3rd World Products, Inc., Book 2

by Ed Howdershelt

  Leslie shrugged and we started toward the other elevator. A jewelry display in one of the shops caught my eye and I steered Leslie toward the window.

  "Why are we looking at jewelry, Ed? You don't wear any."

  "I was thinking you might like that little necklace on the left, ma'am. Want to go in and try it on?"

  She looked at me oddly, then at the necklace. Her head tilted slightly as she tried to read the tiny tag and couldn't.

  "I can't read what it's made of. Okay. Yes, I'd like to see it."

  As soon as we were inside the doorway the feeling at the back of my neck stopped. Leslie seemed to like the necklace, so I bought it for her. After browsing the shop for a few moments, we went back outside. The feeling didn't resume immediately.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  "Where'd he go, Stephie? He's not where he can see us any more."

  "No, Ed. He's across the corridor, in the music shop."

  "Thanks."

  I led us toward the elevator. We were over halfway there when the sensation of being watched began again.

  "Steph, he just came out of the music shop, didn't he? He started staring at us again just now, right?"

  "Yes, Ed. How did you know that?"

  "Just did, Steph. Can't say how. Study up on Desmond. I'll have questions later. This is kind of neat. I always had to guess if I was right, before. Unless they shot at me, of course. That pretty well verified their attention."

  Leslie said, "Yes, Ed, I suppose it would. Assuming you aren't just becoming a true paranoid, how did you know he was staring at us?"

  "Same answer. Just did."

  "So the necklace was just an excuse?"

  "I also thought you'd like it, Leslie. I didn't have to buy anything in that shop, you know. We could have just looked and left."

  She said nothing for a moment, then, "Well, thanks, then, as long as it wasn't only an excuse to see if that kid was watching us."

  "Now who's paranoid?"

  I switched my cup to my right hand so I could reach for her hand.

  "Some things I'll do because I like you, Leslie."

  The sensation faded for a moment and returned.

  "Steph, did Desmond just pass behind something that blocked his view of us?"

  "Yes, Ed. He walked behind a pillar. Your sensors are almost as good as mine."

  "Thanks, ma'am, but I don't believe that for a minute. He has to be looking at me to make my sensors work."

  "Does it work with everybody?"

  "No, Steph. Apparently only with those who are really concentrating on me. Snipers and security types and like that."

  As the elevator doors closed, the feeling faded again.

  Leslie asked, "Why do you think Desmond...? No, never mind. You already said you think he's some kind of spy for the board."

  "Yeah. Or something. Stephie, in your best considered opinion, could the old computer have been conned into specifically using a field to suffocate someone?"

  "No, Ed. Someone may have managed to mislead it concerning which gas to use when flooding your room. That would involve hardware, programming, and storage records that may have been altered, but simply telling that computer to suffocate someone with a field would have failed."

  As we left the elevator, I asked, "Could someone have - or make - a field manipulation device that you wouldn't know about?"

  "Yes, but only if they didn't use it. As soon as they used it, I'd know about the energy expenditure. All I'd have to do is scan the station for a field signature that was not in my usage records."

  "What about fields of a nature that you couldn't detect? Maybe using a different energy source? Something that wouldn't register as a field?"

  "I can't think what that would be, Ed. The Amarans have been using this field technology exclusively. There is nothing in my records about other types that would serve the same purposes."

  "Maybe someone found something that would do just as well, Steph. Which of Desmond's parents is Amaran? His mother? She's his step-mother?"

  "Yes, Ed."

  "Uh, huh. Stephie, supposing that someone had or had somehow made a field manipulator, they'd need a lot of practice with it, wouldn't you think?"

  "Oh, definitely, Ed. Lots of practice. Tons of practice."

  "You're getting better at that, Stephie. It must be all the practice, huh?"

  "Good return, Ed."

  Leslie asked, "Getting better at what? What the hell are you two talking about?"

  "Stephie's working on her sense of humor."

  "Well, I didn't get the joke, Ed. One or both of you may need more practice."

