Con Living Page 19

  “Do you want me to introduce you as the genius behind Harry’s Fruitcakes or as the geriatric fighter on Everyday Superheroes?”

  “Please stick with the baking,” Harry said. “I’m planning to hang up my sword cane as soon as they can write me out of the plot. I never get any good lines, and there’s no chance I’m ever going to defeat the evil Farling mastermind.”

  Nancy looked over towards Irene, who gave her the thumbs up. “No stragglers in the corridor,” Nancy told her husband. “Do you want to begin?”

  Jack stood up and gave the piercing whistle he had learned while working for the Dollnicks, a handy technique for calling any assembly to order, even when it included the hard-of-hearing. “Thank you for coming to our presentation about living and working in Flower’s Paradise,” he began. “Please feel free to ask questions at any time. I want to make clear right at the start that even though this is a retirement community with a minimum age limit, the majority of our members find themselves working part-time, and everybody on board Flower is subject to a volunteering requirement.”

  “So are you running this place, or is it really the ship’s AI in charge?” demanded a man who was either dressed as a pirate or who had lost an eye and was unwilling to accept an alien prosthetic.

  “The board of Flower’s Paradise is in charge of vetting membership applications, programming activities, and managing the cooperative, which is ultimately a self-governing entity with regular town meetings,” Jack explained. “Flower is our landlord, and she works closely with the ship’s crew in the matter of scheduling our stops and required activities.”

  “So the ship is going to keep waking us up every morning and insisting that we stand out in the corridor and stretch?”

  “In a word, yes.”

  There was the sound of chairs scraping back and about a third of the people stalked or shuffled out of the common room, depending on their physical condition. Jack waited patiently until the noise died down and then turned back to the audience.

  “I suppose I could have put that a little more diplomatically,” he continued, “but the truth is, we’ve been getting more applicants than we can process lately. I’d rather winnow out the field before we talk pricing, because at least two dozen of you will decide to stay on board for that reason alone, whether or not independent living suits you.”

  “Do you mean that retirees on a fixed income can afford to rent apartments on Flower, just like the younger residents?” a woman asked.

  “While most of the adults on board are indeed working full time, relatively few of them work directly for Flower, though that number has been rising with her recent forays into entertainment and packaged foods. There is a minor pricing advantage to living in the cooperative because we rent in bulk and are good customers for add-ons like food service, laundry, and cleaning.”

  “But you’re saying that rather than committing to joining your cooperative, we could just rent an apartment on the main residential deck?”

  “Of course, but what makes the cooperative special are the activities and social opportunities. My wife, Nancy, who I met after moving to Flower’s Paradise, coordinates our educational programs, and we also have multiple group activities going on every day, including music and dance classes. We aren’t here to sell you on the concept of joining an age-restricted independent living cooperative, just to present ourselves as an option. And for the record, there’s no commitment beyond your first and last month’s rent.”

  “Will our children be able to visit us here?” a different woman asked.

  “Absolutely. We maintain a number of guest cabins just on the other side of this common room, but most visitors prefer to stay on one of the outer decks where they weigh approximately the same as on Earth. I suspect the ship’s AI informed you all before you exited the lift tube that your weight on the independent living deck is a heart-healthy eighty percent of Earth normal, which is why the independent living cooperatives are located here rather than further out from the core.”

  “Do we have to pay extra for visiting other parts of the ship if we join?” a serious-looking man asked.

  “No, and while I know you’re going to find this hard to believe, the included meal plan is a la carte. I think everybody living in the cooperative takes the majority of their meals either here in the common room or in our main cafeteria, but if you prefer to prepare food in your cabin or eat out at any of the hundreds of restaurants on board, Flower refunds the price of every meal you skip from your monthly plan.”

  There were cries of disbelief from the audience, and a number of arguments immediately began between those who suspected they were being sold a bill of goods and others who assumed that Jack was having a senior moment.

