the rental agency demanded a large
deposit. “In the event of an accident between cities, a null is almost
impossible to locate. You’ll need to rent a satellite tracker for your buggy.”
What the stern clerk was really saying was that nulls couldn’t be trusted.
Nulls tended to lack empathy for other sentients, and no one could tell what
they were feeling. Normally when renting a vehicle, she listed whoever she was
with as primary driver to avoid any conflict. This was the first time she would
be traveling with another null.
The second problem was more subtle.
She filled out incidental paperwork while Max loaded the rear of the buggy. As
the last line on her driver information form, she read, “I swear that in the
last six months I have had no periods of fever, epilepsy, unconsciousness, or
blindness?”
The clerk shrugged. “We had an
outbreak of Crimson Fever. Customers would lose their sight and crash. People
would sue us, too. The lawyer had us add that language.”
Silly as it seemed, after her
incidents on the ship, she couldn’t sign the oath. “Oops.” She hit the Clear
button on the computer form. “The company is paying for this, and I filled in
everything wrong.” The second time, she put Max as the primary driver and
herself as an add-on. The add-on had no affidavit to sign.
“You a couple?” asked the clerk.
Roz blushed. “He hasn’t asked my
dad yet.”
The clerk folded the papers from
the printer and handed them over. “Put these in the glove box, and don’t let
him speed.”
“No, sir.”
She drove. The warning proved
unnecessary, as the buggy wouldn’t go above forty-five kilometers an hour. This
put a serious dent in her plan, as she had estimated a rate of a hundred for
the trip between cities. They would be on the road longer each day, and she
mentally cut the city with one marginal restaurant and no product deliveries
from the itinerary. Still, she and Max delivered two cases of geodes before
they broke for lunch.
That’s when things took another
unpleasant turn. Her number-one pick for restaurants was closed. As she rattled
the locked front door, a passerby asked, “Can I help you?”
Why don’t these people say what
they mean? A null like you must be trying to break in to steal something. “Don’t they cook lunch anymore?” Roz asked politely.
“Sunday’s their biggest day,”
explained the local. “Church crowd. They take Mondays off.”
“Thanks,” Max said. “We’ll just
find another restaurant.”
The local man shook his head. “All
the good ones are closed today. Slowest day of the week. Only place you’re
likely to find open is the spaceport diner near the police station. They never
close.”
Roz couldn’t trust herself to
speak. Her jaw trembled with rage. Is he trying to protect his whole city from
her rampaging null gang?
Max sensed her ire and stepped
between them. “How’s the chow?”
“The eggs and coffee aren’t bad.”
Max grimaced. “Thanks.” He waved
good-bye.
Roz rested her head on the door.
“Crap. This throws what’s left of our schedule out of whack.”
“Who knew they rolled up all the
sidewalks in town on Mondays? We have time for a local chef tomorrow.”
“They don’t want our kind here,” Roz whispered angrily.
“Come on. I’ll buy you some eggs.
At least nobody’s going to steal our rig outside a cop diner.”
The diner in question had actual
newspapers for sale. Roz stared. “Why kill trees for this instead of an online
info burst?”
Max picked a paper up for a coin.
“You said yourself that infrastructure for advanced tech takes time. Besides,
can’t wrap a fish in my wrist computer. When in Rome …”
Seating themselves in a booth, they
waited for a waitress. Max flipped pages idly. “Plans are ramping up for the
sesquicentennial.”
“What?” asked Roz.
“A hundred fifty years since
founding,” explained a woman whose nametag read Mary Lou. “Going to be the
biggest cheese festival
deposit. “In the event of an accident between cities, a null is almost
impossible to locate. You’ll need to rent a satellite tracker for your buggy.”
What the stern clerk was really saying was that nulls couldn’t be trusted.
Nulls tended to lack empathy for other sentients, and no one could tell what
they were feeling. Normally when renting a vehicle, she listed whoever she was
with as primary driver to avoid any conflict. This was the first time she would
be traveling with another null.
The second problem was more subtle.
She filled out incidental paperwork while Max loaded the rear of the buggy. As
the last line on her driver information form, she read, “I swear that in the
last six months I have had no periods of fever, epilepsy, unconsciousness, or
blindness?”
The clerk shrugged. “We had an
outbreak of Crimson Fever. Customers would lose their sight and crash. People
would sue us, too. The lawyer had us add that language.”
Silly as it seemed, after her
incidents on the ship, she couldn’t sign the oath. “Oops.” She hit the Clear
button on the computer form. “The company is paying for this, and I filled in
everything wrong.” The second time, she put Max as the primary driver and
herself as an add-on. The add-on had no affidavit to sign.
“You a couple?” asked the clerk.
Roz blushed. “He hasn’t asked my
dad yet.”
The clerk folded the papers from
the printer and handed them over. “Put these in the glove box, and don’t let
him speed.”
“No, sir.”
She drove. The warning proved
unnecessary, as the buggy wouldn’t go above forty-five kilometers an hour. This
put a serious dent in her plan, as she had estimated a rate of a hundred for
the trip between cities. They would be on the road longer each day, and she
mentally cut the city with one marginal restaurant and no product deliveries
from the itinerary. Still, she and Max delivered two cases of geodes before
they broke for lunch.
That’s when things took another
unpleasant turn. Her number-one pick for restaurants was closed. As she rattled
the locked front door, a passerby asked, “Can I help you?”
Why don’t these people say what
they mean? A null like you must be trying to break in to steal something. “Don’t they cook lunch anymore?” Roz asked politely.
“Sunday’s their biggest day,”
explained the local. “Church crowd. They take Mondays off.”
“Thanks,” Max said. “We’ll just
find another restaurant.”
The local man shook his head. “All
the good ones are closed today. Slowest day of the week. Only place you’re
likely to find open is the spaceport diner near the police station. They never
close.”
Roz couldn’t trust herself to
speak. Her jaw trembled with rage. Is he trying to protect his whole city from
her rampaging null gang?
Max sensed her ire and stepped
between them. “How’s the chow?”
“The eggs and coffee aren’t bad.”
Max grimaced. “Thanks.” He waved
good-bye.
Roz rested her head on the door.
“Crap. This throws what’s left of our schedule out of whack.”
“Who knew they rolled up all the
sidewalks in town on Mondays? We have time for a local chef tomorrow.”
“They don’t want our kind here,” Roz whispered angrily.
“Come on. I’ll buy you some eggs.
At least nobody’s going to steal our rig outside a cop diner.”
The diner in question had actual
newspapers for sale. Roz stared. “Why kill trees for this instead of an online
info burst?”
Max picked a paper up for a coin.
“You said yourself that infrastructure for advanced tech takes time. Besides,
can’t wrap a fish in my wrist computer. When in Rome …”
Seating themselves in a booth, they
waited for a waitress. Max flipped pages idly. “Plans are ramping up for the
sesquicentennial.”
“What?” asked Roz.
“A hundred fifty years since
founding,” explained a woman whose nametag read Mary Lou. “Going to be the
biggest cheese festival
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