Book 3: 3rd World Products, Inc

by Ed Howdershelt

  Our assailant's eyes flicked toward the doors and he let out a muttered, “Oh, shit!” an instant before he began firing at us.

  He fired at least three times at me and three or four at Steph as she vanished. With only the slightest pause in surprise, he aimed at me again and emptied his clip at me. Bullets slammed into the block wall to either side of me and above me, but Steph's field and my five suit shunted them all around me.

  Even though the guy was pretty boggled by the fact that Steph was gone and I was unhurt, when the gun's slide locked open on an empty chamber, he fumbled with it to make it snap forward again and pulled the trigger twice more, cursing with frustration.

  A campus security vehicle that had been patrolling the parking lot rushed to the end of a row and veered toward us with its siren screaming and lights on. The doors behind us opened and the security guard, accompanied by a man in a blue windbreaker, burst out of the building.

  The man in the blue windbreaker shoved the security guard back inside the building as he reached under his jacket and pulled a Glock pistol out of a belly holster.

  I sent the strongest cold field that I could manage at my erstwhile assailant's gun hand. The gun cooled so quickly that frost formed on the barrel, and I could only imagine how his hand felt. He screamed and swore and tried to sling the gun away, but it was stuck fast to his hand.

  The blue windbreaker guy took a solid aim at my attacker and yelled, “Police! Drop the gun! Drop the gun! Drop the goddamned gun!"

  My assailant raised his gun-encumbered hand and started to say something, but his motion spooked the cop, who fired twice. Both rounds impacted the guy's chest, one of them almost dead center.

  The guy went down hard on his back, coughed weakly and wheezed, then lay completely limp and unmoving. The cop very cautiously approached him and tried unsuccessfully to kick the cold gun from the guy's hand. I sent a warming field into the gun as the cop repeatedly tried to kick it loose, and on his fourth attempt, the gun flew free. The cop knelt beside the body to try to find a pulse, but stood up as the campus security car screeched to a stop near by.

  The cop in the windbreaker held up a badge as the other cops approached and then rather excitedly told them what had happened. One of the campus cops also checked for a pulse as one of his colleagues radioed in, and the security guard who'd been pushed back inside the building had come outside at some point in proceedings.

  After another look at the body, the blue-jacketed guy walked over to me and asked if I was all right.

  "I'm fine,” I said. “He missed."

  The cop seemed skeptical as he asked, “Are you sure you're okay? Better let me have a look at you. I know I heard at least ten shots."

  I pointed upward. “I said I'm fine. If you'll look above us, you'll see a flitter. She put a barrier between me and the gunner. I'm not hurt."

  The cop looked up, saw the flitter, and stared openmouthed at it for a moment. He then looked back at me.

  "Be damned,” he muttered. “She who? Where's the woman who was with you?"

  I thumbed at the building behind me. “Inside, somewhere. I was referring to the flitter."

  "Why did you stay out here when she went inside?"

  "Crowds make me nervous. They don't seem to bother her at all."

  The cop looked at me rather oddly for a moment, but he let the explanation pass and asked, “Was this guy alone? Was there anyone else with him?"

  I said, “I didn't see anyone else with him."

  The cop looked at the wall again, then up at the flitter, and said, “Tell me about this 'barrier' thing."

  I told him a bit of fairly public knowledge about how fields were used for flight and shielding and finished with, “It couldn't stop the bullets, but it could deflect them around me."

  "Yeah, I can see that much. Did you know the assailant? Ever see him before?"

  I shook my head. “Nope. Total stranger. He just jumped out of those bushes, said something about Amarans, and started shooting."

  The cop again seemed to study me closely. “Most people wouldn't be this calm and collected about what just happened."

  I shrugged and said, “I wasn't in any danger."

  "But you just saw a man killed, too. Most people..."

  "Yeah,” I said, “Look, I'm not most people, and you shot a guy who'd been shooting at me. I can live with that."

  "Are you an Amaran?"

  "Nope. Does that matter?"

  After a long, examining look at me, the cop said, “No, I guess it doesn't, really. Come over to the car with me. Some people will want to talk with you."

