Humbug (The Unwinding of Ebenezer Scrooge): A Science Fiction Adventure, page 9
The droid was right. But he still hated interviews.
The technicians estimated a surrogate autoresponder was still a few years out. Once his sensibilities were adequately copied and uploaded into the database, he could send his projected self out to these stupid things and no one would know the difference. He could be relaxing in a bubble bath while the projection joked and laughed and turned his social presence viral before he was done drying his toes.
That was why he kept the company’s projects secret. Some secrets meant more to Eb than money, hard as that was to believe. The world could enjoy the fruits of his labors when he was dead and dusty, but not before he thoroughly test-drove them into a mountain of wealth.
“What would you rather be doing, sir?”
“Anything but this.”
“Keep your eye on the money, sir.”
“I always do.”
“That you do, sir.”
The droid gently lifted Eb’s chin, careful not to gouge his second chin. He had enough jiggling.
“Where are the girls?” Eb said.
“We are cleaning them up, sir.” The droid brushed his hair. “They’ll be down momentarily.”
“They’re wearing new dresses?”
“Of course, sir.”
Eb didn’t need the world to think his girls couldn’t afford new clothes. He slumped when the droid was satisfied with his look—there was only so much he could do with the doughy splotchiness. What did it matter anyway? He had on a fresh shirt, the warmth fading, but it smelled clean.
He was supposed to feel better when he woke up from a bad dream. It took a little lying to himself over the course of the day, but he finally accepted the fact that the thing he saw was a dream. But if it was just a dream, why did he still feel like he’d swallowed a carton of expired milk?
The sound of dirt hitting the coffin.
The line of droids.
The loneliness.
“Checking your projected image, sir.”
Eb looked up. A younger man appeared to be seated in front of him on a chair just like his, shoulders slumped. His hair was cut close to the scalp, his chin square and cleft.
“More cheer, sir?”
The image began to smile; eyes twinkled behind the darkened round lenses.
“Down a bit,” Eb called. “Don’t make me psychotic.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.” The droid muttered something that Eb couldn’t hear. The handsome projection of Eb appeared to smile like a male model in his prime.
Eb ran his hand over his head, his thick hair sliding between his fingers. His projection mimicked his move, but only the short stumble of his severe haircut ran beneath his palm. The style was the droid’s idea, said it would look a tad less narcissistic. More masculine. Eb couldn’t get used to it.
It was lacking class.
“A hat, maybe?” he said.
“A hat, sir?”
“Something for the projection. You know, unique and deserving. Memorable.”
“Memorable, sir. Of course.”
A series of hats appeared—a baseball cap, a bowler, cowboy, panama, boater, beret, beanie, flat cap, fedora, trilby. The projection appeared to be sadder beneath the spinning parade of lids that popped on and off his stubbled scalp.
“There.”
The droid paused. “A top hat, sir?”
“That’s the one.”
“You’re positive, sir?”
Eb stood up. The projection imitated him. “Match the clothing.”
The projection’s denim was faded at the knees. It transformed into a loose-fitting tuxedo, reminiscent of what the droids were wearing the night before.
Eb walked forward and the projection did the same. His forehead nearly hit the curved wall. The tips of their noses were almost touching, their round spectacles mirroring each other. He could see himself looking at himself looking at himself.
A stir in his belly dispelled the rotten grossness of the thing in his nightmare. A rugged gentleman looked him right in the eye—a steely blue iris and a green iris behind the rose-tinted lenses, a rigid brow, and a smile denting one cheek that suggested arrogance that came only from a long line of success. But classy.
This was how the world needed to see him.
Why did he have to change when the world would see what he wanted the world to see? Standing toe to toe with his projected self-image, he bathed in the luxury of swarthy good looks and intoxicating confidence. He could almost smell the leather of a horse saddle, the iron taste of blood from scuffed knuckles after a bar fight. The feel of money was on the sharp edge of the top hat—not too tall, not too short.
