Retiree 2.0
Page 34
Wen Jing remained silent, unable to speak, owing to the physical trauma Alana had inflicted upon her in the tea shop. Frankly, her mere survival was almost miraculous, and a function of the superior skill of the emergency responders who attended to her. The only thing she could do was move her eyes. Mostly, she kept her eyelids closed, which Alana presumed was to keep them hydrated in the cool, dry hospital air conditioning.
“I wish I knew what you’re thinking. If it’s something bad about me, for talking you into this mess, I’d want to hear it. When you get well enough to talk, I expect to hear it. The doctor said that she’d already discussed things with you—that you should be able to walk again, and that everything else should return with time, but it won’t be perfect. They’ll custom-build an exoskeleton so you can move about while your body heals. She told me that it might take a year or longer for you to get close to where you were. I hope—”
Suddenly, there was a quick rapping on the door. Alana was glad for the interruption, because she knew that any words she had would have been inadequate. She reached for the door handle and slid it to the side.
An android delivery robot, dressed in a nice uniform with a burgundy sport coat, stood on the other side of the doorway, holding a large vase of red roses, at least two dozen in number. Alana zoomed in on the greeting card, and although she could not read the message, as it was folded in two, she could see the signature, ‘Brett.’
In an uncharacteristically soft voice for an android, it asked, “Is this room four-five-five, Miss Wen Jing Lin?”
Alana turned toward Wen Jing and nodded. As she stepped aside to let the robot enter the ward, and to take her leave, she said, “Everyone knows it’s Wendy.”
Wednesday, 19 July, 19:45
Alana had been sitting alone at the table she had reserved for her and Edward Jenkins. She had donned her slinky, fuchsia rose evening dress for the second time since she had bought it, and it had not failed to attract attention, ranging from furtive glances to wide-eyed ogles. She sat with her legs crossed, which caused the slit skirt to fall away from her perfectly sculpted thighs and their state of perpetual, artificial depilation. Her color-coordinated pumps accented the shape of her legs.
On a whim, she activated a video window and tuned in to the Sports Central channel. As she was half-expecting, Jenkins was seated behind the anchor’s desk, reading the day’s sports news. She had been stood-up. She watched for a while with the sound muted, sipping from her forty-credit glass of Chateau Lafite Rothschild Bordeaux Blend, 2088. She could ill-afford the vintage, but she could not resist after seeing it on the wine list. She had never had anything even remotely near its reputation. Sadly, her taste processor could not handle wine any better than it handled coffee. What should have been an excellent beverage tasted sour.
Alana’s attention was seized firmly by a graphic that appeared behind Jenkins’ shoulder. It read, “Robertson Strikes Out.” She unmuted the video, and Jenkins said, “—Robertson was waived this afternoon by the Wyoming Prairie Dogs after failing to perform to standards during his tryouts. It was the third time he was waived. Following his death and subsequent retirement, he was unable to continue playing with his Major League team, Boston. Unfortunately, his career was centered on his ability to throw the knuckleball, and his cybernetic body can’t duplicate the same pitch. It looks like his career in the major leagues may be at an end—”
Alana terminated the video. When she had thought about Brett the last two days, her mind had sometimes drifted onto the murders that had given them the clue that led them to Louis Chu. She still harbored some doubt about Brett’s theories, but now she understood Chu’s motive, at least in killing Phil Robertson. It wasn’t just to kill him. It was to ruin him, to end his lucrative career in professional baseball. Victoria Chu’s detention and interview had cleared her of any wrongdoing; her brother was acting without Vicky's knowledge. However, she was loyal to him throughout the interrogation refusing to believe, even in the face of overwhelming evidence, that her brother was a criminal.
Alana gazed out the panoramic windows of the penthouse-restaurant. It was still daylight outside, but the shadows of the hills and mountains that surrounded Hollywood were beginning to cast themselves over the city below. She wished her reservation had been for a couple hours later, after the shimmering sun had been replaced by the glimmering city lights. Alana raised her finger, trying to be subtle, but also being out of her element as well as her price range. The waiter approached, a fit, forty-something man dressed in his tight-fitting, black slacks and frilled, white shirt with black bow tie. He was a professional steward, with every move he made being carefully measured and considered. Alana said, “I’m afraid that my escort seems to have been unavoidably detained. How long can I hold my table before I irritate the owner?”
The waiter smiled. He leaned in close and whispered, “For a lady whose mere visage brings such immeasurable delight to the customers as well as the staff, I’m certain that any loitering on your part will be overlooked, perhaps even welcomed. The lobsters you requested will remain in their tank, to be prepared for you when you are prepared for them. In the meantime, may I refresh your drink?”
Alana said, “May I see the wine list again please?”
“Certainly, madam,” the waiter replied as he produced a leather-bound portfolio, seemingly from thin air. The waiter clicked his heels together, nodded and bowed, and walked to his next table.
As she opened the wine list and scanned it for something both sweeter and less expensive, Alana said, “Vira, call Ben Rhys.”
About the Author
Doug Powers was born on Labor Day in a sanitarium. He began writing, poorly, as early as elementary school. He continued learning the trade for decades, taking long breaks to earn a living, further educate himself, or engage in his other creative pursuit, game design. He supported himself as a software quality assurance analyst engaged with companies such as Turner Entertainment Groups and IBM Corporation.
On New Year's Day, 2013, Pangenre published Vegas Apocalypse: The Crash, on which Doug worked as supplemental writer and editor. He also worked with Frederick Noble on the sequel, Vegas Apocalypse: The Cult.
Retiree (2013) was his first solo novel.
Retiree 2.0 (2014) is the sequel to 2013's Retiree.
The Great Outback (2007) was his first completed major work of fiction. It is currently available for viewing free of charge at www.pangenre.com/thegreatoutback.
In 2008, Doug spearheaded the creation of Pangenre, LLC along with Frederick Noble and Ronald G. Moore, and is currently co-owner and editor-in-chief for Pangenre's publications. Pangenre launched in March of 2010 behind the Pangenre RPG System and The Second World War, and has published several other games and game supplements since then.
All of Doug's published works can be found through www.pangenre.com.
Additional books published by Pangenre can be found at www.pangenre.com/books.