Grey

by Jon Armstrong

  I saw logos of what looked like more sponsors, blueprints of what was probably the meeting place, pie charts, diagrams, bullet points, and pages of contracts. I let the papers slide off my legs as I stood. "I can't do this."

  "Bullshit!" He bared his teeth like an angry dog. "We don't have a choice! Everyone's laughing at us. Our stock is worth half a bug fuck." Waving a hand toward Xavid, he added, "We're selling everything just so we have electricity."

  With a shrug, I said, "I won't do it."

  "You will!"

  "I refuse."

  "I'll make you," he said, stepping forward. "I'll make you do it, you little shit!"

  "You will not."

  "Sir," said Joelene. "This operation of yours is a surprise. Can't we have time to recuperate and figure out our next step?"

  "It should be a surprise! It's a genius surprise. I thought of it in my own head! And if we don't we're dead. Right guys?"

  Ken pumped a fist. "Otherwise, we're dead!"

  "Expired!" chimed Xavid, as he tickled his hands over his oily shirt.

  "Just today," continued Father, "we lost seven thousand customers. Seven fucking thousand! I've been on the phone begging the buggers not to leave, but they're so fucking stupid, it's real hard." As Ken echoed the words fucking stupid, father got in Joelene's face. "And you! I'm tired of your worthless input. I want to see you working for RiverGroup."

  She stiffened. "I am Michael's tutor."

  "Yeah? Well, tutor him this: He's going to fuck Elle's stinkin' hole at the product show or you're finally out of here. You got that?"

  I wanted to tear his head off. "I'm not doing it!" As I spoke, tears ran down my face. "I'm out of this horrible family." I could barely see as I stumbled past him, around the stage, past Ken Goh, and past Father's idiot film crew and back outside.

  I ran to the garage, got in my car, and said, "Europa-1," to my driver. We started moving, and as I strapped myself into the seat, I added, "To the mkg complex . . . to Nora."

  Four

  The two-lane highway that traveled around the world roughly at the Tropic of Cancer rose high above the desert, cut through mountain ranges, floated over oceans, and was the way to get around the globe fast. After we exited the compound and wound our way down the slope, we came to the desert floor and then began to curve around Ros Begas, toward the long entrance ramp. No other Loop cars were out, so it felt like I was the only one in the world moving, and I liked that. As each of the sixteen vacuum-arc motors started, wound up to speed, and then kicked in, I was agreeably pushed into the seat. Although I was stylistically against speed, I couldn't help but feel a surge of adrenaline and allowed myself to enjoy it because I was heading toward her.

  From the outside, my car was shaped like a giant teardrop with the fat end forward and the back slowly tapering down to a needlepoint. The metal skin was covered with millions of little fibers that felt velvety when it was still, but vibrated at high frequency when the car was in motion. It had something to do with aerodynamics, but I wasn't sure. Dozens of skinny tires protruded below and made the whole thing look like a fat centipede. Mine, like the other RiverGroup Loop cars, was painted the company orange and blue, and on the stabilizing fins, like the dorsal fins on a fish, were the logos of the company, products, and those of our strategic partners.

  Soon we were on the Loop nearing full speed. The white road and the orange guard walls on either side were a blur, but the distant mountaintops passed in stately fashion. We had left the city and were traveling through the slubs, where millions of tiny orange and yellow houses and small square buildings covered the landscape like so many bits of sand. A few of the taller and steeper mountaintops were bare, or unicorned with a transmission tower. All around, in the valleys, the air was thick with a grayish haze.

  "Four point three," announced the driver.

  Releasing myself from the safety seat, I stepped back to the bathroom and leaned over the toilet. Nothing came up, but I wished I could have vomited what was supposed to make me part of my family—whatever nurture, or dna. Finally, I stood, unhappy that I couldn't rid myself of my lineage so easily. At the duralumin sink, I splashed water on my face then studied myself in the mirror. First I closed my left eye and lamented the pinkish tone of my cheeks and ears, which made me appear bothered and anxious. But when I closed my right, and the flush faded away, I felt I looked stronger and in control. This black and white version was the real me—the me beneath the hues.

