The Pedestal by Daniel Wimberley Read Free Book Online

bad Scotch, the next I’m dropping bad lines—the sort that might normally buy a man a kick to the diodes—on this spectacular lady, and somehow they’re working. It’s like I can’t say anything wrong. I buy her drinks, she laughs at my stupid jokes. She spouts wit like old faithful, and I laugh with genuine abandon. Deep down, I know she’s just looking for a few free drinks, though a woman of her caliber really ought to set her sights on a classier place than this.
    The thing is, though—the way she looks at me? I’ve seen that look before, just never trained at me. As bizarre as it sounds, there’s little doubt that she has an interest in me. There’s a connection happening here, and despite all logic, it isn’t completely one-sided.
    Her name’s Adrian Stone. Pretty, huh? She’s exceptionally beautiful—way too hot to be wasting her time on a loser like me, but I’m too enamored by her presence—and more than a little inebriated—to question my luck. As we walk outside and a tram pivots against the curb to envelop us—where we’re headed isn’t even a concern, just that we’re headed somewhere together—the sports store next door begins to spam my NanoPrint, causing it to spew a barrage of Nike signage. I laugh. Long and hard, like I’m trying to dislodge something within, and I don’t stop until Adrian kisses me.
     

     
    I’m really not sure what to expect from work today—my belongings waiting unceremoniously in a box at the lobby desk, perhaps? A lengthy, unpaid suspension? As it turns out, it’s neither. Rather, it’s like nothing ever happened. Keith stops by my office and, to my shock and relief, trades Arthur’s project drive for a set of unrelated project specs. It’s as if yesterday was a figment of my imagination, except that as Keith walks off, he gives me this weird conspiratorial wink—like we’re sharing an inside joke now.
    Fantastic.
    Around noon, I eat some kind of health wrap in the cafeteria and watch the news on the Viseon wall. I’m feeling warm and fuzzy, ruminating over last night and wondering if Adrian is really just a dream—I guess I’ll know if she ever calls like she promised. At some point, the news begins to compete for my attention. Vice President Leah Carlisle is onscreen. With a quick adjustment to my NanoPrint, Carlisle’s voice is streaming directly to my auditory nerves. She’s proudly tooting her own horn in a way that only pandering presidential candidates can do without blushing.
    “My company, Miritech, spends billions every year toward the development of new medical advances. As well, we’re active participants in the War On Drugs. We fund the operation of multiple rehabilitation centers and law enforcement task forces to put a stop to illegal drug use. Why do we do this? We do it because we care about the people of this great nation. With my help, we can—” she blathers on and on. It makes me a little sick to hear her voice, especially knowing what I’ve learned. I mute her with a scowl. I can’t help but notice she’s wearing huge olivine earrings. Somehow—however irrational—I feel certain they’re the real thing, carved from the core of some fantastic chondrite meteor. And there’s little doubt in my mind that these superfluities were paid for with credits scraped from IDS pockets. And, of course, she’s bolstering her stupid campaign at the expense of my company.
    Yeah, I’m probably being a little unreasonable. She was bleeding blue long before IDS came along to fatten her credit accounts, after all. Acknowledging this doesn’t help, though; in a way, it actually makes things worse. She doesn’t even need our money—she just saw a wounded victim and thought she’d get her pound of flesh along with everybody else.
    In disgust, I toss the rest of my lunch into the nearest bin, ignoring its shrill beep of protest that my plastic fork hasn’t been separated from the biodegradables. As I storm out, my NanoPrint tingles,