A Slice of Mars

By Guerric Haché

Mars is a strange place these days. Corporate overlords, capitalism, and even aging are things of the past on a planet increasingly brimming with biodiversity - yet pizzerias are in short supply!

 

Siblings Hett and San set out to change that. But a roboticist and a bureaucrat can't run a restaurant alone, so they bring on some help - a bioengineer, a communications scientist, and an unlikely grad student from Earth. Together, this gang of geeks will brave the fires of small business.

 

But work is just a small part of life. People are complicated. Different brains, different wounds, different values, and one questionably tame wildcat will all collide as they try to grow and succeed together. What comes out of the oven, in the end, is anyone's guess.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Guerric Haché
• Release date: Jan 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215593455

Guerric Haché

Guerric Haché grew up bilingual in a small town in Québec, but now lives with two cats on the edge of the Pacific in Vancouver, BC, a place which has fostered a career in video game development, a side gig in animal care at the Vancouver Aquarium, several moderately successful indoor gardening attempts, and pursuing a passion for writing. Independent authors always appreciate reviews, positive or negative, not only for the visibility but also because they provide valuable feedback and encouragement! If you want to reach out, Guerric can be reached by email at [e-mail] or found on most social media as either GuerricHache, or GarrickWinter, an older handle that in some cases regrettably cannot be changed.

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Author’s Note

A Slice of Mars  is a low-stakes novel about regular people and their day-to-day lives in a futuristic society with norms and material conditions significantly different to our own.

The characters are aware of and interested in political and social events, but rarely participate in them. Their concerns, crises, and goals are largely personal in nature. This is not a story centred on revolution, social upheaval, war, revenge, crime, or other similarly dramatic topics.

It is partly a story about food. A hungry reader might get hungrier while reading.

Finally, it bears mentioning that caracals, while adorable, are not suitable as pets.

1 - Hett

Well, if we’re going to open a pizza parlour, we obviously need a biologist.

Said biologist nodded along, pinching another chicken dumpling between her chopsticks  and dredging it through glossy sumac sauce. She lifted it up and paused, still not meeting Hett’s gaze but glancing at the vague space between him and his sibling San. Of course. But specifically related to my previous work, what were you hoping I could bring to the table?

Her chopsticks had an interestingly rough texture to them, like some kind of shell. Hett wondered if she’d grown the materials herself. Dhapree Le wasn’t famous, exactly, but a look at her resume revealed that she was accomplished, and had the kind of enterprising spirit that made hobbies out of careers and careers out of hobbies. Hett could appreciate that. Well, I tried your boar when it was on rotation at Lopez’s, and I think that speaks for itself. Or tastes for itself, if -

San cleared their throat slightly, and Hett recognized the look on his sibling’s pale face; they thought he’d missed some important point, and possibly found him a bit embarrassing. He just grinned and let his sibling cut him off with more serious details. "You’ve  got a solid track record and a well-matched skillset. Plant and mammal work, too. Not every bioengineer can do both, and we need both."

No poultry, fish, inverts? The eyes framed by Dhapree’s russet complexion were sharp and a startling shade of gold, but they remained fixed on her food or the middle distance. The question made Hett pause as he raced to recall the full extent of what he’d read about the various pizza traditions, and Dhapree took the chance to bite off half the dumpling. Perhaps that was the point of the question.

Poultry, yes, actually. That’s a fairly big deal. Fish and inverts, not so much, but we can get creative if you want to explore those directions. Hett glanced at his sibling beside him again, but San shrugged. Until now, all their communications with Dhapree had been in the form of text, but he was finding now that regardless of what words she might be saying, she spoke as though she were reading them aloud, in a way that somehow seemed both genuine and a little distant. Interesting. Do you think that’s a big challenge? Do you need extra equipment?

She shook her head. No, my setup is good to grow any kind of tissue. I’ve only done poultry a few times, back in university. Might take some time for me to get creative with that. The corner of her lip quirked up ever so slightly. What did you like about the boar?

Hett glanced around, trying to remember the thing, but all he had was an overwhelming impression that he’d loved it. The rest of the dumpling bar was not immediately helpful in jogging his memory. Sunlight colored by the late afternoon hour slipped in from between taller buildings outside, casting the bar’s wall of living foliage into warmer shades of red and purple than usual. A waitbot zipped by, smooth and quiet, and Hett watched it just long enough to notice that the way it slowed and turned suggested it was being guided by a twinned magnetic rail system in the floor and ceiling, not a completely free-flowing field. The robot, in turn, was just slow enough that curious patrons might glance at its tray and be inspired to buy a little more if they liked what they saw.

San did exactly that – an order for a plate of dessert dumplings appeared on the table’s shared tab, glinting in the corner of the interface being displayed by Hett’s contact lenses. Hett grinned. San did have a sweet tooth. But the waitbot that had gone by didn’t just have desserts – he also saw the distinctive open-topped shape of pork shaomai. The meat ground up and reconstituted, without the texture of  -

There it was. It was the marbling! I know that kind of reaction-diffusion system in passing myself, in an algorithmic context. He almost blushed, looking back at the long rectangular plates their dumplings had been served on. I really felt like I could taste its expression in the tissue structure. Honestly, that was impressive. That version of the algorithm was developed to be evenly responsive to a range of structural pressures and deformities - it was intended to be used in architecture. It was never meant for tissue culture.

