decent profit. It’s embarrassing.”

  A neighboring trader who had just folded up his own blanket came over and tossed Semmi a treat. “The three of you are naturals at this,” he said. “You had those Old Way colonists lined up to barter for hand tools all week.”

  “Hey, Larry,” Fiona greeted him. “That’s because we were trading for provisions. We were selling for cash today, and that seems to be in short supply on Earth Two. I tried throwing in a free chisel with every hammer and free drills with every bit brace, but if that peddler hadn’t just come along and taken it all, we’d be carrying it back to the ship.”

  “That’s always the trick with doing business on tech-ban worlds,” Larry told her. “Everybody is happy to barter for produce and handcrafts, but coin is hard to come by and they save it for luxuries.”

  “Not necessities?”

  “They take care of their own necessities. How long do you think colonists would survive if they had to depend on independent traders just to live?”

  “Okay, I guess I can understand that,” Fiona said. “And I suppose those old printing presses and upright pianos John sold earlier are luxuries in a sense, even though I bet they all find use in businesses.”

  Marco tugged on Larry’s sleeve and pointed at the large trader’s pack on the man’s back. It was hanging limp because it was all but empty.

  “Children go through shoes pretty fast, and there aren’t many shoemakers up and running yet on Earth Two,” Larry explained. “I mainly traded for jars of wild honey and preserves today, and then I hired a kid to deliver it all to my ship around twenty minutes ago. You were working so hard on your sculpture that you didn’t notice.”

  Marco tapped Fiona’s arm, pointed at Semmi, and then pretended to be holding something in front of his body and rocking it back and forth.

  “Semmi wants to know how the baby is doing,” Fiona said to Larry.

  “Still sleeping most of the time,” he told her. “Georgia stayed on board Flower to rest up before the jump tonight. Do you know where you’re going next?”

  “We’ll have a meeting when we’re back on Flower and take a vote, but what we want,” she gestured with an arm to encompass Semmi and Marco, “doesn’t count.”

  “Don’t you and Semmi own as much of the ship as John and Ellen?” Larry asked, glancing toward the parking area where a Grenouthian four-decker towered over his own Sharf two-man trader.

  “We invested our shares of the prize money,” Fiona said. “Semmi split her share with Marco, but John also traded in his old ship, and Ellen put in some money too. But it wouldn’t make a difference even if the three of us owned more than half of the ship. John’s assignments from EarthCent Intelligence and Ellen’s monthly meetings on Earth with the syndicated journalists are what drive our travel itinerary. We’re just along for the ride.”

  “Alright, I suppose I knew that,” Larry said. “I mainly stopped to see if you needed a hand carrying anything back, but it sounds like you liquidated your blanket stock. I’m going to head up to Flower and have dinner with Georgia. If I don’t see you again before we jump back to the tunnel network, take care of each other.”

  “Give Georgia and the baby our best, and thank her again for the latest games, even though they are educational,” the girl replied for all three of them. As Larry moved off, he was replaced by a tall man wearing a white linen robe of sorts. “I’m sorry,” Fiona said, “but I just sold the rest of our stock to a peddler and she’s returning to pick it up.”

  “I’m not shopping for tools, thank you,” the man said in oddly accented English. “That’s a very impressive representation of Earth Three.”

  “Don’t you mean Earth Two?” Then Fiona put two and two together and realized that he was an Alt. “Do your people call this world Earth Three because your homeworld is Earth Two? I always thought it was Alt.”

  “That’s your name for it,” the Alt said. “For our people, after being transplanted from Earth by the Stryx more than thirty thousand years ago, our new home was always Earth Two. May I take a closer look?”

  Fiona glanced back at Marco, who nodded proudly. He unhooked the wire that suspended the metal globe from the cross arm and brought it to the Alt.

  “Excellent craftsmanship,” the Alt said. “And these are all recycled materials?”

  “Upcycled,” Fiona said as the boy nodded again. “It’s like he gives a new life to scraps.”

