Darrin was almost immediately through with his whimpering. They looked to the right, Bennie Boy licking his shriveling lips, as Darrin was steadied on his feet by the graviton beam, and the educational projection caught him in its soft pink and blue glow. Everyone had their eyes on this, except for the lucky rich kid dancing to her creepy wigged male symphony avatar, and that vacuum-head friend of hers, Scooter!
Scooter had two favorite saying, “wussy” which was what he called his avatar, which malfunctioned above walking speed and spent most of its time whining to Scooter while he scooted around, and “badass” which is what Scooter thought of his scooting.
Scooter was jumping up and down pumping his scooter over his head in two bony little hands, “Badass! Thanks, Darrin—you brought the mommy out in this bitch with your wussy wailing!”
The projection was of a tanned Korean military gen, who was speaking in that alien language, as incompletely translated subtitles flashed across the bottom of the image where his medals hung in row upon row of corporate approval. That idiot Scooter was acting like he was really about to accept this military sim download. “Fuck yeah, wuss-wuss!” he screamed to his avatar, which he irritatingly kept in side-projection mode over his left shoulder, though thankfully set on privacy, so she did not have to hear the conversation going on in his head.
The idea of an avatar—accepted by everyone else she had ever known without a question—had been too much for her to tolerate when she had been released from nurture, and she had, alone of all the brats she had known, refused to engage her avatar. The guiding corporate presence was in there, waiting to get all intrusive on her if she ever felt weak like the rest of them. Maybe she would engage the bitch—whoever she was—right as she threw herself in the turbines below the grindhouse so that the busy body brain bug could experience it too!
And now her only friend was going over to the sim side, was going to become a sim slaughter junky. Well, not if she could help it.
“Hey, vacuum mouth, what the shit are you doing?”
Scooter turned, taking his eyes off of the half translated disclaimer that declared Pusan Corporation not responsible for any psychic breaks that might befall obsolete or non-upgraded avatars, “I’m playing Cartels of Titan—been accepted as a Grunge Cordite test jumper. This is badass! This shit is an actual military sim—what the MGs train on!”
“Are you stupid?” she shouted.
“Of course I’m stupid, as stupid as you are ugly. My Avatar’s is an idiot and yours doesn’t even work, hasn’t even showed you how to colorize your skin.”
Bennie whimpered at the insult to his companion.
She was unphased, concerned only for her vacuum-headed friend. “Scooter, what about your manuals, your scooter?”
“That’s the best part, girl-girl. This thing is a manual sim. I can—have to actually—ride my scooter to play, over on the terminal arc. This is going to be badass—the fucking Titan CEO is as good as dead!”
With those words, the only friend she had who was not a dying sim pal, zoomed off on his scooter, between the legs of the towering goon watching Organ on the side of the casement tank, howling like some trasher that had just ripped a newly nurtured face off.
She now looked up at the sim terminal and saw the stern face of the Korean military gen, with the warning translation below his medal festooned chest, and stepped onto the plate to erase that unsightly visage. She couched Bennie Boy in her left arm and placed her I.D. finger on the tab.
The wide arc projection she had long ago requested came up in the form of a woman that looked like her aged to grump, but with a voice like her own, “Suzy Baker, would you like Brant and Lassie, Organa, or perhaps, prefer our latest Turkish coffee download. It will have you raring to take on—”
She cut off the irritating version of herself with a firm answer, “Organa audience lottery.”
The projection arc took on the form of soaring clouds, then of crashing waves, and finally of a wondrous snow-covered landscape, at the center of which was a domed resort that required no Hyman Buoy Shroud, that had not a touch of gray anywhere to be seen. Stone concourses and bamboo groves dotted parks watered with tinkling streams beneath soaring gazebos. Wowed, her and Bennie Boy, who perked up and panted like he had once long ago, when she had drawn him from the manual sim bin…
Then, instead of doing the normal over-flight, to the sound of Organa singing softly to flutes and plucked strings, they were in—they had won!
“Bennie! Bennie Boy, we’re in—Organa, look!”
The projection was entirely occupied by the image of a wrought iron gate, being pulled aside by two automatons dressed as toy soldiers. Then their view glided across a gold-bricked path beside which ladies playing flutes sat on ivory benches, serenading weary men with white painted faces.
She hugged Bennie Boy tight enough that he whimpered, so she nuzzled him and got on her tiptoes, hoping against hope that this would afford them a view of the interior of the great carriage that approached on the gold brick road. The coach was drawn by wrought silver sims, that pranced like horses.
They were now standing next to the carriage on the side of the gold brick road, as the door was opened by the hand of a towering goon in gaudy clothes and—“Oh, look, Bennie!”
She seemed much older than usual, but was still beautiful, with long brownish hair and deep brown eyes, her skin soft and pale. She wore a long sweeping red dress, and held a pink scroll in her hands.
Bennie Boy whimpered positively and licked his shriveling lips as his paws wiggled, and Organa’s voice flowed richly and softly, for once seeming as if she could see Suzy and Bennie, whereas before she seemed to be looking into the distance. She noted absently that all of the brats—and the kid—had abandoned their hard won place in line to gather around as the sim center glowed whitely.
Organa then spoke to her—to her!—“Good morning, Suzy. I am Organa. Who might your friend be? He seems kind of big for such a little girl—your hair is wonderfully soft looking, by-the-way. Please, tell me about yourself—and before you hit send, make sure to reserve a post script so I may receive an update from you as you grow up. Thank you so much, Suzy, for visiting me. I shall sit in my gazebo and await your reply. Goodbye now!”
And with those words the great lady—the mommy of them all—waved goodbye as she blew a kiss.
The projection now appeared as a great pink scroll open to be written upon with a quill. The brats all about were screaming suggestions, things she should say, sims she should ask for, presents they’d like to share with her, like candy shipped from Antarctica, and the snowy infusions Organa was always seen drinking on the simboards.
Suzy hugged Bennie Boy and felt a tear of joy wet her cheek as she pecked away at the letter tabs, talking to Bennie all the while, talking about things other than what she wrote, not wanting to sadden him anymore than he was.
“Say hello, Bennie Boy, she’s listening!"
And so he did, after his own fashion, panting lightly as he whined, one leg still twitching.