  “So do we have to save all our receipts to turn them in?” somebody in the front asked after the initial hubbub finally died down.

  “That’s not necessary. While we don’t live under the sort of full surveillance society you find on Stryx stations, Flower does keep track of our locations through a combination of thermal imaging and voice recognition. If nobody has pointed it out to you yet, as long as there isn’t a great deal of background noise and you aren’t worried about privacy, you can speak directly to the ship’s AI and she’ll answer via the nearest speaker. In addition, our meals are served by the ship’s bots, and they have built-in imaging capabilities that allow Flower to recognize everybody by name.”

  “You’re saying that if we don’t show up for meals, we don’t pay, and there aren’t any penalties or repercussions?”

  “We’re not living in an adversarial relationship with Flower,” Nancy said. “Rather the opposite. She appears to be more interested in filling cabins than earning a profit, which is why the prices are what they are.”

  After a few more incredulous questions about costs, Nancy gave a brief rundown of the current classes and group activities, and then Jack introduced Harry, asking him to talk a little about working on board.

  “I don’t know how many of you have heard this story,” Harry began, “but we started our independent living cooperative after a number of us lost a significant part of our savings due to a scam. Flower offered anybody who wanted to remain on board part-time work that would cover their expenses, but one way or another, I found myself working more hours than I expected, baking for aliens and creating recipes for a new packaged food business.”

  “There are real aliens living on board?” a woman asked. “I assumed the ones I saw were just people in costumes for the con.”

  “You may have been right as the population of aliens is low, but a number of them work in the bazaar or run small businesses. The doctor who set up his clinic down the corridor to offer free health screenings during ElderCon is an alien.”

  “You’re Gerryman from Everyday Superheroes, aren’t you?” a man asked in an accusing tone.

  “I didn’t think I was that recognizable,” Harry muttered.

  “Where’d you get the sword cane?” a number of the older men called out.

  A few minutes later, Jack announced that they would be breaking into small groups for personalized tours of the deck provided by volunteers, and Geoffrey slipped out of his seat and headed for the exit.

  “Not even tempted?” Irene asked him at the door.

  “I only stopped in because Flower wouldn’t let me hear the end of it, but I have other plans,” the old science fiction author explained. “I really came because I have to see the doctor anyway.”

  “I hope it’s nothing serious.”

  “Just paperwork,” he assured her, and navigated his way to the Farling’s temporary clinic. As Geoffrey entered through the bank of diagnostic scanners, he heard the doctor berating an elderly woman about her prescriptions.

  “You asked for my advice and I’m telling you,” M793qK thundered through his external translation device. “Throw them all out. Half these prescriptions interact with each other and the other half are unnecessary. Why are you taking a drug to lower your b
lood pressure?”

  “Because it’s high,” the woman said stubbornly. “It’s always been high.”

  “It’s low,” the doctor contradicted her. “The reason you feel dizzy is because you aren’t getting enough blood to your brain. If you ever had high blood pressure, which I suspect was just a matter of defining down the criteria, you don’t any longer. And you’re taking both a diuretic and an anti-diuretic. Does your family own stock in a failing pharmaceutical company that you’re trying to support single-handedly?”

  “You don’t have to shout, there’s nothing wrong with my ears.”

  “It’s what’s between your ears that worries me,” M793qK told her. “Are you on board for another week?”

  “I’m going back Sunday.”

  “I’m going to keep all of these,” the doctor said, sweeping her collection of prescription containers into a plastic sack, “and for each one I’m taking away, I’ll give you a free supply of my own brand of placebos. Do you have a favorite pill color?”

  “Blue is nice, and pale yellow.”

  “Blue and pale yellow.” M793qK pulled a dozen pill containers off a shelf, seemingly at random, and put them in a clear bag for the patient. “The detailed instructions for taking the pills are printed on the labels, but if you get it wrong it won’t impact their efficacy,” he told her. “I’ll see you next Monday if you have any questions.”

