Malltown Page 3

  Together, Roxy and Peggy watched the rectangular Factor Grippy Rover.

  At first, there was the sheep. 55,555 stood alone. A minute passed. Two minutes. The screen’s timer flashing the seconds. A third minute. The top of the inverted triangle head of Petunia-Glass’ robot passed by, near the edge of the screen, then out of view.

  “When’s something going to happen?” asked Roxy.

  “There,” said Peggy. Did you see it?”

  The sheep walked under the table. Ten seconds passed. Petunia-Glass entered the room in a black, form fitting sensor suit and still in her Qwammys, her slip-on runners. She looked like an artist’s rendering of a blackened potato. The angle of the camera showed the top of her head. She looked this way and that. Went to the table. Bent to look under the table at the sheep. Went to the field door and looked out. Turned back.

  “That’s it?” asked Roxy.

  “Here, let me tug it back,” said Peggy. She dragged her finger across the screen. The scene reversed. Peggy tugged the scene back to just before the moment the sheep walked under the table. “There, did you catch that?”

  Roxy shook her head.

  “Let me slow it down.” Peggy tugged the footage back and tapped three times. The footage slowed. For a long moment the sheep stood in the center of the room.

  Roxy squinted at the footage. “Nothing yet.”

  “Wait,” said Peggy.

  The sheep’s back dipped. The sheep’s eyes opened wider. The sheep walked under the table.

  “There, did you see that?”

  “I saw it,” said Roxy. “Looked like it burped or farted and surprised itself.”

  Peggy frowned. “Maybe.”

  Roxy took another glass from a tray on the counter and picked up her towel. She began drying. “Maybe Petunia-Glass thinks someone tried to take the sheep. But even if she’s convinced herself, it may not be the real reason. A part of her probably wants you to hold onto the sheep until its wool grows back.”

  Peggy looked down at 55,555. 55,555 looked up at her. Stared. Peggy said, “You mean she’s tired of taking care of it?”

  “Uh-huh,” said Roxy. “Have you checked out who’s been using a Shyster?” A suit of adaptable camouflage.

  “Not yet.” Peggy turned back to her breakfast. She wondered about 55,555. Was she looking at her like that because she was hungry? Or maybe the sheep stared all the time like that. At whoever got her spray. Maybe Petunia-Glass really did want to be rid of the sheep and the sheep had merely burped or farted. Maybe the sheep startled itself so it walked under the table. But 55,555 being a gift from Petunia-Glass’ daughter. Not many mothers gave away their daughter’s gifts. Of course, if she intended to get the sheep back after her wool had grown in… Peggy pushed her fork into a mass of egg and hash. She’d check on the Shyster suits. She had to be in that area anyway.

  Roxy sighed and leaned on the counter. She opened her palm. A small flame with a face stepped out and walked across the counter, and back into Roxy’s palm. Back and forth, the flame walked. “Maybe it’s karma,” said Roxy.

  Peggy watched the small flame. “You mean for not picking one?”

  The flame walked back to Roxy’s palm.

  “You’ve got to be the last adult in Malltown without a companion.” Roxy watched her flame head back into her palm.

  Peggy shrugged. “I haven’t felt the need for the process.”

  “And now you’ve got a sheep,” said Roxy.

  “Nothing wrong with a sheep,” Peggy defended. She bit into her toast.

  “No, nothing wrong with a sheep,” said Roxy, “if it’s really your companion.”

  “Maybe it is,” said Peggy. She looked down at 55,555.

  “But a real sheep won’t have the three forms,” said Roxy. She blocked the flame with her other hand and the flame turned back and headed for her palm.

  “Three forms, three forms,” Peggy spoke around her toast. “That’s what everyone says when they talk about their companions. They say, wait until you see its three forms. Then you’ll understand. But no one will ever tell me their three forms.”

  “Three forms,” said Roxy, watching her flame walk back out of her palm. “The secret in plain sight. The truth. And the convention.”

  “I know that part.” Peggy watched the flame slip back into Roxy’s hand. Roxy closed her hand over the small, smiling fire. Snuffing her secret in plain sight.

  END OF CHAPTER THREE

  Chapter 4

  After breakfast, Peggy left Roxy’s, walked between the kiosks and arrived at the bimpercars, which made way for Peggy as she crossed through them.

