Chapter

 13

Sami stared at her computer screen.  The search engine showed “Sleep – how to stop dreaming.”  Loaded up was a list of several medical web sites.  While clicking through, she picked up the phone and dialed.  “Hi.  Whatcha doin’?  Rehearsing?  Don’t you ever give those diatonics a rest? – ‘Only in the mating season.’ I hope your music is more original than that…  I’m not in a bad mood… just… wait a minute.”  She lay the phone down and jotted down the web site that was now showing bottles of herbs.  The banner read, ‘The holistic way to stop dreaming.’  She noted the over-night delivery and pulled out her credit card, then lifted the phone to her ear again.  “Sorry.  Had to write a note.  So, guy. I think you should break away from that prison cell for a few days.  I have a cabin in the Adirondacks.  Divorce settlement, you know.  This Friday.  Pick you up at noon.  Be ready.”  She hung up and stared at the phone.  She waited.  Damn.  No call back.  She smiled to herself.  I like him. 

Looking back up at the screen, she dialed the ordering number.  Twenty-five bucks for overnight.  There ought to be a law.  “Hi… need some pills.  Overnight… ah, huh.”

                                                       ---

“Jesus, Quill.  Talk about making friends,” said Urian, staring out over the air balloon’s basket he and Quill were VRing.  The rolling hills behind Malibu were spotted with layered clouds.  “Of course, Tito was pissed.  Took me half an hour to get him listening to a full sentence of explanation on Hector taking him to the eye doctor.  He’s still uncomfortable with the idea of an implant, but… ”  He leaned over the edge.  “Hey, how come we’re floating like a feather and the clouds are not moving?  Where’s the updraft and all that…”

“You’re still getting used to VR, Urian.  Anyway, you want it.  It’s yours… ours.  Thought you’d like a few clouds.  You did too.  So, he was pissed, and then what?”

“Then he started thinking, he loves to think, you know, and he said, “Fuck you.”

“Fuck you?” repeated Quill.

“You know what the hell he said.  I’m sure you never slept from the time I left.  How many times did you repeat the scan?”

“Actually, watched it in my sleep.”

“What?”

“You’ll know soon enough.  That London trip was more important than you thought.  So, he was pissed, and then he warmed up, and said, ‘Fuck you’ and proceeded to be your best friend.”

“Yeah.  Just like the recordings I’m sure you’ve looked at a dozen times… how’d you like it when he took me over to Satan and had me watch the horse’s reaction to one of his jokes?”

“Liked Satan’s reaction better.”

“Huh?”

“I had Satan fixed too.  Late night vet call cost me a fortune, but we got a horse now.”

“You got a horse?  What the hell you talking about?”

“All the carriage horses get put in the stables downtown at night.  A little greasing the palm here and there and laying a horse down in the hay for twenty minutes cost me a two-hour middle of the night vet call.  And you think our medical costs are high?”

“Don’t even tell me how you did that, but… you actually have a fucking horse with an implant now?”

“Not a ‘fucking’ horse, Urian.  Tito’s mute pupil.  Started tracking a month ago, and you wouldn’t believe what A-2 has done with the data.  Genius.”

Urian lifted the bottle from the ice bucket.  “Got another one of these?”

Quill smiled and opened the ice chest.  “Got two more of those, and one of these,” as he lifted a full bottle of vodka out as well. 

Urian tilted the champagne bottle to his lips and swigged down the balance.  “You’re going to tell me about all this horse business, right?”

“In due time.  Right now, I want you to see your birthday present.”  He gestured over the top of the basket.  “About a thousand feet below.”

Urian raised up and peered over the edge.  The clouds parted and there was his home in the hills, only this time, Marsha was standing at the back-veranda waving.”

“She sees us?”

“Of course.  While you were away, I arranged a bit of tampering.  Her weekly grocery delivery arrived with a ‘special’ carton of orange juice.”

“You didn’t?”  Urian began waving back.

“Did to.  Of course, I called her and informed her of my surprise.  She drank a hefty glass last night, and one point six billion Nanobots began working.  By tomorrow, she should be ready for the full VR experience.”

