Marionette
Stephen W. Cote
Copyright Stephen W. Cote 2005
About the Author
Hello and thank you for reading. My name is Stephen W. Cote. I am a Software Engineer and Consultant, a United States Marine, a martial artist, and an author. You can find more information about my early creative writing and ongoing open source projects on whitefrost.com. I enjoy writing hard and whimsical science fiction, adult fantasy, and poetry. As an early advocate of Creative Commons licensing, many of my short stories and poems have been available online since 1996.
If you would like to learn more about my writing, open source projects such as the Hemi JavaScript Framework, or inquire about unpublished manuscripts and shorts, please contact me at whitefrost.com.
Thank you for taking the time to read my work and I hope you enjoy it.
Marionette
Mitch Tacit strode across the Galactic Media Exchange lobby with the impeccable Vickette following close behind. Trailing was sub-Liz, Vickette’s mousy sub-process. A party of cyborg invaders stood amidst a bloody mess and Mitch confronted them with one annoyance in mind: he was missing his weekly ten-minute break.
A soldier fired and sub-Liz’s head disappeared from her shoulders, adding to the lobby massacre.
“We are the Barg,” the invading party said. “You will be likened to immigrate into our group.”
Mitch raised his hand and walked to the front desk, snatching a brochure advertising the universe’s most famous wave star. He opened the pamphlet, peeled a data crystal free of its sticky backing, and tossed it to the leader.
“Every race, culture, religion, and art, real or imagined, for all recorded time.”
“We are the Barg. Hyperion Dazzle must -”
“Stop.” Addressing both Vickette and the leader, “This is what I hate about hive minds. You’re uncreative, so you resort to copyright theft.” And, to the leader, “You can’t call yourselves the Barg. It’s too similar to a previous work. Go home, communicate with your hive mind about a new name and new uniforms. And, laizing weapons are out this week. It’s all about turbine audibles.”
One pointed a weapon at Mitch and said, “We will destroy your weak race.”
“Now it’s extinction?” To Vickette, Mitch said, “I have no time for this.”
The trans-dimensional security force responded to Vickette’s communiqué and the interlopers vanished.
Mitch faced Vickette. She was shorter than his average height, too waif-like for his tastes, and wore her hair pulled away from her bespeckled crimson eyes and vanilla-toned face. He started to comment but shut his mouth and walked towards the private elevator. The elevator led to the penthouse, and to Hyperion Dazzle.
Mitch and Vickette waited for security to clear them. Restrictions would increase following the disturbance, Mitch knew, and they had to wait several minutes.
Vickette preened gore from Mitch’s sleeve “That’ll leave a spot. Have you digested the weekly Outerband rag?”
“I don’t consider that rubbish.”
“The profile includes a photograph from Café Cojo.” She extracted the rag and offered it to Mitch.
Advertisements flashed the moment Mitch touched the rag, and he withdrew his hand. “Is this what passes for hive humor? Bombard the living with advertisements? You said photograph? A two-dimensional photograph?”
Vickette held up the visage of Hyperion Dazzle sans special lighting, makeup, and post-production touch-up.
It was a real photograph and Mitch found it unflattering. His ears perked from an echo of footsteps and he looked over his shoulder; Chaz Vermouth, Hyperion Dazzle’s agent, and Zud Duz, Halcyon’s label representative, stalked in their direction.
Chaz swaggered feline-like, elliptical eyes flashing amber and charcoal. His tail flicked inside his trouser leg lending him the appearance of freakish endowment. “Some confidant.”
“How could you let this happen?” Zud said. He was the rodent to Chaz’s feline countenance.
Mitch jabbed his index finger towards the lobby. “I can’t be responsible for every hive mind that decides to conquer the living. Every artificially intelligence decides on killing or enslaving all life at some point.”
“Not that,” Chaz said. “The damnable two-D in the Outerband.”
“Not good marketing, Mitch,” Zud said. “We’re looking at a reduction in market share.”
