Malltown

by Lasa Limpin

  The back of the statue faced Peggy. Broad marble shoulders with carved drapery, a thick braid of hair on her back. The statue turned. Her eyes yellow-pink marble. The mouth of the statue opened. “Want to go to lunch?” Athena asked.

  Peggy shrugged. “Sure. You pick.”

  “I like Bleecker Street,” said Athena.

  “Okay.”

  The museum vanished. Peggy sat on the bench next to the cafe. She got up and sat down at the cafe table across from Athena.

  “How are you?” Athena asked.

  “I’m okay. You?” asked Peggy.

  “Good, good,” said Athena. “There’s a lot to do.”

  Peggy nodded, “Always.” The VR program New York! New York! was a persistent world—an on all the time game. It was also a pervasive world—meaning it had aspects in the real world, in this case, that would be real time street footage, among other things (which was why Peggy liked to jog in the early morning). Furthermore, the many and various gods had cross platform accommodations, as well as AR—Augmented Reality—capabilities. And of course, RR—Real Reality—capabilities.

  Athena nodded and glanced to the entrance to the cafe. “Where’s the waiter? I’m in the mood for a salad.” She turned back to Peggy, “They do them very well here. They put in hearts of palm.”

  “Oh, I like those,” said Peggy.

  A waiter arrived with two waters for the table. Blond, blue eyes, young, he smiled at them.

  “Two house salads. And two ice teas.” Athena ordered for them both.

  The waiter smiled. “Sure,” he said. White blouse, black pants, no pad or pencil—he’d remember.

  In two minutes, the waiter brought two tall ice teas and placed down straws. Athena picked up her straw and tapped the end against the glass table top, popping the paper at the top of the straw. She pulled the straw out and placed it in her drink. The ice clinked and made room.

  Peggy did the same. She lifted her glass of ice tea. The sun beat down on the top of her head and a warm breeze blew. June or July, she guessed, 1995ish. The ice tea felt cool and damp in Peggy’s hand. She took a grateful sip.

  The young, blond waiter arrived with two salads and placed them. Pale tubes of hearts of palm lay on a bed of soft lettuce over which a brownish dressing had been drizzled which smelled of garlic and lemon. Peggy’s mouth watered. She picked up her fork and speared a leaf, lifting a crouton in the leaf’s green pocket. She tasted. “Mmm,” she said, and chewed.

  Athena’s grey eyes opened wider which showed her agreement. She ate her salad. “Sometimes you really need a sour.”

  “True, true,” said Peggy, dipping her fork into her salad.

  Having finished their salads, Peggy and Athena now finished their iced teas over a conversation which had grown personal, for both of them.

  “I understand about the owl,” said Peggy. Peggy held her ice tea. “Gretchen—she was my first robot.”

  Athena put her iced tea down. “And you really cared for her.”

  “Right,” said Peggy.

  “But there’ve been others, don’t forget that.”

  “Right,” said Peggy. “But Gretchen was my first robot. You know, after the elementary school trainer robots.”

  “So actually the elementary school trainer robots were your first robot.” Athena picked up her ice tea.

  “True, but the elementary school trainer robots get reused. The one I got had cared for kids before me, and after I got old enough the elementary school trainer robot went to a new kid and I got Gretchen. My first real robot.”

  “I see,” said Athena. She held her ice tea in her hand. With her other hand she took hold of the straw and pulled it toward her for a sip.

  Peggy picked up a sugar packet from the table and turned it in her fingers, staring at it, “And Gretchen was more mother to me…”

  “Than any of the PlushTown Baby Nursing kindergarten robots,” Athena said.

  Peggy nodded. She didn’t look up.

  “Or the trainer robot from elementary school.”

  Peggy nodded. “Than any other robot,” she said. “She’s been with me since I was ten. Twenty-eight years.” Peggy was thirty-eight. “Maybe it wasn’t fair to her. Keeping her so long.” Peggy stared at the white sugar pack, blue lettering.

  “In the end you took more care of her than she did you,” said Athena.

  Peggy said nothing.

  Athena reached across the table and put her hand on Peggy’s. “This attachment you have to Gretchen. It could be why you never went through the process of acquiring a creature. Have you thought of that?”

  Peggy exhaled. “Possibly.”

  Athena patted Peggy’s hand. “I want you to consider doing that.”

