by Jim Stark
"I'm up,” said Victor, as his image came on Lilly's screen. “I'm glad you called. I'm a coward, or I would have called you. I had no right to get pissed off at you and boot you out this afternoon ... evening ... whatever. I need your forgiveness, so I insist on making it up to you ... especially after I ate all your lamb kebob ... which I really enjoyed, by the way. Do you want some money or something? I got a damn mountain of money. Name a charity, and I'll send them a hundred thousand dollars tomorrow morning ... a million, if you insist."
"I ... don't want your money,” said Lilly, “not even for my favorite charity. You're used to assigning your own penances, so if you want to do something good, you decide. I just called because I—"
She cut herself off. There were no hormones at play here, so she could speak freely, and start in on being ... a nicer person, she supposed was the best way of putting it. “I figured this was a pretty traumatic day for you, with the talking out loud and all, and if I was truthful about letting myself care, then I wanted to go to bed knowing that you were ... you know ... okay."
"Do brain tumors count?” asked Victor.
"'Fraid not,” said Lilly. “I mean—"
"Then I'm fine,” he said. “I'm at peace with myself, Lilly. I'm okay about dying, too. I really am. I've got things set up to make sure that I don't suffer any excessive pain, and I don't feel cheated that life doesn't go on forever. I just wish there really was a God, and ... well, I'm not dead yet, and I do plan to have one hell of a last fling before I croak. Are you going to—uh—oppose me on that?"
"My job is to prevent and deal with crime, Victor. What you plan to do is ... well ... legal, as far as I understand it. But I'm not going to help you, if that's what you're getting at."
"It is,” said Victor. “And even though I'm pretty sure you meant what you just said, I think you'll change your mind. I think you will end up helping me."
"That's ... not gonna happen,” said Lilly assertively.
"Is so, is so,” said Victor, in the manner of a child.
"Is not, is not!"
"Is so, is so!"
Chapter 28
WAFFLES
Wednesday, February 16, 2033—7:30 a.m.
Lilly sat on the side of her bed, struggling into her fuzzy blue housecoat and waiting for her brain to kick in. She'd never been much of a morning-type person, but waking up in Victor-E seemed to paint even muggier front edges onto her days. On top of all that, she wasn't completely over her cold, and the medication made her groggy.
The meetings with Victor Helliwell and Michael Whiteside had been very interesting, but “job #1” was still sitting sullenly on her plate, staring at her with accusing eyes. She had to start LieDeck-verifying Victor-Eens. “Borrrrrrriiiing,” she mumbled in the general direction of the long naked feet that stared back at her from the carpeted floor. There just has to be something else I need to do before I open up that can of worms.
Then it dawned on her; she had come to this frostbitten wasteland ill prepared. She needed ... what do they call that for safaris? she wondered. Outfitting, she remembered from some 20th-century black-and-white flick. The African Queen? she wondered. With Humphrey Bogart and Katharine Hepburn? She couldn't be sure.
Lilly stood up, tied the belt of her housecoat around her waist and stepped into her slippers. She squinted at the digital clock. It was 7:30 a.m.... an uncivilized hour. There was a full-length mirror inside her bedroom, and she made a point of not peeking. In the first blush of waking consciousness, she still expected to see a wiry eleven-year-old with boyish short hair, a flimsy triangle of pubies where her weenie should have been and the first signs of puffiness around her nipples. She was frequently eleven in her dreams, and it usually took half a shower before she felt good about reveling in her womanhood again. Get on with it, she scolded herself.
A red light blinked on and off lackadaisically at the base of her MIU. There were faces in there—talking heads with questions, demands—but nothing from Control (the light on her screen blinked more quickly when there was a face from the boss). Later, she thought as she walked up to the remarkable machine that so far had practically defined the 21st century ... if you didn't count the LieDeck. Yadda, yadda, yadda, she thought as she scraped granules of sleep from her eyelids.
"Net, up, now,” she commanded after going through the security procedures. “Kill outgoing visual, override privacy, face with Julia Whiteside, Netsite on file.” The screen sprang to life, and Lilly smiled to see that Julia's brain, such as it was, hadn't kicked in either. “Hi kiddo,” she tried, hoping her acting ability was enough to slip this familiarity by her slow-witted charge. “It's me, Lilly,” she said, remembering that Julia couldn't see her. “So how would you like to go shopping with me today?"
