ANOTHER NIGHT AT SID'S Part 4
A SIMON CREATION
Due to some technical problems, Sid postponed the actual mass transport of WE
until April. He didn't set a specific date, and I hadn't had much time to check
in with him. I spent the money I made from gathering up electronic and
mechanical items for him on a clunker car to get around in while mine was being
restored as close as possible to mint condition, so I was finding various jobs
to keep me in pet food and TV dinners.
I took on work with a private detective, following unfaithful spouses around
and photographing them doing nasty things with illicit partners.
I told him we could make big bucks with the woman and the horse, but he said it
was unethical and made me erase it off my camera after I'd downloaded it to his
computer. I didn't mind. I knew exactly when she went horseback riding, and
where she changed over to horsefront riding.
I also knew she had an Irish Wolfhound at home, which piqued my curiosity.
Once in a while, one human can tell another human a secret, and they keep it
truly secret. Actually I do that frequently, but it's because I have a
defective memory and I forget the secrets, but it still gives me a trustworthy
reputation. The point here is, we had a significantly sized group of people
here, all sworn to secrecy about the new toy we had, the 3-dimensional imaged
chatroom of ourselves. It may NOT have been us who blabbed; various AOL
officials knew about it, heck, the CIA knew about it. More and more people
started showing up, and since they had 3D bodies of themselves, I assumed that
they'd gone through Sid, and somebody, probably several somebodies in our
group, had told "just one" person. Wit's End nightly attendance was approaching
a hundred fifty people.
AOL made the announcement, and their financial woes were suddenly ended; people
who'd left AOL for all KINDS of reasons came streaming back, everyone already
or still a member was joyfully coughing up the money for the new technology,
and the very night I decided to see if Mrs. Whinny was also Mrs.
BarksWithTheDog, Sid called.
"Need you. Alternate," he said, and hung up.
I cursed. Alternate meant come by water. Going by water was not something I had
control over. Sid had designed a tiny little submarine that made me
claustrophobic. I had to drive to one of his friends' houses, a wealthy,
reclusive sort, park in his 5-car garage, go down a ladder in a steel tube
inside the garage, crawl through a horizontal pipe to the riverside, pack into
this nasty little brown thing I had dubbed "The Turd", and push one of two
buttons placed so that my hand had just enough room to do so. One took me to
Sid's cute little underground lair; Sid just told me if he ever said,
"Alternative" instead of "Alternate", to push the second button, and I'd wind
up seeing Sid at the end of the trip. Where that would be, he didn't want to
say. There was an "emergency" handle under my left hand, but I REALLY didn't
want to ask too much about that. All Sid had to say about it was, "You'll have
to swim."
Happily, there was a "Heads Up Display", including speed, temperature, a little
radar readout, a running stream of printout information with things I wasn't
sure I wanted to know, like "being pursued by tiger shark, approximately 9 feet
long, risk factor 43%. Attempting sonic shock pulse in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1" and I
feel the hairs rise on my arms as the readout continues "tiger shark has ended
pursuit, evading sunken sailboat 20 meters ahead, bearing changing 23 degrees,
alternate course implemented, avoiding Sheriff's Department draglines, body
being searched for unavoidable" and there was a bump, I saw a middle-aged male
face, eyes and mouth wide open, salt-and-pepper hair waving in the current,
move across the window above me, and we were back gliding through the night,
occasional glimmers of moon or stars showing on the surface a few feet above.
I'd see an occasional fish, bits of trash like beer cans, plastic 6-pack
holders, paper or plastic bags drift by. I figured Sid had worked out how to
keep those out of the propulsion system, so I didn't worry about them. I shook
my head, trying to erase the memory of that face. I've seen hundreds of dead
faces, but not underwater and alone...
I closed my eyes, lulled by the quiet hum of the motor, the steady beat of the
propellers...a gentle bump brought me wide awake. I checked the readout, "guide
link locked, being towed to final destination, all systems functional, reserve
battery power 88%.." it went on, but I could relax now. There was a track
underwater that I had to link up to, and that was done. Now I'd be pulled into
the underground facility and let out of this sardine can.
Within seconds, the hatch was up, and one of Sid's security people was lifting
me out of the sub, gently setting me on my feet. He was big enough to do that.
