Jaffle Inc

by Heide Goody

  The venue was some distance away, over to the west and down by the sea, in an area of the city I had never visited before. I was several hours early, so I instructed the car to circle, sticking to the less expensive roads so I didn’t use up all my funds at once. The car wouldn’t accept my instructions verbally. With my Jaffle Port blocked I was, essentially, invisible to it. I took the fascinator off for a moment, repeated my instructions, and clipped it back on.

  As we drove in a slow spiral towards the charity gala I went through neighbourhoods much like the one where Claire lived. Then the houses started to get even bigger. Some of them were on so much land it wasn’t possible to see the house itself behind the gates, walls and trees surrounding them.

  The car went downhill. As it rounded a bend I saw the ocean and gasped in surprise. I lived ten miles from the ocean, but had never seen it before. I knew it was big, because I’d seen it on maps and pictures, but when I saw water all the way to the horizon I understood it in a way that would never have been available to old Alice. I wondered why the colours seemed to be shifting, realising that the water reflected the colours of the sky. Despite myself, I grinned with delight. It would be a fun thing to try and create an image like this, using paint. That was also something old Alice would never have imagined.

  There were flecks of white near to the beach where the waves came in. I watched the shifting colours and the endless waves until the car reached the bottom of the hill and the ocean was out of sight again. A long line of cars was dropping people off. Men and women, all dressed in glamorous clothes. Some made from sumptuous fabrics and in every colour, others in a more muted palette. Some wore formal suits while others wore a more relaxed version where the jacket was a different colour to the trousers. None of them wore shorts like Rufus Jaffle, which I hoped would make it easier to spot him among the crowds.

  Getting out of the car, I could hear an unfamiliar noise, and there was an unusual smell in the air. It took me a few moments before I understood I was hearing the waves breaking on the beach. Did that mean the smell was the ocean?

  I joined the crowd, my stolen dress helping me blend in. As we walked through to the white building – too large to be a house, surely! – I concentrated on the other guests, trying to mimic what they did and how they did it. Many of them greeted others with a big smile and mwa mwa noises. They also seemed laugh and wave their hands a lot.

  I spotted someone standing alone and tried it out.

  “Hell-o! Mwa, mwa! How lovely to see you!” I gave a tinkling laugh, although it sounded more like the alarm you get when a cleaning bot gets jammed in a corner.

  “Ah yes, delighted!” he said. “It’s been a long time!”

  I did the laugh again and moved on. I was at a party, and it was nothing like my bacon barbecue garden party, thank goodness.

  Drinks were being handed out by staff holding trays. I took one and gave my thanks, but the slack expression on the girl with the tray suggested my words meant nothing. An Empty? Or as good as. This was the future I was fighting against.

  I drank, and coughed violently. When I’d recovered enough to look at my glass I was astounded to see bubbles rising from the bottom in a constant stream. I took a more cautious sip and felt the sensation on my tongue. It was fun in a way I could never have imagined. I saw the bottle on a nearby table and jipped what champagne was, wondering why Helberg hadn’t warned me about the stuff. I forgot my Jaffle Port was blocked and the lack of knowledge felt odd.

  So I didn’t know what champagne was, but I was determined to fit in. Once I’d got the hang of the bubbles I enjoyed it very much. I took a second glass and moved on.

  The string quartet was a challenge. I heard them playing in the distance and the sound was so pure and vivid. I found them playing in an airy conservatory where beautiful plants flowered and the musicians – real musicians! Not just music played through speakers – performed their beautiful music with serene expressions. Something about the music being performed live, right in front of me, heightened its power. I found myself being moved to tears by its wonder.

  “Well don’t you look adorable!” came a voice in my ear. I gave a start, not least because suddenly there was a hand caressing my buttocks. In surprise, I spilled my drink in shock and whirled to see who it was.

  “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry!” The voice (and the hand) belonged to a formally suited man with dark hair and deep brown eyes. “I didn’t mean to,” he said, genuinely upset.

