Episode 21 -- Happy Hour?

In my pre-Electra days I spent many a wondrous night at places like the Happy Hacker Bar and Grill. This big metal hangar-type building was originally the home of a computer software company which specialized in perfecting something or other on the world wide web. The company went bust after the first great web collapse at the turn of the century and the owners of the company; billionaires one minute, bankrupt the next, committed mass suicide and broadcast the ritual over the web as a symbolic farewell to the fickle multitudes of web surfers. Ironically, the company's web server went down halfway through the ritual so no one actually saw the event and the departed webmasters' message, like many other messages sent over the web, went unheard.

Needless to say, the children of the company's owners became somewhat distrustful of technology after that and turned the once-mighty corporate headquarters into a very low-tech bar and grill. Technology comes and goes, they claimed, but booze and fried food never go out of style (a place after my own heart).

The place was dark, dilapidated, decrepit and as run down as the batteries in an old whore's vibrator. But from the sounds of the loud music and laughter coming from within, it was clear that ambiance didn't matter much to the patrons of the H-Squared.

"A charming place indeed," HARV said with a bit of disgust. "I thought that the post-apocalyptic look went out with the last apocalypse."

"It's called atmosphere, HARV. Lighten up."

I turned to HARV's holographic image as he emerged, in his standard butler attire, from the car.

"Now before we go in," I said, "I'm going to need you to do something about your appearance."

"What's that?"

"Don't make one."

"I beg your pardon!" he answered with a good bit of aristocratic indignity.

"This is a very low-tech bar and we want to keep a very low profile. My walking in with a computerized holographic butler is not going to endear me to the patrons. I need you to stay hidden."

"Fine," he said with a huff, "perish the thought that I sully your reputation with the slacker crowd." His hologram faded out but his voice immediately echoed inside my head. "Shall I stay in your mind or is having something intelligent inside one's head a faux pas amongst this crowd as well?"

"You're taking this a little too personally," I said, as I followed the loud music to the club entrance.

Inside, the place looked as no-tech as you can get without having dinosaur meat on a skewer. A big bar at the rear of the room kept the food (real food, no soy imitation stuff) coming and the drinks flowing. The tables were all full, as were the stools at the bar and most of the standing space was occupied as well (busy night). A dry ice machine in the back produced the necessary dive-bar smoke effects (sans nicotine) and a tobacco scented filter gave the air that annoying stench to which bar dwellers of this sort are so accustomed. A few scantily-clad dancers (male and female) bumped and ground on scattered stages and raised podiums for the adoring patrons. As much as I hated to admit it, the place was beginning to grow on me.

As I was soaking in the atmosphere two bouncers, one man and one woman, came to greet me. They were big and burly, as bouncers always are. The woman was rather attractive (in a leg-breaking kind of way). The guy just looked like your average leg-breaker.

Their clothing was vintage 1960's hippie: bright, colorful, and not at all color coordinated. Both of them sported tie-dyed I SURVIVED OFF-PLANET WOODSTOCK 2050 T-shirts. And they both wore those faux Birkenstocks that were so (inexplicably) popular again twenty years ago. Unfortunately, they were also both packing heavy-duty stun guns. Nothing like those around in the 1960s.

The woman took the lead in the approach. She stepped in front of me and put her large hand in my face in the universal (except on Glad-7) "stop right there" position.

"Hold it, buddy," she said. "Mandatory computer check."

"Excuse me?".

She pointed at HARV's communicator at my wrist.

"All computers have to be checked at the door."

She paused and took a closer look at my face, studying it. Then she smiled.

"Say, aren't you Zach Johnson?" She turned to her fellow bouncer before I could reply. "Look, Melvin, it's Zach Johnson. Zachary Nixion Johnson!"

Melvin, who had been flirting with one of the customers (or one of the dancers, it was hard to tell) turned towards me, perturbed. The object of his flirtations took the opportunity to escape into the women's room.

"Well slice me up and sell me to science, Mabel," he exclaimed. "It really is him."

"If it's not then it's an incredible coincidence that these shoes fit so well," I said.

Mabel giggled. Melvin wasn't as impressed.

"I don't get it," he said.

"It's a joke, Melvin," she said.

"I don't get it," Melvin said again.

"It's okay, Mel," I said. "It was only a small joke."

"My name is Melvin," he snarled.

"Sorry, no offense."

"None taken," he said, obviously lying through his teeth.

The three of us stood there nervously smiling at one another for a few nano's (it was a true HTech photo division moment).

"Well, look," I said, "since we're all sure that I'm really me and all, how about letting me keep my computer?"

Melvin smiled, slowly reached into his back pocket and pulled out a recording computer.

"I'll think about it," he said, "if you give me your voice print for my collection."

