‘‘You just had to pass right through me, didn’t you?’’
I searched the room for my fedora, ignoring HARV.
‘‘I had a maidbot place your fedora in the closet,’’ HARV said pointing.
I smiled and walked to the closet. ‘‘You do understand you are in a controlled environment? There is no need for a hat.’’
I opened the closet door (by hand, just to irk HARV a bit more). There was my fedora, sitting quietly on the top shelf. I reached up and grabbed it. I popped it on my head. I turned to HARV and modeled it.
HARV sighed. ‘‘Great Gates, Carol looks like a god and you like a clod.’’
‘‘We all work with what we’ve got,’’ I said.
‘‘Yes, some just work harder than others,’’ HARV said.
I bent down and checked my ankle holsters. My knife and good old-fashioned gun were still there.
‘‘You are bringing those to a fancy dinner?’’ HARV said.
‘‘Fancy dinner or not, I’m still me,’’ I said.
HARV thought about that for a nano. ‘‘Good point. You better make sure GUS is fully charged.’’
I popped GUS into my hand. ‘‘Are you ready?’’ I asked.
‘‘Locked and loaded, sir!’’ GUS shouted.
‘‘Don’t blow a fuse there, buddy.’’
‘‘I have no fuses, sir,’’ GUS answered. ‘‘I am made up of trillions of intelligent, self-powered, nano organisms that . . .’’
‘‘Figure of speech, GUS. Figure of speech.’’
‘‘Right! I knew that.’’ A bit of silence then, ‘‘I’ll be up your sleeve if you need me.’’
I hoped I wouldn’t need him, but it was nice (mostly nice) to know he was there if the situation warranted. And knowing me it would, sooner rather than later.
I walked into the main room. Carol was already waiting for me there. I was stunned for a nano when I saw her. She was wearing a long, flowing, sleeveless blue gown that was cut right above the knees. The gown wrapped and flowed around her body like it was a living entity, cloned just for the task of looking perfect on Carol. It accentuated everything while leaving just enough for the imagination. The gown came with matching blue heels; they made her look like she was gliding as she came over to my side. With her golden hair falling over the bare shoulder of her even more golden skin, she did look like an ancient Greek goddess. I took her hand and she spun around, modeling.
‘‘You like?’’ she said.
HARV appeared next us, ‘‘Please, if he was fifteen years younger and if Electra wasn’t such an expert marksman, he’d be falling at your feet now.’’
I shook off HARV and Carol’s striking looks. ‘‘You do look fantastic,’’ I said to her. I glared at HARV. ‘‘But I love Electra very much.’’
‘‘Don’t you always say, and I quote, ‘just because you’re on a diet doesn’t mean you can’t still look at the menu,’ ’’ HARV said, that last part mimicking my voice. (Quite badly I might add.)
‘‘Yes, well, Carol’s not on the menu,’’ I told HARV.
HARV smiled. ‘‘I know. I just like to yank your chain now and then.’’
Yep, HARV has been connected to my brain for too long. I turned my attention back to Carol. ‘‘You look
mah-velous
,’’ I said in a weird accent that I’m sure she didn’t get the reference for.
‘‘I didn’t get the reference,’’ she said, ‘‘but thanks for the compliment.’’ She spun again. ‘‘I bought the dress while shopping with Melda. They did the alterations and teleported it here.’’
‘‘They do good work,’’ I said.
‘‘I feel great, too,’’ Carol said. ‘‘Something about this Moon air.’’
I took her arm and we headed out the door. ‘‘Just don’t get feeling too good. Last time that happened you almost took out the entire west coast.’’
Carol shook her head, ‘‘Man, I’m never going to live that down.’’
Carol and I went outside and found our ride waiting for us. It was an automated cart that looked like a bubble that hiccupped, just big enough for the two of us fit in. Yep, on the Moon you only travel in style if you travel with the Sputniks. The trappings of power I guess.
Driving along, the little bubble car showed us a promo holo-video. The video boasted of the virtues of the Moon. How it was the perfect state where everybody is happy. The Moon’s administration used its funding to provide modern, up-to-date housing and medical care for all. We were treated to a holographic tour of your typical Moon dweller’s apartment. According to the video, each of the apartments shared the same proportions and amenities. (If you can’t believe a canned promo video who can you trust?) Each apartment is allocated four hundred square meters per individual living in the apartment.
