Zoetrope: All-Story Extra - Slices, Dices, Makes Thousands of Julienne Fries

Jayne Vitrino loved Mondays. In the corporate world, Mondays were dress-up days, the only day of the week when one could get away with natural fiber clothing in broad daylight. Jayne liked to schedule client presentations on Mondays so she could wear cottons in summer, tweeds in fall, wools in winter. Of course, it all depended on which client she was presenting to. Some of the corporates stuck to sober grey unisuits regardless. But Geomeg, the conglomerate she was meeting with today, followed the Monday trend. Jayne could slide into an eye-catching, body hugging, pure pink cotton dress.
  The dress hung on the back of the bathroom door, reflected in the three-way mirror Jayne stood before, a rosy glow against stainless sithsteel. She'd finished her morning isometrics and was surveying her sweaty body with primal satisfaction. And primal it was to see slick perspiration, smell her own body odor. She stretched one last time, enjoying the way her high, small breasts lifted even further. Time was wasting though, and she turned to set the bather to include a shampoo.
  Inside the stall, the prickle of ion-charged air encased her body as dirt, sweat, and skin oils coagulated and lifted away. Jayne disliked the sensation on her scalp, as if each individual hair was being gently tugged at the root. A sigh of relief escaped her lips as the mist rinse came on. It was set for a full four minutes, twice as long as the standard clean included in the rent. Worth every credit. Nothing like real water to make a woman's skin glow. The drying cycle was also modified to include a rich moisturizer, sealing the precious droplets against her skin.
  At her makeup table, she surveyed the choices pensively. George Barnholme, President of Geomeg, liked a feminine touch, liked color, but nothing too radical. Jayne's favorites, miniature French dueling daggers across each eyelid, wouldn't do at all. Butterflies were hot, but not the right image for a tough advertising exec. She settled on a row of tiny red strawberries. Red was a power color, but strawberries were wholesome, good, and expensive. Perfect.
  The trouble with natural fibers was that one had to use a separate deodorizer, while a unisuit automatically kept body odor down to an even 2 emits. Jayne applied roll-on lightly to her underarms, palms, and misted her nether half and inner thighs. A quick pass of the odorwand showed 7 emits. She hesitated, chewing her lip. It was high `cause she was hyped about work, but she would be even more hyped by presentation time. Would she go over? 10 emits was the legal limit for body odor. She wanted George and his men to scent her pheromones, but there were also two women in the contingent today. Push them too far and they'd hate her, and her ad campaign, before she even opened her mouth. A little more deodorizer and she was down to level 5. Not bad. She'd go up during the meeting to 8, perhaps 9, but not over. And anyway, it was the president she needed to sway, not his flunkies.
  She stepped into all-cotton panties then slipped the dress over her head. It slid down her body like a lover's smooth hands. No built-in breast stabilizers. Her nipples poked sharply through the material, proclaiming her femininity. Jayne grinned, knowing if she wore this dress to a club she'd have men clamoring for her comcall. And not just lays, but those looking for reproductive contracts. Stable men. Men of status. She wasn't beautiful; she knew that. Her sharp pointy face and slightly crooked nose banned her from that realm. But with a body like hers, who cared?
  Time to go. She snapped on her databook, settled the slim headset over her hair, tucked the plugs in her ears, and adjusted the thin wire that came around to the front of her throat for the mike. The databook's nylon straps chafed on bare skin. Another advantage to a business unisuit -- they had built in forearm pockets. So? What was a little discomfort? Nothing worthwhile ever came easy -- Jayne's personal motto.
  No transit today; Jayne punched for a cab. Going out in public dressed like this during working hours was foolhardy and drew attention. Jayne took transit religiously every other day of the week, even though her salary easily covered a daily cab. While in training, she had studied the powerful execs. Once they were earning enough to take them off transit, their ad campaigns began to fail. They removed themselves from the very people they were creating advertising for. That's why the standing joke was, once someone hit exec, they had one to two good years before nosedive. Jayne was sixteen months into status and planned to stay exec for a long time. No flashing red termination message and order to report for career re-training was coming her way.
  The cab's interior held advertising panels on every square inch. She turned her headset down to the lowest limit, but the soundtrack of whatever ad her vision encountered still assaulted her ears. She sighed, debating whether or not to engage her illegal auto-mute. The cab might or might not be monitored. She decided to leave well enough alone. Today was not the day to get delayed by a violation summons.
