The Tau Ceti Transmutation (Amazon) (14 page)

A trill sounded in the back of my mind, and my spirits momentarily soared. “Wait, hold on. I’m getting a call. Paige, is that Val?”

Sorry, sport,
she said.
Looks like it’s a GenBorn address.

“GenBorn? What do they want?” I asked. “Patch them through.”

Paige obliged.

“Hello Mr. Weed. This is a reminder of your appointment next week on Thursday, galactic standard date oh-seven, ten, thirty-three thirty at oh-nine hundred hours for your bi-annual rejuvenative services. Remember to arrive at least fifteen minutes before your scheduled appointment. Also remember not to eat any solids past oh-twenty-two hundred hours of the previous day, and no liquids are permitted—”

I had Paige silence the rest. I looked at Carl and shook my head.

“What?” he said.

“I can’t believe you,” I said. “Using a burdensome situation like the one I just labored through to push your pro-neutron agenda.”

Carl sighed. “It’s not an
agenda
. It’s a mutually beneficial upgrade, for all the reasons I’ve already described.”

“Whatever. You ready to make a trip out to a bakery?”

“Are
you?”
Carl eyed my soft, sleek robe.

“Admittedly, this wrap is rather breezy,” I said. “I should probably change. Give me a minute.”

16

The café doors zipped open as I stepped in front of them, admitting me to a den of soft, pillowy chairs, secluded reading and gaming nooks, and racks filled with assorted, low-priced knickknacks, all of them completely useless to the average coffee-swiller but nonetheless placed at prominent locations and advertised with flashy, lighted holosigns. A mellow soft rock tune hung over the establishment like a cloud of vanilla odor spray—inoffensive enough, but definitely there.

I walked to the counter where an overzealous barista bot greeted me.

“Welcome to StarGrinds, the galaxy’s premier choice in coffee and coffee-related beverages. May I take your order?”

“Tall coffee. Black. Cream.” I pinched my fingers a few millimeters apart to show how much.

If the bot had more expressive abilities than your average order-taking unit, it would’ve given me an odd look to signify what it thought of my request. I could’ve ordered a quadruple espresso mochaccino latte root beer float or something equally ludicrous, but since I didn’t, it got to work on pouring out my uninspired beverage of choice. While it did so, I picked out the most delectable Danish—which wasn’t saying much—from a pile below the counter and added it to my total. After a few moments, the bot handed me my cup of joe and I found a free table by the windows.

“You know how I know it’s too early?” I asked Carl.

“How?” he asked as he sat down.

“Because we’re at a coffee shop and we’re the only ones here. Well, except for that guy.” I pointed out a zoned-out gray-suited individual sitting at a window a few nooks down. “But he looks like he’s been here all night—playing Brain games most likely. So technically, we’re first.”

“You know what they say about early risers?” said Carl.

I shook my head. “I’m not really in the mood for archaic agrarian proverbs right now.”

I sipped my coffee and stared out the window. Across the street, Valerie’s bakery sat there, closed, with the lights off—a little slice of simplicity in a modern sea of polymers, steel, and electromagnetism. The drapes hanging inside the windows reminded me of something out of a docuvid about humanity at the turn of the twentieth century. The entire building had a quaint, domestic feel about it. I suppose that was the logical marketing technique to adopt for a bakery, but the impression the building gave me was very different than the impression I’d come to generate about Valerie.

To be fair, the Valerie who’d introduced herself to me yesterday seemed a perfect match for the bakery: warm, caring, trusting, and, despite her appearance, fairly simple at heart. But the impression I’d crafted of the woman had taken a few unexpected turns since I’d first left her apartment building. For one thing, I was becoming more and more certain she’d been the one to plant the token from Keelok’s Funporium in her own sock drawer, but the question was why? And that was only one of many questions I had regarding her behavior. Why did she lie about not knowing me yesterday in front of the bakery? She claimed the Diraxi were after her, but the only Diraxi I’d seen had been the pair at the Veesnu chapel. What possible reason would they have to come after her? They’d seemed like a fairly level-headed couple, after accounting for their alien eccentricities and choice of religious affiliations. Did she think they were spying on her? Why would they do that? And why would she fear it? What was she hiding that she didn’t want others to know? And why involve me in it, of all people?