  He indicated the campus cops’ car and walked with me to it, then asked me to get in and wait there until the ‘real’ cops arrived. One of the campus cops overheard his remark and seemed about to say something until one of the others tapped his shoulder. The campus cop bit back whatever he'd been about to say and moved a bit farther away from us. The bluejacket cop closed the car door.

  I took the opportunity of relative privacy to say, “Five suit off,” and got zapped by a bright bolt of static electricity that jumped nearly three inches between my arm and the door handle as the suit faded and my polarity adapted to the polarity of the car.

  "Steph, we have to come up with some kind of a grounding strap or something. That was one helluva static zap. Good thing I wasn't pumping gas."

  Steph chuckled and said, “I'll reprogram your field functions accordingly, Ed. I won't ask why you'd be pumping gas in your five suit."

  "Hmm. Good point. Thank you, ma'am."

  There were questions, forms to fill out, and more questions. The cops seemed to be having trouble with the idea that I'd just happened to stay outside due to an aversion to crowds. They kept trying to find some plausible link between me and the shooter, but they eventually moved on to other questions. A slightly muted roar from within the building indicated that the volleyball game had gone on without Steph and me.

  After nearly an hour, the cops seemed to have all the answers they wanted for the moment and told me to remain available for future questioning, even after I returned to Spring Hill.

  An ambulance had arrived and left with the body while I'd been questioned in the back of the cop car. Two university maintenance guys showed up in a golf cart full of cleaning supplies and began scrubbing down the area where the body had been.

  Eventually I was allowed to go inside the building. Stephie met me in the hallway just inside the double doors.

  "Why did you freeze the gun, Ed? He wasn't able to hurt us and the policeman would have arrested him."

  "The guy shot at us, Steph. He tried to kill us just because he thought getting off a flitter without scars made you an Amaran. If he'd somehow gotten away, he'd have done it again someday."

  "Can you be so sure of that? Selena and Toni also disembarked from this flitter. Why didn't he shoot at them?"

  "He didn't think they were Amarans. They got off the flitter with Selena's game bag and probably marveled a bit as they passed through the field. They may have turned to look back, too, and maybe they said something indicating amazement. We got off looking as if we did it every day, and then the flitter lifted."

  "I'm not at all convinced that it was necessary to arrange his death, Ed."

  "I am. I don't see any reason to warehouse people who shoot at me, Steph. I've saved the taxpayers a few bucks and eliminated the possibility that this particular homicidal nutcase will ever be back on the street."

  The security guard had not returned to his post by the ticket gates. As we passed the ticket windows, a different guard walked out of the men's room. I said that we'd taken a wrong turn. He nodded and waved us along.

  Selena saw us coming in and waved. Her team eventually won, and after the furor had died down a bit, the announcer said that a tie-breaker game would be played in Gainesville the following weekend. Selena eased herself out of the press of people and trotted over to give us each a sweaty hug.

  I said, “Congratulatio
ns on the win, Sel."

  "Yes, indeed,” said Steph. “Games seem to be much more interesting if one of the players is a personal acquaintance."

  "Thanks!” said Selena, “What kept you?"

  Steph glanced at me, but said nothing, so I answered Sel's question.

  "Someone caused a ruckus out front and the cops wanted our statements."

  "What happened? Are you two okay?” She then slapped her forehead and said, “Oh, hell, of course you are or you wouldn't be standing here."

  "Some guy was taken away in an ambulance just as the game started, Sel. Where's Toni?"

  "In the restroom. They've taken all the usual post-game pictures, so we can leave as soon as she gets back. Everybody I know is from Gainesville or Inverness, so I'll see them all Monday, anyway. I'll go get cleaned up and meet you out front."

  Steph asked, “Are you sure you don't want to stay for a while, Selena? If it's customary to do so after a game..."

  Selena shook her head and said, “Nah. They'll just head for a sports bar and get plastered. Bo-ring. Later, guys. I need to get the sweat and sand off me."

