Chapter 10

Arnim knew that the 21st Century would herald a life dominated by the nano computer. He knew a person could change the style, texture and colour of their clothes by selecting from a menu imprinted in the label. The clothes would then conform to whatever the wearer chose.

Coffee, or any other drink, could be obtained by announcing to a box on the wall your preference. Anyone could change the colour of their apartment; a voiced instruction could open clearview panels in the walls or ceiling. Anyone could communicate instantly with anyone anywhere via holocom or get the daily news and weather from Tblisi; all by effortless voice command.

But also, many island Nations and countries, such as Bangladesh, would be swamped by global warming and the World had hitherto not solved the problem of the widening gap between the underclass and the privileged. Alternative energies had rescued the countries that could afford it and China was unravelling politically after years of extraordinary economic growth. Again, the scarcity of fossil fuels was the culprit and countries that still had reserves made a killing on those who hadn't.

But although the World still had immense problems to overcome, for those lucky enough to be born American or European, life was increasingly effortless and boring.

Many people of the 2020s would have given anything to live in a simpler time when folks did their own shopping at the Mall or supermarket. They hankered after a time when life wasn't dominated by the Nancom; when folks drove to work in real cars with internal combustion engines; a time before risk was virtually eliminated and you had to hire yourself out as a mercenary to encounter 'real challenges.'

The Guardians, though, still insisted on monthly reports in detail and Arnim's presence by Transtemporal Holocom to quiz him on various aspects of the operation. Clearly, they wanted to be satisfied his team was not just living it up at their expense.

And living it up they were. By the late 2020s air travel was hugely expensive and unnecessary. Gas-guzzling Jumbos had virtually disappeared from the skies except for Asia. In that part of the World, there were still enough rich people wanting to travel to justify large passenger jets. Arnim and his team could fly to wherever they wanted relatively cheaply. He could even afford his own private plane, a 5 million dollar Cessna Citation, and what's more, could fuel it and fly it himself.

Hagerman, New Mexico had only one strip. Too small to employ a full-time ATC, instead the manager of the airfield merely confirmed when it was safe to land. Otherwise, 'Visual Flight Rules' applied, in that the pilot used his own eyeballs to check whether it was safe to land or take off. It was a far cry from the big metropolitan airports with 'stackings, ' 'approach corridors, ' 'Instrument Landing Systems' and radar control.

It was essentially a private airfield with maybe one or two cropdusters. No regular service passed through there. Anyone wanting to catch a flight had to go to Roswell or Hobbs and catch one of the 'third level' airline services.

Following the dictates of VFR, Arnim first circled the airstrip to confirm the runway was clear. He scanned the sky for any other traffic before coming around for landing. He turned on his powerful landing lights as an added warning to any other aircraft.

Hagerman's airfield had been extended to take Arnim's jet. The Citation was a fast plane with a higher landing speed than the average light plane. Arnim had paid for the improvements himself.

Hagerman used to be one of the poorest towns in the State with no less than a third of families living below the poverty line. With a population of 1500, some 60% percent were of Mexican origin. Jobelessness had been as high as 50%. But that was all in the past.

The town had become the centre of holo-technology overnight. A Company, Holo-Imaging Technologies, or HIT, had taken advantage of generous State tax concessions to move its operations to Hagerman.

HIT had brought in a team of highly skilled scientists and technicians. Additionally, as part of the deal with the State, they founded a Technological College, offering scholarships to many likely candidates from poor families all over New Mexico.

Hagerman had transformed and now, instead of people wanting to leave, property owners found emigrants willing to pay silly money for their modest dwellings. There was even talk of a regular air service starting up soon.

Ariana Krauss leaned against the white Lamborghini watching Arnim taxi. Her husband had snapped up one of the sports cars quickly now that the Italian company had been bought out by VW-Audi. Arnim had told his wife that it had the best possible combination, Italian design flair and German engineering.

This day she wore her cutoff pants and close-fitting shirt. Over the years she'd tried all kinds of hair styles, but Arnim had preferred it loose and unfettered. Today, it flowed around her in the slight breeze, reaching down to her waist.

