Book 4: 3rd World Products, Inc.

by Ed Howdershelt

  When she looked up, I laughed.

  With a narrow look she asked, “What's so funny?"

  "You looked so relieved, Myra. I think you were wondering—at least a little bit—if it would really let go of your arm."

  She straightened and said, “Oh, up yours. You people are used to stuff like this.” Something seemed to occur to her and she looked at my arms as she asked, “Where do you wear yours, Ed? I've never seen it."

  I sent a field tendril down the top of my left arm and pointed to the spot as I said, “You know how fields can redirect light? Feel here."

  She did so, then asked, “Why isn't yours visible?"

  Chuckling, I said, “When enough people have asked you about the thing on your arm, you'll know why."

  Myra nodded and asked, “Can mine be made invisible?"

  Linda firmly said, “No. It's a pre-production sample and we want it seen.” Looking at her watch, she added, “Ed will show you how to use it, Myra. Right now I need to run you all out of here.” She turned to Steph and put a hand on Steph's arm as she smiled and said, “Thank you, Stephanie. Sorry about the short notice."

  Steph smiled back and said, “It wasn't a problem, Linda."

  As we walked toward the front of the building, Myra put her PFM on her arm and said, “PFM attach.” After studying it for a few moments, she said, “I'm glad it doesn't look like one of those warehouse PFM's. It's kind of pretty, isn't it?"

  Shrugging, I said, “Yeah, sure, lady. Looks good on ya."

  When she snickered I pointed a finger at her breastbone, I said, “Next time you go to a party in a low-cut gown, you can try it there as a conversation piece."

  We saw the flitter pull up outside as we neared the front doors. Mills saw us coming and did a double-take at Steph, then looked at the Steph who was sitting next to her. Our Steph vanished as we passed through the doorway and the one aboard the flitter turned in her seat to smile at us.

  Mills said nothing about Steph's duality as we boarded. The flitter headed back to the range as Mills stared somewhat skeptically at the PFM on Myra's arm.

  "Will I have to wear one of those?” she asked.

  I said, “Maybe later, when they start issuing them."

  She looked at me and sharply asked, “They're going to issue them?"

  Her attitude regarding the PFM seemed strange, considering that she'd been working for two days with fields.

  "More than likely,” I said. “At least to flitter teams and such. What's the problem? You don't want to be bulletproof?"

  Myra asked in an amazed tone, “Bullet proof?! I'll be bullet proof?!"

  "Against small caliber stuff, anyway. It'll redirect or stop a standard-issue pistol bullet. Right, Steph?"

  She nodded. “Essentially, yes. There could be some bruising directly behind the impact zone, but your field would be able to prevent penetration.” Looking at Mills, she added, “The field will also protect you from biological agents and chemicals, Dr. Mills. Since you manage a biolab in which you routinely use similar fields, I fail to understand your obvious reluctance to use one of these units."

  Mills glanced at the PFM on Myra's arm and snapped, “In the lab I don't have to wear something like that and I'm not in favor of using fields as oversized toys."

  I said, “Your opinions about PFM's and field toys don't really mean a damned thing to anyone but you, Mills.” Turning to Steph, I asked, “How about letting us off at the staging area, ma'am? Myra needs to get the feel of her kite and learn to land it on a bunny slope."

  Steph nodded and set us down near the range buildings. Myra and I stepped off the flitter and I said, “Thanks, Steph,” then the flitter lifted away.

  Turning to Myra, I said, “Here's how it works,” then said, “Glider on green,” and ran off the top of the hill. My slow, lazy glide to the bottom ended with a standing landing and I beckoned for Myra to try her wings.

  Her kite popped into being and she seemed almost mesmerized by it for some moments, then she leveled it and studied the hillside below. Another few moments went by before she ran off the flat area and coasted about halfway down the slope to land in a stumbling run that wound up as a short forward slide.

  She was ecstatic, though, breathlessly telling me about the troubles she'd had trying to control her speed and descent. I tipped her about a few things as we walked back up the hill. On her second flight she made it all the way to the bottom and landed fairly well without falling.

