05/12/2021
Digitata chapter 2
Stealthing anonymously through the City via piloted flight pod felt like having a very private, moving view. Windows flew by in the millions, like frames of film flashing subliminal messages into my pupils. Even in the bright midday sky, the lights shining below the new horizon were still vibrant and mesmerizing. Baobab’s sky logo cast its tree-shaded-sphere.
The pilot flew us northwest over City Center, across the sky of rung 1, toward Helene’s preservation brownstone library in rung 6.
“Hold on, Sir,” said the pilot as we began to descend. “I think a drone is following us. He sent out a pulse that marked the position and type of every drone around us. He banked quickly to the right to try and get a better look. He pulsed again. There were a few long range drones beneath us. His control panel bleeped red, one of the camera drones was seen at the other platform. “Yup” he said and hit the descent with double speed, whipping around a corner and through the rung 6 entrance wedge. Pulse. Orange flash. “We’re losing it,” he said.
I felt glad for my seat restraint. And glad someone was paying attention. One more drop and a merge out of 30 lanes of traffic brought us down and out of the clouds to where people walked outdoors. Helene’s building was just ahead.
Pulse. Yellow, then green. The drone was gone.
“It could’ve been a coincidence.” I said, hearing how bad it sounded as it came out of my mouth.
An ancient relic in itself, Helene’s miniature building sits in the 6th rung out from City Center and 80 stories up from where it once stood, constructed into the design of a 23rd century sky climber alongside 300 other palimpsests like it. The elevated walkway in front feels like a street out of old New York movies from the 2100’s. Except it’s no longer on ground level. It’s just a shelf to stand upon, someplace to pull over. Each doorway is painted a unique color, flanked by planters filled with conservation flowers. Pink and purple were popular. It feels charming and intimate, while remaining part of a massive, mixed use building, combining new school with old. I’d always wanted to live more like this.
The pilot gave a very composed snort and shook his head. “I’ll be looking for it while I wait for you. I’ll zap it if I have to.”
“You think the gossip jockeys are racing?”
“We sometimes get that coming from Baobab upper level.” He seemed unimpressed.
The pilot pulled carefully alongside and hovered directly outside the door to Helene’s brownstone. Painted sap green with ivory trim. I stood, straightened my jacket, felt for the pip on my collar, walked over and pressed the illuminated button. The door swung open and I went inside.
Helene was coming down the wide, dark wood stairway. I have never owned anything made of wood. It must weigh a ton, all paneled with a carved balustrade and wide swooping rail. Dressed in a light thermal knit, black skimmer, her piercing dark eyes were down, possibly admiring her wraparound sandals, but then she looked up at me until she reached the bottom. She had light skin that contrasted starkly against her clothing. Helene was perfect, no doubt, probably her family had been for several generations, she was medium sized, with chiseled cheekbones and exotic, thick eyelashes.
The anxiety had my blood pumping and I felt a slight shake in my hands.
“Hello,” she said. “Come this way, have a seat.” Her voice was smooth and cool and confident.
It was the second time I had been inside her library, but I was just as amazed by the sight of it. The weight was unfathomable. Instead of books, the shelves, which climbed a good five meters high, were filled with artifacts from many centuries. Bronze statues, oil paintings, works in silver, gold and garish plastic were arranged over every inch of available shelving. To one side of the entrance sat a marvelous cabinet, bearing dozens of tiny drawers. Mobiles hung from the ceiling, slowly stirred with the movement of air from the door, they whirled silently overhead.
With a pale hand she gestured toward a minimalist leather daybed facing a low table shaped like a surfboard, bearing two fine glasses and one very old looking glass bottle.
She says, pointing to the bottle, “The most valuable object in the world.”
“That’s why I’m here.” I said. At least I hoped so. I stared at the bottle of dark amber glass, it was less than half full.
“Sit,” she said.
I put my hands down to touch the leather as I sat, it was textured and cool, tightly upholstered over the cushion and creased by the buttons that made a grid over the surface. Helene stepped over to a low rosewood chest with chrome pulls and opened the left door. A faint trace of furniture wax wafted in my direction.
“A palate cleanser first,” she said. Then she removed one more glass and filled it half way from the beverage spout up top. “The water you came to taste will be at optimal temperature in just another minute.” She handed me the glass.
I took a look at it, feeling thirsty all of a sudden. I was about to drink it when I caught the look in her eye. This was a test. Instead of drinking, I put the glass under my nose. It had a neutral smell, perhaps slightly clean. I slowly took the first sip, holding the liquid in my mouth while i took in some air and got the full flavor. It was an entirely unique water combination.
“Well?” She asked me.
I could feel my cheeks flush a bit under the pressure but I was confident I could do this. Holding the glass with my thumb and middle finger, I stared into it as I swirled it gently. In my mind I saw islands with dark soil and deep rich green mountains.