Just right.
A smile bent his lips. As it did, the image shattered on the wall. For a second, his bloated reflection looked back with rheumy eyes and saggy cheeks.
“What was that?” he shouted.
“Connecting, sir.”
“No, wait—”
The room flickered; shards of dark and light reorganized to project camera booms and tripods of bright lights. Eb stood nose to nose with Todd the producer.
“Whoa!” Todd jumped back. “You scared me, Mr. Scrooge. Thought you’d be seated.”
Eb blinked. Was Todd seeing the top hat projection or a sloppy mess?
“Merry Christmas, Mr. Scrooge.”
Eb said nothing. If there was some miscalculation, if Todd was seeing the real deal, then Eb could bluff his way through it. He stood perfectly still, scheming a way to explain how a bloviated geezer arrived instead of a top-hatted stud.
“Do we have a connection? Mr. Scrooge? Can you hear me?” Todd waved. “Hello?”
“Sir?” the droid whispered. “Are you all right?”
The sound of grinding marbles minced inside Eb’s cheeks. He was going to grind his molars into dust.
“We’re all right on this end, sir,” the droid said to Todd. “Do you like the new hat?”
“The hat?” Todd stepped back and nodded slowly. “Yeah, yeah. Top hat, yeah. Haven’t seen one of those in forever, but it’s looking dapper on you, Mr. Scrooge.”
He can see the hat. Eb stood upright. An image of a tuxedoed young man stood on the monitor behind Todd. There he was, in full attire. And he looked good.
Top hats are back, baby.
“Is that one of your personal droids, Mr. Scrooge?”
“Get out of here.” Eb bug-eyed the droid toward the open door.
“Impressive,” Todd said. “Never interacted with one so advanced before. He sounds so real. I mean, the speech pattern is almost human. When are you going public with that version?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Eb sauntered back to his chair.
“Is he not ready for release?”
Eb turned a key on his lips. “Don’t you have presents to unwrap or something?”
“Be quiet, okay. I get it.”
The hosts were behind him. He recognized David but not the other one.
“Why are they turned around?” Eb said.
“We want to keep fresh, avoid chitchat before cameras are on,” Todd said. “It works better to be spontaneous. Can you hear me all right, Mr. Scrooge?”
“Yes, it’s a beautiful day, the birds are singing, children are dancing. Now who’s that?” He pointed at the woman next to David. Her hair was too long to be Michelle’s. It was the wrong color, a natural red. And she was shorter.
“Marie,” Todd said. “She took Michelle’s seat a month ago.”
A month? “Where’s Michelle?”
“She moved on to her own show. We’ll be lighting up in five minutes, Mr. Scrooge.”
Eb understood quite clearly—Michelle had been sent out to pasture. The old lady was in her fifties by now, far too old to keep it fresh. This new one was younger and prettier. That was how it worked. People like Michelle could have used a projection like Eb, but eventually she’d have to go out in public, greet fans, do events. None of those pesky requirements shackled Eb; he stayed safe from the world.
No one was replacing him.
Once Avocado’s CineMaker™ technology hit the scene, projected images would take on a life of their own. These digital characters would read us the news, play sports and make us laugh. Michelle would be a relic by then.
Real looks are for suckers.
“Hey!” Eb shouted. “David! Marie, hey!”
The hosts looked over their shoulders, their makeup artists holding brushes. Wide smiles broke on their faces. Their eyes moved to the top hat.
“Merry Christmas!” Marie said.
“Okay,” Eb said.
“It’s so nice to meet you.” She held out her hand and then chuckled when she realized she was attempting to shake hands with a projection. “Oh my goodness, I’m such a goof. Your projection is so real, Mr. Scrooge.”
Beauty. Manners. Eb had already forgotten about Michelle.
“I love your hat.” Her grin faltered. “You look so fashionable.”
“I keep up.”
“Where are the girls?”
