Malltown

by Lasa Limpin

  The Pwamster Robot’s eyes flashed once. “I did see a hesitation.”

  Peggy nodded and walked to her couch. “Me too.” She plunked down. The white, vegetable synth leather squeaked.

  55,555 walked over to the couch. 55,555 stood directly in front of the couch, facing it.

  Peggy stared down at the sheep looking up at her. Rocco-Vertuccio—she’d never expected that. She’d never heard of him before that night at the VR meeting, but Rocco-Vertuccio! He’d been super rude. Peggy put her arm along the back of the white couch.

  Her Pwamster I Can Learn Robot wheeled forward. “Have you had breakfast, Grippy Peggy?”

  Peggy stared, her eyes stuck, and shook her head. “I forgot.” Sometimes she forgot to eat after eating in VR. Happened to a lot of people. Peggy took a deep breath. “And neither has the sheep.”

  The Pwamster Robot’s eyes flashed. “I shall get her a lasagna,” she said, in her Learner voice. To Peggy it sounded somewhat satisfied. Like she had learned the right way to go about things and did not need to ask. Peggy watched her at the food printer, not really seeing her, thinking instead. Who should she see first? Peggy chewed at a nail. She wanted to see Rocco-Vertuccio, that seemed like the better lead. He had a mean streak. From how he acted at the meeting. After all, Hydroponics Bay 5 wasn’t even his Sector’s! But it was Petunia-Glass’.

  Still, she should check out Sandy-Grass. That was easier—Sandy-Grass had her VR knitting museum, after all. Was it possible Sandy-Grass knew Rocco-Vertuccio? A love triangle. Peggy thought about that. Weird. Usually, more like—five. Mixed numbers. Depending.

  :::SECTION BREAK:::

  Peggy told her Pwamster Learner Robot to keep a close eye on 55,555 and left them in a staring contest, 55,555 with red, synth-lasagna sauce on her mouth.

  Previously, not fifteen minutes before, Peggy had removed her coveralls. Deciding she had enough new coveralls and would recycle these, Peggy headed to the wall. She pulled a silver handle down. Along the wall, invisible rubber seams pulled apart and revealed what looked like a scooper. Peggy dropped the coveralls down the chute. The chute sent the coveralls and other waste to a sorter for material recycling—the coveralls would be coveralls again, or a plate, or a fork—or whatever. Peggy slipped into her black VR suit prior to speaking to the Pwamster I Can Learn Robot about looking after 55,555, feeling like a sleek black string bean as she spoke. Peggy stepped into her VR cylinder. She’d punched in the code to Sandy-Grass’ knitware museum—if that was the right word for it. Peggy stood inside the VR cylinder and the cylinder vanished and the first thing Peggy noticed was the smell of fire. She heard the sound of a woman wailing. The sound went through Peggy’s mind and spine. It sent an alert, awake feeling into her. A ready feeling, and a ready feeling was a good feeling to have, since Peggy had prepared herself to be within a space of boredom. As it was now, too interesting. She knew there would be more to the knitware museum than she had prepared herself for.

  The light went up and it momentarily blinded her. Peggy put her arm up to block the heat and the light. Peggy’s eyes adjusted and she told her suit to drop its heat sensors and leave her only visual, dimmed—no smell either.

  Sandy-Grass crouched in a corner of the blazing room. She wore a rainbow knitwear tube dress, and looked like an unusual, fat snake, huddled, with a whitish-yellow hoi polloi of thin, flyaway hair, lightly feathered. Her hands covered her eyes and nose. “It’s gone. All gone,” she cried into her hands.

  Peggy approached and crouched down. “What is? Sandy-Grass? Is there any way I can help? In my Grippy Factor capacity or otherwise?”

  Sandy-Grass lowered her hands. “I didn’t send for you. How did you come so quickly?” Sandy-Grass’ blue eyes watered and Peggy didn’t know if it was the smoke or if Sandy-Grass was crying that hard.

  “I came to ask some questions—and to see your museum,” said Peggy.

  “Oh Gods! It’s gone!” Sandy-Grass wailed. “It’s all gone, gone gone.” She shook her head, and put her hands against her eyes again.

  Peggy touched her shoulder and got no reaction. “If we could go somewhere else and talk about it? Do you have a favorite program?”

  Sandy-Grass slid her hands down. Her eyes turned sharp and her mouth turned down. “This was it!”

