“You look wonderful, Leo. I’ll go with you. I’ve always wanted to see you in action. You can give me a tour, after your meeting of course. I’ll stay in the lobby so I won’t be a bother during your CEO face time. I know I’m not dressed for one of your board meetings.” Roxanne got up from the table and donned her leather jacket.
“What, you want to go with me?” Leo asked, with his eyes still on himself, in the mirror.
“Yes, why am I over-dressed?” Roxanne asked with one of those smiles that made those rig-ryders melt into their shark soup. She lowered her dark glasses just for the right effect, and Leo could only gulp out, “Yes, whatever you want, anything you want. Of course you should come with me.” They were on their way to the meeting within two minutes, taking his black stretch hover; the one with the full bar, wall vids, bubble-blowing hot tub, and bad 3D lift music. It had just been redecorated in pink with black orchids, so it still had that synthetic glob smell.
Back at the Aberdeen tunnel, Michael bent over Rose, removing something from her teeth-grip. “Let me take that off your hands; I’ll take it from here. You just relax and enjoy, I’ll be back in two days. I’ve stocked the place. Don’t try to leave.” Michael took the paper with the formula on it from Rose’s teeth, put it into his duffle bag, and then took Rose into a large room, right off the Aberdeen tunnel. You could hear the hovers humming by at three hundred miles per hour, just on the other side of the opaque, epon wall.
“Just go get Roxanne out of that place, Michael and…oh my, who is this?” Michael stopped packing his duffle, and loading his three guns; for a minute, Rose thought he was going to kill her.
“I think you two have met. Well, perhaps not formally. Rose, allow me to introduce you to my co-pilot. Darcy Segev, meet Rose Smoot.” Michael bowed in lordly fashion, introducing his tall, dark, and handsome German shepherd; the one Rose had one-night-stood back at the love hotel. Small world!
“See you guys in two days Rose, and play nice.” Michael left the room to return to the tunnel parking lot where he’d stored his hover bike in one of those pay by the second slots. He set to full nitro and accelerated into traffic level four, at two hundred miles per hour, heading to the hover jet port. Rose was not sure what he’d meant by play nice.
But ah, canine foreplay; shall I go into it?
After the limo ride at breakneck speed, Leo took the express lift to the 27th floor and walked into The Board room of his Hong Kong firm, Stem-Worm®, Inc., followed by Roxanne Smoot, the Roxanne Smoot; the place was went zombie. The six Korean businessmen, from the lowly bot-scriber to the emaciated, but overconfident CEO, all had boners, Leo’s team almost slid off their chairs, and the door-holding guy just barely maintained enough muscle control to hold the thing open for them.
Only Max seemed unaffected by the sudden appearance of Roxanne Smoot in The Board room. He looked positively green, like nothing would affect him. In fact, he looked like he’d been given a Fueblaster enema.
“Gentlemen, please excuse me for my late arrival. As you may have guessed, I have been otherwise occupied,” Leo smiled and looked over at Roxanne, who presented them with her best and most life-threatening smile. One of the Korean CEOs fainted, an assistant fell over and knocked a tray of donuts off the table, and the single female CEO just rolled her eyes in disgust.
Once the CEOs were all back in his chairs and conscious, Leo proceeded, “Shall we begin negotiations, Max? Max, shall we begin?”
Max seemed to be thinking of something else. Leo wondered if this was a new tactic. After all, Max had just taken the seven day counselor only retreat on “Killer Negotiation Tactics” last month, in Tahiti.
“Max, shall we proceed?” Leo had to raise his decibel level several notches, something really never done by a CEO, especially in a board meeting with other CEOs. Luckily, the later were so involved in staring at Roxanne that they did not seem to notice.
“Max!” “Yes, oh so sorry, I was just… Yes, let’s begin shall we. First for full disclosure…” Max continued to preside for the next thirty minutes, completing the merger contractuals perfectly, by sheer will power. After, in his private inner office, he collapsed, falling on the sofa and sleeping for the rest of the evening. As he fell asleep he heard his assistant out in the hall discussing the deal with Leo, telling Leo he’d be there tomorrow to finish up the paperwork, and not to worry, because if Max was ill he’d step right in and take over. The funny thing was Max didn’t even care that his lizard assistant had just wormed his way into Max’s job. He just wanted to sit and read a book, maybe Jane Eyre, or sleep for a long time.
