Firebirds Soaring (16 page)

Because an agency like Worldtree demanded
all
your skills. Anything you could do, sell, be. Whatever you could offer as value added, they’d find a project that needed you. Appie had been hired because, at school, she’d been a Harbinger. She’d just try out odd combinations of clothes from her closet and a week later other kids were wearing the same things. She’d do her makeup or hair in some freaky way, and she’d see copycats all over school the next day. It had really bugged her. But the guidance counselors had also noticed and given her name to the Worldtree headhunters. Her Korean father was all about hard work and making the most of opportunities. He had urged Appie to take the gig. The rest was history. Now Appie had her own life, her own cubio, with a prime app of marketing and design consultant and a bigger salary than anyone in her family had ever earned.

Appie had been in heaven the first six months in the Worldtree tower. Fashion and manufacturing honchos all sought her advice and sent her samples. She hadn’t bought her own clothes since moving in. She’d even been an advertising model for some of Worldtree’s tech partners, for print media in Asian markets. Somewhere in Shanghai there was a poster with her 3-D image holding a digital camera the size of a Corn Chex square.

But despite the achievement, Appie had been antsy lately, worried, jumpy at nothing in particular. It concerned her, and she hoped management hadn’t noticed.

At 7:50, Appie bounced up from the table and went to her workstation. Her cubio mod came with state-of-the-art IT, replaced every six months by Worldtree. The screen showed the rotating logo of a tree with fractal branches and roots. It represented their reach, which was everywhere. Worldtree seriously believed in “insourcing” and had their employees working seamlessly with other companies around the globe. It was hard to tell where one company ended and another began.

Appie placed her right hand on the screen, feeling the familiar tickle as an electrical charge flowed from the tips of her fingers to the base of her palm.

The screen flickered and words appeared: “What value do you bring to Worldtree today?” These faded, replaced by the Chinese character for “ambition.” Then a pleasant-looking female Asian avatar appeared. “Good morning, Appie. It is seven fifty-five A.M. Pacific Standard Time, April twenty-seventh, two thousand seventeen. How would you like to begin your workday?”

“Calendar.”

“Certainly.” The screen changed to show her schedule. Appie studied the entries closely. Fortunately it looked the same as it had the night before. That was not always the case. The agency operated around the clock, and a mod-dweller’s schedule belonged to the agency, to mess with at its whim. Today was mostly a video conference with a client needing marketing advice. Appie figured she wouldn’t even have to change clothes or comb her hair. Having that carefree look was a plus when manufacturers wanted to brainstorm with an ambassador from the much-desired eighteen- to twenty-five-year-old demographic.

Appie clicked for details and her heart skipped a beat. She leaned closer to the screen to be sure. Yes! Julio Tanaka.
Wow. A good day after all! I think
.

She’d done one marketing conference with Julio before and had never forgotten the experience. It had been so damn hard to concentrate with his stunningly hot face in her vidscreen. Ever since, she’d kept an eye out for the chance to work with him again. Here it was.

She jumped up from her ergo-chair and pogoed around the room for a few moments to shake off the nerves
. Julio! I’m going to see Julio!

A chime from the workstation spoiled her fun. Appie sat down at once—it was Carolyn Madrona, her manager and floor warden, messaging her. Carolyn’s thin face surrounded by an untidy mass of dark curly hair appeared in a corner of the screen. “Morning, Appie. Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Appie cringed inside. They
said
they never vidcammed the cubios but rumors persisted. “Uh, no, just doing some warm-ups. What can I do for you?”

“I noticed you had a couple of hours open coming up tomorrow, and I wanted to set you up for more CAD training and another hour of Global Economics. Okay if I just fill in your calendar?”

“Um, sure.” A part of Appie died inside. She’d hoped to kick back those two hours to relax and try out a game demo.

“Great. You’re a three star now but you’ve been with us nearly a year and we’d like to see you at three and a half by this point. By the way, Mercator Mercantile really liked the job you did on their sales database. They sent a recommendation.”

“Cool.” It had been make-work, really boring, but there hadn’t been any other projects available that day and you had to keep busy.

