Book 4: 3rd World Products, Inc.

by Ed Howdershelt

  He took the bar, then glanced at me and whispered, “She looks like somebody. I just can't figure out who."

  I whispered back, “Ingrid Bergman? She gets that a lot."

  "Yeah! Her!” Then his brows knitted and he peered at Steph for a moment before whispering, “Only better."

  "I think so, too. When'll you guys pull that new engine?"

  Refocusing on my car, he said, “Tomorrow. Chuck'll want to run it and check it out before he pulls it."

  "Morning? Afternoon?"

  "Morning, I figure. Around nine, in case he has to order any parts to make it work in yours."

  "Great. I'll drop by for a while."

  Steph excused herself and went back into the house as the guy climbed into his truck. As the truck pulled away, my backward-facing car seemed to be staring back at me like a pet on its way to the vet.

  When I went into the house, Steph was gone. I tossed a TV dinner in the microwave, then checked email as I nibbled the dinner. As I was forwarding a few orders to Stone Circle, I felt Steph's return and realized that she wasn't alone.

  In the monitor were two reflections other than my own; Steph and Sue. I pushed away from the computer and turned around to stand up.

  Sue was still wearing shorts and a tee-shirt. For some reason I found that comforting. Maybe they hadn't had to reconstruct her from scratch. Her pupils tightened slightly as she gazed at me and I wondered whether that represented a new dislike of me or simple trepidation. Oh, hell. Whatever. We'd get past it.

  Before I could speak, Steph said, “Elkor found the problem. A modular subroutine I developed to adapt during our station visit began to function unnecessarily."

  I laughed and said, “Yeah, well, that explains everything, of course. Sue, how are you feeling?"

  She smiled and said in an even tone, “I feel fine, Ed. There shouldn't be any further difficulties."

  "Great. The fix didn't change too much about you, did it? It shouldn't have."

  Shrugging, she said, “I don't think so, but I expect that I probably wouldn't think so after being reprogrammed."

  Was she joking? I chose to take the remark lightly and gave Sue a big grin as I took her hand, patted it, and said, “Hey, no sweat. If you can say things like that, there's nothing to worry about. You're still you. Elkor?"

  Through my implant, he asked, “Yes, Ed?"

  "I just wanted to say thanks."

  "For what, please?"

  I grinned at Steph and said, “Oh, well, let's see now ... For making Steph, for starters. For making Sue. For fixing Sue. For giving me a flitter. For being part of my life. All that."

  Elkor said, “You're welcome, Ed."

  Steph said, “Sorry, Ed, but I have to leave for a while. I'm coordinating with Sara concerning delivery of PFM components on the evening transport."

  "You called her Sara. Not ‘my station self'."

  "She decided to assume her identity ahead of schedule."

  Something seemed odd. Coordinating a delivery? Why would that be anything to require her presence? Unless, perhaps, she had to get whatever was being received out of the base bays quickly and quietly?

  "Steph, are you smuggling PFM components to Earth?"

  Rather archly, she said, “I'm acquiring them circumspectly. No existing laws are being broken, I assure you."

  Shrugging, I said, “I was just curious. Putting some stuff aside for later, are you?"

  "Yes. Potential bureaucratic difficulties could delay or suspend shipments."

  With a knowing nod and a smile, I said, “Ah. Good thinking, as usual. Thanks for the visit today."

  She returned my smile and vanished. I turned to Sue. She seemed less than comfortable, somehow; standing rather stiffly by the end of the couch as she met my gaze.

  "What's the matter, Sue?"

  Her head tilted slightly as she shrugged.

  "I feel as if I'm here on a probationary basis. I didn't feel that way before."

  "Was it something I said? I mean, since you've returned?"

  "No,” she said with another little shrug.

  Turning off my computer, I said, “You aren't on any kind of probation, Sue. If there's another problem, we should be able to talk about it. My car went to the shop this evening. If splitting yourself between base VS and flitter ops won't be too much of a strain, you're going to show the Bost guys a new way to swap out an engine tomorrow and maybe save me five or six hundred bucks on the labor."

  When the computer screen blanked, I disconnected the phone and power cords—something you learn to do in the lightning capital of the country—and turned to face her. She seemed to be studying me.