Urian reached across and gave Quill a hug, giving the gas jets some emergency reaction.  While the balloon resettled and balanced.  Quill said.  “Getting tired of your horny disposition.  Can’t afford to vacation you, so next best thing, bring her to you.  Tomorrow you link up and take yourself and Marsha for some caviar and good champagne on the West Bank of Paris, eh?  Sound like a deal?”

Urian slumped back down into the basket and chuckled.  “Great age we live in, even with this antiquated mode of travel.”

“Wanna jet out of here?”

Urian raised his arm.  “No.  No.  This is enough magic for the day.”

Quill stood up and popped another bottle of champagne.  “Maybe for today, my friend, but tomorrow… the rabbit in the hat is growing big.  Very big.”  He popped the cork.  “Cheers!  Oh, shit.  The glasses.  Quick!”  They both laughed as clouds engulfed the basket and balloon. 

The gray drifting movement became eerily silent.

                                                      ---

Tito pulled up his collar and wandered out of the subway stop.  Cooler today than last night, he thought.  Winter’s around the corner.

Further down Central Park South, he saw his horse, Satan, standing still, munching the bucket of oats hanging from his bridle.  Dennis, his driver, slumped in his carriage seat, trying to keep from dozing off. 

“Hey, Dennis,” shouted Tito, waving as he approached the usual parking spot of he horse and carriage he called “his.”

Dennis rose up and waved.  “Little late, aren’t you, Tito?”

“Yeah, well, up late last night, and you know how the subways are after midnight.”

Dennis nodded.  “Could use a few winks myself.  Watched “Gone with the Wind” last night… till three this morning.”

Tito shook his head and sat down on the curb, taking an apple from his pocket.  “Sentimentality will be the death of you.”

“No, this hard-assed buckboard will take care of that,” said Dennis.

Tito started to cut the apple and glanced up.  “Hey, you shouldn’t be complainin’ with that cushy seat you’ve got there.”

“My ass is getting’ bonier, you know?  Should have had them add an extra couple of inches of foam.”

Tito reached up and lifted the bucket from Satan’s head.  “Here, old boy, Macintosh.  New crop.  Your favorite.”  The horse took the slice of apple from his hand, shook his mane, and snorted.

Dennis lifted his sleepy head.  “Don’t you be spoilin’ him now.  Them organic apples make him crazy.”

“Crazy for me, you old fart.  You feed him those phony oats and tainted-apples all the time.”

“Hey, not phony.  Just because they’re red all over and no bird holes, doesn’t make them phony.  Besides, at a quarter apiece, beats the hell out of those dollar gold nuggets you feed her.”

Tito sat back down.  “Yeah, well, don’t you lose your beauty sleep over me spoilin’ him with some real food.  I’ll let you know if somebody wants a ride.”

“You’re all heart,” said Dennis as he slipped off the driver’s bench and climbed into the covered passenger seat.

Tito shook his head and smiled as Dennis zipped up the sides and dropped out of view on the seat.  Look at that image.  Something still to be said for the nineteenth century. “Don’t you think so, Satan?”

The horse nodded and whinnied.  “You got more sense than most of us, you know that?  Here, knock yourself out.”  He handed up another slice of apple.  Getting’ too old for this curb stuff.  Bringin’ me a pillow tomorrow.  “Hey, Dennis, you’ll keep a pillow for me, won’t ya?”

Dennis didn’t answer.

“Sleep.  Still something normal left, eh Satan. 

The horse leaned down and nuzzled Tito’s fedora.  “Hey, easy on the hat, big guy.  No more of these around anymore.”  He chewed on a slice of apple and peered out across the street at the hover-cabs lined up for passengers.  “You know, Satan, twenty years ago, we were doin’ just fine.  My books even sold great then, you know… but, look at us.  We left the fast lane behind and went mach.  Hover this and hover that.  Nanobot this, and nanobot that.  How many transplants you had?  I’m workin’ with a lung, a kidney and a prostate that is one hundred percent new.  Probably need to replace the eyes next year.  Not bad for a seventy-eight-year-old, eh?” 