I snorted. Looking back, I never would’ve guessed the most sensible part of the previous day would’ve been my trip to Valerie’s stoner ex-boyfriend’s place. At first I’d wondered how he fit in, but the simplicity I’d seen at the heart of Valerie—the desire to craft and create something from nothing, the desire she’d told me about on our shared cab ride, the need that drove her to bake—all that fit with Gerrold. Despite his love of the chronic, he also seemed like a level guy, and more well-read and philosophical than I would’ve thought. He said he thought Valerie didn’t find what she was looking for at his camp or from his personal religious and spiritual system, and that’s what drove her away. So what was Valerie looking for? Whatever it was, it had led her to Gerrold, interested her in bizarre religions, gotten her mixed up with a pack of Diraxi, and driven her to me. What possible connection could exit between me and those other factors?

“Could you remind me what we’re doing here, again?” asked Carl.

“We’re here because I ran out of caffeine pills, and because I prefer the real deal to a tasteless, white oval,” I said. “Besides, even if I did have any pills at home, I would’ve needed something to chase them with. What better than the warm, bitter, chocolate-colored concoction we call coffee.”

Hah. I’ll give
you
a warm, bitter, chocolate-colored concoction,
said Paige.

It was a joke. Even though Paige was nothing more than a voice in my head and a few billion lines of code on a server, I’d always imagined her as having caramel-colored skin, spiky black hair, and bright green eyes—because, as a human, I had a need to anthropomorphize pretty much anything I came into contact with. Really. I was the kind of guy who found smiley faces in his toast and superheroes fighting demons in the clouds.

“That’s not what I meant,” said Carl. “Why are we sitting here when we could be at Valerie’s place. She gave you the entry pass code.”

“Yes, she did.”

“So?”

“A couple reasons,” I said. “One—the coffee, which I already explained. Two—I felt a need to sit and think for a while. A freak occurrence, yes, I know, but there you have it. And three—I was hungry, and we didn’t have anything suitable at home.
Someone
never went grocery shopping last night.”

“I meant to, but I needed to charge, and the vacuum bot required maintenance,” said Carl. “I also didn’t anticipate getting up so early.”

“You’re not the only one,” I said. “Hence the
tall
coffee.”

“I’ll go to the store today. But, in the meantime…” Carl pointed out the window and tapped.

“I know,” I said. “But I’ve only fulfilled two of the reasons for why we’re here.”

Before Carl could ask, I picked up the Danish and took a bite.

“How is it?” asked Carl.

“It’s everything I’ve come to expect from a vast, multi-world conglomerate with over two hundred thousand locations like StarGrinds.”

“So it’s terrible.”

“Awful,” I said, dropping the pastry back onto my plastic dish.

“You know, I can think of a place that might have better pasties.” Carl tapped on the window again.

“Trust me, the irony of eating breakfast at StarGrinds when there’s a perfectly serviceable bakery across the street isn’t lost on me. But…”

“But what?” said Carl.

“Well, for one thing, I rather doubt Valerie’s been in the bakery this morning. That place looks deader than an intros-only party. The pastries probably aren’t fresh.”

“And that freeze-dried yeast pocket is?” Carl pointed at my sorry excuse for a Danish.

“Point taken,” I said.

“So what’s point two?”

I shrugged, curling the corner of my lips and tilting my head to the side. “I’m not sure if our deal with Valerie is still valid.”

“You mean your shrewdly-negotiated contract for five years worth of bear claws?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re concerned about taking unearned pastries without permission? Because you haven’t completed the case yet?”

I nodded.

Carl raised an eyebrow. “When did you become so ethical?”

I snorted. “That’s a low blow. I’ve always been ethical.”

“You’re going to need to provide examples,” said Carl.

“Seriously?” I said. “I always floss before bed. I instruct Paige to open doors for ladies whenever I’m on dates. And I never once intentionally kicked an opponent in the groin during any of my kickboxing bouts.”

Carl smiled. “I’m not sure you understand the meaning of that word, but you can relax. I’m messing with you.”

I furrowed my brows. “Better add a trip to the RAAI Corp factory next to the grocery store on your to-do list. Seriously, that firmware update did things to you, my friend.”

“Look, Valerie explicitly said you were back on the case this morning, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then it’s ethical to take an advance on your bear claw bounty, such as it may be,” said Carl. “Ask Paige if you doubt me.”

Paige didn’t wait for my input.
Go ahead. Stuff your face.

