False Idols - Published Version

Chapter 12

Nick groaned as he slid into the self-driving limousine. He hated his dad's public events. They consisted of interminable meals consisting of foods that were chosen because their blandness would not offend anyone. On the rare occasions that alcohol was served, the drinking age was enforced and he had to abstain. And all the while, the guests persisted in nonstop glad-handing. Unfortunately, there had been no way to get out of this fundraiser. He'd missed the last two, and he was running out of excuses.

Ironically, this was the first time he actually had legitimate reasons to miss an event. Sparkwise Energy was growing fast and he was devoting more and more time to it. To attend this dinner he was missing the morning opening of the Shanghai Futures Exchange. But he didn't want to tell his father about his energy venture just yet. So he had grudgingly left the company in the capable hands of Laura and Kobus, and pulled on the tuxedo his maid had left out for him.

By attending the event meant Nick was having what was becoming an increasingly rare experience: leaving the privacy of his apartment and being exposed to the public eye – or as public as he ever experienced, given that he travelled to exclusive venues in chauffeured limousines. Yet any form of exposure was uncomfortable for Nick, because of the shiny metal cooling ducts that protruded from the base of his skull. No matter how long he grew his hair, the MindWave vents always stuck out.

There were still only about fifty users of the MindWave worldwide and most regular people had simply never seen one of the so-called cyborg barbarians before. Whenever he was out amongst people, even amongst the most rarefied company, he was harassed by strange looks and sometimes probing questions. Every long stare reminded him of how he had been taunted and bullied at school. And every awkward encounter reminded him of Peggy's cold decision to dump him right after he had the implant.

His limousine made the last turn towards the hotel. He saw a crowd of protestors standing outside the entrance, holding placards demanding lower energy prices. "We Need Gas!" "Winter Is Coming!" "Help Families Heat Their Homes!" Cordons of policemen and hotel security officers were holding back the crowd, but there would be no way to escape their view.

Even before his car fully stopped at the curb, he pushed the door open and hunched over as he hurried towards the hotel entrance. He didn't look at the crowd of demonstrators, who stood in the darkness outside the pool of light emerging from the glass doors. But he could hear them. "Look it's one of the freaks!" screamed a voice from somewhere in the crowd. Other voices chimed in.

"Cybarian!"

"Sociopathic monster!"

"Why don't you donate to my family's heating oil bill instead of some corrupt Washington politician's campaign?"

Then he made it through the doorway and trudged unhappily through the hotel towards the ballroom where he'd be dining with three hundred donors to his father's political action committee. As he caught his breath, he cheered himself up by musing that at some point, he'd gain enough mastery of the autopilot feature of his MindWave that he would be able to send his body to eat, make small talk, and otherwise endure these events without the need for his conscious mind to be present.

The room held over twenty large round tables, each covered in a beautiful white linen tablecloth and set with translucent bone china, elegant crystal glasses, and glimmering silver utensils. He was assigned to table number two. That would be at the front, near the podium where his father would give a speech later in the evening.

He walked through the room, past the sea of grey-haired guests in their conservative evening wear, chatting about their golf swings, bragging about their grandchildren, trading tips about vacation spots. It was going to be a long night.