  Up the long length of Malltown, Peggy could see bimpercars starting to load with passengers, easing into their seats, strapping in. Bimpercars beginning their slow ride up and down Malltown in easy lines. In a game she liked to play, Peggy guessed the time. By the quality of light entering through the huge solar glass dome over Malltown, the white light flatness of Malltown’s ceiling sunlamps which remained on to compensate the gray day, to the quality of traffic at the bimpercars, Peggy guessed 8:05 AM. She checked her watch—8:07 AM. Close.

  Peggy looked back at the bimpercars she had recently waded through. 55,555 remained on the other side. 55,555 had stopped at the line of bimpercars she must cross in order to leave the kiosk area and follow Peggy.

  55,555 took a step forward. A bimpercar shunted aside for her. 55,555 took a step back. 55,555 looked up at Peggy, standing on the other side of the bimpercars, and stepped forward. A bimpercar shunted aside. 55,555 sped quickly through the bimpercars. As bimpercars moved aside, 55,555’s back swung in an irregular motion as a bimpercar dodged away.

  Peggy looked down at 55,555, “You ready?” 55,555 stood beside her. She headed up Malltown. Around Peggy, white doors whooshed. Malltowners coming out of their white, curved homepods. Those on higher levels descended a narrow stair off to the side of each upper tier homepod. Peggy strode with a firm step. 55,555’s hooves clicked on the smooth concrete. Malltowners and robots buzzing past. Peggy enjoyed the smell of Malltown at this time in the morning. Brisk, bright; the scent of field doors opening, sending a breeze through homepods, the faint citrus scent of organic cleanser and spray from the discus-shaped overnight cleaning robots, the scent of breakfasts grilling within the kiosks, specialty cakes and breads removed steaming hot from printers.

  Peggy looked down at 55,555, who kept up a brisk pace. But despite the strong effort, 55,555 remained a step behind. A Pwamster Robot wheeled forward. Its three globed, snowperson form veered. With precise timing it avoided 55,555. At this event, 55,555 turned her head sharply to look at the Pwamster Robot, four legs hurrying. 55,555 couldn’t know that it wasn’t a close call. It had probably felt like a near collision to 55,555. Peggy wondered if Petunia-Glass had ever taken the sheep into Malltown proper. To Peggy, it appeared that 55,555 was unaccustomed to these surroundings.

  Two women in coveralls, in #5 vending machine haircuts like Peggy’s—their eyes found the sheep. The two women looked back up at Peggy with a smile. Peggy smiled back. She knew their names although they had never met.

  At fifty paces Peggy passed a person who stood outside of a homepod and danced. “I’m going to commodify this,” told the woman in coveralls to a passerby of the horrible dance.

  “What’s it for?” asked the passerby.

  “Lunch party!” the dancing woman said and sang badly. Not even words. Carowling like a cat, the woman performed her horrible dance and held out her Community Rover for a passing bump. A grinning Malltowner ran forward, arm extended, her Malltown Community Rover in her hand for a bump. “Good luck!”

  “Thanks!” said the dancing woman, dancing on. The points themselves were just a form of exchange. All Malltown Rovers came equipped with basic capabilities like bumping, accumulating points, and full access to Malltown’s closed network of ad-free internet. Each day, every ten seconds, Malltown’s main computer server was required by the U.S. Government to receive a complet
e, ad-free stream of all internet content from around the globe. This internet content was then filtered through a second computer server which closed the system. This computer server, once it had disentangled from the outside world, removed all malware from the ad free internet material and then sent the material to a third computer for further cleaning, and a Malltown encryption. The Malltown community then received this information on their Rovers and on their walls and within their VR cylinders, AR and on and on. The entire process took thirty seconds. If one wanted to speak to someone outside of Malltown, realtime, or see advertisements, there were computer vending machine terminals for that, specially designed for such practices, located near the coverall cubbies. Or one could simply maintain a city gadget as it arrived, out of the box, and thus had not been adjusted for Malltown.

  Malltowners had begun to crowd forward, giving the dancing woman a bump and chatting. Easy to make points in Malltown. Peggy sucked at her gums, where toast got stuck, settled her tongue back behind her teeth. Peggy exhaled and put her hands on her hips, continued forward. Peggy and 55,555 in Malltown Center, Left Corridor. A Malltown pretty much awoken.

