by Laer Carroll
"Mandarin. For 'friend.'"
"Your online bio said you spoke the language. Did you keep it up?"
"Somewhat. I only had a year of it in high school but, given the current political situation overseas, I've taken a few online language courses over the years. I've focused on technical and scientific terms and everyday conversation. I'd be lost if a conversation turned to art and music and philosophical discussions."
She could do much better than that with the help of Robot but that was not info than anyone knew except for Natalie.
"Spanish is the only language I'm halfway fluent in, though I studied French in college, thinking it would be easy to learn, since I already spoke one Romance language. Boy, was I wrong! It made it harder in some ways. I kept being misled by the similarities. Still, the Spanish did help to make those complicated verb forms easier."
She prompted him to reminisce about his high school days in East Texas. This got them through Beverly Hills and onto Hwy 405 South, then Hwy 10 West. When the ocean came in sight he went silent as she navigated the city streets to the Pacific Overlook Marriott hotel.
She turned into the hotel's cavernous underground parking lot and parked. They got out and walked to the elevator. Phil pushed the button for the top floor.
They exited into a hallway. Directly opposite the elevator was the open doorway into a huge restaurant. It was fairly quiet though obviously fairly busy at 7:30 in the evening.
"Hello," Phil said to the maitre'd who greeted them from her doorkeeper's station just inside the restaurant. "Party of two, for Phil Newman."
"We're expecting you, Mr. Newman. Georgette here will show you to your table."
"Thank you, Simone. Georgette."
The black-clad waitress wearing a white apron seated them at a two-person table in the middle of those lining the wall made up of a ceiling-high window of glass. On the front, west, side of the hotel, the window showed the long sweep of beach front beyond which the Pacific Ocean lay. The water on this near-windless time of day was dark-blue glass tinted at the horizon with orange from the orange sky colored by the just-set sun.
Phil seated Jane and took his own seat. They both took menus from the waitress and, upon her querying them, asked for water and time to examine the menu.
"I hope," he said, "that you weren't annoyed by me seating you. Habit. My mother insisted that I always play the traditional gentleman to women, even in this supposedly post-feminist day."
She looked up at him through her eyelashes. "As long as you don't play the gentleman in every area of your life."
A shock went through her. Where did that come from? Some movie? Some TV show? She was FLIRTING with him!
Briefly Jane became JANE. Her heartbeat slowed back toward normal. SHE relaxed and lapsed back into being merely Jane.
He was looking at her with a tiny smile upon his face but his eyes were sharply focused on hers.
Jane lifted her menu and examined the selections. Then she made her decisions: salmon and sides of rice and steamed veggies with a glass of iced tea. She looked around, then out to sea as waitress Georgette appeared at their elbows. He chose steak well done with baked potato and sour cream and steamed veggies. For a drink he chose a white wine.
"Is that what goes with steak?" Jane asked.
"I don't know. I don't pay attention to those rules. I pay attention t what I want."
"I highly approve of your restaurant choice. I love the view."
"I'm glad. It's one of my favorite places to eat."
"Tell me more about what high school was like for you."
"I feel uncomfortable about talking so much. Especially about myself. I feel like the typical idiot male who ignores women and brags about himself."
"My aunt, well, adoptive aunt, Natalie, would say that was a biological imperative for males. Like a male peacock's showy display it's part of selling himself to a prospective mate.
"I say if I object to anything you do I'll let you know. I'm not shy about doing it. I want to know more about you than what everyone says and what your online bio says."
"Ditto for you. I read your online bio too."
"So, talk, Mr. Newman. What did you like and dislike most about being in high school?"
They took their time with their meal, enjoying it and their conversation and the day outside as it gave slowly away to night.
His parents had been small-time entrepreneurs who'd fashioned a modest chain of groceries and incidentals out of a series of Mom and Pop stores. It had grown fairly large by now; Jane had heard of it: Newman's.
They'd wanted him to go into business too and leaned on him to take courses in high school that supported him going on to college.
"I satisfied them on that but carved out some more fun courses with various requirements and electives. That included drama, art, and band."
He took a sip of his (only second) glass of wine as they leaned back in their chairs, finished with their meal. That was his dessert: a sweet wine. Her dessert was a deep-dish chocolate pie with a much-creamed cup of coffee.
"What did you play?"
"Drums. Playing them sounds simple to most people, but there are surprising complexities to creating a good sound. Not just rhythms, which everyone at least knows is important. But the choice of which instruments: big or little drums, triangles, tambourines, high-hat--that's…"
"A special cymbal set-- I know."
"Oh, that's right. You're a composer. Sorry."
"No need to be. Go on."
They finished their meal, he paying. Jane was OK with that as she'd decided this first date was being played by old-fashioned rules. They descended to the lobby and exited onto the sidewalk beside Ocean Avenue. The busy street ran roughly north and south a hundred feet above the Santa Monica Beach and the north-south Pacific Coast Highway.
