I grimaced, glad that we had Bridget along to pay attention to this kind of thing. On Eden my introduction to the local ecosystem had been gradual, and mostly from the safety of orbit. Now I was in the middle of it, and I hadn't yet internalized the studies.
Bill and Garfield sat up at that moment. Garfield looked at my face, and Bridget's face, and said “What I miss?”
Bridget laughed. “Let’s see about breakfast.”
“Fish on the hoof? No thanks. I’ll eat in town. Maybe a good Denver omelette with some hot sauce.”
“Sure, we’ll get right on that.” Bridget prairie-dogged and scanned the river. “Do we want to just float today, or should we put some hustle on?”
“As much as this feels like a vacation,” I replied. “It isn't. Let’s get ourselves to a town.”
It took most of the day to find the next town, even with the group actively swimming downstream. With no witnesses to worry about, we were able to pile on the speed and ignore fatigue warnings, and in the water, there was no danger of overheating the Mannies. Bill spotted of the town first.
“Coming up on the left, guys. Slow to flank speed.”
“Uh…”
“Don't get pedantic, Gar. Slow to whatever is normal for a Quinlan, hmmkay?”
I smiled to myself. Bill and Garfield sniped at each other constantly, but it was never heated. Marvin and I have the same kind of interaction. I realized it a long time since I visited him. I didn't even know if he was still working his way through all the fictional environments we'd read about. Maybe it was time to get over myself and rejoin Bobiverse society. While there still was one.
We swam up to the docks and climbed up the ramp in the acceptable manner - best not attract attention. The plaque at the head of the doc said Galentown and included some helpful arrows to useful locations. We noted an arrow that said ‘market’ and headed in that direction. We still haven't worked out any kind of concrete plan, since we didn't even have enough information to form one. The Skippies were still listening and with the spy drones, but they haven't come up with anything new. It wasn't surprising, when you look at the big picture. We still haven't come close to scanning the entire structure in detail, and even with the surprisingly large Quinlan population numbers, they were spread quite thin. Every single town couldn't possibly have a significant presence, and we still needed to figure out what that might be.
“Let's try not to screw it up this time,” I said. “Let's…”
“Excuse me?” Bill exclaimed. “Who was it that started a riot last time? Anyone? Anyone?”
“Picky, picky. Seriously, maybe we can make some headway today. You guys wanna split up?”
“I think we have to, Bob, we’ll cover more territory.”
I nodded, gave a small wave Quinlan-style, and headed in a random direction. The point was to eavesdrop on conversations, and maybe try to start one and probe subtly for information. I had my concerns about that ‘subtly’ part - I was far more familiar with the Art of War than the Art of Conversation.
Hmm… but where can you go where everybody knows you’re… no, but close. Liquor loosens lips. Or muzzles, or beaks, or haora as the Quinlans called their cake-holes. So where would I find a pub and/or boozery?
I went up to the first person was holding still. “Excuse me. Is there a tavern nearby?”
“Yes, my brother-in-law owns the Growling Guppy, down that lane. Turn right at the house with the red door, you'll see it. Tell them Gren sent you.”
I nodded my thanks and set off in the indicated direction. I was pretty sure that Gren got a kickback of some kind, and I didn't begrudge him. I might even get a break on the first beer. Brother-in-law wasn't quite the right translation for the relationship, I knew. The Quinlans had a complicated family system, but I got the impression that Gran and his pub owning mate were on pretty close terms.
I arrived at the establishment in short order. It was, as advertised, easy to pick out. An outside patio with long benches and tables featured a lot of Quinlans holding beer steins. It seemed every hour was happy hour for Quinlans. Was swimming while under the influence of felony?
I sidled up to the bar and signaled for attention. To the barkeep I said, “Gren tells me I can get a beer here?” The barkeep eye me closely, probably checking his memory. Then he grabbed a Stein, filled it, and set it down.
“First one’s one copper. After that, two coppers.”
I pulled out the appropriate coin, set it on the bar, and grabbed my beer. I had a bad feeling this was not going to compare favorably with Howard's red ales. Well, I could always turn off my taste buds.
I scanned the tables. I was looking for a spot where I was potentially within earshot of several conversations. I needed to have a much better picture of the society before I'd be ready to dive in and strike up a conversation, especially after last time. I plunked my butt down on a bench and hunched over my Stein, trying to look like it was the center of my universe. Then I turned up my audio gain and relaxed into creepy eavesdropper mode.
“… can't believe that Jenny wants to bring that fish-entrail-brained looser into the family.”
“… so he says to me, Barro, he says, I got a right mind to...”
“That's just too funny, that guy really thought…”
“… claims to have been Scattered twice, I mean, what are the chances…”
Wait. Scattered? There was that word. The Skippies haven't been able to nail it
