"Now, signs indicate we are still in Virginia. It will take a short while, but we'll be back to Boston soon. Don't ask me why we ended up in Virginia. I can't explain it scientifically right now, though it's gnawing away at me. All I can say is, we got bumped off course."

  "Dr. Milt Braddock, at a loss for a scientific explanation! This sure is one for the books."

  "Yes, write it down, October 2, 2047. Wait, that didn't happen yet!" He winked at Pinky, and she wrinkled up her nose.

  "I'll let you know when you do it again, Milt!"

  "I don't doubt it one bit. I'm sure you'll be the one to tell me," he answered sarcastically.

  The Envo moved on in silence the rest of the way. Milt, deep in thought, Pinky, a bundle of nerves. The land below looked so populated, but maybe they had forgotten during the interim in Virginia, 2017. Pinky read a little of Stephen King's The Stand, dozed a little, read some more. She could hear the Envo slowing.

  "We're here, Pinky!" Milt sounded particularly optimistic. She was glad of that, just afraid he'd soon have his bubble burst. "I'll park on the outskirts again." He hovered, then decided where to descend. Once again, they had traveled through the night, and it was just short of daybreak. There were just a few vehicles in the air. "I think I'll I just go and park near the free Library."

  "You're assuming there still is one."

  Milt looked grave again. "Good point. I'm assuming we're visiting a place we've been before. Only, we're not. So many things could be different. Why, what if Steve Pring became President of the United States and decided to bomb the LSA?"

  Pinky raised one eyebrow.

  Milt responded, "It could happen! Anything is possible. We'll just have to get out and put our feelers around, glean what we can from the surroundings." He circled around for a while, and then the traffic starting picking up. He lowered the Envo down to a grassy area. It was a child's park, he realized, and moved it over to a deserted side of the park, hoping the Envo wouldn’t be so visible. He saw a few people parking on the street, getting out to hurry to jobs, or so he inferred.

  "Let's not stay here too long, okay? You need a shave, and it's time for me to get a pedicure!" Pinky chuckled. Milt had not foreseen it, but their bodies, being organic material, aged, grew, and changed as usual even while in an alternate time period. In other words, they were aging. The two of them just didn't have much time to tend to it. So staying on a time travelling journey for too long could take time off of their lives, since they always went back to the same point of take- off. Pinky reached in her bag for some deodorant and a face towelette.

  "Well, yes. The plan is to not be here for too long." He looked around, preoccupied, watching the street. He figured the time now to be 9 a.m. After a little while, they got out, and walked past some children playing to speak to a mother sitting on the bench reading from what looked like a thin plastic board, half the size of a clipboard. It was called the Boston Herald.

  "I love the Boston Herald! Interesting stuff," Milt remarked. This earned him a suspicious look from her. He noticed the grass was unrealistically green. There were very few people on the street. Since he had her attention, he continued. "I've been away for a little while."

  The woman looked him up and down, taking in the wrinkled shirt and three-day razor stubble.

  He asked, "Is the free Library still on Millenium Rd.?"

  The woman chuckled in a gravelly smoker's laugh/cough combination. In contrast to her gravelly voice, she had a dark pageboy haircut and wore a dainty bobby pin to hold it off of her face. "Free? Nothing's free anymore, Mister. But yeah, there's a library over there. Costs to be a member. Not much though. Cassie! Come out of there!" She became distracted, which was good; hopefully, she wouldn't look him up and down anymore and size him up for the imposter that he was.

  "Thank you, thank you, Miss." He headed to the Envo where Pinky was waiting. "Still a library, no longer free, though why that should surprise me, I don't know, on Millenium Rd. Oh, Miss, one more thing!" He called to the woman again and walked closer.

  "Mister, I'm a nanny. Don't call me Miss.” She put her nose up in the air, but her deep, brown eyes were still smiling, as if she were having fun with him. “I graduated. I have a job. What is it?"

  "I’m sorry. Getting forgetful, from the travel, you know.” He noted that he would have to get her name. “Where do I turn to get to Millenium Road from here? Wait, do you all have 411? I just want to find an art studio. I know the owner."

  "411?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.

