A Larger Universe (11 page)

"This is one of many compartments used to store organic
substances that do not require refrigeration.  Earth's life is unique, as is
the life of each world, and it produces unique products, some of them valuable
to others."

Tommy stopped by a line of shelves containing hundreds of
shrink-wrapped pallets loaded with brown burlap bags.  The smell was
unmistakable.  "This is coffee.  My Dad says he can't work without a cup
of coffee in the morning."

They passed shelves with the aroma of mint, pepper, and
other spices.  Another was packed with bottles of perfume, one of which must
have broken.  The fragrance brought back memories of his great aunt.  His Mom
used to say that his aunt doused herself with perfume rather than bathe.  He
closed his eyes as he was suddenly overwhelmed with images of his aunt’s house;
of the piles of old magazines that she refused to throw away stacked against
the walls; and of the chocolate chip cookies she always made for him.  He shook
his head, bringing another sharp pain. 
No use thinking about that
, he
thought.

They continued down the aisle where other shelves were
packed with roughly cut lumber, some with exotic curling grain, each with a
distinct fragrance.  Most of the items he couldn't identify, and Valin was
usually of no help. 

As they neared the finish of their circle, Tommy saw
something that seemed familiar.  Against the wall beside the door were at least
fifty pallets of clear plastic bags, each the size of a half-gallon jug, filled
with a white substance.  Where had he seen bags like that before?  It hit him. 
He had seen something like this on TV.

"You say you got most of this stuff from the Southern
continent.  Do you mean South America?"

"That's what I was told."

"Do you have any idea what this is; how dangerous it
is?"

Valin gave him a blank expression.  "What the lords
trade for is none of our business."

"Well, maybe it should be.  If I'm right, this is
cocaine.  Maybe tons of cocaine."

Valin tilted his head to the side and frowned.  "Why
should that concern me?"

"This is a dangerous, addictive drug.  It's illegal in
the United States, but criminals make millions of dollars selling it,
anyway."

"Again I ask, why should I be concerned?  The lords
often trade in substances banned on the world of their origin.  I'm told such
substances are often of great value, elsewhere."

Tommy shook his head.  "I suppose the good side is this
is one large load that won't be sold in Georgia.  But you'd better hope none of
it gets out in the ship among your people or the farmers."

"What's done to those who use this or supply this on
Earth?"

"They spend time in jail."

"Here, the lords would kill them.  Not for using the
drug, but for stealing from their trade goods.  No drug would be worth
that."

Tommy bent over and peered at the bottom of the nearest
pallet.  The plastic wrap and one of the bags inside had small ragged tears and
the powder had trickled on the floor.

"Maybe, but if not, you have an addicted mouse in this
compartment," He stood up and faced Valin.  "And if it's a mouse, my
cat won't be used to catch it.  I don't want him anywhere close to this
stuff."

"That's none of my business, nor should it be any of
your business.” Valin said.  “Are you well enough now to work?"

Tommy jerked his head a little.  The pain was gone.  He
still felt a little lightheaded and tired, but the book said the medicine might
have that effect.  "Yes, finally.  Let's get started."  Getting
involved again with computers, after so many months of manual labor, and even
under these circumstances, was the most wonderful thing that could possibly
happen to him.  Well, except for going home.

Valin had to struggle to keep up with Tommy on his way back
to the workroom.  This strange boy was more astonishing each hour.  His first
impression of Tommy had been of a muscular lump, nothing at all like the
slender and graceful humans living below the Commons.  He still looked like a
lump, but he confronted problems as Valin never could have.

When the computers proved to be outdated, Tommy had
immediately begun to think of solutions.  Valin would have acquiesced to his
fate.  When Tommy was sick, his response had been to seek a solution to his
problem in a book.  Valin would have gone to a ship's doctor and accepted whatever
treatment he was given.  He was sure the doctor wouldn't have taken the time to
explore the new medicines from Earth just for him.

Those on this ship were trained in their professions and not
encouraged to look elsewhere or think for themselves.

Maybe he and his family would survive this.  Maybe Tommy
would succeed at the tasks Lord Ull had given him.  Whatever happened, he was
sure the way Tommy performed those tasks would be unique. 

The reality of Tommy's new job was not as Valin described. 
On their return to the workroom, they found Valin's staff diligently copying
from the books they had been given into spiral notebooks.

"What are they doing?" Tommy asked.

"They're translating, as best they can without your
help.  We have been doing so ever since we left Earth.  We have to be seen
making progress.  The books we've finished are in the bookcases against the
wall."

"No, I mean why are they writing the translation with
pens on paper?"

"How else would you do it?"

"I would type the translation into a word processor
program."

"I saw a book about one of those.  I read the first
chapter and couldn't make sense of it.  Assuming we had a word processor, which
we don't, how would we get the translation on paper, so others could read
it?"

"You would use a printer.  A device that prints words
on paper."

"I've seen such a device on an upper deck, but we've
none here.  The only printers we have, in this room, are my workers."

"What do you do if you need another copy?"

"Someone copies the original.  We have to, anyway, at
least once.  We can't allow anyone to take the proof."

"There's got to be a better way.  What books are they
translating?  Do you mind if I look?"

At Valin's nod, he circled the table, checking each title. 
"You picked these at random, didn't you?"

"We had no other method of doing so, without your
help."

Tommy picked up one of the notebooks--it had University of
Connecticut printed on the cover--and compared the first few pages of the
translation with the book.  He shook his head.  "You know, guessing
doesn't help with this.  Valin, do you remember seeing computer books with
'Idiot' or 'Dummies' in the title?"

"Yes, I remember seeing those."

"Why didn't you pick any of those to translate?"

