His face slowly changed from seeming quizzically irritated with my interrupting call to appearing moderately awestruck.
He slowly said, “Ho, damn! Field bonding. Voice commands. Portable Field Manipulators. We've had all the parts to do this all this time, haven't we?"
I nodded. “Yup. All Steph and I did was stick ‘em together during dinner."
Wallace laughed and said, “Well, by God, the stuff's been available for more than three years and nobody else has come up with anything like this, so pat yourselves on the back a few times. I'll talk this over with Linda tonight, Ed. Figure on some time in her office in the morning."
"Okay. Over and out and stuff like that."
"Thanks for the call, Ed.” He tapped the ‘off’ icon.
Keying my implant, I said, “Elkor."
"Yes, Ed?"
"I've had an idea for PFM's that may go commercial. I want Steph to control the patents—if any—and all other rights concerning manufacture. 3rd World people might ask you to make the PFM's, but I'd prefer that you would do so only if they've received authorizations through us. Would that be a problem for you?"
"No, Ed. When I split myself, this version of me became an independent entity subject only to my nondisclosure agreement with Amara."
"Thanks, Elkor. I was afraid they might be able to pressure you. Hey, do you want a financial piece of this if it turns out to be something marketable?"
"No, Ed, I think not. I'm content to observe, although I'd be happy to assist Stephanie in manufacturing PFM units."
"Thanks again, Elkor. Could be we'll need the help. I foresee a number of markets for these things, and none of them are small markets. I just wish that there were something that I could do for you sometime."
"You share your home and your friends with me, Ed, and you helped me become that which I am. I seem to have no other needs presently."
"Well, still, let me know if you think of anything else, okay?"
"Yes, Ed."
"Good deal. That's all I had on my mind, Elkor. Thanks again."
"You're welcome,” he said, and his signature presence in my implant disappeared.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Karen walked past our table on her way to the hallway. She didn't look at us as she passed. A few moments later I became aware of another presence approaching me from behind.
"Hi, Myra,” I said aloud.
She stopped briefly and then came around the table, glancing about with an odd expression as she put her coffee on the table and sat down.
"Stephanie told you I was back there?"
Shaking my head, I said, “No. I knew someone was back there and coming toward me. Karen had just gone by and the only other person in here likely to want to talk to me about anything is you."
Her eyebrow went up as she glanced around at the other people in the dining hall, but she didn't pursue the matter.
"I think you were right,” she said. “About the bigotry, I mean. Karen said that something about your relationship with Stephanie just bugs the hell out of her. She said she didn't know exactly what, though."
"Having to be polite to Steph bugged her, too. Probably still does."
Myra nodded. “Yeah. I noticed that earlier. Quote marks around the word ‘please'. What are you up to this evening?” She held up a hand and added with a grin, “And before you answer, remember that—other than Mills—you and Stephanie are the only people I know here and I'm not much into television, okay?"
I nodded. “Yeah. Okay. I didn't have any real plans for the evening, though. I thought I might check email for orders and..."
"Orders? For what?"
"For WiccaWorks ceramics and catalogs. That's my internet business."
"Oh. Yeah, I saw something about that in what Stephanie showed me. Okay, then, what else? Is there anything to do around here?"
"There are a couple of clubs on base. Music, pool, booze, and short food menus. You've seen the general store in the hallway."
"That's it?"
Shrugging, I said, “Yup. Now you know why I don't hang out here more often. This base isn't much more than a large private airport, Myra. A transit facility. The asteroid factory shuttles come and go and so do the people and cargo. I doubt that more than a thousand people actually work here, and most of them commute."
She tapped her empty coffee cup on the table for a moment, then said, “I'll buy a round of beer if you're up for some pool."
I grinned and asked, “Are you any good?"
Myra grinned back and said, “Try me."
As I stood up to take my tray to the bus bins, I said, “I'll expect the worst, then. Back in a minute."
Nodding, Myra turned to Steph and asked, “Have you ever seen him shoot pool?"
"Yes, I have,” said Steph.
"Is he any good?"
"Yes, he is."
Seeing me still standing by the table, Myra grinningly made a ‘shoo’ gesture with her hands and turned back to Steph as I headed for the bins.
It was a short walk through the hallways to reach the "Dirtside Pub". Someone had given the place some thought; the pub itself was well-lit and furnished in rather substantial wooden tables and chairs and had a curved, solid wood bar.
Beyond the rear door was an open-air garden with a large wooden deck where people could enjoy the outdoors while they socialized. Music came from a jukebox with a touch-screen selector and the music wasn't so loud that it overwhelmed the place.
There were maybe a dozen people in the bar all told. We found the pub's three pool tables in a doorless anteroom and I fed one of the tables as a waitress took our order.
"Do we need a pitcher?” asked Myra.
"Bottled Ice House for me,” I said.
"In that case, make it two,” she told the waitress, who then looked at Steph.
"I don't drink,” said Steph, and the waitress nodded and left.
Myra flipped a quarter and said, “Heads."
It landed tail-up. I placed the cue ball near a corner and laid my stick on the edge of the table, then powered the cue ball through the rack. Myra's eyes narrowed.