It was almost sunrise by the time Michael Segev pulled his hoverbike into the Tokyo rig dock. He made the last hoverjet out of Hong Kong to Narita then he grabbed his rental bike from the garage and barreled across town to the awaiting rig. Morton had almost taken off without him. Rig re-track was to occur in 1 minute, and Michael barely had time to toss his bike to an amazed tunnel welf as a gift, climb into the co-pilot seat, and buckle in; just as Morton and he heard the tunnel com voice speak, “Re-track in three…two…one. Re-track on and complete, accelerate on my mark, full nitro. Have a nice day.”
“You’ll be wanting off at #5, I hear. I don’t usually stop there, but I can drop you off at that turn-around. Make it quick; I got interns in back and no log to stop there proper, just at the turn-off. You got to know I’m only doing this as a favor for Dorian. He asked me to give you a lift.”
Morton was huffy and pissy and feeling very old. Those young buck interns in his back cab were really getting on his nerves, using all those fancy words for just plain old rig-ryding.
“Thanks, I appreciate it,” was all Michael could muster. He was still out of breath from the breakneck trip across Tokyo, out in the open, on a fully depleted ozone kinda day.
“By the way, how do you know Roxanne Smoot? Are you a friend from grad school?” Morton asked as he punched in the drive and reached full speed. “I got to double check the tunnel control-tower now to be sure we can do that turn-around at #5. It’s just in case there’s some crap on the track or a wreck up ahead” Morton muttered to Michael. Morton commed the control and received approval for a one minute turn into the #5 turn-off. They asked him to repeat it three times; rig-ryders almost never requested a stop at #5, especially to drop someone off. He had to make something up. He finally told them it was an emergency health care worker checking on a polio outbreak at #5, and did they want to send someone, too. That got them to shut up.
“Yes, we met in grad school. I was on her lacrosse team. Now I am a flower broker; work out of Muncie, Indiana. Do you know Muncie; it’s where Ball State University is. You know the place where those Ball jars come from?”
Michael had about fifty different identifies he could slide into at will. He had no idea why he’d pick the Hoosier flower broker identify this time. Maybe it was because Morton seemed sort of mid-North American. It seemed to work. Morton relaxed and spent the remainder of the short trip regaling Michael of the times he’d driven his up top rig over Interstate 70 from Indianapolis to Denver and back, through hail the size of golf balls, back when water still actually fell from the sky…not that weird purple stuff.
Michael answered with geographical and unusual correctness, like he’d been born there. He regaled Morton about the time he’d gotten tickets to the Indy 500 infield and partied all night, the last time it was outdoors, and the time he’d actually seen water flowing in the Wabash. After two hours they reached the bubble-stop #5 turnaround and Morton felt like Michael was his new best friend.
“Well, it’s been real nice talking to you, Michael. I’ll give Roxanne your regards when I see her next. We’ll be coming up on the #5 turnaround in 60 seconds. Get ready to unbuckle and roll out. Be careful; the jump out can bite a bit.” Morton laughed, and punched the co-pilot buckle release, coded in the side-door open code, and Michael rolled out the door on his left shoulder, something he’d learned in training out in the desert, not in North Ameri
ca.
After his bite-a-bit landing, Michael ran to the exit portal to avoid the possibility that the next passing rig might decide to take the turnaround and squash him. He used his fake #5 ID to gain entry, and pushed open the rarely used portal, stepping into bubble-stop #5 proper, or as referred to by everyone else on the planet…the void.
At around the same time, the merger session was wrapping up back at Leo’s Board Room. He’d gained full control of the North Korean Federation for Neurological Organ Regeneration, and was arguing with his new North Korean CEO partner about what to rename the organization. Several weeks back Leo had commissioned a focus group of 50 CEOs, worldwide, to come up with seven acronyms to run by the group, at a cost of thirteen billion gold vouchers. It was worth it for the name recognition. Salty acronyms brought in customers and it didn’t matter what they meant. You always picked the acronym first then thought up a name that matched.