  Colman Advertising had a corner building, complete with a neo-space facade. Marcite stone cherubs held the name against a field of silvertone stars and ornate golden suns. The massive wrought-iron-look doors opened into a recently installed state-of-the-art tunnel lobby. Jayne walked in, and over to the lifts, without even breaking stride, having been scanned and accepted by the security system. Lost in thought, she was oblivious to the visitors frozen in place while reception holos appeared before them and inquired their business in the building.
  Her team was waiting in her office. 8:58 AM and all present and accounted for. She spared them an approving glance and got down to business.
  "All set, Ray?"
  "Green and go," the headtech answered confidently. Ray was the most important person on her team today. Everything hinged on the holo presentation. He could make Jayne look good, he could make her look bad. A maestro on the O/S board, he orchestrated the effects, keeping perfect time with Jayne's performance.
  Current managerial style had execs keeping a distance from their techs, replacing them like old technology if even the tiniest of errors were made. Jayne used a different approach, bringing donuts to the operations room, clubbing it after work with her `techies', and faithfully remembering birthdays. It paid off. Her team would go to hell and back for her, and she hadn't yet lost a client due to a faulty presentation.
  Jayne relaxed slightly, tension notching down. A glance at the digital showed they had time before the Geomeg contingent arrived. The eight people in her office were fidgety, hyped, and ready to go. She should say something to bring them down a bit, save the energy for the presentation, but her assistant Laina was already talking.
  "Did you hear the latest about Trio? Took out a freighter on the way to Kennedy Station."
  Trio, (People*Planets*Peace) was the ultra radical group bent on saving humankind from technology. Most people called them wackos. They were anything but peaceful, people joked nervously. Trio's roots were in the twentieth century Greenpeace movement. Ostensibly, they worked on things like saving the remaining zoos, and protested the latest human reproduction cutbacks. They even ran ads on the vid to encourage people to put plants in their living units.
  "Whoa! Really? What was the freighter carrying?" someone at the back asked anxiously. It sounded like Fred, the soundtech. He'd been paranoid since the Washington Square incident. Trio was reputed to be responsible for the deaths of seven soundtechs at the Local 416 Sound Union rally three years ago.
  "Relax, Fred, we won't let `em get you," someone else murmured, and the tech flushed while the others laughed. But the laughter had a skittish edge to it. Trio had targeted the advertising industry ever since the Advertising Bill came into effect. The bill originally ensured all advertisements received equal representation on consumer headsets, but it led to the law of No-Mute. For over twenty years now no one could legally way to avoid an ad. A level playing ground had to be established after all. Trio claimed it was auditory assault and said it infringed on human rights, but the advertising lobby was powerful and all attempts to repeal the law never got past a shredder in a Congressman's office
  "Yeah, Laina, what's Trio got against freighters?" Jack called. "Are we supposed to use pedal-power to reach the stars too?"
  She shrugged, a half-smile on her lips in appreciation of the irony. "Stychon fuel for Kennedy Station."
  "Goddamn." Ray sounded thoroughly disgusted. Their presentation this morning was for an entire wall of the new Space Station 16 -- yet unnamed. Sixteen had been in the works for three years and was due to open in a month. There would be a grand ceremony here on earth, with the All Systems Governor revealing the name then. Hot money was running on yet another dead world leader, though there was a lobby to call it Gates after the twentieth century computer king.
  Laina's voice dropped to the conspiratorial tone people use when revealing juicy news. "They also say Trio is going to blow up Sixteen. Got it bad for the new station as it's running 75% on Stychon. They say there won't be anything left of the asteroids if they keep mining them for Stychon at this rate."
  "Enough," Jayne cut sharply through the murmurs of thrilled, speculative fear. "Trio isn't our concern this morning. Geomeg will be here in less than five minutes. Places everyone." She frowned at Laina. "Quit smirking and start smiling."
  "Aye, aye, Captain." The assistant grinned moronically and goose-stepped over. Despite herself, Jayne chuckled. Laina's infectious sense of fun was a real asset with clients. But it was the incisive mind lurking behind the perky facade which kept her on as Jayne's assistant.
  "Guests arriving in the Rotunda," reception chimed into her office.
  "One, two, three..." Jayne murmured and then drew a deep breath. A glance at Laina. "Let's knock their socks off, shall we?"