The video stressed that trained Moon social engineering scientists determined that four hundred square meters per person was the optimal size apartment so each person could have enough room while still conserving space. The apartments all had the same basic configuration: common room, kitchen, dining room, plus one bathroom and bedroom per person or couple. The apartment rooms were modular with moveable walls so people could position them in whatever order they wanted. They could also control the size of each room and the number of windows.
Each apartment came with same appliances: holographic entertainment and information center, a teleport box, all-purpose stove, a fridge, and of course one robotic cleaner. Individuals had control over the color of each of these appliances and all of the walls and carpeting. The video insisted that this gave the individual millions of possible choices, ensuring that everybody would be equal but unique. Marx and Stalin would have been proud.
The video was timed perfectly, ending just as we pulled up to the administration building and Head Administrator’s residence. So much for everybody being equal. While most of the buildings on the Moon looked like high-tech blocks stacked on top of each other, this one stood out like a gold tooth on a beggar.
Most of the Moon looks like it is made out of plastic, shiny and new, but plastic nonetheless. This place seemed to be chiseled from stone. It wasn’t the tallest of the buildings in the area, but it was by far the most regal, like a castle among toy building blocks.
Carol and I got out of our car. Stretching, we looked up the marble staircase to a stained glass doorway guarded on each side by milky white lion statues, sitting majestically on pedestals, lording over the masses.
‘‘Wow,’’ Carol said.
We walked up the stairs and through the doors. The entryway wasn’t huge but it was still impressive, with marble tiled floor alternating between black and white tiles. Roman pillars were positioned throughout the room holding up a ceiling that didn’t need the help. The walls were a smooth and creamy white that was so fluid it was almost alive. This wasn’t the nano paint they use most places these days, this was good old-fashioned paint. It might not have been able to change colors or be stainproof like the modern nano paints but this had a true, natural color that the newer paints just can’t match.
A small cylinderbot rolled up to us.
‘‘Greetings, Mr. Johnson, Ms. Gevada,’’ the bot said. ‘‘The Sputniks will be meeting you in the main dining room.’’
‘‘Lovely,’’ I said.
An arm extended from the bot’s midsection. ‘‘May I take your coat and hat?’’ I asked.
‘‘Yes, of course,’’ Carol answered for me, removing my coat with one hand and the fedora with the other. She looked at me looking at her, and shook her head. ‘‘You don’t need your coat and hat indoors. It’s not like you need them in a controlled environment anyhow.’’
‘‘I don’t need them,’’ I said. ‘‘They just help me stay in the right frame of mind.’’
Carol handed them to the bot.
‘‘I will get them back?’’ I asked rhetorically.
‘‘Of course, sir,’’ the bot said. ‘‘Now if you will walk this way.’’
The bot spun and started to move forward.
‘‘If I could walk that way I wouldn’t need . . .’’
‘‘The talcum powder,’’ HARV and Carol both finished my statement for me.
‘‘Ah, so I’ve used that line before.’’
HARV and Carol just sighed as we followed the bot.
We were led into the formal dining room. At least I assumed it was the formal dining room, because if it wasn’t I would have hated to see what these folks considered formal.
There was a long table in the middle of the room, draped with what appeared to be a purple felt cloth. Golden silk tapestries adorned the walls. Each of the tapestries was engraved with a black Chinese symbol. They were tasteful and elegant. There were twenty wood-crafted chairs, which looked more like thrones, located around the table; but that still left plenty of elbow room for everybody. Sitting at the head of the table, in the highest chair, was Boris. Melda sat a position away from him with Lea across from her. Aprill and Windee were also there along with six other older women and ten other younger women. Yep, this was Bo’s harem. He wasn’t just the alpha male, he was the alpha and omega of all males. (At least in his mind.)
Bo saw us enter the room and motioned for us to come sit at the two empty seats directly next to him. We walked over. I sat next to Lea with Carol across from me and next to Melda.
Bo clapped his hands. An ape in a silver tux two sizes too small walked up with a wine bottle. He poured a finger’s worth of wine into one of the many glasses I had in front of me.
‘‘You must try our wine,’’ Bo insisted. ‘‘It’s from a grape variety grown only on the Moon. We only have a couple of wineries here but I assure you they are most excellent.’’
I looked at the label on the bottle. It read 2057.
‘‘Ah, 2057,’’ I said like I knew what I was talking about. ‘‘An excellent year for Moon grapes.’’