  I laughed and agreed, "Oh, for sure. Lots more practice. Both of us."

  "Now what's funny? I still don't get it, Ed."

  "It would be hard to explain, Leslie. Let's see about lunch, instead."

  I used my watch to call Ellen and asked her if she and Robert wanted to meet on one of the decks for a fancy lunch.

  "Fancy? What does 'fancy' mean to you, Ed? The same as always?"

  "Yup. That's why I let the womenfolk pick the restaurants, ma'am. They seem to get tired of canned soup and they tend to know what else is edible."

  "I'll call Robert and ask if he's free. Back in a minute."

  Leslie and I took a moment to freshen up in our rooms. Mine was a clone of 1134, and I suspected that all the rooms were about the same. When I'd finished, I went next door to Leslie's room. Ellen called back sounding rather tense.

  "Robert can't make it, but I can, Ed. We need to talk about something."

  "I've been getting a lot of that, lately. Let me guess: Robert is one of the department heads?"

  "Yes."

  "Ellen, that puts him on my list of this week's contacts, so he may as well come with you. We'll be talking soon anyway."

  "I'll tell him. Back in a minute."

  "Tell him it isn't really a request, Ellen. That will cover him if he's concerned about what someone else thinks."

  After a second of silence, Ellen said, "Okay. I'll tell him that."

  Leslie had a rather narrow gaze. "What if he just didn't want to come?"

  "I need to meet with him anyway. We have a station to run."

  "Gee. Do I know you from somewhere, mister? You look vaguely familiar."

  "Save it. This is a business lunch."

  Ellen called back to say they'd both be at one of the restaurants shortly. Leslie and I headed that direction ourselves. Not far from the apartment door, I felt as if I were being watched again.

  "Stephie, I'm being watched again."

  "It's Desmond. He's a hundred feet behind you, in a doorway."

  "Uh, huh. Okay. When we turn this corner, I'm going to option three in the elevator. I want a word with him. Leslie, you keep walking to the restaurant."

  I turned on the invisibility option in the elevator, then stepped out and stood to one side of it. Desmond soon appeared. He ducked into the elevator, pretended to change his mind, then walked past me, apparently puzzled that Leslie was walking alone.

  I whispered, "option three off," and returned to visibility. Desmond suddenly looked as if something was bothering him; rubbing his temples and shaking his head slightly as if to clear it. Then he noticed me and almost jumped out of his skin.

  He wore jeans, sneakers, and a black t-shirt, and was almost six feet tall, but if he weighed over one-twenty-five, I'd have been surprised. His brown hair was shaved in a small pattern on the right side of his head; something that seemed to be a current style among all the 'individualists'. The pattern meant nothing to me, but then, I was one of the 'grups', so I wasn't supposed to get it, anyway.

  "Hi, there, Desmond."

  He didn't quite stammer his surprise. "What? How..?"

  "Never mind that. Just tell me why I shouldn't have the station cops pick you up."

  He grinned slightly and asked, "Maybe because I haven't done anything?"

  Leslie had returned to see what I'd caught in my ambush.

  "This
is Desmond," I said.

  She looked at Desmond as if he might possibly be contagious and nodded.

  Desmond stiffened slightly, then he said, "Not very friendly, is she?"

  "You've been following us. Maybe that's why."

  "Following you? Why would I..?"

  "Can it, Des. You've been recorded doing it. We're going to talk about that. Maybe what you tell me will convince me not to call the station cops. Maybe not."

  "The cops won't do anything. I'm only sixteen."

  Okay, so I was a year off.

  I pushed him up against the wall and held him there.

  "The cops aren't your biggest worry, Des. Tell us why you were following us."

  "I don't have to tell you anything. Let go of me."

  "Tell me or tell the cops."

  He looked pointedly at my left hand, which was pinning him to the wall, and said, "This is assault, man. I'm a minor. Cops don't like that kind of thing."

  I looked both ways, then sank a fist into his skinny gut. His eyes bulged as his breath left him and he'd have gone to his knees if I hadn't been bracing him against the wall. Leslie gasped and grabbed my arm. I ignored her.

