The Scarab by Scott Rhine Read Free Book Online Page A

all of them
graduate, right?” This time there was a longer silence. “I never got to go to
my own ceremony because I was working. This time, I’ll be graduating in vehicle
design, and I want somebody there to cheer for me. How about it?”
    In a very meek voice, he said, “We’ll
see.”

Chapter 6 – A Grand Entrance
     
    This year’s convention started the second Thursday of
December in Albuquerque, New Mexico, using the Sandia supercomputer network. It
was a high-security net, but the SimCon consortium had obtained special
permission to use the computers for this week. The cab driver, Omar, said we
passed the Sandia security compound on the way from Albuquerque International Airport. I gawked at the mountains which hemmed in the city to the south and east.
    He said “They are the Sandia Mountains. It is good for the hot air balloons. We have a festival here every
October for that. It is a very busy time, dangerous to drive in because
everybody is looking up at the sky.”
    “There might be a few dangerous drivers
at this event, too,” I countered.
    Omar laughed at this. Encouraged,
he became a fountain of tourist information. “Would you like to go on a brief
detour to see the scenic Rio Grande? It is not far. Out by the park I know a
place with a once-in-a-lifetime view. Very nice.”
    I begged off because I had to check
in early that afternoon. He let me off easy because business was booming today.
Over half the cabs in the city were making round trips from the airport to the
arena and back again.
    Omar dropped me at the arena entrance.
The indoor sports and music center had been transformed from a warehouse in the
desert to a Mecca, drawing enthusiasts from the world over. I took off my
sunglasses and stared like a yokel at the state fair. The sheer size of the
arena made the hordes of people look like worker ants swarming a mound. I didn’t
notice how loud the background noise of talking and sound testing was until I
had to raise my voice to ask the door guard which direction I should go to
register.
    “Press crew?” he shouted.
    “Contestant,” I said holding up my
photo badge. He squinted at it, and back at me. “I shaved the beard.” I
wondered briefly if Mary would recognize me without it, or like the change. I
felt like a department store dummy in my crisp, new cotton clothes. Everything
about me was awkwardly new, even my underwear.
    He nodded and pointed to the other
end of the complex at a pair of gold-embossed sliding-glass doors. “All you’ve
got to do is pick up your room key, sir. Shall I radio someone for your luggage?”
    I shook my head and hefted the
small black nylon bag over my shoulder. “Nope. I always travel light.”
    I knew what to expect from the
increasing video coverage over the past few years, but even I ogled at the
giant race score boards, panoramic view screens, and sheer techno-glitz
surrounding the event. In the glassed-in press booth, high above the milling
multitudes were the news-casters from local stations, ESPN, and MTV. They were
getting set up for the crowd reactions and big flying-logo opening of this year’s
coverage. MTV was going all out and had sent reporters to all major real-world
sites along the simulated race route. They planned to mix sound-effects, a
backdrop of European scenery, and spectators from the arena to create the
illusion of an old-style grand-prix.
    When I walked through the glass
doors into the Windsor Hotel, I immediately entered yet another foreign world.
The sudden lack of sound was staggering. The air was a perfect 74 degrees,
making me aware that I had been sweating during my walk through the arena. This
was hands-down the most elegant hotel I had ever seen. The floor and front desk
were all a polished, beige stone from the local desert called “fossil stone.”
This transitioned to a tan, marble fountain on one side and a plush, maroon
carpet leading to the elevators on the other. The arched ceiling was inset with
carved stone