Book 2: 3rd World Products, Inc.

by Ed Howdershelt

  I wasn't kidding myself. The battery I'd removed was the size of a quarter and easy to come by and install. I had no doubt that a replacement battery could be used to allow someone access to the files if they could figure out my password. I also had no doubt that a supercomputer like Watson could figure out my password if so directed.

  But to do those things, someone would have to leave some kind of trail, however faint it might be, and I'd soon have another supercomputer, one of my own, to put on the case. Stephanie.

  There was no way the station computer couldn't know about my briefcase just as Kemor had known about it, so I pulled it down and opened it, tossed the battery and the pad in, closed it, then let it go.

  After a quick rinse of face, hands, teeth, and the use of a comb, I went to join the ladies on their shopping quest.

  The shops and stores on level five were much like the commissary and exchange stores I'd seen on military bases. Brand names only. Simple displays. Several selections of most anything common, but nothing out of the ordinary range of station requirements. If I wanted a garden hose, for instance, or a gallon of paint in some special color, I could order one from Earth.

  At the entrance to each shop were shopping carts. When you discovered a need for one, you just grabbed one and continued to shop. It would follow you around, and you didn't have to return it after you emptied it in your apartment because Watson would return it for you. The ladies put me in charge of the shopping cart.

  The variety of things of different sizes and weights provided a perfect practice realm for my field implant. I must have picked up and set down a few hundred items during that shopping trip, all without touching any of them by hand.

  Glass or even metal would not prevent my field from reaching something. I learned that if I knew the exact position of something from having seen it while, say, walking around a counter, I could pick it up or move it from an angle that prevented my seeing the object. I also got a handle of sorts on tactile impressions through the field.

  If I blindly sent a faint field behind or through something, not knowing what was there, I could sweep the area until something resisted my field's progress. Once I touched the object, I could tell whether it was metal, plastic, or something else. This further refined to an ability to trace the outline of the object and possibly come to understand what it was.

  Our last stop in the shopping tour was the grocery department of one of the stores. Ellen and Leslie both pushed carts of their own as we wandered up and down the aisles. Now and then the ladies gave me odd looks. When Ellen asked why I was so quiet, I told her that my mind was on something else.

  At the time, that was the whole truth. I was trying to move a quart of milk to the front of a display case, but there were other containers in its way that had to be shuffled in order to accomplish my simple goal. It seemed like good practice.

  That's when I discovered that I could sense heat and cold through the field. Ellen looked hard at me and turned me slightly to face her.

  "Ed? You look as if you've just had a revelation of some sort."

  "Uh, well, maybe I did. Have you ever had something suddenly become understandable, Ellen?"

  "In a grocery store? In the dairy aisle?"

  I leaned on the shopping cart and said, “Well, damn. I guess so. Ellen. That's where I am, isn't it?"

  Leslie said, “He pulled that on me today, too. I think he's losing his marbles."

  I shook my head. “Nope. Finding new ones, maybe. Not losing any."

  As usual, a kid became a problem. I was fielding some apples around in the bin when what appeared to be a seven-year-old walked up to me and asked me to hand him one that he pointed to in the back row. When I reached for it, he objected.

  "No. Not like that. The other way. Don't use your hands."

  Options: Pretend ignorance, insist on reaching for the apple by hand and maybe make the kid to get cranky? Cooperate and swear the kid to secrecy? Get the apple down by field and let the kid try to tell his mama that some man could haul apples around without touching them? Ignore the kid altogether and walk away?

  I kept the apple close to the others as I fielded it down the front of the display, then pretended that one of the ladies had called me and quickly excused myself.

  Damned kids. Try to get one's attention to mow the lawn or take the garbage out or do homework. Hoo-hah. Fat chance. Do something when you'd prefer not to draw attention and they're right there at your elbow.

  The kid followed us for a while, then he spotted something on the second shelf from the top not far in front of us and ran ahead of our carts. He stood there, pointing up at a box of cinnamon crackers.