Valin's sniff was audible.  "The titles were insulting,
since we are neither idiots nor dummies.  The books I did choose were
weightier, with more content."

Tommy shook his head.  "Yes, they are, and they're
beyond you at the moment.  The idiot and dummy books are for beginners.  The
language is simple, and they have lots of diagrams.  If your assistants
translate those, they might learn something, then the weightier books will be
easier."  A thought occurred to him.  He looked at the door to the room
containing the dead computers.  "Even better, you won't need as much of my
help for the translations, and I'll have time to do other things."

"What else will you be doing?"

"All of this will be much easier if you have a computer
to work with.  If you'll let me, I'll be building a system from a few of those
spare parts in the warehouse."

Valin made another call to Feron, and, after the midday
meal, Tommy was again in the storage room, unwrapping pallets of computer
equipment.  He looked up from tearing off the plastic wrap on a pallet to Feron
who had let him in.  "It would help if you had a list of all this
stuff."

"We do.  Several.  At least for part of what is
here."

"You do!  Why didn’t you give it to me when we were
here before?  A list would have saved time."

"That never occurred to me.  You seemed to know what
you were doing.  I didn't want to interfere."

When Feron returned with a stack of paper six inches thick,
Tommy stopped opening pallets and spread the stack on the floor.  As he studied
the lists, he smiled.  The smile became, "Yes!  Yes!" when the last
page was turned.

"I hope that means good news," Feron said.

"I think it does.  As best I can tell, two-thirds of
what you have in this room is from two companies that went out of business
after the last Christmas I was on Earth.  Both companies were on-line suppliers
and had a little bit of everything.  These papers say your agent bid on and won
their entire remaining inventory.  What's here was already six months out of
date when you brought me here, but that doesn't matter to you.  It certainly
doesn't matter to me.  The computer I was using at home was eighteen months old
and wasn't the fastest one available.  Somewhere in this room are pallets of
PC's up to 3.2 GigaHertz, tower servers, laptops, printers, disk drives,
monitors, switches, routers--whatever we could wish for.  We even have two thousand
cases of printer paper."

"You should realize I have no idea what any of that
means.  Will that help us use Earth computers on this ship?  Are my family's
lives and my life safe?"

"I hope so.  If it's possible to connect Earth's
computers to your ship, we have a chance.  I do have one question.  Can you
provide the alternating electric current I need in the right voltage and
amps?"

Feron may have had a list, but Tommy could find no logic in
the way the pallets were stored in the warehouse.  Since he had to divide his
time between helping the translators and examining pallets, he took most of a
week to find the first items he needed.  The artisans required an equal time to
install and test the power system he would be using.

After he got the boxes moved into what he now called the
computer room, he spent another day putting a computer together, complete with
every gadget he could stuff into it.  When he was ready to plug into the power,
the three artisans who had installed the wall sockets stood behind him, waiting
for something to catch fire. 

Tommy smiled and shook his head at the Earth-made fire
extinguisher one of them carried.  "You're not very optimistic," 

"The lords expect us to be prepared and to not start
fires in their ship," the man replied.  "Please continue."

Plugging the computer into the wall socket was uneventful
except for some lights on the printer and DVD burner, so he pushed the boot
button.  As the computer attempted to boot from the C drive, what he read on
the monitor made him grin.  "Success.  Now, I need you to do the same
thing in the next room.  We'll be putting at least nine computers in that room,
too."

The men looked at Valin, who watched apprehensively from the
doorway.  "Please do whatever he asks.  The lords have said this project
is important," Valin said.

The first real glitch occurred when Tommy installed the
operating system.  He had no way to connect to the Internet.  For that matter, the
Internet had to be light years away.  Registering the software with the
manufacturer was impossible.  This operating system would work for a while
without registration, but, when the registration period expired, it would stop.

Tommy felt certain he could hack the registration code,
given enough time.  He found the problem so interesting, that he almost lost
sight of what he was trying to do. 
Maybe later
, he thought,
if I
ever get a break from all of this.
  Instead, he went to the warehouse to
search for a different operating system.

Valin had been watching his progress and had been elated
when pictures and words appeared on the screen.  He followed Tommy into the
isles between the pallets.  "Are you ready to build a computer for me? 
Can I help you find what you need?"

"Actually, Valin, the first computer isn't finished
yet.  I must replace the software I installed with what's called 'open source'
software.  You can help me find it, if you want.  We're searching for something
called
Linux
and
Open Office
.  Here's where they are listed on
the packing slips."

"Why is this necessary?"

"Let's just say the support desk is too far away and
leave it at that.  I would have had to find Linux, anyway, to set up a server
network.  Might as well be positive."

Because Tommy's knowledge of Linux was limited to the
network at his school in Atlanta, he soon had piles of books on his desk.  Late
into the sleep period, he sat with Potter curled in his lap, reading about what
he planned to do the next morning.  An accomplished tech would have set up the
network and put a computer on every translator's desk in a few days.  He needed
most of a month. 

He worked alone in the beginning, but, when Valin overheard
him complaining to himself about having to put connectors on the ends of so
many cables, he was assigned two young men as assistants.  Soon, they were
beyond cables and were installing boards as adeptly as he. 

On the day everything had been tested, and he was sure the
system would work, he called everyone to Valin's desk for a demonstration. 
"The first thing you must do is learn how to type, but since no one else
here knows how, I'm going to enter something from one of these books, and have
it print on the printer."

A general "Ahh" came from the watchers, when the
words he typed displayed on the screen, and another "Ahh" when the
same text was printed on a sheet of paper, then someone asked, "How do we
enter text in the lords' language?  Its symbols look nothing like that of
English."