"Oh ... uh ... goodie,” managed Julia. She seemed to take Lilly's words more as an order than a suggestion. “I'll be right—"
"I'll meet you for breakie in half an hour,” Lilly cut in. “I gotta take a shower and lose the ugly.” The words were no sooner out of her mouth than she saw the error of her way ... two errors, she realized. You say “breakie” to children, and Evolutionaries don't play the pretty game ... in fact they get pissed off big-time over ... what do they call it? ... “appearance snobbery.” I shouldn't open my freakin’ mouth until—
"Me too,” said Julia.
So much for philosophical purity, thought Lilly. “Okay, bye. Net, down, now."
Lilly washed up and put her face on, and just as she was ready to leave, she decided she'd better check the “news in brief” on the Net. The top story was about Gil Henderson. He had written another provocative column, this one suggesting that Lester Connolly's illness was “more than a little convenient” for the WDA. “That bastard!” she said to her screen. The WDA was not dignifying Henderson's slimy attack with any response at all. Maybe Henderson will be next in line to ... become ill, she thought before she could stop it from happening.
The E-tery was almost filled with locals noshing on waffles, maple syrup and back bacon ... and chugging coffee. Lilly had tried to dress anonymously, in jeans and a loose white blouse and her size-eleven tennis sneakers. But her height always served as an eye-magnet, and she had to stand there, looking all about the restaurant, avoiding lecherous gazes and seeking out Julia's blond hair. There were more than thirty tables in the E-tery, and Julia wasn't at her “special table."
"Over here,” bellowed Julia, standing and waving like a kid who just survived a tilt-a-whirl ride and couldn't wait to reprise the adventure for Mom and Dad. “Hi, hi, hi,” she squealed, bouncing up and down. Suddenly all eyes shifted away from Lilly's spectacular height to Julia's dancing breasts. No contest! Lilly waved back sheepishly, and gingerly picked her way through the sea of breakfasters ... many with gruff male voices that said things that couldn't quite be heard.
"I thought you forgot about me,” said Julia with a full-faced smile. “I'm so glad you remembered. Shopping is so fun, eh?"
"Sorry I'm late,” said Lilly. Good thing my LieDeck is turned off. “I got an important Netcall just as I was about to leave the apartment.” Really good thing my LieDeck is off.
"From who?” asked Julia.
"A friend,” said Lilly, making a point of not particularizing the lie. It occurred to her that not even a normal Normal would have asked “from who?” Such a question would violate the unwritten pact that white lies were okay. In fact, Julia's inquiry rested on two false assumptions: that Lilly was telling the truth, and that Lilly would have no reason not to share with her. From anyone else, the question would be tantamount to an accusation, but coming from Julia, it was not only totally innocent and without guile, it was meant to be friendly! This Human Three stuff is so naive, the WDA agent thought. So unrealistic!
Julia caught a waiter's eye, and a minute later, breakfast had materialized in front of Lilly. Julia was already half way through hers, and shoveling it into her mouth became her only focus. Total concentration, noted Lilly. No eye contact, no c
hatter, no space left on her internal hard drive. “Thanks,” Lilly said to the waiter as he poured coffee and put a couple of creamers on the table.
"Syrup?” he asked.
"Itsh our own maple shtuff,” volunteered Julia through a mouthful of waffles.
"Oh goodie,” chirped Lilly, in her best Julia-speak. “I love Canadian maple syrup."
"Québec,” corrected Julia.
For Julia, eating returned to its former status as a non-verbal event, and Lilly was just as glad. Of course Julia finished first, having nabbed a serious head start on the basis of her bizarre assumption that a shower had washed all memory of their “date” from Lilly's mind. When circumstances allowed, Julia treated her new friend to a lengthy monologue on the subjects of Alex, her new taxi-driver “tingle-mate,” who had a wife and three kids and found it exciting that Julia's belly was starting to show. Then she went on at length about her other main squeeze—"Eric, from the Hydro"—and how he was jealous about her and Alex, and should know better. “He's kind of ... Human Two about sex,” she said sadly, “even though me and Alex never actually—"
"So ... I guess we'll start out at the Evolution Store,” suggested Lilly, hoping dearly to dump images she really didn't need.