Bo smiled at me politely as did everybody else. The ape poured Carol a glass. I couldn’t help but notice he gave her nearly twice as much as me. I didn’t complain. Not only would that be rude, but I’m not a wine guy—not snooty enough.
Bo rested his elbows on the table. ‘‘Now, would you two like salmon or steak? I assure you they are both excellent. The salmon are from our own hatchery. The steaks are from a special breed of cattle only cloned on the Moon.’’
‘‘Steak,’’ I said.
‘‘Salmon,’’ Carol said.
Bo clasped his hands together. ‘‘Fantastic choices, both of them.’’ He looked at the ape in the tux, ‘‘Please pass their orders to the chef.’’
The ape bowed and left the room.
Bo smiled at me. ‘‘Now, while we wait for the food, Mr. Johnson, why don’t we entertain the ladies.’’
‘‘I’m not much of singer or dancer,’’ I said.
Bo shook his head. He stood up and removed his dinner jacket. I didn’t like where this was going. He neatly hung the jacket over the chair. He sat back down. Good. We weren’t going to duke it out to impress the chicks. He started rolling up his sleeves, revealing two short but well-muscled forearms.
He dropped his elbow on the table and opened his hand, motioning for me to do the same.
‘‘Rock, paper, scissors?’’ I asked though I knew he had something else in mind. ‘‘I warn you I’m quite good at it.’’
Bo shook his head, again. ‘‘No what I have in mind is more manly.’’
‘‘Spitting? Using a remote? Taking out the trash? Hitting things with hammers?’’ I asked.
‘‘Arm wrestling,’’ he said.
‘‘Arm wrestling?’’ I said.
‘‘The sport of kings,’’ he answered.
I was quite certain (and HARV confirmed) that he was wrong on that one, but it’s rude to argue with somebody who is about to feed you. Bo wiggled his fingers, taunting me. I so didn’t want to do this.
‘‘He can’t be serious,’’
HARV said in my head.
‘‘He’s serious,’’
Melda said in my brain.
‘‘So serious,’’
Lea reinforced.
‘‘It’s kind of embarrassing . . .’’
‘‘I understand you are left-handed,’’ Bo said. ‘‘It’s my weaker arm so it should make the match fair.’’
I put my elbow on the table and locked hands with him. I hadn’t done this since college, maybe longer.
‘‘On the count of three,’’ Boris said.
Lea started to count, ‘‘One,’’ pause, ‘‘two,’’ pause, ‘‘three!’’
Bo jumped out of the gate, immediately applying direct pressure, pushing my arm backward but not down. He had done this before and he was a strong man. Thing was, he had gotten a bit soft at his desk job. On the other hand, people try to kill me on a weekly basis. I may not know the technique involved in proper arm wrestling, but I’m tough and I know how to survive. Plus I do have a computer backup system in my brain.
‘‘Do you need help?’’
HARV asked.
‘‘No,’’
I insisted in my brain.
‘‘I’m doing this myself.’’
‘‘Fine, be stubborn,’’
HARV said.
Bo continued to apply pressure. If this was his weak arm I didn’t want to see his strong one. Still, I’ve never been one to go down easy. I gave way, just a little, to see how he would react. I guessed he would sense the kill and push ahead hard. I was right. At my first sign of weakness, Boris reached back for all his strength and started pushing down with all he had.
I was ready though. Just as I started to bend, I reapplied my strength, catching him totally off guard. I not only stopped his advance, I started pushing his arm backward.
I looked at his face. It was blood-red. Sweat was rolling down his forehead like Costa Rica in the rainy season.
I smiled. I had him.
‘‘You better let him win,’’
Lea said in my mind.
‘‘Let him win,’’
echoed the thoughts of about a dozen other women in the room. In fact, only Melda and Carol didn’t send me those thoughts.
I pushed forward, driving his hand back. I wasn’t going to let him beat me. He wanted to prove to his ladies he was the alpha male. I wanted to let him know that I don’t give ground to any man. Problem was, if I did beat him, I’m not sure if he’d be good for much information. Bigger problem was, I didn’t care. There are times when my ego can get in the way of my quest for knowledge. As my mentor liked to preach, ‘‘the problem with men is their egos are always bigger than they think, and their penises are always smaller.’’ Not sure I totally agreed with that one, but I did need to work on the ego thing. Just not right now. There are times you gotta do what you gotta do and hope for the best.