Transmat World: Chapter 14
Miami, Monday, November 15, 2145 A.D.
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The new sunglasses download for his hedset visor kept Enrique from squinting and provided a shimmering, saturated color ambience to everything. He reached for the mojito gleaming in a New Miami sun on the glass and granite table next to his lounger. The view was good. Across the pool three young women sunbathed with a background of beach and surf. Their hedbots huddled around a card game on the pool deck.
Watching the girls reminded him of the expensive new terahertz vision download he thought would enable him to see through clothes, but the adjustments weren’t fine enough for that. He wound up looking inside muscle and organ tissue. After nearly tossing his Raisin Bran and strawberries poolside one morning, he gave up. He tried to return it but couldn’t get his money back. Rousseau told him it served him right for being a pervert. It was a sad situation to be preached to by your hedbot and deserve it.
Rousseau alighted on the lounger next to him. Enrique turned to ask him where he had been when he noticed the Florida pendant covered with fake diamonds hanging around Rousseau’s neck.
“What’s that?” asked Enrique.
“Bling, dude.”
“Where did you get it?”
“Contest.”
“What kind of contest?”
“Who could fart the loudest.”
“How chic, and what did you bet?”
“My half of the Moon plaque,” said Rousseau.
Enrique’s hands closed on air. Rousseau shot straight up into the air. He glided into an empty lounger three spots down and folded his wings. A three dimensional holograph jumped off of Rousseau’s right wing as it caught the sun just right. It read “The Original Spacehopper” and featured a demonic-looking fanged grasshopper with a-la-hot-rod flames running down its body.
“Come back here, Rousseau.”
“Not until you can show me a completion certificate from an anger management class. See, someone is already reporting hedbot abuse.” Rousseau pointed a front leg across the pool to a girl talking into her hedset.
“Okay, I promise not to lay a hand on you.”
“Or a foot.”
“Or a foot.”
“Or a mojito glass.”
“Or a mojito glass.”
Rousseau jumped down, walked over to the lounge chair next to Enrique, and hopped onto it.
“Bored, huh?” said Rousseau.
“Maybe.”
“What next? Fly a World War II submarine to Mars?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You’re right,” Rousseau said. “That’s almost as silly as flying an old antique, dry-rotted space suit to the Moon. Here’s an idea. Fly stuff for Vince Miller to brighten your tedious, debauched existence and get paid for it.”
The bug has a point, thought Enrique.
He scrutinized the surf and sipped his mojito. A month of high life had been pleasant, but it was shallow and directionless and very expensive. The fame and fortune put him in touch with a different class of people. The only thing that impressed Enrique about most of them was how much money they had.
He endured the talk shows and news interviews with poise and humor. He turned down a reality show stint and was now shopping around for a good ghostwriter. No one made a bigger offer for the suit than Vince. Enrique rebuffed a small fortune for the tiny chunk of space rock taken out of his leg and now hanging in a miniature titanium glass canister around his neck. It did not turn him into a mass of telekinetic silicon as predicted by Rousseau. Now he thinks he should have taken Vince up on the deal.
Enrique reached for something in his pool robe. It was in the pocket with the cursive “E.R.” embroidered in grasshopper green. He dug out the smart card Vince gave him on the Moon and handed it to Rousseau.
“Here, I’ll give you the honor of making a voice connection,” said Enrique.
“About time,” said Rousseau.
Rousseau routed the call to Enrique’s hedset.
“Hello,” said Vince.
“Hello Mr. Miller, this is Enrique Ramirez. How are you doing?”
“I’m fine, Enrique and, please, call me Vince. How about yourself? I saw you on the vids a couple of times. You were impressive.”
“Thanks, Vince; it has been an interesting month.”
“Have you had any more offers on the suit?”
“Oh yes, I’ve had offers — substantial offers. However, I’ve decided to go with your original of four million.”
“What I’m offering now is three million new-dollars, a starting salary of 250,000 and 250,000 in Transmat options.”
“It’s a deal.”
“How’s that book coming along?”
“Find me a good ghost writer, and I’ll give you a percentage.”
“I’ll look into that. Be at Transmat offices Wednesday morning at 9 A.M. We’ll work out the details and line you up with a little project.”
“That soon?”
“Is that a problem? I’ve got something you’re going to be interested in.”
“No problem. It’s just a shock to be employed all of a sudden.”
“Don’t have a heart attack, but you’re starting tomorrow,” said Vince.
“How’s that? You said Wednesday.”
“I said I would tell you about the project Wednesday. In the meantime, you have homework. I’m going to send you some information, and I want you to input that data into your favorite software.”
“What is that, sir?”
“Applesoft Flight Emulator,” said Vince.
“Yes! Whatever it is, I’ll be able to do loop-de-loops by Wednesday.”
“We’ll see. Welcome to Transmat, Enrique. See you Wednesday.”
“Thanks, Vince. See you then.”
Enrique thought the connection closed, and it was done.
“Wow! One minute I’m sitting here wondering where my next million is coming from and the next minute I’ve got three more — and a job,” exclaimed Enrique.
“You’re welcome,” said Rousseau.
“I think I had something to do with this, Rousseau.”
“Yes, your part was sitting there feeling pitiful until I suggested a course of action.”
“Pitiful? I’m sitting by a pool in New Miami in sight of beautiful women, sipping a mojito.”
“Borderline case, but you were getting there.”
Enrique picked up his glass, started to take a swallow, looked at it and then set it back down.
“Come on, Rousseau, let’s go for a run. We don’t want to spend the first day of work with a hangover.”
“Who is ‘we’? Do you have an alcoholic mouse in your pocket?”
Enrique got up and headed for the beach.
“I will accompany you in order to exercise my thruster valves. I must get them perfectly tuned for the Hedbot Grand Flatulence Finale coming up next month, which I assume you will give me permission to attend.”
“Yes, just like the permission I gave for the last one.” Enrique’s voice pierced the roar of the surf.
Rousseau lifted twenty feet in the air, spreads his wings and glided after Enrique, the bling making light clinking noises against his thorax.
“You should think about it, Enrique. Any hedbot who is anybody’s hedbot is going.”
Enrique steadily pounded the sand.
“I was kidding about the plaque, Enrique.”
As Rousseau and Enrique dwindled into the distance, the hedbots at the pool looked up at them briefly and then back to the five cards lying face-up on the pool deck beside the pot.
“All in,” said the cat with a huge smile.
“All in,” said the rabbit, looking at its watch.
“All in,” said the mock turtle with a forlorn look.
The cat laid down pocket aces and raked the small pile of robot parts into a bag that quickly disappeared as they continued playing cards in the waning sunlight.
