“Before we do anything,” I made myself say, “Let’s make sure we can leave.” I reached out and pulled the handle. The door opened easily. We stepped through and reappeared on the yard, facing City Hall. The Sheriff and the others were still standing there. They looked shocked at our appearance.
“It’s okay,” I called out. “There’s a room inside. It’s safe. We can come and go. We’re going to check it out.” They all looked very relieved and the Sheriff gave us a wave.
“The light turned red when you went inside,” he said in a not-quite-shout. “It worried us.”
“Probably just means somebody’s using that door,” I not-quite-yelled back. “See you soon.” With another wave, we turned around and went back in.
We ended up, as far as I could tell, in the exact same room. This time we walked up to the desk and looked at the chairs. As we approached, the screen lit up. Words appeared, and at the same time, a rich and welcoming voice issued from the screen.
“Welcome to the Pigeon Forge Trade Center,” said the voice and the words simultaneously in perfect English. “We are pleased to offer you our services. Please be advised that you are speaking to an artificial intelligence. If your needs require the assistance of a sapient being, I will be pleased to summon one, but routine transactions are handled by me.”
“Can we sit down?” I asked out loud, feeling silly.
“Yes, please sit down and make yourselves comfortable. If you would like any refreshments, just ask.”
“That’s one smart artificial intelligence,” I said to Danielle, sitting in one of the chairs. It was sinfully comfortable.
“Thank you,” said the screen, and a smiley-face emoji appeared. I laughed and the emoji winked before disappearing. “How may I assist you today?”
“Can you answer questions?” I said, hope creeping into my voice.
“I can answer routine inquiries. Answers to questions about Trade Center services are complimentary. Other answers, if available, will have an associated cost.”
It’s showtime, I thought to myself, glad as never before for my newly overclocked brain. I looked at Danielle. “If you have a question, can you please PM it to me? I think I’ve probably read more genie stories than you have.”
“Ooooookay,” she said, giving me a look I couldn’t quite translate, superbrain or not.
“Thanks,” I said. I reached out and squeezed her hand, and her expression softened.
“First question. Do the Trade Center services include telling us the price before we commit to spending money?”
“Of course. Trade Center policy strictly prohibits any transaction which the parties have not fully and knowingly agreed to.” It might have been my imagination, but the voice sounded faintly offended.
“Thank you. Next question. Do the refreshments cost money?” This felt trivial but I suddenly realized I would kill for a cold Coke.
“Standard soft drinks, wine, beer, and finger foods are complimentary. More exotic refreshments are available for an additional charge,” the machine said smoothly.
“Do you have Coke?” I said even more hopefully.
“Of course. Would you like anything else?”
“Orange juice?” said Danielle.
“Certainly.”
And just like that, a glass of Coca-Cola, fizzing over a round ice cube, and a glass of orange juice appeared on the desk in front of us. I started.
“If they meant to hurt us, they would,” I said out loud, trying to convince myself it was okay. I reached out and picked up the glass. Danielle took hers and we clinked them together before taking a sip.
It was perfect. Perfect temperature, perfect fizz, perfect syrup ratio. Absolutely perfect. I heard Danielle emit a pleased little noise as she tasted her juice.
“Thank you,” I said to the screen. “It’s just right.” Then something occurred to me. “How did you know how to make Coke? Or did you get it from Earth?” I looked around. “For that matter, are we on Earth?”
“We are pleased you enjoy the refreshments. Answers about the source of Trade Center goods are not complimentary. To answer your other question, yes, you are still on Earth. You are inside a dimensional pocket created by the Trade Center for the convenience and comfort of our customers.”
“Are all the Trade Centers connected? Can things move back and forth?”
“Yes, they are, and yes, they can. However, moving things between them has an associated cost.”
“How much would it cost for us to move from this Trade Center to the one nearest Danbury, New York?” That was where Danielle’s parents were located.
“The cost for transporting one sapient being through the Trade Center network is fifty thousand credits.”
“Credits. Naturally.” I shook my head. “Is that a lot?”
“I do not know what you consider to be a lot,” said the machine unhelpfully. Danielle giggled.
“Very impressive, mister I’ve-read-all-the-stories.” She gave me a big smile and then stuck her tongue out at me. I laughed and shook my head.
“I had that coming. Let me try again. Do you buy loot from System creatures?”
“Of course,” the machine answered immediately. “That is the primary function of Trade Centers.”
“Who owns the Trade Centers? What do they do with the loot?” I asked.
“Answers to questions about the underlying structure of the Trade Centers are not complimentary,” it said.
“How much would that answer cost?”
“I have been instructed to answer that question and all similar questions with the phrase, ‘If you have to ask, you can’t afford it.’” This time I definitely got a sense of amusement, though that could have been something programmed in. “If you wish to get a quote, I can summon a supervising sapient being. There will be a deposit required.”
“No, thanks,” I said. “Baby steps.” I pulled a piece of Black Bear meat out of my inventory. “Would you buy this?”
“Yes,” said the machine. “We can offer you one credit for it.”
“How much would you sell it to me for if I wanted to buy it?”
“That would depend on demand and inventory.”
“Does the buying price also depend on demand and inventory?”
“Yes,” said the machine, “but answers to hypothetical buy/sell questions are not complimentary.”
I put the meat away and pulled out each of the pieces of loot from the bear in turn. They added up to around seventy credits. I looked at Danielle with a frown.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“We’d have to kill hundreds of bears to get one of us to New York,” I said somberly. Her face fell.
“How much would it cost for us to move from this Trade Center to the one nearest Nashville, Tennessee?” Maybe we could get Mike and Samantha home.
“The cost for transporting one sapient being through the Trade Center network is fifty thousand credits.”
“Wait. It’s fifty thousand credits no matter where we want to go?”
“That is correct. The cost of transport does not vary with distance.”
“What if we wanted to go to, say, the Moon? If there was a Trade Center there.”