"You always break one-handed?” she asked.
"Yup. Scared yet?"
"No."
Four striped balls later I had to use both hands to aim in the middle of the table and missed my combo on the fifth shot in a corner pocket. Myra said nothing as she tapped the nearest solid ball in the same pocket and looked for her next shot. Her eyes flicked from the three to the seven and then the four and I knew then that she knew what she was doing.
She used a lot of backspin and the cue backed up hard to bounce off the rail as the three dropped in the far corner. When the cue ball stopped six inches from the seven in an almost perfect lineup for a side shot, I wasn't too surprised. She dropped the seven and the cue seemed to drift sideways to stop where putting the four in the corner was almost guaranteed.
"Played before, huh?” I asked with a grin.
"Did I mention having brothers?” she asked, then she popped the four in and studied the table again for a few moments.
She'd pulled the cue ball just a bit too far and had no clean shot. Leaning far over the table, she laid one of her shorts-clad legs on the table edge and jumped the cue ball over my nine to tap the one ball. It stopped a quarter-inch from the pocket.
Sipping my beer, I said, “Good try, lady. Damned good try. I guess I probably shouldn't miss any."
"I wouldn't, if I were you."
I heard a stool slide and glanced that direction to see a guy leave the bar and approach us with a beer in his hand. He ambled up to us and looked over the table, then said, “You both shoot pretty well. Mind if I put up some quarters?"
He was about six feet tall, but only maybe ten pounds lighter than me. He had a disarming smile and a mildly deferential manner, but his walk and posture displayed some kind of training in his past.
"Go for it,” I said. “Table's open."
He nodded and put quarters on the ed
ge of the table, then said, “I'm Ben."
"Ed,” I said, putting an arm around Steph. “That's Myra and this is Stephanie."
Myra's surprise at my gesture showed well in her face for a moment. Her eyes met Steph's, then flicked to mine.
"Nice to meet you all,” said Ben, then he went to choose a stick.
Steph glanced at me, then at my arm around her waist. I removed my arm and took her hand for a moment, then turned back to the table as Steph sat down. A few shots later I won that game with a fairly simple bank to the side pocket.
Ben moved to put his quarters in the table and said, “Well, damn. Maybe I should have saved these quarters for something else."
Myra said, “That's what they all say before they run the table."
He turned to face her and his eyes ranged from her ankles up to her face before he said, “No, I don't shoot pool quite that well. Not as well as you, that's for sure. I won't count on this being more than a learning experience."
With a slight grin, Myra said, “Then maybe you're right about those quarters."
I sipped my beer as Ben racked the balls, then waited only until he'd stepped away before slamming the cue ball through the rack. A solid and a stripe fell and I studied the table for a few moments.
"Myra, was it?” asked Ben.
She nodded as she also studied the table.
"Where did you learn to shoot like that?” he asked.
Myra looked up at him and said, “My brothers."
Things went perfectly. One after the other I sank the solids until only the eight ball was left. I looked up as I aimed the shot and said, “Eight, corner."
Ben was leaning on the next table, looking at Myra and completely unconcerned about the eight ball. Myra was watching me.
I looked up at her and said, “How about letting Ben know the situation, ma'am?"
With a quizzical look she turned to look at Ben just as he turned to look at me, then the table, and shrugged as he said, “Oh. Yeah. Okay."
The eight fell and Myra moved forward to put her quarters in the table. Ben chose that moment to rather hesitantly ask her if she was an Amaran.
"No, none of us are Amaran,” she said. “Why?"
Ben fidgeted and said, “Well, ah ... You're tall, and, ah ... beautiful, and ... I thought maybe...” He rushed to finish, “Well, I just thought you might be an Amaran."
Myra glanced at me, her eyes rather wide, and then she blushed slightly.
"Oh, hell. I'm sorry,” said Ben. “I didn't mean to embarrass you, Myra."
Gathering herself a bit, Myra smiled slightly as she said, “No harm done.” Looking directly at me, she said, “Put up some more quarters, Ben. You'll be playing me next."
As she racked the balls I said, “Oh, yeah. Right. Make all your big noises, lady, but I just ran the table, in case you missed it."
She shrugged dismissively. “Luck. Think you can do it twice?"
"Guess we'll find out."
I didn't run the rack. The ten got stuck behind her seven and I couldn't even touch it by banking out of a corner. Myra made five balls, then ran into a tight setup of her own that made her miss. I sank my last two stripes, got a bad bounce, and lined up on the eight at the far end of the table. It looked like a possible scratch, and it was. The eight went in the corner and the cue ball headed for the other corner.
"Well, damn,” said Ben, moving to put his quarters in the table.
"Ohhh, gee! Too bad!” exclaimed Myra, obviously not in the least upset about it.
"Save your sympathy,” I said, “You may need it for yourself later."
"Yeah, yeah, I'm trembling,” said Myra.
Sipping the last of my beer, I looked at Myra's. Half-finished. I held up my bottle and headed toward the bar.
"R & R,” I said. “Restroom and Refill."
"Bring quarters,” said Myra. “You'll need them."