I smiled, activated the recorder and spoke into the microphone.

"To my good friend Melvin. A true gentleman and scholar."

"Thanks," Melvin said as he hit the save button, "I'll store it right next to my Dick Clark print."

"So can I keep my computer?"

"No."

"But you said..."

"I said I'd think about it," Melvin said with a smirk. "I've thought about it and the answer is no."

"Well, I appreciate your thinking about it," I said. "I know how difficult that is for you, Mel."

"My name is Melvin."

"Yeah, whatever."

I unstrapped the communicator from my wrist and placed it into Mabel's outstretched hand.

"How do I pay without my computer?"

"The tender runs a tab, on paper," she said. "You settle here with us before you leave."

"You don't have a problem with that do you?" Melvin snarled.

"Absolutely not," I said as I walked past him into the bar area. "I completely understand. Rules are rules." I mixed in with the crowd and put some distance between myself and the delightful Melvin and Mabel.

"But of course rules are meant to be broken," I whispered to myself (and HARV).

I went to the restroom and ducked into the first empty stall I found. HARV reflected himself from my eye lens and stood beside me.

"As much as it pains me to say it," HARV said, "you were right about it being best for me not to appear holographically."

"I have my moments."

HARV looked around the restroom stall and shuddered gently in disgust. "No computers allowed. We are truly in the barbarian's den this time."

"Yeah, but the burgers are great," I said. "Now listen, here's the plan."

"You actually have a plan?"

"There's a first time for everything. Run a scan of the bar. Isolate any anomalies that could be signs of BB-2."

"You call that a plan?" HARV asked. "I did that the moment we walked in. Observe."

A digitized playback of my walk through the bar flashed in front of my left eye.

"I recorded the input from your eye lens," HARV said. "Netscape, huh?"

"It's giving me a headache."

"Close your right eye until you get used to the playback," HARV said.

"Cutting edge technology is never painless. Now watch closely. BB-2 is not presently in the establishment but there are some interesting characters around."

The playback froze and a cursor appeared around the image of a large man in the crowd.

"My data banks indicate that this man works in the weapons R&D; unit of HTech," HARV said.

"Interesting."

The playback fast forwarded and froze again with a cursor appearing over the image of another, equally large, man seated at a table.

"This man works for ExShell R&D.; The two of them in the same room make this establishment a veritable powder keg."

"R&D; competition between the two companies is that fierce?"

"Not really, but both of them are dating the red-headed dancer."

"Anything else," I sighed.

The playback rewound at high speed and came to rest on the image of a very familiar looking small man.

"Just this."

It was the lawyer from BB's office.

"My Gates," I said, "that's one of BB's lawyers."

"Oh yeah," HARV said, surprised. "I guess it is. I just highlighted him because he's wearing such an ugly tie. What the DOS is he thinking wearing horizontal stripes with his body type."

"I have to talk to him," I said.

"Sorry, he left during your discussion with the rocket scientist bouncers," HARV said. "Now is there more to this plan or can we return to civilization?"

"How long has the bartender worked here?"

"His shift began four hours ago," HARV said.

"I mean how many years has he been employed here?"

"Oh, seven years, three months, eight days, four hours and counting."

"When did BB appear here last?"

"She danced here five years ago for a period of..."

"Great!" I interrupted. "Then I need to talk to the tender."

"That's your plan?"

I left the stall and tried hard to ignore the stares of my fellow patrons in the restroom.

"By the way, HARV, we really need to practice our non-verbal communication."

I was at the bar a moment later and, after several minutes, I managed to successfully call the tender over (like I said, busy night). He was a small, sheepish, unmarried-uncle kind of guy.

"What will it be Mac?" he asked.

"Information," I answered.

"You want a smart drink?"

"No, I mean real information."

"I'm not sure I remember how to make that," he said slyly.

"I'll make it worth your while."

"I'll tell you now that my while is worth a lot."

"No problem," I said.

"What do you need?"

"I'm looking for a woman."

"Oh, then you'll want to talk to Pierre. He's the flesh tender."

"No, no. I'm looking for a very specific woman. She used to work here."

"I don't know. There have been a lot of dancers through here over the years."

"You'll remember this one," I said. "BB Star."

The tender stiffened suddenly and dropped the glass he was holding. He turned to me, zombie-like and stared.

"You're looking for BB?" he said as his eyes flashed electronic red.

"Uh-oh," HARV said inside my head.

"He's a 'droid," I gasped. "HARV, why didn't you tell me he was a 'droid."

"I didn't...I didn't...I didn't know," HARV stuttered.

"Hey everyone," the tender shouted, "this guy's looking for BB!"

The bar fell deathly silent and, though I couldn't see them, I knew that everyone was staring at me through similar sets of electronic red android eyes.