The night was fully descended and the area was brightly lit and busy with both car and pedestrian traffic. They gravitated to the nearby Santa Monica pier with its busy shops and small entertainment area with both electronic and older games. Over all stood the Pier's brightly lit Ferris wheel turning grandly and sedately upon its axle. Delighted shrieks of (mostly!) kids came down from the wheel's heights.
"Ever ride it?" Phil said, nodding at the wheel.
"Never. Afraid to."
"You? The astronaut and combat soldier?"
"True." She grinned at him. "I'm afraid of heights."
"I don't believe that for a second, Captain Jane Kuznetsov. But OK. I confess I really am bothered by heights. So what trinkets appeal to you?"
They wandered for a time among the small shops and bought a few items. She let him carry the big shopping bag as he was playing the role of Big Strong Male this evening.
Near the end of the Pier was a large "cantina" with a large Mexican restaurant. One side of it had a small dance floor, no more than 20 feet by 20 feet square. An automatic DJ played salsa music.
"You dance?" she asked him.
"I do indeed. In my mother's circles preteens were forced to take cotillion: ballroom dancing. I hated it at first--I had to hang out with GUR-UHLS. But it got to be fun and I kept up with ballroom and other dancing."
"Do you dance salsa?"
"I dance the bastardized Latin dances: cha-cha-cha and rumba and merengue, but not what they're doing."
He nodded at the dance floor where some couples were doing some pretty fancy stuff, wraps and throw-outs and so on, all to lots of hip motions.
"I'll spare you tonight. But if you hang out with me you're going to have to become a salsa dancer."
He sighed dramatically. "I can see that dating you will be exhausting."
The feeling of relief which washed over Jane made her legs weak. He wanted to see her beyond tonight!
Briefly she became her cyborg self. This feeling of affection was idiotic. A few sensory cues and a few hundred words and she'd imprinted on him. JANE took a deep breath as SHE contemplated the future. SHE would not let her biological self become too o
bsessively attached to this man. And clearly what was happening to her was an important part of growing up.
JANE became Jane and let out her breath and took his nearest hand.
"Let's walk on the beach."
He smiled at her and they turned away toward the nearest stairway down to the sand below the Pier.
"So what was college like for you?"
Phil waited until they'd negotiated the stairs and were walking on the sand to answer.
"I got into Stanford business school just as my parents wanted me to. I could have gone to Harvard; I'd been accepted. But Stanford has as good a rep as Harvard and I wanted to be a short plane ride from my family."
They dropped their handholds to sit and take off their shoes. The sand was cool but not chill. The grainy stuff felt good. They put their shoes into the shopping bag and clasped hands again.
The night and the beach were not very dark even after they moved away from the brightly lit pier. There was too much stray light from the shore and the street lights illuminating the nearby Pacific Coast Highway. But it was dim enough to give them more a feeling of being private from the other couples wandering the beach late at night. Or lying on the sand. She didn't THINK anyone was having sex. But she did think that they were having their own private romantic moments.
"Sure you want to hear more?"
"Yes, Mr. Newman, I do. I wouldn't ask if I didn't mean it."
"Oh, OK, Captain Task Master. Shut me up when you've heard enough.
"College was high school all over again, in that I took the kind of courses and did the extracurricular activities my parents thought right for a master of industry in the making. But I took electives I enjoyed: more art, especially the video arts and intro film making. Music. Drama. Play and screen writing.
"Ironically it was those 'useless' courses that ended up making my first fortunes. I hooked up with some writers and film makers who were dedicated--or more honestly, obsessed--with the visual and dramatic arts. And they were talented, oh, yes.
"I was less talented but no less obsessed. And I did have the knack of recognizing and organizing talented people. It helped that I've a little bit of bully in me, because talented people are as dumb as anyone else about emotional dealings and practical life choices as anyone else.
"Oh, I don't mean they were like those stereotypical social cripples TV shows love to present as typical of really bright people. But they did need the help I sometimes found myself giving. A couple of courses in psychology helped, too."
"So you became a producer."
"Right. I had access to more money than anyone else of my little circle of friends. I made a few loans and got a few people with hefty sources of money to invest on chancy ventures to chip in to make a few student projects. And I could write really good justifications to the scholarship office to chip in on those projects.
"Some of the short films got awards and favorable reviews and those helped launch careers.
"Most of the successes left school when they got their degrees. But by this time I'd become interested in the business side of movie making. It makes a big difference when you are personally involved day to day in business. Books and classes are great, but theoretical. Removed from you.
"I knew I needed more resources to do a really good job. I went for and got advanced degrees in finance and business practices, ending up with two advanced degrees.
"By graduation I'd served with Disney as a poorly paid production intern and continued as an OK-paid production assistant. And the rest is history and I'm shutting up about me now, Ms. Inquisitor."
He turned to her, dropping her hand, and drew her to him.
"You are a miracle," he near-whispered and kissed her. She answered him with her lips. She was clumsy at first, but a quick learner. They kissed for a long time.
Finally they drew apart. But not far. A long time they stood, heads down, heads touching, their bodies not touching, but still with their arms around each other.
Finally he drew further apart but kept hold of one of her hands. He used that to turn them back toward the Pier and the way back to her car.