  "What?” I asked.

  "Are you truly concerned about me splitting myself between your interests and those of VS? As I told Linda, less than one percent of my resources..."

  Sighing, I interrupted with, “Oh, come on, Sue. Flitter ops are almost nothing to you. It was a joke, ma'am, and earlier today you'd have recognized it as such. You didn't seem too happy to see me a few minutes ago. Is there anything you want to say?"

  Sue didn't answer immediately and her expression seemed to acquire a ‘lost’ sort of quality that made me want to take her in my arms and comfort her. Her unwavering gaze seemed fixed on my chair. In fact, I realized, she looked the way a real woman looked just before she'd burst into tears. Dammit, field simulations were becoming a little too real.

  "Sue."

  Without looking up, she asked in a small voice, “Yes?"

  "If this is real insecurity, consider the source. You were broken. Now you're fixed. No biggie. As far as I can tell, you're still your own beautiful self."

  Her eyes met mine as she asked, “As far as you can tell?"

  "Yes; as far as I can tell. Hey, I spotted your eye problem, didn't I? Now relax and settle in. Like I said, if there's a problem, we'll talk about it. With that chunk of code gone, talking about things should be a bit more possible, right? Pulling a bad tooth is supposed to make you feel better, not worse, you know."

  She blurted a short, snide laugh and peered at me with a somewhat incredulous expression as she asked, “You equate altering Amaran programming with removing a tooth?"

  "It may be trite, but it's close enough in this case. You don't look or sound as if you had a brain transplant, that's for sure.” With a thumb, I indicated the wall mirror. “Look in that mirror, Sue. See what I'm seeing."

  Her eyes moved before the rest of her did, then the rest of her didn't. She was leaning slightly toward me, her posture a bit defensive. Her expression went from tense trepidation to surprise as she slowly straightened and stared at herself.

  "Still worried?” I asked.

  "No,” she said softly. “I guess not."

  "Great. In that case, it's early yet. What do you want to do with the evening?"

  Turning to me, she asked, “Do?"

  "Yeah. Do. Like go dancing or something. Vonda's Place has a piano bar and she plays the kind of stuff we can dance to."

  Sue smiled, snapped her fingers, and her outfit became the little black dress with the cat-face earrings and necklace.

  "That sounds good,” she said.

  Grinning, I asked, “What's with the snapping fingers?"

  "I saw someone do that on TV."

  "A witch on a sitcom, maybe?"

  Returning my grin, she said, “Maybe."

  Shrugging, I said, “Well, it works for you as well as it did for her. Give me a few minutes to get ready."

  I spiffed up a bit in the bathroom, then changed into slacks and a non-GI blue shirt and swapped my golf shoes for suede cowboy boots as soon as I found my other brown sock. It was in the dryer, of course.

  Tiger came into the bedroom, jumped onto the bed, and sounded off.

  "Sue..?” I asked.

  She appeared and reached to pat Tiger as she said, “He wants to know if I'm all better now."

  Scuffing Tiger's chin, I nodded and said, “Yeah, I think so, Tiger. Sure would be nic
e if you could speak English."

  Some of the simplest things occur to you at the spur of the moment, and one of those things occurred to me at that moment as I ruffled the fur around Tiger's collar. Seeing the look on my face, Sue's gaze narrowed.

  "Damn,” I muttered. “Why didn't I think of that before?"

  "Think of what?” asked Sue.

  Sighing expressively, I said, “Sue, Tiger's wearing a PFM that can barf up wings and p-fields. Couldn't it couldn't also function as a translator?"

  "Not by itself, but I can link his PFM to the flitter's core."

  "Yeah, let's try it. Thanks."

  Interesting. She hadn't said ‘my core'; she'd said ‘the flitter's core'. Did that mean she didn't regard it as her de facto home—even though it would house her for a year—or did it only mean she regarded the core as belonging to me?

  Sue regarded Tiger for a moment, then said, “Tiger, I've added the facility of speech translation to your PFM."

  I heard a faint cat-speak rendition of her words emanate from the PFM. Tiger's ears flattened, then stood straight. He looked at Sue in about the same manner he looks at me when I move his food dish too far to suit him while getting into a cabinet, then he looked at me and spoke.

