Book 5: 3rd World Products, Inc.

by Ed Howdershelt

  In conjunction with general acceptance of PFMs, that sort of medical denial couldn't go on very long before public outcry forced the worldwide acceptance of robodoc clinics, and that's when Steph's patents would suddenly be worth a bundle.

  Tiger bumped my legs without speaking. I picked him up and held him as I watched the rain fall for a time, then treated us both to some ice cream.

  "Tiger, I may have to go far away and help Stephanie with something. It's a place called Africa."

  He looked up from his dish and asked, “I go, too?"

  "I don't think so. It could be very dangerous."

  He replied firmly, “I go, too. I have PFM collar like you."

  "Not good enough. Very dangerous,” I insisted. “You can't go without Elkor, and he may be too busy."

  "Friend Elkor never too busy for me."

  "Not now, but might soon be helping Steph ... Dammit, now I'm talking like you."

  Tiger ignored me in the manner he'd developed as a kitten when he wanted to investigate something and I'd objected. I decided to test his resolve.

  "Tiger, would you like Sue to show you some of the animals that live in Africa?"

  Looking up again, he said, “Yes,” then went back to his ice cream.

  Keying my implant, I said, “Sue."

  She appeared by the kitchen door. “Yes, Ed?"

  "When Tiger's finished with his ice cream, I'd like you to make a lion appear in the living room. Life sized. I'd also like that lion to show what would be typical lion-like interest in a fellow cat such as Tiger."

  That got me a hard look from Sue and a suspicious glance from Tiger. When my ice cream was gone, I took my coffee to the living room and sat on the couch.

  Sue followed me and stood by the coffee table. Through my implant, she asked, “Ed, are you sure you want to subject Tiger to such an event?"

  "Yes. Better here than there. Make it a life-sized projection of a lion eating some other animal. Tiger knows he's about the same size as a big rabbit, so use a rabbit."

  "Africa isn't exactly known for rabbits, Ed."

  I shrugged. “So? Maybe that's because lions got ‘em all, which is exactly the kind of point I'd like to make to Tiger. He's just too small to go to Africa with me. Even his five suit wouldn't protect him from a lion or an AK round."

  "Yours wouldn't protect you, either."

  "I can use other tactics. He can't. If he got off the flitter even once at the wrong time and place..."

  Fixing me with a peering look, she asked, “Then you've decided to go?"

  Sighing as Tiger entered the room, I said, “Only on my terms. Here comes Tiger."

  Ambling into the room, Tiger looked at Sue, then at me.

  I asked, “Tiger, would you like to see a lion? That's a kind of cat from Africa that's too big to lie down on that table."

  Looking around himself at the six-foot-long, nearly three-foot-wide table and displaying rather obvious skepticism, Tiger said, “Yes."

  The rest of the room beyond the coffee table turned into a simulated savannah and a male lion lay on a low hillock of sun-baked dirt, surveying its domain as it munched on a big white rabbit. Twenty feet or so away in the artificial world, two female lions dined rather messily on the carcass of a zebra.

  When the lion's roving eyes found and locked on Tiger, it froze in mid-chew with half the rabbit hanging from its jaws. The lion then tensed in the classic, unmistakable fashion of a cat about to pounce on something.

  Tiger instantly turned into a gray striped dandelion as every hair on his body stood out. I felt my PFM implant tingle as Tiger activated his p-field one very thin slice of a second before the lion seemed to move at damned near light speed. Its huge paw appeared to soundlessly lash out and slash downward through the table and Tiger's body.

  As the lion made two more quick swings at him, Tiger yowled and leaped for the lion's eyes. Sue caught him in mid-air and returned the squalling, spitting, slashing Tiger to the coffee table as she made the lion and his scenery disappear.

  Sue fed Tiger theta waves to help him calm down, but it was close to a full minute before his claws completely retracted, his breathing slowed, and his ears stood upright again.

