CHAPTER V - "The Winning Number"

A Chapter by P_F_COGAN
A FUTURISTIC SCIENCE FICTION SHORT STORY.

          The Winning Number

 
 
Edward Stevens sat at his tiny dinner table sipping a lukewarm caffeine
emulsion and picking at the remains of his dinner.  Bits of simulated
beef floated in a brownish, glutenous gravy, which Edward was using in a
vain attempt to improve the taste of his bread.  The wide screen TV
embedded in the tabletop blared about the lottery.
 
"Get in line now!  This is the chance of a lifetime, folks!" the
simulated announcer shouted with glee.  "Be the first to explore the hottest
and newest holiday destination, Postillion 7!  Tickets are almost all gone!
Get yours before this evening when we announce the GRAND PRIZE winner!"
 
Edward snorted and tapped the tabletop, muting the announcer.  The screen
automatically switched to subtitle mode, and the announcer's spiel
crawled slowly across the bottom of the screen.
 
The lottery had been announced six months ago and everyone had a ticket,
including Edward.  The grand prize was the trip to Postillion 7 via the
new Ridable Transporter. The Ridable was the newest fad sweeping
the jet set crowd who loved exotic vacations.  The only thing they
loved more than an extravagant vacation was the fact that the `Riddy',
as it was known, was so expensive that only the most elite of the upper
class could afford it.  The Riddy could transport you instantly just
about anywhere, including other planets.  As the Ridable Corporation
banged out the bugs, people `riddied' to exotic destinations all over
the Earth as well as the four star Trump Resort on Mars.
 
The mechanism had proven itself quite safe over time.  In order to ensure
its safety, the beams of the Riddy needed to be focused properly.
The first trials for a new destination involved hundreds of runs with
lab mice.  They were expendable and tended not to sue if they materialized
embedded in a wall or a half mile above the ground.  The further the
destination was, the more trial runs were required to focus the beam.
The Trump Resort had taken over a year of trials before it was
deemed safe for human travel.
 
Most recently, during a routine test of the Ridable system, a
technician named Steven Stalling had inadvertently punched in erroneous
coordinates and beamed himself to a planet outside the solar system.
Fortunately, it was a tropically warm garden oasis, apparently uninhabited
by any of the usual types of things that tend to find humans tasty.
Unfortunately, Steven had managed to materialize in the center of a rather
large ocean.  Long distance swimming hadn't been a component of the
doctoral program he had graduated from, and all the applied physics really
didn't help very much in this case.  In appreciation for his brave error,
the Ridable Corporation had named the first souvenir shop `Stalling's
Folly' and the bottled water was half price.
 
This made Postillion 7 the newest destination and the furthest away, a
guaranteed best seller. The rich and trendy had lined up around the block
to see who would be first, but the marketing bods that the Ridable
people owned had already calculated a more efficient way to make a profit.
The Ridable transporter team had formed an alliance with the Simmons
Adventure Vacations people and had jointly announced `The Lottery'
to the people of Earth.  The rich were aghast at the possibility of
having to share their `Riddies' with the financially undeserving, so
they bought tickets en masse.  They fully expected that `class would win
out, as always', particularly if they could purchase tickets in obscene
numbers to ensure their monopoly.  The middle class were delighted at the
chance to rub shoulders with the upper class. They reasoned that they may
finally be able to marry off their offspring to one of the financially
secure, ensuring their own escalation to the status of the monetary elite.
The working-class folks were disgusted at the waste of it all and doubted
they had any chance, but they bought tickets anyway.  Their dreams may
never come true, but they were still worth the price of a ticket.
 
Edward thought it likely that the lottery had been fixed so that some
rich, fat cat would win.  He knew that a working-class guy like him
would never stand a chance.  The furthest Edward had ever been on a
holiday was back in '63, to the New Jersey tar pits.  He had witnessed
the majestic geysers of methane gas bursting from the brackish lakes of
tar and igniting the clammy New Jersey night sky.  It was breathtaking.
Quite literally.  If you stood closer than 100 meters, there was a
good chance you would suffocate from the cloud of methane.  Most of the
residents of New Jersey were required to wear gas masks when outdoors
for prolonged periods of time.  Smoking was banned in the entire state.
 