He was big enough to lift the sub itself, had he chosen to do so.
"Green door on the left", he said, and walked away.
I walked through as two technicians in gray coveralls began attaching slings to
the sub, then connecting those to an overhead crane.
Sid was sitting behind a console I'd never seen before. It was impossibly
complex, with all kinds of odd-looking readouts, switches, buttons, and he was
playing it like a maddened rock musician, hands flying everywhere. Devanti,
Sid's deaf-mute Indian personal assistant, glided up, placed a glass of iced
tea in my hands, brushed my cheek with her fingernails, and retreated to the
back of the room, where she curled up in a love seat, picked up a remote, and
activated a TV screen. I noticed she was watching "Fight Club". She wore a
plum-colored sarong, interesting tied sandals, and the jewels in her navel and
forehead both flashed a soft blue light every seven seconds.
She caught me staring at her, reached for an ice bucket by the love seat, so I
turned back to Sid.
"Devanti seems to have a fondness for you," he observed.
"Well, hanging out with a low-rent operator like you, her standards can't be
that high."
He smiled as an audible "thunk" announced an ice cube's arrival at its
destination, that being the back of my head.
"I think her deaf-mute status is in question here," I said, "There's no WAY she
could have read my lips."
"I use the same sonic technology that's in your robot for her," he said smugly,
"so she gets to hear every sound made in her presence. There are devices
implanted behind her ears so that she has better hearing than any living
human."
"So you're taking the perfect woman and screwing her all up," I observed, and
ducked. The ice cube missed cleanly. I chuckled, stood back up and the second
one smacked me right on target.
"That unbelievable eye-hand coordination is hers naturally," Sid observed
somewhat dryly.
I whirled quickly, but her eyes were on the screen. I did catch her trying to
stop a grin, and failing. I blew her a kiss, rubbed the rising knot on my head,
and turned my attention back to Sid.
I had been standing on his left. Suddenly, I was on his right.
"What was that?"
He sighed, opened a drawer, and handed me five banded packets of hundred dollar
bills. Looked like 50 bills per band. I raised an eyebrow.
"There was an accident during final testing last week," he said, "and our
volunteers all unvolunteered. You are now the first human to test the
technology. Congratulations. I owe you seventy-five thousand more dollars, so
killing me is probably a bad idea."
I wasn't even really angry. Life around Sid was pretty incredible, and I seemed
to have enough value to him that he'd not destroy me unnecessarily.
"Fine. I'll let you know when this runs out."
"You're not angry?"
"You haven't killed me yet, Sid. I promise, I'll find a way to haunt you when
you do."
He looked thoughtful, then smiled. "I'll hold you to that."
That smile brought back an uncomfortable feeling.
"So, I said, deciding that topic had had enough, "it's tested now. It works.
We're ready to rock and roll?"
"Indeed we are," he said, "and it's going to happen tomorrow night."
"Uh, Sid. You just moved me about five feet in one test. That's sufficient?"
"Of course. I'd isolated the anomaly that caused the original problem, resolved
it. You're simply the last of over a thousand tests."
"You care to tell me about the anomaly?"
"Unfortunately, I was broadcasting the final test to the Wit's End volunteers,"
he began, and paused.
"Yeah. They're all watching. And what did they see?"
"I was transporting a pig. His head didn't show up."
"Oh. I see." My own head began a strange tingling sensation.
"No, not entirely. He was a live pig. He shows up on the test platform,
standing up, blood spraying out his neck, begins twitching, and falls over,
still spurting blood. People got ill. People said they were NOT going any
further with the program."
"Can't say that I blame them. So what was the anomaly that caused it?"
He drew a deep breath in through his nose, let it out through his mouth.
"We were invaded. Somebody tried to hack my system, and my defenses drained
power from the transport system at just the wrong moment."
"Great. So I could have ended up doing accurate Minnie Ripperton imitations?"
"No. Not possible. I've added new systems, defenses and power sources. That
couldn't happen."
"Sid, a lot of times I don't question. I know what you can do, at least PART of
what you can do, but this...there have got to be unbelievable forces out to get
this technology. The U.S. government is going to be your adversary. Other
governments probably have heard something. This would be the chance to become
THE premiere world power."