“It’s a blend.” I looked back up at her. She took a seat directly next to me, keeping my gaze. Sitting close, I could feel the warmth coming off of her body.
“Man made,” I told her, “Volcanic, but softer, mixed with something treated.”
“Interesting,” she said. And the way she tilted her head I knew she wanted more. There was something else.
I looked at the glass again. Held it up to the light. There were two tiny bubbles, low, along the side of the glass.
“Desalinated?” I hated to let it sound like a question, it just came out that way. “Pacific, Philippines comes to mind.” For a moment she held me in suspense, but then her posture shifted and I knew I was right.
She angled to face me full on and smiled.
“Very good, I designed it myself. Fifty percent from a mid country aquifer and fifty percent from Palau’s oceanic depths. Both cloned by science to match the samples, obviously.”
“You want to make sure I can tell if this water is original.” I felt a bit concerned about her trust in me. “If you weren’t sure, why did you ask for me?”
She grinned a little to one side and tilted her head. She placed one of her hands gently on my knee. The contact sent a flash of desire through my body.
“I wanted to see you again. I thought we had a connection, and I'd heard that you were seeking water now, I wanted to know if you had any talent.”
We did have a connection, but it felt like a hit that I didn’t get this tasting on merit alone. I was here now, and while any success that might come from this could affect personal privacy, I was willing to go for it. In the eye of Morgan, I could certainly use it. And in my own eyes as well.
“Thank you,” I said, deciding to be gracious. “I’m glad that you thought of me. Even if you’re wondering I might be out of my league. Tell me about the water.”
Helene picked up a small laser thermometer from the surfboard table and measured the temp. A small green light came on and a happy sounding beep came with it.
“The temperature is ideal. We should try some first.”
The fact that she avoided answering my question put up a small red flag. Should I be worried this is somehow a scam. Helene didn’t strike me as a scammer by any means. All I could think was that the information she had was so good she wanted to save it for after my reaction.
“Yes.” I said. “Ok.” Her hand was still on my knee I realized, as she lifted it off to grasp the neck of the bottle on the table. With a careful and steady hand she poured about 150 ml into both glasses, leaving hardly any behind. It was a generous amount for a tasting. But the lab was going to need at least 200 mls to taste it themselves, run tests and synthesize more. There couldn’t have been enough left.
Surprise must have registered on my face because she said, “There are two bottles in total. I have analyzed both, they are identical. I’ll run the test again so you can see. We can afford to finish this one.” She tilted her head down and looked at me through her long lashes. I realized it was her tell. She had a good hand.
The anticipation was creeping higher. My fingertips felt slightly numb. No notable seekers have ever been imperfect. They only allowed me to seek because someone owed someone else a big favor. I wasn’t expected to find anything of real value. It was about appearances, opening new doors. If this turns out to be real, I’ll be the first one to taste the last original bottle of water on earth. The second to last bottle.
I waited a moment before I took the glass she was holding out to me. Then she picked up her own. I watched her take a sip and swallow, making a slow blink, like the flavor had closed her eyes.
The glass felt cool and fine, like crystal, the edge ground to a thin ring. I put my nose inside the rim. It smelled nothing like the water we’d just tasted. It was robust, fresh somehow, and rich. The surface looked shiny and silver, like mercury.
I raised my eyebrows and lifted the glass up to my eye, there were no bubbles, no inclusions, just perfectly clear, clean looking fluid. Then nodding my head toward her first, I put my lips to it.
First I just took in a tiny amount, only enough to wet the tongue and coat my mouth. Instantly I had a vision of a deep well, the kind I used to see in stories. This was the real deal. I had to go for it. I took a bigger sip. I swirled it in my mouth before swallowing, and as it went down I felt it travel, forcing thirst away with every inch.
Now my eyes were open wide. So much flavor, so much history, so delicious.
At first I couldn’t say anything. I kept imagining the well. Finally I said, “Brick maybe. Or stone. I can almost taste the moss that would have grown by it. It tastes deep, like fresh water, but with power, like from the ocean.”(use recording of this later with aaran)
She didn’t even try to hide her pleasure. “I knew you had talent,” she said. “It did come from a bedrock spring, from deep underground.”
“Tell me more,” I said.
Helene waved her hand to activate the holo-map and it appeared before us over the table, showing both above ground and below, a cross section of soil and rock surrounding a tributary where it flowed to the surface. But I couldn’t tell where it was.
“This is where?” I asked.
“It’s from a spring in San Francisco.”
She waited for my response, which must have been worth it because she gave a mild laugh.
“I knew you’d like that. There’s more.”
My whole face felt like a smile. My ancestors had been from there.
