The Estate of Admiral Maxwell Forrest - Florida 2136
Henry Archer followed his son out of the transport carefully. Even now, very few knew anything about his illness and he would much prefer to keep things that way.
Hazards like Maxwell Forrest's gravel driveway were a rarity. There were probably less than a hundred estates of this size on the eastern seaboard. Forrest had just so happened to have a friend in government, and had just so happened to purchase thousands of acres of irradiated swamp land, just before the Florida reclamation project was announced.
And so the world turns, Henry mused.
Their host greeted them with a clammy handshake - although Henry supposed that clamminess was inevitable in this sort of climate - and they soon found themselves deposited on a veranda, overlooking an immaculately maintained subtropical garden, with cold, minted drinks in hand.
"Shouldn't we be worried about the mosquitos?" Jonathan asked, as ever scanning the scene for anything that might endanger his father.
Their host did not appear offended. Instead he smiled - clammily!- and gestured lazily into the air. "No, as you see..."
And in a moment they did see, for just as a large mosquito dodged nearer, a little hummingbird-like robot darted out of nowhere and snatched it out of the air.
Jonathan acted with similar speed, tossing the dregs of his drink into the hedge and catching the little 'bot under his over-turned glass in one fluid motion.
"Remarkable," Henry intoned, mostly from politeness. Mostly, that is, until he'd had a good look at the thing, while it spent a few seconds seeking an exit from its glass prison, before it powered down, watchfully. "Elegant. Your work? How is it powered?"
"Wonderful little machines," Forrest replied, examining his fingernails. "Not my own work, although I'd love to tell you otherwise. Actually, one of the swamp-rats builds 'em for me. Solar powered, they are."
"Something of a novelty," Henry replied diplomatically. The emperor strongly favoured the nuclear power industry these days.
"They all have self-contained micro-panels," Forrest continued lazily. "And what they don't use themselves they download to the grid. Runs the Vulcans' quarters. Saves me a mint. And what's more, all the mosquitos the 'bots collect get recycled into the Vulcans' food. Free protein."
This last piece of information drove Jonathan to his feet. "You'd feed Vulcans mosquitos? Risk them eating your own blood?"
Forrest eyed him coolly. "You're superstitious, are you, young man?"
Jonathan bristled, "I wouldn't give one particle of myself to some filthy Vulcan."
"Then you don't know what you are missing," Forrest replied, raising his eyebrows. "I give one a good ten inches of myself several times a day. You might find you'd be a good deal less tense if you'd..."
"Tell me, Max, just what is a 'swamp-rat'?" Henry interrupted firmly.
Forrest relaxed back into his chair. "The unwashed brats who live in shacks on my land with their unwashed parents. Said unwashed parents can never make rent of course, so they send their brats up here to work it off in trade. One way or another. See, it might only be once every seven years, but when you have as many Vulcans as I do, it adds up. Let me tell you, it seems like one of them in season every other week. So the unlucky swamp-rats earn their keep THAT way, and the lucky ones do other odds and ends. This one kid, though, he and his sister build these little 'bots for me. Kid is something of a savant by swamp-rat standards."
"Yes, he'd have to be," Henry mused, leaning over and releasing the little 'bot from the glass and watching it power up and flitter away. "Now, Max, shall we get down to business?"
The business to be concluded concerned Henry Archer's Warp 5 prototype, Maxwell Forrest's elite wing of the Imperial fleet, and how the one might assist the other. Most of this was conducted with Jonathan present, but for the last few documents Henry invented a pretext to send Jonathan to the car. The Warp 5 engine and Jonathan Archer were to go to Maxwell Forrest as a package deal. Jonathan would have his longed-for career, aptitude tests be damned, and he would hopefully be none the wiser as to why.
"Thank you for coming all the way out here, Henry," Forrest said pleasantly enough, farewelling them in his driveway with one more clammy handshake, this one much firmer, ALMOST tipping Henry's precarious balance, although not QUITE.
"You have a beautiful home," Henry replied, smoothly, just recovering his balance. "Thank you for your hospitality."
Forrest turned to go, but at the last moment a thought struck Henry Archer and he called Forrest back. "Oh, and Max? That kid, the one who build the 'bots? If he ever gets himself in a hole that he can't work his way out of with either his mind or his ass? Send him my way..."