Chapter 8 - Force Fields
Work the next day felt strange at first. Her entire life had changed. But her energetic crew and the research group's projects quickly absorbed her.
Mondays at 10:00 Jane usually held a group meeting. She agreed with the Lean Leadership idea that meetings should be brief and to the point, then end. Sometimes the group meeting only took a few minutes. But the one this Monday lasted somewhat longer.
In the last (New Business) part of one meeting Riku brought up a new topic.
"Klaus and I had an idea. We saw the latest Star Battles movie and force fields were a big part the story near the end. We got to wondering if we might create something along their lines. What do you think about this, Boss? Is it completely dumb?"
Jane nodded to Go Ahead as he paused.
"Say we create some virtual matter and shape it into a shield. Interpose it between something, say a ship, and incoming bullets or missiles. Maybe call it the Ballistic Object Deflection System."
Jane became JANE and turned her chair away from the distracting sight of HER staff to stare at the blank wall. HER mind played over Robot's constantly improving memory of her super-advanced race's technical achievements.
There. Its memory did indeed have something like the sci-fi concept of force fields. But the theoretical basis was completely different. So was the technology.
Could those kinds of force fields be duplicated? Should she try?
The more the cyborg explored the possibilities the more SHE doubted it was a possible path. The scientific theory and the technology behind it was too radical. Too, the virtual matter approach had the virtue that she completely understood both the theory and the technology behind it when she was merely her biological self.
She turned back to her crew.
"It might not work, either because the theory is wrong or because the technology will not support it. But it's worth at least exploring the possibility."
Riku wasn't entirely relieved. "I did wonder: is it possible that this new virtual-matter tech is dangerous? Madame Curie and her husband died from radiation exposure with their experiments with radium. They didn't know the danger."
Klaus said, "Maybe we should do the experiments themselves in space. Using telerobots operated from here or from the space station."
"Or on the Moon," said Nicole.
Jane wanted an excuse to go to the Moon. The satellite called to her, almost. More importantly, Rick's concerns were valid. She'd understood her theory of virtual matter well enough to be confident that space jets were harmless. Too, many working engines had so far shown no dangerous side effects. But...his Madame Curie analogy cautionary point was a good one.
"Kate, start a boiler-plate research proposal and hand it over to Rick and Klaus. You two, fill it in, title it something like Research into Side Effects of Virtual Matter Creation. Fill in the experimental approach, uhmm, with a series called Object Deflection Experiments. Include an environmental impact concern and propose doing the experiments on a part of the Moon over the horizon from any activity now or in the near future."
"Hot diggity, Boss. Are we really going to the Moon?"
She nodded, continued.
"We'll set up an experimental site in a small crater over the horizon from Luna City. We'll do an on-site inspection, but run the experiments from Luna City."
Riku said, "We will need to do some of the construction and operation of the experimental setup from the City, not from Earth. I've run telerobots from Earth. The four-second-plus round-trip communication is hard to sustain, especially in virtual-reality mode."
Nicole said, "Four seconds? At light speed the Moon is only 2.6 seconds round-trip away."
Riku said, "We can rarely do line-of-sight comm. The signals have to bounce between one or more relays. And internal processing even at electronic speeds adds more time. So we're actually lu
cky if we have delays of only four seconds."
"Worse yet," Klaus said, "is that the delays are not consistent as the relay stations move further or closer to the Moon. VR users can actually get motion sickness or something similar when 'driving' a robot."
Nicole said, "I think you should include that reasoning into the proposal as part of the justification for doing our experiments from the City."
Rick said, "Good idea, Nick. Thanks."
Jane was pretty sure Nicole knew everything that Riku had told her. The chemist had to understand physics to master chemistry, but she came from a very traditional family where girls were supposed to defer to boys. She often used indirect ways in discussions to make her points. She was learning from Kate and Jane to be more direct, but she still had a way to go.
"Any more New Business? Nothing? Good. Back to work."
<>
When she arrived home at 6:00 after most of the daily traffic rush her mother met her at the inside garage door looking pleasantly excited about something.
"Come into the kitchen."
"What is it?"
Malena would not say but stood aside at the door into the kitchen and gestured toward the kitchen table.
There in the middle of it was a bouquet. It was big, maybe two dozen roses. They were all shades of red from almost black to palest pink with just a frosting of green around them.
"There was this card with it." Her mother handed her a white envelope the size of a Christmas or greeting card.
Jane opened it. Inside was just such a card. It had a pale pink iconic heart on the front. Green lettering said "For a lovely evening" made for a vaguely Christmassy feeling.
When she opened it a recording like those of some Christmas or greeting cards played. However the paper-flat audio player glued to the inside of the card played Phil's voice.
"I had such a lovely evening I'd like to do it again. But this time come to a small party at my place. I'm holding it this Friday evening from 8:00 on. Please come."
"He must have really liked you. Did you like him?"
"Very much so. And when the date was nearly over he kissed me."
Her mother actually clapped her hands like a little girl and gave Jane a big hug.