  Peggy saw some of the fierceness she’d felt through Sandy-Grass’ 3D AR image. “Let’s get out of here. I know,” said Peggy, “Let’s just go to the Soft Box.”

  Sandy-Grass wiped her nose with the back of her hand. She nodded. “Sounds fine.”

  “Soft Box,” said Peggy.

  “Soft Box,” said Sandy-Grass.

  The two appeared in a soft box. Peggy sat on the plush, silky pink floor. The silky pink walls bulged slightly in softness. “Want to talk about it?” Peggy asked.

  “In your Grippy Factor capacity?” asked Sandy-Grass. She also sat.

  “If you want,” Peggy took out her VR Grippy Rover. The information would get fed to her RR Grippy Rover.

  “Fine,” Sandy-Grass sat back against a plushly bulging pink wall. “I was ruined. Sabotaged. I came in here and everything was on fire.”

  That’s a serious Burble! Peggy thought. “Someone destroyed the program?”

  “What does it look like!” snapped Sandy-Grass. “Of course someone destroyed the program. Years of work! Decades, gone!”

  “Don’t you have a backup?” asked Peggy. She crossed her legs and pulled her feet into lotus position.

  Sandy-Grass shook her head. “Not with everything.”

  Peggy hated to ask. “The AI paca?”

  “She’s fine. Thank Minerva.”

  Peggy exhaled, thinking. “Do you know who could have done this?”

  Sandy-Grass’ blue eyes got hard, her thick yellow eyebrows tensed. For a moment Peggy thought she would scream. “Petunia-Glass!” exclaimed Sandy-Grass. (It wasn’t a scream, though.) “She did it! I know she did! Her—or that Rocco-Vertuccio.” Sandy-Grass frowned. “He’s always loved me.” Her blue eyes met Peggy’s. To Peggy it felt like Sandy-Grass dared her to disagree.

  “That’s amazing, because I’m here on behalf of Petunia-Glass and—”

  Sandy-Grass stood up, pushing herself up by the plush wall, her feet unsteady on the plush floor. “You mean she sent you here? Her little spy! You filmed this, did you? She gets a first hand look at her dirty work, does she? To gloat!”

  “No! It’s not like that at all! I’m here about the sheep!”

  Sandy-Grass stopped. The wrinkles around her mouth grew less. Less tight. “55,555?” Her yellow brows drew down over her eyes, deepening the creases in her forehead. “Is the sheep okay?”

  Peggy nodded. “She’s fine, but Petunia-Glass thinks someone tried to grab 55,555 from her homepod. And I’m beginning to think so too.”

  Sandy-Grass said nothing.

  “And you did have a Shyster, Sandy-Grass,” said Peggy, “Didn’t you.” Peggy paused. “I’m here in my Grippy Factor capacity. Just as yesterday, in my Grippy Factor capacity, while I was investigating the burble regarding 55,555, I bumped the Shyster cubby with my Factor Grippy Rover. I saw you took a Shyster out. That was the day before Petunia-Glass nearly had her sheep stolen by an invisible intruder. And you still have it—the Shyster, I mean. Whoever did try to take 55,555 would try again, in my estimation. If they wanted her that bad—bad enough to try the first time, that is.”

  Sandy-Grass stared past Peggy and at a pink plushy wall. She shook her head. “It wasn’t me,” she said. “I swear it.” Sandy-Grass’ mouth turned down. “Alright, I had the Shyster. I heard about 55,555, and I wanted to get a peek at it. Glorianna, our mutual friend—she knits in and out of VR—she said she’d be meeting Petunia-Glass for lunch and would be bringing her Llama, so as to be sure Petunia-Glass would bring 55,555. That’s why I got the Shyster suit. Glorianna let me into the VR program so I could have a look. I wanted to pet her. But Petunia-Glass didn’t bring 55,555.” Sandy-Grass’ mouth turned down.

&n
bsp; AI paca, thought Peggy, not Llama. Peggy had learned the difference this afternoon, on her Grippy Rover. Something wasn’t adding up here. “And you kept the suit,” Peggy said.

  “To try again, next time. But I didn’t try to grab her! What would I want with an RR sheep?” Sandy-Grass’ eyes got hard, her brows fell over her eyes. “It was that Rocco-Vertuccio. He did this to both of us!”

  :::SECTION BREAK:::

  The tall, curved door slid open and Peggy exited her VR cylinder. 55,555 and the Pwamster Learner Robot stood in the white interior of Peggy’s homepod. The Pwamster Learner Robot and 55,555 stared at one another. 55,555 turned and looked at Peggy. Peggy lifted her eyebrows at it. 55,555 took a step toward her.

