3rd World Products, Inc. Book 7

by Ed Howdershelt

  I turned away from the approaching group and pretended to adjust the luggage as I whispered, “Flitter, make that baby sleep while it's aboard, please. Start sending theta waves the moment its mother steps aboard and keep the theta waves on until the kid's off your deck."

  "Yes, Ed."

  "Thank you."

  As I handed the mother up to the flitter's deck, the kid looked around in a rather glassy fashion and started to settle down. A moment later it was asleep.

  "Well,” said the woman, “It looks like little Randy likes flitters, doesn't it?"

  "Jesus, let's hope so,” said the guy, “He's been screaming his damned head off all the way from Philly,” then he pointed toward the console and said, “Hey, that cat-looking thing on the ... uh ... thing, there! It just moved!"

  "That's because it is a cat,” I said. “His name is Tiger and he's sitting on what's called a ‘console'."

  After a look at me, the guy moved closer to the console and peered at Tiger, who gazed back at them without comment.

  'Hm. That's a first,’ I thought.

  The guy looked at me and asked in a tone of disbelief, “You brought your cat?!"

  "Sure, why not? He likes to fly.” Standing in front of my usual seat, I said, “Okay, we're all aboard and we'll be in the air for about half an hour. I'm Ed, this is Donna, and that's Tiger. Now, everybody pick a seat ‘cuz we're taking off. Flitter, take us to Carrington, please."

  They hurriedly sat down as we lifted. The flitter again paused twice as it avoided air traffic, then it zipped up to cruising altitude with alacrity that caused my passengers to clench their seats and stop breathing for a few moments.

  The woman unclenched enough to hiss, “Do you always fly like this?!"

  "Yup. This is how flitters fly, ma'am. It's also why they sent one to pick you up today.” Pointing over the side, I asked, “Anybody see anyplace you recognize down there?"

  They didn't, of course, but the view certainly held their attention well. We'd been cruising for several minutes before the guy thumbed at the rear deck and asked, “What's all that stuff back there? You planning a picnic?"

  Thinking of Toni's company outing, I said, “There's an outdoor thing going on Wednesday in Florida."

  The woman exclaimed, “Oh, are those golf shoes?! They are! My Steve's been playing for years. You two should..."

  Holding up a hand, I interrupted, “I don't golf, ma'am. I just like the shoes."

  The man—Steve, I supposed—looked at me as if he couldn't believe his ears, and blustered, “You wear those shoes, but you don't play golf?"

  "Nope.” Turning to Donna, I called up a field screen and said, “I'd like to go over some data before we arrive, ma'am,” and thumbed at the back of the flitter.

  Donna stared uncomprehendingly at me for only the briefest moment, then nodded and headed that direction. When we stood alone by my ‘picnic supplies', I put up a soundproof transparent barrier as she grinningly asked, “'Some data', huh?"

  Changing the screen to the internet and poking icons as a way of looking busy, I replied, “It got us away from those people for a few minutes. Even Tiger doesn't want to talk to them, and he was looking forward to startling them."

  "He was?"

  "Oh, yeah. Definitely. He gets a giggle out of making people blink and stare. How long do you think we can fake having something to do back here?"

  She shrugged and grinned.

  "I guess that depends on how long you can keep this charade going."

  Giving her a narrow look, I replied, “You're a whole lotta help, lady.” Sighing, I added, “Okay. I have an idea that may verify why these people are aboard my flitter,” and headed back to the front of the flitter.

  Addressing the group, I said, “It just occurred to me that I haven't been told where to deliver you, and with all that luggage, I can't see just dropping you off at the front doors."

  Calling up a three-foot field screen, I ignored her gasp and his soft shout behind me as I poked Linda's flapping lips icon.

  When she answered, I said, “Sorry to bother you, Ms. Baines, but am I supposed to deliver these people to anyone in particular at the terminal?"

  Tiger came running from the rear of the flitter, exuberantly yelling, “Hello, Linda! Hello! We're coming to see you!” as he jumped into my arms to be closer to the screen.

  The woman jumped, too, damned near leaving her seat as Tiger bolted forward yelling. She now sat as if frozen, staring starkly at the talking cat in my arms.

