Marty McBarfly chuckled. “You must have been watching the ladies when you got here, my friend. You would have walked right by it as your left the docks.” He examined me up and down, speculatively. “Your cousin must be from the more affluent side of the family. The Oak and Bail is not cheap.”
I laughed and tried to look embarrassed. I had a cover story ready, and as cover stories went, it wasn't bad. “Gramps is hoping Theodore can find me a spot was some future prospects. Things are slow and Helep's Ending.” I watched him closely to see if the name meant anything. No luck. “Theodore works at the library. Not that he needs the money. I could probably meet him there.”
“Which one? Eye Lens, or Meat Hook?”
Oops. “Uh, I confess I didn’t pay that much attention. It's the one closest to his home, though - he hates walking.”
“Eye Lens, then.” He gave me directions. “I hope it works out well for you.” Marty looked woefully it is empty mug. Taking the hint, I signaled for another round, and Marty’s mood picked up.
I had no intention of actually showing up at the library, any more than I intended to walk jauntily along the docks wearing a monocle swinging my walking stick and whistling Dixie. I needed to know if the Resistance was still after me. If they have this town covered as well, then I had to accept that I was always going to be on their radar.
I took a place in the Oak and Bail - and it really was expensive. I calculated that I’d burn through my cash in three months. Not that I planned to be here that long, but it was still worrying. If I had to, I could sell the knives, but I had a feeling that I wouldn't be able to get retail for them.
After another long day of what I suppose could be considered ‘spying’, I popped into my VR library to find Hugh sitting back and drinking a coffee. He raised the cup in salute as I plopped into my La-Z-Boy.
“How goes the battle, oh great ancestor?”
I snickered in response, but I felt the old Spidey Sense tingle. Hugh’s occasional attempts at bonhomie never really rang true. It wasn't an original Bob behavior, and the Skippies didn't strike me as having drifted into the glad-handing used-car-salesman domain. In movie terms, it was like he was leaning against the furniture and whistling while examining the ceiling. The question was, why?
“I've been watching the docks for several days,” I replied. “There are a couple of guys who appear to spell each other, and they don't have an obvious function other than holding up walls, but that doesn't make them Resistance. And if they are, they’re not trying very hard.”
“Probably just a general directive all the way up and down the segment to watch out for us.”
“Well, you.”
“Maybe. What are you doing?” Hugh pointed his finger at his chest. “I am now a deckhand working a trading vessel that circuits the entire segment using all four main river systems. At the moment, we’re working our way down the Arcadia River.”
Huh. That actually wasn't a terrible idea. He’d blend in with the crew, he'd have a lot of opportunity to talk and listen, and he'd be in a new town pretty much every day.
“Oh, and Bob,” I recognized the tone of trouble. I cocked my head trying to look as innocent as possible. “I wonder if you could clarify something for me. It took a couple of days of my crewmates chortling every time they addressed me before I consciously listened to the Quinlan translation of my name.”
Innocent, straight face. I know nothing. “Well, of course, the translation routine randomly assigns Quinlan names as required, and associates them with a given English name.” Random. Yep.
He paused again. “So the translator randomly, and completely by coincidence, assigned me the name Beer Can?”
“Um, yeah, pretty much.” He stared at me and I stared back, holding the straight face as long as I could.
Finally, I broke. I started laughing and couldn't stop. “Well, ‘Skippy’… you…” I could only squeeze out the occasional word between the guffaws.
After a few moments, Hugh grinned and started to laugh himself.
“Okay,” he finally said, “it was funny. Nicely done. But you do realize this means war.”
I grinned back at him. “I guess you stuck with it, though.”
“Yep. But I explained to my mates it was a nickname originally meant as a joke, but that ended up sticking.”
I nodded in appreciation of the quick thinking. “Have you learned anything in your travels, though?”
“Nothing momentous there's a general awareness of the existence of the Administrator and the Resistance, at least in the broadest terms. Many Quinlans are aware that they’re living in an artificial megastructure, and that they're being held at a specific technological level. For others, it's become somewhat mythologized, involving deities and demons and such. Either way, they mostly don't care.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. The thing is, life is pretty good: no one starves, there are no wars - maybe the occasional inter-city skirmish over fishing territory - but it's about it. Medical knowledge is good, and sanitation is well understood so mortality is low. The truly huge predators that used to eat Quinlans are kept very low numbers. Most people die from incurable illnesses, old age, fights, or other misadventures. It would be hard to come up with a good argument that would convince the average Quinlan to get worked up about the situation.”
Hugh looked like he was about to say more, than cut himself off. This just reinforced my growing suspicion that Hugh was holding out on me in some way, but whether it was significant or just
