"What for? Showing you that people don't like being followed around by a smart-mouthed teenager? I didn't really hurt you, kid. 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 think that's been his problem. Could be 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 for a few moments.
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?"
"We aren't doing lunch or using any other tired clichés at this table, please. You're Ellen's husband. 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 in the ranks 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. 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 flu epidemics, Ed."
"Tell them that work slowdowns or strikes won't work. 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 noticed Stephie, 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 right away, 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, he believes it. He'll be honest—sometimes brutally so, as we both know—or he'll say nothing at all, but he doesn't bother to lie. If he says that's Stephanie, it is."
Robert didn't seem convinced. “But..."
"No buts,” said Ellen. “Things are as they are, and the proof is standing by your chair. The old Stephanie couldn'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. What if the board wins the argument? What happens to her?"
"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. Let's say most of them."
"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. That's all there is. I'm here to do a job, Robert. When it's done, I'm gone."
Throughout lunch and chatter about the events of the day before, 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—since Stephie was the station's new, nearly-omnipresent computer—they weren't really parting. She giggled and shook her head, then took Robert's arm and they left us.
I sat back down and asked Stephie for an update on Desmond.
She said, “The headaches at school can be explained by the use of PFM's in the lab next door to his history classroom. Various other occasions happened near storerooms that use PFM's for routine moving of supplies and such. There are a number of incidences that continue to defy explanation, Ed. They happened at times or in places where no PFM's should have been in use."
"Do you have complete records of PFM's issued and to whom, or did the idiot lose those when I rebooted him?"
"I have them, Ed, but I can't trust that the list is complete or correct. I'm in the process of verifying those on record."
"Geez, lady, sometimes I wonder if you really need me at all. Good job, Steph. Keep me posted. Thanks."
"You're welcome, Ed. Are you finished with my image?"
"I guess so, Steph. Everybody you needed to impress is gone, and Ellen seems firmly on our—your—side in this, which was the whole purpose of showing you to them. She may disapprove of what I'm doing, but she's determined not to let anything happen to you, and the two matters are closely related."
"Ah, ha. I see. You used me to polarize Ellen in your—oh, excuse me, our—favor. Well, I suppose I don't mind being horribly used in a good cause. Bye for now."
Stephie's image gave me a ‘gotcha’ grin and a rather cutesy wave, then ceased to exist. Leslie said nothing as she sipped her tea. She seemed to have something on her mind
, and I didn't interrupt her thoughts as I sifted through my own concerning potential personnel difficulties.
Leslie said, “I don't think you have to worry about her sense of humor, Ed."
"Doesn't seem so, does it?"
Fidgeting in her seat didn't seem to relieve her discomfort much. I could sense that her mind wasn't really on Stephie's characteristics and waited silently, making notes on a napkin, for the other metaphorical boot to hit the floor. It wasn't long in landing.
"You chat with her constantly, but you've barely spoken to me since we arrived, Ed."
I cleared my thoughts and looked at Leslie. She must have thought I hadn't heard what she said, so she started to repeat herself.
"I said, you chat with her constantly, but..."
"I got that the first time. I'm waiting for an explanation, now."
"Of what? She's turned into your constant companion, your pal, your buddy, your..."
I gave her a sharp glance and said, “Yeah, yeah. So? She was all that before you came along. So what's different now?"
Leslie sniffed and said, “I just think you'd probably marry her if she could sleep with you on top of everything else she does for you."
I didn't laugh. I felt like laughing, but a laugh would have been a faux-pas of serious magnitude at that moment. I tried to jolly her a bit.
"Only if she needed a green card to stay in the country,” I said. “I don't have to marry her to have her company."
Leslie didn't appreciate the humor. Her mood wouldn't permit it. I thought about trying to let the matter drop, but realized that Leslie would pursue her mood, so I tried a different tack.
"No, ma'am, I wouldn't marry her, and I don't think Stephie's that stupid, either."
Leslie's gaze narrowed. “What's stupid about marriage?"
"Lots of things, these days. They don't usually last, for one thing. Odds are that one in three marriages will survive the first three years."
"So you'd do away with them altogether?"
"Nope. People need their tribal rituals, even if the rituals have become rather meaningless. Marriage is for people who believe in it and need it."
"And you don't have any use for it?"
"You got it. None at all. Good friends don't need marriage papers. They need each other. Marriage was designed to be a system of lifetime guarantees. It hasn't been that for half a century or more."
Leslie sat stiffly for a moment, then said, “You don't like kids. You don't like dogs. You don't like marriage. What do you like, Ed?"
I sighed. “I don't hate kids and dogs, I just don't want them around me. I think marriage is outdated. What I'd like, Leslie, is for things—things between us—to be as they were before we came up here. If you can't wrap yourself around that idea, maybe you need a new boss and a new boyfriend."
With that, I rose and waved for the waitress. Leslie remained seated, her face reflecting stricken anger. The waitress noticed the tension between us, then opted not to notice it as I signed the ticket. There was no place to add a tip.
"How do tips work up here?” I asked her. Her name tag read ‘Lori'.
"Thanks, but we're on salary,” she said. “Decent salaries, unlike the way things were back on Earth. Health and retirement bennies, too. Tips aren't required."
"They aren't illegal, though, are they?"
The waitress gave me an odd look and said, “No, just not necessary."
I nodded. “Glad you're doing well, Lori. My sister was a waitress while she was in college. I heard all the stories and usually had to loan her rent money."
