The Mall (7 page)

Though the alarms and door locking mechanisms varied from store to store—some would seal doors shut at the exits while others dropped chain-link curtains or red-striped arms like guillotines until security Bots or personnel could arrive--he knew from experience that there were ways around any security system if you had a shrewd eye and knew their weaknesses.

Snapping the button on the side of the laser pointer, Chance passed the tiny red dot of light across the carpet, up along the wall then across the ceiling.
 
Rad!

Jesse would get a kick out of these, especially if he could use it to hack someone off in a darkened movie theater.
 
Nothing made Jesse happier than to “piss off the suits” as he often put it, and sure, fun was fun, but sometimes Chance just did not get it.

“How much you want for one of these?” Chance asked.

The attendant refused to shift his attention from the phone, simply pointing indifferently to the price on the top of the rack.
 
“So, I told her, I said look, if you want to hang out, we’ll hang out, but don’t get all possessive and shit.
 
I mean I need to keep my options open, right?”

Chance bristled.
 
Condescending asshole!
 
He couldn’t possibly leave the store without giving him a little business.
 
“So, is Van Halen coming out with another album or what?”

Finally, the eyes of the bearded attendant acknowledged him.
 
His face held the sort of alarm reserved for someone who had just yelled something obscene about his mother.
 
“What?
 
What?”
 
He cocked the phone’s receiver away from his ear and murmured, “Hold on, dude.”
 
Casting a heated glare at Chance, he spat, “Look, Van Halen is dead, ya hear me!
 
Dead, dead, dead!
 
How many times do I have to explain this to you people?
 
Van Halen is no more.
 
Finite!
 
Kaput! Got it?”

“So, what, they aren’t touring anymore or just not recording?”

With a blank expression on his face, the attendant just blinked at Chance for a few more moments before turning back to his phone.
 
“I’m back,” he sighed heavily.
 
“Just some kid, s’all.
 
Nah, I’m at work, dude, I told you.
 
I’ll be out of here at midnight.
 
That’s when the Mall takes over for me.”

Experienced shoppers at the Mall of Nations knew that the lion’s share of the stores went fully 100% automated at midnight, though some did so earlier.
 
By midnight, most Mall personnel, except for security, were tucked snug in their beds.
 
After the witching hour, all he and Jesse would have to put up with would be Bots and security assholes like the one they ran into at the Wheel of Time earlier.

This would be there last opportunity to hassle the suits before dawn.

With this in mind, Chance gave the attendant a shifty look and turned briskly away from the front counter.

“And kid, if you want that laser pointer, you gotta pay for it.”

Chance spun back around, tossed the laser pointer across the counter, and backed defiantly toward the exit.
 
“What do they pay a loser like you for anyway?
 
Everything is automated now.”

“They pay me to put up with asinine questions about defunct bands.
 
That’s what.”

“You’re redundant!”

The attendant stared blankly at Chance as Jesse swept up behind him and grabbed the sleeve of his The Police Synchronicity tour t-shirt.
 
“Smell you later, Shaggy” he called, giving Chance a shove toward the exit.
 
“Give the Scooby-gang my best.”

The attendant wagged his middle finger over his shoulder at them and turned back to the phone.
 
“Any idea what a re-dumdant is?”

Chance spun around and glared back at the entrance as Jesse steered him outside into the Mall.
 
“Seriously, what’s the point of guys like him when the Mall essentially runs itself?”

“He’s a body with no authority and no purpose but to take up space.
 
Y’know, like that fat-ass guard who
hassled
us.
 
They’re all just scarecrows,” Jesse answered, digging through the back pocket of his baggy jeans and yanking out a handful of the fuzzy key chains.
 
“Here,” he said, tossing one at Chance.
 
“I snagged these from the store.
 
Not one sensor on any of them.”

Snatching it from the air, Chance glanced back at the CD Connection.
 
He turned the key chain over in his hand. “Why would I want this?
 
I’ve got, like, one key to the front door of my parents’ house.”

“I got Tears for Fears cuz I know
you
like them. They’re a little too gay for me.”

“No more gay than Billy Idol.
 
I mean, ‘Dancing With Myself?’” Chance began to dance around and pump his fist below his waist.

Jesse gave him a shove and increased his pace to leave him behind.
 
“Yeah.
Yeah.
Yeah.”

“Dude, waitaminute!
 
Turn around.
 
What’s that?”

Jesse turned and looked down.
 
“What are you...?”

“On your crotch.”

Jesse looked down at the bright red glowing dot below his waist.

“I think it might be cancer of the scrote!”

Jesse grabbed at the object in Chance’s hands.
 
“You shit-licker!
 