“So they’ve sent a new packet for you to work on as soon as you have time. It’s great that you’re so diverse and responsive, Appie. That’ll take you a long way.”

Appie wanted so bad to sigh deeply, but she did not,
not
, let herself. Attitude was half the game. “Thanks.”

“Thank you. Have a good time at your conference. Mercator has budget issues these days, so don’t expect much joy if you recommend something extravagant. Still, they paid their fee in advance, so we can’t complain. Besides, it’s all good when you have Julio on the team, right?” She winked.

Appie kept her face strictly neutral. “Yeah. He’s a sharp dude. Good to work with.”

“Riiiight. Anyway, send me a report when you’re done. I see they’ve moved up the start time to eight thirty, so you might finish up early. If you do, we have another project to send your way.”

“Uh, cool. I guess business is booming.”

“That’s because we make it boom,” said Carolyn sardonically. “Good luck. Later.” Her image disappeared from the screen.

Vidcam or no vidcam, Appie sighed loud and long. She rubbed her temples and muttered, “I need a break,” then immediately wished she hadn’t spoken. She quickly clicked on her e-mail page. There were lots of messages but none urgent, and she didn’t have time to answer any at the moment. She clicked over to her private e-mail. There were fewer and fewer messages here each week, as high school friends, discouraged because Appie never had the time to call or see them, forgot her and moved on. At least her mom and dad wrote almost every day. There were sidebar ads on this page, for companies that Worldtree owned or had a big stake in. One, flashing on the right, was for the White Bison Resort in North Dakota, offering weekend packages of “Open Spaces for Open Minds” at a great bargain rate for cubio dwellers.
That sounds really nice
, Appie thought.

She glanced down at the time glyph. “Omigod!” She had ten minutes until the meeting started. She wanted to log in early, just in case Julio was early too and they might have a chance to chat before business. Appie rushed to her one little closet and changed out of her oversized T-shirt into an oversized black hoodie and dark blue stretch pants. She squirted hair gel into her hand and mussed up her short hair some more. Then she grabbed her coffee and sat at her deck table. Appie took three deep breaths before tapping the conference code into the remote.

In a blink, the deck became a well-appointed conference room with a huge picture window showing a beautiful, sunny spring morning over Puget Sound, the Olympic Mountains sparkling with snow in the distance. But Appie’s attention was caught by something else. Julio was in the room.

“Hey, Appie, another early bird. Howya doin’? ” He smiled and stretched, showing off some very fine biceps and pecs beneath his short-sleeved polo shirt.

Boy works out
, Appie thought. “I’m good. You?”

“Never better. You’re rockin’ the casual look today.”

“Yep. And you’re . . . you.” Appie knew her eyes were giving away too much admiration, and she cussed herself for it.

“Like it? Look me up on
buymyface.com
. You can download it onto your comfort-bot.” Julio winked.

Appie fought down a blush. “You’re outrageous, you know that?” Appie was all too aware every meeting
was
recorded. Did Julio have too much rank to care?

“Value added, dude. I’d sell every nonessential organ in my body if it didn’t mean too much downtime.”

Appie cringed inside but there was no doubting the boy’s ambition. Julio was gunning for five stars if he wasn’t there already. “Good for you. Anyway, I don’t own a comfort-bot.”

“Should look into it. Han Robotics has got amazing stuff. Their stock is going orbital. You could sell your own image, you know. Bet you’d get some buyers.” Julio smiled.

Feeling flattered swirled with all kinds of wrong in Appie’s gut, leaving her totally flustered. To imagine strangers doing . . . things to a simulacrum wearing her face. “Uh, thanks, but that’s not the business model I want to develop for myself.”

“Old-fashioned girl, eh? Suit yourself. Oops. Here come the clients.”

The remote beeped as someone tapped in their code and suddenly two people, a man and a woman, thirtyish and dressed conservatively, appeared in the room.

They exchanged introductions and made the usual business-type small talk. All the necessary little rituals. Appie noted that the clients had a hungry stare in their eyes. This opportunity was important, perhaps vital, to their company.

Mercator finally began their pitch. The woman began, “We’re considering a line of clothing expressly for cubio dwellers like yourselves. Clothing that’s comfortable to work in, sleep in, whatever. We have a supplier for a fabric that wicks away sweat and always has a fresh scent.”

