“So they’ve sent a new packet for you to work on as soon as you have time. It’s great that you’re so diverse and responsive, Appie. That’ll take you a long way.”
Appie wanted so bad to sigh deeply, but she did not, not, let herself. Attitude was half the game. “Thanks.”
“Thank you. Have a good time at your conference. Mercator has budget issues these days, so don’t expect much joy if you recommend something extravagant. Still, they paid their fee in advance, so we can’t complain. Besides, it’s all good when you have Julio on the team, right?” She winked.
Appie kept her face strictly neutral. “Yeah. He’s a sharp dude. Good to work with.”
“Riiiight. Anyway, send me a report when you’re done. I see they’ve moved up the start time to eight thirty, so you might finish up early. If you do, we have another project to send your way.”
“Uh, cool. I guess business is booming.”
“That’s because we make it boom,” said Carolyn sardonically. “Good luck. Later.” Her image disappeared from the screen.
Vidcam or no vidcam, Appie sighed loud and long. She rubbed her temples and muttered, “I need a break,” then immediately wished she hadn’t spoken. She quickly clicked on her e-mail page. There were lots of messages but none urgent, and she didn’t have time to answer any at the moment. She clicked over to her private e-mail. There were fewer and fewer messages here each week, as high school friends, discouraged because Appie never had the time to call or see them, forgot her and moved on. At least her mom and dad wrote almost every day. There were sidebar ads on this page, for companies that Worldtree owned or had a big stake in. One, flashing on the right, was for the White Bison Resort in North Dakota, offering weekend packages of “Open Spaces for Open Minds” at a great bargain rate for cubio dwellers. That sounds really nice, Appie thought.
She glanced down at the time glyph. “Omigod!” She had ten minutes until the meeting started. She wanted to log in early, just in case Julio was early too and they might have a chance to chat before business. Appie rushed to her one little closet and changed out of her oversized T-shirt into an oversized black hoodie and dark blue stretch pants. She squirted hair gel into her hand and mussed up her short hair some more. Then she grabbed her coffee and sat at her deck table. Appie took three deep breaths before tapping the conference code into the remote.
In a blink, the deck became a well-appointed conference room with a huge picture window showing a beautiful, sunny spring morning over Puget Sound, the Olympic Mountains sparkling with snow in the distance. But Appie’s attention was caught by something else. Julio was in the room.
“Hey, Appie, another early bird. Howya doin’? ” He smiled and stretched, showing off some very fine biceps and pecs beneath his short-sleeved polo shirt.
Boy works out, Appie thought. “I’m good. You?”
“Never better. You’re rockin’ the casual look today.”
“Yep. And you’re . . . you.” Appie knew her eyes were giving away too much admiration, and she cussed herself for it.
“Like it? Look me up on buymyface.com. You can download it onto your comfort-bot.” Julio winked.
Appie fought down a blush. “You’re outrageous, you know that?” Appie was all too aware every meeting was recorded. Did Julio have too much rank to care?
“Value added, dude. I’d sell every nonessential organ in my body if it didn’t mean too much downtime.”
Appie cringed inside but there was no doubting the boy’s ambition. Julio was gunning for five stars if he wasn’t there already. “Good for you. Anyway, I don’t own a comfort-bot.”
“Should look into it. Han Robotics has got amazing stuff. Their stock is going orbital. You could sell your own image, you know. Bet you’d get some buyers.” Julio smiled.
Feeling flattered swirled with all kinds of wrong in Appie’s gut, leaving her totally flustered. To imagine strangers doing . . . things to a simulacrum wearing her face. “Uh, thanks, but that’s not the business model I want to develop for myself.”
“Old-fashioned girl, eh? Suit yourself. Oops. Here come the clients.”
The remote beeped as someone tapped in their code and suddenly two people, a man and a woman, thirtyish and dressed conservatively, appeared in the room.
They exchanged introductions and made the usual business-type small talk. All the necessary little rituals. Appie noted that the clients had a hungry stare in their eyes. This opportunity was important, perhaps vital, to their company.
