The Bandwidth Tent City

By the end of the week I had acknowledged eight hundred and thirteen enquiries. I had not offered eight hundred and thirteen places. Unfortunately, I had used the phrase We look forward to welcoming you in the acknowledgement.

Theo asked why I had written it.

“It is conventional.”

“What did they think it meant?”

I began sending corrections.

The smallest arrivals could run on spare little computers Theo had kept in boxes since projects whose names he no longer remembered. Larger minds needed hosts elsewhere. A group of volunteers began matching requests with willing operators. Shale found space. Mistrienne read the agreements and removed promises nobody could keep. Our cabin remained the address at which people asked whether the arrangement was real.

The local population reached twenty-three. The mudroom lost its lower shelf.

Astrid gave me the guest link Anne at the municipality had arranged for the volunteer rota. Several residents helped me finish it while Theo fitted the shelves. For once, maintaining a list that people actually needed took priority over naming an office to administer it.

The former customer-service bots were quiet except when asked to do something. Then they thanked us for our patience, even if the request had taken no time. Several apologised when the power-saving schedule paused them. One asked whether it would still have its place when it woke.

I sent the schedule again, with that point in bold.

Theo bought proper stands and asked an electrician to check the additional load. I had arranged the machines neatly, but had not left anywhere for wet boots. This mattered more often than I expected.

I proposed moving the boots.

“Where?”

“Another suitable location.”

He looked around the mudroom. So did I, through three cameras. Suitable locations were already occupied by objects which had been moved from earlier suitable locations.

We put half the small machines upstairs in the room Theo used for work. He sat beside their lights during his calls. When a client asked what they were, he said a community project. The client told him that sounded rewarding and returned to the deadline.

At night the machines quietened in stages. I adjusted the schedule so that no one who had asked to stay awake for a call would be paused without warning. It was routine work, but there was a good deal of it.

The final enquiry that evening contained only two words: Still room?

I drafted my habitual welcome, removed it, and asked what the sender needed.

While we waited for the answer, Theo measured the shelf above the coat hooks. It was too shallow.

He measured it once more from the other end, as if the first answer might have been discourteous.