  A few more such glides had Myra convinced that she was ready to—as she put it—"really fly", so I called Steph to pick us up between range exercises. A few minutes later we were standing on the flitter deck at a thousand feet.

  "Remember,” I said, “Keep your speed down when you're landing, but don't let the nose climb or you'll find yourself stopped twenty feet off the ground, then falling backward.” With a grin I said, “I'll go first and see what's in the range's first aid kit."

  Myra gave me a defiant grin and said, “Glider on,” then ran off the deck. Steph gave me a raised eyebrow. I gave her a shrug and followed Myra off the flitter.

  Instead of heading back to the range exercises, the flitter quickly moved to the staging area and hovered to one side of Myra's landing path.

  Through my implant Steph said, “I'll catch her if necessary."

  "Don't be too helpful, Steph. Let Myra handle anything short of a real disaster."

  Surprisingly enough, Myra's landing wasn't that bad. It was too high and too fast, but not so much so that she couldn't flare a little and make it workable after all. I came in low and flared to a stop that allowed me to turn off my wings and drop two feet or so to the ground.

  "Showoff,” said Myra.

  She was flushed with excitement and still somewhat breathless as she told us all about her flight. Myra and I sat drinking canned teas while Mills worked another couple of range problems, then Steph took us back up for another flight.

  This time I asked for three thousand feet. Mills flatly said that I was pushing Myra to try something she wasn't ready for.

  "One thousand or five thousand,” I said, “Same thing, really. A longer ride is all."

  As Myra stuffed a can of tea into her purse and slung it on her shoulder she said, “That's about how I see it, too.” To me, she said, “I kind of didn't mention that one of my brothers got me into skydiving, Ed."

  Nodding, I said, “Yeah, I knew you were a jumper. Glider on, clear. See you later,” then I plunged off the flitter's deck and headed toward a pair of vultures that were circling upward in a thermal maybe a quarter of a mile away.

  Perhaps half an hour went by until my watch beeped as I banked into the thermal.

  Keying my implant, I said, “Hi, Linda."

  "Hi, Ed. I only see one glider out there. Is that you?"

  "Nope. That's Myra. She's a skydiver, so it wasn't such a big step."

  "Where are you?"

  I looked back and saw Myra apparently scratching an itch in a sensitive area. She'd reached down inside the front of her bodybag.

  To Linda I said, “I'm about a hundred feet from Myra."

  "Just a minute ... Okay, found you. I had to add mag infrared to the screen before it could spot you."

  "Shall I sprout wings just for your peace of mind, ma'am?"

  She laughed and said, “No, don't bother. They wouldn't help. What are your impressions about Mills?"

  "Not good, but that may be because I'm not too fond of her. Steph could give you a more objective opinion."

  "Later. Right now I want yours, Ed. Is Mills standalone material?"

  I thought a moment, then said, “I'd say not, Linda. Not yet, anyway. And she reacted poorly to the idea of wearing a PFM, but that may simply be unfamiliarity."

  "That's the best you can say about her? Does she also dislike Stephanie?"

  "Apparently not, which would seem to mean that Mills doesn't really think of Steph as a real person, since Steph's the other half of what's bugging her about me."


  Linda sighed and said, “Okay. I'll ask you again at close of business Wednesday and review some of the vids from her interactions with Steph."

  "Linda,” I said, “If you really want to put another individual in the field, Angela might be a better choice.” I laughed softly and said, “Hell, even Myra might be a better choice than Mills. Someone who can remain more or less objective."

  "Opinions noted. Have a good flight, Ed. I have to get back to work now."

  "Okay. Bye."

  She clicked off and I sailed on as I checked my watch. Time to think about heading toward the staging area, which I actually had to look for below.

  "Steph, how high am I?” I looked back and saw Myra and amended myself with, “That is, how high are we?"

  "Six thousand, three hundred feet, at present. Your rate of descent is almost zero, Ed. You're still within the thermal column. It widened while you were talking to Linda."