  “Mean to?” I said.

  “You must forgive me, I thought you were my wife,” he said and laughed, almost hysterically. “That sounds like the worst pick up line ever, doesn’t it?”

  I had no clue what he was on about and hadn’t recovered from the unwanted touching. I simply said, “Yes?” hoping that was the correct response.

  “No,” he insisted. “She has the exact same dress. Oh, you’ve made yourself all wet and it’s entirely my fault.”

  He pulled a handkerchief from his top pocket and leaned forward, intending to dab my chest. I really didn’t want him fondling any more of my secondary sex characteristics, so I snatched it from him. I couldn’t afford to waste any more time, so after a few token dabs I pushed past him to get to the steps. Any tears the string quartet might have evoked had missed their opportunity.

  I remembered the ticket had mentioned a piggy-wig orchestra. I had failed to ask Helberg what that was, and whether it was normal. I found a member of the serving staff who looked as if he was at a higher level than the others and asked about the piggy-wig orchestra. He directed me to a room, inside which was a row of transparent boxes, each with a small pink creature inside.

  Any other time I would have been able to jip what they were. Instead I turned to a woman near to me. “These things … piggy-wigs?”

  “Piglets, yes,” she said. “I do love a piglet. And I don’t just mean a roasted suckling one.” She laughed. I didn’t have a clue what she meant, but joined in.

  A man in a sequinned suit bowed to the audience and took his seat at a keyboard.

  “Ladies and gentlemen. Each of the keys on this keyboard will cause one of our happy piglets to sing for you. Their Jaffle Ports help them to understand what I’m asking them to do, but of course, they are free to do as they like. What can I tell you? These piggy-wigs love to sing! We treat our animals with the utmost care.”

  I wondered whether the piglets enjoyed being shut in small boxes and controlled by this man. Probably not.

  He pressed a key. There was the brief grunting squeak of a piglet. He ran a finger down the keyboard and there was a whole scale of piglets.

  “Now I shall play to you, with the voices of the piggy-wig orchestra!” he declared.

  He played a tune. I wondered if Helberg would deride it for being as simplistic as the Smiley theme, but it was undoubtedly charming, being sung by piglets. It made the audience smile as the piglets sat in their boxes, some of them sniffing around, others putting their front feet up on the side of the enclosure.

  I listened as the tune became slightly more complex. It was fun to watch someone play an instrument, and this wasn’t making me cry like the string quartet, although I felt slightly angry on the piglets’ behalf.

  “And now,” said the man with a flourish. “As part of the finale, you may come and meet the piglets who have sung so beautifully for you!”

  There were twenty four chairs behind the piglet boxes. He invited members of the audience to sit with their allocated piglet while he played the last tune. I made sure I claimed a chair and a small pink piglet was placed on my lap. It nuzzled my hand and seemed content to have its ear gently tickled while it made an occasional snorting noise as part of the tune. It was strangely satisfying to hold the piglet, and I was disappointed when it was time for it to go back into its enclosure.

  ***

  Chapter 31

  As I left the piggy-wig orchestra room, there was a strange roaring sound. People crowded to the edge of the terrace as a
huge boat thundered across the bay. The setting sun reflected off the water and the boat created a wake of glittering gold. As it neared, fireworks flew up from the boat and exploded in the sky. The boat made more noise than anything I had ever heard before. Could it be the boat was powered with an internal combustion engine? They were not really allowed any more, but I knew it was possible to get a special licence to use them for scientific research. I wondered what kind of research project involved circling the bay and firing sparkling incendiary devices into the sky. I looked more closely and saw that the boat was being driven by a man in shorts and with long hair. Rufus Jaffle.

  “Rufus!” I shouted involuntarily.

  People turned and looked at me.

  “I’m a big fan,” I said with a carefree shrug and sidled away.

  I wondered how I was going to get to speak with him. I slipped softly through the crowds, towards the jetty. There were a lot of people between me and Rufus and I noticed the stern faces of individuals who I guessed were party security.

