Cyber Dreams 3.5 - Dinner for Two

I hope this little intro to the main conflict isn't boring . . . Feedback is appreciated.

-Plum

“Your abdominal muscles will be sore for a week or so, but you don’t have to worry; they’re sutured well, and the stitches will dissolve shortly after the glue holding your skin together fades away.”

“Couldn’t the nanites speed things along?” Juliet groaned, pulling herself up with her arms from the reclining surgical chair.

“Slow down, Lucky! Let me raise the seat . . . Oh, never mind, you’re up.” Doctor Ladia shook her head, chuckling. She’d been very talkative while working on Juliet, and, more than once, Juliet had wondered at the wisdom of drinking wine before an operation. Still, the autosurgeon had done most of the work. The only part Ladia had handled personally was carefully removing each of Juliet’s eyes to apply the coating to the processors nestled near her optical nerves.

“Juliet, Ladia has submitted an invoice for the other half of the operation, forty-six thousand Sol-bits.”

“Yep, Angel. Go ahead and pay it.” Juliet tapped the side of her head. “My PAI is sending you the bits.”

“Excellent. Stop by the front desk, and Tricia will give you a packet of anti-inflammatories. I put a subdermal antibiotic tab near the incision; it’ll last a week, so be sure to eat some good probiotics.”

“Thanks,” Juliet said, standing and gingerly feeling her stomach. “Won’t the nanites help with the pain or swelling?”

“Oh yes. Honestly, I doubt you’ll need the pills, but I’m not one to deny a surgical patient some meds. Now, let me walk you to reception. I’ll put the order in for your arm today, and I’ve got your contact info. Remember, I’m going to need that payment right away; otherwise, I’ll have to cancel the order before it ships.”

“Not a problem, Doctor Ladia.” Juliet walked slowly, following the doctor toward the reception area, still moving gingerly. Her stomach was tender but not terribly; it felt sort of like she’d gone a little too hard on an ab workout. Still, in the back of her mind, she knew the autosurgeon had been poking around in her guts, and she felt like she had to be careful. Ladia stopped by the reception door and held out a hand. Juliet gently grasped it with her red, plasteel hand, pleased to feel the warm, firm grip the doctor returned.

“Thanks, Lucky. I’ll be in touch.” Ladia nodded, turned, and walked away. Juliet pushed the door open and stepped over to Tricia’s station at the front counter.

“I see you’re already all paid up. I’m glad the doctor was able to help you!”

“Me too, thanks.”

“One sec,” Tricia stood and lithely moved over to a stainless cube on the counter behind her. She tapped on it a few times as though waiting for something to happen, then it clicked and, in a small dispenser tray near the front, spat out a small blue plastic pill bottle. Tricia snatched it up, then walked over and handed it to Juliet. “Take one of these every four hours as needed. Don’t take more than six in a day, though.”

Juliet took the little bottle, surprised by the rattle of pills—it felt like the doctor had given her quite a few. “I’m all set?”

“You are! I see the doctor has an item on order for you,” Tricia said, her eyes unfocused as she looked at something on her PAI. “Your operator contact info will be all right to use?”

“Yep. If, for some reason, it isn’t, I’ll let you know.”

“Perfect. I sure hope you have a lovely day. Be sure to get plenty of rest!” Tricia waved, watching as Juliet turned to walk toward the door. She noticed another person sitting in one of the comfortable reception chairs, but he or she was entirely shrouded by the folds of a black coat and wore a wide-brimmed hat tipped down, which hid their face. Juliet shrugged, stepped out of the door, and sighed.

“That was a lot of money to spend, but I feel a lot better knowing I’ve got those nanites, Angel.”

“That and the EMP shielding. I feel a weight removed from me, knowing you won’t be knocked senseless so easily again.”

Juliet laughed, imagining Angel feeling relieved. How strange it must be to be bodiless! She supposed it wasn’t as strange for someone who’d never had a body, to begin with. The laugh felt good—she’d been torn between wonder and depression ever since stepping aboard the shuttle heading to Luna. Though she still had plenty to worry about, Juliet felt that remembering to take some pleasure wherever possible was important.

She stood on the sidewalk, back to Doctor Ladia’s building, suddenly wondering what was on the upper floors. “Maybe residences . . .”

“Juliet, I’ve created a map to your next destination, ShipBound. Additionally, you’ll see a tab on your AUI—I’ve updated your status sheet if you’d like to check your financial and physical standing.”

“Oh, jeez,” Juliet sighed, turning to her right to begin following Angel’s map. Then she selected the tab, and a window appeared to the side of her AUI:

“Looks great, Angel,” Juliet said, closing the window and increasing her pace. “So, you can control my new nanites, right?”

“Oh yes. I have to since you didn’t opt to install the management program.”

“They wanted twelve k!”