"It's handled. Devanti has made you up a room with a private bath. You don't
smell so great. Relax. Soak a while. Get some sleep. The robot faked a call
from you, reassured your father that you had to be gone for a couple of days."
Devanti appeared, grabbed what was left of the sleeve of my Aaliyah t-shirt,
and tugged me away. We went out to a hallway I'd not seen before, into a
central area of couches, fountains, hanging plants, with eight rooms, four
fanning out from the entranceway, and stopping at an exit with a constantly
changing fiber optic curtain across it.
She led me to the first room on the left, pointed a finger at the door, and it
opened.
I walked in. A sunken tub, all acrylic, was already filled and steaming.
Controls for the water jets were in a panel on one end. A wrought-iron bed
stood on an elevated area, with indirect lighting all around it, the light
diffused even further by white netting surrounding the entire sleeping area.
Devanti was suddenly gone from my side.
"Well," I said, and she turned,"I've had a lot of tense experiences today. Just
how are you at massage?"
She smiled. She moved her hand to her mouth like she was kissing it. She laid
the palm out, fingers pointed toward me and blew on it. A tiny piece of ice
bounced off my cheek and plopped into the bath water.
The door closed behind her, though she never touched it.
PART IV B
I drifted awake to some kind of new age music involving harps, a harpsichord,
violins, and a guy with an electric guitar who really liked bends. It was
pleasant.
When I opened my eyes, the covers were tossed everywhere, so I knew I'd had a
restless, dream-filled night.
A green R2D2 clone was parked by the bed, still broadcasting the music into my
head.
"Enough with the tunes," I said, and the music stopped.
Extended arms held a breakfast tray with eggs, sausage, toast, a melon slice,
orange juice, iced tea, chilled strawberries in a bowl of ice, a couple of
vitamins and a folded newspaper.
"How about you just run a news report into my head," I sad, and the robot
started playing one, the announcer chattering away.
I took the tray, started eating.
"I'd rather have had Devanti serve this," I said, and a tiny metallic hand
appeared holding an ice cube.
As the arm drew back to throw, I said, "I can reprogram you to disassemble
yourself."
It threw the cube into the tub and resumed the news broadcast.
While I ate, the robot scrubbed and rinsed the bathtub, disinfected it, cleaned
and sanitized the toilet, took all the bedclothes except the sheet, which I
refused to give up. I hate eating naked. I don't know why. It produced a small
razor and offered to shave me when I finished breakfast, but I took the razor
and gave it the food tray.
I don't know what it did with the dirty dishes, but it came back with the tray
and a cup full of water, a toothbrush already loaded with toothpaste, and a
spit bowl. I took advantage of this, and the machine opened a panel you
couldn't spot until it was opened, and took out a rather snazzy looking uniform
on a hanger, which it hung from the canopy part of the bed frame. Well, the
shirt and jacket were snazzy. The Clan MacClarren kilt I wasn't terribly fond
of. I sighed.
"Get me some underwear or I swear I'll clog the toilet with that thing."
My observation about the multicolored spangled thong it produced is
unrepeatable even in a VFW hall full of old soldiers.
The day-glow orange French cut was rejected.
Ditto the pink jockeys.
I had to settle for purple and blue, I wanted to get on with my day.
The uniform blouse and jacket were copies of a World War I British Army
officer's uniform. I got dressed after throwing the sheet over the robot so I'd
at least have privacy putting on the underwear.
It extricated itself, took the tray with my tooth brushing endeavors, and
headed for the bathroom.
I beat it there, said, "Thanks, I perfected wiping before you were assembled",
closed and locked the door, and took care of that particular morning ritual.
I came out, dressed, and was in for an interesting surprise.
There was a harness built into the inside of the kilt. A tiny, palm-sized .25
caliber pistol was in a holster at the small of my back, two carbon-plastic
knives were hidden in the folds, and Velcro strapped thigh holsters held
Japanese throwing stars and some very nice Gerber throwing knives. Two spare
5-round clips for the gun were also in the waistband. The collar could be torn
off the shirt, revealing a garrote or metal saw, whichever it was needed for.
Various types of handcuff keys seemed to be sewn into the seams.
