Northern California Views

Chapter 1: And So It Begins

By ones and twos specially selected and invited members of the Party made their way to Bill's Hobby Shop.

Bill Fernandez-Jones himself smiled broadly as he waved and welcomed each of them from behind his long sales counter. The counter was located near the rear of the shop's public display room and contained the more expensive, and most would say interesting, items available for sale at the shop.

Bill considered each of the new arrivals to be trusted friends, people one could count on in a pinch. But Bill greeted everyone who came to his shop the same way as he greeted his friends now. It was one of the reasons his store was so popular. Another reason was the store was well located in a new developing commercial area. One which was anchored by many high-end department stores and popular restaurants.

But the main reason most folks came to Bill's Hobby Shop was that they were dedicated hobbyists. And Bill's store had one of the largest selections of the most interesting hobby craft a hobbyist might want. If you were a craft maker you can find all of the raw materials, guidebooks, tools, paints, and glues you might want or need. If you needed rare woods, plasters, small and large lots of Styrofoam, or finely woven cloth to make curtains for your miniature houses you could find it at Bill's. If you were a modeler who enjoyed making complete miniature villages, tiny rail systems ancient and modern, meter long suborbital flight machines, or experimental rocketry systems you could find what you needed at Bill's.

There were kits for chemistry experiments. Complete ecosystems for young apartment-bound gardeners. Complete and finely detailed miniature armies for civilizations long dead and those making headlines today. If you were interested in experimenting with modern robotics there was no better store to be found on the entire planet. Bill's Hobby Shop was THE place to go to find the best of the latest equipment for the hobbyist. It was also the regular meeting place for the local chapter of the Young Roboticists Club.

Best of all, while you were there you could spend as much time as he had available talking to, and hopefully buying something from, Archibald R. Studebaker. Bill's only full-time staff member, chief assistant, and somewhat-customized sales and service robot.

The arriving Party members did not spend much time examining the store's offerings. They simply returned Bill's smile and wave and headed more or less directly through the familiar door past the counter and in the back. They had all been here many times before. The door led to a short hallway which in turn led to a familiar conference and meeting room. There they were greeted by a catering robot which offered each arrival a generous choice of beverages and snacks foods. After making their selections the Party members picked seats around a good-sized conference table, greeted each other, and fell to talking about whatever roused their interest. The meeting would not begin until Bill himself appeared.

Out front Bill looked over his store with a look of contentment and satisfaction. This being an early weekday evening the store was only moderately busy. Most of the shoppers there were really just curious browsers. They would spend some time looking before moving on to the next store on the plaza. The small group of actual customers could easily be handled by Archibald.

The shoppers were a mix of folks very much like those seen in his store on most other nights. They ranged in age from about 15 to 100. They adorned themselves with a mix of jewelry, temporary skin tints, expendable flashing, moving, and old-style tattoos, highly personalized hairstyles (or none at all), and the ubiquitous small purse-sized "floating" hip pack. Each pack was held in place by an invisible force field and usually contained a small collection of essential tools. The packs had become very popular in recent years and pretty much eliminated the need for wearers to be accompanied by a self-propelled robot "companion".

Since this was Legena, of course, this was the ordinary small set of encumbrances most citizens burdened themselves with these days. Naturally, everyone was nude in the eyes of off-worlders. But nobody in Legena or its culturally similar societies bothered to wear clothing. Nor had they for some 300 to 400 years, reflected Bill. Such burdens simply weren't necessary. And unhygienic to boot.

Other nations and societies where clothing was still required or the norm were simply some kind of sick, thought Bill. People who on Legena would have been hospitalized out of a concern for their mental health and the danger they represented for the rest of society. Unfortunately, those types of dangerously sick nations and societies still dominated the human expanse. Some were far more sicker, and dangerous, then others, Bill thought. Hopefully that was one of the topics tonight's meeting would address.

Taking one last look around, Bill called over to Archibald.

"I think you can handle things here for a while, Archie old boy," he said. "I'm off to my meeting. Call me if you need anything."

Archibald smiled and waved at Bill before turning his attention back to a young customer who seemed to have a thousand and one questions about one of the early rocket models offered for sale.

As Bill left the room he vaguely heard the small light chime which automatically went off when potential customers entered or left the store. It did not draw his attention. The store's imbedded security system would silently record the comings and goings of everyone. This time it recorded new folks coming into the store.

About a minute later, when it seemed clear Bill had left and was not quickly returning, a young-looking woman stepped back from a display of dancing elf robots she had appeared to be intently studying. She looked idly around at the other customers, then left the store. Outside she turned to the left and disappeared among the mall's shoppers.

Inside another two minutes passed before a young-looking man also stopped looking at a display of flying space freighters, glanced around nervously, then left the store. Outside he turned to the right as he moved away.

The departure of the two customers and the directions they left in were recorded by the security system. But no special notations were made as neither of them appeared to be trying to shoplift any merchandise or engage in any other illegal activity. The system had no way of knowing or noting when the woman and man met up together a few blocks away at a predetermined street corner.

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As Bill entered the conference room and moved in the direction of his seat he stopped frequently to greet other old friends and Party members. Everyone in the room knew each other well and had worked on countless campaigns and organization efforts over the years. Many of them were members of the National Assembly and held high Party posts.

"Fred, you old bum!" exclaimed Bill as he grabbed and squeezed Fred Terkeltoff's arm. He and Fred had been friends since their college days. Fred was a member of the National Assembly. If the Party won the next election Fred would likely be the country's next Foreign Minister.

"Hey, Bill," answered Fred, returning Bill's squeeze. "How's business?"

Before he could answer Bill heard another familiar voice.

"Hello, Gorgeous," said Samantha Evans, another member of the National Assembly and very close friend for some 30 years. She rose from her seat and embraced Bill with a warm, close and firm hug; reaching down to pinch his bare butt.