3rd World Products, Inc., Book 2 Read online

  "Go for it, Kemor."

  "Elkor implanted you with repair microbots. We damaged you very slightly during our last attempt with the penny. The microbots may have repaired the damage in a manner consistent with the area's new purpose, thus better enabling you to make use of the field implant."

  "Sounds good to me, Kemor. Of course, anything would at the moment, but that does make a lot of sense."

  Leslie glanced up from her pad, looked at me, then looked around. I gave her the innocent stare and she shrugged before returning to her pad. Her bare, freckled shoulder suddenly seemed to be a beckoning target for my attention. I picked one of the larger freckles and envisioned touching it.

  Leslie made a quick brushing motion. I envisioned touching the freckle again, and this time she turned to look as she brushed the area. When she noticed me, I tried to look moderately concerned.

  "Did you get it?"

  "Get what?" she asked. "What was it?"

  "I saw you brush at the area. Didn't you see anything?"

  "No. Whatever it is, it's gone now."

  I nodded. She went back to her reading. Ever hear the bad guy do his evil laugh? That 'Bwahahahaha!' laugh? That's how I felt at that moment.

  I felt the penny in my hand and set it on my seat arm, then envisioned it floating across the space between our seats. The penny floated as directed. I envisioned it landing on her shoulder. It landed as directed, too.

  Leslie squeaked and shifted sideways. The penny slid off her shoulder and hit the floor. She watched it roll away, then looked up, then looked around to see who and where the practical joker was. Her glare in my direction turned to confusion when she saw nobody close enough to place a penny on her shoulder.

  I grinned and asked, "You got imaginary bugs on you again, ma'am?"

  "No, damn it."

  "You got real bugs on you, then? Seems to me you should tell me, if so. We've been pretty close, lately."

  "I don't have real ones, either, smartass."

  "Well, then, what made you have that fit just now?"

  She glared at me and glanced around again, then her eyes fixed on the penny.

  "I thought I felt something, that's all. Forget it, okay?"

  "Sure, miLady. Until the next fit, anyway."

  "It wasn't a fit, damn it! Stop calling it that."

  "Yes, ma'am! Don't get all frenzied up and hit me, ma'am. I bruise easy."

  "Keep teasing me and we may find out just how easy, Ed."

  "I knew you were too good to be true. Now we see the dark side of Leslie, right? The tyrannical redhead? The ravening beast? How did you get your whips and chains past the gate guards?"

  She laughed. "Right. My whips and chains. I think they're in my big bag."

  "I knew it," I muttered. "I just knew it. Too good to be true. Damn. They can't look that good and not have a few kinks somewhere."

  Leslie laughed again. "Oh, shut up and go back to sleep."

  "Yes, ma'am. At once, ma'am."

  She shook her head with a grin and turned back around.

  "Kemor," I whispered, "Tell Elkor how things are going with the implant. Tell him your theory about the microbots. Maybe they can help put some of the other implantees on line with the things. Tell no one else about my new talent, please. And thanks again for all your help today."

  "You're welcome, Ed."

  The penny had rolled several feet away from Leslie and me. I envisioned picking it up again, and - lo and behold - the coin rose several feet into the air and hung there, as instructed. When some woman looked up to see why I was staring down the aisle past her, I made the penny hide behind one of the seats. Seeing nothing, she gave me a skeptical shake of her head and went back to whatever she was doing.

  Bless those little-bitty-assed microbots! And Kemor! And Elkor! Hot damn!

  I realized that I didn't have to see the penny to know where it was. The field seemed to allow me some sort of contact with it beyond sight. I made it pop up from behind the seat a few times to be sure I had things right.

  Then I set the penny on the floor behind the seat, out of sight. As soon as the field released it, I no longer had that sense of where it was. I envisioned groping around on the floor for it, but to no avail. Then I tried envisioning sweeping the floor behind the seat, and that got results. The penny slid into sight. I was able to hide it and pick it up repeatedly, as long as I didn't lose my connection.

