Marionette

by Stephen Cote

Hyperion hewed to his script. “They think so.”

  “Isn’t that their job? Mitch is your confidant, not your press agent.”

  Hyperion paced around the room. “If my confidant facilitates me in doing something that affects my marketability, my agent and label are impeded.”

  “Your new wave is almost out of post production. The ultrasonic layers for the canine-worlds and the psionic modulations are being added as we speak.” Mitch stood and took several steps towards Hyperion. “Was Chaz up here this morning?”

  “He sent me a wave.”

  “And Zud? Were they here?”

  “They like the Solar-wind instrumentals.”

  Mitch backed away from Hyperion. “Ion, I’m your best friend. If you want to run your own market analytics, that’s fine. But, I’m concerned you’re letting Chaz bend your ear a little too much.”

  “They’re worried you’re bending mine.” Hyperion shook his head. “I stared into the mirror all night, and I don’t understand how the beautiful face I see is the same one in the photograph.”

  Mitch paced in a tight square pattern. “Ion, it’s the angle and lighting. It was a mechanical portrait, light refracting through a ground lens. The lens may have a blemish.”

  “Really?”

  “You wouldn’t occupy ninety percent of the market if such rubbish were true.”

  Hyperion leveled a finger at Mitch. “That picture is offensive to me and my fans. They think I’m a freak.”

  Mitch shook his head. “You have to step back and look at the big picture. If the universe thinks poorly of you, this is an opportunity to introduce your new product and fashion lines.”

  “My next wave isn’t out in the ether. They’ll see my new products while thinking of this picture.”

  “Your sublime beauty,” Vickette said.

  Mitch relaxed and remembered why he liked her company; she excelled at placations.

  “Yes,” Mitch said. “The picture is a cocoon from which your new look will emerge.”

  Hyperion glanced at the elevator.

  Mitch winced. “Are they on their way up?” Behind his back he pointed at the floor. “Unfortunately, we still have to investigate this morning’s events. I’m not comfortable with an armed entourage making it through security, and I don’t think I’d make a good best friend if I didn’t look into it.”

  Hyperion smiled. “I know I’m full of myself, but I don’t know where I’d be without you, both of you, looking out for my well being.”

  “Don’t let Chaz and Zud try to guide your art,” Vickette said. “You’re the artist.”

  The elevator opened to Chaz and Zud peering through the doors. Vickette coordinated a dimensional shift, whisking them to the lobby and leaving behind a cloud of pink mist.

  Once materialized in the lobby, Vickette extended her hand. “I have Max Rhetric on hold.”

  Mitch clasped his hand over hers, feeling a communication device emerge from her wrist and press against his palm. He grasped the squashed ovoid and closed his fingers around its cool metal. Audio and three-dimensional video infused his senses, and he beheld a clear representation of his boss.

  The sight and din of the lobby bled into Mitch’s peripheral vision, and he became ensconced in iridescent lacquer applied to vinyl wood-grained walls. Mitch couldn’t tell if Max was being caustically cheap, or if he was taken in by a new trend in bad taste. Max’s humorless demeanor shone through his white cotton toga.

  Max pushed the single button perched atop a speaker box. “Vickette, bring in the latest.” He released the button, and analyzed rows of factoids unreeling from Vickette’s hive mind.

  “What’s all of this?” Mitch asked, waving his hand around the room and pointing at Max’s clothes. He realized his moving while communing would look foolish to anyone in the lobby.

  “Office party,” Max mumbled, sifting through the information. “The misses redecorated the office last week. Thinks faux-wood in vinyl is coming back.” Without missing a mumbling beat, he murmured, “So, Chaz and Zud are making a play.”

  Max remained silent.

  “That was a question.”

  “Vickette thinks so.”

  Max prodded a holographic display. “I’m ordering a primary AI analysis.”

  Mitch squinted: The first AI also was the most powerful and intelligent, very expensive. It maintained its vast networks and support personnel by selling analysis services.

  Three seconds passed, and Max sat back in his chair. “The analysis supports Vickette, and suggests Chaz Vermouth and Zud Duz are preparing to displace Hyperion Dazzle. And, Dazzle’s behavior suggests cognitive seeding.”

  Mitch recognized the term from their industry parlance. “Sabotage!”

  “It would appear so.”

  “That means Chaz or Zud have been working with a competitor.”