  Once I got back to my seat, I checked the camera views of the road flying past us. They were clear, but just in case, I asked the driver, "Anyone following us?"

  "Negative, sir," was the answer through the intercom.

  "Nothing?" I asked, surprised.

  "Negative."

  Maybe this was all it took. Maybe Father finally heard and understood. Years ago, he had finally accepted that I would no longer be the dancer he wanted me to be. Maybe today he understood that I could not and would not date Elle. And maybe he saw that our only course of action was reconciliation with mkg.

  The rust-colored mountains gave way to flatter and flatter vistas covered with a crazy quilt of house developments, shopping malls, sweat shops, all interspersed with fields of corn. In the distance, a cloud of greenish vapor tinted the horizon.

  At night, much of the slubs were black, but a few dots of electric light or bonfires mirrored the dozen stars in the sky. During the day, it was ugly, limitless, flat, and dull. Worse, it made me feel insignificant.

  I wished Joelene were with me. She would surely applaud my daring. Several times lately, she had congratulated me on puzzles solved and initiatives taken, but this was the boldest yet.

  The car began to slow, but we hadn't even come to the Gulf Coast yet. I glanced at the red emergency stop button, with its big white E, at the front of the cabin, as if I had accidentally pushed it, but of course, I hadn't. "Driver," I said, "what's the matter?" A second later, Ken Goh's blue and orange painted face filled the screen.

  "I know you just had a terrible ordeal," he said, "and I feel very very bad for you, but your father and the company are under tremendous pressure right now." His eyes, nostrils, and mouth were outlined in dark blue, the rest was orange so that he looked like a tangerine skull. "He is trying. He really really is."

  "He is not."

  "No, he is." Ken had worked for Father for more than a year, but what he did besides agree with everything Father said, I didn't know. My impression was that there was nothing inside of him. He didn't care what he kissed, how many times, or how bad it tasted. "I know you'd agree that he's brilliant and yet modest." Ken smiled, and across three of his front teeth the letters y e s were stenciled in blue. "Trust me, he knows your situation and feelings."

  I snapped off the screen, but he turned it back on from his side.

  "See," he smiled a big yes smile, "your father predicted that you'd turn me off." Leaning in, Ken whispered, "He knows. He's much wiser than you might think." Scrunching up his citrus face, he added, "Sure, he's got a temper. And sometimes it flares up badly. But all great men have fits. I think it is part of being that great." He turned to his left. "Right?"

  Xavid and his huge square glasses leaned in. "Elle is a peach. Squeeze her and you'll get nectar."

  I had liked Father's previous hairdresser. She was a tall, bosomy matron of a lady who was always complaining about the horrible styles he wanted. But he got rid of her. Xavid was a scrawny little man who dressed mostly in oily, black sealskins. His huge amber eyeglasses made his eyes look yellow, watery, and distorted. For some reason his lips were always an odd bluish color, as if he lacked oxygen, and his little whitish tongue often darted out of the right corner of his mouth like a feeding sea worm. Mostly, he was just creepy and odd.

  I clicked it off again, waited for them to come back, but it stayed dark. Just as I decided they had given up, Father's face appeared.

  "Hey, Michael," he said slowly, "I know I was loud before. I've got a talent for loud." He laugh
ed and held his smile until it slowly wilted. "Anyway, I know you're not into Ültra, or Heâd, or Bäng anymore." He paused as if to lament my transformation once again. "Look," he said, his voice quieter, "I know you're unhappy about being shot . . . and everything about that . . . you know . . . and that mkg girl and everything . . . "

  He couldn't even say Nora's name. I reached to turn it off.