  His collar had trouble translating the stream of cat-sounds that came out of Tiger, but it managed, “Is real?! Is so?! Cat-so-big-so-fast-so-not-like-me?!” as Tiger rather shakenly stared at the spot where the lion had been.

  Nodding, I said, “Yes. That big, that fast. But just like you when you chase a lizard. A lion won't see you as another cat, Tiger; it'll see you as small food."

  Looking thoughtful, he asked, “Many lions there?"

  "Yes, many, and there are many other animals much larger and just as mean. Sue, how about showing him a wildebeest, another lion, a cheetah, and a hyena for size comparisons?"

  The wildebeest appeared, but the floor area wasn't quite big enough, so half of the critter seemed to be standing on the back porch, on other side of the glass doors.

  Next to the wildebeest appeared a lion, a cheetah, and a hyena. All but the wildebeest stared fixedly at Tiger, their jaws slightly open as they panted from the African heat.

  Cats have a lot of pride; Tiger would have felt it necessary to pretend to want to go anyway, even with his fur again half-standing on end. I didn't give him a chance to argue.

  Tapping my cup on the table to make him look at me, I said, “Tiger, I don't want to take you with me if I have to go. I don't want to lose you and I'm absolutely sure that Steph, Sue, and Elkor would be very angry with me if you ended up as a pile of lion poop."

  Sue rolled her eyes at me and said firmly, “Yes, we would be, Ed. Very, very angry with you."

  When Tiger finally tore his eyes away from the animals and looked at her, he said, “You must not be angry at Ed. I stay."

  Too prideful to ask Sue to make the leering animals go away, Tiger simply turned his back to them and began washing himself to show us his lack of fear.

  The animals disappeared and I reached to pet him as I said, “Thank you, Tiger."

  Regarding me thoughtfully for some moments, he said, “I will go—only?—if Elkor can come with,” and started washing his left shoulder and arm.

  Sighing, I said, “Tiger, even the people in Africa would see you as small food."

  That made him stop washing altogether and stare at me in total disbelief. He'd met people who weren't really fond of cats, but the idea that people would eat cats was unthinkable.

  Nodding, I added, “It's true, Tiger. The people there will even kill and eat lions. And they wear the lion's head and skin."

  Tiger turned his shocked gaze to Sue, who looked at me.

  "Show him, Sue. An African native wearing a lion skin. You must have some Masai footage in the pile somewhere."

  Her expression told me she thought I was pushing things a bit, but a barefoot warrior clad in a lion's head and skin and holding a spear and shield appeared in the same spot where the lion had munched the rabbit.

  I asked, “Sue, how would that guy react to seeing Tiger? He's hunting for his entire village and he's out there with half a dozen other guys looking for anything edible. Even if they nail something big, anything they find is meat for the pot."

  She got it right. Instead of using his spear, the image jammed the spear butt into the ground and eased his hand toward a bladed, feathered dart at his waist.

  The dart flashed directly at Tiger's chest and vanished. Tiger had again turned into a fuzzball. I heard his claws clack lightly on the table as he hissed and briefly looked for the dart.

  This time there was less fear than indignation in his reaction as he looked at me and asked sharply, “Why go there?"

  "Business,” I said, “To help Stephanie."

  Looking back at the native, Tiger hissed, “Bad, bad place."

  Standing up and sipping my coffee, I replied, “Yeah, that's how I see it, too,” then I patted Tiger and said, “I'm going to run some errands,” as I headed for the den.


  My do-list included a few checks that could have been mailed, a visit to Staples for an ink cartridge, and a stop by my accountant's office. As I made out the checks, Sue appeared.

  "Tiger's still upset, but less so,” she said, “Did you really feel it necessary to exaggerate?"

  "What did I exaggerate, exactly? I didn't ask you to make anything bigger than life, did I?"

  "You gave Tiger the impression that all of Africa is populated by lions and Masai natives."

  "It sure seemed that way when I was there. Guess there may have been fewer of each in the deserts, but I wasn't in the deserts. Could be there weren't all that many in the jungle, either, but all the other predators and pests more than made up for ‘em."

