The crowd had thinned, but the proportion of suits had increased. I presented a contrast with my “sexy slum grease monkey” look. Enough to turn a few heads. Once diverted, they promptly filed me away as ignorable. Even if they did recognize me, I hadn’t done anything notable in years.
Oston Supplies was in the back corner, on the other side from where I was. Gondola lift it was. The gondola lift wasn’t interesting. Nothing interesting ever happened in a gondola lift. Half an hour later, I was where I wanted to be.
The Oston Supplies booth nestled between a booth dedicated to pet technology and a booth dedicated to extreme sensory implants. Both were livelier than the Oston Supplies booth. As I walked up, I couldn’t even see a person.
“Hello?” When in doubt, be loud.
A young woman sat up. She’d been digging around in a box under the table. Her hair was in pigtails, and she sported a O tattoo around one eye. She was part of the indie engineering scene, then. The O-tat was common among young openware enthusiasts. They wanted tech to be open to innovation by anyone, do away with corporate patenting, all that shit. Basically an engineering version of open colonies loonies.
Yeah, that was all my philosophy too, but I abhorred the idea of joining a group of any sort.
“Yes? Hi.” She seemed surprised that someone had stopped by.
To be fair, there wasn’t anything on display. Only their company name and an empty tabletop.
“You guys make parts for old engines, right?” I lit up a cigarette.
“Oh, yes. That’s our thing.”
“You got stuff for the Solar Forward 280?”
Her eyes lit up. Literally, she had some decorative optical implants. “Yes! Such a great old engine! My grandma helped design it back in the day. What part do you need?”
“A replacement for the alternate cabling. I got a logjam there.”
She was already scrolling through her inventory. She bit her lip. “Uh, so I don’t have any here. We have some at the factory.” She leaned over the table. “Listen, it’s worth it to wait a bit. We’re about to be—”
“Bought out, yeah, I heard. I wanna buy this from you before Cadinoff nabs you.”
“Oh. Okay.” She looked confused. “Why?”
I shouldn’t have to explain this to an O-tat. “Because Cadinoff is a shitheel, and I don’t buy from them.”
She still looked confused but nodded as if she weren’t.
“Come on, you’re openware-aligned.” I tapped my own eye, where her tattoo was. “You should get this.”
“Right, but I just live in this world, you know? And the big hootsengahs got the big bucks and the whoaza builds. I wouldn’t play with nothing if I didn’t buy anything from Caddie.”
She definitely wouldn’t have the light-up optics. Kids today had no dedication. All appearance, no follow-through. Their slang was dumb too. “Could you fetch the part from your factory so I can buy it before Cadinoff buys you off?”
“It’s just me here at this booth. Don’t have anybody to cover for me.”
Right, the booth that had no advertising and that nobody seemed interested in. “You expecting a rush of people?”
Now she looked annoyed. “I can call Phil and have him grab it. Might be a wait, though.”
Well, it was a large expo. I could find some way to kill the time. I gave her my contact info so she could buzz me when the part came in.
The corner had emptied out in the meantime as people were drawn to a loud buzzing siren a few rows away. A presentation of some sort. Large screens decorated the corners, so I forwent going in person and lit a cigarette while watching on-screen.
Brassard. Presenting Sev Tech’s revolutionary new design. I wondered how much they paid for this promotional hoopla.
Brassard had always been that self-assured asshole. Came to Becker with money. Left with more money. Kept getting even more money. Thought that made him awesome. And the money made up for his lack of brain. He got top marks in classes because he paid a private tutor to do everything for him. When it came time for him to take on actual projects, he got by on charisma combined with strategic assholery and suckered somebody else to do the work. Then he’d take the credit.
It had caught up to him on his final project with Becker. Solo deal. And the assessors caught him relying on the tutor. He should have failed out of the program entirely, but his money kept him in. He took a poor assessment on his way to graduation, but he got the fancy Becker degree. His cheating past kept him from being snagged by Cadinoff, but Sev Tech still took him.
So, yeah, I didn’t expect much from his “revolutionary” design. If it was at all impressive, it probably came from someone else. Brassard should have been a salesperson instead of an engineer, but apparently the engineer thing ran in his family.
On screen, Brassard spun on a circular floor, covered engine looming behind him. A crowd populated the background with the excitement of teenage jocks at a pro hurlball game.
“Tonight is a special night.” Brassard spoke with an extravagant smile. “You all are part of a revolutionary moment in our history.” He shook his head in faux humility. “I know every company says that about every new design that comes out. I can see some of you rolling your eyes. I get it. But this is different.”
He walked around the obscured engine. “Our current engine systems work on fusion power. Nuclear power. Messy. Inefficient. Potentially dangerous. Radiation leaks, nuclear explosions, space