"Oh, we call it the E-Store,” explained Julia.
Of course Lilly already knew that from her study of the Netfiles. It was a nimble bit of crassly capitalistic trickery. Whenever anyone tried to say “I'm going to the E-Store,” the natural cadence of the spoken word had them saying “I'm going to thee-ee store.” The unintended glissando had them inadvertently advertising the place, as if it was thee place to shop; thee only place, or thee best.
The Evolution Store was the all-purpose retail outlet that bragged that nobody sold cheaper and that whatever they didn't have, they could get for you “faster'n if you went anywhere else.” The E-Store was also intensely personal, and service-oriented. Netcalls were handled by a gang of MIU operators who knew most of the customers by name and worked hard to deal with each in a manner that fostered comfort and confidence. That resulted in a “call-Evolution-first” attitude among many consumers. More particularly, the E-Store had all but cornered the market for the bottom third of the economic pyramid. Those with the best incomes shopped elsewhere and happily paid more, mostly for the privilege of boasting about where they'd bought their things, meaning essentially A.B.E.... “anywhere but Evolution.” The real truth of the matter was that lots of well-to-do and even rich folks shopped at the E-Store too, but never in person—only over the Net, with home delivery done by unmarked vans. The bottom line was that many capitalist stores were having a hard time competing with the E-Stores, and society blundered on with an uneasy sense that Evolution represented some kind of long-term threat to the financial well-being of the dominant system. It was impossible to fault the movement for playing the game—the problem was that they played it too well!
Lilly had never shopped at an E-Store. Her parents had, regularly, on the sly, but Lilly had always avoided that, even during her years of tight money, first as a student and then as a cadet at the WDA's Officer Training Academy. Evolution was for “them,” not “us,” she believed. It was an “us-and-them” kind of world for her, even back when the WDA was universally loved and respected, and more so since the Henderson Scandals and the emergence of those very annoying “LieDeck Unbanning Committees” all over the world. Speaking of which...
"I hear Lester Connolly's hanging in there,” she said as Julia stood and began packing up her dishes.
"Who?” asked Julia.
"Oh ... nothing,” said Lilly. It surprised her that Julia Whiteside was that much out of touch. She was normal in so many other ways that it was easy to forget that she struggled along on an IQ of only eighty-two. “Just a guy that got sick and lost an arm,” Lilly added.
Chapter 29
OUTFITTING
Wednesday, February 16, 2033—9:30 a.m.
Lilly drove—Julia couldn't, wasn't allowed, and apparently never aspired. It was only a mile east from Victor-E to Shawville, and the E-Store was right on the highway, at the “outskirts” of town. It had a huge, hand-painted sign outside, with the French version ("Le Magasin-E") twice as large as the English name, as still prescribed by Québec law. Lilly had difficulty getting her mind around that legislation, but apparently it was the result of decades of conflict between the “two founding nations” of Canada, the English and the French, before Québec became a “quasi-independent” Francophone state. No one seemed to count the Indians or Eskimos ... correction: aboriginals, Natives, Inuit, First Nations, whatever ... who were here first. In any event, Québec was now a nation—a nation within a nation, sort of—with all the pride of unbridled sovereignty and most of the advantages of interdependence. The point had been to forever protect the so-called “French fact” of the former Canadian province of Québec—nine million strong—from the influence of a sea of North American English. It wasn't working well, thanks to the all-English SuperNet, but it was considered “worth a shot” at the time. Nobody but sign-painters seemed to care much any more.
The WDA agent pulled into the Magasin-E/E-Store parking lot, a vast plowed field of splotchy asphalt with high snow-banks all around the edges, sparsely populated in this grim weather. People shopped in this mid-sized bubble to save money, and poor people shopped in person rather than over the Net to save the cost of delivery. Lilly found a spot about thirty yards from the entrance, and resolved as she exited the car that this would be the last time she dashed through this deep-frozen moonscape without proper attire.
