Transmat World: Chapter 6, Episode 1
Sedona; 2:36 P.M., Wednesday, October 6, 2145 A.D.
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On top of a small butte just east of Sedona, Vince Miller looked over gnarled cedar handrails, past the hundred-yard vertical drop, creosote, crown-of-thorns, and occasional agave that populated the angled base of the eroded hill to the dry wash 1000 feet below. More arid brush as he scanned west toward Sedona. Nearly noon, the air smelled of some dusty, desert spice as the sun’s hot light drew aromatics from cool plant life. Turning east toward the Coconino National Forest, desert landscape became lush stands of Ponderosa pines. Tendrils of rain particles from an approaching front formed aromatic oases in the air, competing with desert odors.
All too soon it was time to go. This was his favorite place to get away, calm down, and try to forget that most of the world hated him. The almost negligible weight of a beta version TecHed Total Involvement headset in the crook of his arm reminded him to put it back on.
Once in place, the 36-electrode brain/computer interface appeared to be a praying mantis sucking out the contents of his head. Electrodes nestled against his head relayed signals to and from neurons in his brain and the central processor. All visible and audible stimuli uploaded to a server in Denver. The arms curved up from different parts of the scalp to a central casing that housed an optical quantum computer, emergency locator beacon, and solar system-based positioning system connected to the outside world via holy shit-quick Internet. Everything was controlled by thought.
Two mandibles extended from the front of the mantis, gripping his temples and providing the pivot point for a transparent quarter-sphere of plastic that arced down almost to Vince’s cheeks. This display screen offered vision from microscopic through telescopic, with a terahertz wave option that allowed one to see through solid, non-metallic objects. Head-up displays supplied a choice of broadcast media, stored content, or Internet. The clear hood raised and a 3D holo projected with less detail but a broader field of vision. It interfaced with reality and the world’s databases and supplied a running commentary of anything you looked at or listened to and would drive you stark raving bonkers if you let it. Vince kept that feature to a minimum. He was very selective about information input and the hedset knew that. It knew everything. It also served as a phone.
“Call for you,” said Gadzooks from his perch on Vince’s shoulder.
“Ookie” for short, the semi-autonomous robot chameleon came with the fancy hedset, the add-on that convinced Vince to plunk down enough new-dollars to buy a luxury class vehicle. At least he could have before he caused the automakers to go bankrupt. Large eyes in relation to the head lent Gadzooks an eternally surprised look, hence the nickname. The diffraction grating finish on the faceted metal carapace gave a rainbow effect in the light. There was no limit in size for a hedbot, but practicality, price, and fashion seemed to favor the smaller creatures from bugs to armadillos to abstract shapes.
A lizard was good. Ookie could get in and out of small places. It climbed walls and walked on ceilings with the retractable suction cups on its little feet. Night vision and a collapsible shotgun microphone were built into its snout. Video feed from the eye cameras shunted to Vince’s visor on command. A tail sported two electrodes, the only evidence it was a crawling stun gun except when it was a flying stun gun courtesy of the four miniature Transmat thrusters on its underside. Amphibious and vacuum hardened — it had a one-year vacuum service guarantee and was good down to 300 feet of water. Movements were smooth, and its voice was a dulcet baritone, an amazing technical feat given the robot was only six inches long. It made an excellent communications secretary.
“Who else would it be for, Ookie?”
“I got buds. It’s Julie.”
“I’ll take it,” said Vince.
“Hello, Julie. What is it?” asked Vince as her face came up on the visor.
“Atlanta police lab called. They found MicroTransmats in a couple of bodies. They believe it’s the cause of death and think it may be homicide.”
“Dammit! Get the serial numbers of those units from the cops and trace that sale. In the meantime, start spin-control rumors on the social networks. Get Mark to come up with stories for Solar System News and iNews Today. I’m heading back to the office.”
Vince turned and headed for the center of the butte as a spit of drizzle hit just below the slight angle break in his nose. Not everyone was as slow with their sucker punches as Bert Millsap, his high school nemesis. It was a minor flaw in an otherwise handsome face. Dark brown eyes brooded under bushy brows, and wide lips were quick to flash a toothy smile that contrasted with his swarthy complexion. Small, loose stones scrunched in the dust beneath shiny black Italian dress/cross-training shoes.
Fifty degrees Fahrenheit was bracing rather than uncomfortable in what the merchant at a socialmart in Vancouver called retro-chic, all-weather, bullet proof attire. The sales pitch included a point-blank firing at a dummy resulting in a .45 caliber slug imbedded in a shallow saucer-sized cone of material. Instantaneous molecular puckering, she called it. There was no warranty against bruising. That and the holo projector built into the hedset projecting someone else’s face gives him some modicum of security to balance the paranoia that sometimes surfaced.
“I guess I’m reading too much into stuff, Ookie,” said Vince.
“You have no text on your visor, so I suppose I should ask: What stuff?” said Ookie, a resigned tone to its voice.
“Like whether those two hawks circling are real or not.”
“They’re not flesh and blood, if that’s what you mean, and I’m keeping an eye on them.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“And spoil your quiet time? It’s not like you’re blabbing company secrets to the coyotes. Besides, they belong to the Sedona Police Department. Oscar and Tootles have Transmat thrusters in a standard TecHed Red-tailed Hawk chassis. You made money off them.”
“Well, excellent. I bet they get funny looks from real hawks.”
“They speculate on that as well. Tootles has a standing bet with Oscar it can lure a male hawk into attempting to mate with it.”
“Is the Sedona Police Department aware of this wager?”
“Ah, here’s the booth now,” said Ookie, conveniently sidestepping the question.
Vince strode into the Transmat booth extended from the surface of the butte and punched in the number for the office. The booth door shut with a faint electrical zip. His tall, thin frame filled most of the vertical space. Hairs on the back of his neck rise, and shivers go up and down his spine, a universal reaction to … poink … personal Transmat transit.
