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 in the next room from 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 enough, Steph. Keep me posted. Thanks."
"You're welcome, Ed. Are you finished with my image?"
"I guess so, Steph. Everybody I 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."
"Okay. Bye for now, then."
Stephie's image ceased to exist. Leslie said nothing for some moments 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.
"You chat with her constantly, but you've barely spoken to me, Ed."
I cleared my thoughts and looked at Leslie. She must have thought I hadn't heard what she said, so she repeated herself.
"You chat with her constantly, but..."
"I got that the first time. I'm waiting for an explanation, now."
"Of what? She's your constant companion, your pal, your buddy, your..."
"Yeah, yeah. All that. So what?"
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," I said.
Leslie didn't appreciate the humor. Her mood wouldn't permit it. I thought about letting the matter drop, but realized that Leslie would pursue her mood.
"No, ma'am, I wouldn't, 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. Good friends don't need marriage papers. They need each other. Marriage was designed to be a system of guarantees that would last a lifetime. 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, then opted not to as I signed the ticket.
"How do tips work up here?" I asked her.
"We're all on salary," she said. "Tips aren't required."
She 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.
"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. Today."
"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. Head on 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, now not just angry, but enraged.
"You can't do this to me, Ed. You won't even talk to me. That's all I wanted."
"I have enough on my plate, Leslie. 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?"
"It is. Do we have to go on with this? 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. Anything else?"
"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 stock 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. 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 a voice message from Earth, Ed. If you'll put the battery back in your pad, I'll send the message to it."
"When I get to my room, Steph."
Once I was seated on the edge of my bed, I reached for my briefcase and reassembled my pad. The voice message was from Linda.
"Got word you fired Leslie. Reason?"
I replied, "Incompatibility. No other reason. Let her stay on the station and teach. Stephie's my backup," and hit the send button.
&
nbsp; Maybe a minute later, her reply was, "Okay. Anything new?"
I sent, "There may be a PFM gone AWOL. Checking now. Nothing else new."
"Okay. Later."
"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 the PFM's 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 until you realized that the hand operating one could be within 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 guided the field 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.
"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."
"I don't know, Ed. I'll ask Elkor when I send him the next report unless you need the answer sooner."
"With the next report is fine, Steph. I'm going to spend some time practicing with hot and cold fields. If you know of something that I can do to improve performance, don't wait to be asked, okay?"
"Okay."
Working with hot and cold and something I could see seemed to be the best approach. Sifting moisture from the air was a helluva field trick, but first I wanted to refine techniques with focusing, energy management, and localized effects.
When the sink was about two-thirds full, I stepped back and tried to send a cold spot to the surface of the water. A misshapen wad of ice started forming in the center of the sink, but once it was about an inch across, it didn't seem to want to get any bigger. I turned off the field and stepped over to see if I could figure out why.
The inch of ice on the surface was just the tip of the iceberg. Apparently my spot had been about an inch wide, beyond which the cold hadn't reached. The ice had formed, frozen deeper into the water, then rolled over to accommodate the new shape's displacement properties. What had appeared to be a one-inch wad was actually almost seven inches or so at its best width beneath the surface.
Round two. I tried sending a hot spot to the ice, but envisioned it as a warm globe instead of my previous laser-like beam. The ice tumbled repeatedly as it melted back into the surrounding water.
"It didn't explode this time, Ed. Congratulations."
"Thank you. I'm sure you were standing by to protect me again."
"Of course. You're my Ed."
It sounded strange to hear her use my name that way. How often had I said 'My Stephie?' I wondered if it had sounded strange to her, too, or if she'd simply accepted my usage of the term.
I fiddled around freezing and melting the water until I'd gained a feel for handling different volumes and temperatures. I discovered that I could widen the field and freeze all of the water in the sink in about twenty seconds. I didn't try to see how fast I could melt it. That had already proven dangerous once.
Instead, I used larger and smaller focal points to melt the surface of the ice in a Celtic knotwork pattern. What I wound up with looked pretty good for a first effort at ice sculpture. Well, the lines and depths were fairly uniform, anyway, even if they weren't perfectly aligned.
Next came the matter of actually handling a fluid. Solids were easy. If they weren't too heavy, I could lift them or shove them. Fluids seemed to present a challenge. I melted all the ice and started with a clean slate, so to speak.
Trying to lift water required that I envision a container of some sort. Stephie told me that I should theoretically be able to simply lift water, but that picture never quite gelled in my mind, so I stuck with forming various containers.
The best trick I was able to manage was the pipe. I created a foot-tall cylinder and managed to lower the air pressure in it enough to draw water into it all the way to the top, then I field-capped both ends and turned the cylinder of water over and over, endwise above the sink, for a few moments.
