Juan turned to follow his gaze. There was some kind of soccer variant being played beyond the assembly hall—senior high students who wouldn’t have finals for another two weeks. There were still a few clumps of junior high kids, probably planning for the locals. None of them were people Juan knew well. “Look over by the main entrance,” said Bertie. “I’m thinking you should break out of narrow thinking. I’m thinking you should ask Miriam Gu.”
Ay caray! “Gu?” Miss Stuckup Perfection.
“Yes, c’mon. See, she’s already noticed you.”
“But—” In fact, Gu and her friends were looking in their direction.
“Look, Juan, I’ve collaborated with all sorts—from Intel engineers in geriatric homes to full-time members of Pratchett belief circles. If I can do that, you—”
“But that’s all virtual. I can’t work face to face with—”
Bertie was already urging him across the lawn. “View it as a test of whether you belong on my unlimited team. Miri Gu doesn’t have your, ah, quickness with interfaces,” he looked significantly at Juan. “But I’ve been watching her. She max’d Ms. Wilson’s exam and I don’t think she cheated to do it. She’s a whiz at languages. Yes, she’s just as much of a snob as you think. Heh, even her friends don’t really like her. But she has no special reason to be hostile, Juan. After all, you’re no boyo. You’re a ‘well-socialized, career-oriented student,’ just the sort she knows she should like. And see, she’s walking this way.”
True enough, though Gu and company were walking even more slowly than Juan. “Yeah, and she’s not happy about it either. What’s going on?”
“Heh. See that little video-geek behind her? She dared Miri Gu to ask you.”
Juan was guessing now, “And you put her up to that, didn’t you?”
“Sure. But Annette—the video-geek—doesn’t know it was me. She and I collaborate a lot, but she thinks I’m some old lady in Armonk … Annette likes to gossip a lot about us kids, and my ‘little old lady’ character plays along.” Bertie’s voice went high-pitched and quavery: “‘Oh, that sweet Orozco boy, I do think your friend Miriam would like him so.’”
Geez, Bertie!
They walked toward each other, step by painful step, until they were almost in arms’ reach. Juan had turned off all imagery for a moment. Shed of fantasy, they were pretty ordinary-looking kids: Annette the video-geek was short and pimply-faced, with hair that hadn’t seen a comb so far this month. Miriam Gu was about three inches taller than Juan. Too tall. Her skin was as dark as Juan’s, but with a golden undertone. Close-cut black hair framed a wide face and very symmetrical features. She wore an expensive, Epiphany-brand blouse. The high-rate laser ports were perfectly hidden in the embroidery. Rich kids had clothes like this, usually with broad gaming stripes. This blouse had no gaming stripes; it was light and simple and probably had more computing power than all the clothes Juan owned. You had to be sharp to wear a shirt like this properly.
Just now, Miri looked as though she was tasting something bad. You don’t like what you see either, huh? But Miri got in the first word: “Juan Orozco. People say you’re a clever kid, quick with interfaces.” She paused and gave a little shrug. “So, wanna collaborate on the local exam?”
Bertie pulled a monstrous face at her, and Juan realized that Bertie was sending only to him. “Okay,” said Bertie, “just be nice, Juan. Say how you were thinking she and you would make a team with grade points right from the start.”
The words caught in Juan’s throat. Miriam Gu was just too much. “Maybe,” he replied to her. “Depends on what you can bring to it. Talents? Ideas?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I have both. In particular, my project concept is a killer. It really could make Fairmont Schools ‘the rose of North County.’” That was the school board’s phrase. The Alcalde and the board wanted these local projects to show that Fairmont was a good neighbor, not like some of the schools in Downtown and El Cajon.
Juan shrugged. “Well, um, that’s good. We’d be the kind of high-contrast team the Alcalde likes.” I really don’t want to do this. “Let’s talk about it more some time.”