Ariana had been on tenterhooks for days in anticipation of this moment. That morning she'd dressed the way Arnim liked and posed herself like a model next to his favourite car. He couldn't help but get the inference.

She looked up at the cabin and saw him smiling in his wrap-round shades. The man had devastatingly good looks and Ariana often wondered why he'd never given in to the temptation of other women these past twenty years.

Arnim spotted her and grinned. She was leaning on the car, one knee slightly bent, in imitation of an automobile billboard. At 41 she was trim and gorgeous, despite giving birth to their two children. Her dark, thick hair hung loose, her soft lips stretched in a wide grin. Beneath her sunglasses, he knew her eyes were dancing for him. He couldn't wait to power down and take her in his arms. Ariana could've had any man she wanted over the years but only took him into her bed. He'd frequently asked himself why.

The door swung open and he jumped down onto the tarmac. He strolled towards her in an imitation of nonchalance, still with that wide grin that turned her insides to mush. A brief searing blast from the desert barely interrupted his stride as he closed the distance.

Wordlessly, Arnim circled her waist and planted a kiss on her lips. It soon became a kiss full of promise as their bodies meshed in a fierce embrace. Ariana felt him press insistantly between her legs. She was so hot he could've taken her then and there and she would've let him.

"Good flight?" she managed to ask.

"Uneventful; some high stratus over the Rockies, otherwise clear and beautiful."

"How's Garland? The Professor?"

"Spritely for their age. They still haven't found a suitable person to take over. They are to begin a small scale practical test."

"How small?"

"The regression of a radio signal back 2 seconds."

"That's small!"

"But significant! It will show them they're on the right track. They will need to wait for the development of a fusion reactor practical enough to provide sufficient power."

Ariana reluctantly slipped out of his arms so Arnim could open the door of the car. To the accompaniment of a howl from well-tuned German engineering, they sped off down the road and into the desert.

Ari drove the silver Audi nervously down the side streets of central Hamburg. He knew a park by the river that would afford them the privacy they were after.

What'd caught his attention was the short, black skirt. Although she was a bottle blond she was tall like Ella. Her make up had been caked on with a pallette knife giving the appearance of a deathly paleness. Her Panda eyes were indistinct and glassy as though she was hooked on drugs. The painted face couldn't conceal her youth, though, and Ari suspected she was underaged for the profession. If she was over 18, he concluded, then she'd been plying her trade from one of the storefront registered brothels where they had rules and security.

She was Eastern, perhaps Polish or Russian, and her German was limited to her menu and cliched 'chat.' Ari wanted a backstory, however, as if it would mitigate against the fact he'd just picked up a young, and probably illegal, prostitute. He wanted to know whether she was saving for University, or providing for her sick Mother, or wanted to be an actress or model. He got little out of her, though, as her German was strictly for business.

"50 Euro, oral, no touching, ok?"

"How much to put my hand, er... ?" he asked, unused to the whore-jargon.

"Ah, finger? 10 Euro, finger, no fuck!"

"Ah, fingerfuck?"

"Ja, fingerfuck, ok, titsuck ok, then blow, ok?" She reached out her hand expectantly and Ari pulled the cash from his pocket. She counted out the money before slipping it into a bag lashed to her wide belt.

Ari found what he was looking for, a dimly lit carpark near the river, and stopped under an Elder tree.

Her tight, black croptop suggested well-proportioned perky breasts of delightful shape. He soon discovered fabrication when he reached out his hand to touch one. She was practically flat and the bra was well-padded. Ari thought it churlish to display his disappointment and instead hummed his approval. What he really desired were those long legs and what lay barely concealed beneath her skirt.

The girl flashed a brief, forced smile before looking away out the window distractedly. That suited Ari because he'd no wish to look into her black smeared eyes. They betrayed a lifeless disinterest, a bored acceptance, perhaps, and an impatience for him to get it over with so she could turn the next trick.

She shuffled one tit free and aimed a nipple in his direction. Ari flicked it with his tongue while stroking her legs. The sheer hose was rough to the touch and thick. Being Winter, Ari respected the girl's need to stay warm on the cold streets.