"That's the way it was for me, too. Never did finish college. Maybe later, when Davey's a little older."
"He's up here with you?"
She nodded and smiled. “Yup. Got away from the jackass ex-husband, too."
I grinned back at her and said, “Good for you. Stay lucky, Lori."
When Lori had left us, Leslie was still looking up at me, but all I saw was anger. The 'stricken' part of her look had been tucked away somewhere for the moment.
"I guess I'll just stay here for a while,” she said. “I have some thinking to do."
I nodded, then said, “Stephie, let whoever is running personnel know that Leslie needs a new job. Say that I've discovered that I don't need a secretary, after all. There's to be no break in employment, just get her a new filler job."
"Yes, Ed."
Leslie's face again changed, this time to one of shock.
"Linda hired me,” she said. “What are you going to tell her?"
"The same thing. She hired you, but your contract is with 3rd World, not me. Head over to personnel this afternoon and get yourself squared away. Remember all the stuff you signed before you left. It's still in effect."
Leslie stood, no longer just angry, but enraged.
"You can't do this to me, Ed. You haven't even talked to me. That's all I wanted."
"I asked you to get right to the point of things a while ago, but what I got was the beginnings of an argument. Things don't seem to be able to revert to good times, so let's just call it off before it gets really difficult between us."
"You'd rather just get rid of me than try to work things out?"
"Your choice of words reflects your feelings about this, not mine. I'm only saying that it's better to end something that isn't working before it becomes a problem."
"I'm sure you would, Ed. It's all very rational and simple for you, isn't it?"
I sighed and said, “Yes, it is. Do we have to go on with this? I have enough on my plate at the moment and I have to go try to prevent a labor revolt."
Leslie was seething, but she said with clenched teeth, “No, Ed. Go. See you. Have a nice goddamned day, okay?"
She left the table and marched into the corridor, but didn't appear to know which way to go. She consulted her watch for a moment, asking Stephie for directions, I guessed, then headed left and got into the elevator.
Ellen called me as I walked out of the restaurant.
"Wow, Ed. Is there anyone you haven't pissed off today?"
I'd guessed wrong. She'd called Ellen.
"I'll check my list. Don't worry, ma'am. You aren't on it."
"Why not pencil me in for later, just in case you change your mind? Are you sure you did the right thing just now, Ed?"
"Sure enough that I did it, Ellen. Is there anything else on your mind?"
"No, not really. Later."
"Later."
I used my implant to call Stephie. “Anything new about the PFM's?"
"Not yet. All the originally-issueds are accounted for with static personnel. A number were returned to inventory when the construction of the station ended. A closing airlock door in dock seventeen crushed one. One was lost into space during construction when one worker tossed it to another and he missed catching it."
"What was done with the broken one?"
"Several parts were recycled into a replacement. The rest of it became flitter-fuel."
I nodded. “Were they sure about the one lost to space?"
"Cameras recorded the toss and the failed catch, Ed."
"Okay, Steph. Assume that the device tossed was not a PFM."
"But the record shows that..."
"Just do it, Steph, then read up on 'sleight of hand'. Run a microscope over the recording and see if the thrown object was really a PFM or a fake. Are the workers involved still available?"
"They're on Earth, Ed. Both are still with 3rd World."
"Good deal. I may want to have someone talk to them, later."
"An update, Ed. The worker's suit camera recorded video images of the throw, but the thrown object is barely visible due the glare from the surface of the station. I can't positively identify it as more than a shiny object of about the proper size and general shape. You have an ‘eyes only’ message from Earth, as well. If you'll put the battery back in your pad, I'll send the message to it."
"Wait ‘till I get to my room, Steph."
Once I was se
ated on the edge of my bed, I reached for my briefcase and reassembled my pad. The voice message was from Linda.
Without preamble, the message said, “Got word from the personnel department up there that you want Leslie to have a new job. Reason?"
I replied, “Incompatibility. No other reason and no prejudices. Let her stay on the station and teach. Stephie's my backup,” and hit the send button.
After a delay due to distance, her reply was, “Okay. Anything new?"
I sent, “There may be a PFM gone AWOL. Checking now. Nothing else to report."
"Okay. Later, Ed."
"Yas'm. Over and out and like that."
Linda hadn't been upset about Leslie. She hadn't sounded surprised about the missing PFM, either, so the idea had already occurred to her that someone might have gotten their hands on one, somehow. The only fly in the watermelon was that PFM's have a very limited range of functions.
The whole concept of the PFM was built around the notion that it was sometimes simpler and faster to do something yourself, without having to verbally direct the computer in the details of moving something from place to place.
A handheld PFM looked like a garage door remote with only three big buttons. There was an 'acquire' button and a directional pad for left, right, forward, back, and oblique movements. The other pad controlled lifting and lowering the object.
A PFM looked rather large and clunky until you realized that the hand operating one might be inside a space suit glove. All you had to do was aim the gizmo at something and push the 'acquire' button. It locked onto the object and used the field emanations from a ship or station to move that object.
When I'd first suggested that a field had been used to suffocate someone, I'd expected Linda or Elkor to at least mention PFM's, but they hadn't. It apparently hadn't occurred to anyone that a PFM may have been modified for other uses. Linda didn't have one, and there actually weren't that many in use on Earth that weren't in the hands of the Amarans or project employees.
"Stephie, why aren't there more PFM's in use on Earth? Seems to me that they'd be more popular than flitters and stun wands. Every warehouse would order a dozen."
Book 2: 3rd World Products, Inc. Page 28