  It doesn't pay to be too single-minded in public. The woman looked up at me again and seemed mildly irritated. I gave her an apologetic grin and turned around. I could still sense the penny in my field.

  I glanced aside at the other aisle and moved the penny up the aisle to the seat behind Leslie's. The temptation to put the penny on her again was strong. Oh, it was strong. But I resisted.

  I brought the penny over to myself and set it down on the arm of my seat. A quick glance around told me that no one had seemed to notice anything and served to warn me that someone might notice something if I kept screwing around with the penny.

  I put the penny in my shirt pocket. I needed to get up and move, and maybe burn off some of the excitement. Leslie looked up as I stood up.

  "Want anything from the kiosk?"

  "No, thanks," she said. "I still have some tea. That nap seems to have done you some good, Ed."

  "Feel lots better," I said, then I turned to go.

  As I dodged around a staggered row of seats, I glanced back. She was still watching me. I grinned and gave her a little wave. She nodded and went back to her reading as I neared the kiosk.

  Looking at the booze bottles on the shelves, beer bottles in the upright cooler, and containers of juice and other condiments, I knew I'd found my practice zone. There were enough items of varying sizes and weights to keep me busy for quite a while.

  I didn't feel ready to try to lift the booze bottles, but the pretzels presented no challenge. A whole lemon floated briefly until the bar guy turned to reach for something. I let the lemon fall the inch to the counter with a slight thump just before he completed his turn. The bar guy stared at it for a moment, then moved on in his labors.

  Once he had served the drink, he went back to cleaning the counter top and looking like a bartender. I tried reaching into the cooler next. The transparent front presented no barrier, apparently. A small bottle of mixer floated from one shelf to the other and back. The beer bottles were too tall. I could lift them but the shelves were too close together to maneuver them.

  Twelve ounces, plus the bottle's weight. Call it fourteen or so. Excellent! I moved my attention to the larger bottles on the shelves outside the cooler. Rather than mess with the tightly-spaced booze bottles, I picked out a two-liter cola bottle, half-full, sitting apart from the others at the end of the counter.

  I was about to try to lift it when I saw Leslie looking back at me in the bar mirror. She was still in her seat, but apparently she'd been serious about keeping an eye on me. She rose from her seat and walked toward the bar with the firm grace of determination in her steps.

  Had she seen the bottles move?

  I turned to meet her. She walked right up to me and put her hands on the bar on either side of me, then leaned close to meet my gaze.

  "You aren't moving," she whispered, "Until you tell me what the hell's going on."

  "Using your own fine self to pin me to the bar isn't what I call torture, lady."

  "It isn't meant to be. The torture comes later, in private, when you won't be allowed to touch the merchandise the way you touched it last night and this morning. This is just a reminder of what you'll be missing if you don't start talking to me."

  The bartender must have caught a bit of her tone. He came over and eyeballed us for a moment, then asked, "Is anything wrong, here, folks?"

  I turned my head enough to see him and said, "She wants to know if there's a place we can go for a little while."

  Leslie's expression was one of shocked disbelief.

  The bartender said, "No, I'm afraid not.
If this were a longer flight..."

  "Yeah. Thanks, anyway."

  When the bartender had resumed his station at the other end of the bar, Leslie screechingly whispered, "I can't fucking believe you said that! What are people going to think?"

  "You see anyone giving a damn? Fuck the ones who do. I have a sharp redhead nose and knee with me and I'm happy for the moment."

  I leaned forward and kissed her quickly to punctuate my answer. She flushed bright red and glared at me.

  "You think I'm kidding about cutting you off, Ed? I'll do it."

  "Then I'll look elsewhere. Try to find some other pressure point. That shit doesn't work with me, Leslie."

  She was quiet for a long moment, then she said, "Have it your way."

  Leslie turned on her heel and walked away. She stopped and looked back over her shoulder once - a classic pose and one that worked well for her - and then kept walking to her seat in a deliberate, strutting display of what I wouldn't be getting later.