Eb drank in her beauty, bathed in her sincere flattery then turned to the door. “Dum-dum! Bring the girls!”
Marie and David flinched. So did the assistants behind them. The volume must’ve been up.
“Is that… someone’s name?” Marie asked.
The door opened. The twins were herded inside the room. The droid stopped outside the range of their view. Eb stared wide-eyed at the girls wearing the same dresses with the same ribbons.
“You said the dresses were new,” Eb growled.
“They are, sir. Addy is wearing a green dress now. And Natty is—”
“Are you out of your mind?” Eb just got accustomed to the poem. “By new,” Eb said, smiling back at his hosts, “I meant different.”
“You didn’t say different, sir. You said new.”
Eb’s top-hatted projection on the studio’s monitor smiled without a hint of fuming rage. The hosts waved at the girls as they stepped into view. Addy had her redheaded doll locked in a two-armed vise grip. Natty dragged hers by one arm. They started to climb onto Eb’s knees.
“Oh, oh.” Todd ran back into the studio. “Nice, nice, I love it, but can we save it for the cameras? We’ll have them walk into the shot once we’re on the air. Do you mind, Mr. Scrooge?”
“Whatever gets this train rolling.”
“Super.”
David turned around. Marie wiggled her bright red fingernails at the twins before Todd turned her back to makeup. The droid ushered the girls back to the doorway. Natty tugged on the doll’s leg that escaped Addy’s death hug.
“Moe bee!” Addy jerked away. Natty hissed.
“Hey!” Eb spun on his seat. “Put a cap on the nonsense, you hear? I want English for the next ten minutes, you got that, Dum-dum?”
“I haven’t said anything, sir.”
“You tell them.”
The droid sighed. He took a knee and corralled the girls, speaking in hushed tones.
“That better be English!” Eb turned back to the studio. “Can we get started already? I’m not feeling hot. Too much nog.”
He rubbed his face, cheeks clammy. His projection tipped his top hat instead of mopping his face in frustration. Even Eb was surprised by the intuitive reactions of his projection. Very uplifting.
“Everything all right?” Todd asked.
“You my therapist? Let’s go before the figgy pudding gets cold.”
A murmur rolled behind the scenes. Even Eb’s projection couldn’t stanch the sarcasm on that last outburst.
The intro music blared as assistants ran for cover. This was the last time he was doing this show. Despite what the droid said about social clout, Eb had become barely more than a parade balloon hovering above the road for entertainment and a fine target for pellet guns. He could hear the fashionistas cackling at his top hat and tuxedo.
Why did I wear this?
Pink Stripe wouldn’t be laughing, at least. If she was, it was in a dark room by herself. Eb made sure she wouldn’t find work on that side of the camera again. It was safer running the Pamplona streets with a bright red target painted on your butt than messing with Ebenezer Scrooge.
As the hosts turned around with big fake smiles, a stir of joy melted the butterflies in his stomach. It wasn’t the lights and camera or the sound of money filling his accounts that did it.
It was the thought of Pink Stripe all alone.
“Merry Christmas!” David and Marie shouted in unison.
“Yep.”
“Thank you so much for being here.” Marie clapped.
“Sort of like tradition,” David said. “We had you last year.”
“Sure did.”
“Did you get everything from Santa?” Marie asked.
“Totally.”
“It’s been quite a year for you,” David said. “The release of not one but two of the most popular video games, an upgraded gaming console, and the introduction of immersion wetware. I mean, wow. Avocado is on fire, Mr. Scrooge. You’ve got to be happy.”
“Like a schoolgirl, David.”
“You must feel a little like Santa.”
Eb covered his belly. “You saying I’m fat?”
“No, no, no.” David and Marie competed for the most nervous laughter. “I’m talking about the number of presents that were under Christmas trees this year, most of which came from Avocado. A banner year for the company, indeed. You must love this holiday.”
“Everybody loves money, David.”