  “I will.”

  “And give the new robot a try.”

  “I will.”

  Athena leaned back. “Those ‘I wills’ sound like ‘I won’ts’. Give it a shot, okay? It’s not your fault. Gretchen broke. Her parts wore out.”

  “I could have replaced them.”

  “True,” said Athena, “But she asked you not to. She knew what she was doing to you.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” Peggy stared at a car, the sidewalk.

  “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just I don’t like seeing you unhappy. And you’re not giving the new robot a chance.” Athena inhaled, tapped her hand on the table. “How’s the sheep?”

  Peggy inhaled, exhaled. “Good. Good. She’ll eat anything. She’s got this way of staring.”

  “What do you mean?” Athena asked.

  “I mean she likes to stand in a room and face me. Like if I’m sitting watching the wall scroll. And she’ll stare.”

  “I see.”

  “For the whole time.”

  “Mmm.”

  “For hours.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I woke up in the night and she’s staring!” Peggy paused. “I’m pretty sure Petunia-Glass wanted to get rid of her.”

  Athena nodded. “Maybe,” she said. “Maybe.” She paused to drink. “But it could be more complicated than that.”

  END OF CHAPTER FIVE

  Chapter 6

  An hour later Peggy sat at a white, vege-plastic table inside her homepod. A scroll of news on the white steel, plastic coated roof of her homepod where she’d placed it—out of the way of what she viewed now, but within earshot. A caster from New York City was running inside a new VR game—she could hear the gunshots, her breathy description of the battle scene and her screams when the gorillas and zebras attacked. Zoo Escape! A story of the ’90s.

  Peggy studied the AR—augmented reality—image floating in front of her, a centimeter above the rectangular block of her Factor Grippy Rover. The information related to the AR image roamed over Peggy’s Rover and slid onto the white table, spreading out on the table space there. Peggy studied the slowly turning, statue-like head and shoulders bust of the senior.

  “(Sandrea) Sandy-Grass, Senior, Homepod 4952, Sector 6, Senior-privileges. Member of Sector 6 knitters. Sandy-Grass enjoys knitting and taking long hikes in the Alps with her AI Paca Ninny. She and her AI Paca Ninny have won numerous VR knitting competitions. Sandy-Grass is well known in the knitting community for her rainbow knits, performed by her AI Paca Ninny by changing up the rainbow flavors as Sandy-Grass knits directly from the AI Paca’s back. Sandy-Grass keeps a VR display of her VR knitware at ztfash86340gc*EWRN%430. She welcomes all comers!”

  And, as Peggy could see in her Rover’s Grippy capacity (Peggy being a Grippy Factor and authorized), the day before Petunia-Glass’ Burble, Sandy-Grass had removed one Shyster from its cubby and, as far as Peggy could see, had not returned it.

  Sandy-Grass spun slowly a full 360 degrees, her frowning face under a shag of yellow-white hair, in a similar senior cut to Petunia-Glass, a hint feathered. Sandy-Grass’ face had deep wrinkles, delicate lines, which made Peggy think she might be short. She had deep set blue eyes and a small hook nose. The deep wrinkles go
t deeper especially around the mouth. Sandy-Grass didn’t smile. In fact she looked angry. Peggy didn’t know why, but she felt like Sandy-Grass had a competitive streak—perhaps it was the mention of all the competitions in her information! Did Sandy-Grass and Petunia-Glass know each other? Hardcore knitters, Peggy thought. Was there a difference between VR and RR—real reality—knitting? Petunia-Glass obviously worked in RR knitwear—hence 55,555. But perhaps Petunia-Glass knit in VR too? And did Sandy-Grass RR knit? Maybe Sandy-Grass had even taken Petunia-Glass’ hairstyle for her own out of latent competitiveness?

  Did Sandy-Grass attempt to steal 55,555 out of jealousy, and yet, being a VR knitter, never intend to knit with her? Hence the crime would remain a secret? And if so, what did Sandy-Grass intend to do with 55,555?

  A sheep she did not need.