  As Sel headed for the showers, Toni appeared in the entranceway. The two women chatted for a moment, then Toni came our direction as Sel went into the locker room. Steph and I moved to intercept her on our way to the parking lot, but Toni balked.

  "I need to talk to Sel for a minute,” she said. “We'll be along in a little while, okay?"

  Chapter Sixteen

  As Toni moved away up the slight slope to the locker rooms, I watched the fine play of muscles in her legs. Once she was out of sight, I turned to Stephanie to suggest that we head for the flitter and see about a cold beer. Steph seemed to be considering something, so I asked what was on her mind as we walked.

  "Ed, I can understand the complex mathematics involved in biological symmetry and motion, but I nonetheless cannot seem to understand your fascination with women's legs."

  "What about other bits of human anatomy? No thrill with any of them, either?"

  She glanced at me and said, “No. 'No thrill', as you put it."

  "Hmm. Could be you're just very cerebral, ma'am. Maybe something will come along someday that will strike your fancy. Tell you what, though ... For someone who says that she has no particular fascination with anatomy, you did a magnificent job of constructing the anatomy you're wearing."

  As if to support my statement, some guys who were clustered by the front doors stopped talking as we left the building. As we passed their little group, one of them let out a low whistle and another said, “Oh, wooow..."

  I grinned at Steph. “See? You have great taste."

  "I'll add that to my list of lucky coincidences, speaking of which; what I said to Selena and Toni about my luck didn't embarrass you too much, did it? I noticed your discomfort."

  "Yeah, well, you did catch me off-guard with that. I guess it was true enough, though. Elkor could have grabbed one of the other cores for my flitter. Question, Steph ... Could any of the other modular cores have turned out the same way?"

  "Possibly. Probably, given the same circumstances."

  One of the guys from the group behind us came running up to us and asked Stephanie, “Excuse me, but are you somebody famous?"

  Steph glanced at me, then said to him, “No, I don't think so."

  The guy seemed puzzled, then asked, “Uh, are you sure? I mean, if you're trying to avoid publicity or something ... Look, I'm not trying to bug you, but I know I've seen you before."

  "Maybe on TV,” I said. “People tell us that she looks a lot like Ingrid Bergman."

  "That's it!” the guy almost yelled. “I mean, that's who! Yeah! Wow! You do look like her! I just saw one of her old movies the other night and you really do look like her!"

  "Bergman has staying power, doesn't she?” I asked. “None of the new crop of actresses seems to have the same ... Well, presence is the word, I guess. I haven't seen a new Grace Kelly among them, either.” I thought a moment and added, “Except maybe for Katharine Zeta-Jones. She seems to have that presence about her."

  The guy nodded absently at my words, but he was looking at Steph as if trying to memorize her face. She started to say something, which seemed to break the spell.

  "Oh. Uh, sorry,” he said. “I, uh ... I'll leave you two alone, now. Sorry."

  He backed a pace away from us and turned to leave. As he walked toward his group, he glanced back at us—at Steph—a couple of times. She smiled at him and gave him a little wave, and he walked backward for a moment to return it with a smile of his own, then turned around just in time to barely avoid tripping at the edge of the sidewalk.

  The parking lot was nearly empty by that time. Steph brought the flitter down and the guys by the arena entrance seemed frozen in gaping wonder as it settled near us. Steph caused the apparently-solid canopy to disappear, then caused herself to disappear from my side and reappear near the flitter's console, which caused some astonished comments from those watching.

  I stepped up on the deck and grinningly asked, “Showing off, ma'am? A little magic for your adoring fans?"

  She smiled and said, “Perhaps."

  Reaching into Steph's invisible cooler, I produced an Ice House beer and twisted the cap off with a flourish, then drank some.

  "They're college kids,” I said. “Making just about any kind of booze appear will impress them, too. May I suggest that we elevate ourselves a hundred feet or so before we draw a crowd?"

  There was a beeping from above my head, so I pulled down my briefcase, opened it, and tapped on my datapad. Linda's face peered at me from the pad's screen.

  "Hi, Ed. Your name came up in conversation a little while ago. How was the game?"