Edward stood and gathered his meager dinner dishes and brought them over
to the sink.  He ran the water and the dishes melted away.   The recycler
under the sink extracted the liquid and broke it down to its atomic
components to be fed to the replicator.
 
Edward shuffled to the media room and plopped his considerable bulk into
the well worn arm chair across from the media wall.  He tapped on the
arm and the wall came alive with choices.
 
"Good Evening, Subscriber 621782-26, welcome to the state-funded media
network." droned the media wall.  "According to our records, your media
welfare credits are current and you may choose from any of the state
funded media feeds."
 
Edward grunted and scrolled down to the red light feel good feeds.
His income level meant that he didn't qualify for a marriage license,
so he often spent a Friday night with the feel good feeds.  Women with
any self respect were only interested in working-class guys who had a
license or a special reproduction permit from the Department of Genetics.
The media wall suddenly went blank, just as Edward was considering the
ample talents of one of the most popular feel good stars, Evanesce Nighttime.
 
"Pardon the interruption, Subscriber 621782-26." purred the media unit.
"The Ridable & Simmons lottery announcement is being made.  Our records
of your financial transaction history indicate that you have purchased
one ticket.  In order to decrypt the ticket the feed must be viewed
real-time. Do you wish to view the lottery feed, Subscriber 621782-26?"
 
"Yes!" Edward shouted.  He made a mental note to call the media feed
technicians to check the auditory pick-ups, the damn thing was going deaf.
He retrieved his ticket from the cubby in the kitchen and sat back down.
 
The feed instantly flipped to the lottery.  Sparkling confetti flew and
half-naked women danced across the screen.  Each beauty bore the banner
of a popular brewery or feel good feed.  The lottery advertisers knew the
working man's vices, and made sure to have an outlet for all of them.
 
An impossibly handsome and chiseled announcer strode on stage as the
dancers made their undulating exit.  Behind the announcer, a huge rotating
drum rolled out, slowly beginning to spin.  The drum was designed to
spell out the decryption code for the winning ticket.
 
Edward made an unkind noise as he recognized the announcer as one of
the new simulator actors that abounded on all those damnable, so-called
reality shows.  You would think they could afford a living human being
to host such an important show.
 
"Good evening ladies and gentlemen, I am Mark Maverick 2.0.  It is my
considerable pleasure to bring to you the decryption sequence lottery
for the Simmons & Ridable Postillion 7 Adventure Vacation of a Lifetime!"
 
Canned applause flooded the room.  Maverick beamed at the simulated
adulation.  The dancers swooned.  Edward screwed up his face and made
a rude gesture at the screen.
 
"We have employed the accounting bods of Longbows and Sticks to
conduct a complete audit of tonight's lottery, ensuring the integrity
of the process." Maverick said, flashing his impossibly white smile at
the audience.  "Once the ticket is decrypted, the winner will be beamed
here directly to complete the skill testing question in full view of the
accounting bods"  The drum drew up behind Mark and began to spin even more
quickly as he looked seriously into the cameras.  "We'll have a winner
in just a few minutes, but first, a word from our generous sponsors."
 
The scene cut to a loophole druid explaining the limitations of liability
and indemnity that Simmons and Ridable would assume for the trip. "The
party of the first part (being the traveler)", intoned the druid,
"would assume the risk of .."
 
Edward muted the legalism and waited for the lottery to come back on.
As the bot droned on and Edward considered browsing the feel goods again,
the scene shifted back to the bronzed face of Mark Maverick 2.0.
 
"Here we go folks, the moment we have been waiting for." Maverick beamed
at the audience, his hand reflexively sweeping a stray hair back in place.
 
The scene cut to the rotating drum as the first of the numbers began
to float holographically from the screen.  Edward clutched his ticket
tighter, hoping to see the change of color from silver to gold that
would indicate the decryption of the code embedded in his ticket.
The numbers rolled on and on, there were 256 in all, and they were all
randomly generated.  Maverick repeated each number as it appeared, his deep
and vacuous voice resounding through the room to build the suspense.
After the last number rolled out of the screen and across the floor,
Edward looked down at his ticket.
 
It was still silver.
 