Dhapree swallowed the mouthful of chicken dumpling and seemed to reward herself with a smile, golden eyes darting to the side. Hett wondered idly if she’d chosen that eye colour herself. I did a pretty good job, didn’t I? She made a wiggling gesture with her fingers. I love the heterogeneity. Each bite was a little different. I wasn’t sure if I was imagining things, though, so I’m glad to hear you noticed it.

" I’ll admit I didn’t. San raised their thin eyebrows at Hett and grinned sheepishly. But Hett was -"

He grinned. Okay, yes, I was looking for it.

San pointed a dumpling at him and grinned. My point exactly.

Dhapree nodded with another small smile, glancing between them. It’s mostly biomechanics. She waved it away. Not my invention. Most of the royalties still go to the original algorithmatist. I just implemented it into cell biology.

Hett couldn’t help himself . " Just?  Jumping an algorithm designed for architecture into a steak is impressive lateral thinking. He saw San suppressing a smile and shaking their head, and tried not to chuckle. San probably thought he was being histrionic. We need ingredients that pop and awe and surprise people, but that still fit within the core concept of pizza."

He looked directly at his sibling again, but San had hidden whatever eye-roll they’d normally give him and was watching them both with their more usual quiet attentiveness. They gestured for him to go on as they chewed on their dumpling. San’s role in this was technically more procedural than culinary. Much as he wanted to feel this was a family endeavour, Hett knew San was not going along with this idea because they were deeply interested in running a pizza parlour. The financial and bureaucratic problems of a small business were just more appealing than their usual consulting, and the results far more tangible. Hett felt the same way - he’d spent years designing algorithms for architectural robots building buildings he’d never step into before coming up with this idea.

Of course…it wasn’t an idea anymore. They’d gotten municipal approval now. They’d been assigned a lot, and a damned good one on the edge of the city’s largest plaza. And they had several months left before the Centennial, one of the biggest business days in the year for casual dining. So it was a plan  now, not an idea. And with Dhapree …

You know, I’m not sure I’ve had a pizza. She furrowed her thick eyebrows in thought, and Hett’s heart sank. Her eyes darted between them and something in the background. Not in the traditional sense you’ve laid out. I’ve had flatbread, obviously. I’ve had cheesy tomato flatbreads, even. She flicked out a hologram of the ingredient list Hett had sent her a while ago as examples. But the specifics you’re talking about here - the circular shape, the triangular slices, these traditional old topping combinations especially. There aren’t a lot of these in the city. This feels like a retro project, so I was expecting you to want retro ingredients. You could get all that stuff at any grocer. What, exactly, do you think custom bioengineering would help with here?

Hett smiled. There were many truths, some of which were more relevant to others. One truth was that if they got her onboard, they could say their pizza was topped with designs by a laureat of multiple awards from the Ecogenesis  project . Another truth was that it just seemed fun.

"I think of the concept as retro tropes with modern content . So, sure, something like pepperoni that’s still spicy and meaty, but with synthetics and custom cultivars instead of traditional pork or beef lines or conventional chilis. Deceptively old-fashioned. He frowned, not sure that felt quite right as a slogan. Or, um…novel tastes hidden in plain sight."

San raised their glass of water and mumbled before sipping, Mystery meat.

Hett snorted, and even Dhapree smiled a little. I can see the appeal. A lot of my Ecogenesis work has been that sort of thing, too - trying to take old things in new directions. Ask me to tell you about bats sometime, if you have an hour or two.

The actual animal, not as a tissue culture, right? Hett blinked. I’ve never had bat vatmeat. Is it any good? Bat vatmeat. This was the kind of thing San hated, and he glanced sideways at his sibling. Batvatmeat. San groaned, hiding their eyes behind one hand, and Hett laughed. What? Come on, that was good! It’s snappy.

San shook their head. Hett, please.

Still, Dhapree’s eyes widened in delight, as though this were the best thing he’d said all night. She even let out a single laugh, and he froze at the deep sound of it. "You’d never get anyone to eat vatmeat grown from bat lines. People think they’re all diseased - doesn’t matter if it’s synthesized from scratch; plenty of people wouldn’t touch anything anywhere near the word bat ."

I know, I know. Hett glanced sideways at San again. It would never fly.

San leaned back sharply from the table and exhaled. I don’t know this man.

Dhapree smirked even as San backhanded Hett on the shoulder. The biologist’s eyes slid sideways, over to San, resting on the other sibling for a moment before she responded, "And yet. How do you know each other, exactly?"

Hett was about to explain, but he saw the preemptive look on San’s face and kept quiet as they spoke. We’re siblings. Crèchemates, obviously. They glanced at Hett with a grin. "Or I think it’s obvious, anyway. I don’t much look like that, apart from the hair."