  "Mister, can I have that? Like the apple?"

  Leslie and Ellen looked at me. I shrugged and moved to step around them. While I was behind them, I caught the kid's eye and put a finger to my lips, shook my head, and pointed at them. The kid understood instantly.

  As I handed the box down to him I whispered, “They don't know I can do that. See the red haired woman? She thinks she's my mom or something. She gets all upset if I talk to strangers, too, and you're a stranger."

  With a grave nod, the kid whispered back, “Yeah. Okay. Thanks, mister."

  As he dashed away with the box, Ellen just stared at me. Leslie stared too, but she had something to say about it.

  "I thought you hated children, Ed."

  "I don't like having them around, but that's no reason to be mean to them, is it? The kid only wanted that box of crackers and couldn't reach it."

  "What was all the whispering about?"

  "I told him that you thought you were my mom and that I didn't want you to get upset with me because I wasn't supposed to talk to strangers."

  After some giggles morphed into quiet laughter that they had trouble containing, the ladies resumed shopping.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  They had checkout registers, just like any other store, but the registers had no cash drawers. Instead, everything was paid for using a debit/credit account. All we had to do was state our names or account numbers for our individual purchases.

  Ellen stated her account number and the computer responded, “Verified."

  I said, “Howdershelt,” and the computer responded, “Verified."

  Leslie's name required clarification.

  "Pratt,” she said, and the computer asked, “First name or account number?"

  "Leslie,” she said. The computer said, “Verified."

  "There must be more than one Pratt aboard,” said Leslie. “I wonder if we're related?"

  Ellen checked her pad and said, “Her name is Victoria and she's from Denver."

  Leslie shook her head. “No, I don't know her, but she may be a cousin of some sort. Maybe I'll call her later and see if we know any of the same relatives."

  Shopping had managed to kill almost three hours. As we walked back to our apartments, Leslie looked in my basket as if noticing the contents for the first time.

  "Ed, there isn't anything in your basket that requires real cooking, is there?"

  I proudly said, “That's right. Not a damned thing. Canned or frozen, all I have to do is open it and zap it in the microwave."

  Ellen said, “That's if he takes it out of the can at all, Leslie. I don't know how well you know him, but I've seen him open a can of green beans and take it outside with him to work on his car. Or into his computer room. His can opener might wear out someday, but his microwave won't."

  "Less work for some lucky lady,” I said. “No cooking required. More time for the important stuff, like working on her instead of my car."

  Ellen gave me a wry look and Leslie giggled. Ellen's gaze rested on Leslie for a moment, then returned to me. When her eyebrows went up, I gave her a slight nod.

  A sound like a distant gong resonated through the walls and floor. Moments later Ellen's pad sounded in a rather strident chiming. She raised it to look at it and froze for a moment.

  "Level two,” she said. “There's be
en a blowout at one of the farms."

  I asked, “Do you need to leave us, Ellen? We can stash your stuff until you can get back here."

  "No. There's nothing anyone can do until the hole is fixed and the bodies are retrieved from underneath the shell. This makes six dead, and we still don't know why these things are happening or who causes them."

  She looked at me and said, “Is this why you're really here, Ed? Are you here to see if you can find some answers?"

  I met her gaze. “I wish I could say that's the case, Ellen. I'm here because 3rd World hired me. They don't want me talking about my job; they just want it done."

  My answer didn't satisfy her. She excused herself, promising to be available later, and left us, pushing her cart ahead of her to one of the elevators.

  Leslie said, “How risky would it have been to tell her, Ed?"

  "Not risky at all, but don't say anything else out here. Put your stuff away, then come to my room. We need to talk, Leslie."

  It was the first time that I'd actually ordered her to do anything without discussion, and her mouth fell open in surprise at my tone. I pushed my cart to my door and tapped my code, then pulled the cart in and let the door close.

  After I took a leak and put the frozen stuff away, I said, “Watson."

  "Yes, Ed."

