FREEZE FRAMED FAILURE
A poorly rendered three-dimensional kaleidoscope of advertisements and spectators, colorfully dressed in the latest fashions, flickered and became very pixilated whenever the music started to play. During the worst moment, the inset speakers in the ceiling would rattle with a tinny-sounding rendition of the Andromeda Galaxy's premiere orchestra playing the Star Spangled Banner. The music sputtered, and the three kids sitting behind the dugout actually froze for a full second as the visiting team leapt to their feet, erupting in triumphant cheers. The World Historians Society had recorded every minute detail of the baseball game.
Moments prior, it had been the bottom of the ninth inning. The visiting British Willows were one run down, had a runner on second, and one of its premiere batters was facing the wicked arm of the Cascadia Chateau's prize pitcher.
Janus Franko still felt a twinge of excitement as the eight month-old game footage played in a sim-3D staccato on the worker class apartment walls. Perfect calm had controlled his movements on the mound, giving no visual indication that the ball might fly astray. However, moments after the ball left his hand, he knew it would sink too early.
Janus switched off the playback. He could still smell the ambrosia of champagne and salmon completing the affluent ambiance of the high-class suite he once occupied. The cornucopia-dream of fame, fantastic wealth and perfect love had been in his grasp and still he longed to savor its succulent flavors. While he had expected the triumvirate - fame, wealth, and love - to come hand-in-hand with success, he was not prepared for all three to be stripped away within the hour following the Chateau's loss.
At his worst, he nearly managed to believe that his love for Priscilla was only a ruse, and that his lost fortune didn't matter as much as the lump in his chest told him it did. But he could not bring himself to forget the parties that came with excessive wealth, fame, and perfect love. Gazing at the chalky apartment walls, he wished he had ordered a copy of the Winter Festival from two years prior. His companionship with Priscilla had been at its best that evening. Gowned in a radiant near-translucent gown, she had acted as though she was with him for his company, not his success.
He mused on the irony of three-dimensional video technology: he could only freeze-frame his failures.
And without a crystal clear reminder of his successes, he could only replay his failure. Between replaying the episode of his errant pitch and the climactic finale of his accounts being drained and Priscilla walking out on him, he simply frittered away his time. Baseball had been his life, his vitality, and the vindication of his existence.
Lately, he had turned to writing down cuss words on bits of paper, wadding them up, and studying the trajectory as he flicked them at Priscilla's picture. His spine would tingle and his lips would curl into the vague outline of a sneer whenever the more exotic cusses made contact with her mouth. In such moments of miniscule success, he fancied she had just spoken that particular word and committed a grave faux pas.
Mid-flick, Janus' attention turned to the brochure resting on the molded plastic end table next to his couch. He knew what it was without reading it, and having had no interest in its content, had let the brochure soak in his misery rather than reading it or tearing it up and using it for ammunition. Printed mail was very unusual and generally preserved for the wealthy. And the brochure was from nothing less. Now, he picked it up and followed the rich lettering with slightly blurred vision: Summer Festival. Although he was no longer a part of the elite social class, he still received invitations from one family.
After his last game, all contact with the socialites had ceased, except from the Welch family. Though he would have preferred to discard it as he had done with the others, the timing of the party, especially the invitation, was uncanny.
The Chateau lost more than a game because of his errant pitch. At stake had been fourteen of the most productive diamond mines on the Luxemburg flats of Mars. Diamonds had become a valuable commodity since the recent introduction of diamond-carbide bonding, a technique used to manufacture synthetic brains and super computer processors. As with any game dealing in extraterrestrial property, especially one of such lucrative value, a period of reckoning was required before the exchange became final.
The date of the party marked the last day before the transfer became final.
Janus contemplated the date of the party and felt a growing sense of dread. He was forced to admit his failure in forgetting his lost life, and this date. The party was in two days, and on the following day, his failure would be sealed.
He tried to push the fantastic thoughts of recovering his status from his mind by shaking his head. Getting invited to a party was not the only step required for attendance. A large contribution to a political or non-profit organization was typically requested, or, in this particularly eccentric engagement, a particular type of date was required; a synthetic. Therefore, he rationalized he could not attend and could return to the tedious task of wallowing in his failure.
On his return trip into the depths of his angst, his phone chimed and interrupted his thoughts. He touched 'open' on the communication panel, and waited for the caller to identify their self.
" Franko," a grizzled voice promptly stated.
" I already paid," he said, assuming the voice belonged to a collection agent. The voice had a familiar sound and he tried to put it to a face. He waited for an introduction, and when nothing was said, he continued. " Who is this?"
" Franko," the voice droned in the exact same timbre and time.
" Synthetic," Janus muttered angrily, and immediately thought of a typical marketing slogan for diamond-carbide laized synthetic brains: " Synthetics now have feelings, too."
" Franko," it repeated.
" Yes, I'm Franko," he said feverishly.
" I have been," the voice started, but was interrupted by a chime-in from the media company that provided his free service.
" Please stand by for a commercial interruption." The voice was sweet, bright, and possessed every loathsome quality of a corporate propaganda spokesperson.
" Din ji!" Janus swore, using the most vile profanity ever invented by space-faring cargo pilots. There had been a time when he would have shied away from using those words, words that were wicked and acidic, but he had managed to use them more often in the last eight months. He pounded the wall with his fist, forced to listen to an advertisement for a deodorant 'engineered for the athlete living in high G.'
" What do you want?" Janus asked, perturbed.
" I have been asked to extend a personal invitation to the Welch family's Summer Festival."
He looked around for the brochure, found that he was still holding it, and waded it up. Janus crammed the paper wad against the phone's built-in receiver. " Hear that? That's the part that reads I need a synthetic date. Good bye." He punched 'close' and turned away from the phone.
" Signed communications cannot be closed by the receiving party," the phone instructed him.
Janus glared at the phone and saw that the 'open' button still glowed, indicating the caller was still connected.
" Janus Franko?" Another voice, one he couldn't place.
" Another party has entered the conversation. Please stand by for a commercial interruption." Another commercial started playing, but halted less than five seconds into the minute-long program.
" Communication is now secured," the phone instructed him, and the line clicked.
" Free phone service," the new speaker said with disgust. " Janus, this is Victor Welch."
Janus bit his lip and felt his heart race. The voice belonged to one of the wealthiest citizens of the Cascadia Chateau, and the head of the only family that did not sever contact after his pitch caused the Chateau's team to lose to the British team. " Mr. Welch," he said, mustering a polite tone to mask his previous outburst.
" Janus, I called under the ruse of inviting you to my family's party. However, I have another matter that I wish to discuss with you. If you could join me for a brief conversation, I believe it would work out to benefit both of us." Victor Welch's voice had a commanding and refined tone, but came across as benevolent.
" Mr. Welch, I appreciate your hospitable offer, but I'm not sure I'm in much of a position to help myself, much less anyone else."
" Janus," he replied almost immediately. " The matter that I wish to discuss is delicate and one in which you are particularly knowledgeable. In return for your assistance, I will see that you are provided the material appointments you would require to attend my party, or some other reimbursement if you decide that your attendance is not in your best interest."
Janus cupped his palm over his forehead and shook his head again. " Mr. Welch," he started, then decided to investigate the offer rather than express outright denial. " Very well. When should we meet?"
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