"Well, this will be a new experience for me,” she said as Julia plugged the car into the electrical cord that hung from the closest hitching post. Julia either ignored her or didn't really hear the comment. It seemed to be taking all her strength, and several tries, to get the three prongs into the three holes.
Lilly stood there hugging herself and wishing mightily that she was in Florida, where the weather didn't threaten to kill you for four months of every year. It seemed to her that people shouldn't have to live this far north, at least not sensible people, or anyone with an active survival instinct. The cold poked through her light driving gloves and penetrated her trench coat as if they weren't even there. Her exhalations into the so-still air were like laughing clouds, transient witnesses to the heat that was being drained from her slender body. Her toes were curled inside her sneakers, and the overshoes she had borrowed from Lars-the-lascivious-waiter only promised to defer the onset of frostbite by a few minutes. She'd had the sense to wear pants, but the cold seemed to pass through them as readily as smoke through a colander. “Can I—uh—g-g-give you a hand?” she finally asked.
"Fuck,” spit Julia. “You'll have to move the car one spot over. This plug is all iced up inside the holes."
Lilly got back in the car, trying to remember if she'd ever heard Julia swear before. Lilly did a little swearing herself as she turned the key. Once the car was in the adjacent slot, she stayed inside with the motor running until she was sure Julia could get the block-heater plugged in this time.
Julia had big padded leather mitts on, and although it made things a little clumsy, she rammed the prongs home and threw Lilly a broad smile, a two-handed thumbs-up and a celebratory “ta-da.” Lilly turned off the motor, got out and started quick-stepping towards the front door of the E-Store, with Julia hustling to keep up.
They went through the conventional outer door and waited until it had closed before continuing. As they stepped from the revolving door into the lobby of the bubble, they were hit by a wave of tropical air. First impressions mattered, and the E-Store knew that as well as any capitalist.
"Hi Julia,” said a young brushcutted greeter in a striped red and white body stocking and green runners. “I'm Lorraine,” she said to Lilly. “Gimme your coat and we'll get you all warmed up. There's fireplaces over there. Help yourself to a thimble if you like ... we got Drambuie, Annisette, Tia Maria and—"
"Thanks,
” said Julia as she tossed her parka to ... Lorraine, she reminded herself. “So she's Lilly ... my friend. Jeeze, Lorraine, you look like a candy cane!"
"Neat, eh?” giggled the candy cane as she took Lilly's coat with her free hand. “Just put your boots on the tray at number seventy-two ... here's your ticket for the coats ... Pierre's up next, so he'll be over to help you with the shopping in a minute, okay? He's really nice. Have fun, eh?"
Lilly couldn't get over the damned sincerity of it all. Lorraine was like a Julia clone. They're so ... she struggled for the exact right barb ... nice, she settled on. Just once I'd like to see an Evolutionary act like a first class asshole ... just to know they're human.
"Lorraine says she's a Human Two-point-nine,” said Julia as they made their way into the large, comfortably-furnitured waiting room. “I met her a couple of times before. She wants to be a mommy too, she told me, but she's waiting to find the right man to be the daddy and stay around for like fifteen years or something like that, like everybody did back in the olden days. She thought of getting—uh—seminated, like me, but her mom and dad stayed together till she was like fifteen or maybe seventeen or something, and she really liked growing up that way, even although now she likes living in a clan."
Lilly didn't respond. She wanted to ask Julia what “two-point-nine” meant, exactly, knowing full well that Julia would have no clue. But that dig held no promise of reward or advantage, so the WDA agent just flopped onto a couch and drank in the fingers of heat from a huge, crackling fireplace—one of three. Her back was to the lines of MIU booths containing chairs ... most of which are unoccupied, she noted with a glance over a shoulder. Most people didn't like to go Netshopping on site, but the E-Store wasn't going to drive off those few who preferred it that way. She looked up at the sloped Pliesterine ceiling. It was a feature of bubbles that made her feel ill at ease, unnatural, even the little ones, like this one ... well, little compared to the massive hub at Victor-E, she thought. There was nothing magical about flat ceilings, of course; it was just what she was used to.