  :::SECTION BREAK:::

  One half hour later, Peggy stared at her Rover, chin in her hand, elbow on the plastic table. She used one finger to scroll down the non-GMO sheep pictures. Peggy exhaled long and slow, blowing it out of her lips—which puckered for the purpose. Peggy stopped at a picture of a sheep standing in a meadow. She looked from the picture to 55,555. 55,555 was, of course, shorter. Rounder head, Peggy thought. Bigger eyes. She heard a beep. Peggy glanced to her Pwamster Learner Robot who continued to stare at 55,555. Peggy’s Pwamster Robot wheeled forward. The Pwamster I Can Learn Robot stood beside Peggy, facing the main door of Peggy’s homepod. “It is Petunia-Glass. Do you require a display?” Her head began to open.

  “No need,” said Peggy. Had she come for the sheep? Was it all a mistake? Peggy shut off her Rover and stood from her chair. “Come in,” she said.

  The main door whooshed open.

  Petunia-Glass stood in the doorway. Dressed in coveralls, she looked much as before. “I didn’t come to stay,” she said.

  “It’s alright,” said Peggy. “Would you like a drink?”

  Petunia-Glass’ mouth turned down. Her white hair remained frazzed over her head. “No, no.” She glanced at 55,555. To Peggy, “I just came to give you this!” She held out a small black cloth.

  Peggy stepped over to the door. Peggy reached out for the black cloth. “What is it?” Peggy took it and knew what it was immediately. She’d never seen one so small. Looked tight.

  Petunia-Glass gestured to 55,555, “It’s a VR suit for the sheep.”

  Peggy stretched it out between her hands. Indeed it had four legs, a hood which should completely cover a small head and face. Tight, she thought again.

  “Well, there you are,” said Petunia-Glass. “Thought I’d bring it as she likes to go for walks. Oh, I almost forgot,” Petunia-Glass stuck her hand inside her pocket. From deep within her coveralls Petunia-Glass removed her Senior Rover. “Give me a bump,” she said.

  Peggy got her Grippy Rover. She turned it on and received Petunia-Glass’ bump.

  Petunia-Glass’ mouth softened. Her eyes moved less stiffly around. “There,” she said. “She likes a particular meadows program. You can put her in alone, but she likes it better if you go with her.” Petunia-Glass looked at 55,555. The look stayed on 55,555—and back at Peggy. “Well, that’s all.”

  “Wait for a minute, won’t you come in?” asked Peggy.

  “Can’t. I’ve got a lunch over in the kiosks. Just thought I’d stop by.”

  “Could I ask you a few questions?” said Peggy.

  “If they’re quick,” said Petunia-Glass. “Don’t suppose you’ve gotten far with the investigation.”

  “Not yet, no,” said Peggy.

  “Well, I don’t want to rush you,” said Petunia-Glass.

  “Fine, well, tell me, do you know a Sandy-Grass?” asked Peggy.

  Petunia-Glass’ eyes got hard, her head snapping a look at Peggy. “What’s it got to do with her?”

  “So you know her?” asked Peggy. She stood beside her Pwamster I Can Learn Robot.

  “Know her? We practically shared the same Poddle BabyRumper! Born a day apart, we were forced to share between us; the same PlushTown Baby Nursing Robot in Childwing, exact same elementary school trainer robot. Everything the same until she got her first robot and started to do everything in VR. After that we never saw each other.”

  “But you keep up with her?” asked Peggy.

  “Keep up? Personally? No. But I hear about the knitting awards. That VR AI Paca she’s got.”

  “And she never knits in RR?” asked Peggy.

  Petunia-Glass took a step into Peggy’s homepod and raised her hand. Up, palm out. A ‘Stop’. “Peggy, it takes a special person to knit in the real world. Understand me?”

  “Sure,” said Peggy. “Tell me, do you belong to a select group of knitters?”

  “Dedicated knitters, yes.” Petunia Glass nodded.

  “And do some of them VR knit?”

  Petunia-Glass shrugged, “Some. But it’s not the challenge RR knitwear is.” She closed her fist and pumped once, “It’s impactful!”

  “Could you give me their names?” Peggy asked. “The group you knit with?”

  “Are you going to bother them?”

  “Not if you don’t want me to.”

  Petunia-Glass took out her Senior Rover for a bump. “Well, since it’s you, Peggy, I don’t mind. But don’t be too hard on them.” She set up the names.

  Peggy got out her Rover and took the bump. “Is it alright if I tell them what’s going on?”

  “They already know,” said Petunia-Glass.

