Labrats STORY BYSubject Zero
BY NOW IT SHOULD COMEas no
surprise that I don’t really do trade
shows. Why would I? My “job” isn’t
to promote these people’s products
and innovations, just subject myself
to them. Fill out the form, tick the
box that best describes the burning
sensation, get my $125 and move on.
There are always exceptions, of
course.Forinstance,thePersonal
Fitness Cybernetics And Gluten Free
Robotic Kitchen Appliances Expo
2016really,reallywantedabunchof
“reputable”scientifictestsubjectsup
on stage to demonstrate a whole range
of products to potential retailers. My
agent (and ex-union headkicker)
K[c]urt Blockade had negotiated an
hourly rate of $17.50 which was good,
but also persuaded my sort-of-not-
really girlfriend Atalanta to come
along too, which was even better.
Due to an issue with an expired bus
ticket, a stormwater drain and my
front door key, I arrived two hours
late,bywhichpointtheriothadsetin.
Later, I found out that someone had
broughtinsomeglutenorsomething,
or someone had been unable to
adequately certify that a Thermomix-
rip-off called a GlutenBuster could
actually remove gluten from
something glutinous, and then there
wasadisagreementwhichdevolved
into an altercation, and pretty soon
people were throwing punches. The
Personal Fitness Cybernetics side of
the exhibition space stayed out of it
until a virus got onto the free Wi-Fi
somehow and all the training robots
went nuts and were catching people
and forcing them to do push-ups andthe coffee cart started rocking back
and forth - not super-violently. After
all, these fitness bots wanted to help
us, not hurt us. Outside, the sounds
of the gluten-sparked riot created
abackgroundofalmost-soothing
white noise and occasional crashes.
“Uh...”Isaid.Atalantapickedatthe
milk crate. She looked perfectly glum.
She’d dyed her hair black again. She
sighed and looked at her wrist where
abandofveryslightlypalerskin
indicated she’d once worn a watch.
“What happened to your watch?” I
asked brightly, pointing at her wrist.
Atlanta frowned.
“I got rid of it,” she said, frowning at
herwrist.“Becauseofavirus.”
“Avirus?!Yoursmartwatchcaught
avirus?Like,anAndroidvirus?”
“No,itgavemeavirus.Andit
wasn’t a smartwatch.” She paused,
but then didn’t say anything else,
but instead stared at the ProtoShunt
4000 which was starting to gurgle
more urgently and produce a kind of
electrical burning smell.
Suddenly my agent C[k]urt
Blockade hurled himself over the
counter into the coffee cart, bounced
offthebackwallandhitthefloor
withathudthatshookthewhole
thing on its flimsy collapsible struts.
“Damn!”hecried,soundingall
pumped up and excited. His good eye
rolled. “This is the greatest show on
Earth! I’ve never been able to punch
so many coeliacs in one go before!” He
grinned and hurled himself over the
counter again and was gone.
IturnedtoAtalantaandopened
mymouth,butatthatmomentthe
ProntoShunt 4000 executive coffee
management system exploded.
Luckilyforus,thetitanium-weave
watertankshapedthedetonation
such that all we had to do was duck:
shrapnel, steam, frothy milk, and
coffee grounds erupted out in a flat
trajectory in all directions, neatly
demolishing all the fitness bots.
It was the best date Atalanta
andIhadeverbeenon.WHY ELON
MUSK IS GOING
TO MARS
// Von Neumann
Drive // How
AI willFIND
ALIENS//
Smartwatches
Dissected
+ MORE!run on treadmills and so forth.
IfoundAtalantaoverbythe
coffee cart. She was looking at the
unattended machine longingly
and I assumed that, as an itinerant
scientific test subject like myself,
she had no money.
“Hey,” I said a little shakily. “Is
that a ProntoShunt 4000? I used to
wrangle one of those back in
my barista days...”
Atlantalookedatmewith
absolutely unconcealed contempt.
“You were a barista?” she said, which
were the first words she’d spoken to
me in over four months. “Why aren’t
you still a barista?”
“Longstory,”Isaid,asIclimbedup
into the empty coffee cart and started
spinning the familiar dials and
pulling the familiar levers. I looked
out over the exhibition space and saw
asquadoffitnessmachinesstomping
determinedly toward the coffee cart,
probably to tell us coffee was bad and
we had to do a bunch of push-ups.
“Um,” I said. “Maybe you’d better
get into the cart with me and we can
lock it or something.”
Atalanta looked around, made a
teeth-sucking sound, and then slowly
andunconcernedlyclimbedinto
the cart and shut the door, just as a
spandex-wrapped manipulator claw
tried to grab her by the elbow and
drag her off to a fate worse than not
having to do any exercise.
Wesatthere,onmilkcrates,facing
each other but not looking each other
intheeye.TheProntoShunt4000
steamed and gurgled somewhere up
above my right ear. After a moment,NEXT
ISSUE!
Issue #97
December
- On
sale 1st
December
The asterisk doesn’t mean anything, it’s just
supposed to make you suspicious...
The Greatest
Show On Earth*
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