  Linda grinned and replied, “Hello, Tiger!", then scanned the shocked and staring people around me and added, “And hello to everyone aboard, of course. Ed, take them to the main doors of the passenger terminal. Eve Porter is waiting for you."

  "Roger that, ma'am. Think I oughta tell these people about the super secret talking cat project?"

  Laughing, Linda looked around the group again and replied, “Oh, gee, Ed, I'll let you decide.” Her desk phone rang and she said, “Oops. Gotta go now. Goodbye, all. Goodbye, Tiger."

  Tiger yelled, “Goodbye, Linda! Goodbye!” and Linda gave him a little ‘bye-bye’ wave as she tapped her ‘off’ icon.

  A long moment passed before Steve stood up and angrily snapped, “Was that some kind of a goddamned joke?"

  "Be just a little more specific, please,” I said, “Are you referring to my friend Tiger or my call to Linda Baines?"

  Rather exasperatedly, he snapped, “Yeah, smartass, your cat. Some people don't like being made fun of."

  Meeting his gaze, I replied, “It wasn't a joke. Why don't you just sit back down, relax, and enjoy the trip?"

  He leaned forward a bit and growled, “Some people don't like being told what to do, either."

  I smelled booze on his breath and his eyes were just a little glassy-looking, but he was steady enough on his feet.

  "Uh, huh,” I said, “You've had a few drinks, you've had a bad morning, and now you're ready to be pissed at just any little thing at all, aren't you? Go ahead and try something, macho man. This flitter'll stun you cold and put you with your luggage. They don't allow violence on deck."

  Steve's gaze narrowed even further, and although he was trembling with rage, he glanced at the console, then back at me, and contained the punch he obviously wanted to throw.

  "You think I'm kidding?” I asked, spreading my arms to give him a choice of targets, “Go for it, dude. Gimme your best shot. I won't make a move, but you'll never touch me."

  We had a staring match for a few seconds, then he said, “I'd like to meet you sometime when you don't have this ... flitter ... to cover your ass."

  Shaking my head, I said, “Actually, no, you wouldn't, but what I'm trying to show you right now is what'll happen if you get ugly while you're aboard any Amaran vehicle of any kind. Or, for that matter, aboard an asteroid station."

  Pointing at his seat, I said, “Now sit down and listen up. I kind of wondered why I'd been picked to haul passengers today. Now I think I know. I think you got tipsy and turned mean and your airline booted you off the plane."

  He just glared at me. The woman sighed and gave me a tiny nod, which made him switch his glare to her.

  "Uh, huh,” I said, “Well, Steve, on an Amaran vehicle, you don't want to grab or hit anyone. You'll wake up in a stasis field if you do."

  "A what field?” he snapped.

  "Flitter,” I said, “Put him in his seat and slap a stasis field on him, please."

  The flitter responded, “Yes, Ed,” and Steve abruptly sat down. He tried to bolt out of his seat and failed. In fact, he failed to do anything more than swivel his eyeballs to stare at me and groan with strain as he tried to break free.

  To give him time to absorb his situation and calm down, I turned to the woman and asked, “Who will you be visiting at the station, ma'am? A brother or sister?"

  She tore her eyes off her hubby's struggle and almost whispered, “Uh ... My brother. He hasn't seen my baby yet."

  The guy had stopped str
uggling and simply sat breathing hard. I said, “Flitter, release him, please."

  Suddenly unrestrained, Steve twisted left and raised his arms as if to be sure he was free, then he looked at me with unconcealed hatred and tensed as if to rise from his seat.

  "Flitter, if he stands up, use a stasis field to freeze him. He can spend the rest of the trip as a lawn ornament."

  "A deck ornament,” corrected Donna. When I looked at her, she shrugged and said, “No lawns up here."

  Looking properly enlightened, I agreed, “Ah. Yes'm, you're absolutely right. A deck ornament."

  Turning back to Steve, I asked, “Are you getting the real message in all this? You were set up, man; set up for a private lesson; a quiet warning before you board the big ship. I'm supposed to head off a repeat performance of whatever you did that got you bumped off your flight."

