Living in Syn (17 page)

The cabin
attendants moved through the shuttle, dispensing gravity shoes while
broadcasting instructions on their use.  Swell.  Up to this point, they avoided
the nuisance of learning this reportedly difficult art.  They were always
strapped in during shuttle flights, and the space stations generated their own
gravity through centrifugal force created by rotating the entire structure.

Mission
examined the shoes.  They weren't even as bulky as goulashes.  They were very
thin, clear plastic with a self-adjusting collar at the top of what was a high
top tennis shoe design.  A small control panel just underneath the collar on
the side facing the other shoe allowed the wearer to make adjustments in the
responsiveness.  A conductive metal element ran around the sole with a power
supply encased in the heel.

One
engaged/released the switch through the action of the foot moving the ankle as
its hinge.   As the foot moved to point the toe, the switch released and the
magnetic current shut down.  As the foot pivoted and moved the big toe towards
the shin, the switch engaged and the magnetic field pulled the shoe back toward
the metal floor.  The control panel allowed the wearer to determine the range
and sensitivity of the switching mechanism and the strength of the magnetic
current.

Mission
had seen video clips of athletes using the shoes on the Earth's moon to long
jump 150 feet.  The sprinting events seemed an art unto themselves.  The trick
seemed to be to get your feet back on the floor as quickly as possible.  If you
allowed yourself to go free flight, those who expertly slapped one foot down
just an instant after the back foot pushed off, left you far behind.  The
length of stride proved crucial and slow motion studies of the sprinters showed
each stride taking the runner's legs to almost a 180
o
 angle.  Of course, some of the most exciting exhibitions
were those feats not possible on Earth.  Acrobats would run up the walls and
onto the ceiling and others would jump fifty feet in the air while
somersaulting eighteen times.

Mission's
natural state of pessimism rejoined him, and he wondered if all the group would
be killed while pathetically glued to a section of the floor, trying to make
the shoes work.  He looked at the brand.  These were the best, G-Force
Dominators.  Mission wondered what the reaction would be in the afterlife, once
they were slaughtered.

He
decided he would look St. Peter in the eye and say, "It must have been the
shoes."

Probably
his humor would not be well received up there, any more than it was in the here
and now.  He pictured himself in eternal agony, burning in a lake of fire, but
curiously unable to light his cigarette.  He considered these thoughts and
decided it might be time to end this introspective self-flagellation.

Pioneer
sent a gravity sled to load their baggage and to transport them as well.  As
they fumbled toward the sled's handrails, they all focused on what had always
been the simple task of walking. 

Mission
literally ripped a foot off the floor without cutting the magnetic field.  As
he started toward the ceiling, he allowed the heel of his other foot to leave
the floor, switching off the current in that shoe and shooting him upwards
unchecked.  He put his hands up and absorbed the blow of striking the ceiling,
which threw him back at the floor.  He hit the ground with frightening force
and stayed there, glued.

Mission
had a vision of his first time at a skating rink, floundering and falling.  But
a kid doesn't mind taking a shot or two, while even a bounty hunter finds it
rather quickly tiring.

The
gravity sled pulled away and they drifted into their private thoughts.  He
looked at Susan.  She threw herself into her shoes, in observing the facility,
and in a dozen other little details.  He shook his head at what had obviously
been so delicate a balance.  Forget about it.  Focus on the job.  You can make
up with Susan when you get home.  But if you focus on your little tiff instead,
then she can put your ashes in a vase next to the flowers in her office.

After a
few more turns, they came to a section that obviously held office space.  They
made a clumsy and halting process through the hatchway and into a tiny, but
attractively furnished waiting room.  A vue screen came to life and a computer
image of an attractive and prim woman greeted them with a soft, British accent.

"Good
evening, and welcome to the New Angeles Administration Offices.  How may I be
of service?"

Mission
said, "Hi.  We are the group from Paradox, here to perform diagnostics on
the synthetics in this settlement.  We were instructed to ask for Mr. Arthur
Atwood upon arrival."

"Yes. 
Mr. Atwood is expecting you.  I will notify him that you are here, and I expect
that he will personally attend to your group.  In the meantime, please relax. 
Information on New Angeles and its many services and opportunities is available
through this vue screen by asking for New Angeles general information.  If you
have other questions or needs, please ask for me. My name is Margaret."

