An Inappropriate Customer
(A short story introducing two characters and a location)
The chimes over the brewery door rang out their song. Nicklaus Burison looked up and set aside his stirring paddle, dialing down the burner on the boiling pot before stepping away.
He called, “Be right there!” His voice carried easily into the next room at its normal volume. His oversized stride also quickly cleared the warehouse-sized workshop.
Of course, a visitor would show up near closing time on a day Juniper was out. The fire-headed faery, Nicklaus’ partner -- in business and otherwise -- often greeted customers in the brewery’s front room, a combination of foyer, bar, and showroom. The Unifier Brewing Company wasn’t yet officially open, but a few products were already shelved and ready for sale. A slate outside announced the offerings and invited early buyers to stop in.
It had caught someone’s attention… perhaps an early diner from the nearby taco stand? Nicklaus wiped his hands on a towel as he rounded the doorway into the front room.
The person standing there didn’t look like a customer. For one thing, he… or she… was too young. As Nicklaus was aware, neither apparent age nor size was always a reliable indicator of age, particularly in an inconsistent world like RhyDin, but what he saw looked like a human child.
Otherwise, it was difficult to place the person, with skin and hair as dark as a svartalfar, and features even more ambiguous. Thin body and limbs, but not starveling. In fact, the visitor stood quite steady and seemed otherwise healthy.
His or her body was largely hidden, though, beneath a grey hooded jacket, baggy black jeans, and a pair of oversized, worn hiking boots. The clothes looked like charity castoffs, from an elder sibling if not a shelter. Again, appearances could be deceiving, but Nicklaus was more inclined to consider his guest a wandering urchin than anything else.
He or she was inspecting the room and its contents when Nicklaus appeared, then turned to regard the large man with the same close scrutiny. Nicklaus met eyes even darker than his own, with nearly no difference in color between pupil and iris. He fought the urge to look away, not wanting to seem unfriendly… or afraid.
“Good day! How may I assist you?” Best to start out casual, with no assumptions.
The visitor smiled faintly. “Good day! Please tell me: what is this place?”
Nicklaus started to answer: “Unifier Brewing Company, a new offering in RhyDin…” Then, he realized the person might not be asking for a sales pitch. “Um, a brewery. And distillery.” He tilted a thumb toward the door marked “Still Room: No Unauthorized Entry.”
When the questioner continued to stare, he added: “We make and sell alcoholic beverages. And soft drinks. My name is Nicklaus, by the way. I’m the brewer.” Even if he or she was underage, there was no reason not to try and make a sale.
“I am Quis. Alcohol? An intoxicant.” Its phrasing made Nicklaus think of certain supernatural creatures he’d met. As if human matters were fascinating foreign concepts. “I understand. You ferment and distill ethyl alcohol from natural sugars, correct?”
Nicklaus grinned. “Basically correct. Though plain ethanol is only part of the point. I do try to make the flavors enticing, as well. And there’s the soft drinks… fermentation does more than just convert sugars.”
“May I try some?”
Nicklaus nodded. “Samples are no problem.” He squeezed in behind the bar and checked the cooler. “I’ve got ginger beer left, a sassafras, and an apple cooler. What would you like to try?”
The child pointed to an upper shelf, indicating bottles of a fluid as dark as the outstretched hand. “That one, please?”
“Hrm. Sorry, that’s our rum. You’re a little young for that strength.”
“Young? Is my age incompatible with consuming that drink?”
Nicklaus fought not to laugh. “Depends on who you ask. I’m going to say yes. If you’re still growing, eighty proof won’t do you any good. Besides not wanting to hurt you, I’d be in trouble if I got a minor seriously drunk. My partner wouldn’t like it… I think.”
“I would prefer to avoid harm, to myself or you. What do you recommend?”
“Well, I’d say the sassafras, or the apple if you like sweets. If you really want a bit of bite, I could let you try the small beer, but I can’t sell you much of that.”
“Small? Because of its size?”
“Means it wasn’t brewed for very long. Not much alcohol.”
“I understand. What is the accepted conversion of age to permissible alcohol content?”
The questions! Nicklaus was both amused and concerned by the range of questions this… kid?... was asking. He didn’t mind giving answers, but he was having to think.
“Uh, I’d say… twelve or so for anything over three percent? Maybe eighteen for five to ten… that’s beer, malt, or weak wine and mead. Mead is fermented honey,” he added to forestall the emerging follow-up question. “I’d say past twenty is safe for distilled liquors, just to be sure you’re able to judge your limits. Not that most do. Some would say there’s no safe age for the strong stuff.” He deliberately grinned again, to show he was joking. Mostly joking.
“Are those units of time, based on solar years?”