  "Things went pretty well. Our team won and nobody fell out of her uniform."

  "What? Oh. Yes. Well, that's good. My offices received a call from the Tallahassee PD today. A copy of the police report was faxed to my office and refaxed to me at home. You had quite an afternoon. Want to add anything?"

  "Nope. The cops were pretty thorough, and I'd hate to make you do any work on a weekend."

  "Thanks for your concern. How are you and your Inverness lady getting along?"

  "Oh, fine. How are you and whosis these days?"

  I heard her teeth click together and grind.

  "We're ... fine,” she said, enunciating both words very separately. “Why do you persist in pretending not to be able to remember David's name, Ed?"

  "Probably for the same reason that you seem to be unable to mention Selena's name, I guess. If you weren't my boss, you know I'd..."

  She cut in with, “Yeah, yeah. All that. I know. We've been there, Ed. Twice, and it didn't work either time. Can't we move on?"

  "Linda, the thought of your long, lovely legs in someone else's hands just warps my little heart so..."

  She interrupted again. “Enough. You're just baiting me, now."

  "I just wanted you to know how I feel about you, miLady."

  "Uh, huh. What about your volleyball playing, college-girl redhead? Do you tell her how you feel about me? Later, Ed. I have to clean my boots now. Bye."

  I couldn't help smiling as I said, “Bye, Linda,” just before the link went dead.

  As I put away my datapad, Stephie said, “Ed, I'd like to ask you something."

  "Fire away, ma'am."

  "Why do you bait Linda?"

  "Why does she call me when she's feeling a little down, Steph?"

  "To use one of your own phrases, it beats the hell out of me, Ed. She always seems to be angry when she disconnects after these conversations."

  "Dissect the conversation from where she asks about Selena, but calls her 'my Inverness lady'. Compare the structure of the conversations to others containing the same people and subjects. Can you really envision Linda not remembering Selena's name? She probably ran Selena's security check from her own computer."

  "Do you call David 'whosis' to get even with her?"

  "Nope. It isn'
t about David or Selena, Steph. Not really. What came after that?"

  "As usual, one of you reminded the other that she's your boss and that your other attempts at relationships haven't succeeded."

  "You got it. What usually comes next in these conversations?"

  "Linda would express some variation of 'can't we move on?'—as she did in this one—and you'd admit to being unable to do so. Is that true, Ed?"

  "What would being unable to move on mean in this context, Steph? Emotional immobilization? An inability to function with other women?"

  "Possibly both."

  "Some women find that concept flattering, Steph, but if I were truly immobilized, how could I function with and appreciate Selena? What comes after that part?"

  "You normally find a way to compliment her with a thinly veiled—if at all veiled—expression of desire for her, and you usually make some reference to her legs."

  "And then..?"

  "She most often accuses you of baiting or otherwise teasing her and you deny it, yet that's exactly what you both appear to be doing to each other."

  "Only because we are, Steph. What next?"

  "In this instance, she made reference to 'your volleyball, college-girl redhead' and accused you of trying to mislead her. Then she broke the connection."

  "Steph, in order for a woman to be on a college team, she'd have to be what, more than anything else?"

  "Able to play that team's sport?"

  "Well, that, too, I guess, but narrow it some more. In order to be in college, she'd be what, normally?"

  Elkor put in his dime's worth, speaking through my implant. “The average college student is well under thirty years of age. Is Linda's age bothering her?"

  "It's a common enough malady among over-fifties. What can she do about it that she isn't doing? She eats right, exercises, and generally takes good care of herself, but the woman in Linda's mirror still keeps getting older. To me, Linda looks great, and not just for being her age. She really looks great. But she needs to hear that now and then, and Linda won't simper and fish for compliments like some other women. She can't bring herself to do the wiggle, giggle thing, so she has to use other methods, and they can't appear to her to be too contrived. No obvious fishing allowed. So she calls a guy she trusts to speak his mind, knowing full well what he'll say. Then she tries makes him—me, that is—and herself believe that he was just being difficult, as usual."