Randy’s thoughts were in a whirl. “You’re doing fine, son. I’m proud of you. You’re doing just fine.” So that had been Cobb Anderson. The man who invented the boppers; the first man to have his personality coded up as software. Randy’s great-grandfather! It would be nice to have some long talks with him. And Randy’s dad—Randy’s dad was Willy Taze, the glamorous rebel and genius inventor! Maybe Randy could find Willy in the Nest. Maybe Randy would turn out to be a big somebody like Willy and Cobb!
He moved quickly around his apartment, tossing clothes and mementos into his bag. Willa Jean raced around with him. When the uvvy sounded again, Randy ran to the bedroom and slapped the uvvy onto his neck.
“Yes,” said Jenny. “The ticket’s all set. You’re on a direct flight to San Francisco, leaving at 1 P.M.”
“You think that’s early enough, Jenny? Parvati said she’s gonna uvvy Emperor Staghorn in the afternoon. Did you catch what she said to me about dacoits? When Emperor Staghorn gets the word, they gonna send a gang of thugs after me, girl. Get me an earlier ticket!”
“Randy, before you leave, you have to go in to Emperor Staghorn and make me a complete viddy of how Ramanujan makes a superleech. We’ve found you a smart micro-cam that’ll perch on a hair in your eyebrows. It’s no bigger than a dust mite. You make the viddy and at noon you tell Ramanujan you’re eating lunch in town and go right to Gate 13 at the airport. They’ll have a first-class ticket for you. No sweat!”
“I don’t wanna go to no Emperor Staghorn today, Jenny. It’s too risky.”
“Randy, unless you can get the complete recipe for the superleech, you’re not going to be of all that much use to us.”
“This is still for the Heritagists?”
“Yes, it’s for the Heritagists, but believe it or not, it’s for the loonie moldies too.”
“Bull shit.”
“Is too!” giggled Jenny, crinkling her nose and nodding vigorously. “Mmm-hmmm! You’ll see, Randy Karl Tucker. It’ll be fun in California. You’ll work in Santa Cruz. It’s this funky little beach town an hour south of San Francisco. And you can talk to Cobb Anderson as much as you like. Come on, Randy, don’t be a party pooper. At least let us get you to San Francisco.”
“Oh man. I dunno.”
“I’ve already called a moldie rickshaw for you. He’ll be there in a minute; he’s picking up the micro-cam right now. Let him take you to Emperor Staghorn. He’ll wait there with your suitcase, and you’ll be able to leave the instant you’re ready. Come on, Randy. Pretty please.”
“What all you got lined up for me in Santa Cruz?”
“Well, I really wasn’t supposed to tell you yet, but since we’re such good pals and everything—oh, why not. You’ll be kidnapping moldies and sending them to the Nest. Liberating them, the way the loonie moldies look at it. Moldie repatriation is something the Nest works on with the Heritagists. You’ll be working with a man named Aarbie Kidd.”
“Kidnappin’ moldies’d be easy with superleeches,” mused Randy Karl. “For the Nest? I wouldn’t mind checkin’ out some o’ them moldie California girls. And get in tight with the loonie moldies? I wouldn’t mind that a bit. Hell, oncet I get to know ‘em, I could go to the Nest and see my dad, couldn’t I!”
“All of that, Randy Karl, and more. Is it a deal? The rickshaw’s downstairs.”
“Wait. First I wanna talk to Cobb again.”
“Can do! I’ll patch him right in.”
The uvvy image wavered, and then there was Cobb Anderson. He had a strong wide face with high cheekbones. His hair was sandy and he had a short-cropped white beard. He was imaged in much better resolution than Jenny; he looked almost real, floating there in Randy’s visual cortex. The rich Cobb simulation even included scents and air currents. Cobb smelled comfortable—he smelled like freckles.
“So you’re Willy’s son,” said Cobb. “I’m a little out of sync. I just came back from heaven. All is One in the SUN. I don’t like being run on this asimov machine; I need my own personal hardware.” Cobb paused to channel Randy’s vibe. “So you’re my great-grandson. Yes. I can tell you’ve been hurt. Poor Randy. We can help each other.”
“Cobb, what’s my dad like?”
“Willy’s smart as a whip. A wizard with the cephscope. He saved me and a woman from some racial puritans one time, and he freed a bunch of machines from their asimovs. And I hear that then he—” The old man’s face clouded over. “Stop talking in my head, Jenny, and don’t rush me. Randy, let’s see if you can’t get me off this pathetically inadequate pig machine. Take me to the moldies on the Moon. We’ll make a plan, huh, squirt?”
“Was that you talking to me last night?”
“Yes, Randy. Do you want to hear it again?”
“I surely do.”
“You’re doing fine, son. I’m proud of you. You’re doing just fine. I love you.” Cobb’s pale eyes were kind and wise.
“Thanks, Cobb. Thanks a lot.”
Cobb and Jenny signed off and Randy switched his uvvy attention to Willa Jean. He looked through her eyes and suddenly realized she was usable as a telerobot. He drove her quickly around the nooks and crannies of the kitchen/dining area, pecking up stray crumbs of imipolex and loose nuggets of camote.
“Now, you be ready to hatch that camote back out for me when I ask for it,” Randy told Willa Jean. “Don’t mash it.” Not that he wanted any camote right now, but you never knew.
Randy got Willa Jean to hop into his suitcase and then he closed it up. So now Bangalore was over. Randy gave a heavy sigh. He wandered around the apartment for another minute, taking a last look at the familiar view of the bazaar and the distant hills. How happy he’d been here. If only Parvati had loved him. He walked down the stone steps of the Tipu Bharat, his eyes wet with tears. The waiting rickshaw was shaped like an orange oxcart.
At Emperor Staghorn, Randy found Ramanujan animatedly drinking a large mug of saffron-spiced chai. He’d been working in his office all night.
“How did the superleech work on your girlfriend, Mr. Tucker? Feeling a bit wrung-out today, are we?” Ramanujan rubbed his dirty shiny hands and beamed, not waiting for an answer. “Good, good, good. As it happens, I’ve found a devilishly clever algorithm which rather radically simplifies the superleech manufacturing process. Yes, a rather radical simplification indeed. Look at this beautiful equation!”
Ramanujan indicated some scribbles on a piece of paper on his desk, and Randy leaned over to make sure that his micro-cam got a good view.
“Is that Sanskrit, Sri?”
“I assume it pleases you to jest. The symbols on the left are, of course, integral signs and infinite series, representing a four-dimensional quasicrystal geometry. And the right side of the equation is seventeen divided by the cube root of pi. There’s glory for you. I call it the Tessellation Equation. Beautiful mathematics makes beautiful technology. Let’s go into the clean room so I can show you the tech. But—ah ah!” Ramanujan shook his finger. “First, as always, we scan your reckless head.”
Randy was ready for this. He touched his brow and the micro-cam hopped onto his finger until the brainscan was over. Easy as pie. They suited up and entered the clean room.
“So do we make up some more superleeches today?” asked Randy, sitting down at the nanomanipulator. “I’m rarin’ to go. I’d kind of like you to go through the whole process once again to make sure I got it straight.”