  "Information, I mean. Used to be if you wanted someone's contact information you could call 411....."

  "All you had to do was ask, poppy." He wasn't sure if she was calling him the name of a flower or a variation of Pappa. Differences in colloquialisms had to be accounted for, as in the lady who was offended by being called "Ma'am." Was she being flirtatious or calling him old? She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out something that looked like a small, clear, square piece of notepaper. "Here's why I still read the newsplastic: my eyes. I only have two days before it disappears, though, so we'll keep this short." He looked at her questioningly, so she continued. "The Boston Herald, I mean! Cassie, come here for a minute." She put the device in his hands, turning to wipe the little girl Cassie's hands. "Don't try to touch squirrelcats! They could be dirty. Dirty! Yuck." The little girl ran off to play again. "You never know where that squirrelcat's nose has been! Geez, poppy, you've never had one of these?" She took the device back and spoke into it. "Control screen. See, it recognizes my voice. It wouldn't do that for you." Just then another, younger woman walked up. She stood tall, much more rigidly and more stand-offish than the young woman on the bench, who seemed rather worldly and unafraid. "Phillipa! Meet...what's your name?"

  "Milt."

  "Okay, Milt. Phillipa, keep an eye on Cassie for a minute, okay?" Milt could see controls and icons on the device. She tapped a circle called Maps/Directions. "Okay, this screen is small and I didn't get my eye surgery yet." Milt handed her his glasses to see if she would try. She frowned. "No one uses those anymore. They do more harm than good. Anyway, you look at it and read the directions. "

  "Please forgive me." He took his glasses back. "We are in a financial pickle right now. Umm, hardship. Trying to find some family. I should not have stayed away so long." The woman and her friend, Phillipa, turned and looked at him sympathetically.

  "Really, I know. Just throw those out! They're hurting your eyes!" She reached for them, but he quickly placed them back in his shirt pocket. "Okay, can you see it?" She asked.

  Milt moved back, then put his glasses back on. "Sorry, I depend on these things. I'm sure that's part of the harm, but, still...." He could see a green line from their location, going ten different directions, and a blank with the word destination. He was getting an idea to modify this navigation system to download street names in any time period. Oh, what it would cost! It would require figuring out the Envo's time-travelling radio. He filed it back in his mind, a sure plan for later. "Oh, I'm sorry. I don't know the name of her art studio. Where can I look for information?"

  The nanny spoke to the gadget, "Information. Person. Business. What's the lady's name?"

  "Patrice Braddock. Art Studio."

  "Okay." She repeated his words into the gadget, then showed him the screen. "Alright, poppy, read."

  "Patrice Braddock. Travelling Art Lessons. You call me, I come to you. Hmm, that's a little different. But good, it's good. Patrice Braddock, sales license, life insurance. That can't be her! Same address though, Horizon Lane."

  "Oh, that's a lovey neighborhood!" Phillipa exclaimed. “She must be holding down two jobs.”

  "So, now for directions again? To Horizon Lane?"

  "Street number?"

  "9515, Horizon Lane," Milt answered.

  The nanny repeated the information into her gadget. Again, Milt saw a digital street map, with a green line leading from their destination to 9515 Horizon Lane. The nanny touched the gadget.

  A voice spoke the directions verbally: "Take right down Galaxy Lane, continue under the 3,000 overpass, then Galaxy Lane becomes International Lane, take a right onto JFK Memorial Lane, and right into Happy Lotus Dwellings. Horizon Lane is the third street on the right."

  "Okay. You've got it. Can I have my Matt back?" Matt, huh?

  "Thank you, so much." He turned to leave.

  "Good luck, best fortune, good karma, all that to you, poppy, umm, Milt," the nanny called to him. He'd never gotten her name. He turned to wave, and saw her and Phillipa do a slight bow towards him. So he bowed back, anxious to be seen as their socio-economic equal and hoping there wasn't some degree of respect just because he was a man. Although, the use of "poppy" indicated a playful equality which made him feel better. He was glad she trusted him enough to help him. He could never be thankful enough.

