My
apartment doesn't look like my apartment. For one it is twice the
size and it has all the latest furniture from Conran Inc. The sofa
hovers a foot of the ground at just bum height. The walls are not
walls but moveable screens that can be tuned to any colour or any
scene. Brian is pleased with himself. As a surprise he has bought the
apartment next to mine and knocked through, paid for by my earnings
in the scrap space ship business.
“What do you think, Sir? It gives us room to breathe.”
I like it but I won't tell him that. The most impressive thing is the full size grand. A Yamaha from the 21st Century, fully restored and tuned to perfection. The plastic keys have been replaced by Ivory made from the DNA of African elephants. It is overwhelming, Brian the computer that I constantly slag off has done this for me.
“ I will let it grow on me Brian before I offer an opinion, the scrap business must be doing well. A piano like this has to come to millions.”
“ Billions actually Sir, but we can afford it. A Star ship the size of a planet has enough scrap in it to pay for ten of them, with a billion or so to spare, even with tax deducted. Would you like a cocktail Sir while I fill a tub for you?”
“Any messages?”
“One from the Bank inviting you to an investment seminar, and two from Zeno saying you are slipping down the list.”
“Get Zeno on the vid.”
I try out the Yamaha. The ivory keys are sensual with no slip. In fast tempos my hands sweat. It's a perfect match of man and machine. The contrast between my private life and saving the Universe is worlds apart. In one I am a very rich man and in the other a bit player in the pay of the IGBI. I know which one I prefer.
Zeno drops in via the vid. Gone are the startling colours and wild see through apparel. She is soberly dressed in a tailored suit, court shoes and feathered hat.
“What gives with the outfit?” I ask.
“Didn't Brian tell you. I have given up my old profession and I am now the face of SCRAP SHIPS R US.”
“Scrapshipsrus?”
“I work for Brian. He is very generous.”
I am speechless. She carries on.
“I still have my list for old times sake. I am on my way over.” The vid turns off and a second later she is sitting on my hover sofa in the flesh. I have to admit that I am a bit turned on by her Miss Smith outfit. Sex in the office will be a novelty.
****************
For once Doil has done me a favour. He wants a meet at the hospital. Zeno is great in bed but limited in the conversation stakes. I leave her talking scrap with Brian. It can't last. However that is Brian's problem. Veronica looks as good as ever. You wouldn't know that she has been wounded. Shot stabbed glassed. She always comes up refreshed and stunning. I wonder if she is the same person. Cloning is rife in the colonies but there are strict rules here on Mars. No cloning. Ever. One body, one person one life. The doctors can make you live for hundreds of years, but cloning. Shot on sight. The view from the balcony is of the Ice planet. A wilderness of white. High mountains of ice shaded in various blues. From deep azures to tints of cyan. Just looking at makes me feel cold. Veronica has a hooded suit of fox fur. DNA fashioned of course, that shows nothing of her body but oozes sex. Doil stands by the window smoking a Gauloise cancer free cigarette. Why take risks, a new lung is the price of a house on the Maldeves planet. Just the three of us. No Smith. Something is going down. Doil flicks his stub out over the scenery then turns the vision off. The balcony is just a void now. Then he plays the last Fish Fry. I am tas me. Doil is there dressed as Doil, the pimp, the hooker, Getz, scarface, the sailors. All there. The cook. Wait a minute the cook. She is not the cook I remember. The cook I remember is black, with a flowered apron, big buxom and hearty. This cook is white, slim and, beautiful.
“Spot anything wrong” says Doil.
“Is this a movie?” I ask.
“A deconstructed, playout of the last Fish Fry.”
“So the cook is real”
“Yup”
“As am I.”
“Correct, we have applied an anti prossing filter to the playback, which is why you are as you are, and why the cook is as she really is.”
“Do you have any idea who she is?”
“Nope we were hoping you would help us there.”
I ask them to play it again with freeze frames. The cook is not anyone that I have encountered but I would like to. She has all the classic beauty of Ingrid Bergman without the heavy breathing. I tell Doil so and he shrugs.
“Just a chance, you being a pross expert and all.”
“ I might know twins who do”, I say. I am surprised that Doil hasn't thought of them himself, him being a security expert and all, with all the power of the IGBI behind him.
“Ah yes, your red heads. Well they have been quizzed as have the prossing department and they have no record of anyone like the cook”
Veronica wraps the fur around her and stares out into the void. Doil takes his leave with a task for us. Find the cook.