They narrowed the decision down to two, NOPE for Neurological Organ Progress Enterprises, and Leo’s favorite, BORE, for Brain Organs Regeneration Enterprises. Leo had already approved the product slogan, “Life is never a bore with BORE.” That little jingle cost him another thirteen billion gold vouchers to an elite ad agency out of New York.
Just before the voting and debate Roxanne nudged Leo, indicating she had to go to the toilet. “Leo, I’ve got to visit the ladies’ room. I’ll just stay out in the lobby until you finish.” Leo smiled at Roxanne, squeezed her arm, and chimed a female assistant who immediately appeared, white linen napkin over her arm, causing Roxanne to wonder if she planned on using that napkin on her, and where. Luckily, it really didn’t matter because Roxanne didn’t even plan to visit that toilet. She’d been scouting out her exit strategy, and with Leo uber-involved in acronyms, it seemed an ideal time to vacate the premises.
“Roxanne, this is,” Leo glanced at the assistant’s name tag, “this is a -85 level assistant who will be at your service for the day. Use her however you wish.” Roxanne exited the meeting, following the nameless -85.
She marched behind the serious-faced assistant, who tottered on three inch red sequined, Wizard of Oz shoes, down the marble hallway, turned the corner left, and continued. “So how long have you been working here?” Roxanne made small-talk, wanting to distract her toilet-napkin lady.
“Oh, I just started last month. We work our way up through each unit in the Inc. Right now, I’ve been assigned to the Employee Hygiene Department for the first six years.”
The assistant almost twisted her ankle as she negotiated the turn down one hallway to the next. “So did you have to train for the job?” Roxanne asked, taking in the fact that the building lacked windows, but did have emergency fire exits, and what looked like small laundry chutes; but the former would set off alarms, so she nixed that idea. She’d be taking a laundry chute.
“Yes, I went to undergrad at Tokyo University, then to the Business and Employee Motivational Program at Harvard for my Master’s degree. After that I had to attend the Monterey Language Business Program to learn those three required languages, and then get my PhD, in Human Resources, of course. I speak Mandarin, English, and de droite loop-speak.”
The assistant spoke with pride, that weird mix of confusion and terror, and like she was always asking a question at the end of each sentence. It was the tone now found in all the speech patterns of new employees.
“That’s great. You must be happy. I’ll bet the competition was huge. How many applicants were there for your position?” Roxanne asked, noting that one of those laundry chutes was stationed just outside the door to the ladies’ room.
“About twenty thousand, I would guess. That’s the usual number now. Plus, they don’t even interview you until you’ve finished all your training. If you don’t get hired you still have those loans to pay back for the training, although now you can work them off by selling yourself at the slave markets. That became legal three years ago to protect the banker’s investments.” The -85 assistant led Roxanne to the ladies’ room and opened the door.
Roxanne bent down, pretending to scratch her knee, and retrieved her second knockout dart, this one with a double dose of ketamine and garble juice. “Does the job pay well?” Roxanne asked after she’d palmed the dart and set the little switch on the side to the on position.
“Yes, very well. I have enough for my own sleep capsule at the employee residence next door, and to purchase my meal vouchers here. But, I took on quite a debt because I had to do an unpaid internship for 24 months, then do volunteer work with the Inc. for another 36 months before they’d add me to their interview list. But, I was an alternate on the permanent temp interview list for the entire time I was a volunteer. It’s really an honor to be on any permanent temp list. Wow, I mean only ten percent gets on that list. And permanent temps get the best volunteer positions. Plus, now that I have a real temp position, I’ll be able to pay off my loans before I retire…unless they let me go.” The -85 level assistant continued standing by the door to the ladies’ room, but stepped aside so that Roxanne could enter and use the toilet.
It was the extravagant one meant for visitors.
“I’m sort of embarrassed to ask, but can you come in with me? I’m just a rig-ryder; I always get confused with how to use those bidets,” Roxanne said, just before she entered the room. She’d had time to notice the bidet in the corner.