  He reached the Envo. "I've got the directions. You should have come out. They have plastic newspapers whose writing disappears after two days, I wonder if they reboot at that time? Recycle? They must. She had a gadget that gave her control at the sound of her voice, with a navigation system, it's giving me ideas, Pinky!" She gave him a half-smile.

  "What's wrong?"

  "I'm just nervous."

  "We have to have a protein snack first," Milt decided.

  "Oh, we're walking. Why do you always insist on eating so much?"

  "Why do you always insist you don't need to eat? It's scientific. The brain needs to be fed! Yes, I thought we'd walk. Is that okay with you?"

  "Yeah, whatever. This one's for you, Milt." She stood up and leaned against the Envo. He handed her a package of food. She ate begrudgingly. "Just so you know, that never worked when my mother insisted I eat. I'm not sure if I should eat, just to eat."

  "Just remember the Southern piecemeal, and Polly's cakes, Tomas' piecemeal bread. That's what I do."

  "Mmm-hmm. The Southern piecemeal. That'll be my go-to memory." She took a few bites.

  Milt was done eating. He handed her a cube that looked like gum, which had a liquid burst inside. It was a thirst quencher, and helped to keep them hydrated when they weren't relying on some stranger's hospitality.

  "That, gadget, The Matt. It said we could expect to walk for thirty-five minutes. I think it's quite manageable; how about you?"

  "Sure." She replied.

  He closed the door to the Envo and called out to the nanny again. He felt it safe to consider her a friend. She didn't hear, so he motioned to Pinky to walk with him over there.

  "I didn't get your name."

  She looked up again. "Elise." Phillipa was beside her, programming an automated swing set for the kids. "You know, some people think robots could do this job. They're wrong."

  "I agree, Elise. So, do you think it's safe to leave this vehicle parked here? We plan to walk, being low on finances and all."

  "As long as you're gone before the end of the business day, people will just think you work around here. It's fine. Look, I'll give you a dimsel. It won't do much for you, but if you're in a bind, it's something."

  "No, you've done enough, I couldn't." This earned a nudge from Pinky. "No, we just can't."

  "Elise, I'm Pinky. You've been really helpful so far, and he won't take it, but I will. I'd love to repay you, if there is a way."

  "Umm, can you watch these kids while Phillipa and I go grab a smoke? We can't do it out here, but they allow it in that breakfast shop, right there." She pointed across the street.

  "I don't see why not. It's still early," Pinky replied.

  Milt frowned at her. At least robots didn't need to step away for a smoke. The two nannies walked across the street, explaining that a dimsel would exchange hands on return, and Milt and Pinky devised a plan. Pinky would introduce herself and keep an eye on the kids. Milt would not take his eyes off of the breakfast shop. Sure, Elise seemed to be a friend, but he didn't truly know her. This latest development surprised him. Ah well, smoking was still an addictive habit. Nothing seemed different about that.

  The act of watching the breakfast shop was tedious, though. Neither Pinky nor Milt knew the conversion rate or monetary value of a dimsel, but Milt surmised that it might serve no other purpose but to keep them from looking like total outsiders. He also truly hoped they would not be in another situation where they were asked to produce identification.

  It seemed like forever, and Pinky had endeared herself to the kids, but finally Elise and Phillipa returned. She had some food in a sack that she offered the children (perhaps as a bribe for their silence) then she handed a dimsel to Pinky. "Thanks," she said. "I usually don't get such a break during the day. I don't go in that breakfast shop without another person. The smoke-friendly ones are a magnet for some real characters. They look at me like I'm a woman of ill-repute."

  "What's repute?" Asked one of the little girls.

  "A poot!" She replied, with that gravelly laugh, hoping the girl would get confused. "Thank you both. I hope your day is uneventful, and that you find what you are looking for."

  "Thanks again. Take care." Milt called, earning a funny look from both of the nannies. He saw Phillipa whisper something into Elise's ear, and kept walking, hoping it was nothing more than a comment on his eccentricity. But, truly, Elise's rebellious attitude had made her a willing accomplice.

  “Hey,” Elise called out, then added, “When I get off work, I tend to stop at the coffee shop on International Lane. Mostly older folks in there, quite a mellow atmosphere until late at night. I get another smoke in before heading home. But the coffee’s great too! If you guys meet me there, I’ll buy you a cup!”