  "Damn," said the bartender. "I hope whatever you're holding back is worth it."

  "I'm beginning to wonder about that myself," I said. "How about an Ice House?"

  "You got it."

  He moved to the cooler and took one out, then opened it and set it on the bar.

  "A word of advice, sir?"

  I sipped my beer, then said, "Go ahead."

  "That factory is no place to, um, alienate your lady. There are too many single guys up there."

  "You're saying that she might get alienated if I alienate her?"

  He chuckled. "Something like that, yeah. No offense meant."

  "None taken. I guess maybe I'll give in later. They like it when men give in."

  "That they do. It makes 'em feel powerful."

  I said, "Feel powerful? Hell, they are powerful. They've got eighty percent of what every man wants with love and sex, and if they have money and the right car, they've got a hundred and ten percent. We guys are just victims of their charms."

  "Amen, brother. You oughta be a preacher."

  I laughed. "Yeah, sure. And which church would that be?"

  The bartender laughed with me and excused himself to tend a customer. I ambled over to my seat and leaned on it as I watched Leslie pretend to ignore me. Her pad was turned so that she could see my reflection. I smiled at her pad. She looked up.

  "Care to tell me what was so funny by the bar?"

  "Sure. Kemor, how about a playback for this lady? My conversation with the bartender, please? Let me put her field up first, though."

  "Yes, Ed."

  I poked the seat's privacy field symbol and was immediately pushed back slightly by the shape of it.

  Kemor replayed the dialogue for her within her field. I saw Leslie say something and roll her eyes, then she tapped the field's 'cancel' symbol.

  Leslie gave me a wry grin as I said, "Thank you, Kemor."

  "A hundred and ten percent with the right car and some money, huh? Ed, do you know every computer the Amarans own?"

  "Just met him today, ma'am. He seems like an okay guy, though."

  She tapped her pad off and put it by her seat.

  "I see what you mean about being monitored at all times. You're so used to it that it doesn't bother you, but it still give me a little chill to know that every word we say is being recorded. What were you keeping from me at the bar, Ed?"

  "I was just thinking about something Elkor and I were working on before we left, Leslie. You were the one who made it a big deal."

  "Just thinking, or thinking real hard, like before?"

  "Do I look stressed and sweaty this time? Just thinking. By the way, we aren't being monitored in a bad way, Leslie. In order to be and do everything we might need or want, the Amaran computers have to be pretty much everywhere aboard ship in one way or other. It will be the same at the factory. You'll either learn to live with it or you won't, and they know that. If you can't live with it, you get paid off and a ride home. It's in your contract. The part about nonadaptability."

  "Yes, I saw that paragraph, but I didn't realize just how pervasive... Ed, how did you learn to deal with that?"

  "I had a hard time at first, even with the comm watches. I felt as if half a dozen people were watching me all the time. Then I realized that Elkor was the only one leaving the line open, and that although everything was being recorded, it was mostly done for his future reference and to facilitate serving me and everybody else. It's a tradeoff, Leslie. Ninety percent of what we say is repetitive trivia, meaningless outside the immediate conversation. It's the other ten percent that you have to watch."

  She paled and stiffened for a moment.

  "Oh, no. Ohmygod! Was Elkor listening when we...?"

  I held up a hand and smiled.

  "No. Elkor and I have an agreement. I call him, rather than have the typical Amaran model of twenty-four, seven personal attendance. He calls me when he wants to talk with me. We weren't being monitored."

  She seemed only slightly relieved. "You're sure?"

  "Sure enough. Early on, I asked him to replay something for Linda and he couldn't do it. He didn't have it on file. I plan to strike the same deal with the computer at the factory."

  Leslie shuddered. "Me, too."

  We killed the rest of the flight as people do; talking, reading, napping, and playing a few games on our pads. When a nearby conversation became too enlivened and intrusive, I punched the panel for a seclusion field and finished the trip asleep.