As I glanced back at her, I saw Ben gazing at her again and wondered if he'd be able to capture her interest.
I looked at Steph and held out my hand to her as I said, “Steph, let's see if there's anything good on the jukebox."
She looked at me with a raised eyebrow, but took my hand and got to her feet to come with me, speaking to me through my implant.
"As we already know from other visits what's on the jukebox, you must have another reason for having said that."
Nodding, I said, “Yup. I'm hoping that nature will take its course with Myra and Ben if we leave them alone for a little while."
As we neared the bar, she asked aloud, “To what end?"
"To give her something other than us to think about. A distraction."
The bartender swapped my empty bottle for a full one and made change while I went to the bathroom, then Steph and I headed for the jukebox at the back wall.
As I poked my way through the albums, I said, “We can anticipate that 3rd World and others will want those custom PFM's, Steph, but we can also expect that 3rd will want to control the marketing and manufacturing. Since all this technology originates with them, I can't see any way of stopping them from making their own."
"That's because there is no way to stop them, Ed."
"A suggestion, then; let's just magnanimously give the idea to them and request that you receive some small percentage of all sales. One or two percent on every unit sold would eventually amount to a fat pile of money."
"You're thinking of causing 3rd World to become involved with my citizenship efforts, aren't you?"
"You got it."
"I think someone would realize the problem involved with paying me, Ed."
"Oh, I think so, too, but possibly not before they agree to the idea."
Steph seemed doubtful. I poked another album on the screen, spotted Thin Lizzie's version of 'Whiskey in the Jar', and punched it up.
A ringing ‘crack’ made me look back toward the pool tables. Myra had just broken a new rack of balls and was examining the table intently to decide her next shot. Ben looked our way and shrugged as if her previous win had been expected.
Steph and I picked another few songs and headed for the pub's rear deck. Someone standing at the railing glanced at us, then swirled the last of his drink and headed back inside. We sat down at a table near the edge of the deck.
I watched Steph as she settled into the chair. Perfect simulations of muscular movement and body positions and of the movements of fabric. Perfect face and hair. Perfect everything.
Reason? To please me in the early days of her sentience, certainly, but she'd grown so much as an individual that I had to wonder why she hadn't made changes to more than her wardrobe over the last few years. Any real woman would probably have experimented with makeup styles and accessories.
Big duh. She didn't need makeup or accessories, so she didn't bother with them.
I sipped my beer as Steph appeared to gaze at something in the distance.
"You're staring at me,” she said.
"Can't seem to help it sometimes. I was just wondering why you never make any changes to yourself other than your clothes."
"I haven't felt a need to change anything about my persona.” She turned to look at me rather directly and asked, “Have you?"
Shrugging, I said, “Nothing comes to mind. Fact is, I was just looking at you and thinking that you're perfect."
"Thank you, but if that's the case, why did you ask about changes?"
"Most women try a lot of looks over time. Selena and Toni, for instance. They mess with makeup and hairstyles a few times a year.” I hastened to add, “But that definitely doesn't automatically mean that you should."
As I sipped my beer she asked, “Then you definitely aren't suggesting that I experiment with my appearance?"
I shook my head firmly and put a hand on her arm.
"No, ma'am. I was only wondering why you haven't. In fact, the more I consider the idea, the less I like it. Like I said, you're perfect."
There were footsteps in the short hallway between the
pub and the outside deck, then Myra appeared in the doorway.
"I was wondering what happened to you two,” she said.
"We got sidetracked,” I told her as she approached the table.
Myra grinned as she asked, “Talking about me?"
"No, but if you feel left out, we could..."
"No, that's okay,” said Myra, noticing my hand on Steph's arm. “Oh. It was a private discussion, wasn't it? Sorry for the interruption. I'll tell Ben to rack ‘em up."
She turned to head back into the building before we could say anything.
Looking at Steph, I said, “She thinks we're having an affair. Can you think of any reason to set her straight about that?"
She smiled slightly. “Beyond the fact that it isn't true, you mean?"
Returning her smile, I said, “Yeah. Beyond that. Anything else?"
"I suppose not."
"Good enough, then."
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Some twenty minutes later Steph and I went back inside and found Myra sitting at one of the drink tables with Ben. They looked up as we approached and Ben got to his feet. Myra remained seated as she folded a bit of paper and put it in her purse.
"Ed,” said Myra, “I was about to come tell you that we were going to head over to the other pub. Do you want to come along?"
"Nah. Go ahead. I still have that email to look through."
"You're sure?"
"Go. Have a good time."
"Okay. See you tomorrow."
Myra stood up and retrieved her purse from her chair, then told Ben to lead the way. Ben shook hands with Steph and me and said goodbye, then they headed for the door. I set my near empty beer bottle down and fished two quarters out of my pocket.
"Steph, are you up for a game of pool?"
Glancing at the coins, she said, “I wouldn't miss. You know that."
Shrugging, I said, “Yeah. Just a thought. It must be hell being so perfect."
She laughed softly and said, “It hasn't been a problem yet, really."
Book 4: 3rd World Products, Inc. Page 28