“This spring comes from Albion Brewery, from back before the first American prohibition. These bottles had been some kind of decoy probably. Labeled as Ale, they’d been in someone's collection for the last three hundred years.”
“How did you get these bottles?”
She put up her hand to stop me. “There’s still more.” I looked at the water remaining in my glass. “This brewery was located half a kilometer from what used to be called Candlestick Park. In fact, the two locations shared the very same water source.”
My head was reeling. Helene had done her homework. That historic park had played a major role in my ancestors’ lives. My great, great, great grandmother had made the winning play at a World Series in that rebuilt stadium. That play was the reason I was who I was, both genetically and intellectually. She’d been the first woman in the major leagues and still could be the most famous.
“Finish,” she told me, and drank the rest of her own glass.
I took the last of it into my mouth and new visions played behind my eyes. I thought I heard the cheers of a crowd, smelled peanuts and beer, felt grass beneath my feet. I was taking in an element as old as the universe itself, an osmosis never to be undone. It was the single most present moment of my life, and it transported me into another time.
She took my glass away and leaned her face in close to mine. “I assume you want it,” she said, and I could smell her sweet breath, practically taste her lips.
I nodded, and she moved another inch closer. I froze as she kissed me, then I let myself fall into her. The ancient find, the revenge I would get over my boss, the deep respect I had for Helene, all worked to lift me out of my body so it could hover with joy somewhere up by the mobiles, still now, but bursting with kinetic possibility.
“I want all of it”, I said, referring to the water, mainly.
“There’s one more thing,” she said again. My head reeling, barely breathing, I could only wait and listen.
She picked up the near empty bottle, poured the last drops into my glass, and then rose, taking the bottle with her. At the counter she placed it into a cushioned case, latching it carefully shut. Then she opened the chest again and removed another bottle, this one full, shut with a ceramic stopper held in place by a thick wire snap. She put this one in a separate fitted case.
“I’m authorized to buy it for Baobab, but I’m not entirely sure what we’re expected to pay,” he said, watching her movements. She placed the full bottle onto the table before him. Then she handed the second case to him, with the empty bottle inside as she sat again next to him.
“Price has already been negotiated.” Then she paused for effect. “This one is for you, for your collection.” She studied my face for reaction.
I opened my mouth but nothing came out. I stared at her but I felt blind, all I could see was the field, the bleachers, an imaginary bay of waves all around. This empty bottle would be the star of my collection.
Finally I said, “Thank you, Helene. I shouldn’t.”
“I insist. Can you spare the weight?”
I looked her over to gauge her seriousness. It was convincing.
“Truthfully I don’t know, but I’ll make room. Getting it home is the hard part. I can’t very well take it back to the lab with me.”
“Whatever you do, never take it to Hive.” She pointed a finger at me and narrowed one eye.
“That goes without saying.”
The act of putting anything into Hive Vault, the world’s only time traveling self storage, would immediately tarnish the authenticity of the object. No true collector would ever use time storage for their collection. Things don’t come back exactly the same.
The look she had said ‘promise’, I nodded once.
“I’ll have my delivery drone bring it, assuming you have an external property hatch.”
I nodded again and zapped her my address for delivery. I was getting a glass bottle that still had a few drops of the elixir of life. My whole body was smiling, I straightened up and took a deep breath. Helene looked up at me, making me feel overly tall. I bowed my head down but she put her hand under my chin to lift it up.
“You are one of a kind, Jodex.” Then she kissed me again. The air of her swirled around me, intoxicating and new, it was almost better than the water.
When my brain finally reengaged, I sat back, remembering that I was here for work. “How did you get these?” I pointed to the packed up bottles. “I must know.”
She seemed momentarily upset that I had broken the moment. But with a blink she came back, and removed her hand, which I hadn’t realized I was holding.
“The owner thought they were ale. His entire collection, inherited provenance, was up for private auction. When I inspected these bottles I had a feeling about them, the weight, the viscosity of the liquid inside, I knew it wasn’t Ale. I was right.”
“There must have been others who could tell, or guess. The competition must have been fierce.”
“It wasn’t really. For some reason there’s been a glut on the market. Several large collections have come up but hardly anyone is bidding on them. I bought the whole lot for far less than you’re about to pay me for this one item.”
At mention of payment I held out my right wrist and she entered the amount of the sale. More zeros than I could count. More than I would ever see again ever. It was dizzying. I nodded, then lifted up my chin and turned my head so she could zap the pip on my collar and complete the payment.
She flashed me a knowing smile and said, “Be careful with it.” Then she released the security on both boxes with an eye scan.
I stood still for my turn. As the green line passed over my left eyeball, I was committed to courriering one of the most expensive objects ever in existence on Earth.
“I had your pilot come around to my secure loading bay, you can board in total privacy. Do you think you were followed?”