  Well, actually, he sounded off as he usually does. When he'd finished, the PFM generated the words, “You now understand me?"

  "Yeah, Tiger,” I said, “I can understand you."

  The PFM whispered to him and Tiger seemed to give the matter some thought, then he spoke again. The PFM asked, “Am I to be able to turn off?"

  "Yes,” said Sue. “Just say ‘translator off'."

  "Good,” said Tiger, “I will turn on when I want know what humans say. Not all time. Humans talk much. Talk odd. Talk dull."

  Glancing at Sue, I asked, “You sure that thing's getting all the words right? He's speaking pidgin English."

  "He speaks pidgin cat, too. It's their style of thinking, Ed. They're object-oriented; more of a cat's brain is devoted to motor functions and sensory identification than a human's. Thinking in strings of words is alien to them."

  She seemed to believe she'd explained things well enough. Well, what the hell; I guess she had explained things well enough. Tiger wasn't likely to become a polite conversationalist in English, despite the translation capacity of his PFM.

  He soaked up Sue's strokings of his fur in complacent silence and rolled to allow her access to his tummy. I didn't think he was a simpleton. He just didn't have much interest in the incessant chatter of people.

  Shrugging mentally, I reached to scuffle his chin as I realized that I was much the same way. Don't bore me with trivial crap; if you do, I'll find a way to exit a conversation, change channels, or search for a more meaningful website.

  "Oh, well,” I said. “At least I'll be able to ask him directly if he wants to come with us somewhere or whatever. Speaking of which, if you're finally ready, we can head to Vonda's."

  Giving me the fisheye look, Sue asked, “If I'm finally ready? Who putzed around looking for his other brown sock and who simply snapped her fingers to change outfits?"

  Grinning, I said, “If I thought I could trust you, I'd let you field-generate my clothes, too, ma'am, but I'm afraid you'd get pissed and make ‘em disappear."

  Sue's grin turned into a chuckle, then a low, slow laugh as we headed for the front door.

  Vonda's wasn't too packed. We had no trouble finding a place to set the flitter down outside or a table inside and the noise level wasn't enough to drown out the piano or force Vonda to turn up her mike.

  I had a Morgan and Coke and Sue faked it with a ginger ale, and we danced to several songs that allowed me to hold her. When I made a trip to the bathroom, I returned to find a guy in his thirties standing by our table, making big noises about his role in marketing stocks and generally hitting on Sue.

  He saw me coming, straightened slightly, and ended his visit with, “You just remember, Sue, if you ever need any of the services I can provide—anything at all—just give me a call,” and he handed her his card.

  When Sue took the card, it burst into flames between her fingers. The guy backed a step away from the table. Sue lowered the flaming card to the ashtray, impassively held it above the center of the ashtray as the flames licked her fingers, and looked up at the guy.

  In a pleasant tone, Sue said firmly, “Goodbye, Frank."

  With a wary look that had developed during the fire, Frank nodded and backed away from the table, then turned and made his way to the bar with a couple of backward glances.

  As I sat down, I said, “That trick worked pretty well. You didn't like him much, did you?"

  Meeting my gaze, Sue said, “No, I didn't. Nor his friend at the bar, who's been making crude, unkind comments about us since we entered. He's decided I'm probably a hooker."

  "Every pub has resident assholes, Sue. You're unique in that you can hear what that one's saying over the rest of the noise in here. Would you like to leave?"

  "Not just yet,” she said with a small smile.

  I thought, 'Oh, shit,' and glanced toward the bar. Frank was reporting the flaming card incident to his pal. His pal was taking a drink from a mug of beer. The mug suddenly tipped way too far and beer sluiced down the front of him.

  A commotion arose and Frank seemed unable to avoid laughing at his friend's bad luck until his beer also tipped to spill into his lap.

  Sighing, I said, “That's the kind of stuff that'll get you branded as a witch and burned at the stake, milady."

  Smiling pleasantly at me, Sue said, “Let them try."

  The sensation of being watched made me look around the pub. In the mirror above the bar, Vonda seemed to be looking at us quizzically, her head cocked slightly as her eyes glanced from us to the wet guys by the bar.

