“Done and done. But listen, Jake, it’s not that this person is likely to show up at the shoot. The studio there has everything in hand. It’s just that, well, y’know, Evvie might tell you she’s going somewhere, when actually...”
“Yes, I know.” It’s called behaving like a teenager, you twit. Oh, well. Better not endanger this meal ticket. “Don’t worry, Sid. We’ll go down, she’ll do this shoot, we’ll teleport back up, and immediately head for the next stop on the tour.”
Sid flashed a thumb up on the screen. “Jake, you the rocket. Later.”
Jake smiled to Sid, but as soon as the screen went dark he said, “And you’re the asteroid field.” He let out an exasperated breath. “Odin, put the ship into auto-control mode. Standard surface drill.”
“All systems are functioning at prime levels, so there shouldn’t be any problems. If something does occur, I’ll contact you.”
“As long as it’s something you can’t handle.”
“Of course.”
Jake tapped the intercom keypad. “Evvie, it’s about time to teleport down.”
“’Kay.”
“I’ll be coming with you this time.”
“Oh, Jake...”
“Look, I’m not thrilled, either. But orders are orders.”
“Geez, it’s not like I’m dating Mac.”
I knew it. “Look, either Sid and your mother have your best interests at heart, or they have your image to consider. If I don’t follow orders, I could lose this job, or even get sued. So don’t complain to me. Be in the teleport room in five minutes.”
“Awright.”
Jake let out another exasperated breath. “Odin, don’t ever agree to let another agent on this ship ever again.”
“Only if you promise to follow my guidelines for your personal finances.”
Jake let out a strangled cry of frustration.
***
Ten minutes later Jake was watching Evvie get ready to shoot her infomercial. He was somewhat surprised that the process was to start so quickly. He had assumed that time would be spent before getting Evvie into the proper outfit, a professional would apply her makeup, and the director would take everyone through a rehearsal. As it turned out, however, most of these details had been worked out before Skuld had even gotten into orbit. Evvie’s lines had been sent to her days ago, along with her outfit and makeup. The whole thing had been worked out with video software in advance. All everyone had to do now was show up and hit their marks.
Jake idly wondered why even that was necessary. An audience could be digitized; the scenes with Evvie and the host could be shot in holorooms; and the whole program stitched together with editing software. An instant later the answer came to him: image. Doing it that way might seem too crafted, and that might undermine how Evvie was being portrayed to the public. She was the nice girl parlaying her talents into a pleasant, inspirational sort of fame. She couldn’t be too heavily marketed, because that could undermine her good-girl image.
Think about something else, a voice in his head told Jake, this is starting to give me a headache.
Jake tried to focus on what was going on around him. The recording of the infomercial had just gotten underway. The theme was not Evvie’s music, but instead something called a “Full Teen Beauty System.” There weren’t just the usual mix of beauty products being shilled, but also a line of clothes, shoes, accessories, and even personal data devices. Apparently, it wasn’t enough to look good; there was a whole package to be purchased.
Or as Evvie put in not more than thirty seconds into it, “For the gal who wants to be spiffest of the spiff.” Not look, but be.
When he’d first heard that she was doing an infomercial, Jake thought he’d misheard something. The last he knew they had fallen out of favor again. They had become what they had been when the concept was first created, a tool for mediocre products sold by has-beens or never-will-bes. But no, he was assured, the infomercial was back in vogue. At least that’s what the market research firm Evvie’s distributor had told them. So here she was, doing what not too long ago would have been beyond unhip.
As Evvie and the informercial’s host ran through their spiel, Jake looked over the array of products that composed Evvie’s “system.” He couldn’t help but notice right away that everything was colored the brightest hues. Teal, mild lavender, electric orange, and spring green predominated, with pink holding supremacy over the lot. He idly wondered if such shades wouldn’t be out of season. Even if it took only a month to put everything together, editing, special effects, and all the rest, the infomercial wouldn’t begin running until September. If the production wasn’t lucky, it might be November before the spot began airing.
Well, I guess it doesn’t really matter, he thought after additional consideration. The colonized areas of some worlds will be in spring, others in summer. Some that would have been in one season will be in a different one, due to planetary orbits and rotation. And on a few worlds “season” is just a calendar thing.
Hold on a sec. If on most worlds the calendar and the seasons don’t match up, why stick with it? Convenience? Sure, makes sense. But why keep the local calendar same as Earth standard?
Jake glanced up. Shooting had halted for a moment as Evvie and the host moved from a display counter to talk-show styled chairs. He took out his perscomp and tapped it on. He removed the pen, not wanting to disrupt the crew by speaking his query. He scribbled his question on the screen and waited for an answer. It came in form of an entry in the popular annual publication of odd historical and social miscellany, “Stupid But True.”
“Calendar confusion from planet to planet drives most intelligent people crazy,” the entry began. “The Earth-Standard calendar may say it’s June, but on the world you happen to land on, it’s snowing up blizzard. The next time this confusion grips you, blame the greeting-card industry for your sad state.