Dhapree nodded thoughtfully, glancing between them. The hair does match exactly, though. Same shading and photobleaching. Did one of you get your genes done?

Hett felt himself blush. He didn’t know why, but it felt like an embarrassing thing to admit to. I did, in crèche.

I was having a bad week and feeling lonely. San smiled a bit. He had his genes done to match my hair as a gesture, and then he forgot about it, and he only remembered when I asked him why it was growing in weird.

Dhapree snorted, and Hett grinned. Admittedly, the forgetting was embarrassing. And their similarities ended with the hair, from Hett’s pinker skin tones to San’s more golden ones, to Hett’s shorter but wider-shouldered build, to San’s slightly hawkish nose and rounder face. There was probably no mistaking them for blood relations.

He glanced at San and gestured at his own face. "I don’t know, San, she might be amenable to thinking we shared a mother."

Dhapree grinned as well, though her expression was more sedate. Siblings. Interesting. Have you been in touch since crèche then?

Hett opened his mouth to tell the tale but remembered what San had told him about talking too much. He glanced at his sibling, and they immediately took the cue with a slight quirk of the eyebrow. We hit it off from the start. It’s been a good three years since we graduated now.

" Seven years ? Dhapree leaned back. Not bad. Almost a third of a lifetime. Sounds like a stable arrangement. And this is your first business?"

Hett felt his body move into an uncomfortable shift at the half-spoken horizon Dhapree had so casually gestured to, but he didn’t have time to complete the motion before San talked over him.

 "Right now, just the two of us, and hopefully you. If you’re wondering why this guy won’t shut up about food while I’m actually eating mine -" Hett saw both Dhapree and San grin simultaneously, and the thought of their lifespans receded. He stared down at the platter of dumplings, realizing  he’d only had one all evening. He hadn’t even tried the camel yet. He reached for it as San kept talking. Hett needs somebody to organize this, or else he’ll get so far ahead of himself he’ll be up to his eyes in cooked pizzas before he’s had a single customer. And I wanted something a little more pleasant than being one of a dozen people consulting on yet another climatic retrofitting project, or doing legal translational consulting on some damn rail line schedule some councillor in another city thinks they can re-optimize in their favour.

Dhapree nodded along, as though this sounded perfectly reasonable and not self-deprecating in the least. What business assets do you have?

Well - San tipped their head lightly at Hett, as though in question, but Hett waved them along. He focused instead on looking around the dumpling bar, the few dozen other patrons and the handful of waitbots droning around, the rich dark wooden tables and stools and the soft edges of the space decorated with wood and living foliage. Last week we received our lot assignation from the city. San pointedly put a dumpling in their mouth, and Hett suppressed a smirk. His sibling was not a very loud or theatrical person, but they had a quiet sense of drama that occasionally hummed through. San swallowed, then smiled at Dhapree . Oh, on the Concourse.

Dhapree’s eyes widened slightly as her lips curved up again. I appreciate the drama of the dumpling pause, there, San. Very - She downed one herself,  and chewed, and the effect, Hett had to admit, was disconcertingly bathetic . Appropriate. A pause, and she seemed to realize  the awkwardness. Unlike my attempt. So, the Concourse? You mean directly on it? Where?

Not the best spot. San was grinning even though they made a shooing motion, as though the question were embarrassing. A ten minute walk along Boxo, from the corner with Downtown.

Hett had walked by the lot more than a few times, even if they weren’t quite allowed to move in yet. There was plenty of room outside for a patio, and it would be highly visible from across half the plaza at least if they set it up right. Bright signs, maybe - or flowers, big floral vines might catch the eye. Or they could try some kind of holographic display…

Near Saturn? Not a bad spot, either. Dhapree paused. So you need a biologist. Who else are you looking for? And who do you already have?

San raised their eyebrows, and Hett scrambled to bring his thoughts back from what, exactly, their own place might look like when it was set up. Well, I may be an algorithmatist, but I’ve also worked with a lot of robotics more directly, so that’s covered. And -

And he’s the one with the wandering palate. San shook their head, gesturing at the space around them as though to indicate plentiful food. "And like I said, I like organizing  things. I got us the premise application. I’ll handle finances and legalities, the Market account, those sorts of concerns ."

You keep the books. Dhapree nodded, then turned to Hett. "You build the machinery. You want me for the ingredients, I assume. So that leaves…what, a restaurateur? "

Hett almost flinched at the idea of bringing on someone whose job it was to tell them what to cook. What would be the point, if not to do it themselves? We were hoping to make the menu collaboratively. I imagine - well, we all love food, don’t we? Hett realized, then, that they hadn’t asked her much about what she wanted from this. She’d applied to join the business, so she clearly wanted in, but… Does that work for you? What are you hoping to get out of this?

Dhapree raised one eyebrow minutely. My ex told me I need to get out more, and I agree. I’m looking to practice social and collaborative skills. I assume there will also be free pizza.