Chaz sniffed and Mitch imagined whiskers on either side of Chaz’s teardrop nose. “Half a point down this morning, Mitch.”
“My job’s not tied to market metrics.”
“All of our jobs are tied to Hyperion’s metrics,” Chaz said. “We have business to attend to, but we’ll be topside within the hour. You’d better have this resolved.”
“We need an explanation, Mitch,” Zud said and then asked Vickette, “Was that your sub in the lobby?”
Vickette shrugged. “She’ll be replaced within twenty minutes.”
“I always liked sub-Liz,” Zud said, and “Ow!” after Chaz pushed him onwards.
Mitch and Vickette watched Chaz and Zud tip-toe through the carnage until the elevator door opened.
They boarded, the doors closed, and they chattered, replete with Mitch griping about the mechanic transport, until Vickette closed her eyes and said, “A friendly sub-process in security has us on a loop.”
She removed a vial from her purse and spritzed him. “Chaz could smell your manipulated pheromones.”
Mitch sniffed his palm; clean and perfumed. “How much do you think they suspect?”
“I’m not convinced they know anything. But recent activity suggests they are maneuvering to displace you as Hyperion’s confidant.” Vickette adjusted her spectacles. “They’ll start using any ammunition, including a half-point drop.”
“Good,” Mitch said. “They can’t know this morning’s events and the photograph are meant to elevate Hyperion to the most rewarding state of anxiety.”
“My contract stipulates you act as Hyperion’s confidant,” she countered. “Whether Chaz or Zud know our plans, they have their own, which include displacing you.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“You’ll have to scramble their Ids.”
Mitch patted his pocket. “I brought mine.”
“Yours?”
“Used to do it every morning before work. Kept things interesting.”
“De-looping.” She fell quiet as they reemerged on the security grid.
The elevator slid to a smooth stop and the doors opened to Hyperion Dazzle’s penthouse suite on the three thousandth floor.
“Ion,” Mitch called.
Vickette walked to a crystal desk arranged against a fifty-foot high window field. Air blew through the translucent screen, sending aflutter an electric paper stack. She gestured to lower the wind level and flicked her wrist to restack the documents.
“Ion?” Mitch walked to the center of the room, surrounded by atmosphere and tumultuous clouds roiling a thousand meters below. Various instruments debuting on Hyperion’s upcoming album were on display in a case opposite the desk.
“I don’t know what to say,” Hyperion Dazzle’s voice was a wisp of reality from one of his personal habit rooms; a new tone of voice Mitch helped design. “Chaz waved me this morning. Half a point down.”
Mitch knew: Upset as planned.
“This photograph,” Hyperion shrieked. “Hideous.”
Neither Mitch nor Vickette had been invited beyond the main room. Mitch assumed a recent report of Chaz entering one of the rooms was central to Vickette’s allegation of a coup against Mitch.
“Ion,” Mitch said, “Remember, last month a hive-cluster suicided after you dropped to eighty-nine. Half a p
oint is nothing, and you’re at ninety point three percent.”
“Chaz showed me the Bernucci Wave; the best analytics for universe-wide media economics. Do you know about Bernucci?” Hyperion’s voice fleeted into a dressing room, and Mitch considered his words a recitation of Chaz’s suggestions.
Mitch wanted to label Bernucci a quack. Instead, he sat on the desk and demurred. “I’m familiar with the name. But, you’re a trendsetter. Your trend doesn’t track against historical metrics. We need the half-point drops to report growth. If you’re at ninety-seven percent, you can’t gain five points.”
Hyperion entered flaunting a gold-leaf shirt and matching shorts. His hair was trimmed short and streaked with vivacious gold highlights. “Chaz thinks I can gain twelve points.”
Vickette paused shuffling the non-existent papers. “Not likely. First, you would have to lose two points.”
“They’re pushing market expansion,” Mitch said.
“There is nowhere to expand.”