“When authorities began to allow colonization of worlds beyond Earth, there was discussion of allowing local folks to add or subtract months so that their perception of the time of the year wouldn’t be off. However, the greeting-card industry earned vast sums from people sending nice things to each other at certain times of the year, whether an old-fashioned hardcopy card or a multimedia digital file. The industry lobbied hard against any local calendar changes, claiming that subtraction of any month might adversely affect their revenues. They cited the precedent that, when the European powers colonized part of Earth’s southern hemisphere, they used their calendar, even though the southern seasons were the reverse of the northern seasons.
“A few anti-corporate activists attempted to counter this lobbying by saying that calendar issues should be decided by local citizens. These activists failed partly because they didn’t have economic clout. Mostly, however, they failed because, in attacking this industry, they appeared humorless and unsympathetic. Even normally skeptical commentators mocked the so-called ‘card-carrying card-burners’ and their crusade.
“So in addition to the smarmy ‘Happy Holidays’ song files your Aunt Bland always sends, you can add this to your list of reasons to dislike greeting-card corporations.”
After digesting this news for a moment, Jake asked himself, Why am I not surprised?
He waited calmly as shooting carried on. After he put his perscomp in his pocket, he noticed that similar devices were part of Evvie’s system. It wasn’t that surprising; after all, if a girl was to be “spiffest of the spiff,” she’s have plenty of data to manage and files to access and share. What did get his attention was they resembled low-end models that most people tried to avoid buying unless necessary.
Why would that cheap junk be part of this system? he wondered. Presumably being the spiffest means buying the best brands.
When shooting paused again, Jake’s curiosity got the best of him. He wandered over to the display counter. He signaled to one of the producers, who was at his side in an instant.
“A problem, Mister Bonner?”
&
nbsp; “No. I was just wondering, why this brand of portables? They aren’t a name brand. I thought for sure Evvie would endorse a name like everything else.”
The producer gave Jake an expression of bland disinterest. “This was the only manufacturer willing to comply with the standards set for design and shading. The others wanted us to comply with their standards.”
“Ah. Thanks.”
In other words, only this firm was desperate enough to redesign their crap to get Evvie’s stamp of approval.
Jake wandered back to his spot in the corner of the studio to watch the end of the shoot. Up to that point he had questions, but no real surprises. Everything had been either what he’d expected or what, upon reflection, could have been expected. So he was genuinely surprised by the final exchange between the “host” and Evvie.
“Now, Evvie, I’m sure your fans want to know how you chose the products that compose your Full Teen Beauty System.”
Evvie managed in the course of her reply to do a fair impression of a young woman imparting important information. “Well, Carol, I’m pleased to tell you, and you out there watching, that everything was brought before me after first undergoing a rigorous selection process.” Evvie kept speaking into a camera, even though she was clearly narrating a sequence. “Every product went to a panel of teens, just like you. Nothing went through unspiff adults. These teens rated everything for looks, ease of use, price, and for how they fit into my system. Finally, I tried everything out myself. After all, I couldn’t put by name on anything that I didn’t like.”
“Sounds like a lot of work, Evvie.” The host managed to do a good impression of someone interested and surprised with what her guest was saying. It was, of course, an act; her statement was merely the signal to end a narrated sequence.
“It was. But we did it that way so my fans can believe in this system. It wasn’t created on the spur of the moment. Nothing was thrown together.”
“Y’know, the old saying is, ‘A system is only as good as the parts that make up that system.’”
“That’s a straight jump, Carol. My system works, ‘cause everything works.”
“Well, your fans don't just have to take your word for it.” The host turned to face her camera. “We previewed Evvie’s Full Teen Beauty System to some very excited fans. Let’s see if they liked it as much as Evvie does.”
Jake shook his head as the director paused the shoot to prepare for the final scene of the infomercial. If he hadn’t heard it himself, he never would have believed it.
Oh, brother, he mused. Not only did they send this system to focus group, but they’re actually proud of that fact. They believe that this lack of spontaneity and big marketing push is a selling point. Random chance and original thought are to be avoided at all costs.
But are you surprised? Look at how much creds are riding on all this. How many people, how many companies, have something at stake.
Including me, now that I think about it.
I can’t blame Evvie for this. She’s just going along with the script she’s been handed. It’s an old one, too. Goes back over a century and a half, as a matter of fact.
Now that I think about that, it probably goes back even farther. The Beatles didn’t get where they did without selling themselves pretty heavily early on. Sinatra and Elvis made movies and specials to keep their careers going. The classical composers had to keep audiences or patrons pleased every now and again to survive. Hell, Shakespeare’s plays have elements in them to keep the proles in the pits from throwing food at the actors. Evvie’s just following a long and well-established tradition of artists with market savvy doing what they can earn a living.
Doesn’t mean her music’s in that class, though. At least that’s something.
***
The following evening Evvie was once again on stage as part of her tour. While keeping modest attention to the show, Jake got back in contact with his other employers. He wanted to know if the Rosens had obtained the information he’d requested, and wanted more details on Antioch Two.
After getting them on the screen and exchanging greetings, Jake saw Daniel tap a few keypad on his end. “I’m highlighting the file with all the data we collected on the guardbots,” Daniel said.
