Innocent banter at an outdoor café wins an invitation to party down
Perfect Timing, Part 19, Sexy triplets weave a web for Corey
| We serialize this novel, set in a world working right for everyone, a chapter a week for 32 weeks. © 2008 Jeffery J. Smith, all rights reserved. |
By Jeffery J. Smith, March 2008
The pedestrians out for a stroll turn around where the mall ends, overlooking the river. Along the ridge of the riverbank, several sidewalk cafes offer a pleasant view of the flowing water and floating traffic, none of which is an out-of-control jet ski spraying landlubbers. Groups of citizens, several with bleached hair, sit at sidewalk cafes and chat and play cards.“More Geotopians,” Corey says, “hard at work.”
Corey’s only teasing but Tepper takes the bait. “You endured the Protestant Work Ethic,” she says, defending her era, “we enjoy the Polynesian Play Ethic – which you might’ve helped start.”
Corey exhales on his fingernails then polishes them on his shirt. He leads Tepper and Kenny to the nearest cafe. “And to keep it going, I can’t do that on an empty stomach.”
The trio find seats at a cafe. Kenny picks up a menu from the table. Shrugging, not caring to decipher the phonetic spelling, he pokes a meal on the menu. In the center of the table, a bagel and mocha appear from below. He’s impressed but figures he can do better and touches the menu again. A fruit smoothie and muffin push the bagel and mocha out of the way. Corey grabs for the muffin and mocha. Once more, Kenny pokes the menu. A glass of champagne and caviar show up. Delighted, he rubs his hands, preparing to dive in.
Tepper glances at him. “Have you been here before?”
In the middle of the market square, Voltak slowly rotates, examining all the passers-by. Many pedestrians’ hair is bleached; the whitened tops number many more than before. One teenage boy even wears a Pellucid Pool T-shirt.
Voltak taps the forecaster with an eye in the back of his head on the shoulder. The lone eye blinks. The guy turns around, taking in the overgrown wanna-be cop.
“Prognasticator,” Voltak says, “you’ve had to notice the spread of white heads. No doubt they’re sparking off the Pastians, who were so blond when they arrived. I’ve noted all the fad-followers here downtown and am will you their coordinates. So, given, your famous formula is reliable, please put it to work for our lawful pursuit of fugitivees. That is, crank out two answers for me: One, pinpoint this new fad’s origin and two, tell me where the next adopters will be. I’ll look for my quarry right there.”
The predictor’s knee-jerk reaction is to pooh-pooh the idea but it does intrigue him. That’s precisely the sort of strategy he himself would have liked to have thought of had he actually been the one to first spot a new fashion. It’s sort of like reversing a plume of smoke to find the spewing fire, then anticipating where the spewed sparks might land next. The forecaster hands Voltak his phone. “Tap them in, officer. This could prove interesting.”
As the coordinates come in, the forecaster taps his keyboard, plugging the data into the powerful formula that made him famous among gamblers, even if not among his fellow prognasticators.
In the Cabinet’s meeting room, the translucent homunculus hovering before the spherical monitor clears its throat, getting the attention of the Dear Learneds. He shrivels his size to leave a clear view of the images playing on the globular screen. It’s the now infamous burglary. White smoke flashes before the two gun barrels. The boys vanish. The time left is “16:13:53”.
The head of the homunculus swells up. It speaks in its Irish accent. “The gunfire didn’t miss them, it missed the ride here.”
The august members of the Umbrella Committee ponder the implications. They regard each other with concern. They need to confirm the computer’s unwelcome forecast.
Bernard Saint turns to the homunculus. “When they return, then it’ll be to gunfire they had escaped?”
At the café above the river-walk, the table of Tepper, Kenny, and Corey is crowded with soiled plates that bear scraps of food. Slouching, the guys sigh contentedly. Tepper dabs the corners of her mouth with a napkin.
“Hey, Kenny.” Corey wipes his mouth. “This is the future, right? You can look up the answers to your tests.”
“No,” Kenny corrects his friend, “I can’t do that.” He looks at his hosts. “But I can google geonomics.” Kenny opens the public laptop sitting on their table.
Unseen by the others, Corey pats his pocket, smiling confidently. “Ready for the ride back, Kenny?” he says. “I am … not any longer.”
Triplets, looking about thirty and primed for action, take over the table beside theirs, like a flock of hungry crows settling on a new perch. To appear decent in public, Marissa wears feathers, Larissa has short glossy fur like an otter, and Karessa sports shiny scales beneath a transparent dress. Lean bodies, lean faces, pared down by lifetimes of experience.
“It is about time we did get back home,” Tepper says encouragingly, wary of beginning any new adventure.
Corey smiles at her benignly then turns to Kenny, who’s more interested in the images traversing the screen of his computer, a mini-repository of encyclopedic knowledge.
Pinching his owlish beak, Kenny talks to the homunculus. “What exactly is geonomics?”
The screen spews holographic books that thin out as more pile on, stacking up translucent tomes above Kenny’s head.
