The factory was not closed, but bore the marks of past glory. Only a third of the factory was operational and outside Replicator manufacturing units all masked with the familiar orange tape and black words, "Under Embargo." A couple of large holes were visible in the areas abandoned, signs of some kind of trouble.
The visitor's booth manager with a bushy moustached and a straw hat looked at me and said, "We are now a type-writer factory. The CEO has sold the business to small-time contractors like us."
Now this was not possible. Even if Malcolm was closed for whatever reason. He would always moved onto something better.
I asked, "Did he moved onto something else? And dId he say where he was going?"
"Well. It's a pity that the good old grid is down. But you have come to the right place. I know exactly what he has been up to and I will do the honour of showing him to you."
He vanished behind the counter and brought up an improvised television box.
"Pardon me. But those thugs from Galdania are trying to shut our city down. This is how we keep in touch and get entertained. Let me find the news channel." He turned the knob.
This was horrendous. I never knew that even Acadia could fall into such a state. It was literally the stone age. I peered nervously at the static to see what other shocking truths I might find.
"Malcolm Eddings, celebtrity negotiator rides again!" The set boomed.
A tall lady with a long white dress with an overlay of chiseled black flower patterns and short finger wave dark hair asked the stranger off-screen.
"Malcolm Eddings. Many have said that Seers cannot be trusted, but you have proven yourself otherwise. And many of us are also tired with the word 'Controversy.' Do you anything to say about meteoric rise to good repute?"
Then came the familiar sharp anwers.
"I have nothing to prove to you or anyone, Miss Sanders. What I am bringing to the table is a whole new way of solving problems by getting to the root cause, past bureaucracy and past the cost constraint assumptions that so governs every facet of our community today."
I finally noticed Cordy waving at my face for attention.
"Lauren? Is this your friend? Malcolm Eddings? The Master Craftsman?"
Eyes opened, jaw dropped, my mind blanked. I answered her. "Yeah... He is my friend."
The man on screen continued.
"I believe all of us should get out there. Start a business. Help people. Solve problems. And be the heroes we need in the streets. If you're not able to do it on your own. Give me a call at 500-9-OL-44. My advisers will be ready to help you with your plan of initiative. And make good on it."
"So, is there anything else you can tell us about your business model? You say what you're doing within - the reach - of... Security. We are in a middle of a shoot!" The anchor asked, but stopped, distracted by something in front of her.
A voice called out. "It's Jerrod. He's outside on the tower and he's going to jump."
Malcolm shot to his feet and asked, "Where's the tower?!"
"23 floors upstairs. At the broken antennae relay. Nobody goes there!"
"Well. Take me there. We'll climb the stairs if we have to but take me there!"
Miss Sanders turned back to camera and finished the interview. "And that was Celebrity Negotiator Malcolm Eddings making good on his promises. Stay tune to the rescue attempt, live on Acadia Daily."
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We left factory as soon as we could and hailed a taxi. There taxi swung left to right through the traffic not because we paid more money, but I was at the wheel and Cordy and the driver were my passengers.
I clarified with the cabby boy, "You say the Acadia News Tower is 3 blocks right from Canal Street?!"
"Yes. Sir - P...p... please drive carefully." He muttered.
I looked up and found we were going to be sandwiched between two trams from opposite directions. Cordy and the boy screamed.
"Hold your breath!" I cried and held mine. I fired up my instrument and pound my fist onto the dashboard. At once, a flood of yellow fission cinders from my hand engulfed vehicle interior. I went deaf for a moment as I rubberised everything into the properties of a giant soccer ball.
The trams hit and launched us skyhigh. We could have screamed, but we were already rubberised. And I could feel nothing as we were pin-balled between the buildings among scattering pedestrains and dodging vehicles. The vehicle finally got into a steady bounce and the power effect expired. I came to my senses and caught my breath on the last bounce and the vehicle continued rolling onward.
"Anything broken!" I turned and asked. And I saw the children white-face, shaking their heads. "Great!" But he vehicle shuddered in protest and broke over with dents and scratches and began spewing white smoke. "Woe! Spoke too soon!"
I saw the tower of the news building. Judging from it appearance, it already came down for a year. There was indeed some serious issues when no one fixes the only lifeline of a city. The highest point of the radio tower rested on the top of another skyscraper. And I squinted closely enough to see a tiny Mal balancing his way across the beams to get to a lone figure sitting on a satellite dish.
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