I Hear His Voice…

We walked into Dick’s.  As I expected, over in the corner was Smed holding forth at the usual table, a litter of empty shot glasses already accumulating.  Per the standards of the place, he was wearing a large paper hat decorated with various phrases and crude drawings, the most prominent of which appeared to be a large number 38 in a red circle with a red line through it.

A group of likely SOE types sat around Smed.  Likely except for one, a scruffy looking guy separated from the others, off at the far corner of the table, looking for all the world to be asleep over his laptop.

I took Brenlo’s elbow and said quietly, “The guy in the corner… he’s not SOE, or he’s new… he doesn’t have the SOE “spare tire” on him yet.”

Brenlo unconsciously sucked in his gut just a bit as he grimaced at my too-close-to-accurate characterization of the effects of long hours at a computer coupled with bad food.  With a bit of pain in his voice he replied in a low voice, “That is Coyote.  He came out here for the community summit and has stayed out here ever since.  Seriously.  Something about 70 degree weather and no snow in sight in February broke something deep within him.  I don’t know how he explained it to his wife, but I hear he worked something with his employer by invoking the American with Disabilities Act that allowed him to work remote… he made up something disgusting enough that his boss didn’t want him coming into the office.  Anyway, Smed let’s him stick around because he likes his column… he says good things about us… and because of the boobs.  The man has an uncanny ability to find boobs on the web.  You’d think that would be a no-brainer, but trying matching his finds some day.  It is a talent.”

As we walked up, room was made for us opposite Smed.  He smiled and started right in.

“I thought we’d have a bite while we talk. I hope you brought a good appetite with you.  You were looking a little dazed when you walked in a minute ago.  Getting over something?”

“Just the San Diego sun.”

“The sun… heh… but you’re feeling up for a job I hope.”

“Yes sir.”

“Good!  The food is already on the way, so why don’t we start getting you up to speed with this.”

He handed me an iPod Nano.  A pink iPod Nano.

A snort came from Coyote at the end of the table, who appeared to have just woken up. “Kendricke has one like that,” he said as he investigated the shot glasses near him, no doubt hoping to find one still full.

I flipped the Nano over.  Engraved on the back, “Kendricke.”

I looked up at Smed, who only smiled and indicated I should listen to the currently selected track.

Ear buds inserted, I hit play.  A tortured voice came through.

“Last night we rendered a snail crawling along the edge of a straight razor. That’s my dream. That’s my nightmare. Full detail, down to the last drop of slime, crawling, slithering, along the edge of a straight razor… there will be several dozen of these where ever there is foliage in Telon. ”

“We must render them. We must render them all. Pig after pig, cow after cow, village after village, army after army, all in intricate detail.  You must feel like you are actually walking in Telon.  And they call me insane.  They complain… they say we cannot ship all 12 DVDs to support the required art assets… they say that a next generation SLI configuration is an unrealistic minimum system requirement…  and we have to be polite to those who complain. Those nabobs. I hate them. How I hate them…”

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~ by Kilgore Trout on May 14, 2007.

 
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