  "That was assault, Desmond. Now that you know the difference, don't even think of trying that 'child abuse' horseshit, 'cause it'll hurt you more than it hurts me. One more time; why were you following us?"

  He opened his mouth to say something. I raised a hand to stop him and he flinched mightily. So did Leslie, in that her grip on my arm tightened considerably.

  "Stephie, read him when he answers. I want to know if he's lying."

  Steph's disembodied voice said, "Okay, Ed."

  I nodded. "Same question, Desmond."

  "Okay, man! Just don't hit me again. When you passed the coffee shop window, I got a splitting headache. When you walked away, it faded. When you came back, so did the headache. Then you left again and the headache went with you. I was just trying to find out what was causing it, man."

  "Stephie?"

  "He appears to be telling the truth, Ed, and he is experiencing moderate pain."

  In an accusing tone, Leslie said, "That may be because you hit him, Ed."

  I ignored her and let go of Desmond, then used my field to touch the wall about three feet from us. Desmond winced and raised a hand to his brow.

  "Desmond, what do you think is causing these headaches?"

  "I don't know. Something about you, for sure. Nobody else makes them happen."

  "Okay, it was unusual enough to make you follow us. Do you get these headaches any other times?"

  "In school, sometimes. It's always in 4th period. History class, never any of the others. My dad thought they were migraines. The docs thought they were my imagination or some kind of bid for attention. Sometimes when I go to see Phil, I get them in the corridor near her apartment."

  "Phil's a girl? Phyllis?"

  "Yeah. My girlfriend. Sort of. We're friends, anyway."

  "Stephie, drop a barrier field between Desmond and me."

  "What kind of field, Ed?"

  "Anything transparent, Steph. I just want to see if he stops hurting. Desmond, tell me if your headache fades."

  Seconds later, he said, "It's almost gone now. Whatever she put between us worked."

  "Uh, huh. Desmond, you seem to be sensitive to portable field devices. It could just be a matter of needing a bit more shielding, which would cure your random headaches, so tell Steph whatever she wants to know. Steph, question him about every time he's ever had one of these headaches, on or off this station. I want to know when, where, who was in the area at the time, and anything else that seems relevant before I order a retroactive design change to one of the most common warehouse tools. Leslie and I are leaving him in your hands, ma'am. We have a lunch date."

  Desmond looked confused. "You're just leaving? You aren't even going to apologize for hitting me?"

  "What for? Teaching you that people don't like being followed around by a smart-mouthed teenager? I didn't really hurt you, kid, but that was an option at the time. Try being nicer to people and you may never have another stomach ache like that. Just cooperate with Stephie now, and maybe you'll never have one of those headaches again, either. This will probably result in a PFM design change."

  Leslie asked, "A 'PFM'? What's that?"

  "A portable field manipulator. I carry one sometimes, and I think that's been his problem. Could be any of the smaller devices aren't as shielded as we'd thought."

  We left Desmond at the wall. As we approached the restaurant, Ellen waved slightly from a table. The man next to her simply watched us approach.

  To Robert, I said, "I'm Ed. Nice to meet you. This is Leslie, of course."

  He nodded as we shook hands rather formally, then we all sat down. Neither Ellen nor Robert seemed very pleased to be there. Ellen at first seemed rather distant with Leslie, but in some unspoken manner - probably Leslie's rather obvious exasperation with me - the ladies appeared to reach an accord.

  The waitress appeared. After everyone ordered, there was a rather profound silence all around the table.

  Robert broke the conversational barrier with, "So, Ed. Why was I ordered to do lunch with the new boss? Is it because of your prior relationship with Ellen?"

  "Not entirely, and we aren't doing lunch or using any other tired cliches at this table, please. You're Ellen's attachment now, and without her you'd just be another name on my list of interviews, Robert. Bob? No. You seem to be a Robert. You're here because I want to know what you've heard. I know you've seen a copy of this morning's board meeting. Now I want to know what people are saying in the ranks."

  "We don't like it any more than the board does."