  “We’ll see if we can be there, Elise. Truly. It has been a pleasure.” He and Pinky headed down the street.

  Chapter 16

  Bandwagon with Bandwidth

  As they walked, Milt noticed how sleek the buildings looked. Very new, with a lot of glass. There were many Asian fusion, sushi, and Japanese restaurants. He recalled, from the back of his mind, something Polly had said about an alliance with Germany and Japan. Who would have imagined? A century can really change things.

  There was another breakfast shop, with a line almost filling up the sidewalk for a block. He wondered how long these breakfast shops stayed open. Maybe it was only for a few hours? Everyone had to get in before they closed? What was their capacity limit? He met these curious thoughts by shoving them down into the dark recesses of his mind, where his worries for Brandon resided.

  "It's like those speak-easies in the 1920's," Pinky remarked. "Although, they technically were illegal. But people knew they were there, right?"

  "I suppose," Milt answered distractedly.

  "People all have to go to this place to smoke. Unless they also do it at home. Well, there have to be some places open at night for them! What would they be called, I wonder?"

  "A night club? I mean, as long as they don't serve food. These breakfast places serve food, but I think no one in there is eating food there. Perhaps that's the law."

  They appeared to be entering into an electronic haven of retail shops on International Lane. Gadgets, robots, Matts, Angelas (a type of robot companion), mobile cooking units, all for sale. There was a sales office for cryogenic preservation, which made Milt want to seethe. There was a dark shop with heavy curtains, with a salesman outside in front of what looked like three telephone booths, only there were locks on the doors. Each had a small computer unit inside.

  "Come on over, have a try. Don't be bashful," the gregarious man called. "You really should give it a try."

  "What is it?" Pinky asked.

  "A simulation experience. Cocaine, Heroin, LSD. You need about an hour afterward to return to normal. So, no hangover. And, no detection on a drug test. An experience that won't make you lose your job or land in jail!" He spoke so proudly. Pinky turned to Milt, looking horrified.

  A well- dressed young man in a coat and tie walked up from the other way. "I'm here to try it. Cocaine." He placed paper money in the salesman's hand, and was handed a clear plastic clipboard with some writing on it. How much money, Milt was not sure, but he felt he really didn't need to know.

  "But, if he's never tried it before, doesn't he risk getting addicted?" Milt asked.

  "There is no physical addiction, though I suppose psychological could occur. Oh, sign it, young man, it's all in the contract. Read it if you like." The young man glanced it over.

  "I do allow repeat customers." The salesman winked at Pinky and Milt. There was a sign outside the shop that read 'Try, or use, at your own risk. Signed contract required.'

  "What's the difference between ‘try’ and ‘use’?" Pinky asked.

  "'Try' means you've never done it before. 'Use' means you have." The young man handed him the plastic clipboard, signed.

  "Okay, Jeff. Step into this one, and I'll get my assistant to hook you up."

  Soon, a crowd of onlookers had gathered. One young lady spoke to Pinky. "It's not as scary as it seems. Much safer than doing this at a party. Much less scary. Though I'd only do it inside the shop, not out here for everyone to see."

  "You sure you don't wanna be next?" The salesman asked. “Everyone’s trying it these days.”

  "Yes, I'm sure! I'm not doing this. Don't even try, dude," Pinky answered sharply. The young man Jeff was getting hooked via by wires from the computer unit that got attached to his head by a lovely, seductively dressed young woman. It was similar to watching a travelling magician's show.

  "I'm gonna go next!" Another young man walked up.

  "After Jeff. No problem," the salesman replied.

  "Can you hook me up to the LSD?" Another young woman called from behind him. What was this, the lunch hour attraction?

  "Come on over. Here is a contract. Read, and sign," The salesman practically sang.

  "Is this expensive?" Milt asked the young woman.

  "No. Pretty reasonable. I just take a long lunch sometimes. Gives me the hour for downtime. Which all means, I skip lunch, and it's done wonders for my diet! Well, it does cost more than what I pay for lunch each week." She looked over the contract, which was shorter and identified as "Subsequent user contract."

 

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