  Peggy looked to the Pwamster Robot, “Did anything happen while I was away?”

  The Pwamster Robot’s eyes flashed. Once. “No.”

  Peggy stopped and stared at the Pwamster Robot. Why didn’t she believe her? Peggy’s sensor suit had already begun to grow warm. Cloying. Peggy started to tug at it, getting it off. “I’m going to see Rocco-Vertuccio,” she said as she tugged and the suit fought back. “I don’t know what’s going on here.” She pulled the sensor suit over her head. It stretched, and pulled free. She took in air. “But I intend to find out,” Peggy said. “These are some serious Burbles here.” Her short, above-the-shoulder hair felt disordered from taking off the VR suit. And Peggy felt a hint of residual static.

  The Pwamster I Can Learn Robot veered forward, toward Peggy. Peggy had an instinct to step back. The Pwamster stopped abruptly. Peggy wondered why she’d thought to step away from the Pwamster Robot. It had felt, for a moment, like it rushed her.

  The Pwamster Robot’s oval eyes flashed. Twice. Fast. “Are you not going to investigate the circle of knitters with which Petunia-Glass surrounds herself?”

  “I don’t think I need to now,” said Peggy, heading for the wall, smoothing her hair down. She hit the bio lights. The room flashed red—the flash of color indicated the disinfecting function of the bio lights had been activated. Peggy headed to a further section of smooth, curved white wall and pulled a silver handle. Pulling on the silver handle opened a cubby-like space inside the wall. Inside the cubby-like space there was room for stacked coveralls—the ones Peggy had brought home yesterday. Peggy removed the top pair of coveralls. The folded coveralls fell open and she began putting her legs in. “Rocco-Vertuccio is heavily implicated. I think he had a hand in both events.” She shook her head. “Wham! What a Burble. Two Burbles!” She shook her head. “Oh wait, you don’t know. Sandy-Grass’ knitware museum burnt down. I was there when it happened,” Peggy said, putting her arms into the sleeves of her coveralls, one by one. She found she was breathing fast. “He, or someone he knows, erased the program. That’s a serious offense,” Peggy finished. She went over to her sneakers.

  The Pwamster Learner Robot wheeled forward on three glossy white orbs. “Do you believe Rocco-Vertuccio is dangerous?”

  “I don’t know,” said Peggy. Peggy put her feet into her sneakers and let them lace up. Dressed in sneakers and beige coveralls, Peggy reached for her Factor Grippy Rover sitting on the white plastic table. “I first encountered Rocco-Vertuccio three weeks ago in a VR meeting over Roxy’s kiosk expanding. He interrupted the meeting with his own agenda.” Peggy was looking down, scrolling her Rover with a finger. “He’s not even part of Sector 4. I think he’s Sector 9. Why would he want to be a Factor in Horticultural Bay 5? Because that’s what he wanted.”

  “I don’t know,” said the Pwamster Robot.

  “That’s a main source of food for Sector 4-6, as far as I know. Petunia-Glass is Sector 4, like us, and Sandy-Grass is Sector 6. What does he want with our food?”

  “He is a horticulturalist,” said the Pwamster Robot.

  Peggy spun on her. “How do you know that?”

  “I’ve looked it up,” said the Pwamster. “In my head.”

  “Just now? You’re not supposed to do that without my asking,” said Peggy.

  “I am a Pwamster I Can Learn Robot.”

  “Sure, but you’re not supposed to have access to Grippy Factor material unless I give it to you. It’s a matter of privacy,” said Peggy. She felt alert. Like she’d had a caffeine #29 and got a weird taste in her mouth.

  The Pwamster Learner Robot stood silent.

  Peggy opened her Factor Grippy Rover’s access to PEOPLE. Checked for Rocco-Vertuccio. “I’ve got to go. Maybe he’ll be at the horticultural bay now. If not I’ll check out his homepod. Stare at the sheep for me. Oh, and feed her lasagna.”

  Peggy approached the main door of her homepod. The door whooshed open.

  The Pwamster Learner Robot rushed forward. And stopped. “Don’t you wish for me to accompany you?!?” The Pwamster Robot’s voice sounded hurried. But not too hurried. “If you would prefer not to use bimpercars for a trip to Sector 9. You may have a seat on me. I would propel us much faster and we could cut through the kiosks at any time, perhaps for a quick lunch with Franny Robot 2-9, and furthermore, we could shop for specialty goods—Franny 2-9 says she does this with Roxy. They spend time together in the kiosks as well as spending time in their VR cylinder together, which we do not.” The Pwamster Learner Robot stopped speaking abruptly. After all the rush, it felt like a silence.