Hett had never in his life heard someone say they wanted to take a job to practice social skills. He glanced at San. That was a strange thing to say, wasn’t it? But San was smiling back at her and nodding as though that made perfect sense.

He puzzled it out, and thought that it might not be so strange if she wasn’t really treating this like a job. "I assume with a couple of awards under your belt, any new projects you join would be more like hobbies than -"

A series of electronic chirps drew their attention, and the three of them turned to find a waitbot with grilled dessert cakes hovering by the table. Hett had completely forgotten San had ordered those. They all leaned back from the table, and the bot delicately placed down the new dish, a lovely little piece of sand-coloured wood embedded with vaguely floral patterns of azure nacre flush with its surface, topped with six little orange, pillowy cakes that had been gently pressed flat by a grill. The smell of warm spices and squash filled Hett’s nose, and he breathed in deeply.

He had barely finished doing so when Dhapree’s chopsticks plucked the first of the cakes from the dish with all the precision of a crane spear-fishing prey on the shoreline, though she spoke before biting into it. You were saying we didn’t need a restaurateur?

San also went for the dessert. Hett was clearly losing, but at least he had an answer. Right, we’ll have a collaborative menu. I think we all like food, so I think that would be a fun -

San interrupted, Comms. We’re missing someone for comms. Maybe narratology, since pizza isn’t exactly this city’s scene. They flicked a grin at Hett. Neither of us are especially gifted with the art of conversation.

Dhapree paused for a moment and looked at the rice cakes as though they were saying something very interesting. Right, comms. I guess that would be necessary. She frowned slightly at the cake before taking a small bite, and Hett wondered if she’d worked comms in another life and hated it. Not my area either, if you haven’t noticed. So who do you have for that?

San was looking at him again, and Hett laughed the laugh of a man with no good answers.

2 - San

The dark anorthosite floors of the museum caught and scattered the sparklight white and gold hologram  above it. A civilization hung unfolded in the air, and San let their eyes course along its veins. The hologram was sharp and carefully arranged to be understandable to human eyes, but it wasn’t outwardly beautiful, at least no more than any other glittering chaos. Hett probably found the jumble of points and lines pretty, but if San hadn’t understood it, they’d have found it noisy and uncomfortable.

But they did understand. The light was a shadow play of something else, something deeper, and when they managed to let their mind see what the lights were gesturing at, they could certainly see its beauty.

I like these displays. The narratologist’s voice broke their contemplation a little, but at least she agreed with them. Shu Qirao had been the one to suggest the Museum of Narratology as a meeting place for their interview. It was less than a decade old, and the glow of the hologram traced peach tones of her keen expression. Narratology is a young field, so it’s exciting to see how we can try to communicate it to the public. Before we had all this data and the tools to analyze  it… Imagine biology without microscopes, biosensors, gene synthesis. We’ve spent long enough now with public digital communications that we can do incredible things with the data. She turned to look at San and Hett, her face framed by a jet-black bob  that obscured more of the hologram behind her. Have you worked with narratologists much before?

Hett was nodding along enthusiastically, which San knew was just as likely a sign he hadn’t been listening at all. "Have you been working with idiolectical   recomposites ? I hear those are big. Talking to people exactly on their level."

San smiled and tried not to wince. Bless him, but Hett had a talent for getting ahead of himself. They cleared their throat. I don’t think either of us have worked with anything worth a real narratological look yet.

Everything is worth a narratological look. Qirao grinned very slightly at them and tipped her head; she and they both noticed Hett’s bumble. But she smiled and answered him anyway, I’ve looked at recomposites - it’s an interesting approach for bilateral communication, but that’s not what you’re doing. You want to start a restaurant. She gestured at both of them, and San nodded. "That means managing a business profile’s activities on the public webwork. You have to speak with one voice to many people at once . Even if you could tailor your comms to every person, which you can’t, you wouldn’t want to. If two people talking about your restaurant are referencing different messaging from you, they could trip each other up conversationally, and it’ll be harder for them to reconnect those conversations back to your public comms."

Qirao gestured into the hologram, reaching for individual nodes as she walked around its edge a little. Hett followed, apparently not noticing that his comment had been dismissed out of hand - he was very resilient, all things considered. San appreciated that about him; it was a reassuring trait in a brother, particularly when San themself felt resilience was not their strong suit.

People compare notes, consult friends, drop references - people will talk to each other about you and your comms. That’s how networks work. Messaging that works for a whole bloc of people, well enough that they can share in the experience socially? That’s more powerful than individually targeted language that a group of friends can’t actually sit down and reference together. Dialectical tailoring can make messaging more confusing and isolating. It’s better to have someone at your comms who understands the narrative environment. She winked at them. You’ll need to hire a narratologist.

Hett was nodding along and broke out into a smile. "See? You asked how much I’ve worked with narratologists before. That  much. San chuckled a bit along with Qirao as Hett continued, Yes, we definitely need someone who knows what they’re doing. Do you know your way around pizza?"