  “An interesting philosophy. I’ve studied some of the religions practiced by your people and reincarnation is a fascinating concept. Allow me to introduce myself,” the Alt continued. “I’m Rethan, a certified debate master, and I’ve taken on the challenge of training Humans willing to apprentice in the ancient art of moderating public discourse. I’ve been looking for a symbol of unity to hang in the meeting house that the local Old Way community constructed, but I’m afraid that your colonists have had other priorities than creating new works of art, whether representational or otherwise. May I request the pleasure of your acquaintance?”

  Fiona puzzled over this request for a moment before figuring out he was asking for their names. “Oh. I’m Fiona, he’s Marco, and she’s Semmi. Marco doesn’t talk, and Semmi only does telepathy with people she knows. We’re visiting from Flower, but we’ll be leaving tonight.”

  The Alt’s face fell. “That’s a shame. I was hoping to commission a similar work for the meeting house.”

  Marco shot Semmi a look, and the gryphon let out a soft “Scraw” of agreement before turning her gaze on Fiona.

  “Marco wants you to have it,” Fiona told the Alt after receiving a mental picture of the boy handing over the globe. “It was just for practice, a copy of the beach ball. He says the real artists of this world are the Dollnicks who made it into another Earth.”

  “That’s a tremendous insight for such a young man,” Rethan said. “I am honored to accept your gift, and I hope it will bring our people similar insight into the issues that divide us. If you could hold this a minute,” he continued, and passed the globe to Fiona. Then he reached inside his robe and drew out an exquisitely crafted wooden flute. “I hope you will accept this gift, not as an exchange, but freely given in the spirit with which your own work is received.”

  Marco’s face split into a toothy smile and his eyes sought Semmi as he took the flute.

  “He wants to know if you made it yourself,” Fiona relayed the question.

  “Yes,” Rethan said. “I work as an instrument maker when I’m not occupied with debates. The truth is, if I—” he was interrupted by the ringing of the meeting-house bell. “That’s me, I’m afraid,” the Alt said with a wry smile as Fiona returned the globe. “It was very nice meeting you all and I hope to see you again in the future.”

  “Goodbye. And thank you,” the girl called after him as he hurried off towards the meeting house. Then Fiona turned to Marco, who was examining the flute like he knew what he was doing. “You really cleaned up,” she told him. “Ellen took m
e to a musical instruments store on Union Station just to get an idea of the prices. Anything made by the Alts is valuable.”

  “Was that the debate master?” Gloria asked, wheeling her hand cart to a halt at the edge of the blanket. “He usually doesn’t speak to—did you barter something for that flute?”

  “Marco gave him the Earth Two globe he just finished to hang in the meeting house and then Rethan gave him the flute,” Fiona explained. “It was an exchange of gifts, not a trade.”

  Gloria’s eyes widened. “I’m such an idiot. I’ve seen Rethan working on instruments in his spare time. I tried talking trade, but I could tell that I was just making him uncomfortable. So the way it works is you offer a gift and you get one back?”

  “I don’t know if it’s a system or anything,” Fiona said. She began picking up tools from the blanket and placing them in the peddler’s cart. “Marco wasn’t expecting anything in return. It came as a surprise.”

  “Still, I’m sure that’s the key,” Gloria said, her attention obviously elsewhere as she gathered up long drill bits. “They don’t use money in their own society, you know, but somehow they maintain an exchange of goods and services. I’ll have to try giving a gift if I ever make it to an Alt settlement. I get around more than the farmers and craftsmen, so I’ve encountered a few Alts, but I’ve never had any luck trading with them.”

  “It doesn’t seem like a very logical way to run an economy,” Fiona said. “I mean, Marco’s globe really is art, whatever he thinks of it himself, so I get why another artist, like an instrument maker, sees it as a fair trade. But what if you offered Rethan an apple? He’s supposed to give you a flute?”

  “Maybe they turn down gifts if they don’t have something of equal value to give in return,” Gloria said, but then she shook off that idea. “No, there must be something more to it, and I wouldn’t want to get a reputation as an ugly human who takes advantage.”

  “Maybe that’s the point,” Fiona said, as in the background, Marco experimented with fingering and blew different notes with sufficient expertise to make it plain it wasn’t his first time playing a wind instrument. She gathered up four hammers and passed them over. “Maybe for the Alts, reputation is more important than coming out ahead on a trade.”