“Of course, you made the right decision. Don’t forget to turn here,” Angel replied as Juliet came to a corner where a large crowd was waiting for a crosswalk painted with red holographic Xs to turn green. The trams didn’t seem to slow much for pedestrians, so Juliet could see why they waited. She turned right, edging around the back of the crowd, and hurried, surprised at how well she felt after going through major surgery.

“Why am I hurrying?”

“Perhaps you feel the urgency of Honey’s situation, and though you cannot do anything to reach her faster, you’re acting out on that emotion.”

“Yeah. You’re probably right.” Juliet purposefully slowed her pace, glancing at the clock on her AUI—1714. “Gonna be time to eat soon. Is there a good restaurant in the hotel?”

“The Mirage has a restaurant on the second floor, and they begin dinner service at six PM. They recommend attire that is ‘casually elegant.’”

“Really?”

“Yes, the images in the brochure depict women of your age group wearing skirts, dresses, nice slacks, and blouses.”

“Huh.” Juliet slowed, looking left and right, trying to spot the store Angel was guiding her to; it was supposed to be right on top of her.

“The store is on the upper level of that rather squat building just past this tower.” Juliet looked to where Angel was referring, noting the new floating yellow arrows she’d put on her AUI.

“I see it.” She stepped around the doorman of the building next to her, smiling as he tipped his hat, then into the much smaller, darker plasteel building. The automated doors swished open for her, and the lobby was barren other than a trashcan, a vending machine, and some ancient flyers littering the ground. A placard by the elevator read, “ShipBound - Level Two, Gillian Karnesian, Esquire - Level Three.”

Juliet touched the call button, stepped into the elevator, and pushed number two. A few seconds later, she stepped out into the foyer of a much different space. Stacks of luggage lined one wall, clothing racks piled high with merchandise filled the central floor, and rows of boots, shoes, jumpers, backpacks, and a hundred other types of items lined the left and back walls. A synth with a fully metallic body approached her immediately, saying, “Welcome to ShipBound!”

His thin metallic arms and legs, wire-like fingers, and red LED eyes made him look more robot than synth, but Juliet knew that any bot capable of managing a store would have to be at least a partial AI. “Thank you,” she said, waving shortly with her red hand.

“What are you in the market for, ma’am?” the synth asked, its voice strangely low and gravelly. It reminded her of a character in a show she’d watched with Angel, a mechanic on Deimos station who claimed to be a former Texan cowboy.

“I need a good, sturdy backpack that’s scanner resistant; I’m trying to make sure my sensitive electronics don’t get damaged by powerful arrays . . .”

“Say no more,” the synth said, rotating with a whirr of gears and clicking its metallic feet on the polished plasteel floor as it walked over to a display of backpacks and messenger bags. “These are made by Tuff Traveller; they’re known for durability, crafted from two sturdy layers of canvas with a patented polymer layer sandwiched between that conveys a seventy-five percent RSE or radiation shielding effectiveness.

“Oh? I like the sound of that. Show me a backpack with a roomy central compartment.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the synth said, noisily shuffling around the display, shifting the bags on the floor until it found a dark blue backpack. It held it out to Juliet and said, “You’ll find this bag is quite spacious and has additional compartments to separate your odds and ends. The straps are guaranteed for life—should the stitching come undone, you simply have to contact Tuff Traveller at their corporate address at 10217 Granite Drive, Old Jersey, in the protectorate of . . .”

“That’s fine!” Juliet cried, “You can just send that information to my PAI.” She hefted the bag, pleased with its sturdiness and soft blue color. She tugged on the padded straps, then shrugged her shoulders into it, trying to imagine how it would feel full of her things. “Hey, um, would you mind tugging on this, so I can see what it will feel like with some weight in it?”

The synth actually beeped at her as it considered her request, then began to shift around toward her back. Juliet turned to make it easier, and then she felt it begin to apply weight to the pack. The straps felt quite comfortable. “I’ll take it!”

“Very good. I have sent out an invoice ping.”

“The store wants a hundred and eighteen bits for that bag,” Angel said.

“Okay, pay it, Angel.” Juliet slowly rotated, looking around the store, trying to decide if she wanted to do some more shopping while she was there. She spotted some interesting-looking boots and was moving toward them when a new message icon appeared on her AUI.

“Peter Voronov has responded to your message. The recorded message is available on your AUI,” Angel said.

Juliet touched the message, and a recorded video call began to play. It featured a close-up of a middle-aged man with dark, natural-looking eyes, short dark hair, and rather pale, unwrinkled skin. When he spoke, his words carried a hint of a Russian accent. “Hello. I’ve received your message and am replying to your encrypted address. I’m pleased that you are taking precautions for privacy; many in Luna City cannot be trusted. I’ve cleared my calendar for the evening and would appreciate a meeting. You are the first person who’s contacted me with ‘information’ that holds some promise—not many know that Misha was taken with her au pair. I’m assuming this is your friend, no? Reply in the same manner you first contacted me. Name the au pair and tell me where and when to meet you. If you’re correct about the name, I will come.”

