I escort Louisa only as far as the main entrance to the dome, leaving the task of actually evicting her to Cleve. No way am I going through that fungicide spray if I don’t have to. As the minutes tick by, I begin to wonder what might have gone wrong outside that is making Cleve take so long. Unlike him, though, I don’t assume the worst. Maybe he’s just enjoying the movement of air and the warmth of unfiltered sunlight on his skin.
I don’t want to draw any attention lingering here, and besides, there’s work to be done. Elections are open, and we need to get people voting in favor of Fritz’s reform platform. Time to shmooze. A cafe nearby called Chiron Sunrise seems a good place to start. The sandwich board out front suggests that its proximity to the dome entrance is intentional. “Take a sunrise walk and then have brunch,” it encourages. “The perfect palate cleanser after a fungiciding!” The restaurant is open to the boulevard, and there are some people mingling on the walk there, waiting for tables.
I join the cluster and make some casual chit-chat before redirecting the topic. “Did you hear that elections have been called? There are some real up-and-coming planetborn who have put their names in.”
At a table nearby, someone folds their newspaper and looks up at me. “Elections? But we just had one a year ago.” On the center of the table, in addition to the salt shaker, is a soothing mist spray to take the edge off a mild fungicide burn. This cafe really does have a theme.
The person behind the counter, hearing the conversation, pulls up the datalinks and confirms it. “No, it’s true! Elections are being called! It’s going to take a couple hours to get all the candidates in, but Morgan’s already in there—not surprising. Leyland Campos, Bianca Hovath, also already in there. They must have known this was going to happen.” He’s wearing a name badge that says, “Welcome to Chiron Sunrise! I’m Malik, owner, he/they.”
The flow of conversation moves me into the cafe, where a chalkboard mounted above the register lists a variety of beverages, all with nature-inspired names. Half of them include the word sunrise, but there are others like Ocean Breeze and Craw’s Delight. No fungus names, though the shelf holding the bottles is constructed of shelftop.
Fritz’s name pops up on the flatscreen, and now more patrons start to gather around the counter, chatting excitedly and wondering who else will run for the board. In the hubbub, I hear a person tell their neighbor that Fritz runs a tailor shop. Some patrons have frequented it, others think it is out of their price range. I drop in and out of conversations, boosting Fritz’s esteem based on what I can pick up about the clientele here.
“And keep your eye out for Shu-Fen,” I comment. “I’m sure she’s going to put her name in.” That elicits some groans. “Wouldn’t you rather have that focus directed at promoting the welfare of the dome?” I ask.
“Yeah, I’m not sure welfare is what she’s good at promoting,” says someone who Shu-Fen has clearly rubbed the wrong way.
“That’s why you need to vote for Fritz, too. They have complementary skill sets,” I reply. “You know, one reason Fritz’s shop is expensive is because of the embargoes placed on native goods,” I add, addressing one of the earlier quibbles. “He’s been experimenting with local dyes, and he got access to some really fancy willowhair fabric that could make excellent tablecloths.”
This catches the proprietor’s interest. “Wait, what? How?” There’s an undercurrent of urgency in that question, and I tilt my head, evaluating him before I comment any further. Malik reaches up to the shelf behind him and grabs a bottle of Craw’s Delight. “Here, enjoy this. Hang on a second while I see to some of these customers.” He settles a few groups into tables, passes their orders to the kitchen, and then returns to the counter to have a quieter conversation with just me. “How did Fritz get access to these native materials?” he asks in hushed tones.
I shrug. “He’s got connections.”
“Who? And who are you? I’ve never seen you in my cafe before.”
I frown at the aggressive tone. Bits and pieces of conversations around the room continue to reach my ears in the silence I let hang between us as I refuse to give up my contacts. “Heck, I still have my share. I’ll vote for this Fritz dude,” someone says.
The proprietor catches himself and asserts, “No, it’s safe to tell me. I want to know how I can get those kinds of goods. I’ve made some teas outside the dome, but of course I can’t bring them back in. Scented candles, things like that. It’d really help my business; my clientele is interested in this, but I can’t provide anything.” He drops his voice even lower. “What do you need from me so that I can get access to the same delivery stream?”
Recognizing his earnestness, I lean in and quietly say, “Fritz got the goods from me. I’ve been outside the dome, and I’ve traveled further afield. I showed him my wares because I thought he might be interested in using them.” Fritz goes up a few notches in this fellow’s esteem. “I don’t have any other samples on hand. To be able to get that sort of stuff, what you need is people in power who aren’t going to embargo it. So vote for Fritz.”
“Although… if you could get me connected and there still was an embargo, I could have a monopoly on this.” They consider that for a moment, and then correct themselves before I need to. “No, no, everyone should be able to enjoy this. I don’t want to just be chasing profit.”
“Then discourage people from voting for Morgan if you want access to the bounty of this world,” I tell them.
“Yeah, for sure! You know, I thought I’d be able to at least get hybrid crops, but no, that got shut down.”
“Soon,” I encourage them. “If we can get Fritz in and Morgan out. And also don’t vote for Horvath, then.”
“Easy sell,” they agree. They consider their other options. “Fritz, sure. Shu-Fen, eh, I guess. And Leyland Campos seems like a good guy.”
“I also showed Leyland some of the stuff I got hold of, and he definitely was interested in working with it. But again, unless Morgan is voted out, it’s really hard to see that happening.”
Malik nods and continues perusing the candidates. “Oh, and Bingyi Khan! I’ve gotten service at her clinic before. Always good to have treatment so that you can keep enjoying the outdoors.”
I let that stand uncontested. I’ve made enough headway here that I don’t want to jeopardize. Satisfied that our conversation has come to a logical close, the proprietor wishes me a good day. “You too,” I tell them. Then I step outside and look toward the dome exit, wondering where the heck Cleve is.