Wha… “Yes, about three-sixty days. Are you from an Earth? Midgard? Terra?”
“I do not know my world of origin. I apologize. But based on your method, it appears socially inappropriate for me to consume any alcohol whatsoever. I will try the sassafras soda.”
Nicklaus uncapped the bottle and poured out a sample glass. The icebox was still mostly frozen; he wouldn’t have to have Juniper or Ritz, the brewery’s assistant, refreeze it with a cold spell for a few days yet.
He couldn’t help asking as he handed over the drink: “What do you mean? You look maybe twelve. I mean, you look ten or eleven, but you talk like someone older.”
“I am only point-three-two solar years in age, by my recall. Or is your rule based upon perceived rather than absolute age?”
“Point three? You’re about a hundred and twenty days old?”
“One hundred and seventeen. Your calculation speed is very good, though. Is that a result of education, a trait from specific ancestors, or a general result of dvergar heredity?” The guest sipped at his or her soda, holding a mouthful for a long moment before swallowing.
Nicklaus slapped a hand down on the bar. “Now hold on! You came in like you’d never seen this place before, much less me. Here you are talking about my heredity… my private business. What game are you playing, stranger?”
He or she looked at Nicklaus. “I’m sorry. I was not intending any game. Or offense. If I touched on a sensitive topic, I apologize.”
“How do you know one thing but not another? Start with the first. How do you know what I am?”
The being raised its hand, which had been resting on the glass. “Genetic sequencing from trace cellular material, compared to a reference database. Your pattern is sixty-six point two-five percent Midgard human, twelve point five percent dvergar, and twenty-one point two-five percent…”
“All right, new question: what are you? A seer of some sort?”
“I am an android: a human-form robot.” At Nicklaus’ puzzled look, Quis added. “An intelligent automaton.”
“You’re mechanical?” the brewer managed to sort out. “A construct? Built by who?”
The thing shook its head. “I do not have that information, I’m sorry.”
“But you know when you were built. Do you know where?”
“I do not have…”
“…that information. That’s a familiar song. Seems like I attract amnesiacs. Are you new to RhyDin, also? Need some place to settle… maybe rewind your gears?” Though his words were awkward, Nicklaus managed to keep his tone polite.
“I do not need rest but thank you for the offer. To my knowledge, I have been on this world for the entire length of my existence… a relatively short time, I suppose. Much is unfamiliar. Would you be able to provide me more information on this region?”
Nicklaus shook his shaggy head. “I’m pretty new, myself. If you’re wanting to get your bearings or learn about the city, there’s a library in Southgate, and some academy in New Haven, I heard. And a university somewhere about. Although, they might want to study you in trade for teaching you.”
Quis took another large swallow of the soda before answering. “I am not permitted to allow others to examine my structure. I will try the library, however. Thank you for your assistance.”
It finished the drink and turned away. Nicklaus wasn’t too sorry to see the strange guest go. It was late, and he’d had a bellyful of weirdness the past week, if not the past few months after arriving in RhyDin. But he also couldn’t stand to be rude. Plus, he had to admit a burning curiosity about a machine that could think, not to mention imitate human behavior… imperfectly, but pretty close.
“Hey, take the rest with you… on the house.” He picked up the partial bottle of sassafras soda and handed it across the bar. “And you’re welcome to stop by again. I can’t promise a steady supply of free drinks, but I don’t mind talking if it’s not busy.”
Quis turned back and accepted the gift. “Thank you again. I will return.”
On a stray thought, Nicklaus asked: “Hold on, if you’re mechanical, how do you drink? And why?”
The seeming child paused in thought. “I have an internal matter conversion plant to utilize organic compounds. I am also designed to participate fully in all social behaviors, including eating and drinking.”
Ask a question, get an answer. “I see. That’s impressive. You know, looking at it that way, people are just a different kind of machine. Sorry if we got off on a bad footing.”
“I do not take offense. There are many relevant differences between artificial and natural life. From evidence thus far, I appear to be an uncommon phenomenon.”
“Friend, everyone out here seems uncommon to me. Just a matter of figuring out what you’re dealing with. You’ve been more honest than many. Anyway, I won’t keep you… or me. Work to do. Have a good evening. See you later, Quis.”
“Good evening, Nicklaus.” He or she or it crossed to the door, carrying the bottle of soda at first awkwardly, like an unfamiliar tool, then gradually shifting to carry it like a youth leaving a shop.
The chimes sounded as the door shut. Nicklaus shook his head, wondering to himself as he returned to the workroom. Had he just met a friend? Played with someone’s elaborate toy? Or helped some alien thing further its takeover of the world?
Eh, best to just be kind and hope it worked out. You could go mad worrying what eldritch thing you were really talking to, around here.