Transmat World: Chapter 8, Episode 2
Ozone Lounge; Wednesday, October 6, 2145 A.D.
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The giant airship serviced the lower levels of four space elevators distributed about the equator. Thirty-foot-diameter, pressurized columns of carbon nanotube fabric soared from their earthly attachment points through the atmosphere and into space. Elevator cars with their dozens of soft, inflated tires climbed the columns to the spaceports just beyond geosynchronous orbit. Broken down and packed into cylinders, they rode a cushion of pressurized air down the center of the sturdy tube to the ground.
Because of Transmat technology, the elevators existed only as a backup in case Transmat booths for some reason failed to work. With the workload of the elevators reduced, the call to phase out the expensive ship was overwhelming. It was a dinosaur, using too much expensive helium for lift, and too much fuel for thrusters. Vince bought it, converted it into a hotel-convention center. He replaced the helium with hot air supplied by Transmats sucking it from already hot industrial settings. Likewise, Transmats spewing compressed air replaced hydrocarbon-fueled jet thrusters. He still fixed the space elevators when they needed it as a public service.
Maria was waiting. As he approached, she guessed who it was.
“Hey there, Vince.”
“So much for security,” said Vince.
“You don’t seem surprised to see me,” said Maria after a hug and a kiss.
“A little birdie told me you’d be here,” said Vince.
“A little wingless birdbrain named ‘Ookie,’” said Ferdinand from his perch on Maria’s shoulder, head cocked to one side. Maria’s hedbot is fashioned after the ancient Mayan winged serpent-god Quetzalcoatl shrunk to a fraction of its purported size. Plumage of brilliant primary colors stood out even in that menagerie of dressed-up hedbots. No costume needed there. Who would gild the Bird of Paradise?
Ookie stared into the distance with his cartoon peanut arms crossed, “It’s Gadzooks to you.”
“Was anybody talking to you two?” said Maria. Her plain white dress stood in stark contrast to her hedbot’s vivid attire. Her hedset was a simple gold tiara that set off auburn hair. She smiled at Vince, “It’s been a while. Did you miss me?”
“Of course, I was just thinking about you on the way over. How are archeological studies going?”
“It’s very excavating.”
“I’m glad you took time off. Too much work, not enough play–“
“Are you about to call me dull, Vince Miller?”
“Not in a million years,” said Vince, smiling. He took her hand, and they strolled down the hall.
“I really enjoy seeing you again, Vince, but I have to admit something right up front. It’s not all play that I came for.”
“Well, that’s irritating. Don’t tell me. You’ve found a dig sight on the Ozone Lounge.”
She slapped him on the shoulder. “No, silly. My father told me something I thought you should know about.”
Intrigued, Vince stopped walking and turned to her, “And what might that be?”
“I’ll tell you later, when we have a little more privacy.”
“Okay, let’s take a spin around this shindig, and then we can go to my place at the Hawk,” said Vince.
A socialmart was a mall, farmer’s market, carnival, and hoedown all in one. Holographic projections allowed storefronts to be erected and goods displayed from a 3D projector the size of an omni. Socialmarts sprang up with the advent of Transmat booths. You could get this stuff on the web, at a grocery store, or mall, or other retail outlet, but the socialmart had a rave/flash mob flavor.
Transportation only by Transmat was a dash of spice. Vince thinks it is a social phase, a celebration of mankind’s newfound toy, Transmat. It had been a hundred years since the horrors of the Hit. With a substantial presence on the Moon and Mars, the human race was letting its hair down and enjoying existence in the shadow of its newly realized fragility.
In the merchant zone, you could buy anything from land to drugs. Vince and Maria settled for traditional grilled portobello mushroom strips on a stick. Kiosks and storefronts formed a maze for a third of the length of the convention hall.
Holocams hooked up to sophisticated demographics software picked out individuals based on age, gender, and clothing. AdShooters used arrays of virtual, variable, parabolic speakers delivering whispered enticements directly to the recipient’s ear. No one else could hear it. Equally sophisticated privacy software in hedsets intercepted and canceled most of it.
3D holograms of intricate, appealing designs branded with logos and slogans flew through the space above their heads, competing for attention from the circus of hedbots. Transmat’s logo was right in there with them, one of the biggest. Beyond the merchant zone there was a coterie of magicians, acrobats and jugglers — Cirque du Soleil dans le Ciel.
Everywhere they went, Vince and Maria saw groups of people gathered around public vid-screens. When they investigated, invariably it was coverage of Enrique Ramirez’s flight to the Moon.
They wound up at the ship’s namesake, the Ozone Lounge. Nestled next to the spherical pilot’s pod, it had the best name recognition of any bar on Earth, Moon, and Mars. Julie, Mark, and others from the company spotted Vince and Maria and waved. They had places at a table next to the window. It sported a view of the big screen with video shots taken from Lunacy One of Enrique and Rousseau gliding through space. Life was good. A few drinks, a half-hour of lighthearted conversation, and it was time to go. Vince and Maria headed for the nearest Transmat booth.
“Your mom is doing well,” said Maria. “She says ‘hi,’”
“When did you see my mom?”
“Just before I came here. You know, you should — “
“Don’t say it. Yes, I should go see Mom more often. Things have been hectic lately. I certainly appreciate you stopping by and giving her some company.”
“I think she wants grandchildren.”
“Whoa!”
Maria’s laugh caused Ferdinand to spread his wings in fake alarm and Ookie to cover his invisible peanut ears dramatically as Maria and Vince stepped into the Transmat booth. He punched the number and two seconds later they went into transmission. They did not know that Edward Grumbacher entered the booth right after them, scanning the keypad with the infrared thermometer built into his finger. He recorded the minutely warmer buttons that had just been used. Task completed, he stepped outside to join his boss, Frederick Beasener.
“Done,” said Edward.
“Let us depart from here,” said Frederick as they mingled with the crowd on the main aisle of the Ozone Lounge.