“Odin?”
“Copying the file, Jake,” Odin replied. “Allow me some time to examine the data.”
“Sure.” Jake turned back to the Rosens. “Did you find out anything else about those bots?”
“We discovered that different bots are put on different patrols in different places each day,” Daniel said. “We weren’t able to find out if there’s a schedule of some sort.”
“Don’t worry about that now. There’ll be plenty of time to figure that out later. By the way, how did you uncover that fact, anyway?”
Daniel looked mildly embarrassed. “Clarissa and I would pause behind them and check their unit numbers.”
“Okay. At least you didn’t break any rules. That’s good.”
“I have analyzed the data, Jake,” Odin interrupted.
“Anything of importance?”
“The guard robots deployed are all eight years old. They appear to have been purchased in bulk.”
“Trade-in, or new purchase?”
“That isn’t in the file. I will attempt to ascertain that at a future date, if it’s important.”
“Probably not, but it might be useful. Anything else?”
“These robots are armed with stunners and entangling restraints. They are controlled via data signals sent over the air on wireless frequencies. The only internal controls on these models are navigational, as well as a protocol to defend themselves if attacked. The robots were built to transmit audio and video data.”
“Yet the Rosens peeked at them, and nothing happened,” Jake pointed out.
“True. A logical conclusion would be that the robots were not so equipped.”
Jake turned back to the Rosens again. “Have you ever seen the bots transmit signals? Are they used to monitor your people, or do they just stand there?”
“They stand, or they move around,” Clarissa said. “I’ve never seen one pointed at someone.”
“Neither have I,” Daniel added.
“Odin, that is something worth following up on.”
“I concur, and shall do so.”
“Now, Daniel, Clarissa, I’d like some information on your lives.”
“Our lives?” Clarissa asked. Her open face closed a window or two. “Isn’t that a bit personal?”
“Not your lives. The lives of your people. What you do during the day, during the week. That sort of thing.”
“Oh.”
“For example, how do people start the work day?”
“Well, the first awake are the executives, the foremen, dayshift dome crews, and the teachers. They gather in the cafeteria for first breakfast at six. Then at seven all the other workers eat.”
“Then what?”
“Then everyone goes to work.”
“Hoverbuses transport workers and foremen to the mines,” Daniel added. “Workers at the other domes take hovercars.”
“Everyone works on site until when?” Jake asked.
“First-shift lunch is in the cafeteria at eleven-thirty,” Clarissa answered, “and everyone else eats an hour later.”
“Everyone has to eat in the cafeteria? There’s no onsite meals?”
“No.”
“That is not a very efficient use of time,” Odin observed.
“I don’t think efficiency has anything to do with it,” Jake said. “It does keep the bulk of the workforce together throughout the day. That would make the workers much easier to monitor.”
“I suppose there is a certain logic to that scheme, but it is flawed.”
“And that’s a surprise, why?”
When Odin didn’t reply, Jake returned to the Rosens. “I take it this is the way things have always been done.”
“Always,” Clarissa said.
&nbs
p; “Okay. So I take it at the end of the work day the same thing happens. There’s a first-shift of dinner, followed by the main dinner.”
“Well, the executives and their families eat dinner in the reception room on level one, but otherwise that’s right.”
“After dinner everyone goes back to their quarters, does whatever, goes to sleep, and the next day the cycle starts all over again.”
“Six days a week,” Clarissa said, a slight stridency in her voice.
“Let me guess. Sunday is everyone’s day off.”
“Yes.”
“So what happens on Sundays?”
“That’s the only day that we can eat in our quarters. We can take part in home activities, hobbies, attend a monthly cultural club meeting. There are school programs in the afternoon, and a dance in the cafeteria in the evening.”
“Don’t forget Maxis’ awards,” Daniel said.
“At one in the afternoon Maxis holds a ceremony to announce the worker of the week. The winner gets the next day off, a certificate, and a chance to win ‘worker of the year.’”
“What’s that prize worth?” Jake asked.
“A week’s vacation off-world with one of the executives and their family.”
“Lame, but I suppose it could be worse.”
“How?”
“Only giving a trip to the worker of the decade. Or no trip, just a week off work. Trust me, there are lots of crappy prizes in the universe.” Jake glanced at the small screen showing Evvie’s concert. Her routine suggested she was just past the halfway mark. “Okay, well, that’s going to help. Now, there’s something that’s been bothering me. I don’t know if you have the answer, but I’ll ask anyway. How is it that off-worlders don’t know about what’s going on? I mean, presumably all that gold and silver are shipped off Antioch Two. How is it that whoever’s picking the stuff up doesn’t see what’s going on?”
“I can answer that,” Daniel said. “My father works in the processing plant.”
“Great. Enlighten me.”
“The raw ore comes out of the mines and is put on a conveyor to a maglev train to be run into the plant. The plant turns the raw ore into pure minerals and placed into storage units. The units are sent to the transport pad, where the cargo ships pick them up. All the contacts between the ships and the ground are through signals.”
“There’s never any face time between the shippers and, say, the executives? It’s all audio, video, or data?”