Qirao grinned, a warm smile that seemed both trustworthy and almost practiced . To be honest, not much. I had it when it was a special at the Cauldron a year or two ago, and I’ve had it once or twice since. There’s a place down near Admin on the edge of the Park -

Oh, Halan’s? Yeah, they’re good!

San cringed a little internally and tried to nudge Hett to stop him interrupting her, but Qirao nodded enthusiastically. Yes! But that’s about it. It’s definitely a niche in this city. People here love any kind of dough that’s wrapped around things, or stuffed with things, but a flatbread might be a hard sell.

San nodded. Hence our desperate need for a professional. Please save us.

Qirao laughed, a bubbly, lilting sound that would set most people at ease. To be honest, after dealing with the , um. She bit her lip, pausing for the first time today. "The vagaries  of Pluralization, I feel like this could be an educational challenge for me. I’ve never worked on a project that could benefit from Pluralization before."

Which meant most of the projects she’d worked on were harmed or stymied in some way by the Pluralization algorithm’s attempts to redistribute attention more evenly across the webwork. Which meant she was used to working for big projects. San nodded along. You like the sound of something more subtle, then?

She raised an eyebrow and reached up. The hologram was projected by museum equipment, but the museum’s digital interface let  them connect their personal devices and layer an extra interface over the display. Any custom interface could access the underlying data and render on top of the museum’s display for various purposes, only visible through whatever eyepiece device the user was wearing. Some people preferred glasses to see their interface, either for comfort or fashion, but removable contact lenses with tiny built-in screens were more common and were San’s preferred eyepiece. They’d connected their interface to Qirao’s earlier, so when she reached into the display now to run a query on the data, the three of them were the only ones in the room who could see the results of her query spilling across the hologram from the privacy of their eyepieces.

The hologram was a galaxy of interconnected points but encoded something far more interesting. This was what got to San whenever they visited this museum; this was the thing behind the shadowplay of light. Each point was a person - a real, living person. And each was interconnected with others, more or less densely. The connections were real too . This was a network graph of every living person on the planet, compiled from archived comms and locational data, in a database going back almost a century.

And spread along those connections was by default a golden haze that represented not people, but culture. Games and text; music and aromatics; ephemeral memetics and bedrock solid laws and contracts — the hologram was the echo of a database that could display all of that in the context of social connections. You watched the popularity of a musical band, the evolution of a joke, or the rise of a political party move across connections between any real people who talked about them in a digital medium.

Or, in the case of Qirao’s query, you could follow a recipe for chili crisp. San’s eyepiece flooded the ephemeral cultural haze with deep, oily reds, running slick from node to node, clustering and blooming and pooling throughout this little human galaxy. The only hint that this was an interface overlay, and not the hologram itself, was the lack of reddish shading on Qirao’s and Hett’s faces as they watched - and San knew they could have configured their interface to do that, too, if for some reason they’d wanted to mistake their interface for reality.

They glanced at their brother. Hett was slightly slack-jawed, probably imagining actual chili oil running through the hologram and getting hungry. They chuckled and looked back.

The recipe ripped through the hologram like wildfire, and as Qirao prompted their interfaces, their perception of the display regressed from the present into the past, people being replaced by their past selves and their ancestors as they walked back through the history of all public communications. The galaxy of people churned like a whirlpool as the recipe receded back through time, oily and bright.

Real data, tracing real connections that had taught real people. Word of mouth; cookbooks; networked cooking communities; people and businesses and academics communicating on the webwork — it was all available. Almost everything was mediated or logged on the webwork. Anything people talked about could be tracked to its earliest appearance in the webwork, which included data imported from prior sources like books, abolished social media platforms, intelligence databases hacked from Earth - anything that could be added was added.

Standing on the edge of this display, San always felt something like what they imagined might have been felt by mountaineers or early pilots or astronauts: the vertigo of standing atop years of learning and effort, glimpsing something vast and yet finite, impossible to fully grasp and yet accessible in fractions.

Not that San had ever piloted anything themself, let alone climbed a mountain ,   of all things.

Qirao gestured up and down a spot where the recipe spread over time. The ways these things grow are complex. Narratives have deep roots, especially food. It’s not enough to have good messaging if you don’t understand the narrative roots and soil that already exist where you’re working. You couldn’t look at all this and just redefine chili crisp with one recipe, could you? Tradition and history are incredibly heavy.

She flicked her hand at the display, and her own overlay of the hologram faded away from their contact lens. She turned back to them, brushing her hair behind her ear.

We’re a few people in the middle of centuries of food culture, millions of lives, dozens of economic systems. Everything has weight, down to the kinds of things people like to talk about, the places they like to visit, their references and their biases. It’s all moving, and it’s a strong current. Pluralization was built to help people with less weight swim against the current, not just to stop narrative power from concentrating, but to diffuse the power that already exists. She was frowning and trying to smile all at once, a peculiar expression. "But that means trying to counteract human nature and the way human networks function. That’s hard , so Pluralization is a messy, difficult thing to deal with."