The jacket held a concealed holster with a very flat .22 pistol, and two
9-round clips, loaded. The bottom of the epaulets held tiny carbon knives. The
belt buckle had a tiny clasp on the inside that, when it opened, showed an
electronic array with a green, blue and orange button, each blinking slowly.
The robot began giving me instructions on its use. Seems that, if Sid was
incapacitated, that pushing these buttons would take the group to various "safe
sites" Sid had planned ahead of time. If we found one compromised, simply push
another button and we'd be out of there. It started giving me instructions on
the other weapons, but I told it to stop. I was familiar with all of them,
adept with all but the throwing knives, and I was adequate with those.
It insisted on telling me that tearing off the tire treads on my sandals would
reveal a tiny surgical kit from one foot, the other various medications. I
tried to talk like Sean Connery, but failed. I for sure didn't look like him.
Or Timothy Dalton. Same with George Lazenby, Roger Moore, Pierce Brosnan. Heck,
I didn't even look like David Niven, who everybody forgets once played Bond.
My Irish accents are mediocre, my Scottish worse. I decided to play it like I
was a Robert Heinlein character, since he had them wearing kilts. Then I could
talk like an Midwestern American. I could handle that fine.
Sure enough, the door opened as I approached it. I guess Devanti did the finger
thing for dramatic purposes. In the common area sat all the Wit's End NOVLs.
NOVL Swan and NOVL Dregs leaped to their feet and threw incredibly accurate
English style salutes, their heels clicking, both yelling "Sah!". Both wore
khaki pants, knit shirts and sportsmen's vests with all-weather hats. The
ladies, too, were dressed for adventure. Everyone except yours truly looked
prepared for adventure. Everyone who wasn't already giggling proceeded to do
so. I almost never blush. This time, I did.
NOVL Tunes, dear Lady Kate, stood, walked over, and patted my arm in sympathy.
Swan and Dregs held their salute until I returned it. Then we all proceeded
through the fiber optic rainbow into another new (to me) area.
Devanti was in a corner bar, making drinks. She took one look at me, covered
her mouth, and shook with silent laughter. She, too, wore the standard
adventurer uniform. I resolved to pour ice water on her before the day was out.
The AOL guys were there, some in their usual suits, a couple in the outfit of
the day. One proffered his hand, so I shook it. The NOVLs looked at me
questioningly.
"Long story", I explained.
Sid came in. His only change from the standard outfit was a pith helmet with an
imitation leopard band on it. I figured the helmet was full of electronic crap
and weighed more than his head. The girls' blouses fit well, especially when
unbuttoned a bit. The significance wasn't lost on anybody. Sid had watched his
Tarzan movies.
"Ah", he said, "I see you've all met our Sergeant At Arms." More general
snickering. I resolved to speak with Sid about this privately, and soon. The
urge to use the garrote on him faded as I realized he was holding a LOT of my
money, and I didn't know where.
The purple robot rolled up to the front of the room we were in, asked us to
please take our seats, and began running us through final preparations for the
evening. The NOVLs had various tasks assigned, and were to take charge of small
groups, divided up by colored armbands. Going from group to group was not to be
interfered with, but wandering away from the main body was to be discouraged,
first by them, then by me. They were given their colored armbands, and each had
a tiny signaling device that, when pressed, would light a button either on the
right or left breast pocket of my jacket with the color of their armband. I'd
hear a tiny beep when they depressed the button. Everyone tested it at once.
The buttons changed color with every flash. Each NOVL had a leather-bound
device with a compass on top and a stun-gun on the bottom. The handles under
the compasses were hollow, and held matches, fishing gear, saws like my
garrote, a tiny pill-sized fire-starter and miniature snap-and-glow plastic
tubes.
Our first "meeting" was to be atop a private hunting preserve in the Arkansas
mountains. AOL had leased it for the occasion, arranged local security. There
were multiple cabins, plenty of electric generators, a satellite link,
computers to go around. When I learned two robots were going with us for
security, I began to relax. We were to be gone for three days, tops, and
arrangements had been made to get anyone home early who couldn't deal with
things. The NOVLs all had instruction packets, and the robots and I sat down
and worked out security strategy. Mostly they told me what they would and
wouldn't do, and I made a few suggestions, some of which were run by Sid and
accepted.