Juliet turned in her tracks and began walking out of the store. “Angel, how long will it take to make my hair a different color?”

“As it’s a medium shade of brown, it would take me nearly a day to make it a light color. I could change it to a darker shade in the next hour or two.”

“How about blue?”

“Yes, that’s doable.”

“Okay, make my hair blue, and my eyes . . . something distracting, really different from what I normally would do. Hmm, make my eyes yellow and black, concentric rings. Wait ‘til I get to the hotel room, though.”

“I can only change your irises. I can manage the effect, but it won’t be as jarring as if I could alter your scleras, sorry.”

“It’s fine. Bumblebee eyes? Blue hair? In an anonymous setting that doesn’t even know my name? I like it. Message Voronov and tell him to meet us at the Mirage’s restaurant at eight. Oh, make us a reservation while you’re at it.”

“Will do. Don’t you think you should wear something to conceal your red, cybernetic arm?”

“Oh damn. Take me someplace that sells nice dresses with long sleeves and gloves, I guess.”

“The dress with long sleeves makes sense, but I think buying some colored enamel for your hand would be easier. We could paint it black or something that matches your dress, then remove the color after your meeting.”

“Oh, thank you! I didn’t like the idea of trying to eat and act naturally with silky gloves on my hands. Lead the way, and don’t be afraid to put some tram rides into the route! I just had surgery, you know.”

More than an hour later, Juliet was back in her room, her purchases laid out on her bed, and nervous energy already causing her to perspire. “Make sure you remind me in time to shower,” she said, unwrapping the enamel and a little plastic case of tiny screwdrivers she’d purchased. Angel had shown her a video of someone painting a cybernetic arm similar to hers, and the first step, which made the process infinitely easier, was to remove the black tactile pads from inside the palm.

Juliet lifted her hand and nodded in approval as Angel highlighted the tiny, flush screws along each finger and her palm. Once she loosened those, the pads should peel right out of their beds. Doing the work with her left hand was harder than she expected. Still, after fifteen minutes of painstaking work, she managed to loosen all the screws and peel the black tactile pads out of the inside of her hand. She picked up the blue enamel—she’d bought fast-dry, alcohol-soluble model paint.

“Be sure to shake the can for at least a minute,” Angel said.

Juliet shook the can with her left hand—without the tactile pads, she was afraid she’d crush it in her right. After a minute or so, she stopped and looked around the room, wondering where she’d apply it. “This stuff is going to smell, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but you can turn on the bathroom vent. It shouldn’t be too bad.”

“Right.” Juliet went into the little bathroom and clicked on the vent. She looked at the lovely countertop and decided to lay out her empty shopping bags to protect it. That done, she unscrewed the cap of the enamel, revealing a spongy applicator attached via a plastic tube, and held it up with a frown. “Angel, can you help me apply this? I’m terrible with my left hand.”

“Of course. Hold your right arm steady on the counter and then do your best, and I’ll guide your fine motor movements.” Juliet followed Angel’s instructions, and then, as though she were a master artist working with her favorite medium, she brushed the applicator along her fingers, hand, and wrist. She could feel Angel guiding her hand expertly, coating her cybernetic fist and wrist with the glittery, blue enamel. She rotated her hand and painted the other side, and then it was done.

“Perfect,” Juliet said, turning the pretty blue appendage left and right, holding it aloft so she didn’t accidentally touch anything.

“It will be dry within five minutes. I think that color will look lovely with your new dress.”

“I think so too.” Juliet turned and looked at the dress, spread out atop the bed—midnight blue, velvety, with a high neckline and long sleeves. She’d tried it on in the store, pleased by how it clung to her figure while not being sheer enough to make her uncomfortable. The sleeves fell all the way to the backs of her hands, which was why she’d only partially painted her plasteel arm. She’d also bought some beautiful, low wedge sandals with black straps. Her habit was to wear boots or platforms, and she figured it would be good not to appear as tall as usual.

She wished she could wear her vibroblade, but it was tucked away in a locker at the spaceport. Juliet comforted herself with the knowledge that the Mirage wouldn’t likely allow any violence in their restaurant. “Oh, jeez! Angel! Can I take a shower, or will it wreck this paint?”

“It will be fine. I wouldn’t get soap on it, though.”

“Okay,” she said, checking the time—1917. “Forty-three minutes. I’m going to take a shower, then get dressed, then let’s go sit in the bar. I’d like to be early so I can see if he shows up alone or if he’s early or late . . .” Juliet trailed off as she began to strip off her clothes. She was excited and happy to be doing something, but she was also nervous. This was the first step toward helping Honey; she didn’t want to mess it up.