The girl pressed her palm into Ari's crotch and whispered 'big boy' a couple of times. He wasn't impressed with either her timing or the phoney compliment and pushed her hand away. He was completely unaroused by the situation and needed more time. He began to feel a little foolish, but he'd paid good money and wanted the full twenty minute's worth.

The stocking finished in a band just above the hem of her skirt. Ari briefly felt warm flesh before encountering the lace of her panty line. As his fingers sought the soft puffy mound, he had a sensation of rough stubble, as though she needed a touch up with the razor.

"Tut," he muttered to her, "leave it on or leave it smooth!" She looked back, not understanding, and Ari smiled at her as if he approved. She stretched her mouth briefly before looking back out the window.

The problem was she wasn't Ella Hernandez. This girl was less than half her age; yes, he'd checked Ella's profile on the Net. It gave only the scant PR data, he expected nothing more. It described her as 'Mexican American, 38, with a degree in Sociology from Texas State. That surprised him; he'd expected some Scientific qualification. She also had a post-grad diploma in Psychology; 'that figures, ' he thought, 'that figures.' Media Studies, Print and Television Journalism Diplomas, the usual stuff filled out her CV consistent with a TV reporter on the up and up. There was nothing about her partner anywhere on the Web and Ari began to wonder whether he was some ficticious ploy to keep him at bay.

The girl betrayed her impatience with a heave of her chest. Ari snapped back to the business at hand and wormed his finger under the elastic. She was dry as a bone and she quickly produced a tube of lubricant so he could penetrate her. She breathed steadily as he pushed his finger in and out, parting her long legs to make it easier.

"Ah!" she gasped, "ja, gut!" Ari knew, however, that it wasn't. He closed his eyes and in his imagination he saw Ella, stretched out and willing him on. Only then did he feel something. It was that tight skirt. He dreamed the girl's legs were fuller, shapelier and more sensual. By contrast, the girl's were skinny, like sticks, poking out beneath a small rounded bottom. He thought briefly of a young girl of about twelve who suddenly shoots up in height leaving her baby fat behind. 'The girl could be as young as 12, ' he thought, but dismissed that horror. 'Clearly she's old enough to know what she's doing!'

When she placed her palm again on his fly, there was something now worth considering. Deftly she peeled down the zipper and scooped him out from his trousers. Through closed eyes, he focussed on the feeling of her lanolin smothered hand. He thought again of Ella.

The girl's perfume was cheap, pungent, and over-abundent. She reeked as if she bathed in the stuff. Unlike Ella's subtle dabs, the girl's scent tickled his nose and made him want to sneeze. Try as he might, he couldn't convert the smell into Ella.

At least she was well-practiced at the job in hand. Like a professional, she teased him out so she had something to put in her mouth. She bobbed rapidly, milking him with her hand between breaks for air. She sensed him reaching a crisis and quickly pulled on him, placing a tissue over the bulb.

When his dick had ceased pulsing, the girl screwed up the tissue and discarded it in the ash tray of the Audi. Impatiently she waited him to recover enough to drive her back to her next job.

An ejaculation in a car, from a girl whom he didn't care for, was a poor substitute for romance. Ari arrived home depressed and disillusioned.

He felt like a shower and ascended the stairs to the bathroom. As usual the bedside lamp was on in the bedroom. He went right past, however, and turned on the shower. Just as he was about to enter the stall his cellphone rang.

"Hi," the voice said, "what're you up to?" It was Ella and the way she asked the question made it sound pornographic.

"I'm having a shower," he told her.

"Huh? I thought it was raining at your end. Fancy a nightcap at my hotel?"

It took a while for him to answer. He combatted the shock, the rushing in his head and his jeart threatening to burst from his body. "Yes," he croaked, "an hour?"

"Somethin' wrong?" she asked, "you sound like you've got a cold?"

"No, fine, see you!" he rang off.

Sumilov, Garland and a bevy of their senior technicians gathered in the room to watch the experiment. There was a faint hum in the air and their skin tickled from the static charge in the air.

In the centre of the room was a long, white tube mounted a metre above the floor. At one end was the beam emitter with its bulky 'yoke' containing the focus coils. In time to come, this could be made smaller and more efficient, but now, it was the best they could do with the available technology.