“Alright, fine. You’ve talked me into it,” I said. “And after this, we can also add gambling and prostitution next to grocery shopping on your to-do list.”

I think Carl got the joke, but his facial expressions were so hard to read sometimes. His current one lingered somewhere between mirth and longing. It could’ve been due to my comment, but then again, maybe he wanted to stuff his face with bear claws and didn’t want to bother with emptying his catch chamber.

17

Carl and I walked across the street to the bakery. Paige relayed Valerie’s pass code to the shop’s doors, which slid apart soundlessly, and lights flickered on as we walked into the establishment.

The front of the house was more or less what I’d expected after gazing, moon-eyed, at the exterior. Dainty round ivory tables lounged to my left and right, each paired with a duo of white enameled wrought iron chairs that promised to make the act of sitting about as fun as sex during the Victorian era. Each table held a vase hand-picked from a different rummage sale, but all held a selection of a half dozen white lilies and sunflowers—fake, most likely, though it was difficult to tell with the modern, ever-bud varietals some nurseries sold.

At the counter, pastel yellow and white streamers hung from the front in neat, evenly-spaced crescents, partly disguising a display half-filled with the remains of yesterday’s efforts—but what a yield of efforts it was. Chocolate éclairs, raspberry Danishes, and cinnamon chip scones hung out in piles next to stacks of glazed fritters and profiteroles bursting with cream and dusted with powdered sugar. Their sticky, sugary smell filled my nostrils, along with a delicate almond scent that drifted my way from a rack of marzipan bars. At the bottom of the display, relegated to a corner as if some sort of second-class, yeast-raised citizen, sat the objects of my affection.

“Ah, there they are,” I said.

I walked around to the back of the display, jiggered open the back panel, and snagged a bear claw. With its sugary glaze seeping over my fingers, I parted my lips and sunk my teeth into the nut-crusted delight. Flavors exploded over my tongue as pastry met flesh. I closed my eyes and savored the experience as I chewed.

When I reopened my eyes, I found Carl staring at me with ill-concealed envy.

I swallowed. “Dude, seriously. Indulge yourself. These are worth it.”

He held up a hand. “It’s ok. I’m fine.”

I wolfed down another bite. “I’m not kidding. These are amazing. Valerie can
cook
. Who knew?”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” said Carl. “It’s that…how should I put this? Sometimes I wonder if I truly have all the same senses as you. Because watching you dive into that pastry and seeing the look on your face as its flavors reached the pleasure centers of your brain…well, it doesn’t happen that way with me.”

I ate the rest of the thing in three bites, then sucked my fingers to get the last bits of glaze. “Well, I can’t comment on that, old friend. But if you’re right, we need to petition RAAI Corp for them to come out with a firmware update for
that
instead of your personality. Missing out on these babies is a crime.”

“I think we’d need a hardware update instead,” said Carl.

“You have my approval for it,” I said. “But don’t get any ideas. No springing for a neutron cannon while it’s being installed.”

Carl rolled his eyes. I grabbed a second bear claw and waltzed around to the back.

I nearly tripped over a wet vac bot. It whirred over the floor like a mechanical slug, leaving a trail of wet suds behind it as it sucked up dirt, water, and soap through a vacuum nozzle. As soon as it sensed me, its gears clicked and it surged forward, desperate to suck up the soapy scum at my feet so I wouldn’t slip.

Behind it, a rudimentary all-purpose droid scrubbed an ivory marble countertop. It was a model that didn’t even feature flesh-like prosthetics, but why would it? Like all cleaning units, it would be programmed to function while people were away. As soon as it spotted us, it zipped into a slim alcove, a door winking shut behind it to hide it. Apparently, dirty counters didn’t pose the same safety hazard wet floors did.

As the vacuum bot finished its work, I took a moment to examine the kitchen and consume the rest of my second almond-coated pastry. A pair of hulking stone hearth deck ovens dominated the center of the space, making the broad, stainless steel prep tables on either side look frail by comparison. The marble countertop ran around the entire perimeter of the room, its surface cluttered with mixers and sheeters and bowls of all sizes. A white subway tile backsplash met the counter at a neat ninety degree angle, and knickknacks and bric-a-brac hung from studs high up on the walls, out of reach of flour and grubby fingers. Every color of a bride’s rainbow was represented, from snow to seashell to cornsilk. I wondered how Valerie could stand it, given her marital status.