****************
Thats easy for him to say with all the resources of the IGBI at his disposal, but I have an idea. We can re-enact the last Fish Fry through the magic of time travel and change the order and the timing, so neither Veronica nor me are maimed and we can follow her home or something. Am I a genius or not? Well not apparently. Veronica has a better idea we arrive the day before and check out the fish market for a fat Moma or a Nordic beauty.
“What do you think, Sir? It gives us room to breathe.”
I like it but I won't tell him that. The most impressive thing is the full size grand. A Yamaha from the 21st Century, fully restored and tuned to perfection. The plastic keys have been replaced by Ivory made from the DNA of African elephants. It is overwhelming, Brian the computer that I constantly slag off has done this for me.
“ I will let it grow on me Brian before I offer an opinion, the scrap business must be doing well. A piano like this has to come to millions.”
“ Billions actually Sir, but we can afford it. A Star ship the size of a planet has enough scrap in it to pay for ten of them, with a billion or so to spare, even with tax deducted. Would you like a cocktail Sir while I fill a tub for you?”
“Any messages?”
“One from the Bank inviting you to an investment seminar, and two from Zeno saying you are slipping down the list.”
“Get Zeno on the vid.”
I try out the Yamaha. The ivory keys are sensual with no slip. In fast tempos my hands sweat. It's a perfect match of man and machine. The contrast between my private life and saving the Universe is worlds apart. In one I am a very rich man and in the other a bit player in the pay of the IGBI. I know which one I prefer.
Zeno drops in via the vid. Gone are the startling colours and wild see through apparel. She is soberly dressed in a tailored suit, court shoes and feathered hat.
“What gives with the outfit?” I ask.
“Didn't Brian tell you. I have given up my old profession and I am now the face of SCRAP SHIPS R US.”
“Scrapshipsrus?”
“I work for Brian. He is very generous.”
I am speechless. She carries on.
“I still have my list for old times sake. I am on my way over.” The vid turns off and a second later she is sitting on my hover sofa in the flesh. I have to admit that I am a bit turned on by her Miss Smith outfit. Sex in the office will be a novelty.
****************
For once Doil has done me a favour. He wants a meet at the hospital. Zeno is great in bed but limited in the conversation stakes. I leave her talking scrap with Brian. It can't last. However that is Brian's problem. Veronica looks as good as ever. You wouldn't know that she has been wounded. Shot stabbed glassed. She always comes up refreshed and stunning. I wonder if she is the same person. Cloning is rife in the colonies but there are strict rules here on Mars. No cloning. Ever. One body, one person one life. The doctors can make you live for hundreds of years, but cloning. Shot on sight. The view from the balcony is of the Ice planet. A wilderness of white. High mountains of ice shaded in various blues. From deep azures to tints of cyan. Just looking at makes me feel cold. Veronica has a hooded suit of fox fur. DNA fashioned of course, that shows nothing of her body but oozes sex. Doil stands by the window smoking a Gauloise cancer free cigarette. Why take risks, a new lung is the price of a house on the Maldeves planet. Just the three of us. No Smith. Something is going down. Doil flicks his stub out over the scenery then turns the vision off. The balcony is just a void now. Then he plays the last Fish Fry. I am tas me. Doil is there dressed as Doil, the pimp, the hooker, Getz, scarface, the sailors. All there. The cook. Wait a minute the cook. She is not the cook I remember. The cook I remember is black, with a flowered apron, big buxom and hearty. This cook is white, slim and, beautiful.
“Spot anything wrong” says Doil.
“Is this a movie?” I ask.
“A deconstructed, playout of the last Fish Fry.”
“So the cook is real”
“Yup”
“As am I.”
“Correct, we have applied an anti prossing filter to the playback, which is why you are as you are, and why the cook is as she really is.”
“Do you have any idea who she is?”
“Nope we were hoping you would help us there.”
I ask them to play it again with freeze frames. The cook is not anyone that I have encountered but I would like to. She has all the classic beauty of Ingrid Bergman without the heavy breathing. I tell Doil so and he shrugs.
“Just a chance, you being a pross expert and all.”
“ I might know twins who do”, I say. I am surprised that Doil hasn't thought of them himself, him being a security expert and all, with all the power of the IGBI behind him.
“Ah yes, your red heads. Well they have been quizzed as have the prossing department and they have no record of anyone like the cook”
Veronica wraps the fur around her and stares out into the void. Doil takes his leave with a task for us. Find the cook.
****************
Thats easy for him to say with all the resources of the IGBI at his disposal, but I have an idea. We can re-enact the last Fish Fry through the magic of time travel and change the order and the timing, so neither Veronica nor me are maimed and we can follow her home or something. Am I a genius or not? Well not apparently. Veronica has a better idea we arrive the day before and check out the fish market for a fat Moma or a Nordic beauty.
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