San watched her closely. She seemed ambivalent about something – their prospects, maybe? Even Hett wasn’t looking to strike it rich, and this had been his idea. The goal was just to maintain operations until they decided to bow out for personal reasons, long enough that they could look back and be happy with what they’d done. What did Qirao want from this, though? If she wanted a high-yield side project, San would have to disabuse her of that notion, but Hett spoke first as they tried to puzzle it out.

You sound…interested? His hands twitched like he was going to start fidgeting. I’m sure there’s a lot we can do about that. I think that if we -

Hett was conflict-averse to the point of seeing conflict where there wasn’t any, particularly if people were hesitating or being unclear, which could make him babble.

San interrupted him gently, "I think you’re right, Qirao. We will be facing some challenges fitting into the scene here - is that the kind of challenge you’d like to tackle? I can’t promise we have any secret narrative leverage in reserve. We’re nobodies. Even Dhapree  Le isn’t exactly a webwork conduit, from what I understand."

They shot Hett a glance. Their brother’s mind had a tendency to wander, which was good for creative thinking and brainstorming, but not ideal for directly engaging with other people. Hett sometimes treated words like the doomed seeds he bought every year for what he called his garden: throw a bunch in, see what grows, see what survives. A fine and noble approach when the end goal was amusement or curiosity, but they would prefer he were a little more careful when courting business partners

And for all that he meant well, they’d never known Hett to do anything other than flinch away from negativity, even in its mildest forms. But Qirao’s frustration might also be useful if it worked in their favour. She was talking at great length the same way Hett did when something agitated him, and at least in Hett that often meant he was going to start solving problems. An experienced narratologist trying to solve their problems out of frustration wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. San figured they should pry deeper, instead of trying to smooth things over.

Qirao was grinning now. Don’t worry, I’m not looking to rebuild all of social discourse around one pizza parlour. But I do have my frustrations with Pluralization, and this seems like a good opportunity to interact with the system from a new perspective. There’s more work here than you might expect.

Hett was smiling again, but not hurrying to speak, so San nodded along. "So I expect we’ll benefit from expert  insight. I do need to ask about the practical side of things, though. What are your financial aspirations?"

Dhapree Le’s  work on Ecogenesis was netting her good royalties alongside the same mincome everyone had access to, and in any case she’d said she didn’t particularly care about income. She was in it for the socializing,  which struck San as quietly hilarious. Qirao was an unknown quantity in this regard, though. Everybody they signed on to work on the business also had a stake in it, and if her investment in the project depended on financial aspirations they almost certainly wouldn’t be able to meet, she might not be a good partner.

Luckily, she set them at ease. I’m not looking for anything highly profitable. Most of what I do now is flexible consulting work for friends and acquaintances at larger companies. Some of the more repetitive work may have to go to make room, but I can keep a fair bit while working a job like this. She nodded, clearly understanding what they were getting at . Given the financial estimates you sent over, I don’t see any cause for concern. Even in the worst case, I’ll be over triple mincome.

San nodded, quietly thinking that that was a bit more than they expected. Who exactly was she consulting for, to be getting twice again as much as the mincome for some work? Their eyes traced her clothes again. She wore prim charcoal trousers and a loose purple shawl over her white shirt, all well-tailored but not obviously expensive. She didn’t strike them as extravagant in manner either, but it was hard to tell with people.

"Glad to hear it. They let themself smile a bit more. Restaurants aren’t exactly profit machines."

Neither is narratology. She grinned back, but Hett seemed to object.

Hey, I think we could really hit it off, especially with the right comms.

San shook their head, raising their hands. "Hett, even the most successful restaurants are modest successes compared to publishing media or running a gene clinic or running a fabricator - or apparently doing narratology consulting."

Qirao laughed, and Hett chuckled nervously, running his hand through the curl of hair above his forehead. Okay, sure. But we can try, right?

San raised their eyebrows, knowing full well that Hett wanted to be as optimistic as possible about everything, almost to a fault. It was a charming inclination, but one they had to keep in mind.

Qirao smiled at them both. "We could do just fine, I’m sure. You did manage to get a great location on the Concourse. And you seem nice - I think we’ll get along. I’m sure Dhapree  Le is a charming personality too; working in Ecogenesis must come from a heartfelt place."

San bit their lip. They’d liked Dhapree when they met her yesterday, but she struck them as very curt and blunt. Cheerful was not a term that came to mind.

Oh, she’s very interesting, yes. Hett grinned with amusement, and San tried to give him a warning glance. There was no way to tell how people might change as they got used to one another. And if anything, despite her less bubbly demeanour, they felt a bit more comfortable with Dhapree’s sedate tone than they did with Qirao’s flair and apparent warmth.

"I’m sure we’ll  all get along. San gestured between the three of them. Nobody will step on anybody’s professional toes, since this is a small crew."

Qirao laughed. "That’ll be a relief, let me tell you. I’ve thought of starting a business for a chance to really interact with network Pluralization, but the truth is anything worth narrative  requires enough other, non-narrative work that actually engaging with the narrative itself becomes difficult if you’re alone. I’d rather not spend two-thirds of my time doing something I’m not cut out for."