“Or whatever scent you want,” the man added quickly.

“And here are the styles we’re developing,” the woman said, opening up a new window on Appie’s vidscreen to display sketches and prototype outfits. There were simple unisex tops and bottoms and a jumpsuit. Appie was not impressed. Julio wore a dubious frown as well.

“What colors would these be available in?” Appie asked.

“Well, light colors like pastels dye best on this fabric, but we’ve been trying to talk the manufacturer into trying out some patterns, like this kicky stripe design.” She let one of the sketches cycle through a variety of colors.

Julio stifled a laugh. “I’m sorry, but those . . . look like kids’ jammies.”

“Well, that’s the idea,” the woman persisted. “We know you people work under mountains of stress, so we thought comforting clothes would be the way to go.” She displayed the jumpsuit design and let it cycle through bright colors and stripes.

“Yeah, jammies . . .” Appie agreed. “Or prison uniforms.”

There was a glint of recognition, of irony, in the woman’s eyes, and suddenly anger flashed up from Appie’s gut. “You’re dissing us,” Appie growled. “We are not children, and we are not prisoners or new slaves like some in the media claim. We work our butts off every day, all day. We give all we have to give, all the time. You want to sell to us? Don’t patronize us. Give us something we can use, that helps us. We don’t need comfort, we need . . . inspiration! Don’t give us pastels. How about . . . cloth covered in facts, figures, wise observations—”

“Yeah, like ‘no I in team’ stuff,” Julio tentatively put in, trying to follow her lead.

“No, not stupid corporate affirmations,” cried Appie, warming to her subject. “Stuff from the latest GAAP edition, reviews of the current movie hits in China and India, what are the top-selling toys in Mexico, demographics on where the displacees from the shrinking coastline states are going and what they need, and if you go high-tech enough, have these printed on something like e-paper so you can download updates through your workstation. Inspire us! Cubions are competitive. Give us something that promises to give us an edge.
That
will be unique
. That
will sell.” Appie realized she’d been pounding the table with her fist, and she self-consciously returned her hands to her lap.

Moments of silence passed. The clients stared at her. Julio stared at her. Appie realized her suggestion would triple the cost of manufacturing, and Carolyn had said Mercator was tight on budget.
Oh god, I just blew it big-time.

The man leaned over and whispered something in the woman’s ear. “Um,” said the woman, “wow, that gives us a lot to think about. Um. My partner and I need to have a little discussion. We’ll be right back.” She leaned forward and touched her remote. Their images vanished.

Appie covered her face with her hands. “I suck.”

“No, no, those were great ideas,” said Julio. “They’d be idiots not to take them up. But the negativity scares me. We’re supposed to be helping clients, not yelling at them.”

“I’m sorry. I just saw that thing that looked like a prison uniform and—”

“Touched a raw nerve, huh?”

“I guess. I mean, I don’t feel like a prisoner. I wake up and I love the smell of challenge in the morning. But . . . it’s funny. I just saw an ad this morning for the White Bison Resort. It looked . . . really good.”

“You should go,” Julio said, an earnest tone in his voice. “It’s Worldtree owned, so there’s all kinds of ways you can biz-spin a vacation there. Besides, the restaurant there, the Brownhorn, is one of the few places left you can get beef steak at a reasonable price.”

Appie almost never ate beef, but she suddenly found her mouth watering at the prospect. She looked up at Julio. “You’re a Harbinger too, aren’t you?”

He grinned. “Worldtree hires the best. Oops. Here come the clients again. Whatever you do, don’t apologize.”

The clients popped into view once more. They looked sheepish. The woman began, “My partner and I have discussed this and we want you to know we are terribly sorry if we’ve inadvertently shown disrespect for you people and what you do. Obviously, it is our goal to offer only the best and most appealing merchandise. That said, we think your ideas are fantastic and a much better way to go. We have a couple of lines of apparel that we’re not wild about that we might be able to shut down to bring this into budget. We’re going to give your ‘idea-wear’ a chance. We’ll come back, if you don’t mind, and show you our new prototypes when they’re ready.”