  Peggy stared at her Pwamster Learner Robot.

  The Pwamster Learner Robot’s eye-lights remained ‘on’.

  Peggy shook her head. “Not today,” she said. “You have to look after the sheep.”

  The Pwamster Robot’s eyes shut off. Then on again. “But what if Rocco-Vertuccio is dangerous? Would you need me for baaack-up?” She said the word slowly, as though having read it somewhere recently and retrieved it with its meaning and context still heavily attached.

  “I’ll be okay. I can take care of myself,” said Peggy, watching her.

  The Pwamster Learner Robot headed forward. Stopped. “But— I thought we would be sleuths together.”

  Peggy studied the Pwamster. It had only been sixteen days or so since the Pwamster I Can Learn Robot had arrived at Peggy’s homepod. Her Learner feature. That was what the robot was experiencing, Peggy thought. What they were both experiencing. The robot had learned on her own before, but for the first time the robot and Peggy were experiencing the robot’s Learner feature in real time together. That’s why the robot sounded strangely. Peggy’s shoulders relaxed. “That would be fun. But, another time, okay?”

  The Pwamster’s lights went out.

  “Hey,” said Peggy, “Have you picked a name for yourself yet?”

  “Not yet,” the Pwamster said, lights dark.

  “Oh, okay then. Look after 55,555 for me, will you? It’s an important task.”

  The Pwamster Robot said nothing.

  Peggy turned to leave. She headed out the door of her homepod. She heard the door whoosh closed behind her. Peggy stopped and exhaled. She glanced around at the bright day coming down from the overhead solar dome. Malltowners and robots headed along the Left Corridor of Malltown. Malltowners in beige coveralls and other clothing, and various vending machine haircuts.

  Bimpercars moved up and down the center of Malltown in a long, steady line, far as the eye could see. Kiosks busy up ahead in the middle of the bimpercars. The hum of voices inside a vast, domed space. The fresh air, metallic smell.

  Peggy checked her watch. 11:34 AM. Late. A white, three-orbed robot wheeled past, her orbs opened at the front to create a seat for one passenger. The woman in the seat wore beige coveralls and AR—augmented reality—glasses and was in the process of laughing about something Peggy couldn’t see. The robot and the woman zipped away. Heading for the long Right Corridor of Malltown. Peggy watched them head around the kiosks.

  Peggy took a step. She stopped. Turned back to the door of her homepod. Thought about what the word, sleuths, meant. In the plural. She hesitated. Then she turned and headed to Horticultural Bay 5.

  END OF CHAPTER SEVEN

  Chapter 8


  The micro-soft soles on Peggy’s sneakers pressed firmly and silently against the smooth, gently sloping walkway. A cleaner robot hummed past, its methodical purpose to keep the white floor and glass dome of the walkway spotless. The weather being good, the walkway had its metal shield down. The sun beat bright against the UV-protected solar glass, warming Peggy’s skin. Free sun. Free air. Peggy couldn’t imagine a time when she wasn’t free. Peggy lifted her watch arm: 12:03 PM. Her time had been spent—twenty minutes of bimpercars. Up the Left Corridor of Malltown. To reach to the edge of Sector 4.

  Two minutes to exit the bimpercars and pass between a set of homepods which stood on either side of a doorway.

  Five seconds to proceed—to the doorway, closed off by a clear plastic door. Upon Peggy’s approach, the plastic doorway opened itself—two seconds.

  At exactly 11:57 AM Peggy left Malltown proper and entered the walkway tube.

  The tube would lead Peggy to Horticultural Bay 5. For the entire period while Peggy was walking she walked alone. Ahead of Peggy, she could see the ending of the walkway. And there, at the end, the large side of the dome which housed Horticultural Bay 5.

  The Bottleneck. Peggy had learned about The Bottleneck in Elementary School.

  The Bottleneck. When electric companies, oil companies tried to get us to pay them for free energy. The companies claimed they PAID for the infrastructure. PAID for it all! When they didn’t. When really they took BILLIONS from the government in subsidies that PAID for all the infrastructure and took what we paid in bills as profit. So we paid twice, once in taxes that went to the energy companies and then again to the energy companies direct.