  "Wait! Hold on! I'm upset too. I really am. And you know what I think? I think that freeboot was nothing more than dick fuzz!" He held his grin as if waiting for me to agree. "Look," he continued, after he decided that I wasn't going to play along, "the deal is—the company needs you. We've got to have something for the show. So come on back home, we'll sit down with your little tutor and we'll get this all hammered out."

  "No." The word came out easily and I was proud of myself. In the past, I had had trouble standing up to him. To the driver, I said, "Full speed, please."

  "Elle's not so bad," he continued. "You see the stats on her tits? They're pointy!" His eyes lit up. "Remember there was a girl who looked kind of like her from the PartyHaus? She had that kind of nose." He flicked up the end of his with a finger.

  I did not remember, nor did I want to. "Driver," I said into the intercom, "increase speed now."

  "No," said Father, speaking louder, as if commanding my attention, "I'm pretty sure you said something about her once. You have to remember! She was the one who swallowed everyone and everything." As he always did, he got too close to the camera, and his face became distorted so that his nose looked like the front of a blimp. "Sheila! Wasn't that it? Remember her? Slurping Sheila we called her."

  I glared at him. Dividing her name into two faux syllables, I said, "No-ra."

  "Shut up!" he exploded. "Don't even say her fucking name! From now on, I'm banning it."

  I reached out and flicked the off switch. Nothing happened.

  "Ha!" Father winked off camera. "Lard work, Ken."

  "Please," I said, "go away."

  "mkg is our enemy. Two minutes ago Nora's dad was on Profit Ranch 5000. The bastard said we're community butt plugs!"

  "I'm sure he'll apologize if we just explain."

  "No explaining! No apologizing! They rejected us, and now we're total enemies."

  "We can go back and explain that it was no one's fault."

  "Stop with the explaining!" He flung his hands into the air. "They want to bury us. I'm telling you, they were behind that damn freeboot. They're against us."

  "Against us!" echoed Ken from off camera.

  "I'll talk to Nora," I said.

  Father began laughing so gutturally at first I thought he was retching. "Oh, boy! That's a big mug of flush water!" Turning to his guys, he said, "We're saved! He's going to talk to the pud-girl for us. He's going to have her go tug on her daddy's trousers, and he'll fix up everything!" Then he leveled a stare at me. "You're dumb," he said sadly. "I'm sorry, but it's the truth. I thought you wanted to become smart! Your tutor has taught you dick spit!"

  I wanted to scream at him, but that would mean loud had won. "I am not your son," I enunciated. "I'm not a Rivers anymore."

  With a big roll of his eyes, as if I had to be fooling, he said, "Come on! You don't have a choice there!" Then he leaned in, bumped his nose against the lens, and left a greasy spot. "If you want to get all quiet, and still, and grey, and whatever . . . fine! But you are Michael Rivers. You have your duty so get your ass home! Get ready for your damn publicity date, and that's it."

  I pushed the off button as hard as I could and managed to get the screen to shut down. To the driver, I said, "Full speed," and an instant later, the acceleration pushed me back into my seat.

  It felt over. I was no longer Hiro Bruce Rivers' son. I was no longer Michael Rivers, and I no longer had his worries. The only thing I felt was the anticipation of seeing Nora. Of inhaling air she had breathed, of touching her face, and gazing at her with my grey eye.

  Then the car began to slow again. "No!" I said, "don't stop. Speed up!"

  "Sorry, sir," was all the driver said.

  "Keep going!" I switched to the next seat and jabbed a finger at the screen. An instant later, I saw Father. Now he held a glass of that horrible sweet, black, fermented carrot liquor he liked. "Let me go!"

  "Oh, you're going," he said, as he tilted the glass and let a glob of the stuff ooze into his mouth like tar. After he struggled to swallow, he said, "And if you're out, then you're really out!" His foot flew up at his screen and it went black.

  I asked the driver to continue to Europa-1, but outside, I could see the baffle brakes open up and the air began to howl. "Please," I begged, "for me. For Michael Rivers, please don't turn around." Red and yellow emergency lights began to spin all over the car. A siren, like a slide whistle, sounded and a deep voice repeated: Warning—remain in your seat for safety.

