“Yes.”
“And then you give them pebs for…”
“Food, or supplies, or whatever.”
Mosscap’s head whirred softly. “The farmer feeds the musician, who brings music to the village.” It paused, the whirring growing louder. “The technician who took a break to enjoy the music now has the energy to go fix the communications tower. The communications tower enables the meteorologist to deliver the weather report, which helps the farmer grow more apples. I see.” The robot nodded. “And I’m not penalized for the debt I incurred at the start?”
“Absolutely not,” Dex said firmly. “We don’t … we don’t do that. Or we don’t do that anymore, I guess.” Gods around, history class was a long time ago. “Nobody should be barred from necessities or comforts just because they don’t have the right number next to their name.” As they said this, they thought of their unease back at the hot spring—the feeling that had arisen at the thought they hadn’t earned this. The mismatch between these sentiments itched at them. They nudged it aside to deal with later.
Mosscap nodded again at their explanation. “But if there’s no penalty for debt, what’s to stop you from taking without giving back?”
“It’s a bad feeling,” Dex said. “Everybody has a negative balance from time to time, for lots of reasons. That’s fine. That’s part of the ebb and flow. But if someone had a huge negative … well, that says they need help. Maybe they’re sick. Or stuck. Maybe they’ve got something going on at home. Or maybe it’s just one of those times when they need other people to carry them for a while. That’s okay. Everybody ends up there sometimes. If I saw a friend’s balance and it was way in the red, I’d make a point of checking in.”
“You can see other people’s balances?”
“Yeah, of course. It’s all public.”
“Does that not get competitive?”
Dex squinted. “Why would it?”
Mosscap stared at Dex in silence for a moment, seemingly surprised at this but not elaborating as to why. It shrugged, then pointed at the paper in Dex’s hands. “So, these…”
“Are the pebs people gave you for helping them out.” Dex handed the paper back. “You got twelve pebs for the door, eight pebs for the bike, and so on. Normally, we do this on a pocket computer—”
“Yes, yes, that’s what Ms. Ida asked,” Mosscap said. “She asked if I had a computer, and I said no, so she tore a piece of paper from her sketchbook for me.”
“Yeah, we’ll need to set you up with a pebs account and enter all of these in manually. I’m pretty sure there’s a computer vendor in the next town over. We can swing that way next.”
Mosscap’s lenses expanded broadly. “I’m going to get a pocket computer?”
“Yeah, looks like you need one.” The irony of a robot needing a computer did not escape Dex, and they found themself amused by this.
Mosscap, on the other hand, was a bit overwhelmed. “Goodness,” it said. “Will you teach me to use it?”
“Of course,” Dex said.
“And I get to keep it for…”
“For as long as you want. It’ll be yours.”
“But I don’t have pockets.”
“You can keep it in there.” Dex pointed at Mosscap’s chest. “It doesn’t require pockets, it just fits in one.”
Mosscap studied the villagers’ ledger, holding the paper with both hands. “So, according to this, I have…” It let go of the paper with one hand and silently counted on the other, touching its thumb to each fingertip in concentrated sequence. “Thirty-eight pebs.” It looked to Dex. “What can I get with thirty-eight pebs?”
“Anything you want,” Dex said with a laugh.
“Well, I don’t know! I’ve never had belongings, Sibling Dex. Or been in need of services. What do you use pebs for?”
“Most often? Food. Supplies. A place to sleep, if I want a break from the wagon. I dunno, just … stuff I want. Things I like, or appreciate.”
“Hmm.” Mosscap rubbed its metal chin. “I appreciate anthills. I like foggy mornings. I don’t know if I have much use for pebs.” It paused. “What is a peb, anyway?”
“It’s short for ‘digital pebbles,’ but nobody says that.”
“Pebbles, like you find in a stream?”