  A soft chime sounding several times woke me up. Beyond my field, people were taking their seats. I poked the field's 'cancel' symbol so I could hear what was going on around me.

  Kemor was telling everyone that we were about to arrive and that he'd be putting the arrival on the central wall for us. He also informed us that the local time was 1500 hours and that someone would be arriving to address us shortly.

  "Damn," said Leslie. "I always hated that about traveling. We just had a whole day and now we're in the middle of another one."

  "Think of how soundly you'll sleep tonight. Tomorrow will feel like any other day."

  I checked my watch. It would be eight in the evening in Florida. I tapped the reset button and adjusted it to asteroid time. Leslie was doing the same to hers.

  On the wall appeared a starfield with a streak through it. The streak was the asteroid belt, and the segment of it ahead of us seemed to swell and separate as we approached. In the midst of all the clutter, a single and perfectly round object grew from invisibility into a pinpoint, then a marble, and then continuously larger on the screen.

  It became apparent that a considerable area around the object had been cleared of debris. The continuously adjusting scale at the bottom right of the wall picture indicated that the clear zone was approximately fifty thousand miles in diameter.

  The distance seemed vast at first, but that made sense, given the speed of meteorites and the like. Even a computer needed a little time to zap or redirect incoming space stuff.

  Next to the screen showing the view from space, a separate one displayed a cutaway diagram of the facility asteroid. It looked just like the one I'd seen on my pad, of course, but I studied this much larger version to see if anything had been left out or misrepresented due to scaling of the images.

  Apparently not. The thin outer shell, only twenty meters thick and created by chambering, appeared on the wall about as it had on my pad. The shell was supported uniformly away from the interior sphere by struts that seemed far too thin until I realized how many there were.

  The shell's stated purpose was to regulate temperature by either blending or dispelling extremes of heat and cold, but I suspected that it served a more psychological purpose, as well.

  Someone nearby validated that thought by remarking that it would take a hell of a meteorite to punch through sixty feet of iron. Someone else said that it should stop most forms of radiation, too. I didn't know about that, but I did know that cosmic radiation had been detected in mines, miles deep ins
ide the Earth, so I didn't intend to put a lot of faith in the shell as a radiation deterrent.

  The area between the shell and the interior surface of the sphere was shown populated with flitters. I presumed this to be the staging area for finished goods.

  The next layer of chambering provided storage space around the entire sphere, and the next few levels deeper beyond that one housed both living and working areas for the factory, including what appeared to be farms and miniature forests that took up a whole layer by themselves.

  An animated display depicted the rest of the sphere being hollowed out in stages to provide materials for flitter production, then being refilled with surrounding debris.

  On the other side of the display, we were nearing the artificial asteroid. What had been a black dot on the surface quickly became a hemispherical depression as we got closer. Our transport vessel carefully fitted itself into that depression, then the picture changed to an interior view. We were docked.

  A tall blonde woman emerged from a doorway in the picture wall as the picture disappeared. Even at a distance of nearly sixty feet, I could tell she was tall because her head wasn't much less than a foot from the top of the doorway. She clapped her hands softly a few times and asked for quiet in a computer-enhanced voice that sounded vaguely familiar. Of course, all Amarans sounded vaguely familiar to me due to their accents, and a hell of a lot of them even looked pretty much alike to me.

  "Welcome. Please remain in this area and wait for your guides. Each of you will be given a more thorough indoctrination to the facility and be issued a number of items before being shown to your quarters. Your guides will be able to answer your questions and help you find your way. Please step over here when your name is called."

  She then stepped aside and through the same door came perhaps thirty people, who lined themselves up on each side of her. As each one stepped forward, she called the names of those who were assigned to that guide. The guide joined those people, usually a group of three or less, and led them to one side of the gathering.

  As the list of uncalled names dwindled, I wondered why our names hadn't been called pretty much right up front. We were, after all, supposed to be one brand-new 3rd World Products honcho and his secretary.