Chapter 7
Mamet's Revenge
Dr. Emily Mamet sat, legs sprawled, on the thickly carpeted bedroom floor of the Venison Hilton's bridal suite. Wearing the remnants of her wedding gown she pulled the last swallow of bubbly from a large Champagne bottle. Her reading glasses teetered on the brink of her small nose threatening to fall off once again, only to be yanked back into servitude by a thin black tether, which encompassed the back of the lovely bioengineer's bare neck.
Ms. Mamet was trying to focus on the backward reflection of herself and her surroundings which had just come into view via the mirror, which for some reason she couldn't quite recall, was attached to the ceiling. An inner voice, thick with spite, snickered quietly inside her head.
"Embrace the moment," it whispered.
"Hang on to the amnesia, because this tiny moment of zero recall is the best thing that's going to happen to you for a considerable time. Whatever you do don't access reality" the voice baited.
Ignoring this voice she forced herself to focus and thought, I'm Katherine the great and there had been an explosion of champagne bottles, telegrams and clothing in my bedroom. She squinted and blindly groped for something within hands reach. "No that wasn't right." Then it hit her.
"I told you so," maliciously teased the departing voice.
After being left at the altar by her fiancé John Warberton, well not actually at the altar but on the steps of the church on the day before her wedding, is close enough. The last thing on Professor Mamet's mind was going to Venus. The thought of her alone occupying their, er, her wedding suite was incomprehensible. Friends and family thought differently.
"Going on holiday is the thing for you to do in this time of rejection," her mother comforted her. "Isn't that right sweetie."
"Absolutely," her tall blond father answered a trifle to soon. Next morning off she went.
"It'll be good for her won't it?" Her mum asked, looking for reassurance.
"Sweetie, don't worry she'll be fine." The lithe figure lit a cigarette. "Plus I couldn't get a refund on the deposit we made for the room."
Still dressed in her bridal gown she boarded her transport vessel ordered a triple margarita, downed it and passed out. Three hours and many inquisitive stares later she found herself and her luggage alone in her bridal suite. She kicked off her shoes and popped open a bottle of Champagne with "good luck newlyweds" printed cleverly over the label.
Toasted an invisible crowd and drained the bottle.
Eventually she found herself wandering around the suite drinking and reading congratulation cards and sympathy telegrams one after the other.
Depending on the contents of the telegram or the card, she would do one of two things.
If it was one that she was particularly pleased with, telling her how much better off without him she was and such, she would have another drink. If the card was one of those mushy ones such as, you two are meant for one another sort of things, she would break something, usually furniture or flower stands which littered the suite.
Thinking at several points that she was going blind from the liquor she had started to remove her wedding gown, little by little. First she removed her veil and train, later she tore off her panty hose thinking that she had become paralyzed. It wasn't until they were completely shredded that she knew it was temporary and she could in fact walk.
Muttering, "Another dead Astro Solider," she tossed the empty aside. Pulling herself to her feet with the aid of a small velvet foot rest which sat at the bottom of the heart shaped wedding bed she started for the kitchen.
On her way for another bottle of bubbly, amongst the remnants of all the tattered and torn up flowers and congratulations, sent directly to the hotel by friends, who put it off their social obligations until the last minute or "hadn't heard the news," she spotted her luggage which had been sent days earlier.
The bubbly suddenly didn't seem important. What did seem important
was what was in her luggage. She dropped to her knees and began opening her travel trunk. Rifling through it she quickly came to what she had been looking for, her aluminum brief case. This contained her Desktop Micro Deluxe Computer and most her other working materials. At least now she was armed.
Professor Mamet really hadn't planned on working this weekend, what she had planned for this weekend would make a prosti droid blush. Still, her employer Deva droid International's stock had recently been losing ground due to the recall of the notoriously unpopular Realistic 3000 Series, and her department in particular was under the gun. So when the freight company came to pick up her luggage she placed her briefcase on the pile with the trunks.
Throwing open her briefcase and fumbling with the various attachments, the more than a bit lit Professor Mamet started working. Working on her revenge.