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Somewhere above us, an engine whined and came to life, and the lift went up...
With no indicator lights, I gauged how far we rose by counting the floors scroll by. First floor: white, minimal, very bright. Second floor: colorful, cluttered, very retro. Third floor: natural wood, hard lines, very classic. The shaky ride made me worry that the elevator cable would snap, and we’d go plummeting down.
“Will you relax?” Tabitha elbowed me and whispered, “Loosen up and live a little.”
My recyclone stomach dropped when the lift slammed to a stop, and beyond the accordion gate all I saw was green. ANA slid the gate open, and we stepped out of the elevator onto the fourth floor.
When I say everything was green, I mean it. The walls and ceiling were painted the same emerald color. Matching ceramic tile covered the floor. Even the grout was green. Bare lightbulbs hung from the ceiling at different heights in random locations. The bizarre space screwed with my depth perception. I tried to focus on the edge where the wall met the ceiling. No luck. I tried to follow the grid in the floor tile. Nope. I would’ve given my right arm for an easy-to-find corner! But no. None of that. It was so disorienting, like walking through a bowl of lime Jell-O.
But it smelled like spearmint.
I hated it.
I switched to night vision. No good. Tried infrared. Not much better. X-ray didn’t help either.
That’s when he appeared, a striking man of African descent, but with lighter skin than Wayne and dazzling blue eyes. He had bleached-blond hair buzzed fresh in a mid-taper fade. The man wore a royal-blue tailored suit with white trim that made his lapels and cuffs pop. The breast pocket of his blazer had a gold family crest. Fancy. Underneath his buttoned jacket, he wore a light-blue shirt with a blue-and-white gingham bowtie.
But behold, his magnificent shoes—sparkly red Timberland boots!
Using LIDAR, I locked onto his red shoes and started mapping out a floor grid. Then I applied a perspective filter and found four walls. After that, it was easy to close the box. Knowing the boundaries made me feel better.
“Richie!” Tabitha swooned as she dropped Uno’s leash and ran up to throw her arms around the man.
“Tabby!” He matched her bubbly enthusiasm when he hugged her back. “Darling!”
When they finally let go of each other, I asked, “This is your ex?”
She planted a big kiss on his cheek. “He sure is!”
“Huh?”
“What’s wrong, Cookie?”
“Uh, he just isn’t what I expected.”
“Richie, this is my new friend, Cookie. She’s new.”
“Ah, yes. That explains things.” The handsome man offered a friendly wave and introduced himself with a posh British accent, “Hello, I’m Rich. Nice to meet you.”
“Tabitha...” I got hung up and didn’t wave back. “What do you mean new?”
But rather than answer me, she continued with introductions. “And this is ANA, and you already know Uno.”
Richie acknowledged the Bengal. “You’re looking well, Uno.”
The big cat yawned.
I asked, “You already know Uno?”
Without answering me, Richie shook my friend’s metal hand. “A pleasure, ANA.”
“Nice to meet you, sir.”
“I have someone to introduce too.” Richie turned around and called out, “Peaches! Peaches, love? Where are you?”
No reply.
Richie ventured deeper into the room, then stopped before a green velvet curtain. That must’ve been how he appeared out of nowhere. I swear I didn’t even notice the drapes until just then. But once I knew they were there, I fixated on the curtains and added more detail to my map of the green room.
We followed the man. Tabitha’s rainbow heels clicked against the green tile. ANA’s metal feet clanked in step right behind her. Uno’s claws tapped along. And I silently trailed them all.
Richie found a break in the green velvet and dramatically pulled a curtain to the side. “Everyone, it is my pleasure to present my beloved, Peaches O’Plenty.”
She sashayed through—like royalty. I’d never seen a woman with such presence before. The first thing I noticed was her size. Peaches must’ve been at least a foot taller than me, and muscular, but not too bulky. And her hair—OMG—blazing orange! The bright color stood out in such a brilliant contrast to the green room that it almost hurt my eyes. And such big hair! She’d teased out her long wavy bob so far that it nearly tripled the size of her already large head.
I must tell you about this woman’s makeup! Her blended foundation made her fair skin look absolutely flawless. Warm tones, white pancake highlights, and deep pink shades brought out her feminine features. Her lips were plump, glossed, and perfectly pink. Flawless light-brown eyebrows. Gigantic green eyes. Eyes so big that she looked like an anime character. She had eyelashes so long and so black that I knew they had to be fake. Unable to resist, I zoomed in for a closer look at her makeup. She’d exaggerated her eyes by using a white pencil beyond the natural line of her lower lids. She must’ve plucked her lower lashes, then glued on fake ones beneath to complete the illusion.
She’d colored outside the lines! I couldn’t believe it.
Peaches O’Plenty was a work of art.
Now, let’s talk about her gown! Hoo boy! She wore a slinky white number with a feather wrap even bigger than her hair. Expensive ostrich feathers too. You know, the long skinny ones that burlesque performers often wear. The dress clung to her ample hourglass frame with high slits up both sides, showing lots of thigh. And her jewels! She’d stacked diamond bracelets on each wrist almost up to her elbows. And she’d loaded every finger with baguette diamond rings so large that they made her hands look like they’d been dipped in rock candy.
Peaches O’Plenty dripped glamour.
And her shoes—white Louboutin heels—the exact same style that I’d lost in Moscow earlier this morning, but in a much larger size—12.
Could the designer pumps be a coincidence?
If this woman were a dessert, I swear she’d be a peach flambé sprinkled in sugar and topped with whipped cream.
Richie released the curtain behind her.
“Thank you, Daddy,” Peaches murmured in a Scottish accent as she leaned down for him.