Sighing, he stood up and began to scratch himself, trying to decide
whether or not he wanted to grab a soy beer from the kitchen before
the feel goods started, or whether it was worth all that extra exertion.
The room spun suddenly, and he found himself standing next to Mark Maverick
2.0 and facing the disconcerting gaze of a dozen hologram cameras.  He jerked
his hand back from where he was scratching and smiled sheepishly.
 
Maverick beamed at him.  "CONGRATULATIONS, Edward Stevens.!  You are our grand
prize winner!  After completing our skill testing question, and signing
the waivers, you will be whisked away for a seven day and six night,
all expenses paid, trip of a LIFETIME!  Postillion 7!"
 
Maverick grabbed his hand and pumped it up and down with professional ease.
His eyes never left the cameras.  The dancers swarmed around Edward,
wearing false smiles to go along with many of their other false, but
attractive, attributes.
 
Edward was giddy with glee.  He was still numb with the knowledge that
he had actually won something, let alone the biggest lottery ever held.
The ticket was taken and verified.  The next twenty minutes were a blur of
activity, lights, and people as he signed release forms and was carefully
guided through the skill testing question.  The cacophony of the canned
crowd never ceased.  The cameras broadcast it all to millions of people
who wished they were Edward Stevens.  Maverick beamed his trademarked huge
toothy smiles through the whole process while narrating every mundane
move for the riveted home audience.
 
A headphone wearing minion approached Edward, quizzically looking over
his wardrobe.
 
"You travelling in that?" he asked.
 
"I didn't think I'd win." Edward blurted. "Can I go home and pack my bag?"
 
The technician consulted his clipboard.  "OK, we'll Riddy you back home during
the next commercial break.  You'll have to pack quickly, and we'll Riddy
you back here in 10 minutes for the big finale number."
 
The technician departed and Edward was guided to the Riddy area.  His home
coordinates were already in the system, since they had riddied him to
the studio so unceremoniously.  He took a deep breath and was back in
his media room before it could be expelled.
 
Edward ran back to his bedroom and pulled open the closet.  He found what
he was looking for on the top shelf.  It was an ancient red Samsonite,
scarred plastic sides festooned with gaudy stickers from generations
of travels by the Stevens clan.  There was even a sticker from old Los
Angeles, obviously predating the big quake of 2127 which had caused
most of the Western coast of North America to topple into the Pacific.
Governor Schrwarzenegger, the great-grandson of President Schrwarzenegger,
had perished in the quake.  The family was wracked with grief.  It took
them weeks to finish the miniseries.  They still managed to steal a major
portion of sweeps week, assuaging their feeling of loss a considerable
amount.  The governor would have been proud to have known that his part
was played by Bruce Willis 3.0, the renowned Shakespearean actor of
the cyber-theatres.
 
The antique bag was the closest thing there was to a Steven's family
heirloom, anything else of any value had been confiscated to pay overdue
procreation fines to the state.  Weekly garnishments of Steven's family
salaries were likely to continue for another two generations, unless
they managed to somehow get current on their procreation fines and the
accumulated interest.  Edward's father had died before paying off the
debt, so it had automatically been passed to Edward, the offspring of
the unlicensed procreation.  If Edward produced no offspring, licensed
or otherwise, the debt would become a family one, and would be divided
amongst all the surviving relatives.
 
Edward tossed the bag on the bed and tore it open, packing feverishly.
White socks, sandals, colorful Hawaiian style shirts, and mostly clean
underwear flew into the crimson colored suitcase.  Next, a quick trip
to the bathroom to grab depilatory cream, toothbrush, deodorant, and an
economy sized bottle of Aqua Velva.  His bladder complained for attention,
but the thought of being riddied back to the studio in mid-stream, so to
speak, caused him to reconsider.  It may be more prudent to wait until
he was sure he wouldn't be exposed on national television.
 
Edward returned to the bedroom and tossed the small pile of bathroom
essentials on top of the clothes in the suitcase.  He was ready.  If there
was anything else he needed, he would pick it up at Stalling's Folly when
he arrived.
 