Annette the video-geek put in: “That won’t do at all! You need to team up soonest!” She flickered through various pop-culture images as she spoke, finally settled on the heroine student from Spielberg/Rowling. She grabbed the background imagery at the same time, and Fairmont Schools was transformed into a fairytale castle. It was the same set they had used at last fall’s Hallowe’en pageant. Most of the parents had been enchanted, though as far as the kids were concerned, Fairmont Schools failed the fantasy test in one big way: Here in real-life Southern California, the muggles ran the show.
Miriam turned to glare at her friend, now a brown-haired little English witch. “Will you shut down, Annette!” Then back to Juan: “But she’s right, Orozco. We gotta decide tonight. How about this: You come by my place at six P.M. tonight and we talk.”
Bertie was smiling with smug satisfaction.
“Well, yuh,” said Juan. “But … in person?”
“Of course. This is a local-team project.”
“Yeah, okay then. I’ll come over.” There must be some way out of this. What was Bertie up to?
She took a step forward and held out her hand. “Shake.”
He reached out and shook it. The little electric shock was surely his imagination, but the sudden burst of information was not: two emphatic sentences sparkling across his vision.
Miriam Gu and her friends turned away, and walked back along the driveway. There was the sound of muffled giggling. He watched them for a moment. The video-geek was going full-tilt, picture and sound from a million old movies and news stories. Annette could retrieve and arrange video archives so easily that imaging came as naturally to her as speech. Annette was a type of genius. Or maybe there are other flavors of little blue pills.
Dumboso. Juan turned away from them and started toward the bikestand.
“So what did Miri Gu tell you?” when she shook hands. Bertie’s tone was casual.
How could he answer that question without getting Bertie dipped all over again? “It’s strange. She said if she and I team, she doesn’t want anyone remote participating.”
“Sure, it is a local exam. Just show me the message.”
“That’s the strange part. She guessed that you were still hanging around. She said, in particular, if I show you the message or let you participate, she’ll find out and she’ll drop the exam, even if it means getting an F.” And in fact, that was the entire content of the message. It had a kind of nonnegotiable flavor that Juan envied.
They walked in silence the rest of the way to Juan’s bicycle. Bertie’s face was drawn down disapprovingly. Not a good sign. Juan hopped on his bike and pedaled off on New Pala, up over the ridge, and onto the long downslope toward home. Bertie’s image conjured up a flying carpet, clambered aboard and ghosted along beside him. It was nicely done, the shadow following perfectly along over the gravel of the road shoulder. Of course, Bertie’s faerie overlay blocked a good bit of Juan’s visual field, including the most natural line of sight to see real traffic. Why couldn’t he float along on Juan’s other shoulder, or just be a voice? Juan shifted the image toward transparency and hoped Bertie would not guess at the change.
“C’mon, Bertie. I did what you asked. Let’s talk about the unlimited exam. I’m sure I can be a help with that.” If you’ll just let me on the team.
Bertie was silent a second longer, considering. Then he nodded and gave an easy laugh. “Sure, Juan. We can use you on the unlimited team. You’ll be a big help.”
Suddenly the afternoon was a happy place.
They coasted down the steepening roadway. The wind that blew through Juan’s hair and over his arms was something that was impossible to do artificially, at least without gaming stripes. The whole of the valley was spread out before him now, hazy in the bright sun. It was almost two miles to the next rise, the run up to Fall-brook. And he was o
n Bertie’s unlimited team. “So what’s our unlimited project going to be, Bertie?”
“Heh. How do you like my flying carpet, Juan?” He flew a lazy loop around Juan. “What really makes it possible?”
Juan squinted at him. “My contact lenses? Smart clothes?” Certainly the lense displays would be useless without a wearable computer to do the graphics.
“That’s just the final output device. But how does my imaging get to you almost wherever you are?” He looked expectantly at Juan.
C’mon, Bertie! But aloud, Juan said: “Okay, that’s the worldwide network.”
“Yeah, you’re essentially right, though the long-haul networks have been around since forever. What gives us flexibility are the network nodes that are scattered all through the environment. See, look around you!” Bertie must have pinged on the sites nearest Juan: There were suddenly dozens of virtual gleams, in the rocks by the road, in the cars as they passed closest to him, on Juan’s own clothing.