  Marcus Jennings, president and owner of Colman Advertising, was already in the Rotunda greeting the clients. Jayne walked in, not at a smart pace, but with a hip rolling stroll, eyes focused only on the client, lips faintly shiny from licking them moments before. The other women execs in the firm were critical of her methods, but Jayne's psych training had been done under a professor with a double designation; psychology and anthropology. Sex sells. It always had, and it always would, even if they were not allowed to use it anymore. Her fellow execs spent their days dreaming up ways to beat the censors, but neglected the fact they had to sell the client first.
  With smug satisfaction Jayne noted George Barnholme's gaze dip to her breasts. The other three men were equally attentive, but the two women wore distant, faintly supercilious looks upon their faces. A minute eyebrow lift signaled Laina, and the assistant moved to welcome the women with a wide, ingenuous smile.
  "Jayne's going to wow you today," Marcus was saying. He was a big man, wide of shoulder and of girth. Unusual to see such an opulent display of flesh, but Marcus had the credits to replace any internal organ he wanted; health was not a concern. He claimed there was an advantage to his size, that humans had an atavistic attraction to a well-fleshed body. Jayne personally didn't buy that explanation (she thought him a glutton) but anyone as fabulously successful as Marcus had to be doing something right.
  The clients entered the bland presentation room with an air of pleasant anticipation. Colman Advertising had never disappointed, and this was Jayne's third presentation to their company. Her last campaign for them had won the Norberry Award, so they were halfway to acceptance before the holo even began. Just the way Jayne liked her clients.
  Sixteen was going to be the company's biggest advertising investment yet. An entire wall of the station was rented in long term contract. Geomeg was setting itself up to take on its biggest competitor, Firoko Industries. Both Geomeg and Firoko listed in the top ten on the Go- Index, but it was no secret that George Barnholme was planning a takeover. With Colman's help he'd already moved the company up three notches in the last six months alone.
  "Dear associates," Jayne began. In the control room, Ray orchestrated the lights and backup music. The featureless sithsteel room vanished and they stood in near darkness, a soft halo of light playing over Jayne, music in perfect counterpoint to her rather husky voice. She always had trouble projecting, but her tech augmented subtly, helping her sound louder and a touch more authoritative.
  While Jayne spoke of advertising's Golden Age, images of past historic ads appeared everywhere. The music swelled and the images came more rapidly, a virtual snapshot of the last twenty years in advertising. She then elaborated on current consumer trends.
  A rather standard opening to a presentation, quite contrary to Jayne's usual innovative approach. But it was helpful to establish mood for this particular presentation.
  Despite the lack of exciting fare, Jayne's own inner tension lent a vibrancy to her voice which held the associates' full attention. Her palms were sweating as she wound up the intro and the music flourished in crescendo. "And here is Space Station Sixteen!"
  The darkness fell away entirely and they were standing in an exact replica of the station. Wall to wall ads appeared, complete with audio pounding into everyone's headsets. There was a concerted surge of hands to databooks as everyone switched down as far as possible.
  Jayne fought to keep an exultant grin off her face when, into her own headset, came Ray's whisper, "Ok, got `em. Auto-mute illegals detected. Out of the four men, three of them are switched off. Barnholme, Sochya, and Williams."
  There was no way to know ahead of time, but Jayne had counted on illegals. It was going to make the sell all that much easier.
  She motioned the group to walk with her, modulating her voice to a near clinical detachment. "Note Granger's use of color-optics in this ad, and Cola-KAN's happy children at play on the left." She went on the explain the demographics and psychological profiles for each of the major ads they encountered. She knew she was boring them after the first five. Good. Exactly how she wanted them. Bored, restless, and even a bit annoyed. Jayne led them through the meters of replicated station hallways, droning a monologue on advertising techniques.
  It was the height of rudeness to interrupt a presentation, but George Barnholme hadn't risen to the top of a major conglomerate by mannerly conduct. He suffered Jayne's tour for nearly twenty minutes before exploding, "But what the hell does this have to do with our ad? Where is it? I've got another meeting, let's get on with it."
  That was Laina's cue. She twinkled up to the client, thrust her arm through his, and looked up with big, blue, eyes. "Oh, but associate... President Barnholme, it's only five more minutes."