Once Edward returned to the broadcast studio, he was quickly escorted
to the transport area and informed of what to expect from the trip.
A rather gaunt looking accountant type with a pinched face and thick
glasses dictated the salient points from the many releases, agreements,
and addendum that Edward had signed, initialed and agreed to.
 
"So the upshot of the whole deal is that if I get killed, maimed, or
`lost in transit', you aren't going to assume any responsibility?" queried
Edward.
 
"Well, if you wish to state it in those rather pedestrian terms," sniffed
the accountant, "I suppose that would be fairly accurate.  The corporation
is also not responsible for misplacing your luggage." he stated, casting
a disapproving glance at the battered red valise.
 
"Fine, fine.  Can I get going now, please?"
 
"Certainly, please step into the transport chamber and we will proceed,
post haste.  If you will allow me to take your bag, we'll get you on
your way."
 
"Take my bag?" queried Edward "Why would you need to take my bag?"
 
"It is customary for us to ship your baggage separately, it is something
that we do for our clientele as a standard service.  Of course, they
generally have more baggage, and of a highly different quality as
well." He said, once again casting a baleful eye across the offensive
red case.
 
Edward narrowed his eyes.  He didn't care for this sawed off little
weasel, and he was pretty sure that he was being insulted to boot.
 
"I'll handle my own baggage, thanks.  It's a family heirloom."
 
"I'm certain that you and your gypsy ancestors hold it in high esteem.
However, it is customary.."
 
Edward interrupted with a rude sound and grabbed his suitcase.
 
"That's OK, pal.  I'll just take it with me."
 
Edward stomped to the transporter and stepped inside, setting the suitcase
at his feet.
 
"OK, let's go!"  yelled Edward enthusiastically.  His face lit with
excitement.  He had finally made it!
 
The technicians aligned the dials, and the room dimmed.  A low hum filled the
room as the power was fed to the transporter.  There was a brief flash of
light and a noise like a tiny sonic boom when the air suddenly collapsed
around where Edward Stevens. had stood.
 
From Edward's point of view, the change was instant.  One moment he was
backstage surrounded by technicians and production people, the next moment
he was looking out over a lush tropical paradise.  The gently scented
air wafted through the reception area as beautiful dancers performed a
welcoming hula style dance.
 
Edward felt different.  Heavy and off center.  He decided that it must be
the difference in gravity between Earth and Postillion  He reached down
to retrieve his bag but his hand only grasped air.  He glanced around,
looking for the bag, finding nothing.
 
"Great!" he snorted. "The morons still managed to lose my only piece
of luggage!"
 
The crew rushed forward, grabbing Edward by each arm and leading
him towards a low building off to the side of the reception area.
The dancer's stared and the music halted in mid stream.  Edward looked
at them curiously, wondering if they always made such a big deal over
a lost piece of luggage.
 
"Hey!  I'm not that upset, you can leave go.  I won't take a swing
at anyone, I promise."  Edward began, hoping they would let him go so
that he could find a convenient bar and get a drink.  Something with an
umbrella in it.  Something that would drown out the heartburn that he
got from the transporter.
 
A smiling young person in an Simmons Adventure tours blue vest quickly
approached him.  The name plaque over his breast pocket identified him
as Adrian Speck, Baggage Retrieval Specialist.
 
"Please don't worry Mr. Stevens." Adrian said continuing his false, toothy
smile, "I assure you that we can remedy this situation quickly and easily.
We can get your suitcase back to you in a few hours, the procedure is
fairly painful, but I am sure you will be happy with the results."
 
"What the hell are you talking about?" Edward demanded as they walked
past a large array of solar collectors, cleverly designed to look like
waterfalls behind a curtain of heavy glass.  His eyes widened in disbelief
at what he saw in the highly reflective surface.
 
A very large red Samsonite was embedded in his back, apparently becoming
part of his body in the transport process.  The handle was visible,
and rattled against the case as Edward walked.  Edward began to panic
and yell.
 
"You b******s will pay for this!  I know what I signed, it never included
this!  I'll sue you for every penny you ever made off this damn lottery!"
 
"Now, now, Mr. Stevens. Try to relax." Adrian admonished, still smiling,
"Our loophole bods are the very best.  I am quite sure that you signed
the agreement regarding misplaced luggage."