Good Help

by submission | Jan 30, 2008 | Story

Author : Benjamin Fischer

“So you’re a butler.”

Xero repressed the urge to roll his eyes and sigh. The woman across the aisle on the maglev had seen his replicant’s sigil, a broad tattoo of the symbol for Gemini on the back of his left hand. She’d also seen his impeccable dress and the parcel he’d retrieved from the spaceport. She’d put two and two together and now she wanted to talk.

“I am an executive,” he replied, setting down the display screen for his book.

“Which is another word for butler,” the woman said.

Xero would have slapped her if she hadn’t reeked of money, but the ostentatious garnish on her purple dress suggested it was straight off some Euro runway.

“You are new to Luna, ma’am?” he asked her.

“Why–yes,” she said. “You can tell.”

“I pick up on such things,” Xero said.

“Like a good butler would,” said the woman. “So, he cloned himself to get out of doing the household chores? You Lunies amaze me.”

“Yes, I do the chores,” nodded Xero, ignoring the slight. “But our relationship is much more than that of a servant and master. I manage his economic interests and his wives when he is traveling or indisposed.”

“Wives? In the plural?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm,” she snorted. “The casual polygamy of this place still astounds me.”

“Oh, they get along,” said Xero. “Never bored for company.”

“I’ll bet.”

“You’ll bet what, ma’am?” asked Xero, even though he knew.

She leaned in.

“So in the dark,” she said, blushing, “can they tell that you’re not him?”

Xero chuckled.

“I’m his executive, ma’am.”

“But do you–do you, you know?” the woman asked.

“From time to time.”

“And what about him?” she asked.

“Not his taste,” Xero said, and then seeing the continued color in the woman’s face:

“Sometimes when I’m with them,” he said, “he will watch.”

That shut her up for a moment and Xero almost got back to reading the latest chapter of his favorite serial when she piped up again.

“How large is your household?” she asked.

“About average for Copernicus,” he replied.

“What’s average?” she asked.

Xero set aside his book’s diamond case.

“Two of us, the three wives, the pool girl, the plumber, the gardener, five different Intelligences, two sponsored children, and maybe three entertainers on contract. That’s everyone who lives in the quarters, at least,” he said.

“That’s average?” asked the woman.

“Mmm, yes, ma’am. About average.”

“Everyone lives like that?”

“No, but the option is always there,” said Xero.

“But that must be expensive-”

“Twelve adults and Intelligences, ma’am. We all pull our weight.”

The woman shook her head.

“Absurd,” she said.

“Maybe,” Xero said, “but it’s damn good fun.”

The woman snorted.

Xero glanced at his darkened book. He sighed and opened his mouth anyway.

“In the Concourse Level, ma’am. There’s a club called Young’s.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, not understanding.

“When your husband starts looking,” he said. “You might as well begin with the best.”

“What?” she said.

“It’s what you’re worried about, isn’t it?” said Xero. “Getting replaced.”

“Jim would never-”

“Ma’am,” Xero said, grinning, “I’m sure he’s thinking of you as well–he’s probably already getting an executive of his own.”

Meteorological Engineering

by Kathy Kachelries | Jan 28, 2008 | Story

Author : Kathy Kachelries, Staff Writer

Eric Hayton was not happy. In fact, his unhappiness was palpable: it could be seen in the four empty coffee cups on his desk, in the disgust with which he regarded his wall of monitors, and mostly, in the overfilled ash tray positioned on the corner of his desk. Smoking was illegal in the colony, but if he didn’t get this weather bug sorted out, he would have bigger things to worry about than a misdemeanor fine.

Almost a century ago, the first wave of emigrants suffered through perfectly stable weather. Although the colonists were expected to enjoy a sempiternal spring, the lack of seasons only reminded them that their world was artificial. The Monarch system, written a decade later, swept the programming awards and was immediately put into use. It projected the weather for an entire imagined planet, then used the colony’s temperature and humidity controls to match the weather for a hypothetical longitude and latitude. Because it was self-reliant, the only people who studied it were eccentric techno-anachronists and third year programming students. Even Eric, the colony’s chief meteorologist, hadn’t read the output in years. It was stable. Reliable. There had never been problems before.

Judging by the two feet of snow outside of Eric’s window, there was a first time for everything.

“Linz, can you put on another pot?” he called as he gnawed on the end of his stylus. He’d run out of cigarettes a few hours ago and run out of sleep twenty hours before that, but for now, his coffee reserves were holding. It was his responsibility to track down the bug, but introducing new code to the Monarch system was dangerous. Sure, he could stop the snowfall with a few keystrokes, but since the simulation built upon itself, one clumsy move could cause floods and droughts for centuries to come.

“After this round,” Eric’s daughter called from the other room. Through her headphones, he could hear the muffled sounds of her video game. When Lindsay appeared with a fresh mug of coffee, he gestured to the largest monitor and a tap of his stylus froze the code in place.

“You see anything there?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “It’s self-correcting though, right? It should work out the kinks in a week or so,”

“We don’t have a week or so,” Eric said. He picked up the mug. “Everything’s shut down. The whole colony’s snowed in.”

Lindsay shrugged uneasily. “We only started learning Monarch this semester,” she reminded. “I barely know anything. Are you sure you didn’t leave yourself logged in at a public terminal?”

Eric shook his head. “Aside from the computers at City Hall, his is the only machine wired in to the sim.”

“I guess it’s just a natural bug, then.” Lindsay wrapped her arms around Eric, giving him a quick hug before turning back to the living room. “Good luck,” she added.

Lindsay closed the door behind her and pulled on her headset as she dropped onto the sofa.

“I’ve only got time for one more run,” a static-laced voice said. “We’ve got to finish tomorrow’s codework.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Lindsay said,with a glance to the closed door. “School should be cancelled for at least another week.”

“I feel bad saying it,” another guildmate grunted, “but we’re damn lucky this bug happened when it did. Gives us some time to catch up with that guild on Reki 5.”

Lindsay’s avatar joined the rest of her guild at the digital battleground. “Let’s show them what we’re made of.”