  Peggy watched a Malltowner with a borrowed child head past the bimpercars and into the kiosks. The college-aged man and the five year old spoke animatedly and Peggy heard the child shout, “And cotton candy!”

  A pregnant person walked past Peggy. The woman smiled down at 55,555. Peggy kept her eyes from lingering on her unusual belly too long. Most people chose not to have babies personally. Or if they did, had them removed from their bodies after a week or a month—whatever, really—and put into a Poddle BabyRumper in the baby section of Malltown—the incubators at Childwing. Afterward, the donor could track their kid as much as they liked. But most people, if they were that interested, and willing to have 24/7 cameras on them, just got to know a kid at random. It was seen as the more humane thing to do.

  Peggy could still recall living in the Children’s Sector. A dream-like place. Peggy could see the PlushTown Baby Nursing Robots, with their big, plush ten arms and 360-degree cushion-around laps for the children to gather on. PlushTown Baby Nurse Robots holding court in the VR kindergarden, leading the children in singing nonsense songs. Surrounded by the Everything Soft Scope jungle animal babies program—sitting in a circle around a campfire after everyone had voted “Moon”.

  Before long, Peggy arrived at the coveralls dispensary. Peggy didn’t use her home fabricator for much, preferring to pick up her coveralls from the dispensary. The coveralls dispensary, located between homepods, consisted of a series of cubby shelves lined with folded coveralls, organized to size. Peggy headed to her size section, an area she knew by rote, and removed ten pairs of coveralls. Since she didn’t have her robot with her she would need a bag, so she got that too. During the process of procuring her coveralls, 55,555 remained close to Peggy’s left leg and frequently bumped against her. When Peggy stood still, 55,555 leaned against her leg.

  Beside the coveralls dispensary lay a long bank of vending machines for various purposes, such as haircuts, outside internet, up-to-date fashions from the city, and other such things. It was between the coveralls and the banks of vending machines that more unusual items lay stacked in cubbies, which stood open, their contents ready for the taking. Hats, VR sensor suits, Qwammys and other footwear, Shysters. Peggy stood before the cubby full of folded Shysters—particularly, Covop Secreshy Shysters, Model 9. She reached out and felt one. Soft, thin jumper material. As she did so, she felt something against her leg. She looked down: 55,555 leaned against her leg. She took a Shyster out and held it with both hands, letting it fall open. Looked small. She pulled—it stretched very easily. Might even be one size fits all. Peggy folded the Shyster and replaced it on the stack of Shysters. From deep within her coveralls, Peggy extracted her Grippy Rover and gave the cubby’s sensor a bump.

  As a Grippy, Peggy had access, on her Factor Grippy Rover, to information ordinary Malltown Citizens did not. For example, the face-recognition-built list of names for who had taken a Shyster from its cubby. None of the coverall cubbies required sensors, but it only made sense to Peggy, and to other Malltowners, to require a face recognition sensor for a cubby full of Shysters.

  “Hmm,” Peggy scrolled through the list. Most were old, and had returned their Shysters. “Ah, here,” said Peggy to herself. The list of Malltowners who had taken out Shysters and not yet returned them. Peggy scrolled through the list. Most of them appeared to be longtime Shyster users, perhaps using Shysters to walk unnoticed through Malltown, or placing Shysters over their VR sensor suits for an extra layer of protection against being discovered by fellow players in a game—everyone had long ago learned how to upset the plans of their fellow players and so it could be useful to bring in RR—real reality or real world—tech that could not be tampered with. Of course, if someone had purchased a Shyster from the city Peggy would have no way of knowing.

  One name jumped out at Peggy. “Sandy-Grass,” Peggy said aloud. Now she had taken a Shyster only yesterday and had yet to return it. Peggy scrolled. And Peggy couldn’t see where Sandy-Grass had taken a Shyster before. Her first Shyster, Peggy thought. Why start now? The pressure against Peggy’s leg had grown heavier. A pressure, sharp, against the top of her foot felt suspiciously like a hoof. Peggy looked down at 55,555. 55,555’s eyes had shut. “She’s asleep on her feet,” said Peggy to herself. Peggy slipped her Grippy Rover back into her coveralls, lifted her bag of fresh coveralls from a randomly situated plastic chair where she’d placed them.