  To the woman, I said, “3rd World encourages family visits, but they won't put up with problem people. If he pulls that boozy bully-boy crap on anybody upstairs, they'll just zap him like I did and ship his ass back to Earth in a cargo hold so he can't annoy other passengers."

  Steve's glare of hatred continued unabated.

  I shrugged and fished a quarter out of my pocket as I said, “Oh, well, I gave it a shot.” Holding the quarter up between my fingers, I said, “Flitter, use a visible beam to cut a half-inch hole in this quarter, please."

  "Yes, Ed,” said the flitter, and an actinic blue beam flashed to the quarter from the field perimeter just beyond the console. A center disk from the quarter fell out and landed on the deck by the woman's left foot.

  Tossing the still-hot quarter into Steve's lap, I said, “If you feel yourself getting mean, take that quarter out of your pocket. Look at it and remember what I've told you. ‘Stunned cold. Shipped home in a cargo hold.’”

  Using an unseen field tendril to lift the quarter's cut-out center to my hand, I gave it to the woman and said, “And if he somehow forgets, use this to remind him."

  Her eyes followed the rising bit of quarter. When I put it in her hand, she stared at me and asked, “How did you do that?"

  Shrugging, I said, “Just another field trick, ma'am,” and sat down in front of the console.

  Chapter Seventeen

  A few minutes passed in silence before Steve asked, “Are you going to tell anyone about ... this?"

  He didn't seem quite so hostile.

  Shrugging, I replied, “Who needs to know?"

  "That woman you called, maybe?"

  Shaking my head, I said, “Only if she asks, which she probably won't if you don't go off on anybody."

  "She's your boss?"

  "Yup."

  "But you aren't going to tell her? Why don't I believe that?"

  "Oh, hell, Steve, I don't know. Could be you don't want to. Or could be you just can't get by even five whole minutes without starting some shit with someone."

  The woman bit back a grin.

  "Now, look, you...” he started to bluster, but I held up a hand to cut him off.

  "No, you look, Steve. I don't particularly want to talk to you more than I have and I don't want you to wind yourself up again before I turn you over to Eve Porter, so can the macho crap or I'll tell her about our recent discussion."

  Pointing ahead, I added, “That's Carrington Base down there, and the big silver ball is your ride to the station, so make up your mind how you're gonna behave before we land."

  We were still well above the base and descending at a speed my passengers—Donna included—found rather disturbing, but they still managed to marvel at the size of the spherical Amaran ship docked among the much smaller buildings.

  Steve looked a little green as we settled to Earth by the front doors of the passenger terminal. He jumped to the ground and dashed toward the building past a mid-twenties blonde woman who was approaching us on a baggage trolley that floated six inches off the ground.

  Donna and I helped his wife—I still didn't know her name—down from the flitter's deck and onto the trolley's rear bench seat as I told the flitter to set the luggage on the trolley.

  I asked the blonde woman on the trolley, “Would you happen to be Eve Porter?"

  "That's me. And by the passenger manifest photo, that's Mr. Sully running to the building. What's that about?"

  "You may want to keep some happy pills ready for that one, ma'am. Drinking and flying seem to really upset him."

  Mrs. Sully snickered softly as Tiger yowled, “Hello, lady! I'm Tiger!"

  Eve's eyes swiveled to the flitter, saw only a cat, and turned questioningly to me. I motioned for Tiger to jump into my arms and held him as I said, “His collar is a PFM translator."

  Grinning, Eve asked, “So he really talked to me?” She reached to ruffle Tiger's chin and cooed, “That's so cool! Hi, Tiger! I'm Eve."

  "Hello, Eve,” said Tiger, “You're very nice."

  She giggled and ruffled him some more, then looked up and said to me, “I guess you'd be Ed, then. Ms. Baines told me to watch for a guy with a cat. I didn't know whether to believe it."

  "Yup, that's me. And this is Donna,” I said, nodding to indicate her on my left. The ladies shook hands, then both of them petted Tiger a bit more and we chatted for a time before we heard footsteps and saw Steve approaching.

  Ruffling Tiger's chin again, Eve made a sad face as she said, “Sorry, Tiger. Gotta go now. Bye, bye, little guy."

  As she headed for the trolley, Tiger bellowed, “Goodbye, Eve! Goodbye!” then he looked up at me and said, “I like her."