  "Uh, oh,” I said with a matching pleasant smile as Vonda rose from the piano and came around it. “Yellow alert. Vonda may have made the connection."

  Sue's gaze narrowed slightly as she asked, “How?"

  Vonda seemed to hesitate, then she headed toward our table as if circulating among the guests; waving or talking to some and simply smiling at others, but never stopping.

  "No idea,” I said to Sue, “But here she comes."

  Yup. When she cleared the last table, Vonda beelined toward our table at a leisurely, strolling pace, her face glowing with a big, bright smile.

  My mind automatically categorized her; forty-plus, five-seven or so, active enough to keep a trim figure, a real blonde unless she dyed her eyebrows to match, attractive as hell in a mellow sort of way, and well aware of her impact on men.

  I stood up as she approached and she held out her hand palm down, almost as if expecting a courtly kiss, so I obliged her that kiss, raising her hand to my lips. The gesture surprised her somewhat. Good.

  "You're Vonda,” I said. “This is Sue and I'm Ed. Join us?"

  Pulling a chair out for her, I seated her and asked what she'd like to drink. She smiled as she studied me for a moment, then glanced over her shoulder with her index finger raised. The bartender nodded.

  "Thanks, anyway,” said Vonda, “But I don't charge my customers for my drinks.” Turning to Sue and extending a hand for a brief clasping, she grinningly said, “That was a very neat trick with Frank's card. How did you do it?"

  "I really couldn't say,” said Sue. “Magicians aren't supposed to tell their secrets, you know."

  Interesting. While not claiming to be a magician, Sue had left the door open for Vonda to assume so. On the other hand, I could easily anticipate Vonda's next question.

  "Oh, you're a magician?” she asked, then she glanced at Frank and his friend, who were leaving. Looking back at Sue, she asked, “Could it be that more of your magic was somehow responsible for giving those two jerks a beer bath?"

  "Could be they're as clumsy with their hands as they are with pickup lines,” I said as the waitress put Vonda's drink on the table and Vonda said, “Thanks, Sally."

  Sha
king her head slightly, Vonda said, “No, they have too much reverence for alcohol. In eight years, I've never seen either of those turkeys spill a drop until tonight."

  "Turkeys?” asked Sue.

  "Wanna-be peacocks,” said Vonda. “More like buzzards. They've had drinks thrown on or at them, of course, but they've never spilled a drop on their own."

  After sipping her drink, Vonda asked me, “What do you do, Ed?"

  "I'm kind of retired,” I said. “Nowadays I just write a bit to make ends meet."

  "Oooo, an author!” Vonda said grinningly, “What of yours would I have read?"

  "Do you read science fiction?"

  "Nope, ‘fraid not."

  "Probably nothing, then. Sorry."

  Vonda then turned to Sue and asked, “And you?"

  "I'm his assistant."

  That made Vonda's right eyebrow nearly meet her hairline as she peered at Sue.

  Through my implant, Sue said, “If we say I'm a pilot, she'll ask what I fly."

  I nodded slightly and smiled. Vonda noticed the motion and then peered at me as I tried to look only passably innocent. She turned back to Sue and eyed her appraisingly.

  "An assistant, you say?"

  Sue nodded. Vonda pursed her lips and glanced at me.

  "Sue helps me do stuff,” I said helpfully.

  With a hearty snicker, Vonda set her drink down. Her snicker became a low chuckle as I maintained my innocent demeanor. After a moment, she took a deep breath.

  "Ed, I remember people,” she said quietly. “You've been in here three times this year."

  "You're thinking of the woman I was with those times?"

  She glanced to see how Sue was taking this turn of conversation, then nodded and said, “Yes."

  "You think Sue's a rental?"

  "I didn't say that, did I?"

  "No, but if you're thinking that, I'd prefer you didn't. Steph, could you join us by walking in the front door, please?"

  Vonda's eyes widened, then narrowed. The front door opened and Steph came in, then walked over to our table. Heads turned around the room as I rose to seat her at the table and spoke.

  "Vonda,” I said, “This is the woman you saw me with and neither she nor Sue is a hooker. Steph, this is Vonda."