While I had the chance, I pulled Sid aside.
"You have people here who are ex-military. Why me?"
"You don't drink. The AOL people have enough booze up there to Molotov that
mountain into a gravel pile."
"Oh."
"And", he added, "I've been around you a lot more than I have any of the
others. You can handle this. Relax. The robots will help you."
I got a chance to see why these NOVLs really were different from most, why
they'd survived in their jobs longer than was normal. They studied their
packets, drilled each other on the information, discussed who could handle
medical situations, thought up scenarios where people might be difficult to
handle, where and how things might require the knowledge of one over another,
or a team. By the time the sun was nearly set, we were fully prepared. It was
Friday afternoon. Checks were being cashed, preparations for the weekend were
underway. We were excited, and sure that the members would be, too.
Sid led us into a room with small desks, and computers at each desk. We logged
on, went to Wit's End as our 3D image selves, watched the members trickle in.
AOL had sped up the announcement and inception of the 3D chat. It, too, would
begin tonight, hopefully masking some obvious signs of our going beyond 3D into
reality, or, perhaps, beyond reality.
I discovered, far too late, that I had been rescanned in my new outfit.
Sid got everyone to sit in the main chamber, and started his spiel. He
announced that I was the one who had taken the first trip, and, therefore,
received the $100,000 bonus. My Instant Message board exploded with curses,
congratulations, and marriage proposals. One was from a man who recently came
to us from another board. I reassured a few people that you quite literally
didn't feel a thing, and it was now safe, and I was looking forward to doing it
again. An AOL guy reminded those who decided NOT to participate that not only
were they sworn to silence, they were paid for their silence, so no talking out
of school.
Someone asked if the guy in the dress could cover those awful legs, and that of
course, got everyone chattering or LOLing at the same time.
Once everyone was silenced again, Sid announced that the NOVL staff would be
transported first, followed by the members. Each member would arrive with a
patch of colored cloth in their right hand, and they were to match it to a
NOVLs armband, and be issued an armband of their own.
The real Sid was sitting off to one side of us, at yet another high-tech
looking console.
"NOVLs", he said, and they all looked at him, "Ready?"
Everyone said yes, he started flipping switches, and they literally vanished
from their desks. The green and purple robots vanished as well, leaving the
yellow one behind with Sid, Devanti and me.
Sid did some more button pushing and switch flipping, picked up three boxes
which I assumed to be remote controls. He walked over and slipped one into my
jacket pocket, said, "The robots have extras, and can explain anything you
don't understand", smiled at me, pushed a button, and I was standing off to one
side of the NOVLs. Seconds later, Sid and Devanti showed up. We were standing
on a wide, flat area of compressed dirt. Behind us, sodium lights on telephone
poles illuminated the Great Room of the campsite, and all the dormitories. The
members started popping up in front of us, and everyone went into action,
matching up armbands, talking, looking at each other. One woman I didn't know
began shaking uncontrollably. One of the AOL guys took a small flask from his
pocket, put an arm around her, said, "Take a sip of this. You'll be fine."
She did, and, true to his word, she quit shaking. She smiled and drained the
flask. Everyone else seemed to be all right, if a bit confused.
"Let's get inside", said Sid, and as we walked toward the Great Room, we were
suddenly in knee-deep snow. The wind was blowing fiercely, and seemed to
instantly stab through me.
"What the HELL," several of us said, and Sid began furiously pushing buttons on
his remote and swearing.
"We're in Iceland", he announced, pushed another button and we were back
walking toward the Great Room again.
I shook snow out of my hair, brushed it out of my Van Dyke and off my kilt.
"Sid, what was that?"
Everyone began huddling closer together.
"I don't know yet," said Sid, and then we were in a valley surrounded by
mountains, the sun hadn't quite set.
People became upset at this point, but there was really nowhere to run.
Sid again began furiously working his remote, said, "We seem to be in Arizona",
and his remote began burning itself up. He dropped it as the plastic began
melting onto his fingertips.
"Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore," said the AOL guy as the black
helicopters came into view, flying toward us.
Next: Things Get Weird.
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