“Even better,” I said.
Ten minutes later we were on the other side of Croatoan, standing in front of the village’s information center—the one place on the entire planet that you’d still find a functioning piece of electronics, because the inside was designed to completely block any radio or other signals of any sort. The technology to do this, sadly, was rare enough that we only had enough of it for a converted cargo container. The good news was, they were making more. The bad news was, they were only making enough for a medical bay. Sometimes life stinks. Gretchen and I walked into the receiving area, which was pitch black because of the signal-cloaking material; you had to close the outer door to the information center before you could open the inner door. So for about a second and a half it was like being swallowed by grim, black, featureless death. Not something I’d recommend.
And then we opened the inner door and found a geek inside. He looked at the both of us, a little surprised, and then got that no look.
“The answer is no,” he said, confirming the look.
“Aw, Mr. Bennett,” I said. “You don’t even know what we’re going to ask.”
“Well, let’s see,” said Jerry Bennett. “Two teenage girls—daughters of the colony leaders, incidentally—just happen to walk into the only place in the colony where one could play with a PDA. Hmmm. Are they here to beg to play with a PDA? Or are they here because they enjoy the company of a chunky, middle-aged man? This is not a hard question, Miss Perry.”
“We just want to listen to one song,” I said. “We’ll be out of your hair in just a minute.”
Bennett sighed. “You know, at least a couple times a day someone just like you gets the bright idea to come in here and ask if I could just let them borrow a PDA to watch a movie, or listen to some music or read a book. And, oh, it’ll just take a minute. I won’t even notice they’re there. And if I say yes, then other people will come in asking for the same time. Eventually I’ll spend so much time helping people with their PDAs that I won’t have time to do the work your parents, Miss Perry, have assigned me to do. So you tell me: What should I do?”
“Get a lock?” said Gretchen.
Bennett glanced over to Gretchen, sourly. “Very amusing,” he said.
“What are you doing for my parents?” I asked.
“Your parents are having me slowly and painstakingly locate and print every single Colonial Union administration memo and file, so they can refer to them without having to come in here and bother me,” Bennett said. “In one sense I appreciate that, but in a more immediate sense I’ve been doing it for the last three days and I’m likely to be doing it for another four. And since the printer I have to work with jams on a regular basis, it does actually require someone to pay attention to it. And that’s me. So there you have it, Miss Perry: Four years of technical education and twenty years of professional work have allowed me to become a printer monkey at the very ass end of space. Truly, my life’s goal has been achieved.”
I shrugged. “So let us do it,” I said.
“I beg your pardon,” Bennett said.
“If all you’re doing is making sure the printer doesn’t jam, that’s something we could do for you,” I said. “We’ll work for you for a couple of hours, and in exchange you let us use a couple of PDAs while we’re here. And then you can do whatever else you need to do.”
“Or just go have lunch,” Gretchen said. “Surprise your wife.”
Bennett was silent for a minute, considering. “Offering to actually help me,” he said. “No one’s tried that tactic before. Very sneaky.”
“We try,” I said.
“And it is lunchtime,” Bennett said. “And it is just printing.”
“It is,” I agreed.
“I suppose if you mess things up horribly it won’t be too bad for me,” Bennett said. “Your parents won’t punish me for your incompetence.”
“Nepotism working for you,” I said.
“Not that there will be a problem,” Gretchen said.
“No,” I agreed. “We’re excellent printer monkeys.”
“All right,” Bennett said, and reached across his worktable to grab his PDA. “You can use my PDA. You know how to use this?”
I gave him a look.
“Sorry. Okay.” He punched up a queue of files on the display. “These are files that need to go through today. The printer is there”—he motioned to the far end of the worktable—“and the paper is in that bin. Feed it into the printer, stack the finished documents next to the printer. If it jams, and it will, several times, just yank out the paper and let it autofeed a new one. It’ll automatically reprint the last page it was working on. While you’re doing that you can sync up to the Entertainment archive. I downloaded all those files into one place.”