  "What caused the explosion on level two?"

  "Residue indicates a high-grade plastic explosive, apparently of Czech manufacture."

  "You mean like the stuff the Commies used to use?"

  "Yes, Ed."

  "Aren't about half of those used-to-be Commies still anti-factory?"

  "Four such countries still cling to Communist doctrines, Ed. Any of them would have access to such materials, as well as many of the resistance groups."

  The door chime sounded. I went to open the door for Leslie and put a finger to my lips. Whatever she'd been about to say was stilled.

  "You gotta hear this, Leslie. Watson, tell me again what caused the explosion."

  "Residue indicates a high-grade plastic explosive, apparently of Czech manufacture."

  "Uh, huh. Do you understand the term 'bullshit', Watson?"

  "Yes, Ed. It is used to indicate great skepticism or lack of belief."

  "You got it. And you're full of it. Nobody got any goddamned plastic explosives in here past you unless you've got a screw loose, Watson. You can't find an error in your programming, and now you're telling me that a fat wad of Czech-made plastique just blew a hole in your hull. Think about it."

  "I did not say that it was brought aboard, Ed. I only said the explosive used appeared to be of a formula that would indicate Czech manufacture. It could have been made here according to that formula."

  Leslie was giving me a seriously quizzical look.

  I began putting my other groceries away as I said, “Tell me, Watson. If I had any of that plastique in my bags, would you know it?"

  "Yes, Ed."

  "If I had the materials necessary to manufacture it, would you know it?"

  "Yes, Ed."

  "Is there anyone on this station who could—without being detected—have either the explosive or the stuff to make it?"

  "No, Ed."

  "Watson, have you spotted the error in your logic yet?"

  "No, Ed."

  "Keep looking, Watson. Try to remember not to monitor either Leslie Pratt or me unless we're in public, too. That's all for now."

  "Yes, Ed."

  I turned to Leslie and asked, “Well? Impressions?"

  "I think we'd better assume that we're being monitored, anyway. By a sick computer, no less. Where the hell did you come up with the name 'Watson', Ed?"

  "I didn't. Someone else did. Want a coffee?"

  "No, thanks. Tea, if you have it. Nothing if you don't. Who named him?"

  "No tea. Sorry. Someone who reads Sherlock Holmes gave him the name, which doesn't necessarily mean that we're onto anything. I just told him to give me the name that pops up most often in usage among the people who've given him names. Could be some kid is pretending to be Sherlock and is using the computer as Watson."

  "They've found two more bodies, Ed. I heard someone talking about it outside. When the automatic doors shut on level two, they were caught and crushed."

  "Damn. Just a minute."

  I used my watch to call Ellen.

  "Ed here. Where would I find the personal flitter I was told would be waiting for me?"

  Ellen answered the call instead of letting the pad take a message. “It would be inside the shell area, Ed. I can call it into a bay for you and take you there if you can wait a few minutes."

  "Waiting now, ma'am. I'd like to visit my flitter as soon as possible, please."

  She agreed and rang off. Leslie started to ask me something, but I stopped her.

  "No questions about flitters, right? No questions at all?"

  She nodded and said nothing, but she looked rather tense. I pulled my briefcase down, reassembled my pad, and tapped the new icon that Elkor had added to my screen.

  "Elkor, I need to know if the big item I asked for is already installed. A yes or no is all I need. Nothing else, please."

  Having said that, I tapped the 'send' icon and said, “Now we wait."

  Less than ten seconds later, the message icon flashed. I tapped it.

  From the speaker on my pad, Elkor's voice said, “Yes."

  Watson said, “An unauthorized off-station transmission was made from your room, Ed. Please put your pad down and step away from it."

  "Well, damn,” I said, stripping the battery out of my pad. “You caught me, Watson. Now what?"

  "I have placed a containment field at your door, Ed. You must remain in your room until someone in authority arrives."

  I pulled my briefcase down and tossed the pad and battery into it, then let it go.