  “Mitch,” Max said, “Psychopharmacosmetics may be an industry leader, but we have many competitors. There isn’t much we can do without revealing our involvement to Chaz and Zud. They must not learn that Dazzle’s persona is our product.”

  “They must know,” Mitch countered. “We’re the only company capable of this scope.”

  “It would seem someone found a way to slip past our screens and seed Dazzle to fail. Our involvement remains hidden since they did not exploit our process.” Max leaned across his desk. “It is imperative we transition into the next phase, a complete reinvention of Dazzle, including full regression therapy to identify the competitor.”

  “My situation has become precarious. I’m being locked out of Hyperion’s confidence.”

  “That’s always the case in these situations,” Max said. “But, you are his confidant and hopefully your little squall this morning will have restored enough faith to retire Hyperion to a location where therapy can be administered.”

  “Easier said than done.”

  “Nonetheless, figure out how to get Hyperion out of his temple in the clouds, and I’ll coordinate arrangements through Vickette.”

  “Alright,” Mitch muttered and loosened his grip on the communication device. His senses returned to a face-to-face confrontation with a doughty, sniffling woman of some pudgery and antiseptically applied cosmetics.

  “Replacement sub,” Vickette said. “sub-Bev.”

  Mitch blinked pain from his eyes; Vickette’s sub was a frump. “This isn’t going to work.”

  sub-Bev whined in, “Day spa.”

  Mitch rolled his eyes.

  Vickette’s eyes brightened. “We need to separate Hyperion from Chaz and Zud, and deliver him to Psychopharmacosmetics. A day spa is an obvious solution.”

  “But,” Mitch said, “We need to address Chaz and Zud.” He thought for a moment. “A combination of deep fiscal and behavior scandals, interpolating Hyperion.”

  “Why include Hyperion?”

  Mitch looked to sub-Bev for an explanation. He knew Vickette’s hive worked best with a human intermediary to defer obvious questions to its own sub-processes.

  “A behavioral scandal,” sub-Bev said, “Would improve reception of a Dazzle remake, albeit resulting in a recoverable drop in market share.”

  “His new album would suffer,” Vickette said.

  Mitch shrugged. “We need to find out who Chaz and Zud are grooming as a replacement, order a Psychopharmacosmetics workup, and begin treatment before the scandals hit. The replacement must be protected.”

  Vickette and sub-Bev exchanged a complex communication, and then Vickette studied Mitch. “Are you considering displacing Hyperion?”

  “Options,” Mitch answered. “We need the option to retrieve Hyperion from the depths of the scandals, or use that as a platform to launch a new star.”

  “Isn’t that Chaz and Zud’s plan?” Vickette asked.

  “Their plan doesn’t include two scandals involving the most famous wave star in the universe, his agent, and his label. Our plan does.”

  “An
d,” he continued, “If we can get hold of this replacement, the Psychopharmacosmetics team can begin work at the same time they are working on Hyperion.”

  “And Dazzle’s best interests?” sub-Bev asked.

  “Psychopharmacosmetics’ interests are what matter,” Vickette said. “Mitch’s suggestion offers the greater value for the company, and gives us control over both stars, no matter who comes out ahead.”

  Mitch held out his arm towards the elevator. “Alright. We’re rearmed.”

  “How volatile is the situation?” sub-Bev asked.

  Mitch started walking towards the elevator. “My collectively-minded dears,” he waited for the elevator to open, and continued, “A wave star can be made and broken within a day. The mind of a star is fragile. Malleable. We should treat Chaz’s and Zud’s actions as a direct attack against us.”

  After entering the elevator and beginning their ascent, Mitch said, “And it’s should be noted that, at the moment, we are on the bottom floor and Chaz and Zud are operating on our actor.”

  Standing like a pudgy mushroom, sub-Bev inquired, “Perhaps,” but was silenced with a glance from Vickette. After Vickette secured their privacy, sub-Bev continued, “Perhaps we should be more proactive and distract Chaz and Zud.”

  “There are protocols preventing transporting someone against their will,” Mitch said.

  “Except in an emergency.”

  sub-Bev spoke up, “I meant we could arrange an engagement Chaz and Zud would be compelled to attend.”

  Mitch tipped his head forward and blond locks cascaded across his brow. “The sentiment is noted. But it’s not helpful unless you are able to conclude it.”

  sub-Bev paused with a vacant