Part 2 (2/2)
”I thought the point of all those avatars was to free him from the details.”
”His avatars are too good, I'm afraid. They replicate the man himself and all his foibles. They generate almost as much trouble for me as he does. Look, I'd appreciate it if you didn't distract Mr. Wetherall. He's a little scattered at the moment.”
”Distract him? In what way?”
He stared at me as if I'd just fallen off the barn. ”That's all right. On second thought, I don't think there will be any problems. May I escort you down?”
His gesture at the door might have appeared polite if he hadn't also been hustling me out by the elbow with his other hand.
Murk Janglish showed me to the Rain Forest Restaurant in the Tropical Zone of the hotel. He led me to one of the rafts moored on the river that looped through the vastness of the restaurant. The raft had a circular palm-thatched roof from which hung a heavy curtain of mosquito netting-not that there were any mosquitos. Inside the netting was a table set for two. In gold.
”He'll be here,” Janglish said. ”Sign everything he gives you.” And he left.
While I listened to the calls of exotic birds and admired the hordes of b.u.t.terflies flitting among the branches of the big trees, I ignored the grinding of my stomach and awaited Wetherall. After a few minutes, a tall, awkward-looking man in a safari jacket and khaki hat with a snakeskin hatband detached himself from the bar and sidled past the suddenly oblivious maitre d' toward the raft. He parted the netting, and took the chair opposite me. Immediately the raft nudged away from the dock and we were adrift.
”Excuse me . . .”
The man took off the bushman's hat and brushed his luxuriant brown hair away from his face. It was Wetherall.
”What happened to your blue suit?” I asked.
”Privacy is always worth the effort.” He stuck his leg out from beneath the tablecloth, pulled up on the knee of his pants. ”Leg extenders,” he said, grinning loonily. He touched his face. ”Skin polarizer.” He grabbed a strand of his hair and shook it. ”Smartwig.”
The hair twisted out of his hand and tucked itself back behind his ear. Wetherall slung a backpack from off his shoulder and pulled out a folder. ”I have a few things for you to sign.”
His savoir-faire took my breath away. ”Right,” I said. ”The liability waiver.”
Wetherall looked momentarily fuddled. ”d.a.m.n, I forgot. Janglish will have my head. No, this is about your avatar. Is it hot in here?”
I waited to open the folder because I could see the sommelier paddling towards our table. Actually, she was being paddled by a busboy. She stood in a dugout canoe, cradling a bottle of wine. Other diners looked down at us from tables perched on platforms in the trees that lined the river. The sommelier ducked through the netting to present the wine to Wetherall.
”Tokay is sweet, almost like syrup.” Wetherall sniffed the taste the sommelier had poured for him and waved his approval. ”It's the only wine I can drink with dinner. You know, it is hot in here.”
”Shall I open the netting?” said the sommelier.
”No, no,” said Wetherall. ”It's just me. I'll be fine.”
The sommelier filled our gla.s.ses and headed for sh.o.r.e. I opened the folder and scanned the form on top. ”An avatar is more trouble than I want to get into.”
”It only takes a few hours. They take a psychological inventory, run some perceptual tests. Oh, and you'll have to allow them access to some of your personal databases.” His expression was innocent. ”Don't worry, it's all very secure.” I could see how some women might find those deep, guileless eyes-not to mention two hundred and thirty-eight billion dollars-s.e.xy.
”But what do I need one for?”
”To teach your cla.s.ses. To handle the press. To order materials, manage your research team, search databases. To remember why you thought what you're doing now was such a good idea. Believe me, in a few weeks it'll be hard to imagine how you got along without one.”
”What do you mean, teach my cla.s.ses?”
”I had to promise your Saintjohn Matthewson and the dean that there would be no academic disruption.”
”What gave you the right to interfere?”
”I told you everything would be taken care of.”
I glared at him.
”Liz, I need your expertise. When I see talent, I go after it-you know that now. I like to keep my top talent focused. As long as you work for me, I'll try to see to it that you . . ..” A bright green parrot dropped out of the trees and landed on the rail of our raft. ”. . . that you live in a worry-free . . .” The parrot bobbed its head, turned sideways to examine us with a l.u.s.trous black eye. Wetherall hunched over and put his hand to his face.
”What's wrong?”
”I think that bird might be rigged for pix.”
”Naah. Looks more like a bomb to me.”
For a second I thought he might dive under the table.
”Oh, that was joke,” he said. ”Perhaps you could signal when you are making an attempt at humor?” He spun his hat at the parrot and it bounced off the netting. ”Hey, you bird! Raaah!” At this, the parrot squawked and flew away.
”Anyway,” he said, picking up the hat, ”since I have access to certain resources, I was in a position to ease your transition from the university to my project.”
”How many resources did it take?”
He shrugged. ”When you get back, there should be a warm body sitting in the Wetherall Chair for the Study of Twentieth Century Popular Music.”
”You mean like jazz? Rock and roll?”
”I have every record the Kinks ever made-on the original vinyl.”
I was a little dizzy. The thought of Saintjohn being pushed around like a baby in a stroller was vastly satisfying, and I couldn't help but feel a little exhilarated. With a wave of his hand Wetherall had made the job and the people I spent most of my days worrying about dissipate like a cloud of smoke.
On the other hand, I felt annoyed that, for a pile of cash and a pop-culture sinecure, the university would release me from rules they had never stopped telling me were inflexible. Here was a lesson in where I rated in relation to the world of money.
I set the avatar authorization aside for the time being and glanced at the next doc.u.ment. There was a cash card attached to a personal services contract. I separated the card and checked the balance. It was twice my annual salary.
”Wait a minute. I thought this was going to be a quick little consultancy. I'm a teacher. I'm not giving you more than six months, tops.”
”I'm not asking you to,” he said. ”Six months should be more than enough. This is your first month's pay. In advance.”
”You can't buy me, Wetherall,” I said weakly, even though he knew that I knew that he already had.
The raft b.u.mped against a waiter's station, guided by some unseen system. Our waiter stepped aboard briskly, set a plate in front of me and uncovered it with a flourish. ”For you, Madam, Tranches de Jambon Morvandelle. And you, sir, a Mochalicious Jolly Freeze.” He topped off our gla.s.ses. ”Enjoy your meal.”
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