  "Well, hell. It'll take until dinnertime to get back down unless I use the parasail."

  "I can come up there for you."

  Duh. She certainly could.

  "Yes'm. I'm glad one of us is thinking today, Steph. Thanks, I'd appreciate a pickup. I need to hit the restroom and bend my knees for a while."

  "Okay, I'll be right up."

  The flitter rose straight up, then angled to intercept me. When my feet were touching the deck I said, “Glider off” and walked to one of the seats. Steph then angled the flitter beneath Myra, who took the hint and boarded the same way.

  Myra chattered excitedly all the way down. Mills ignored us, not even deigning to turn around. When we landed, Myra hurried to the restrooms ahead of me.

  When I returned to the flitter I opened a Dr Pepper and parked myself in one of the rear seats with a datapad field rather than risk Myra seeing me pull down my briefcase to get my own datapad.

  I used the pad to check my WiccaWorks email as we waited for Myra. There were only two medium-sized wholesale orders and some catalog orders that I forwarded to Stone Circle.

  Myra finally made her appearance. Something seemed different about her and I realized it was the way she carried herself almost tensely. As I took her hand to help her aboard I caught a whiff of her that stirred something primal within me.

  Pretending to brush something off her shoulder, I let my fingertips brush her neck, then tasted them as she went to her seat. Yup. Metallic taste. Residue on her skin that hadn't been there earlier. Myra hadn't simply been contending with an itch in mid-flight; she'd likely been trying to get a pad into place in a hurry.

  "Myra,” I said, standing and walking to the rear of the deck, “Come back here with me for a minute, okay?"

  She gave me an odd look, but did so.

  As she met me I asked softly, “Do you have what you need with you, or should I ask Steph to take us back to the base? It wouldn't be a problem at all."

  Her look was rather starkly surprised as my question sank in, but she answered, “I have a couple more of them in my purse. How the hell did you know?"

  "I just did. And just so you know, Steph has more than once removed blood from my clothes during an assignment. Let one of us know if you need anything and don't bother being shy about it, okay?"

  She eyed me a moment longer, then nodded, and we headed back to our seats.

  Mills glanced back at us, obviously wondering what our private conference had been about. I called the field datapad back up and surfed the net for a while as Mills completed the range exercises. Myra drank a tea and watched Mills work, now and then glancing oddly at me.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Mills was again the first of us off the flitter when we halted by the main complex doors. By the time the rest of us had entered the building, she was well down the hallway and ducking into the restrooms just before the dining hall.

  Myra and I also stopped at the restrooms and Steph decided to disappear. As I washed up I thought I heard something and turned off the water. Silence. I reached for a paper towel and was startled to hear a loud slapping noise from the other side of the wall between the restrooms.

  Ripping a couple of paper towels free, I left the restroom and looked around as I entered the hallway. No women anywhere. A door opened behind me and an apparently undamaged Mills stormed past me toward the dining hall without comment.

  I finished drying my hands and waited. Some minutes later Myra emerged and seemed surprised to see me. The palm of her left hand was a little red and her face was still flushed, but it didn't seem to be the result of a slap.

  "Did you have a problem with Mills?” I asked, gazing pointedly at her hand.

  "That's from slapping a wall. I don't want to talk about it, Ed."

  "Okay,” I said, heading for the dining hall, “Let's eat."

  We found Mills again seated with her discussion group and again chose another table after loading our trays. Some minutes later Angela came in and joined us after assembling her own dinner from the serving line.

  Table chatter was mostly about PFM's, flying kites, and trivia until Linda walked in with Wallace. When I waved at the empty chairs at our table Linda nodded a ‘yes’ and they joined us after choosing their meals.

  After greetings were out of the way and everyone was eating, Wallace asked Myra how she liked her PFM. Myra's enthusiastic answer and a comment about her first landing caused a round of laughter at the table. Wallace then told a colorful story about his first efforts to get the hang of landing on a carrier deck and there was another round of laughter.