Hett, for some reason, tried to be reassuring .  Oh, I’m sure you could manage.

San pressed a hand to their chest in mock shock. Hett, don’t tell prospective partners to go start their own businesses instead!

Qirao snorted as Hett squawked in protest and shook her head. "Don’t worry - this is just the kind of project I’ve been thinking of. Serious need for narrative support, but not such a large operation that you’d require a narratological team ."

San nodded in understanding. Still small enough that you get to run your whole part of the show without answering to anyone who thinks they know better.

Exactly. Qirao smiled at them. "You know what I mean. I imagine it’s more satisfying to diagnose and solve bureaucratic issues alone than to submit  to a direction you didn’t set yourself."

They smiled. Was their face that transparent, or was this just one of those things everybody felt in their professional lives? Absolutely. Any concerns about what we’ve talked about so far?

"Oh, of course . Qirao’s deep brown eyes widened in apparent alarm, and she turned and gestured at the vast webwork of human social connections suspended in the museum before them. All these people . They can tinker with the Pluralization algorithms all they want, but humans are fundamentally pulled towards things that already have pull . We still prefer to use power to get more power, to talk about what people are already talking about, to listen to people we’ve already listened to. Pluralization is still swimming against the narrative currents humans make when left to our own devices. How can one flatbread restaurant figure out how to thrive in a dumpling town? Of course I’m concerned. It’ll require a lot of work. Her alarm melted into a playful smile. So you’d better sign me up, don’t you think?"

3 - Hett

The sun had set a short while ago, tucked below the city’s skyline with a splash of indigo. It wasn’t late enough for most people to turn in, but what Hett and San lacked in genealogical proximity they made up for in part through a shared biorhythm. Neither liked to be out deep into the evening, and they kept bedtime hours that made most other people laugh - though many of the same people gasped in admiration at how early they were able to wake up.

What everybody really wanted, of course, was more time on both ends of the night, but Hett knew compromises had to be made. He was glad to at least have a sibling whose habits he could live with.

Their shared flat was on the fourth floor of an inconspicuous residential block built of sturdy tan-coloured mycelium, several streets away from the Concourse and in an entirely different neighbourhood than the lot where they were planning to open the pizza parlour. The building was square and built around a central courtyard, where a massive jackfruit tree had been planted almost two decades ago, and now covered most of the courtyard sky with its burgundy foliage. The fruit harvest, when it came, usually yielded more jackfruit  than most of the building really wanted to eat. Hett liked to make jam out of them.

Around the courtyard were the outdoor walkways and the front doors of each individual flat, and Hett and San walked up the series of ramps that joined the walkways to one another. They’d remotely set up a pot of mellow tea to boil so that it would be ready just as they arrived; it was a good way to wind down the night.

Hett glanced over at San as they ascended the next ramp. Do you think we’ve got a solid team? The ramps gently sloped up a quarter of a floor’s height on each side of the square , bordered by doors to interior living spaces on one side; on the other, a railing overlooked the mossy, open courtyard beneath the jackfruit boughs. Four people seems like a good number.

San nodded enthusiastically. I can’t think of what else we’d need that we can’t do ourselves. We’ve got an algorithmatist, a biologist, a bureaucrat, and a narratologist. We can figure out things like menu design together. That seems like a solid foundation for a restaurant, from what I’ve gathered looking at other businesses.

Definitely. But I mean the people - you think they’re solid?

San made an ugly face. You know, I’m not sure about the algorithmatist. Maybe we should be interviewing more of those.

Hett laughed as they reached their level. "Come on, you think I’m not solid ?"

San reached out and pinched his shoulder slightly. You’ve got solid bones, Hett, but it’s all this flesh and fluid I’m worried about.

I’ll have you know, my flesh is -

Their home was two doors further along from where they were standing when the door immediately in front of them burst open. Someone staggered out, flailing and making a strange gurgling sound.

Hett froze, just aware enough to notice San do the same. His mind raced. Poison - some kind of spill or toxin? No, in a residential building? Plague. There hadn’t been a pandemic in decades, but the stranger had a hand on their throat, and a strange red rash was marring the pale brown skin beneath their stubble, and -

Wait a minute.

The stranger’s face drew flashes of entirely different memories out from the depths of his brain, stamping into his awareness like negatives from a photograph. A war documentary he and San had watched in crèche. San panicking, freezing -

San was still frozen. The stranger turned towards them both, their face contorted in pain, but Hett hauled San back, waving a hand in front of San’s eyes. After the first time, he’d had to learn what to do in cases like this.

Hey. San? Hett at least knew what was happening and knew how to prioritize. San, I was thinking about using personal funds to buy pizza parlour supplies. That’s fine, right?

San shook their head and scowled. No, that’ll get us fined the second they audit us. Hett-

Good, a bit of bureaucratic stupidity always riled them up. Which is what I meant by fine -

They shook their head again, but at least they seemed unstuck. I’m okay. Hett, who is that?