  "Okay. Would Ellen be such an authority? Could she arrest me, or whatever?"

  "Yes, Ed."

  "Good. She'll be here in a few minutes, Watson. Is that acceptable?"

  "Yes, Ed."

  "Leslie didn't make the call, Watson. I did. May Leslie leave my room?"

  "Leslie is a witness, Ed. She may not leave your room."

  "She needs her asthma medicine. It's in her room."

  "Then Leslie may go to her room, but she must remain there, Ed."

  "Thank you, Watson. I may not see her again for a while, so I'm going to kiss her goodbye, okay?"

  "That is permissible."

  I pulled Leslie to me and kissed her, then pulled back slightly and mouthed the words, 'Get out of here. Not your room. Wait outside for Ellen.'

  "But..."

  Again I didn't speak aloud. 'Something's very wrong. Go. Now.'

  I guided her to the door. When I pressed the panel, it opened, much to my surprise. I couldn't even push my hand through the doorway, but Leslie was able to walk out into the corridor. She looked back and I waved at her to get the hell away.

  When the door closed behind her, Watson said, “Ed, you tried to penetrate the field at your door. I'm afraid I must make sure that you do not attempt to leave your room. Please lie down in a comfortable position for your own safety. I will release a sedative into your room in ten seconds."

  Oh, fuck.

  "Option five on,” I whispered, even though I had no real doubt that the computer could hear any sound made in the room.

  I felt the suit-field engulf me as I walked to the door. The ten seconds passed, but I saw and heard nothing that would indicate that anything had happened in the room. I remained in my field and waited by the door.

  The door panel chimed. I was glad I'd thought to set an automatic lock.

  "Whoever is outside, do not open the door. The computer says it released some kind of sedative into my room. Do not open the door."

  Ellen said, “If you're sedated, how are you talking to me?"

  "Just trust me on this, damn it. Don't open that door."

  "Okay, okay. Sit tight. Help is on the way.
What's going on in there, Ed?"

  "I don't want to talk about it right now. Where's Leslie?"

  "She's right here, Ed. We're just outside your door."

  "Get the hell away. Completely away. Far away."

  "Would you please tell me what the hell is going on, Ed?"

  "No. Not until we're somewhere that your damned computer can't hear us."

  "There's no such place on this station, Ed."

  "Then forget about it for now, but get away."

  "Yeah. You said that already. Okay, we're at the end of the corridor. The rescue people just got off the elevator, Ed. We'll have you out of there in a ... What..?"

  "What's going on, Ellen?"

  "The corridor decompression door just closed, Ed! The rescue team is on the other side of it! What the hell do we do now?"

  That's when the room blew up. I was standing next to the door, so I went with it when it flew across the hall and caromed off the opposite wall. A vast, roaring fireball expanded to fill the corridor, then dwindled to nothingness in about a second.

  A few people standing more than fifty feet from my doorway were knocked flat by the concussion and were gasping for breath. Ellen and Leslie were nowhere in sight.

  I'd hit the corridor wall so hard I could barely think and couldn't breathe at all. My field suit seemed intact, but it would have seemed that way, anyway, since even if it had been blown off me, it would automatically have reformed itself as quickly as possible.

  I rolled to lie on my stomach and tried to draw enough air into my lungs to get rid of the darkness at the edges of my vision. All I got for that effort was a lot of pain in my lower chest and shooting stars, as well as a bit of pain in my hip when I rolled onto my pens. I had to take quick, shallow breaths until my world cleared a bit, and it seemed likely that some of my ribs were broken.

  Arms and fingers worked. Legs worked. Back hurt like hell, but I could feel everything else, so it probably wasn't broken. I brought my arm up so I could call Ellen and Leslie, but my watch wasn't there. As I tried to sit up, I realized that one of my boots was missing, too. When I looked toward my room, I saw the boot lying in the doorway.

  I saw Ellen rising to her feet at the end of the corridor. I tried my comm implant.