Terna’s contact within Save the Cubes turned out to be the non-profit’s CFO. She was a human woman, roughly thirty years old and from a wealthy Nu-Earth family. And her name was Molly. I cringed inwardly and frowned as memories of Molls rushed to the forefront of my mind.
An ad for BuyMort’s family return service, delivered through their versatile CloneMort facilities, popped up as the woman approached me, hand extended in greeting. I mentally dismissed it.
We had chosen to meet on the surface of Terna’s world. The woman was eager to net a celebrity representative, who came with a celebrity cause. Within the spaceport, Terna had hired out a bar for the meeting. Her revolutionary guards stood in the doorway, moving back together after having allowed the woman access. BlueCleave stood at attention a little bit down the terminal, keeping a close eye on Ternas guards.
Foot traffic moved on around the bar, many people eagerly looking inside and taking pictures once they recognized my face. Terna had specifically sat me at a portion of the bar that had me facing the entryway. Her publicity team didn’t miss much.
“Mr. Dawes!” Molly exclaimed, hand still extended.
I snapped out of my memories and smiled pleasantly up at her. Then I stood and shook her hand. “’Molly Ackles,’ isn’t it?” I asked.
“Yes, chief financial officer for Save the Cubes! It is so thrilling to meet with you, I’m a huge fan. Your trial was so uncalled for, all the news is showing how BlueCleave caused that entire mess. I’m so glad they decided in your favor, we can usually count on the Knowle Institute of History.” Molly gushed.
I smiled in response, as Terna and her publicists had trained me. Beyond the guards more photos were taken, then posted immediately to social media and other websites. “I’m glad too,” I said.
Molly sat down at the bar, laughing with her nose crinkled at my statement. “Oh I just bet you are!” she giggled. “Shall we talk about your message to STC?”
I nodded, and the bartender hesitantly approached. He looked unsure if my nod had been his signal or not, so I repeated it and lazily gestured to the bar in front of us. “Yes, let's,” I said.
“Well, you were light on words, but it sounds like your goal and ours may align quite naturally. Cube is one of the primary targets on our list, and we have the best data on his potential whereabouts,” Molly said.
“Yeah, I really want to find my friend. Bring him home. I’ve been told a bit about your organization and I thought we could work together,” I told her.
“What role are you thinking of when you make that offer?” Molly asked. She pointed at a drink on the plastic menu in front of us and the hobb bartender nodded. His hands began grabbing ingredients from beneath the bar. Within seconds he deposited a tumbler with a perfect sphere of ice, amber liquid with a pink swirl running through it, and a sliced cherry garnish.
I stared at it just long enough, feeling the familiar swirl of ads swinging into my mindspace.
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It was a cheap ad, but straight to the point, and I liked what that said about the producer. And it was some kind of whiskey sour hybrid, which sounded right on target. I shook my head and indicated the same, pausing just briefly to remember the question. “I dunno, captain of the ship we use to collect him?”
She laughed, lips pulled back from her teeth in a grin. “You are so funny,” she exclaimed, putting a hand on my elbow. “Of course we would want you to be on the ship in some form or other, but we were thinking of utilizing you in an advisory role. Someone who really knows Cube and can give some interesting interviews to the documentary crew we hire on.”
I shrugged. “That sounds good to me. When can we get started?” I took a sip of my drink. It was cloyingly sweet and burned going down, with a heavy artificial cherry aftertaste. I lowered the sensitivity of my taste buds and enjoyed the drink better for it.
Molly’s eyes widened and she took her hand off my arm, reaching into her bag with it instead. “Well, I believe an expedition can be mounted within six months, assuming our publicity pushes can get the funding needed to hire the ship and crew,” she answered.
“If I get more involved, can we push that date? I want to get moving as quickly as possible,” I told her.
Molly looked at me with wide eyes and a large smile. “Oh I like you! Yes, if you could make an appearance at our next fundraiser, that would give us the chance to net a higher class of donations.”
I smiled back at her and nodded. “I’ll happily host. When is it?”
“Tomorrow night. With your presence, as host no less, we can push some last minute exclusivity ads out,” she said, before taking a sip of her drink. “Can I just say, it is so nice of you to share your moment in the press with our organization. Shoshanna is so excited about this potential celebrity endorsement.”
I raised my glass. “Happy to be of assistance. I honestly share your mission. Cubes deserve better.”
“They do, don’t they!” she exclaimed. “You are just a treat, I don’t need to coach you at all for the event. But, really, your coaching will be tomorrow immediately before the dinner, so do please arrive three hours early.”
I smiled lightly. “I have a good memory, Molly, and I’m a fast learner. I’ll do fine.”
“Oh I’m sure you will, this is a match made in heaven. Just wait until you meet Shoshanna, you two are going to just hit it off!” Molly nearly squealed.
“Will the drinks be this good at the event too?” I asked, turning down my taste sensitivity even further before taking another swig.
“You are just too much!” Molly shrilled, nearly snorting in laughter. She took a final sip from her glass as she stood, then touched my elbow again. “Thanks for the meet, doll. I’ll have my people get in touch.”
With that, Molly turned to leave. She donned an oversized pair of sunglasses and a giant smile as she stepped out into the crowd. A small handful of press had found their way to the cordon and shouted questions at her as she slipped between them. I heard her providing glib answers about a deal being easy to make, and how excited she is to work with former warlord Tyson Dawes.
The next night, I stood in a vineyard’s patio on the California coast, going over my flashcards before taking the microphone. Terna had expressed some concerns about my trip to Nu-Earth, but only because it was so soon after the verdict. There hadn’t been enough time for any kind of intelligence about potential Silken Sands or BlueCleave responses. I told her I was happy to risk it and caught a passenger ship to the event.
I was in the business plus class, but that wasn’t as high quality as I had been hoping for. Things had been better when I'd been warlord, at least in that department.
My ride had been uncomfortable, and with so many of us packed into one cabin that the O2 alarm stayed in a permanent orange position. Just below an emergency, according to the chart on the wall beside it. But once I had landed at the Los Angeles spaceport, more commonly known as LAS, the trip became far more comfortable. I boarded a mag-lev train and zipped up the coast to the former Napa Valley.