Mercator finally began their pitch. The woman began, “We’re considering a line of clothing expressly for cubio dwellers like yourselves. Clothing that’s comfortable to work in, sleep in, whatever. We have a supplier for a fabric that wicks away sweat and always has a fresh scent.”
“Or whatever scent you want,” the man added quickly.
“And here are the styles we’re developing,” the woman said, opening up a new window on Appie’s vidscreen to display sketches and prototype outfits. There were simple unisex tops and bottoms and a jumpsuit. Appie was not impressed. Julio wore a dubious frown as well.
“What colors would these be available in?” Appie asked.
“Well, light colors like pastels dye best on this fabric, but we’ve been trying to talk the manufacturer into trying out some patterns, like this kicky stripe design.” She let one of the sketches cycle through a variety of colors.
Julio stifled a laugh. “I’m sorry, but those . . . look like kids’ jammies.”
“Well, that’s the idea,” the woman persisted. “We know you people work under mountains of stress, so we thought comforting clothes would be the way to go.” She displayed the jumpsuit design and let it cycle through bright colors and stripes.
“Yeah, jammies . . .” Appie agreed. “Or prison uniforms.”
There was a glint of recognition, of irony, in the woman’s eyes, and suddenly anger flashed up from Appie’s gut. “You’re dissing us,” Appie growled. “We are not children, and we are not prisoners or new slaves like some in the media claim. We work our butts off every day, all day. We give all we have to give, all the time. You want to sell to us? Don’t patronize us. Give us something we can use, that helps us. We don’t need comfort, we need . . . inspiration! Don’t give us pastels. How about . . . cloth covered in facts, figures, wise observations—”
“Yeah, like ‘no I in team’ stuff,” Julio tentatively put in, trying to follow her lead.
“No, not stupid corporate affirmations,” cried Appie, warming to her subject. “Stuff from the latest GAAP edition, reviews of the current movie hits in China and India, what are the top-selling toys in Mexico, demographics on where the displacees from the shrinking coastline states are going and what they need, and if you go high-tech enough, have these printed on something like e-paper so you can download updates through your workstation. Inspire us! Cubions are competitive. Give us something that promises to give us an edge. That will be unique. That will sell.” Appie realized she’d been pounding the table with her fist, and she self-consciously returned her hands to her lap.
Moments of silence passed. The clients stared at her. Julio stared at her. Appie realized her suggestion would triple the cost of manufacturing, and Carolyn had said Mercator was tight on budget. Oh god, I just blew it big-time.
The man leaned over and whispered something in the woman’s ear. “Um,” said the woman, “wow, that gives us a lot to think about. Um. My partner and I need to have a little discussion. We’ll be right back.” She leaned forward and touched her remote. Their images vanished.
Appie covered her face with her hands. “I suck.”
“No, no, those were great ideas,” said Julio. “They’d be idiots not to take them up. But the negativity scares me. We’re supposed to be helping clients, not yelling at them.”
“I’m sorry. I just saw that thing that looked like a prison uniform and—”
“Touched a raw nerve, huh?”
“I guess. I mean, I don’t feel l
ike a prisoner. I wake up and I love the smell of challenge in the morning. But . . . it’s funny. I just saw an ad this morning for the White Bison Resort. It looked . . . really good.”
“You should go,” Julio said, an earnest tone in his voice. “It’s Worldtree owned, so there’s all kinds of ways you can biz-spin a vacation there. Besides, the restaurant there, the Brownhorn, is one of the few places left you can get beef steak at a reasonable price.”
Appie almost never ate beef, but she suddenly found her mouth watering at the prospect. She looked up at Julio. “You’re a Harbinger too, aren’t you?”
He grinned. “Worldtree hires the best. Oops. Here come the clients again. Whatever you do, don’t apologize.”