Sadness suddenly took over.  “And that Urian guy has the nerve to ask me if I want to move into The Godard.”  He looked up toward the sky.  “You getting’ this, who ever is watchin’.  Some nerve, that’s right.”  He gestured to his left.  “Nice place, but what the hell would I do with living like that?”  He chuckled to himself.  “Guess whoever, whatever is getting all this doesn’t really know me.”  He looked up at Satan.  “Payin’ for my Washington Heights pad for the next five years isn’t too shabby a negotiation, though.  Not too shabby at all.” 

He paused, and then chuckled.  “Have any idea how funny it is to know that your every move is being recorded?  Like some kind of autopilot, it is.  Doesn’t need maintenance, flies everything I see and hear up, or down, or around, hell I don’t know where it’s going.  You know how weird that is, Satan?”  Another soft whinny came from the horse.  “Sure, you do.  But, hey, guess even the research people got some kind of conscience, you know?  Here, you finish this.”  Tito handed the core of the apple up to Satan. 

“Urian felt kind of bad telling me I’d been fooled into this iris implant, you know?  He felt bad.  Said Hector wanted to tell me himself, but Urian thought, well… there’s that conscience thing again.  That’s what did it, you know.  He sounded like he was really sorry the company never asked me first, you know?  Yeah.  I wanted to be mad, but… what the hell.  There’s a difference in knowing I got something that is really being studied for something, and…”  He nodded up toward the sky.  “Those government satellites watching us for what?  ‘Cause I need profilin’?”  He flipped the bird to the sky.  “Profile this!”  He turned back to Satan.  “Kinda funny.  Orwell wasn’t that far ahead of his time.” 

He looked back at the hover-cabs, now beginning to pick up late afternoon riders coming out of the Essex House and Hampshire.   He wiped his hands, cleaned off the blade of his pocketknife and stood up.  He cradled the horse’s head.  You’ll still love me even if everything I do is bein’ watched, won’t you?”

Satan glanced down at Tito, followed by a nuzzle. 

“You know who the treat man is, don’t you?”  Tito pressed his cheek close to the horse.  “You’re probably gonna be a horse longer than I’m gonna be a man.  You know?  Why don’t we want to die, anyway?  Gotta be okay, really.  Why do we have to be half man half robot, huh?  ‘Cause we know we can, that’s why.  ‘Cause we know we can.”  The whoooosh of the cab passed him, bringing his eyes down to the ground and the dried leaves set stirring around his feet.  “Pretty soon… pretty soon, Satan, won’t be any leaves ‘cause there won’t be any trees.”  He shook off the momentary lament and sat back down, taking out his script.  “You wanna help me with this?  You’re always a good audience, you know.”

Quill’s hand passed over the infrared mouse, changing the POV on his screen to that of the horse. 

Tito’s words continued over the picture.  “Well,” said Tito, “I’m gettin’ into this now, you know?  Feels… natural.  The dialog feels like I could be sayin’ it for real.  Kinda weird when you start to feel like the character.  Guess that’s what theatre actors go through all the time.  All the time.  So, here we go.  You out there, yeah, you the audience, stop, look and listen, ‘cause if you don’t, it’s all gonna be gone and you’ll be wonderin’ where it all went.  That chip you’ve got in your head, your heart, your kidney, and for those of you really in trouble, the one in your privates, well, how long do you really…”

He thumbed through the pages.  “Damn, thought I had that memorized, but… ah, here it is...”  He mouthed a few words, then closed the script and looked up again.  “…your privates, well, how long do you really think you’re gonna be satisfied with that before you want something else.  They got a new thing now.  Beats sex, they say.  Yeah… comin’ first quarter of 2029, they say.  Now, don’t you ask me what it is, ‘cause I don’t’ know.  But, it’s comin’.  Wouldn’t be the twenty-first century if it wasn’t.  Wouldn’t be the age of New World party candidate, Ahmad Brown, and his sex hatin’ turban buddies, would it?”