more.
“Charming,” Hawkins said. “And only slightly off-pitch. I can see I’ll have to be careful of my arm. Especially in low-g.” He sat up, restless. “Lee, how much longer must I stay in bed?”
“You are ready to be discharged,” Oniburi said. “I hope you will come with me now for an afternoon of relaxation.”
Hawkins’s smile remained in place despite his irritation. He wanted to get back to space and the cool, impassive face of the Moon peering in his window. The messy concerns of people, their anxieties, their needs, their resentments, were best dealt with at a distance. But Oniburi was in the room, and required attention. The careful two-step of etiquette. Very well, an afternoon sacrificed in the name of friendship and commerce.
“You’re very kind.” Hawkins made certain his voice was modulated and soothing, Pooh-Bah to Ko-Ko in act two of The Mikado .
More bowing and nodding now. In appearance, Oniburi was a natural for The Mikado . But Hawkins had heard his singing voice at the Hello Uncle karaoke bar. No, Oniburi was not really operetta material. What he needed was a soundproof shower. But he did understand miniaturized components for prosthetics. He and all his clever employees at Oniburi International.
“I’d like to have a brief conference with my assistant, and then I am at your disposal.”
“Of course.” Oniburi gestured toward the wallscreen. “Signal me when you are ready.” He bowed stiffly and left.
Hawkins asked for a screen-to-screen shield. The pink border of the screen began to blink discreetly, and in a moment a trail of butterflies, blue and pink to indicate privacy, were fluttering around the screen margins. Hawkins watched them with annoyance: peripheral, unexpected cuteness was one of the hazards of doing business in Japan.
The ruddy face of Leporello materialized onscreen. He was clad, as usual, in red cap and green velvet tunic. Hawkins had used “The Laughing Cavalier” as a template for the simulacrum, and as a result Leporello displayed a certain tendency toward sly humor.
“The surgery went well?”
“Perfectly.” Hawkins grinned and held up his new arm, fingers waggling. “Mr. Oniburi has requested my company this afternoon.”
“I’ll reschedule the meeting with the East Coast Mutant Council,” Leporello said.
“Good.” Hawkins appreciated the sim’s ability to anticipate his needs. Of course, he had been programmed for that. “Any word from Jasper Saladin?”
“He said to send him more mutants.”
“Hmmm. I’m trying.” Hawkins slid out of bed and began dressing.
“And Hugh Farnam asked for an appointment to see you.”
“Bus Farnam? I thought he was knee deep in printouts at the physics department in Berkeley.”
“I told him you were available Wednesday morning.”
“Fine, Leporello. We’ll be at the Yellow Slipper tea room late this afternoon. Try to manufacture an emergency that, regrettably, requires my presence.”
“One emergency coming up.” Leporello winked and his merry image faded.
***
Rick yawned and stretched. The tight muscles in his neck and arms complained, then gradually unknotted. Aaah. Morning sunlight burst through the threadbare red curtains and dappled the wall above the bed. Beside him, Alanna stirred and muttered in protest as he got up and the jellbed swayed. A late sleeper, Alanna. Just as well. He’d be out the door and gone before she knew it. He wanted to get to work before noon. If Alanna awakened, he might not get there at all.
The charge from the sonic shower made his hair stand on end. Dressed in clean jeans and shirt, he hurried into the kitchen, grabbed a chocolate tofu brownie, and, munching, hurried out the door. Late for work. Not good. Not unusual, either.
The cycle roared to life.
The uneven pavement flew past under the cycle. Rick grinned into the wind. He didn’t understand why so many people turned up their noses at wheeled vehicles. He loved leaving a patch of rubber on
“Charming,” Hawkins said. “And only slightly off-pitch. I can see I’ll have to be careful of my arm. Especially in low-g.” He sat up, restless. “Lee, how much longer must I stay in bed?”
“You are ready to be discharged,” Oniburi said. “I hope you will come with me now for an afternoon of relaxation.”
Hawkins’s smile remained in place despite his irritation. He wanted to get back to space and the cool, impassive face of the Moon peering in his window. The messy concerns of people, their anxieties, their needs, their resentments, were best dealt with at a distance. But Oniburi was in the room, and required attention. The careful two-step of etiquette. Very well, an afternoon sacrificed in the name of friendship and commerce.
“You’re very kind.” Hawkins made certain his voice was modulated and soothing, Pooh-Bah to Ko-Ko in act two of The Mikado .
More bowing and nodding now. In appearance, Oniburi was a natural for The Mikado . But Hawkins had heard his singing voice at the Hello Uncle karaoke bar. No, Oniburi was not really operetta material. What he needed was a soundproof shower. But he did understand miniaturized components for prosthetics. He and all his clever employees at Oniburi International.
“I’d like to have a brief conference with my assistant, and then I am at your disposal.”
“Of course.” Oniburi gestured toward the wallscreen. “Signal me when you are ready.” He bowed stiffly and left.
Hawkins asked for a screen-to-screen shield. The pink border of the screen began to blink discreetly, and in a moment a trail of butterflies, blue and pink to indicate privacy, were fluttering around the screen margins. Hawkins watched them with annoyance: peripheral, unexpected cuteness was one of the hazards of doing business in Japan.
The ruddy face of Leporello materialized onscreen. He was clad, as usual, in red cap and green velvet tunic. Hawkins had used “The Laughing Cavalier” as a template for the simulacrum, and as a result Leporello displayed a certain tendency toward sly humor.
“The surgery went well?”
“Perfectly.” Hawkins grinned and held up his new arm, fingers waggling. “Mr. Oniburi has requested my company this afternoon.”
“I’ll reschedule the meeting with the East Coast Mutant Council,” Leporello said.
“Good.” Hawkins appreciated the sim’s ability to anticipate his needs. Of course, he had been programmed for that. “Any word from Jasper Saladin?”
“He said to send him more mutants.”
“Hmmm. I’m trying.” Hawkins slid out of bed and began dressing.
“And Hugh Farnam asked for an appointment to see you.”
“Bus Farnam? I thought he was knee deep in printouts at the physics department in Berkeley.”
“I told him you were available Wednesday morning.”
“Fine, Leporello. We’ll be at the Yellow Slipper tea room late this afternoon. Try to manufacture an emergency that, regrettably, requires my presence.”
“One emergency coming up.” Leporello winked and his merry image faded.
***
Rick yawned and stretched. The tight muscles in his neck and arms complained, then gradually unknotted. Aaah. Morning sunlight burst through the threadbare red curtains and dappled the wall above the bed. Beside him, Alanna stirred and muttered in protest as he got up and the jellbed swayed. A late sleeper, Alanna. Just as well. He’d be out the door and gone before she knew it. He wanted to get to work before noon. If Alanna awakened, he might not get there at all.
The charge from the sonic shower made his hair stand on end. Dressed in clean jeans and shirt, he hurried into the kitchen, grabbed a chocolate tofu brownie, and, munching, hurried out the door. Late for work. Not good. Not unusual, either.
The cycle roared to life.
The uneven pavement flew past under the cycle. Rick grinned into the wind. He didn’t understand why so many people turned up their noses at wheeled vehicles. He loved leaving a patch of rubber on
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