  Closing the checkbook and standing up, I said, “If you want to talk, come along for the ride. I'm taking the car for its weekly run around town."

  She pretended to consider the offer. It was a way of making a silent statement and inviting further discussion that she'd learned from Selena. I figured she'd refuse, and she did.

  "No, thanks. I'll stay here with Tiger, I think. See you later."

  I didn't bite; I headed for the door with, “Okay. Later."

  Chapter Eighteen

  As I left the house, I tucked my checkbook into a pocket, said, “Five suit on,” and strolled to the car through the pouring rain, moderately fascinated by the way it hit my field and ran off. Casting a flat field above me as I opened the car door and got in kept the rain out of the car.

  Up the hill toward the Deltona Boulevard light, a silver Ford sedan's brakelights came on as its headlights shone on the garage door of the old Damma house.

  Well, the house wasn't all that ‘old', really, but the Dammas had lived in it for six years before moving. It had sat empty for a few months, then the realtor sign had been removed from the yard and I'd figured someone had bought the place.

  My main concern had been that a family with screaming kids and a noisy dog had moved in, as had happened all too frequently over the last few years as retirees died off and left their homes to younger family members.

  Nope. Whoever moved in apparently did so while I wasn't home. I never saw any kids, never saw a dog. Never saw the new owners, either; not coming or going or working around the house. The lawn was mowed weekly by a service and a white Ford the same model as the silver one went somewhere every morning and returned in the late afternoon.

  All that info had more or less occurred to me at once about a month after they'd moved in. If I'd been more socially inclined, I might have walked the whole block or so necessary to say ‘hi'. Instead, I just punched up county records of the property transfer on my datapad.

  They were James and Louise Golding, and they'd taken out a standard mortgage on the house. Both were insurance claims adjustors, according to their listed occupations.

  Hm. ‘Insurance adjustors'. We'd used the same cover job for Ellen and Gary when the big ship had arrived. I checked further and found little more than that both had Florida licenses for their occupations. Well, duh. What was a cover without the proper paperwork?

  At that point, I'd said to hell with it. If they were there to keep an eye on me, so be it. Could even be they were exactly what records said they were. Didn't matter.

  I was over the hill and turning south on Deltona before the silver Ford moved. It backed out and waited at the light as I lost sight of it beyond another small hill.

  As I parked at the post office, I saw a silver Ford pull into the drive through lane and stop by the boxes. It continued around the little circle and across the street to the ‘Pack and Ship'. Nobody got out and it was too far away to see who was in the car. I went into the post office, watching the Ford through the big windows. A woman waiting for a break in the rain seemed to take sharp notice of the fact that I wasn't wet.

  A UPS truck pulled in over there and parked directly behind the silver Ford, cutting off my view, but I saw the truck driver chat out his door for a moment before getting down and going into the shop.

  After cleaning out my post office box I headed back to the window. The truck was still there. I headed for my car and drove out of the lot with a glance at the silver Ford when the angles were right. It was empty.

  Tailing and being tailed when nothing much is at stake can become a game of sorts. Not knowing for sure whether you're being tailed is just part of that game. You go through the motions and stay alert on general principles.

  At the bank, I made deposits and chatted with a couple of the women who handle my accounts, then stood by the doors watching the rain for a few moments. A silver Ford sat under the awnings of the defunct Texaco station across the street.

  Hm. The rain was coming down fairly hard. Maybe the driver just wanted out of it for the moment. Might not be the same car, either.

  I decided that it was time to head over to Staples, which was half a block past the gas station. Bidding the bank ladies goodbye, I went to my car.

  As I passed the station, I noted the license number of the car and took a minute to scribble it on scrap paper when I parked. Grabbing a couple of ink cartridges and a few other items, I checked out and put the stuff in the car, then headed back the way I'd come on the service road.

  The silver Ford was still there, but now there was a brunette woman standing beside it, talking on a cell phone. I kept an eye on my rearview mirror until the car and woman were out of sight, but she didn't get back in the car.

