By the time everything went to hell, a lot of the bigger libraries had maker-spaces attached to them so it just made good sense to add printing (actual mechanical presses, mostly, now that there wasn't an easy way to make microchips and all the fiddly rare-earth pieces necessary to make portable computers work) to a library's list of services. But the thing was, transporting a hundred or a thousand copies of the same book over long distances was a waste of resources. The libraries took to sending galley proofs instead, so each library or unaffiliated press could print their own local run.
Hauling texts through the badlands on the library circuit wasn't the easiest job Gabby and Ashrita had done since the Collapse, nor the best paid, but getting first look at new stories was worth a hell of a lot on the intangible compensation front -- and it was gratifying how quick half the assholes taking potshots at them would back off once Ashrita waved a library courier flag. Sometimes the hard-lucks even invited them back to their camps, and Gabby let them sneak a preview of some new tale in return.
The ones who didn't back off, well, there was a reason Gabby and Ashrita didn't need to bargain over their job rates any more. They left those ones dead or dying and shed no tears.
Someday, Gabby told Ashrita one evening over another cold trail supper of bean mush on stale bread, she might even turn her hand to writing a story of her own. "Some kind of hard-boiled murder mystery with a romance subplot," she said. "You know, the world-weary ex-police private eye falls for the shady dame who brings her a case the police won't touch -- three sex scenes, two shootouts, a comedy bit where they pretend to be sisters despite the obvious sexual tension, and at least one double-cross, before they outwit the mafia and go into business together."
"I'd read it," Ashrita said, "but just so I'd know if it's worth hauling around the circuit."
Gabby tossed a pebble across their campsite to land in Ashrita's left boot, her aim flawless as always. "My words are priceless and you know it."
"Everything's got a price. For your words, I'd say maybe three reams of good rag paper, a nanny goat, or two laying hens. Except I love and respect you, so let's kick it up to four reams and the hens."
"Fuck you, clearly the goat's a better choice," Gabby said through her laughter. "You can take a goat anywhere but chickens need a home."
Ashrita nodded and swallowed her last mouthful of dinner. "Right, right, fair point. But you know, I was thinking we might look in to setting up a more steady base. We're not getting any younger, and I think we might do more good training up a handful of couriers to our standards than just running the circuit until some hard-lucks have one good day and plug us. And it's got to be easier writing stories with an actual desk and chair than trying to scribble notes on the road -- to say nothing of easier on whatever poor typesetter has to read your chicken-scratch."
Gabby was quiet for a long moment, elbows propped on her knees as she stared over the scrub and gravel of their campsite toward the cracked asphalt of old I-80, still the beating artery of transport across America despite its dangers. Then she shrugged and said, with a wry little smile, "I was thinking of how to say the same to you, you know? That we could settle down, make a garden, maybe take up gunsmithing -- god knows we've fixed enough pieces over the years to pick it up. But it feels different hearing it out loud than just thinking it quiet inside my head."
"Yeah."
"But still. It's not a bad plan. There's just one thing that might be a problem."
"That being?" Ashrita said, tensing slightly at Gabby's solemn tone. "Don't tell me you've secretly gambled away all our savings."
"Don't be ridiculous. No, we've got to make sure the library in whatever town we pick still gives us first look at any new texts, even if we're not the ones running the circuit anymore. I need my noir detective series or I might literally die!"
Ashrita threw her boot at Gabby, and tackled her to the ground while she was off-balance from dodging.
After that, they had better things to do than talk.
A Kind of Paradise Enow
-----
By the time everything went to hell, a lot of the bigger libraries had maker-spaces attached to them so it just made good sense to add printing (actual mechanical presses, mostly, now that there wasn't an easy way to make microchips and all the fiddly rare-earth pieces necessary to make portable computers work) to a library's list of services. But the thing was, transporting a hundred or a thousand copies of the same book over long distances was a waste of resources. The libraries took to sending galley proofs instead, so each library or unaffiliated press could print their own local run.
Hauling texts through the badlands on the library circuit wasn't the easiest job Gabby and Ashrita had done since the Collapse, nor the best paid, but getting first look at new stories was worth a hell of a lot on the intangible compensation front -- and it was gratifying how quick half the assholes taking potshots at them would back off once Ashrita waved a library courier flag. Sometimes the hard-lucks even invited them back to their camps, and Gabby let them sneak a preview of some new tale in return.
The ones who didn't back off, well, there was a reason Gabby and Ashrita didn't need to bargain over their job rates any more. They left those ones dead or dying and shed no tears.
Someday, Gabby told Ashrita one evening over another cold trail supper of bean mush on stale bread, she might even turn her hand to writing a story of her own. "Some kind of hard-boiled murder mystery with a romance subplot," she said. "You know, the world-weary ex-police private eye falls for the shady dame who brings her a case the police won't touch -- three sex scenes, two shootouts, a comedy bit where they pretend to be sisters despite the obvious sexual tension, and at least one double-cross, before they outwit the mafia and go into business together."
"I'd read it," Ashrita said, "but just so I'd know if it's worth hauling around the circuit."
Gabby tossed a pebble across their campsite to land in Ashrita's left boot, her aim flawless as always. "My words are priceless and you know it."
"Everything's got a price. For your words, I'd say maybe three reams of good rag paper, a nanny goat, or two laying hens. Except I love and respect you, so let's kick it up to four reams and the hens."
"Fuck you, clearly the goat's a better choice," Gabby said through her laughter. "You can take a goat anywhere but chickens need a home."
Ashrita nodded and swallowed her last mouthful of dinner. "Right, right, fair point. But you know, I was thinking we might look in to setting up a more steady base. We're not getting any younger, and I think we might do more good training up a handful of couriers to our standards than just running the circuit until some hard-lucks have one good day and plug us. And it's got to be easier writing stories with an actual desk and chair than trying to scribble notes on the road -- to say nothing of easier on whatever poor typesetter has to read your chicken-scratch."
Gabby was quiet for a long moment, elbows propped on her knees as she stared over the scrub and gravel of their campsite toward the cracked asphalt of old I-80, still the beating artery of transport across America despite its dangers. Then she shrugged and said, with a wry little smile, "I was thinking of how to say the same to you, you know? That we could settle down, make a garden, maybe take up gunsmithing -- god knows we've fixed enough pieces over the years to pick it up. But it feels different hearing it out loud than just thinking it quiet inside my head."
"Yeah."
"But still. It's not a bad plan. There's just one thing that might be a problem."
"That being?" Ashrita said, tensing slightly at Gabby's solemn tone. "Don't tell me you've secretly gambled away all our savings."
"Don't be ridiculous. No, we've got to make sure the library in whatever town we pick still gives us first look at any new texts, even if we're not the ones running the circuit anymore. I need my noir detective series or I might literally die!"
Ashrita threw her boot at Gabby, and tackled her to the ground while she was off-balance from dodging.
After that, they had better things to do than talk.