  Donna chuckled and I said, “Yeah, she's nice, Tiger. Maybe we'll see her again."

  Eve plunked herself in the driver's seat of the baggage trolley and Steve got on next to his wife. As the trolley headed back into the terminal, Donna, Tiger, and I got back on the flitter and headed for the base's Admin building.

  A guard I recognized as Chuck-somebody opened the front door for Linda and Wallace. They strode out into the sunshine, stopped on the steps to look around, then headed toward us.

  I stopped the flitter near her and offered her a hand up as Wallace stepped aboard, and after a round of greetings and introductions, Linda turned to me.

  "Well? How'd it go? Any trouble?"

  "Not too much. He now knows what a stasis field is, and I told him they'd ship him back to Philly in a cargo hold if he got out of line upstairs."

  Laughing softly, she said, “I'll make sure they get the word, then. Thanks for taking care of that little matter for us."

  "No problem, milady. Ready to go to lunch?"

  "Not quite yet. It occurred to Emory and me that we've only ever seen pictures of your flying board, Ed. How about a little demonstration?” Leaning close as if confiding something to me, she added, “Emory seems to think it's a rather chancy way to get around, you know."

  In a similar confiding tone, I said, “Well, ma'am, you know how Navy officers are about new things. Move the food dish two inches and they start barking about traditions."

  "Oh, that's real funny,” said Wallace, “Especially coming from a guy who doesn't have any. How about showing us how well you can ride that scooter, sport?"

  "Sure, sailor. Board on, five suit on. Flitter, am I clear to use runway nine?"

  "Yes, Ed,” said the flitter, “The next incoming flight will arrive at twelve-thirty-two."

  Linda took out her cell phone and tapped numbers as Tiger yelled, “I want to go, too!"

  "Hop on, Tiger. Thanks, flitter. On the off-chance that Wallace is more than simply curious, please record my flight."

  As the flitter said, “Yes, Ed,” I saw Linda close her phone.

  "Okay,” she said, “I've warned the tower, so they won't shoot at you."

  Jumping onto the board, Tiger assumed his usual ears-back, ready-to-pounce position near the nose. I keyed my implant to guide the board up to four feet and forward in the direction of the Admin building's big glass doors.

  We were doing about sixty when I cut hard left, then angled the bo
ard almost straight up, accelerating and corkscrewing around a center axis. At what looked like about two hundred feet, I leveled the board, aligned it with runway nine, and put the hammer down.

  The board shot us forward above the tarmac at what the flitter had once told me was three hundred and seventy-nine miles per hour, my best possible speed while standing upright on the board.

  I made a flat-out dash the length of runway nine, swung around in a wide arc, got flat on the board, and headed back toward the flitter at full speed about four feet off the ground, jinking it left and right like a skier on a downhill slope.

  One moment the flitter was a speck in the distance surrounded by smaller specks, then the specks loomed close ahead on my right for only a split-second before I pulled the nose up and shot skyward.

  Starting into a large inverted loop, I flipped the board at the apex of the loop, arced to the right, and descended through a long spiral to slip aboard the flitter, where I hopped off the board and grabbed my coffee mug for a sip.

  Tiger had sat up on the nose of the board. He used a hind foot to scratch an ear and displayed an absolutely unruffled demeanor that I knew was just as absolutely phony; even cats get shaky legs, and sitting was Tiger's way of concealing that potentially embarrassing fact.

  After several moments of scratching, he stood up, stretched, and jumped off the board to resume sitting by the edge of the deck, where Donna and Linda could reach him.

  Everyone stared at the board, at me, and at Tiger for a couple of moments. As I called up a yard-wide field screen, I said, “Tiger's sitting there because you're supposed to pet the kitty, ladies. He's probably hoping for some flattery, too."

  Linda and Donna rather abstractedly reached for Tiger as they stared at the screen, on which my flight was displayed from my flitter's point of view on the ground.

  "Flitter, add a green line of travel and notes about my speed where it changed, please, and loop the video. Enter a half-second delay and clear the screen between replays."

  As the video began again, my board appeared to leave a narrow green line wherever it went and various numbers appeared in green beside the line along my route.