Bertie gestured again, and the hills were alive with thousands of gleams, nodes that were two or three forwarding hops away. “Okay, Bertie! Yes, the local nets are important.”
But Bertie was on a roll. “Darn right they are. Thumb-sized gadgets with very-low power wireless, just enough to establish location—and then even lower power shortrange lasers, steered exactly on to the targeted receivers. Nowadays, it’s all so slick that unless you look close—or have a network sniffer—you almost can’t even see that it’s going on. How many free-standing nodes do you think there are in an improved part of town, Juan?”
That sort of question had a concrete answer. “Well, right now, the front lawn of Fairmont schools has … 247 loose ones.”
“Right,” said Bertie. “And what’s the most expensive thing about that?”
Juan laughed. “Cleaning up the network trash, of course!” The gadgets broke, or wore out, or they didn’t get enough light to keep their batteries going. They were cheap; setting out new ones was easy. But if that’s all you did, after a few months you’d have metallic garbage—hard, ugly, and generally toxic—all over the place.
Juan abruptly stopped laughing “Wow, Bertie. That’s the project? Biodegradable network nodes? That’s off-scale!”
“Yup! Any progress toward organic nodes would be worth an A. And we might luck out. I’m plugged into all the right groups. Kistler at MIT, he doesn’t know it, but one of his graduate students is actually a committee—and I’m on the committee.” The Kistler people were cutting edge in organic substitution research, but just now they were stalled. The other relevant pieces involved idea markets in India, and some Siberian guys who hardly talked to anyone.
Juan thought a moment. “Hey, Bertie, I bet that literature survey I did for you last month might really help on this!” Bertie looked blank. “You remember, all my analysis on electron transfer during organic decay.” It had been just a silly puzzle Bertie proposed, but it had given Juan a low-stress way to try out his new abilities.
“Yes!” said Bertie, slapping his forehead. “Of course! It’s not directly related, but it might give the other guys some ideas.”
Talking over the details took them through the bottom of the valley, past the newer subdivisions and then down the offramp that led to the old casinos. Bertie and his flying carpet flickered for a second, and then the overlay vanished as his friend lost the battle to find a handoff link.
“Dunno why you have to live in an unimproved part of town,” Bertie grumbled in his ear.
Juan shrugged. “The neighborhood has fixed lasers and wireless.” Actually, it was kind of nice to lose the flying carpet. He let his bike’s recycler boost him up the little hill and then off into Las Mesitas. “So how are we going to work the concurrency on the unlimited test?”
“Easy. I’ll chat up the Siberians in a couple of hours—then shuffle that across to my other groups. I don’t know how fast things will break; it may be just you and me on the Fairmont side. Synch up with me after you get done with Miri Gu tonight, and we’ll see about using your ‘magical memory.’”
Juan frowned and pedaled fast along white sidewalks and turn-of-the-century condos. His part of town was old enough that it looked glitzy even without virtual enhancements.
Bertie seemed to notice his lack of response. “So is there a problem?”
Yes! He didn’t like Bertie’s unsubtle reference to what the little blue pills did for him. But that was just Bertie’s way. In fact, today was all Bertie’s way, both the good and the bad of it. “It’s just that I’m a little worried about the local test. I know Miri gets good grades, and you say she is smart, but does she really have any traction?” What he really wanted to ask was why Bertie had pushed him into this, but he knew that any sort of direct question along those lines might provoke a Freeze Out.
“Don’t worry, Juan. She’d do good work on any team. I’ve been watching her.”
That last was news to Juan. Aloud he said, “I know she has a stupid brother over in senior high.”
“Heh! William the Goofus? He is a dud, but he’s not really her brother, either. No, Miri Gu is smart and tough. Did you know she grew up at Asilomar?”
“In a detention camp?”
“Yup. Well, she was only a baby. But her parents knew just a bit too much.”
That had happened to lots of Chinese-Americans during the war, the ones who knew the most about military technologies. But it was also ancient history. Bertie was being more shocking than informative.