Where’d you get that?”

“Snagged it right out from under that prick’s nose.
 
I even made it look like he caught me.”
 
Chance tossed the laser pointer over to Jesse.
 
“What a tool!”

Jesse stared at it coolly.
 
Without comment he turned and started into the Mall, dumping the remaining key chains into a garbage chute as he passed.

“Hey!
 
Why’d you go and do that for?” Chance asked, following after.

Owen rushed to the entrance to the E-Bot store and stood transfixed by the wonders even before he’d set foot within.
 
Crowds of young and old alike flittered among the laughing, barking, pinging displays of synthesized biology.

Lara and Cora brought up the rear, his mother studying Owen with amusement.

“Well, go on,” she chirped, reaching out to ruffle his curly head, but he was gone before her fingers closed.
 
“Don’t leave this store, until I get back,” she cried after him.
 
Lara watched him disappear into the chaotic display of motion and light, knowing that he would be safe for the time being, but feeling a tinge of discomfort nonetheless.

“C’mon.”
 
She turned and tugged Cora after her.

“But I want to see the Bots,” the five-year-old protested.

“This’ll be better than the store,” Lara remarked.
 
“This is where the real Bots go.”

Lara led Cora to the entrance of a corridor to the left of the store.
 
It was long, narrow and empty without the colorful spectacle that characterized the rest of the Mall.
 
No, this hallway was austere and businesslike, painted a sterile hospital-white, with a single black line painted down its length.
 
She hesitated, glancing up at the sign mounted above the opening, which read simply: “Mall Maintenance.”

“I want to go back to the store,” Cora stated flatly.

Lara ignored her and started down the corridor, the sensible flats she put on this morning, more out of comfort than style, echoed louder and louder the further down they traveled.

We’re off the see the Wizard, Lara thought a bit skittishly.

By the time they’d reached an unhandled door marked “Authorized Personnel Only,” she had worked herself into such a state that when she pressed the little red button marked “Service,” she was all but certain a booming voice would bellow: “Who dares disturb Oz, the great and powerful!”

Instead, the door opened almost immediately with a pneumatic hiss, revealing a dark wide hallway, almost identical to a hospital.
 
The only light came from the circular windows on a set of two swinging doors through which a dark silhouette strode.
 
As it turned smoothly and started toward them, Lara was almost convinced that it was human, until its eyes pulsed at her with an inner blue intensity.

Cora clutched her mother’s arm tightly and darted defensively behind her.

“May I help you?” the tall humanoid figure asked coming to a stop a foot from Lara.
 
Its voice was rich in timbre, like the voice of a concert tenor.
 
James Earl Jones might have been the inspiration.
 
How ironic would that be, Lara thought.
 
A robot voice modeled after Darth Vader.

In the light from the corridor, she could see now that it was a sleek silver creature, beautiful to behold.
 
More delicate than the models used on the Mall floor, this one—at least in its movements--approached humanity.
 
She found herself ogling it as she would a sculpture or, maybe more appropriately, a sports car.
 
Was that how a designer saw its creation--an object of art, yet made for utility, Lara wondered.

“Yes, I was wondering if you repair small Bots
here?
”

“Do you have an appointment?”

Bring me the broomstick of the Wicked Witch of the West.

It had popped into her head with the same sort of conversational quality that Ben cast his observational asides, making it seem even funnier to her.
 
Ben’s wit could be so dry, yet so funny.

A snort escaped Lara’s nose, despite her best attempts to conceal it.
 
She brought a hand up to cover herself, but it was too late.

“I’m sorry, but could I possibly…”
 
A fluttery sound traveled up her throat like an aggravated butterfly.
 
Oh God, she thought.
 
I’m going to get the giggles right here in this ominous robot hospital.

“Excuse me?” the sleek silver Bot said sharply, almost pompously.

Lara attempted a gesture with her hands the approximate size and shape of Andy.
 
Poor Andy.
 
“We just need to fix this little…”

Fixed?
 
But he was shipped fixed.
 
Spaded and neutered and all that good stuff, right out of the box.

“A-About yea wide a-and about yea tall.”

Poor little broken barking machine, her Ben-like voice interjected.
 
Never shits.
 
Never pisses.
 
Never humps your leg.
 
Snuggle up to your state of the art pet, with the warmth and personality of a toaster oven.

Stop, Lara pleaded with herself, covering her mouth in an attempt to cut off the peals of laughter fighting their way up from her quivering gut.

Cora was looking at her now, with a slowly spreading, yet confused, smile, looking from the Bot to her mother and back again, wanting in on the joke.

It’s an engineering marvel!
 
Fun for kids and old tight-assed bitches of all ages!