Thankfully, the projection beamed a million-dollar smile and tipped his hat. There was a short discussion about his new look, how they loved it and, if he wasn’t mistaken, they meant it. He looked great, a fact that couldn’t be argued by the sane. Marie stayed on script and asked about what the public could expect from Avocado in the coming year, and Eb discussed groundbreaking technology that would blow their minds.
“How are you doing this?” Marie asked.
“Doing what?”
“Coming out with so many great products. Before the untimely death of your partner, you weren’t half this productive.”
“I’m a motivator, Marie.” Eb winked. His projection did, too.
“We understand you cut all of your medical funding,” Marie deadpanned off-script.
“What?”
“Since Jacob’s death, you’ve stopped development of important synthetic stem cell research that, according to your late partner, could heal millions.”
“Nonsense.” Eb waved at the droid. “Don’t believe everything you hear, young lady.”
The twins trotted into view. Marie began clapping, her expression rosy red and Christmassy again. David waved with both hands. The girls waved back just like they were taught to do, before climbing onto Eb’s knees, their bony butts grinding into his thighs.
“Hi, girls,” Marie said. “How was your Christmas?”
“Good,” they said.
“It must be nice having Ebenezer Scrooge as your father.”
They nodded.
Father? He wasn’t their father. He wasn’t even a guardian, really. More like their banker.
Marie asked about their dresses, said she loved the ribbons, asked what their dolls’ names were and if they got them for Christmas even though a troll could tell you those germ bags appeared to emerge from a dumpster dive at the turn of the century.
“What a great, beautiful family, Mr. Scrooge,” Marie said. “Thank you again for taking the time to visit with us and wishing everyone a Merry Christmas.”
“I didn’t say that but okay.”
“You know you made Christmas happen all over the world today.”
“If Christmas is about money, then all right.”
David giggled about getting his kids not one but both games from Avocado this year. Marie said she didn’t buy anything from Avocado, but Santa must’ve and, oh boy, did they laugh about that. Meanwhile, the twins whispered back and forth. Eb lightly pinched their arms.
“Just two more minutes, girls,” he said without moving his lips.
“Can I see your dolls?” Marie asked. “They look very special.”
Natty held her filthy little puppet by the arms and made it dance on her knee while singing something in the twin language that the hosts would think was singsong. Addy squeezed her doll tighter, but once Marie started clapping and laughing, she loosened her grip.
Now there were two dolls dancing.
Marie and David hooted like proud parents. “I love your doll, Addy,” she said. In an attempt to learn her doll’s name, she ignored Natty’s dancing fool.
“Moe bee!” Natty snatched Addy’s doll by one of the floppy legs. It snapped from her fingers. Eb felt Addy’s buttocks clench as Natty leaped to the floor and twirled the doll like a raggedy lasso.
“Moe bee! Moe bee!” Addy cried. “Moe bee!”
The hosts didn’t have time to ask what in the world they were shouting. Natty stiff-armed her sister in the face and hit her on the crown with the doll before hurling it across the room. Before storming out of the room, she held her doll over her head, victorious.
Eb stood in horror.
He could’ve grabbed Natty for an apology, could’ve picked his crying daughter off the floor and hugged her as the show signed off. Instead, he stared at the monitor behind the hosts. His projection in the top hat stared back.
“Thank you from everyone,” David said.
“Yeah. Uh-huh.”
“Merry Christmas,” Marie chimed.
The room went blank. Eb was alone. He slumped in the chair so deeply that he almost slid onto the floor. The segment was a disaster, sure. But that wasn’t what paralyzed him with horror.
It was what he saw when Natty held up her doll in victory.
The droid snuck into the room.
Eb shook his head, eyes seeing something that wasn’t there. His mind was playing tricks again. And the world saw him when it happened. The world watched his spoiled brats make him a fool. He was awake this time.
“I anticipate sympathy from the audience, sir. Parents will know how hard it is to raise children. They will have pity for you.”
“Pity?” The word echoed.