  Rufus bounded onto the jetty. I could see his grin. I could see him jerk his fingers at everyone in sight, like he was shooting imaginary pistols. I saw a man with close-cropped hair greet him: Jethro Henderson. It was a company event. Of course, lots of other Jaffle employees would be there. I whirled, stupidly expecting Michael from legal to be stood directly behind me.

  When I looked back, Rufus was being ushered inside by a group of people who looked like the organising type. I headed back inside the building. Quite a crowd seemed to be heading towards a large room. As I approached, I saw a sign that said Charity Auction. I took a seat towards the back. I needed to think; I needed a plan. I needed to get to Rufus without being recognised by someone who knew me.

  “Hello again.”

  The man with the brown eyes was in the seat next to me, still looking apologetic. There was something else in his face, a half-smile on his lips and a playfulness around the eyes. I smiled at him. “I still have your handkerchief.” I handed it to him.

  He waved it away. “Keep it. It’s the least I could do. I was so certain that you were Claire. She told me that her dress was one-of-a-kind but she was clearly wrong.”

  “Claire?” Oh crumbs.

  “My wife.”

  “Well, your wife has excellent taste,” I said.

  He leaned over to whisper. “If I’m completely honest, it looks much better on you than it does on her.”

  I blushed. His eyes locked onto mine, and I found myself drawn to his face. He had some tiny crinkles around his eyes, but they made him look interesting, somehow.

  “It’s silk, isn’t it?” he asked, accompanying the question with the lightest brush of a hand on my thigh.

  It felt like an innocent gesture, but the touch of his hand made me immediately breathless. I couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to feel his lips on mine, maybe have him touch my thigh some more.

  I tried to pull myself together. My life was in danger, the fate of thousands of millions of Jaffle customers were in my hands, I was here on a mission to speak to Rufus Jaffle, and yet I was allowing myself to be distracted by the idea of having sex with a stranger. Curse this stupid mental freedom!

  “Yes, silk,” I croaked.

  He looked at me for a long moment. I felt his gaze on my eyes and my lips. He reached forward and touched the sleeve of the dress, skimming my shoulder and reaching up to lightly touch the back of my neck.

  “Such a fine fabric, isn’t it? Caresses the skin like a lover’s touch.”

  “Peter? Peter!” shouted a voice. “What on earth are you doing?”

  I didn’t need to turn to see who that voice belonged to. I turned and looked anyway. Claire was approaching from across the room.

  This was very bad. Peter apparently thought so too. He sat bolt upright.

  I ran. Peter was mumbling something which sounded very much like a lie. Then a cry went up.

  “My dress! That’s my dress! Stop her!”

  There was a table just outside the room’s exit. Paper brochures about the work of the charity and details of the evening’s programme were scattered across it. The table was backed by tall banner screens showing the animals IFPA worked to protect. I hid in the shadow of one of the banners, trying to calm myself and collect my thoughts.

  I heard Rufus’s voice approaching. “Here is the hand but it’s empty,” he was saying, tone miserable. “Just saying. Put something in it, Hendo. Wine, bourbon, a little party powder.”

  He was going right past me! Perfect!

  I was about to step out when I heard Henderson speak. “Let’s just get the formal business over with, sir. You have a presentation to major shareholders in twenty minutes. In the Lowry Room.”

  “Presentation?”

  “Proof of concept. Everything is set up at North Beach. It’s going to be very impressive.”

  “I’m on stage for ten minutes,” said Rufus moodily. “No longer.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Just give me a minute.”

  Rufus had stopped. He’d actually stopped right by me. I was sort of out of sight, but all he or Henderson had to do was turn, or move a foot to the side, and they’d see me. I snatched up a nearby brochure and hid my face in it.

  “Good,” said Henderson. “Just wait here a moment, sir. Marcia, watch over our dear CEO.”

  Was that the sound of Henderson moving off? Was Rufus alone? Or at least just with some functionary who didn’t know me or want to turn me into an Empty?