  Peggy looked down at the sleeping sheep and exhaled. She realized it had had no breakfast. She had forgotten to feed it. Plus the walk—may not be used to it. Peggy imagined herself lifting the sheep and placing the sheep into her bag of coveralls for the trip back to her homepod.

  She did just that.

  :::SECTION BREAK:::

  Home Pod 1492, Sector 4. The door to Peggy’s homepod whooshed open. Her new Pwamster I Can Learn Robot stood in the center of the small white room with curved walls. On top of the Pwamster Robot’s globe-like, solid white head rested some sort of hat. Behind the Pwamster Robot the field door lay open, emitting a gray, rainy daylight and the sight of a carpet of green grass, wet and dark green, distant forest, and the slight, far off rear hump of a domed structure similar to Malltown but smaller. Around the Pwamster Robot stood an easily moved couch and two chairs, both white, and made of a vegetable matter resembling leather. Along the empty, plastic coated, shiny white walls a silver handle could be seen, here and there.

  Peggy stepped inside and inhaled. The room smelled fresh and inviting.

  “Good Morning Grippy Peggy,” said the Pwamster Robot. “Did you go to Roxy’s kiosk and if so, did you greet Franny 2-9 Robot for me?”

  “Good morning, and no, I meant to but I forgot, sorry.” Peggy put down her bag of coveralls on the couch. The brown canvas bag shifted. It bulged in places before tipping. 55,555 spilled onto the couch. Legs splayed, her chin on the cushion, neck stretched. 55,555 righted herself quickly on the plush material. Her hooves sunk and resunk as she adjusted.

  The Pwamster Robot turned her snowperson-like body to face the couch. Her oval eyes flashed twice. She wheeled forward a pace and stopped. Her eyes flashed twice. “What have you brought home, Grippy Peggy?”

  Peggy sat on a chair with a sigh. She hit the heels of her sneakers on the floor and they unlaced. She kicked them off. “It’s Petunia-Glass’ sheep. She’s asked me to keep it for her while I investigate her Burble.”

  The Pwamster Robot headed around the couch, wheels racing. She stopped, bumping into the cushion and her body swayed a fraction. Upon the impact, the couch cushion shunted and 55,555’s legs wobbled. The Pwamster Robot’s large, vegetable plastic eyes flashed twice. She extended a thin metal arm. “May I touch her?”

  Peggy stretched out on the chair and yawned. “Sure,” she said through her yawn. She thought about pulling down the wall bed for a quick nap. Or heading to the VR cylinder
to lay down.

  The Pwamster Robot reached out so that her metal fingers hovered over 55,555’s head. 55,555 looked up at the Pwamster Robot. The Pwamster Robot’s long digits flexed. The robot reached down, her hard fingers touched the top of 55,555’s head. 55,555’s head dipped gently upon the impact.

  55,555 stepped forward and fell off the couch.

  The Pwamster Robot turned. Her eyes flashed.

  55,555 straightened her legs. She stepped over to where Peggy lay sprawled. 55,555 stood beside her.

  The Pwamster Robot retracted her arms until only her three smooth-form orbs remained. “She doesn’t want me to pet her.” The Pwamster Robot beeped alarmingly. She opened her half moon mouth. Her head parting in a clam shell manner. A human voice shouted out of her head. A small three dimensional person appeared. “Peggy where are you?” said the small woman. Her image flickered. “We’re about to start.” She wore beige coveralls and had on AR—augmented reality—glasses.

  Peggy bolted upright in her chair. “The Treasure Hunt. I forgot all about it!” She pressed her hands over her face, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She dropped her hands and exhaled. “I had a Burble.”

  “Anything bad?”

  “Not too. Listen Meg, I’m wiped—”

  “That’s what you said the last time,” said Meg.

  “I know, but I need the rest. Next time, okay? Count me in.” Peggy knew there’d be heavy drug taking, drinking and general nonsense far into the night. She’d end exhausted—even if she didn’t partake in insundry imbibbers. AR Games—people ran around, robots wheeled around, spinning, everyone acting crazy into the night. Malltown’s lights would change colors and strobe, kiosks would go all out, and so on.

  The small form crossed her arms. “This is getting to be a habit, Peggy. People are beginning to forget what you look like.”