“Well, okay.” No point in pushing. At least, Bertie let me on his unlimited team.
Almost home. Juan coasted down a short street and up his driveway, ducking under the creaking garage door that was just opening for him. “I’ll get over to Miri’s this evening and start the local team stuff while you’re in East Asia.”
“Fine. Fine,” said Bertie.
Juan leaned his bike against the family junk, and walked to the back of the garage. He stopped at the door to the kitchen. Bertie had gotten every single thing he had wanted. Maybe not. I bet he still plans on messing with my local exam. “But one thing. Miri’s handshake—she was real definite, Bertie. She doesn’t want you coming along, even passively. Okay?”
“Sure. Fine. I’m off to Asia. Ta!” Bertie’s voice ended with an exaggerated click.
Juan’s father was home, of course. Luis Orozco was puttering around the kitchen. He gave his son a vague wave as the boy came in the room. The house had a good internal network, fed from a fixed station in the roof. Juan ignored the fantasy images almost automatically. He had no special interest in knowing what Pa was seeing, or where he thought he was.
Juan eeled past his father, into the living room. Pa was okay. Luis Orozco’s own father had been an illegal back in the 1980s. Grandpa had lived in North County, but in the cardboard shacks and dirt tunnels that had hid amid the canyons in those days. The Orozco grandparents had worked hard for their only son, and Luis Orozco had worked hard to learn to be a software engineer. Sometimes, when he came down to earth, Pa would laugh and say he was one of the world’s greatest experts in Regna 5. And maybe for a year or two that had been an employable skill. So three years of education had been spent for a couple years of income. That sort of thing had happened to a lot of people; Pa was one of those who just gave up because of it.
“Ma, can you talk?” Part of the wall and ceiling went transparent. Isabel Orozco was at work, upstairs. She looked down at him curiously.
“Hey, Juan! I thought you were going to be at finals until very late.”
Juan bounced up the stairs, talking all the while. “Yes. I have a lot to do.”
“Ah, so you’ll be working from here.”
Juan came into her work room and gave her a quick hug. “No, I was just gonna get supper and then visit the student I’m doing the local project with.”
She was looking right at him now, and he could tell he had her full attention. “I just saw about the local exam; it seems like a great idea.” Ma thought it w
as so important to get down on the real ground. When Juan was younger, she always dragged him along when she went on her field trips around the county.
“Oh, yes,” said Juan. “We’ll learn a lot.”
Her look sharpened. “And Bertram is not in this, correct?”
“Oh, No, Ma.” No need to mention the unlimited exam.
“He’s not here in the house, is he?”
“Ma! Of course not.” Juan denied all snoop access to his friends when he was in the house. Mother knew that. “When he’s here, you see him, just like when my other friends visit.”
“Okay.” She looked a little embarrassed, but at least she didn’t repeat her opinion that “little Bertie is too slippery by half”. Her attention drifted for a moment, and her fingers tapped a quick tattoo on the table top. He could see that she was off in Borrego Springs, shepherding some cinema people from LA.
“Anyway, I was wondering if I could take a car tonight. My teammate lives up in Fallbrook.”
“Just a second.” She finished the job she was working on. “Okay, who is your teammate?”
“A really good student.” He showed her.
Ma grinned uncertainly, a little surprised. “Good for you … . Yes, she is an excellent student, strong where you are weak—and vice versa, of course.” She paused, checking out the Gu’s. “They are a private sort of family, but that’s okay.”
“And it’s a safe part of town.”
She chuckled. “Yes, very safe.” She respected the school rules and didn’t ask about the team project. That was just as well, since Juan still had no idea what Miri Gu was planning. “But you stay out of Camp Pendleton, hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Okay, you’re cleared to go as soon as you have supper. I’ve got some big-money customers running, so I can’t take a break just now. Go on downstairs and get your father and yourself something to eat. And learn something from this local project, huh? There are many careers you can have without knowing airy-fairy nonsense.”
The Hard SF Renaissance Page 135