  I asked Wallace how he was doing with his PFM and he shrugged as he said, “Fine, I guess. I've tested functions around the office and a number of people have already asked for their own units."

  Chuckling, I said, “I'll bet they have. I'd bet you already have a story about playing show and tell in the office, too. You probably showed someone the protective feature, right?"

  He laughed. “Oh, yeah! Johnson—my commo guy—had just walked in when I said 'field on' and jammed my letter opener against my hand to show Davis how it worked. Johnson about dropped his teeth, then he grabbed the first aid kit and crossed the office at about Mach 2, I think. The look on his face was hilarious."

  More laughter. I nudged Linda and nodded at Wallace as he forked up some corn and aimed it at his mouth. The fork stopped cold when it hit his protective field and most of the corn scattered on and around his plate.

  Wallace's perplexed look was priceless as his narrow gaze focused on the fork and he said, “What the hell..?"

  Linda shook her head, rolled her eyes, and muttered, “Oh, Jesus."

  Wallace had glanced at his PFM as if he thought something might be wrong with it, then said 'field off' and cautiously tried another forkful of corn. This time he had no problem with it.

  He considered matters for a moment, then noticed Linda's expression. That's when Myra seemed to suddenly understand and snickered. Wallace studied her for a moment and then looked at me as I made myself busy cutting my steak.

  "Hey, Ed,” he said.

  I looked up as innocently as possible. “Yeah, Cap?"

  "I'll get you for that. Count on it."

  "For what, Emory? You didn't have to say 'field on' in your story, did you?"

  "Besides,” said Linda with a chuckle, “The look on your face was hilarious. Isn't that what you said about Johnson? Fair's fair."

  Myra giggled. Wallace looked at her and said nothing, then looked at me.

  "You won't know when,” he said, “Or where or how."

  Shrugging, I said, “I still say you could have told it differently."

  Wallace's grin was big and real as he said, “You just stay alert, mister."

  I nodded. “Will do, swabbie. Wanna set some rules first? No blood or gore, no broken bones, no messes that anyone else has to clean up, no helpers, advisors, or collusion, no damage to property..."

  "Yeah, yeah,” said Wallace. “All that. You just started something, Ed."

  Linda said, “No wasting com
pany time trying to think of stupid tricks to pull on each other. Do it on your own time. And don't let me catch you using company resources or personnel in practical jokes or the really big joke will be on you two."

  She shook her head again, sighed, and said to Myra, “Sometimes I think this must be what it's like to be a mother. Or maybe a referee."

  Myra laughed and said, “I know what you mean. I have brothers."

  After dinner Myra walked with me to the guest quarters. She chattered about the day as I wondered how to politely cause her to look for other company so I could head back to Spring Hill for the evening.

  As we climbed the steps to the second floor she muttered, “Damn."

  "Why damn?"

  She shrugged. “Ben and I are meeting at the pub later, but I just started my period. That kind of sucks.” Rapping my arm with her fingertips, she added, “I'd still like to know how you knew that today."

  "Magic,” I said. “I know some things about you wimmin critters."

  "Think so, huh? Like what?"

  "Oh, just the basics, I guess. Some of the secret stuff, too."

  Laughing, she asked, “Secret stuff? Oh, this I gotta hear."

  Shaking my head as we neared my door, I stopped and said, “Nope. Can't risk it. You might rat me out and the International Women's Club would send a hit squad."

  She laughed again and said, “I'll call them anyway if you don't tell me."

  Opening my door, I said, “Well, hell. I'll try to be ready for ‘em, then. See you later. Have a good time with Ben."

  With a wry look she said, “Yeah. Just maybe not as good as I'd like. See you later."

  I watched her saunter away. Great legs. She gave me a little over-the-shoulder wave to let me know that she knew I was watching. No big deduction, that; I hadn't closed my door yet. At her door she turned to smile at me, then went inside.

  There was suddenly a presence in the room behind me and I reflexively tensed even as I realized that it had to be either Elkor or Steph and said “Hi,” as I closed the door.

  "Hi,” said Steph. “I thought I'd save you the trouble of calling me."