“Michael,” she said, as she stroked the side of my face with one of her dove-grey gloved hands. She looked down shyly.
“Excuse me,” said Joelene leaning in, “ten more seconds.”
I asked, dismayed.
Leaning in, Nora put her mouth beside my ear. I thought she was going to kiss me goodbye, but she said, “Someone is trying to keep us apart.”
Her words surprised me.
“Someone close.”
Her words caused a shiver to pass through me. “Could someone close be keeping us apart?” I asked my advisor.
“We can’t stay on the system,” she said, glancing toward the camera in the corner of the room. “We must go.”
Nora said, “Be careful, Michael.”
I wanted to grasp her, maybe even pick her up and run. I wanted to take us somewhere where we would never be found.
“It’s time,” said Joelene.
Nora hugged me again. She said, “Light is falling.”
All the way to Kobehaba, where we were to meet Father for the wrap-party, I sat slumped in my Loop car seat. As much as I had been alive when with her, now I felt dead apart.
“It was Father,” I said, not looking up. “He’s trying to keep us apart. He hates what I’ve become, and he hates her.”
“As yet,” Joelene said, while monitoring her screen, “there’s no evidence to support that theory.” Her eyes met mine. “However, I do not mean that it can be completely ruled out either.”
“He did it!” I said, sure. “This is his revenge for when I quit dancing. He made it so I couldn’t be with Nora. He did this!”
Joelene didn’t reply. A moment later, her eyes latched onto something on one of her screens. She turned it toward me and increased the volume. Intellectuals and Soup was on again.
“Unequivocally,” said Bow Tie, “it was Michael Rivers.”
They played a system video of Nora hugging me in my goggles and jumpsuit from the SunEcho only minutes before.
“They found us?” I asked, surprised.
“Impossible!” scoffed Iron Bra from behind her glass bowl. “I’ve just checked the history from the channel cameras in the elevators and the stairs of the MonoBeat. He wasn’t there. He could not have gotten from SpecificMotor to the SunEcho in time. What we’re seeing is some sort of theater.”
“I don’t believe so,” said Pink Hat thoughtfully, stirring a new bowl of soup. “It is Michael. And that’s Nora. Just look at the sensuality of their kiss. It’s palpable and pungent. They are sharing a final moment together. I feel sorry for them and their companies. Certainly with that power, the union of RiverGroup and MKG would have been strong, authoritative, and commanding.”
“When she took your goggles off,” said Joelene, as she snapped off the screen, “your disguise was compromised. I’m not surprised we were discovered, but I thought it wouldn’t be for a day or two.” She shook her head slowly. “We should have found a place off the system.” Leaning back on her chair, she touched her fingertips together, and said, “This is trouble.”
A moment later, the car entered the garage of the building where the wrap-party was, and as we headed up in the turbofan-powered elevator, operated by a woman in a violet hoop skirt and bonnet, I asked, “Does Father watch that Soup show?”
“Doubtful. But other channels will surely be speculating soon, so I suggest we make this as short a visit as possible.”
“I’m telling him that I know what he did,” I said. “He let shoot me because he hates me.”
“Michael,” she said, quietly, “we don’t have evidence to prove his involvement. I appreciate your ambition to confront him, but don’t advise it now.”
When the bonnet woman pulled a huge iron lever and the doors opened, I had to squint and cover my ears. Screeching music played and patterns of light flashed in all directions. The floor vibrated an agitated violet. All over the place, screens played over-saturated snippets of Ültra epics.
A hostess with heavy dark eye makeup, white lips, and a tube in her right nostril led us in. All the swirling colors, signs, and screens were giving me a headache. I closed my colored eye, but still the place blinked and vibrated like a hundred electrical storms.
Partiers, in all manner of Ültra costume, waved and remarked as we passed.
– She’s hotrod!
– Loved her furry tits!
– Bereave her tail!
– Billion times better!
– Subtract her and abstract her. Turn her and burn her!
Keeping my eyes straight ahead, I ignored them and their words and ridiculous lyrics. Meanwhile, I wondered if Joelene was right. If I did accuse him, all he would do was deny it and scream louder than I ever could.
We came before a large, round table made out of a fresh redwood stump with the RiverGroup logo carved on top. Father sat with his back against the window that looked out onto the sparkling lights of the port city. His chocolate cake Afro was fluffier than ever. Around his neck he wore a green ruff, and his enormous jacket was covered with wet hunter-green paint. Stuffed in the breast pocket was what looked like a cut of raw pork and a black rubber
His girls sat on either side. A blonde wore blue foil. A redhead was covered with tar. One wore blinking sequins and nothing else. A brunette looked like the Frix bikini girl from the date. The last was decorated with yellow icing like a birthday cake. The word unhappy was written across her chest with blue.
“There’s our cunt Romeo!” said Father. As he stood and started around the table, he pointed left to right. “These are my girls: Conni, Penni, Hunni, and Benni.” He stopped, pretended to suck a thumb, and spoke like a lisping baby, “All the wittle spaceships of cunt!” He guffawed so hard I feared he might cough up his spleen.
As he finished coming around, I noticed that whatever his jacket touched got smeared with green paint. “Close-up!” he said to his film crew, then proceeded to throw his arms around me.
“Get off!” I said, pushing him away. His jacket left stains on my hands, but not on my suit.
“The stock is up!” he said, pumping his fist. “You were still dull, but she was great, right girls?” The women rang in with approvals.
“If you don’t mind,” said Joelene, “we would like to retire. We’re both very—”
“What’s the matter?” interrupted Father. “You just got here! Come on! Have a drink! We’ve got some very lard car-rot juice.” He then put his face before mine and breathily sang, “Welcome to my fermented intestinal garden!”
His breath was like compost. “You smell!” I said, leaning back.
Father thought that hilarious. Whipping around he said, “Ken-baby! O keeper of digits… what were the magical and astounding ratings?”
Ken, who sat beside the birthday cake girl, glanced at a small glowing screen and answered, “The magical and astounding ratings were twenty-one point seven, sir!”
“Twenty-fucking-one-point-fucking-seven!” howled Father. “Is that a ”