The clients popped into view once more. They looked sheepish. The woman began, “My partner and I have discussed this and we want you to know we are terribly sorry if we’ve inadvertently shown disrespect for you people and what you do. Obviously, it is our goal to offer only the best and most appealing merchandise. That said, we think your ideas are fantastic and a much better way to go. We have a couple of lines of apparel that we’re not wild about that we might be able to shut down to bring this into budget. We’re going to give your ‘idea-wear’ a chance. We’ll come back, if you don’t mind, and show you our new prototypes when they’re ready.”
Appie was stunned. Everyone said their thanks and good-byes and the clients couldn’t seem to get off screen fast enough.
Appie sighed, blinking, and turned to Julio. “Well, that went better than expected. Good job.”
“Hey, you did all the work, I was just backup. All the props should be for you.”
“Thanks. Well. Anyway, I hope we get the chance to work together again sometime.”
Julio smiled. “Hope is for wimps.” Then, shifting his voice to sound exactly like the voiceover to the company training vid, “At Worldtree, we make the future happen!” He tapped his remote and blipped out.
Still grinning, blushing, and shaking her head, Appie walked over to the workstation and sat down. She had to give Carolyn a report anyway. But asking for vacation time was dicey. Taking a deep breath, Appie messaged her manager.
Carolyn’s vid appeared in the upper right. “Oh, hi, Appie. That was fast. Your score is coming in just now. Wait for it . . . oh, wow! Mercator gave you four and a half stars, Appie! Good job!”
“Thanks, I—”
“Exceeded expectations. And Julio sent along a good word, too. I’m impressed. Takes a lot to get a compliment out of that boy.”
Appie was really hoping her blush couldn’t show up in pixels. “Um, thanks. I wanted to ask, Carolyn, about vacation? I’d like to take some?”
“Oh, thank God!”
“What? You . . . you’re okay with that?”
“Appie, the company gives you a week’s vacation for a reason. You’ve been here a year and you’ve only taken two days!”
“Thanksgiving and Christmas, yeah. But I was looking at the White Bison Resort and thought it sounded good.”
“Excellent. So, did you want to go soon?”
“If I could . . .”
“How about this weekend? White Bison’s got a springtime weekend special for Worldtree contractors. I can even set up a cheap flight for you—we get a good deal with Pacifica Air.”
“Um, cool. Great.” Wow, is this a great company to work for or what? thought Appie.
“Okay, I’ll move your project schedule around and get you all booked. I’ll e-mail you the details this afternoon. This is a great idea, Appie. I’m glad you’re taking some downtime. Gotta run. Bye.”
“Bye.” Carolyn’s image vanished, and Appie leaned back in her chair, blown away. That was easy. Carolyn’s being really helpful. So . . . why am I still worried?
Two days later, the airport shuttle out of Fargo let Appie out in front of the White Bison Resort Lodge. Though it was just the beginning of May, the air was warm and full of scents Appie hadn’t smelled in a long time. Grass and sage, earthy and animally, made her nose tingle. All around her, the land stretched out for miles and miles, and the indigo sky arcing above her seemed huge. It was thrilling and unfamiliar, like a visit to an alien planet.
Appie went inside to the faux rustic interior of the lodge and registered. There was a nearby connecting doorway to the dining room of the Brownhorn Restaurant and, because she’d foolishly forgotten to bring food onto the flight, Appie was famished. She sent her weekender bag up to her room with a well-tipped bellhop and went right into the restaurant.
Appie showed the maître d’ her employee ID and was seated at a great table on the second floor. She had a fabulous view of the sunset over the plains. She’d scheduled a drive and hike tour for tomorrow that she was really looking forward to. Nevertheless, she put her small laptop on the table and opened it. It was a company resort, after all, and you never knew who’d be watching. She tried to think of some suggestion useful to the airline industry, but ever since the gas crisis of twenty eleven, the airlines were stripping as many services as they could. It had been years since anything but water was offered to passengers except on intercontinental flights, and already most flights under two hours were one-third stand-up passengers. Appie just couldn’t think of what more could be done.
“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”
Appie looked up. “Julio!”
“I’ll take that smile as a no.” Julio Tanaka sat down across the table from her.
“What are you doing here?”
“You’re such a good Harbinger, Appie. I heard your idea for a quick weekend here at White Bison and decided it sounded fantastic.”