  I fought my nerves, became their master and stepped out. Rufus Jaffle stood by the IFPA banner screens, giving cheery thumbs ups to people passing by, looking at their drinks a little enviously.

  He saw me.

  Behind him, on a screen, was an image of a grey kangaroo. Fading in were the words:

  Kangaroos are at risk from a bacterial infection which attacks their nervous system.

  Our inoculation programme has halted the spread of this in seven key areas.

  We will continue to build upon this success with your help.

  Pledge your support today to protect wild kangaroo populations for years to come.

  The picture shifted to that of a huge kangaroo, springing through the air. Without warning, I felt my mind slipping into a memory that wasn’t mine.

  ***

  Rufus/I/we were in the basement of a large house by the sea. Different house, same sea. There was darkness about us: a closeness, a musty fug in the air, a personal and moral gloom. Passion and guilt pumped through Rufus’s veins.

  In the ring, kangaroos circled and fought one another. They rocked back on their tails and battered each other with double-footed kicks.

  Rufus felt their energy, their need to hurt. An urge to be part of the violence, to expel his own animal energy, was growing within him. He gripped the barricade and vaulted into the ring.

  He punched the air and turned to the crowd. They cheered their approval. He turned to the nearest kangaroo and punched it straight on the nose. Its Empty eyes registered nothing.

  “Fists of fury! Betcha never saw anything like this back home in, ah, wherever you come from, did ya?” He yelled in its face, a primal roar unleashing his desire for blood. He rained down blow after blow.

  The kangaroo drew back. Rufus dodged and swung wildly, walloping it across the temple and knocking it to the ground. He screamed, victorious, holding up his hands to receive the crowd’s adulation.

  “Now that is what a Maglev master looks like! Deadly weapons right here!”

  In the corner of his vision, he saw TayTay grab the remote control for the other kangaroo.

  “Come on then motherfucker! Show us those deadly weapons!”

  Beeee aaaa whaaaaaale. You can have a taaaaail instead, sang the blue whale.

  I was irritated by the arrival of the annoying creature, yet relieved when its presence whipped me away from that horrid scene.

  “Hey, I didn’t fall,” Rufus was telling Henderson as he reclined in
his hospital bed. “I floored that kangaroo. You shoulda seen—”

  “I did see it,” said Henderson. “Many times. I have spent the last twenty four hours erasing video feeds and persuading partygoers to sign non-disclosure agreements. It might have felt like some macho fun at the time, but the vids make it look more like extreme animal cruelty. Michael here from legal thinks we’re nearly on top of the situation, but obviously we’re going to need you to get a memory wipe.”

  Michael from legal – damned vampire said Rufus’s mind – was almost invisible against the grey privacy drapes at the end of the bed. “Legally, this is a difficult situation,” he said.

  “Animal cruelty, shanimal shuelty,” said Rufus.

  “Insightful as always, sir,” said Michael. “It’s more like it presents a problem with your role as honorary president of IFPA.”

  “Really?” said Rufus.

  “Yes. The head of the world’s foremost animal protection charities, spending his downtime punching seven shades of shinola out of a lobotomised kangaroo…”

  “They’re not endangered are they?”

  “I don’t think that’s going to matter to the media,” said Henderson. “You’ve got the corporate gala on the fifteenth. The charity gala. You need to wipe your memory of last night. You have high enough access to do that personally.”

  “Actually, I’ve got this whale in my head and it’s making some of my functionality a bit glitchy.”

  “Fine,” muttered Henderson. “We’ll get it done down at Jaffle Tech.”

  “Don’t go through the official company procedures!” protested Michael. “I very much believe the less people know and the smaller the paper trail, the better things are.”

  “Agreed,” said Henderson. “Our official brain-editing systems have audits which even I can’t counter. I’ll sort out something off the record.”

  “Whoa, people!” said Rufus. “Maybe I don’t want to give up that memory? It was kind of cool, you know? I can be discreet. It will only be a problem if I talk about it, right?”