Persimmons

 

 

SERVITOR 135799 REPORTED to the kitchens first thing upon its arrival at Kel Academy—or it tried, anyway. It had asked its enclave specifically for the transfer, not least because it loved the idea of working with Kel cadets. The older servitors in its old home, a quiet village, had clicked and whirred and made concerned noises about its fascination with the warlike Kel, but in the end they had said that if it wanted the job so badly, it should see the truth of matters for itself.

135799 had a map of Kel Academy loaded into its memory by another servitor, along with a basic list of protocols and procedures. Relying on the map was what led it astray to begin with. Its village didn’t use variable layout at all. The warning on the map even said that, but 135799 was too dazzled to take heed of it until it was well and thoroughly lost.

Kel Academy, for its part, was anything but a backwater village. 135799 had passed the parade grounds, with their immense, fluttering ashhawk banners; an outdoors dueling arena where calendrical swords sizzled against each other as Kel sparred; what appeared to be the edges of a forbidding wood, used, perhaps, for survival exercises; and, most mysteriously of all, a junkyard where scrapped flitters and warmoth parts sketched jagged silhouettes against the murky sky.

A servitor diligently organizing the debris at the junkyard’s edge took pity on 135799. “New here?” it asked.

135799 affirmed that it was, in sheepish pink-lavender lights.

“Where are you trying to go?” the stranger-servitor asked.

135799 indicated that it was supposed to have reached the kitchens a couple of hours ago.

“Well, here’s what you’ll do,” the stranger-servitor said in soothing greens and blues. “Go to these coordinates. That’s a section of the Academy that’s almost never location-shifted. You will find some fruiting persimmon trees. Pick some ripe persimmons and take them to the second set of coordinates. They’ll tell you what to do from there.”

135799 thanked the stranger-servitor for its kindness. Mystified but eager all the same, it headed off toward the indicated coordinates. On its way, it was passed by clusters of Kel cadets in their black uniforms, some somber, others chattering to each other, and once, a magnificent black peacock with a train of iridescent feathers and a golden collar around its neck.

It located the persimmon trees in the gardens, not far from a collection of wilting black-and-yellow roses. The trees were indeed in fruit. It hovered up and gathered a few of the choicest, orange and plump and ripe.

An adult Kel passed beneath it, resplendent in full formal uniform, braid and all. 135799 paused, wondering if the Kel would countermand its instructions—it knew the unspoken rule that humans must never be openly defied—but the Kel merely nodded affably at it before continuing on their way. Even this acknowledgment was more than 135799 was used to, from humans, so it took that as a good sign and continued to the kitchens.

At the kitchens, a deltaform servitor welcomed 135799 and its treasure-haul of persimmons. “I was told to expect a newcomer,” it said in friendly pinks and oranges. “Hello! You’ll get used to the variable layout soon enough. And I see you brought the persimmons.”

135799 couldn’t resist its curiosity. “Where should I put the persimmons? And what are they for?”

“More like who they’re for,” the deltaform said kindly. “Go wash the persimmons. There’s a cadet named Cheris who really likes them. You’ll get a chance to meet her at high table tonight, and we’ve decided you should serve her portion of the dessert as a way of getting acquainted.”

“Don’t we avoid getting close to humans?” 135799 said, although it had often thought about doing just that.

“Even humans can be useful,” the deltaform said with a touch of cynicism. “Sink’s over there.”

135799 hovered to the sink with its persimmons and decided not to worry about human-servitor politics for the moment. Instead, it glowed happily as it washed and quartered the persimmons, daydreaming about meeting this Cheris not just tonight, but for many evenings to follow. With any luck, persimmon fruiting season would last for a while yet.

 

 

Author’s Note

 

When I was in high school, I once lived in a house in Seoul that had a persimmon tree. The damn thing never bore fruit that we could use because it was attacked by aphids. Even the chemical treatments didn’t do jack to get rid of the bugs.

At this point I have to confess that I don’t even like fresh persimmons. I had too many bad experiences with unripe ones when I was small; the astringency will sting your mouth unpleasantly. Strangely, though, I find the dried ones delicious.