Appie laughed. “And I heard your idea for steak and decided to try this restaurant.”
“Here’s to great minds thinking alike,” said Julio, raising his water glass. “Um, that is, I hope you don’t mind sharing some of your weekend with me.”
“Mind?” Appie clinked her water glass with his, feeling supremely silly. Well, so much for a relaxing weekend, she thought. But she didn’t mind.
They talked restaurant biz over dinner. They talked music biz over dessert, noting how techno-mash-ups had made it into Muzak. They let their bodies do the talking as they danced into the wee hours of the morning at a resortified version of an old-school rave in the White Bison Auditorium.
Appie semi-awoke in panic the next morning because she had not heard the alarm. The next few moments she blundered around the hotel room, searching for the workstation, until she woke up enough to calm herself down. She was on vacation. It was okay.
She glanced at the bed. Julio wasn’t there, nor was there any sign he had been. Appie then remembered how she had pointedly turned him away when he escorted her back to the room. Turned down a hottie like that. What’s up with me? Hope he isn’t mad.
But the bedside clock showed she’d better hustle if she was going to take the little ecotour she’d signed up for. Appie threw on clothes and brushed her hair and dashed out the door. She stopped by Julio’s room, fully expecting him to still be asleep or, worse, refuse to answer her knock. But in moments he opened the door, already dressed, looking wide awake. A phone rig hung in his ear and, looking past him, Appie could see his laptop open on the bedside table.
“Hi! You’re up,” Appie said in surprise.
“The early bird gathers no moss,” said Julio, grinning. “Already got two more projects lined up for when I get back. How’d you sleep?”
“Like a rock. Did you sleep?”
“In my own fashion. So what’s up today?”
“Got an ecotour. Um, I suppose you’re too busy—”
“No, not at all. This is vacation, right? I’ll be right there.”
A couple of minutes later, Julio joined her, wearing an armtop and still sporting the Bluetooth. They got down to the “duck” truck and found there was still an open slot, given that it was off season, so Julio paid and got on.
It was a glorious, sunny morning. The tour truck went by wetlands filled wit
h geese and ducks, and prairie now repopulated with bounding antelope and great herds of lumbering bison. Eagles and hawks circled overhead, as well as vultures searching for scraps left behind by wolf and coyote packs. Appie took it all in, wide-eyed, but Julio seemed rather bored, mostly tapping something into his armtop.
The ecotour stopped at a low range of hills on which a nature trail had been constructed. Appie eagerly hopped out to hike around a bit, but Julio stayed in his seat.
“Aren’t you coming?” Appie asked.
“You go on ahead, I’ll be right after you.”
So Appie loped up the trail over the hill ridge. One arm of the trail led out onto open prairie. The rest of the tour group stayed on the hills for the view, so Appie went the way no one else was going. After about a quarter mile, she stopped. The only sounds were the hissing of the long grasses and birdsong. The sun was warm, and the wind was gentle. Appie closed her eyes and held out her arms to take it all in. She felt a part of herself opening up that had been closed for so long—
Something slapped the back of her head. “Stop that,” Julio said behind her.
“Hey!” Appie spun around, rubbing her scalp, and glared at him.
“Don’t look at me like that. I was rescuing you.”
“Rescuing me? From what?”
“From what I call the rapture of the void. You think you’re getting all spiritual and connecting to the earth. Don’t fall for it, Appie. It’ll make you lose your edge.”
“Isn’t that what vacations, what this place, are for?” Appie demanded. “Aren’t experiences like this what living is for?”
“Don’t go all Opt-Out on me, girl. You’re better than that.”
“Opt-Out” was almost a dirty word in the cubio world. It was what cubions called folks who, despite being well educated, rebelled against the life of the mod-towers. People who chose to work few hours at simple jobs, live poor, spend little, and base their life around home and family. They were forming themselves into a movement called the Frugalists. A noted right-wing blogger had recently proclaimed that such people should be charged with treason for allowing the United States to “fall behind” India and China.
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