“You always listened to me, Grandpa. You always said you’d help me if you could. And I really, really, need your help now.”
“We are not physical, Mellanie, we can only help with words.”
“That’s what I need: advice. I need to know what to do, Grandpa. I’ve made a bit of a mess of my life.”
“You are only twenty, Mellanie. You are a child. You haven’t begun your life yet.”
“Then why do I feel like it’s almost over?”
“Because you are young, of course. Everything that happens to you is epic at your age.”
“I guess. So you will help me, then, Grandpa?”
“What would you like to know?”
“I don’t have any money right now.”
“So we see. The Darklake National Bank is being its usual efficient self, and quantifying your ex-lover’s assets for redistribution. The funds will be split between Tara Jennifer Shaheef and Wyobie Cotal, once various exorbitant fees have been claimed by officials, lawyers, and institutions. We do not believe you would be successful if you applied for a percentage of them. Legally, you have very little standing.”
“I don’t want any,” she said forcefully. “I’ve decided I’m not going to be dependent on anyone again. I’m going to make my life my own from now on.”
“That is the baby Mel we remember. We were always proud of you.”
“I tried to sell the story of what happened with me and Morton, but it hasn’t worked out very well. I was naive and stupid, I guess. I trusted a reporter. It didn’t work out too good. I might get arrested. There was this terrible man, a pornographer. I kind of assaulted him.”
“Fancy trusting a reporter. That was stupid. But the situation can probably be resolved. And pornographers are not notorious for running to the police.”
“I wanted to give myself a profile, Grandpa. I had this idea that I could become like a celebrity, a media personality. I’ve got the looks, and I’m sure I have the determination to make it. I just need some guidance, that’s all. My story was just going to be the start. Once it’s released, people will know my name. That can be used. If I can keep myself on the unisphere then who knows, one day I could be as big as Alessandra Baron.”
“You could indeed. You have the potential. Where exactly do you see us fitting into this scheme?”
“I want you to be my agent, Grandpa. I need to get my story back from Rishon and sell it again, to a respectable producer this time. I’ll need to pay off Wayside Productions for my OCtattoos, as well. You can strike the best deal for me; you’re honest, you won’t rip me off. And you’re a bank, too. My money will be safe with you.”
“We see. Very well, we will do that for you. There is, however, the question of our fee.”
“I know. It’s ten percent isn’t it? Or do you charge more?”
“We were not thinking in terms of a financial percentage.”
“Oh.” She frowned at the little array’s screen with its random pattern. “What do you want?”
“If you are serious in your intention of a media career, then no matter what form it takes you will need a broadcast quality sensorium interface.”
“A pro neural feed, yes, I know. What I’ve got already is a reasonable start. I was hoping my advance would pay for enhancements, and there’s some inserts I’d like as well. I want to go virtual.”
“We will pay for the enhancements. But there will be occasions when we will want to ride along on them.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Many people believe our presence within the Commonwealth is total, delivered to us through the unisphere. However, even we have limits. There are many places we cannot reach. Some are deliberately blocked, while others are simply lacking any electronic infrastructure. You could provide us access to these areas on special occasions.”
“You mean you watch us? I always thought that was just a silly conspiracy theory.”
“We do not watch everyone. However, our interests are combined with yours, and you are a part of us through innumerable memory downloads. To use an old phrase: our fates are entwined. The only way to unentwine them would be to remove ourselves from the sphere of all human activity. We choose not to do so.”
“Why not? I bet your life would be simpler.”
“And you believe that to be a good thing? No entity can enrich itself in isolation.”
“So you do watch us. Do you manipulate us as well?”
“By acting as your agent we control the flow of your life. Is that manipulation? We are data. It is our nature to acquire more, to continually add to our knowledge, and to use it. It is both our language and our currency. Human current events form a very small part of the information we absorb.”
“It’s more like you’re studying us, then?”
“Not as individuals. It is your society and the way in which its currents flow which is obviously of interest to us. What affects you affects us.”
“And you don’t want any surprises.”
“Do you?”
“I guess not.”
“Then we understand each other. So do you still wish us to act as your representative and advisor, baby Mel?”
“I’d be like your secret agent, wouldn’t I?”
“The role has parallels. But there are no dangers involved, you are simply our eyes and ears in secluded places. Don’t expect to be issued with exotic gadgets and cars that fly.”
She laughed—for the first time in a long while. Shame about the flying cars, though, that would be fun. “Let’s do it.” Because if Grandpa was serious, the SI would have to make sure she was a success.
…
The last sections of copper tubing in the espresso machine clipped back neatly into place, and Mark Vernon used a set of electromuscle pliers to tighten the seals. He screwed the chrome cover back on and flicked the power switch. Three green lights came on.
“There you go. All working again.”
Mandy clapped her hands together in jubilation. “Oh, thanks, Mark. I kept telling Dil it was buggered, but he didn’t do anything about it, just left us stewing in poo. You’re my hero.”
He smiled at the young waitress who was beaming up at him. She’d been setting fresh breakfast paninis out under the glass counter ready for the early-morning customers; huge halves of the crusty Italian bread clamped around entire meals such as fried egg, sausages, kyias, and tomatoes, or ham, cheese, and pineapple, or vegetarian omelettes. Her shift partner, Julie, was rattling pans and crockery around in the kitchen at the rear. The smell of honey-cured bacon being grilled was drifting in through the hatch.
“Pretty simple, really,” he said modestly. The small area behind the serving counter meant Mandy was standing slightly too close, and slightly too admiringly as well. “I’ll, er, get on then.” He was slotting his tools back into the small case he always carried with him. His other hand held it between them like a defensive shield.
“No you won’t. You sit yourself down there and I’ll get you a decent breakfast. It’s the least you deserve. And make sure you put a huge call-out fee on your bill for Dil. Bloody skinflint.”
“Right-o.” Mark nodded in defeat. Actually he was hungry. It was a fifteen-minute drive in to Randtown from Ulon Valley where the Vernons had their vineyard homestead. Mandy’s frantic early-morning call hadn’t given him time for a bite before he left. Hadn’t even used his toothgel yet.