I don’t know. Look, I’ll handle this. He stared his sibling in the face and knew they weren’t okay; the golden undertones of their skin had gone paler, and they were staring too fixedly. Take a few steps back. Count things. Okay?

The stranger made another hoarse sound, and guilt cut through him. But what else was he supposed to do? He’d seen San sink into a catatonic state for less than this, and San relied on him quite directly, unlike the stranger. They were family. What could he -

Well, he could call for fucking help.

Hett felt like a fool as he activated the emergency ping in his interface. There was no need to even say anything, since the ping automatically sent sensory data to emergency services. San’s gaze had fixed on the jackfruit tree.

Hett’s hands twitched back and forth as he tried to force himself one way or the other. In the end, he raised his hand gently and spared the stranger a word. You’ll be okay. It’s a simple fix. I’ve called for help.

San’s eyes were glazed over, pupils darting about, in what Hett recognized from some discussion with San’s doctor as a coping technique they’d found to work - counting. Appropriate, for a bureaucrat; they were counting things in their field of view in an attempt to ground themself. Probably railing support struts along the edge of the walkway. Or maybe leaves on the jackfruit tree.

He nodded towards the tree. Are you counting?

Twenty-six, twenty-seven - San picked up as though they’d been counting aloud all along. That was good.

The person writhing around on the ground a few meters away would almost certainly be fine, but it would help them not to panic, too. Hett was loath to do this, but his sibling seemed to be reaching for coping techniques already,  and maybe handling this themself would help them. They hadn’t had to do this in a serious situation before, but so far, San seemed all right. San, I’m going to go check on our new neighbour. You’ll be okay? Maybe call your doctor?

San was silently mouthing numbers but flicked their eyes towards Hett and nodded. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to give a psychological update right this minute. Normally their reactions weren’t so strong, but then, normally things like this weren’t so sudden. Or so close to home.

Hett turned to the stranger on the floor, finding them still gasping. Hett hoped it really was just pain, not asphyxiation. He hoped he hadn’t misjudged the situation. He made a mental account of what medical supplies they had in their home, but it wasn’t much, and some of the chemicals might be past their expiry date. Nevertheless, he sent a quick command through his interface to his robot back in their flat.

He hurried over to the teary-eyed stranger slumped against the railing, breathing as though around a cluster of glass. He felt terrible for leaving them  there, but this person probably felt even worse.

The rash mottling his pale brown face in reds looked uncomfortable, and Hett hoped he hadn’t misjudged the situation. If this was a novel pathogen of some kind, he could well end up being Patient One, and he had no inclination for that kind of fame. But the look of the stranger - especially the fact that they looked like an adult but were so short - made him strongly suspect something else. He patted the stranger on the shoulder and tried to smile.

Sorry about that. I’ll explain another time, but help is coming. You can breathe, right? Did this just start? A realization  hit him. Shit, do you even speak…?

The stranger nodded, eyes closed. That was a good sign, and Hett tried to perk up, though he had to admit the sight of a person struck with a sudden infection wasn’t exactly a heartening sight. He heard the door of their flat slide open and glanced over briefly to see his robot, Hex, scurrying out of the door towards him with a bottle and a small fabric satchel on its back, held in place by two of its six limbs.

Okay, good. You’ll have water in a second. Anything aside from the pain and rash?

They  frowned and seemed to try to speak, but all that came out was an uncomfortable rasp, and they shook their head. Hett sighed.

Good. I mean, it could be worse. I mean, it won’t be worse, it’s never worse than this, don’t -

Their expression managed to be wry at Hett’s fumbling, and he shut himself up. The stranger was steadier against the railing now, still breathing roughly. The robot scurried past them, coming to a form stop right by Hett’s knees, and Hett felt a small pang of pride at the ways he’d programmed the thing to work so well. He grabbed the bottle and handed it to the stranger and glanced over to see San leaning against the wall, watching but not approaching.

All things in their own time.

Hett activated his own interface and probed for a proximity link. The device at their wrist was clearly networked and responded with a chime as their respective digital assistants performed their handshakes. Hett’s contact lens was quickly populated with a readout of information that clustered to one side of the person’s - man’s - face. Including, thankfully, a four-part name.

Diego. First name good? I know some people - never mind. Diego, hi. Hett quickly checked his emergency ping status and saw that a crew was on their way. He spared a glance at San. He’d done his best for his sibling’s specific issues first, but there were two people here in need of psychological support. He hated having to choose, but he’d spent years with San and had done his best during that time, so normally he’d trust his sibling to understand why he would want to tend to an immediate need in a stranger, even in the face of a chronic need in family.

This wasn’t a normal person, though. Everything about this worried him.

So, you didn’t get inoculated? Or, hell, you probably did, it’s never a complete guarantee. Listen, we  called medical . You’ll be fine. He tried to smile at Diego, unsure if this was helping. This happens sometimes. They always get it sorted, don’t worry. I don’t think anyone - He stopped himself from saying dies , but then he