  Marcus Jennings was urgently trying to reach her on a private code, came Ray's voice into Jayne's ear. "The boss is real pissed. Wants you to move to the ad now. He's asking for direct input to your headset."
  Touching her throat mike, Jayne sub-articulated a response. Ray should tell Marcus to hang tough, she knew what she was doing. But she half-turned so her furious boss couldn't catch her eye.
  With the client momentarily appeased by Laina, Jayne was able to continue. She swiftly led through them through another series of hallways, keeping up the lecture, but watching George Barnholme out of the corner of her eye. When she judged he was about ready for another explosion, she signaled Ray.
  Abruptly, the corridor they traversed met a sharp corner. Upon turning the corner they were confronted with a huge open section of . . . outer space. Everyone jammed to a halt, instinctively swaying backwards from the gaping void before them. There was complete silence for a moment, then one of the women breathed, "Oh, but how lovely."
  Dark velvet sparkled with pinpoints of light. The Mandarin asteroids danced and shimmered across the left side, their dust and debris showering the heavens with an ever- changing display of light and color. The double moons were on the rise, visible on the top right. The faintest shushing murmur could now be heard as everyone stood still, enrapt.
  Only Jayne's eyes were not on the amazing spectacle before them. She'd seen this view a thousand times before, worshiped it, studied it, fretted over it. Did she dare? Could she pull it off? She watched their faces, waiting for the realization to hit them.
  "There's no sound," the only man without auto-mute said suddenly.
  Jayne was delighted to see the President and the other men with auto-mute engaged, hastily mumble commands into their throat mikes.
  "All their audios are back on," whispered Ray.
  "What the hell?" George Barnholme suddenly yelped, and pointed at the right hand corner of the ad-wall.
  Jayne allowed herself to look at her creation now. Down at the bottom of the magnificent view spun the Geomeg logo. The box/circle/pyramid tumbled in and out of themselves in a pop out holo. Damn, it looked good. Perfectly understated.
  "This is my ad?" The client's voice was a choked off shout.
  "Associate Barnholme," her boss began desperately after an appalled look at Jayne.
  "It is your ad," Jayne cut him off, voice ringing and proud. "Isn't it magnificent? Listen! Look and listen! No, don't speak for a moment. Stand there and look and listen."
  She had them. They blinked at her, but obeyed, swivelling their heads to the awesome space view. Empty, but not empty. Dead but alive. It was so quiet she could hear everyone breathing.
  Then Jayne began to speak. "Geomeg is positioning itself to be the conglomerate of the people. It wants the consumer to notice its products and remember its products. Does it matter what product is being marketed? A unisuit or a home holo unit?"
  Right on cue, Ray played the softest musical counterpoint to her words. A stirring, upbeat little flourish.
  "A Geomeg lounger goes with Geomeg flooring, which goes with a Geomeg view enhancer. Heat a Geomeg meal in a Geomeg waver." Jayne turned her back on the wall, and paced before them. "Take an undersea vacation at a Geomeg resort and while you're there make sure you use Geomeg scuba-tour equipment for your swimabouts. Having health problems? Go to the vitality facility with the logo you know. Geomeg!
  "What's the point of having a million little ads for a million different products? Firoko's wall has virtually everything they sell displayed. And yes, you can punch each ad for details and prices. But honestly, when was the last time any of you wall-shopped?" Jayne fixed her gaze on each of associates in turn. Most looked away uneasily. It wasn't politic to flaunt status, so nary a one was going to admit they dropped wall-shopping the moment they earned enough to avoid public shopways.
  Ray let the music die away. George Barnholme looked skeptical, folding his arms across his chest, ignoring the unease of his people. His eyes were coldly assessing and he didn't drop his gaze from Jayne's face.
  She swallowed hard before blurting, "Three of you auto-muted the minute we entered the holo."
  A couple of the men started guiltily, and a nasty red flush appeared on George's face. Her boss took a couple of steps toward her, a horrified expression on his pouchy features. That was not an accusation to make to clients!
  "Know something? I would have too, if I could," Jayne hurried on. "In fact, most people would according to our demographics. But most people can't afford violation fines. And consumers shouldn't be spending their credits paying fines, but spending them on Geomeg products!"
