Chapter 9
HARV switched the program and the tri-breasted woman was replaced by the image of young, scantily clad mother feeding her baby in a city park on a cloudless summer day.
“Are you sure this is the right video?” I asked.
“Hush,” Randy insisted. “This is science.”
I turned my attention back to the holo-program. A huge creature that looked like a hideous tree with arms, legs and a mouth suddenly ripped through the serene scene, terrorizing the park patrons. Two city law enforcement officers tried to stop the creature but it turned upon them and (graphically) tore them apart with its arm-like tendrils.
“A little gory, isn’t it, Randy?” I said, turning away.
“I like my simulations to be realistic,” Randy answered, totally engrossed in the work. “This way when I’m done, my backers can run the programs on their network. It helps offset the cost of the R&D. Besides, kids love this stuff.”
I turned my attention back to the holo-show. The killer tree creature was now turning toward the beautiful young mother. The terrified woman, baby in arms, tried to run but she tripped over a piece of a dismembered law officer and fell to the ground, twisting her ankle in the process.
The background music increased to a feverishly annoying pitch as the creature moved its slavering jaws toward the young woman and her child.
Copbots arrived on the scene and attacked the creature, but their bullets and blasters bounced harmlessly off its thick hide. Angry now, the creature uprooted a tree and swung it like a bat, smashing the copbots into rubble, before again turning its attention back to the helpless young mother.
Suddenly (and literally from out of nowhere), a computer-simulated version of me fell from the sky, landing dramatically between the monster and the mom.
The words: “Computer simulation. Do not attempt this at home,” flashed under the picture.
“Legal insisted I put that in,” Randy said, a trifle bitterly.
“How the DOS did I fall from the sky?” I asked.
“Artistic license,” Randy insisted. “Now pay attention. This is the educational part,” he said pointing to the screen.
I watched in amazement as the simulated Zach popped his simulated gun into his simulated hand. “Time to put you on ice, bud!” he spat.
“Come on, I would never say anything that spammy!” I insisted.
“Your agent wrote your dialog,” Randy said.
“That’s comforting.”
Computer Zach fired. The gun belched a puff of gray smoke, and the shot echoed endlessly as the Big Chill emerged from the gun barrel and flew (very slowly) towards the creature.
“Of course, it moves much faster than that in real time,” Randy explained. “I put the slow-mo in for effect, to build suspense.”
Big Chill hit the tree creature with a less than inspiring “thud,” shattering on impact. A tiny puff of white mist appeared, which the tree creature seemed to laugh at. The laughter faded quickly, though, as the mist expanded rapidly and, like a living thing, engulfed the creature. A nano passed, then two, before the mist dissipated. When it did, the tree creature was frozen solid, encased in a block of ice.
“The Big Chill,” Randy said proudly. “Get it?”
“Very clever, Randy.”
Back on the holo-screen, computer Zach helped the poor mother to her feet (the sequence included a gratuitous shot of the woman’s well sculpted cleavage). “Teenage boys love that stuff,” Randy explained). My computer-self very sensitively kissed the baby in her arms. The mother, overcome with emotion, kissed me and then handed the baby to a nanny (who happened to be right there), fell into my arms, blah, blah, blah, pan to ocean waves crashing on the beach (you get the idea). Fade to black.
“So what do you think?” Randy asked.
“I thought it was quite good,” HARV said, unable to resist the opportunity to offer his opinion. After all, he had been silent for almost two solid minutes.
“Frankly, Randy, I think you need to get out of the lab more often,” I said. “You’re starting to scare me.”
Randy popped open the handle of my gun, pulled a computer chip from the complex innards and tossed it on the floor. He took a new chip from the pocket of his labcoat and placed it in the handle.
“I’ve also improved the interface between HARV and the gun itself,” he said. “Give me your ammo.”
I hesitated.
“Zach, I can make a warhead out of what’s growing in your refrigerator. You can trust me with a loaded gun.”
I reluctantly handed him the ammo and said a silent prayer.
Randy loaded the gun and then hefted its weight, checking the feel (even though I was pretty certain that he had no idea what a well-balanced gun should feel like).
“How about giving it back to me now?” I asked sheepishly. The idea of Randy Pool waving a loaded gun around is one of the more vivid images from my nightmares.
“Don’t worry,” Randy said, noticing my concern. “I think the safety’s on.”
Needless to say, the gun went off.