  Thirty seconds later, we had come to a stop. I turned and looked behind, afraid another car was coming. I didn't see anything, and as I looked around at the enormous flat lands that spread out on both sides and the road that split me down the center, I started to feel a strange dread. I was no longer on my way to see Nora, but I also felt that something else was about to go terribly wrong.

  On the monitors, I watched the driver get out of his cockpit at the front and come around to the side. I'd never seen a car stop on the Loop before, and wondered if maybe we were having mechanical troubles. "Everything okay?" He didn't answer. Instead, he opened the lock on the large side door and slid it open. The air that rushed in was humid and hot and smelled like rotting garbage. "Is there a problem?"

  My driver was a short man with watery eyes and gentle, worn fingers. He wore the blue and orange RiverGroup uniform. The awful blue pants, with a long, padded, orange codpiece that snaked down the right leg, were leftovers from a previous product show—a costume hand-me-down. With his head bowed, he said, "Master Rivers senior says you must leave."

  "Leave?"

  "Step out of the car."

  I wanted to laugh. "Where am I supposed to go?"

  Shaking his head fearfully, he said, "I'll lose everything, sir."

  Pushing myself up, I stepped to the threshold. The direct sunlight felt like it would caramelize my skin in a minute. While I didn't want to get out of the car, I wasn't going to call Father and plead. Besides, stepping onto the Loop—something I never fathomed doing—was a call of his bluff. The drop to the roadway was three feet. I always entered the car from the garage platform, but was sure I could make it down. As I lowered my right foot, a line of copy from Pure H came to mind. A sad fog. We jumped anyway.

  I landed awkwardly and fell into my driver's arms. "Excuse me!" I stepped back and straightened my jacket and tie. Standing on the road's white octagonal tiles—that had never been anything but a blur before—I found I could no longer see into the slubs. The orange safety walls on either side blocked the view. And although the road stretched to the horizon in either direction, the feeling was claustrophobic even with the sky and the blaring sun overhead. After a second, the ventilation fans hidden in the shoulders of my jacket turned on and kept me comfortable.

  "There!" I said into the interior so Father could hear on the system. "I am out, but now I'm continuing to Nora." I turned to ask my driver for help getting back in, but he was heading to the pilot's door.

  "Excuse me," I said. "Do we have a step or something?" He climbed into the small round opening at the front and closed the door. "Hello!" I said, knocking. "I'm still out here!"

  At the nose end, the car was ten feet tall. Halfway up was a curved black windshield eight feet across and eight inches tall. Trying to peer through it, I asked, "What are you doing?" The engines, which had been idling, began to rev. Banging on the windshield, I said, "Open the door! I'll die out here."

  The car lurched forward, and I twisted out of the way before it ran me over. As the big teardrop body taxied forward, I beat on the side with my fists. "Stop it! Stop the car!" The vibrating surface felt like sandpape
r, but when the engines engaged, it slipped ahead like a big blue and orange fish into the rippling heat.

  "You can't do this to me!" I screamed after it. A moment later, I laughed because I had never fathomed that my driver would do something like this, but of course, ultimately, he worked for RiverGroup and that meant Father.

  Glancing around for security cameras, I said, "Joelene, can you see me? I'm on the Loop. I don't know where I am, but please come now. My driver left me out here." The problem was I didn't see any channel cameras anywhere. Turning, I said, "Joelene! Please help me!" I knew that the Loop was not completely on the system, but there had to be a camera somewhere.

  In the direction we had come, skittering headlights appeared in the boiling heat. For a second I panicked then decided it had to be Joelene. Or Father. Either way, I would be rescued from this reeking oven. Although I saw emergency yellows blinking, the car was still coming fast. And the sound—a high-pitched whine like a tiny but powerful drill—was getting louder by the instant.