  "In trial after trial we've conducted, sample consumers stood gazing at this wall as long as we allowed them. Memory tests showed 100% recall of the Geomeg logo after five minutes." A graph appeared beside Jayne, showing in bold primary colors the stats she now recited. "After a half hour it was 98%. One day, 97%. Two weeks, down to only 93%! When was the last time any of you saw consumer recall like that!"
  It was Jayne's moment of triumph. Numbers don't lie and these people lived their entire professional lives based on numbers. They surged forward, studying the graph, whispering among themselves.
  George Barnholme pulled his eyes away at last, a smile spreading across his face. "Amazing," he began, then frowned. "But wait, we can't do this. It's silent. We're going to get hit with audio lawsuits all over the place."
  Jayne slowly shook her head, a jubilant grin parting her lips. "No. Because it's not silent. Listen, hear that shushing sound? We recorded the movement of amniotic fluid surrounding a fetus. Our psych specialists tell us that we react to it on a primal level. Makes us feel good, and safe, and . . . happy. It's quiet, but above the legal limit. Any lawsuit would be tossed by an arbitrator before it got to court. This is why we get the recall from consumers. The absence of an overt soundtrack gives them focus, and the focus is the Geomeg logo. They'll buy Geomeg products in droves."
  Before leaving, George Barnholme leaned into her, inhaled her scent, and asked for her comcall code. She smelled delicious, and did she happen to know he had two-child reproductive quotient? Jayne didn't date clients, but she gave him her comcall anyway. She'd gently turn him down later, if he did indeed call. The others couldn't stop shaking her hand and congratulating her on the finest presentation they had ever seen.
  Marcus Jennings was beaming at one and all in a mixture of pleasure and relief. The firm's reputation was safe. He proudly told the client that Colman Advertising was always cutting edge. He didn't even quibble later when Jayne brought her entire team into the presentation room and introduced them. It wasn't the done thing, but with the success of the Geomeg presentation she'd become the new trendsetter in the agency. My pheromones must be out of control, Jayne thought with a giggle, when two more of the Geomeg associates sidled up and asked for dates.
  The rest of the day passed in a blur of meetings now that they had the green light from the client. News of her feat spread throughout the agency and rumors of profit-sharing for her portfolio were circulating by mid-afternoon. Jayne floated through the day, buoyed by accomplishment and the heady sense of newfound power. She turned down a handful of offers to club it tonight, protesting that as good a day as it had been, it had also been exhausting.
  At 6:17 PM, she climbed into a cab -- alone. There should have been that moment, once she attained privacy, of letting out a deep breath and feeling the tension of the day dissipate. But, if anything, getting into the cab sent her stress level soaring. Once again she didn't dare engage auto-mute despite the blaring of multiple ads. Her destination was entered by hand, not voice. Jayne wasn't going home yet.
  She rode for fifteen minutes, manually switching destination three times before punching in a stop at a corner of two lower-city streets. Then she got out and walked, mentally damning herself for not remembering to bring a cover-all to put on over the dress. This wasn't exactly the best neighborhood to go walkabout. But she reached the complex she wanted without incident, and stepped into the lift securely alone.
  The unit door was old fashioned palm security and she placed her hand against the worn plate with the nonchalance of familiarity. The speed with which she was vetted was anything but old fashioned, and she was inside in a moment.
  The entrance was thickly carpeted and not a soul was to be seen except a large orange cat. He blinked solemnly at her, and came over to wind his way through her ankles as she removed her shoes.
  "Hi Max," she said, stooping to run her fingers through the soft fur. How good he felt. Alive and warm and purring up a storm. Imagine all the people who only ever saw cats at the zoo, never getting to touch, feel, or smell an animal. Oh, what we've come to, she thought in usual disgust. She gave the cat one last lingering stroke.
  Two men and three women looked up from various positions about the living room as Jayne walked in. Robay, her lover, got to his feet and was halfway across the floor as soon as he caught sight of her. His voice throbbed with anticipation. "Jayne! How did it go? Did they -- "
  "YES!" She nearly shrieked the answer and fell into his arms, both laughing and crying at the same time. "They bought it! Hook, line, and sinker. Space Station Sixteen will have an entire wall looking out into natural space without any noise to mar the experience!"
  Her friends crowded about, hugging her, thumping her on the back, and roaring, "TRIO RULES!"
  So much better to work for change from the inside, Jayne thought with smug satisfaction, then leaned into Robay to smell his warm, natural, male scent.
  The End