  “But I told you I’m going back Sunday.”

  “I’m prescribing another week on board. Flower will modify your travel arrangements. And take your oxygen cart with you. Next!”

  Geoffrey stood aside as the woman minced past him with her stash of placebos. He waited to speak until she was out in the corridor. “You know, Doctor, you can catch more flies with honey.”

  “And what would I do with flies?” M793qK demanded. “That woman purposely left her oxygen cart behind after I cleaned the gunk out of her lungs. I know she heard me tell her to take it but she plays deaf when it suits her.” He examined the author through multifaceted eyes. “Have you ever thought of taking up scuba diving? I’ll make you a deal on an oxygen tank.”

  “I’m here because I need some forms filled out for a lawsuit back on Earth,” Geoffrey said. “Flower’s lawyer, Brenda, said I needed to get my patient records from you to document the condition I was in when I arrived.”

  “I don’t keep patient records. It’s not like any of you have interesting enough problems that I could publish a paper.”

  The author blinked. “Well, I wasn’t that enthusiastic about being called to testify in court. Without a record of the cocktail of drugs that weren’t fully flushed from my system I doubt we have a case.”

  “If it means that much to you,” the Farling grumbled, and rubbed out a high pitched squeal on his speaking legs. “There. I sent a Human-style medical transcript to Flower and she’ll print it for your attorneys.”

  “But you just said you don’t keep records.”

  “You’ve been on board less than two cycles, my memory isn’t that bad. If your case is still in court two millennia from now we may have a problem.”

  “You and me both,” Geoffrey said. “And Brenda wanted you to include your degrees.”

  “Celsius or Fahrenheit? Not that I see what my body temperature has to do with your legal proceedings.”

  “Your medical degrees, to establish your credentials as an expert witness.”

  “Ah, credentials. I have a lot of those,” M793qK said, and stared off into space as he accessed his heads-up display. “Drazen, Frunge, Horten, Dollnick, Vergallian. Humans aren’t sufficiently challenging to rate your own specialty, but my Stryx certification as a large mammal veterinarian should impress the court.”

  “Veterinarian?”

  “Right. Now can I interest you in any of my upcycled merch?” The beetle indicated a number of modified walkers and rollators parked along the wall which had obviously been abandoned by patients who no longer needed them after being treated. “I have moveable shelves, a fine folding chair with wheels if you ever find yourself working on set again, and I’ve modified that one on the end to hold produce when you do your marketing.”

  “You lashed two boards to the walker for shelves and you haven’t done anything at all to the rollator that you’re calling the folding chair.”

  “I adjusted the brakes so they’re always on. There’s nothing worse for older Humans than going to sit down and having the chair move away.”

  “No and no,” Geoffrey said, passing over the first two offerings. “How does the shopping assistant work?”

  “When you unfold it, these canvas sacks I added automatically open, and there’s a quilted cooler section in the bottom for your cold drinks or frozen foods.”

  “That’s actually pretty handy,” the author said. He carefully crouched to examine the cooler, which turned out to have been repurposed from a transplant organ shipping bag. “I’ve been doing a little shopping just to have something in my cabin and I was thinking of buying a rolling basket like the old folks took to the market when I was a kid.”

  “This is better,” M793qK said. “You’ve got the parking brake, it can take more weight than you could possibly push, and it’s only five creds.”

  “Sold,” Geoffrey said, forking over a coin. “I have to say—”

  “No you don’t,” the doctor interrupted. “Next!”

  Eighteen

  “We must be the only people here who aren’t wearing costumes,” Bill said in dismay. “Do we have time to run home and get them?”

  “I just assumed that the cosplay finalists would be the ones who dressed up,” Julie said. “They’ve been running elimination rounds all day, and then there was a two-hour break before the finals. Let’s just stay in the back row where nobody notices, and then I’ll go change into my Refill costume before the ball.”