  “Furthermore,” said Peggy. “Do you know of a person in this group, or anyone in particular, who would want to harm the sheep? Who would want to get back at you? Who doesn’t approve of having a sheep as a pet? Or of genetically modified animals?”

  Petunia-Glass thought for a moment. As she thought, her eyes landed on the Pwamster Learner Robot. Her eyes remained there. “Rocco-Vertuccio.” The Pwamster Learner Robot remained silent.

  Peggy felt her eyes widen. “Rocco-Vertuccio?”

  Petunia-Glass nodded.

  “Why?”

  Petunia-Glass’ thick white eyebrows lifted and she gestured to 55,555.

  There’s this person. About three weeks ago he showed up at a Small Council Meeting on whether or not to allow extra seating at Ruby’s breakfast kiosk—the booths around the back. Peggy had been there to support Ruby. But hardly anyone else was there—just whoever had something on the roster. So this person, he gets up and, having not made an appointment on the roster, declares he wants to be a Factor for overseeing Horticultural Bay 5. There’s no job of that description, but it’s not unusual for someone, looking to pick up points, to create a job for themselves and apply for it—like Ruby’s new waitress. Usually they go through procedures, but this guy did it in council and the council, although a bit miffed, approved the post. The horticultural bays were run by robots, everything was automatic, there were no human jobs in the horticulture area. If anything needed fixing there were robots to fix it and robots to fix robots and so forth. Peggy knew the name, Rocco-Vertuccio, because he’d been so mean at the meeting.

  Petunia-Glass stood inside Peggy’s homepod. She’d been saying: “This guy, he seems to be big in the horticulture otaku. And competitive gardens with a few other seniors. Other seniors prefer VR gardening, as a lot more unique plants can grow. Popular now are the plants that flower and there’s a baby or a puppy in the center of the bloom. But some are crabby purists who want the sun and dirt and the RR garden experience,” finished Petunia-Glass, obviously not seeing the irony. “He’s one of them.”

  Peggy stepped toward Petunia-Glass and spoke low, for some reason. “So what does he want with a Factor in horticulture? And what could it have to do with the sheep?”

  Petunia-Glass’ eyebrows lowered and her lips tightened into a pursed look. Like Peggy should know.

  Peggy felt her own thick eyebrows rise. “Is he an old flame who’s returned? A retiree from the city?” she asked.

  Petunia-Glass said nothing. Then, “It doesn’t matter. What matters
is her.” Petunia-Glass pointed at 55,555. “That one. Her! She’s the one he’s after.”

  “But why?” asked Peggy.

  Petunia-Glass put up her hands, and dropped them again. “She ate… cucumbers? I don’t know,” she said, “I don’t remember. She ate a melon, perhaps. And he was angry. Very angry.”

  “When was this?”

  “About three weeks ago.”

  Just before the meeting, Peggy thought.

  “But it’s not him,” Petunia-Glass said. “Why would he wait three weeks?” She shook her head. “No, not him.”

  “It really could be him,” said Peggy, putting her hand to her mouth. She squinted her eyes. It really could be…

  Petunia-Glass shook her head. She looked at the Pwamster Learner Robot’s face. She turned to leave.

  “One last thing,” said Peggy.

  “Yes?” Petunia-Glass turned back.

  “Is Sandy-Grass—is she competitive with you? Knitting-wise?”

  Petunia-Glass’ mouth lifted, and her nostrils flared. “She thinks she is. But it’s not the same. I don’t care how many flaming rainbows that showoff knits, she’ll never compete with me so long as she refuses to knit in the real world.”

  “And she won’t because she can’t?”

  “Because she won’t,” said Petunia-Glass.

  END OF CHAPTER SIX

  Chapter 7

  “That sounded mysterious,” said Peggy. The door had shut on Petunia-Glass. Peggy stood in her homepod, one arm crossed over her middle, her other arm using that arm as a rest, to put her finger to her cheek and chin. “I wonder why Sandy-Grass won’t knit in the real world? Is it a code of ethics? And what about Rocco-Vertuccio? Could he get that mad about a melon? Maybe.” Peggy tapped her chin. “Maybe.” She turned to her Pwamster I Can Learn Robot. “And didn’t it seem as though Petunia-Glass paused when I asked if Rocco-Vertuccio was an old flame?”