“Yo,” Kenny says. “I got the Library of Congress. How’m I supposed to wade through all this?”
Corey leans closer to his studious buddy. “Come nighttime, where would you rather be, bro, but downtown Geotopia – bright lights, fast –“ he glances at his progeny, “uh, fast action.”
“Whatever,” Kenny says, “as long as there’s a connection to the web.”
Corey turns to the new arrivals. “Would you three be a debating club?”
The newcomers giggle, Larissa shyly, Marissa turning to reassure her, and Karessa brazenly assessing Corey. The three never tire of pushing male buttons for the amusement that the variety – or lack thereof – of reaction provides them. Over the years, they’ve perfected getting the treatment they want into an art.
“You detect wit,” Corey continues, sensing a connection to their web. “Thus,” he adds sadly, “none of you could be a lawyer. Unfortunately.”
Their pretty, chiseled faces sparkle.
“My, my,” Marissa says. “What have you done?”
“Is an angry lady after you?” Larissa asks.
“Shall we defend you?” Karessa offers.
Corey loves the instant rapport. “That would be commendable.”
Glancing at then closing holographic book after book, Kenny works as fast as he can, shaking his head.
“You know what might work for you?” Tepper says, “Talking to the master geonomist, the expert. If it were earlier.”
“A very busy expert,” the homunculus says, struggling out from under the pile of translucent books.
“Maybe he, she, or it could meet us after hours?” Kenny says.
Minding her manners, Marissa tries to bring Tepper and Kenny into their conversation and shifts the topic to the hottest news of the day. “Did y’all watch that historical burglary today?” Marissa says.
“Those two young guys,” Larissa laughs, “our famous founders!”
“Burglary,” Karessa says. “More like a historical bunglary.”
The triplets giggle, folding in to each other. Tepper smiles. Kenny is lost in thought, tapping into his keyboard.
“Us?” Corey asks, smiling smoothly. “We were too busy. By the way, y’all are not related to any of those historical giants, are you?”
Leaning back, teeth gleaming, the triplets laugh at the absurdity.
Marissa touches Tepper’s arm lightly? “Where’d you get your cat look done?”
Larissa nods approvingly. “I love it. Feline is so feminine,” she purrs, “and so ferocious.” She growls.
Karessa flips a hand down. “It must’ve been Ignacio at the Body Shop.” She nods, agreeing with herself. “A genius at splitting genes.”
Not waiting for Tepper to reply, all the triplets nod, agreeing with each other.
Feathery Marissa points at Corey’s masked face, nearly touching him, like Michelangelo’s finger of God giving the spark of life to Adam. “So, what do you look like under there? Feathers?”
“Fur?” asks furry Larissa.
“Quicksilver scales?” sparkling Karessa asks, tilting her head to one side.
“Actually,” Corey explains quite seriously, “it’s part of a court settlement. My masculine visage so rendered a member of the gentler species sightless that now for all eternity I must don this mask.”
The triplets laugh then acknowledge Kenny’s masked face, too.
“Yes, my assistant,” Corey explains, “so that I don’t feel so alone in the masked world.”
“Can never be alone.” Leaning over, devilish Marissa reaches under the table above hopeful Corey’s lap and squeezes his thigh. “Do those legs you’re hiding ever get out and dance?”
Larissa bounces in her seat in support of the implied invitation. “We’re off to the Sky Garden to boogey before it gets too crowded.”
“Coming?” Karessa says, smiling at her three new party pals, reaching for the menu. “Here, let us get this for you.”
Corey shakes Kenny’s shoulder. “Come on, Ken-man.” His smile includes Tepper, too. “You only get one chance in life to embarrass your great-great-grand-daughter.”
Smiling back, Tepper regards Corey from under her brows. “If this is the stuff of your adolescent memories, gramps, it’s got no shock value.”
Neither Tepper nor Kenny shares Corey’s enthusiasm. The triplets register the reticence of the young couple.
“No need to rush,” Marissa says.
“Your friends want to stay,” Larissa says.
“You all can catch up later if you like,” Karessa adds.
Sighing deeply, Corey throws up his hands in exasperation.
Behind Corey, several tables away, Voltak takes a seat at a nearby café. Turning his head left and right, he sniffs the air.
Kenny looks up from his work, not focusing on his immediate tablemates, and notes Voltak. Just then a large group of diners seat themselves between the Pastians and Voltak. Instantly Kenny snaps the laptop shut, squashing the holographic tomes out of existence, and leans toward the triplets. “Great idea,” he says hurriedly. “Which way?”
Sensing danger, Corey looks around. Worried, Tepper looks at Kenny questioningly. Standing, Kenny pulls Corey and Tepper to their feet and scuttles away, headed in the opposite direction from where Voltak is seated. Karessa presses her thumb to the tiny window panel in the menu as her sisters hurriedly get up from the table to pursue the suddenly eager fellow partiers.
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Jeffery J. Smith runs the Forum on Geonomics.
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