  Rain pounded hard on my windshield for a few more minutes, then abruptly stopped altogether; not unusual at all in Florida. In fact, sometimes you could be standing in bright sunshine and watch hard rain a hundred feet away.

  A pickup had stalled in the intersection at Deltona and Forest Oaks. I offered to give the guy a shove with my Olds to get him out of traffic and he happily agreed, steering toward a convenience store parking lot after we got him moving.

  Parking on the other side of his truck from Deltona, I asked what was wrong with the truck. He said he didn't know and didn't care, then apologized for snapping and held up a cell phone as he said that his brother was on the way “to pick up the piece of shit truck he sold me".

  Just as he said that, the silver Ford squealed through a left turn in the intersection and hauled ass north on Deltona. I waited a few moments to see if any other cars seemed to be in that big a hurry, then moved out to follow her at a distance.

  Halfway to the house an ambulance and a firetruck passed me and turned exactly where I intended to turn to avoid the light at Deltona for the last block home.

  The silver Ford was parked in the street with half a dozen other vehicles. Cops were leading three guys and a woman out of the cream-colored house across the street and two doors down from the Damma house. I recognized a drug test kit on the hood of one of the cars.

  A bust in progress, less than a block from my house. The cop in the street waved at me to keep moving. I asked him what was going on. He repeated that I should keep moving.

  Whatever. It would be on the news. I kept moving past the firetruck and the silver Ford, where the woman was on her cell phone again. The woman looked at me as I passed her and I nodded, then headed for my own driveway.

  "Sue,” I said as I entered my house and opened my coffee mug, “That looks like a drug bust down the street."

  She popped into being near me and replied, “You thought the couple at 9417 were observing you, didn't you?"

  Warming my coffee, I shrugged and replied, “It wouldn't be all that unlikely, y'know, with all the stuff that's happened here over the last few years. And I own a flitter and work for Linda.” Capping my mug, I added, “And then there's you, of course."

  Sue actually seemed startled. “Me?"

  I looked to see if she was kidding. Apparently not.

  "By now, the agencies would have to know who and what you and Steph are. They'd have some idea of what you can do and they'd think you belong to me. That would make a lot of people very nervous, and I'd bet that only my affilia
tions with 3rd World and Linda keep the hounds away from my door."

  Her blank look almost made me chuckle.

  "Think about it, Sue. Just for example, I've been landing the flitter in my front yard for years, but I've never once heard objections from the FAA. If I tried that even one time with a mini-copter or a motorized glider, I'd face fines and jail."

  Sitting at the kitchen table, I continued, “Then there's the mountain trick. I'll bet you can tell me which agencies know that we went over there, and I'll bet there are at least three. If any of them knew what really happened to the mountain, they'd see me as the proud owner of something more dangerous than a dozen H-bombs. I'd say chances are good that only the fact that Linda and 3rd World have me on their payroll keeps the US government from trying to pick me up. And you."

  Looking somewhat shocked, Sue softly said, “Yes. Of course they would. I feel so naive, Ed."

  Shrugging, I quoted, ‘ ... to see ourselves as others see us ... ’ and said, “Well, actually, they probably think I did it, if it makes you feel any better. And they likely think I dropped a special bomb or something. I kinda doubt Linda would have told them every little thing about the operation."

  Sitting back, I added, “Fact is, it's doubtful she told Danvers or Saunder anything, either. Neither of them asked us anything about the mountain, and Danvers kept the press and military away from us, so it's likely they were specifically instructed not to ask. In fact, I think the truth of what happened to that mountain is probably known only to Linda and those of us who did the job. And maybe to some Amarans who know about using fields to transmute stuff, but they aren't talking."

  Nodding, Sue said, “The sharing of such information has always been kept to a minimum by Amaran policy. I didn't realize that it was restricted to prevent panic."

  Sipping coffee, I chuckled, “Not panic, just rampant greed and paranoia. Panic would come later, after they'd convinced themselves you're too powerful and thereby too dangerous."