Careful not to muss her makeup, he stood on his shimmering red tiptoes and kissed her tenderly on the cheek.
“It’s such an honor to meet you, Peaches,” Tabitha said.
All those strange visual inputs and odd relationships, I couldn’t process it.
“So, Tabby, darling.” The man turned and clicked the red heels of his Timberlands together twice. “Like the ruby beetle-crushers?”
“Fabulous shoes, Richie! Are those real rubies?”
“They sure are.”
“You never fail to impress me, Richie.”
“Great! Then it’s settled.” He called out to someone on the other side of the green velvet. “I’ll take them!”
A White woman’s arm popped through the slit in the drapes. She held her hand out, palm up, then made a gimme-gimme gesture.
I asked, “How much do those boots cost?”
“Gurrrl, if you have to ask, you can’t afford it.” He brushed a piece of imaginary lint from his sleeve. “Shoes this brill don’t come cheap.”
“If they’re so expensive,” I asked, “where’s your suitcase of cash?”
“Cash?” His nose wrinkled up like he’d smelled a rotten onion. Then Richie reached into his blazer, whipped out a crystal-clear credit card, and showed me its golden chip. “I never pay with cash. Diamond card, doll.”
“But I thought diamonds had no intrinsic value.”
“Neither does credit.” He laughed. “I know it’s illogical, but what can I say? Humans make this stuff up.”
I read the name printed in white on the clear card, SIR RICHARD X. JOHNSON, then asked, “What’s wrong with cash?”
“It’s filthy. Besides, I prefer to use OPM.”
“Oh pee em?”
“Other people’s money, doll,” he explained as he gingerly placed his diamond card in the woman’s hand.
The Lifestyle Manager snatched the card, and her arm disappeared behind the green curtain again.
I stepped forward for a peek. “What’s back there?”
“Why?” Peaches asked as she looked me up and down, settled on my combat boots, and judged me. “Looking for new shoes?”
I unconsciously kicked the rubber toe against the tile and it squeaked. Cringing at the sound, I looked up at the towering woman. “Nah, I’ll stick with these.”
“Well, they’re a statement, I’ll give you that. Very butch.”
“Butch?”
“Lesbians have noooo sense of fashion.”
“I’m not a lesbian.”
Peaches popped her tongue. “Yeah, right, sis.”
“You know what?” I glared up at her. “I don’t appreciate the attitude.”
“Less shade, love,” Richie told his girlfriend. “Cookie’s new.”
“New again?” I gave Tabitha a sideways glance. “I’m getting pretty tired of you all dodging my questions... Now, will somebody please tell me what’s behind this damned curtain?”
I pushed past Peaches and threw the green velvet aside before anyone could answer.
The Lifestyle Manager was nothing but a single-function tin-job with silicone forearms and lady hands. Wire body frame. Bolted to the floor. But what shocked me most was—it didn’t even have a head. That’s right. A robot with no head. The Lifestyle Manager inserted Richie’s Global Elite Diamond Club Card into a reader built directly into its mechanical thigh. And right next to this abomination stood the biggest recyclone I’d ever seen.
I turned back to my new friends. “I don’t get it.”
Tabitha seemed concerned. “Get what, Cookie?”
“Why? Why shop at all?”
“Oh, sis,” Peaches giggled. “Don’t you see? Shopping is foreplay.”
“But you’re both AI, right?”
“That’s right, doll.” Richie took his diamond card back from the Lifestyle Manager. “And only AI is allowed behind the curtain.”
“Wait. People do this?” I asked, “Humans?”
“They sure do. Wealthy humans come here, kneel in the green space, and request whatever their little hearts desire. If they have the right credit, the Lifestyle Manager renders their treasure on demand and passes it through the curtain.”
“So they don’t know where the goods are coming from?” I asked as I studied the tin-job.
“No, and they don’t care,” Richie answered.
I crossed my arms. “Gross.”
Peaches asked, “Would it be better if Thai children had sewed them with their little brown hands in sweatshops, sis?”
“Well, no—”
Richie smirked. “It’s only quenching our insatiable thirst for luxury goods.”
“Okay, fine.” I turned away from the Lifestyle Manager to ask him, “So why not just render some glittery red boots yourself?”
Peaches gasped, “Knockoffs?”
“Counterfeit Timbs?” Richie turned up his nose. “Never!”
“But nobody would be able to tell the difference,” I objected, “not even other artificial intelligence.”
Richie fussed with one of his red laces to make the bow perfect. “But I would know.”
“But you’re only paying this tin-job to render red boots.”
“They’re ruby Timberlands, doll.”
“Right, bejeweled Timberlands. But why pay for something you could do yourself?”
In her Scottish accent, Peaches said, “We have to buy things to establish credit.”
I pressed, “But why do we have to establish credit?”
“She’s an inquisitive one, isn’t she, Tabby dearest?” Richie offered me his arm. “Come on, Cookie. Let’s go for a stroll.”
And I thought of Wayne as I slipped my arm through Richie’s crooked elbow.
“There are many perks to using credit. It’s all about image. This particular elite card offers private jet and car services. That can be quite useful for getting around. Besides, it’s always a good idea to use OPM for...” He escorted me back onto the rickety lift. “Well, everything.”
“But money has no intrinsic value either, and we can render it at will. So why would AI need credit?”
“Gurrrl, I have so much to teach you.” Richie waved back into the green room. “Come along, everyone! We’re going to Dorothy’s!”
“Ooo, Daddy,” Peaches cooed, touched her brilliant orange hair, then hurried along with her heels tapping against the green tile. “Finally!”