  "Why? I can understand the board's lack of enthusiasm. They're a pack of self-inflated autocrats who see me as a usurper of their thrones. It's only temporary, but if they cross me, I'll have them removed before I leave. I threw facts, figures, casualty reports, and logic at them, and then let them meet Stephie. They didn't budge, so I budged them."

  Ellen said, "You've taken complete control of our station, Ed. Our station."

  "3rd World's station. Not yours. And by their request, to end the killings. They were going to shut the place down, evacuate everyone, and completely reprogram the computer system. The penny-pinchers would have been involved, and everybody would have been off duty for two months, at least. This way you stay in business and the computer is already renovated, even if the board isn't happy with her. Like I told the board; the comm lines are wide open. Call somebody at the top and complain."

  Robert said, "Some of the people here are talking about blue-flu epidemics, Ed."

  "They're replaceable. Everyone here is. Stephie?"

  "Yes, Ed."

  "How about joining us for a while?"

  Stephie's 3-D image shimmered into being by my chair. What Ellen saw in Robert's reaction made her gaze narrow a bit. Leslie simply stared at Stephie, who gazed right back at her. Our waitress picked up a menu and came over, then realized that she wasn't seeing a real person.

  "This is the new station computer," I said. "Her name is Stephanie."

  The waitress's eyes traveled from Stephie to me and back to Stephie, then she slowly nodded. When she didn't move for a while, I told her that Stephie wouldn't be ordering anything. The waitress nodded again, then the words sank in and she excused herself to leave us.

  Robert looked at his wife and asked, "Is this the Stephanie you told me about?"

  Ellen said, "The one I knew was a flitter guidance system."

  "Same Stephie," I said. "A big, new core. She's been growing into it."

  "So who's driving your flitter?"

  "Her original self. This is a duplicate."

  Robert shook his head and sat back, eyeing me skeptically.

  "Flitter systems aren't capable of running something the size of this station."

  Ellen said, "Robert, you have to know Ed. If he says it, it's true. He'll be honest - sometimes brutally
so, as you know - or he'll say nothing at all, but he doesn't bother lying. This is Stephie's clone in a station core."

  "Still..."

  "No. Things are as they are, and the proof is standing by your chair. The old Stephanie didn't do that. This one's running the station and nobody's complaining about downtime, so they must have enhanced her core. Ed, I don't think she'd ever be happy as a simple little flitter again."

  "They wanted to wipe her back to what you had here before, Ellen."

  Ellen's eyes grew large and her response was instantaneous.

  "No. Not Stephie. That can't be allowed to happen, Ed. That would be murder."

  "That's what I said. They didn't want to hear it."

  "Well, it won't happen, and that's that. She's a friend of mine. I don't know if she'll be able to stay or not, but nobody's going to wipe her."

  Her words carried a conviction that Robert apparently hadn't heard before. He stared at her for some moments before she noticed. At her determined gaze, Robert wisely raised his hands in mock surrender.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Robert said, "Back to why you wanted me here, Ed."

  "Okay. How many people who aren't part of the brass class are upset about my taking over? A factual percentage will do; I'm not taking names."

  "I don't know the percentage. Quite a few."

  "Well, tell them what you know. I'll have Stephie send everybody a padmail if it comes to that. But I wasn't kidding about wholesale firings if people get stupid about this, Robert. Most would probably be hired back when it's all over, but they'd be unemployed for the duration. The factory will continue to operate and nothing will change except the computer. I had to take over to squash the board of directors, that's all. Stephie stays while I'm here."

  "Is that really the whole reason? There's nothing else?"

  "You got a copy of the meeting, right?"

  "I did."

  "Read it again. And again, if necessary. Pass it around. That's all there is. I'm here to do a job, Robert. When it's done, I'm gone."

  Throughout lunch and other chatter, the air of skepticism never left him. When we adjourned from the table, Ellen gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and said goodbye to Stephie, then realized aloud that - as the stations nearly-omnipresent computer - they weren't really parting. She giggled and shook her head, then took Robert's arm and they left us.