BAD WINE CRAPPY CHOCOLATE

CHAPTER SEVEN-1

Brandon Cane was lounging in his favorite chair, listening to the music produced by the small electronic chip embedded in his brain. Believing that Cori was safe, he was able to enjoy a brief period of leisure time in a life that had been turned into chaos by the Mis. He had the apartment to himself since Jesse was at work, diligently counting credits the people of this world were giving to Allisours in exchange for the goods and services it provided. The soft blues tune playing inside Brandon's head had an unearthly quality to it, seemingly generated from somewhere deep in his soul.
Suddenly, his respite was over. Cybil's voice now echoed through the recesses of his mind. "Brandon! They've arrested Max Bardy!"
"Where?" he asked, sitting up straight in the chair.
"In the city. Bardy was at some bar near the lake."
"Was anyone with him?"
"I don't know. I can make a call and find out."
"Do it."
Brandon paced back and forth as he waited for her to contact him again. Though Max was a
longtime friend, the Vitala thief's fate didn't concern him at that moment. The sole reason for his restiveness was Cori. He was not pleased with the thought of her being on the knob with only Bardy's cohorts for company. Brandon also entertained another possibility, the implication of which was even worse.
"He entered the city with a young woman," Cybil informed him when she finally called back. "She wasn't with Bardy when he was arrested, though."
"That might be our mother," Brandon said in an anxious voice. "She could be somewhere in Chicago on her own. I hope he didn't bring her here."

"Chris told me that the Security Bureau is planning a raid on Max's place. So she wouldn't be safe there anyway. I could go see Max and find out where she is."
"That would attract too much attention," Brandon told her. "But I have an idea. Can you find out exactly when he was arrested?"
"Sure. I'll call you back."
Brandon decided to call Jesse. She was currently processing some orders from Southeast Asia, while at the same time reviewing her messages and catching up on the news. All three were done with her Mibil. The cubicle Jesse occupied had no electronic equipment in it; all the electronics were in her head. Despite her multi-tasking prowess, there were rare occasions when Jesse became confused, as was the case at the moment. She had been reading a story about a woman saving her husband from a tiger; the memory of rescuing an Asian woman from a wild animal now took shape in Jesse's mind. As she struggled to differentiate between reality and the Mibil memory, another call came in. Brandon was contacting her. Since the office had an electronic field to block all but Allisours' calls, he had used the company's communication center code. Jesse's boss would be aware that she accepted a personal Mibil call during business hours. A long lecture about her transgression would be forthcoming.
"Jesse, I'm sorry to bother you at work, but I have to go out for a while. I might not be here when you get home."
"That's very considerate of you, love. Though I'm going to catch a bunch of flak over this phone call. Where are you going?"
"I have to help someone out. I'll talk to you later."
"Don't be long. Bye."
Jesse returned to her usual routine. The only way this drudgery could ever be justified would be if it led to the life she had envisioned with Brandon. "He better be careful," she said aloud.

Max Bardy had recovered from the effects of the wand when the aircraft arrived at security center two. The officers escorted him inside, stopping at the identification desk to register his arrest. The two men then escorted their prisoner to his detention cell.
In 2120, prisoners were still kept behind steel bars, though the ones used now were a soft white color. This was in accordance with the popular theory that this particular shade would have a comforting effect on the cell's occupant. Despite the credence given to that belief, the authorities were still determined to make prison a very unpleasant place: a heavy and intimidating gray metal door provided access to the cell. The sound of it slamming shut was, many believed, the most effective way to send chills up a prisoner's spine. Max Bardy was an exception, however. Since he had always believed that one day the sounds and smells of a prison cell would assault his senses, this environment had little effect upon him. Of course, Max never expected to be here this soon.
He sat on the small bed for an hour before a guard came by. The prisoner was escorted to an interrogation room. As they walked by an open office door, Bardy caught a glimpse of a familiar face talking with the man in charge of the security center.
What's he doing here? Max thought to himself. That son of a bitch! He set me up!
The guard left him in the room alone with his thoughts. Bardy tried to come to terms with the fact that his incarceration had been orchestrated by one of his closest friends. Though he knew that ultimately everyone looked out for themselves, the calloused criminal still smarted from this betrayal.
"Mr. Max Bardy," Daniel Foster said, as he came in the door and closed it behind him. "It's about time we met."
"I could've waited a little longer," Max replied with a wry grin. Then, in reference to the stiff accompanying Foster: "That guy is really in great shape. Nice and lean, no fat on him. If only I were a cannibal."
Foster dismissed the guard.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked the prisoner.
"Sure. Who wouldn't know Daniel Foster? I'm familiar with many of your products."
"That you are," Foster said with a laugh. "Many at Allisours would say a little too familiar with
one in particular."
Bardy grinned at the executive.
"But you're not one of them, are you, Foster? You know that I've really been a big help to your company. I sell Vitala to the working people at a price they can afford. If I didn't, you'd be forced to sell it for less, because the people who don't have the credits to buy it from you directly would die. Then the government would have to do something about it. And even the people who can, and do, pay you a ridiculous price for the stuff would insist on paying less."
"You understand things, don't you, Max? So I'm sure you're also familiar with the concept of obsolescence. Yes, you've provided a service to us. Besides creating an alternate supply source, you also gave us an excuse to keep raising the price. Our ever-increasing security costs justify it, you see. As long as your employees keep stealing our shipments, our costs will continue to increase."
"That's funny," Max said with wry grin. "I hadn't noticed that it was any tougher to get the Vitala, which is probably because there hasn't been any extra security around the shipments. There seems to be the same number of inept people protecting the stuff. And none of them are stiffs."
"We don't want to burden the government," Foster said with a smile.
He sat down next to the prisoner. Bardy resisted the urge to overpower him and run out the door. There were certainly more than enough officers outside to thwart his escape.
"So when did you start working for the Security Bureau, Foster?" Bardy asked. "Why would you need a second job? Have things slowed down at the office?"
"Not at all, Mr. Bardy. Allisours has always had a close working relationship with the bureau. And that's mostly because we've been trying to help them catch you for all these years."
"You haven't been trying too hard."