Free Ajax Penumbra 1969 (Kindle Single) by Robin Sloan Page B

visitor says it slowly, enunciating clearly: “The
Techne Tycheon
. That’s
T-E-C-H
—”
    “Yes,
techne
, I know. And with
tycheon
… that would be ‘the craft of fortune,’ correct?”
    “Exactly so!” the visitor exclaims.
    “
Mar-cus!
” the woman’s voice calls again. This time, the clerk ignores her entirely.
    “Contrary to however it might appear,” he says flatly, “this
is
a place of scholarly inquiry.” He retrieves an oblong book, wider than it is tall. “I don’t recognize that title, but let me double-check.” He flips through the pages, revealing a gridded ledger—a kind of catalog. “Nothing under
T
… What’s the author’s name?”
    The visitor shakes his head. “It is a very old volume. I only have the title. But I know it was here, in San Francisco, at a bookstore managed by a certain … Well, it is a somewhat complicated story.”
    The clerk’s eyes narrow, not with suspicion, but with deep interest. He sets the catalog aside. “Tell me.”
    “It is—ah.” The visitor turns, expecting to see customers queuing behind him; there is no one. He turns back to the clerk. “It will take some time.”
    “It’s a twenty-four-hour bookstore,” the clerk says. He smiles almost ruefully. “We’ve got nothing but time.”
    “I should start at the beginning.”
    “You should start with the basics.” The clerk settles back on his stool, crosses his arms. “What’s your name, friend?”
    “Oh. Yes, of course. My name is Ajax Penumbra.”

Ajax Penumbra!
    How do you get name like Ajax Penumbra? Like this: You are conceived by Pablo and Maria Penumbra, who flee Spain only months before a great civil war erupts. Your father carries a trunk full of books; your mother carries you.
    You are born in England. From Maria, a schoolteacher, you get your barking laugh, your jangling grin. From Pablo, a perpetually struggling poet, you get your height and your name, like the Greek hero. In disposition, it turns out that you are perhaps more like Ajax’s rival Odysseus, and of course your father considered that name, too, but Maria exercised her veto power. A boy named Odysseus Penumbra, she said, would not survive the seventh grade.
    You spend your early years in transit: from England to Canada to America. Specifically, to Galesburg, Illinois, where Maria takes a post at a high school, and where she rises, in time, to the rank of principal. Pablo founds a literary journal titled
Migraciones
. It accumulates, over the whole course of your childhood, a total of seventy-three subscribers.
    Your parents are weirdos, in the best possible way. They do not celebrate birthdays; never in your life have you received a present on the tenth of December. Instead, you are given books on the days that their authors were born. It will be January 27, and a package will be waiting at the foot of the stairs, wrapped in bright paper. The note: “To my darling boy, on the occasion of Lewis Carroll’s 93rd birthday.”
Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There
.
    AJAX PENUMBRA . At tiny Galvanic College, known as the Harvard of Northwestern Illinois, your student ID bears your name in monospaced caps and, alongside it, your mug shot, showing a creature made entirely of neck, ears, and teeth. Your big goofy grin. Looking at it, you wish you had restrained yourself. Tried to look more serious.
    Standing before you and all the rest of the incoming freshmen, Galvanic’s president proudly declares that your dorm room assignments are, for the first time, the result of a
computerized
process
. At first, it appears that the computer has made a grievous error. Your roommate, Claude Novak, is a fast-talking Chicagoan; you are a small-town introvert. He is short and intense; you are tall and reserved. He smokes; you skulk. Claude seems out of place at this college set amidst cornfields; you fit right in with the pale stalks.
    But as you unpack on that first day, the computer’s logic is revealed: both of you