The
screen went blank.  Mission could not control himself.  He said,
"Margaret?"

Instantly
she reappeared saying, "Yes?"

Mission
looked at her thoughtfully and said, "Do you think a girl should kiss on
the first date?  And if she does, will her friends think less of her?"

Susan
was disgusted.  "For God's sake, you are doggedly puerile and
adolescent."

Meanwhile,
Margaret said, "I am unable to answer your questions.  Perhaps the city
psychologist would be a better source of information."

Susan
said triumphantly, "See?"

Mission,
undaunted, turned to the group.  "So what do you guys want to know next? 
How about the principal exports from Chile in the past five years?"

Carson
jumped in and said, "Dr. St. Jean, is this an example of the
professionalism of Paradox?"

"No.
It's an example of testosterone at its worst."

Mission
poised to throw more fuel on the flame when a keen eyed and calm gentleman in
his fifties stepped into the room.  He peered through his round wire rimmed
glasses and said, "Good evening.  I am Arthur Atwood.  Welcome to New
Angeles."

Mission
stepped forward and said, "Mr. Atwood, it’s a pleasure to meet you." 
Atwood gave him a firm handshake as he continued.  "My name is Mission,
I'm a robotics engineer with Paradox.  This is Dr. St. Jean, a synthetic
psychologist and scientist."

Mission
turned to glare at Major Pierce and said,  "I’m afraid that the armed
forces no longer feel comfortable with our ability to provide safe and reliable
synthetics to our customers.  Thus we have Major Carson Pierce with us as an
observer.  Let me add that we were happy to invite the Major with us on this
trip, right after we were threatened with IRS audits, export restrictions, and
a host of other forms of harassment."

As Carson
shook hands, he said, "Mr. Atwood, pleased to meet you.  Obviously Mr.
Mission has an active imagination."

Atwood
smiled pleasantly and said, "Absolutely no need to explain the differences
that sometimes emerge between business and government.  It's as natural as can
be.  You two should stop treating this as a personal matter.  It's the way it's
supposed to be.  Government pulls one way and business pulls the other. 
Somewhere in the middle is the answer that best serves the community."

Mission
nodded.  "I can't argue with that.  Paradox has provided a liaison to the
Army in the form of Montag here."

"And
I don't know if you two are acquainted.  This is Dick Denman of Pioneer."

They
shook hands and Atwood said, "Perhaps you and I can find some time for a
corporate discussion."

Denman
said, "Yeah, that would be good.  As soon as possible."

Atwood
nodded and then said, "Have you had dinner?"  They had not. 

"Well,
then let me escort you to your rooms and then show your our dining area.  For
tomorrow morning, I thought we could start at 8:00 with a tour of the
facility.  Then I can show you the space we have reserved for your diagnostics
and schedule the synthetics you wish to examine.  Does this sound
satisfactory?"

Susan
said, "Most efficient.  We appreciate your attention to our needs."

Then
they trudged clumsily back to the gravity sled and moved back through the city.

Their
quarters turned out to be better than the space station hotels.  Although the
rooms measured only slightly bigger, the beds sat on the floor with storage
space overhead.  A small sink was positioned at the end of the bed with a pull
out shelf that extended over the bed, providing space for desk work or elegant
dining.

Atwood
led them to the dining room which was an exact replica of the space station
setups.  The place looked deserted.

Mission
asked, "Is there more than one place to eat?  It seems strange that this
facility is almost empty."

Atwood
smiled.  "I'm afraid that is the nature of the beast.  Shift work makes a cafeteria
a feast or famine proposition.  We do try to stagger shifts and dining periods,
but these efforts will never level out the peak demand periods."

They
picked up their trays and moved into the serving line.  The facility ran quite
efficiently.  The individual servings of jello, fruits like peaches, pears, and
pineapples, rolls and biscuits and breads, and deserts like apple cobbler and
devil’s food cake were all displayed in precise formations across the beds of
ice and the self-serve counters.  Unfortunately, no amount of efficiency could
change the sameness of the food.  It tasted exactly like the bland offerings of
the last two weeks.

As they
sat down, Mission said, "Arthur, I'm trying to get a feel for the rhythms
of the city.  When will the next rush of people hit the dining room?"

Atwood
extended his arm and then looked at his watch.  "Oh, not until the second
shift ends around midnight, so ... not for another three hours."