“They’re voice activated, Ms. Smoot. You just speak into the bidet and it tells you what to do next,” the -85 level assistant replied. “Oh, okay, I’ll just go ask Leo to see if he can show me.”
“No! I mean, yes of course I’ll show you, Ms Smoot.” She’d be fired if Roxanne went to Leo for help. The assistant followed Roxanne into the room. It was the last thing she remembered before everything went black. She woke up three hours later motor-mouthing nonstop about a shoe sale at the Lane’s.
Roxanne was not there when she woke up; she’d exited the toilet right after that assistant passed out, and was gently placed by Roxanne, inside one of the stalls, with one of Leo Songtain’s large diamonds in her bra; a gift from that safe heist. Roxanne peeked out the door to be sure the hallway was empty, opened the laundry chute door, and slid inside and down the tube.
Unfortunately it was not a laundry chute; IT ENDED IN A GIANT PAPER SHREDDER.
23
“WHAT’S THE PAPER SHREDDER FOR?” Michael Segev was standing just inside the entry to #5 proper, after Morton dropped him off; he was talking to Jason Yac and his reunited wife Jena Yac, who was carrying a large and ancient hand-operated paper shredder.
“It’s for that formula, Michael. You know we can’t keep a paper version here. It could get stolen.” Jason signaled for Michael to follow him into the security entry region. The security slime oozed over them while they continued their conversation.
“So I went to all this trouble getting the formula to have you destroy it? That sounds logical, actually. What’s your plan?” Michael and the two other Yac clones stood together inside the plasmon bubble getting checked for whatever you were supposed to get checked for to enter bubble-stop #5. God knows, it wasn’t for the possibility of viral or bacterial contamination…not in #5.
“Here’s the deal Segev, we have two brain-stored versions of the formula, one here, and one someplace else on the planet, by somebody, and in someplace unknown to Leo. And for safety sake, it’s better if you are both originals; as in one of the original clone soldiers. You guys are fairly invincible, in my opinion.” Jason and the other Yac clones were not older version clone soldiers, but were almost as dangerous, thus the less respectful use of Segev rather than Michael Segev, sir.
“I see. I’m the traveling version. Who’s the on-site version? No, don’t tell me. Did Dorian store Stephen here in #5? Where is that old guy? I haven’t seen Stephen since the Las Vegas games.” Michael glanced quickly at the formula, memorizing all twenty pages in fifteen seconds, a benefit of being one of the original four clones. He’d be able to recite it, write it down, c
all up any page, or even read it backwards, forever. Well, until he was dead anyway. And that could be over two hundred years from now.
“Yes, how did you guess? Oh right, there are only four and you all started in the same lab,” Jason replied as they continued to be checked by the security drones. “It was Stephen’s idea to use the originals. The WME is sure you were all killed at the Las Vegas games, back twenty years ago. Leo would suspect one of us newer-cloned versions, immediately. It’s public knowledge we still exist. But the WME has you four marked as dead. So Stephen said we should store the formula inside his head, and you have already stored it in yours. He’s the mayor here,” Chad went on.
“How did Stephen get here, in #5?” Michael asked. “After Las Vegas, Dorian helped him get away. He’s been hiding out here, away from Dina Nampeyo, for ages. Anyway, I checked and he’s listed as terminated in all the data-banks. He’ll be our stationary formula, and you’ll be the away version,” Jason added.
“Yes, good plan,” Michael replied. “We give Leo Songtain his formula, hand-written on official bubble-stop #5 letterhead, and tell him about the other two brain versions.” Michael thought for a second, and then said, “Yes, that way when he gets his formula back for whatever obscene amount of vouchers you will demand, he won’t just pull the backwash tubes out and flood this bubble-stop with seawater, like the last time. He’ll have Stephen as proof that we have a memorized version, and me as a threat. If he starts to flood you here, I blab the formula all over the bot-sat net; a workable plan. But, you’ll have to do the face meet yourself, because they do think Stephen is dead. Do you have recall?” Michael asked.
Gene Drifters: The Clone Soldier Chronicles-Book III Page 24