  “I’m going to the ball as a short Dollnick,” Bill said. “Flower loaned me a prosthetic arm set, the kind that some people on Dollnick open worlds wear to play paddle-cup-mitt-ball. I just didn’t want to carry them around any longer than necessary.”

  “Why not?” Flower inquired over his implant. “Four arms are better than two.”

  “I think it’s two heads are better than one,” he replied out loud, then mouthed “Flower” so Julie would know who he was talking to.

  A Grenouthian hopped out onto the stage, followed by a slow-footed Verlock carrying a large paper bag. Although the bunny was a head taller than Bill, and Grynlan was twice as wide, they both looked like a child’s exotic pets from the back row.

  “I wonder if we’re in the theatre with the live show or if we’re looking at a holographic projection from one of the other stages,” Julie said.

  Bill shrugged. “Flower?”

  “You can’t tell the difference?” the Dollnick AI asked over both of their implants.

  “Not really,” Julie said. “Maybe if somebody in the audience threw something and it went right through them.”

  “I estimated that forty-two thousand people would attend the cosplay finals and these theatres only seat five thousand each. It was either spread the audience over all ten theatres and broadcast holograms to nine of them, or hold the event in an open area, but then the deck curvature would have been an issue.”

  Jorb and Rinka slipped into the back row, the latter moving carefully so that her long dress, which was reminiscent of a nun’s habit, wouldn’t catch on anything. Jorb was wearing some sort of military officer’s uniform with his tentacle tucked down the back of his jacket, and Rinka had cleverly disguised her own tentacle as a scarf.

  “Why aren’t you wearing costumes?” Jorb asked.

  “We didn’t know,” Bill said. “We’ll get dressed before the ball. You guys look really human,” he complimented the Drazens. “Are you competing for the prize?”

  “You mean for Best Human?” Rinka asked. “We wouldn’t even come close. There are always plenty of the lower-caste Vergallians who can pass as Humans w
ithout a costume, and I saw a Dollnick with a fake second head and an extra set of legs who’s posing as a man giving his wife a piggyback ride.”

  “So the two of you just dressed for the ball early?”

  “We’re finalists in the classic entertainment category for skits,” Jorb boasted. “Can’t you tell who we are?”

  “A prince and a maiden from a fairytale?” Julie guessed.

  “Close,” Rinka said. “Captain and Maria von Trapp. We’re doing The Sound of Music.”

  “Your ‘Doe, a Dollnick’ song?”

  The Drazen girl nodded. “I taught Jorb to harmonize. He’s really not that tone-deaf for a male.”

  “And don’t forget I’m treating everybody to a LARP on Union Station before we depart in two days,” Jorb said. Then the lights in the theatre dimmed somewhat, though not to the point that they couldn’t see their neighbors. The audience quieted down, and a spotlight came up on the masters of ceremony.

  “Welcome to the first MultiCon cosplay contest,” the large bunny announced. “I’m Grynlan.”

  “I’m the Grenouthian,” the Verlock said ponderously.

  “So we’re starting with the awards for Best Grenouthian and Best Verlock, and obviously, the two of us are the winners,” the Grenouthian said. “I want to—”

  “I demand a reveal,” somebody in the audience shouted. “You’re not in costume at all. You’re just lying about which one of you is which to steal the prize!”

  The Grenouthian motioned to the Verlock, who shuffled up close so the bunny could dip his paw in the paper bag. It came out holding a ripe tomato. “Any more objections?” the Grenouthian inquired in a steely voice. “Then I just want to say how it warms my heart to see so many Humans aspiring to be something better.”

  “Like other species,” the Verlock put in.

  “Right. Or at least displaying a little more fashion sense than usual. We’ll run through the rest of the Best Species awards quickly and then get to the character cosplay that I’m sure you’ve all been waiting for. The award for Best Farling goes to Dave, from Flower’s Paradise.”