Susan
said, "How long have you been here in New Angeles?" 

Atwood
said, "Sometimes it feels like I just arrived yesterday.  Other times I
think I've been here forever.  The truth is I just celebrated two years."

"Celebrated? 
Does that mean you like it here or that you are looking forward to tour's
end?"

"Well,
this is important work and it occupies every waking moment.” He paused for a
few seconds. “ I expect I will stay as long as Pioneer is willing to keep me
on."

Atwood
stood up and said,  "I ask your forgiveness, but I have a dispute to
mediate between the maintenance crews and some less than tidy tenants.  Would
you like for me to send a gravity sled for you in the morning?"

Mission
said, "Actually, I would like to find my own way.  Are maps of the
settlement available?"

Atwood
put his hand to his head.  "Forgive me.  Simply dock your coms with the
databay in your rooms and look under New Angeles - maps."

Mission
said, "Thanks, we appreciate your help."

Atwood
bowed and said, "As I appreciate your patience with me.  Have a pleasant
evening and I will see you tomorrow morning at 8:00."

An hour
after dinner, Mission called Carson, Montag, and finally Susan.  She answered
and he said, "Susan, this is Mission."

"Oh."

"I
called to tell you we’re getting together in about thirty minutes.  We'll use
the maps to find an unused stretch of hall to practice using the gravity
shoes.  Can you be ready?"

"I
don't think I can come.  I need to examine more research materials."

Mission
paused.  Damn.  "Look Susan.  This is critical.  Our safety could easily
come down to how mobile we are.  And it is important for Montag to see what
each us will be able to do.  That way he can protect more effectively."

"My
research is at least as important as my mobility."

"Okay. 
Would you do this as a favor to me?  I know you are mad, but I don't want your
safety compromised because there are angry feelings between us.  Come for an
hour, and if you don't see any benefit, you can leave without a single word of
protest from me."

"Fine. 
Thirty minutes."  Click.  Dial tone.

Mission
nodded.  "Yeah, there's no doubt.  She's crazy about me."

Mission
slammed into the metal wall and bounced almost two feet.  He felt around
gingerly.  There.  Definitely a bruise tomorrow the size of a saucer.  He
picked himself up and moved back to his starting position.

Montag
called, "Slow down a notch, Mr. Mission.  When learning new movement
patterns, you must practice slowly to become fast."

Mission
put his hands on his hips and stared.  "That makes no sense at all."

Montag
turned away from his work with Susan.  "Yes it does.  What you want to do
is to force your muscles to perform new movements until they become part of
your movement memory.  At that point, you can perform without thought.  So it
is more important to move correctly at a slow pace, than to move as fast as
possible with erratic motions."

As
Mission assumed his starting position, he asked, "Is there a reason you
insist on approaching this logically?"

Carson
trotted back up and said, "To place your approach into sharp contrast." 

He
smiled as he took a starting position and then burst into a run.  He and
Mission had competed all evening without a clear winner.  Mission took off and
in less than thirty yards caught Carson and passed him.  Suddenly Carson lost
his rhythm and stumbled, rolling more than twenty feet before crashing into a
wall.  Mission completed his sprint and circled back to offer a hand.

The
session proved to be very helpful.  Montag with his nine in agility could
perform miracles with the shoes.  Susan, Carson, and Mission now walked around
the station like pros and Mission and Carson strived for high performance
moves.

Susan
announced she was tired and sat on the floor, knees pulled up to her chin.  She
found herself watching two grown men competing like six year olds, each
refusing to give up or give in.  Mission slammed into a wall and tried to
bounce up and keep going.  Montag said, "Perhaps we have done enough this
evening."

Mission
didn't think so.  He motioned to Carson.  "Hey soldier boy.  Top this
one."  He jumped up and started a somersault.  As he rotated to an upside
down position, he activated the shoes and he stuck to the ceiling.  Upside down
he held out his arms and said, "Ta dah!"

It was
impossible not to laugh and Mission, finally content to stop for the night,
flexed, jumped, and landed upright.  Montag said, "You show signs of
athletic prowess.  Did you play any sports in college?"

Mission
said, "Well, you might say I wrestled synthetics."

Montag was
puzzled and decided not to pursue the conversation.  They reached their rooms
and exchanged goodnights.  Susan had no words for Mission and he decided that
pain must be a woman.