The trick that wound up making a big mess was 'the parting of the waters'. I made a field wall the width and depth of the sink and dropped it into the water, then split the wall and moved the two walls apart. At first there were leaks, so I dissolved the fields and started over, concentrating on sealing the fields against the walls and floor of the sink. It worked. Soon there was a six-inch gulf of open space from side to side within the sink.
"Pretty good, huh, Stephie? I may change my name to 'Moses'."
That's when the door chime sounded and someone beat on the door like a cop. You know; the 'bam-bam-bam-bam' they all seem to use on official visits.
I lost my fields and the water slammed shut, then it rebounded enough to splash over the edge and soak the rug for a couple of feet around the sink.
I used my implant to ask, "Who are you and why are you beating on my door?"
"Station security, sir. We need to speak with you."
"Next time call ahead. And knock, don't beat on the door. Just a minute."
I called Steph and asked for ID's on the visitors.
"They are Inspectors Williams and Price," said Stephie.
"Do they look unhappy about something? Should I suit up for trouble?"
"No, they seem fairly placid, Ed."
"Thanks. Let's see what they want, then."
I opened the door to find a man and a woman standing outside, as advertised. Both were wearing blue blazers with a 3rd World patch on the front left side, uniform pants, and both carried dark blue pads. I wondered if the color was the only real difference between their pads and anyone else's.
He and she were both around five-ten and both had blue pads under their left arms. The woman was nearing thirty and had near-shoulder length hair. She seemed to be rather trim. The man, about the same age, looked as if he'd once played sports and maybe hadn't kept himself up so well since.
"Come on in," I said. "I'm mopping up a mess. Be right with you."
Steph said, "I can take care of the mess, Ed."
With that, the water seemed to rise out of the carpet, coalesce on the fly, and then pour itself back into the sink without splashing. A moment later the plug seemed to put itself on the drainboard and the sound of draining water was heard.
Boy, I have a looong fucking way to go with using fields, I thought.
"Wow. Thanks, Stephie. Wish I could do that."
I turned back to Williams and Price and asked, "What's up?"
"Well, sir..." began the man, obviously discomforted for some reason, "I'm Inspector Williams. This is Inspector Price. We stopped by your office..."
"I have an office? Cool. But why do I need one? I have a watch, like everybody else. I have a pad. Stephie can find me instantly. I don't think I need an office."
Price looked at Williams and vice versa.
Williams said, "Uh, well, sir, you do have an office. Would you like to see it?"
"Some other time. You didn't come here to tell me I have an office, did you?"
Price said, "No, sir. We came to ask you a few questions about one Leslie Pratt. She's applied for a temporary assignment. You were her only reference here."
I had trouble believing what I was hearing. Leslie'd been vetted on Earth and found to be as c
lean as anyone can be.
"What kind of temporary assignment?"
"She applied for consideration for - and seems qualified for - several positions."
"Not questions about her qualifications?" I asked.
"Uh, no sir," said Williams. "This is a background check."
I looked at them for a moment, then said, "She was cleared on Earth, guys, or she wouldn't have been here as my secretary. She wouldn't be here at all, would she? Who ordered this background check?"
Price said, "Our supervisor. Ms. Hawkins."
"Call her down here. Five minutes to be at my door or she's fired."
They were shocked. Stunned. Motionlessly staring at me.
"Now. Do it. Call her. Five minutes to be here."
Williams hurriedly placed the call on his watch. Price raised a hesitant hand.
"Yes?"
"Sir, it takes almost ten minutes to get here from her office."
"Where the hell is she? On the other side of this ball?"
"Yes, sir. She is. Well, almost."
"Okay. Ten. Or fired. Williams, did you get that?"
"Yes, sir. I'll tell her as soon as they put me through to her."
"Stephie, where's Hawkins?"
"She's in her office, Ed. Board Member Carlton is with her."
I looked at Williams and said, "Cancel that call."
He rather instantly let his arm fall.
Price said, "But, sir..."
Williams looked at her and she fell silent.
"Stephie, put me through to Carlton's and Hawkins' watches, please."
Carlton's voice said, "Carlton. What is it, David?"
"This isn't your personal secretary, Carlton. You and Hawkins have ten minutes to be in my room. Fail and you're fired. Get moving."
I turned to Williams and Price.
"I want witnesses. You stay. There's stuff in the fridge if you want a drink."
Neither moved nor spoke. I made myself a coffee as we waited. Thirteen minutes later Carlton and Hawkins arrived. Both tried to look composed as they entered my room. I didn't offer them seats at the little table.
Hawkins was a tall, good-looking brunette with an attitude. She glared at me and crossed her arms.
3rd World Products, Inc., Book 2 Page 28
