Toys Read Free

interaction. The amazing appliance had wireless
     access to a database of pretested social cues, pertinent information about whatever person you were talking to, and other
     useful facts, names, quotes, and quips that might fit a given situation. The irony: a human had also invented it.
    Jax Moore took my elbow, then Lizbeth’s, and walked us back to the oak doors. He lit up another of his cigars and puffed contentedly.
    “Not a word about this. There can be no security leaks. Check with me first thing tomorrow,” he said. “I have classified information
     we need to discuss. The president specifically asked for you two on the ‘human problem.’ You’re both…
beautiful,
” Moore closed, giving us an icy grin that could have frozen vegetables. I doubted he’d undergone a Cyrano 3000 implant, or
     even heard of it.
    After the doors closed, Lizbeth took my arm and said, “One of the best nights of our lives, don’t you think?” She’d handled
     the president with perfect poise—and charm—but she was also clearly starstruck after meeting the great man in person. To be
     honest, so was I. I just didn’t let on.
    “Definitely in the top hundred or so,” I teased her.
    “Really,”
she said archly. “You’ll have to remind me of the others. Such as?”
    “How about the night when we met? Michigan Avenue, New Chicago.”
    She laughed. “Hmmm. Well, that
might
be in the top hundred.”
    “I guess I asked for that,” I said as we exchanged a kiss that I’m sure caused a whistle or two in the president’s security-camera
     control room.

Chapter 5
    WHAT CAUGHT MY attention next was the incredible number of high-ticket toys at the party.
    Sometimes it seemed like toys were all the world cared about in the second half of the twenty-first century. Humans and Elites
     had both fallen under their spell and become addicted to the endless pleasures and nonstop excitement they could provide.
     And the toys were only getting better, or worse, depending on your point of view.
    Even in the presidential mansion—where you might think the serious business of the country would be getting done 24-7—toys
     were playing a big part in the celebration. Wide-eyed, deep-pocketed guests were crowded around a display where employees
     from Toyz Corporation were giving demos of some of the choicer items in the forthcoming, but thus far unreleased, catalog.
    As Lizbeth and I reentered the ballroom, we were surrounded by a menagerie of cloned, genetically tamed animals—birds of paradise,
     Galápagos tortoises, enormous butterflies, pygmy hippos—and then we almost got knocked over by a beautiful woman in a gold
     gown and matching high heels, who was laughing while riding on a thick-maned lion.
    “Oops, sorry,” she said breathlessly as she raced by. Then she called over her shoulder to Lizbeth, “You’ve
got
to try this, Liz. You’ve never felt such
muscles.
”
    “Now that’s certainly not true,” Lizbeth whispered as her hand delicately grazed my upper leg. “My beauty.”
    Other women were draping defanged cobras and wondrously patterned tropical vipers around their necks like mink stoles, and
     one demented man showed off by thrusting his head into the jaws of a docile baby
Tyrannosaurus rex
. I almost wished the toy would take a bite.
    While Lizbeth admired the fauna—Elite and otherwise—I stepped up to a bank of SimStims, the hugely popular and addictive simulators
     that offered a variety of different experiences, all so intensely real that it was illegal to sell SimStim machines to anyone
     with a heart condition. You could choose from any number of simulations—have passionate sex with a movie or government star,
     for example, rock out onstage surrounded by a vast audience of screaming fans, or fight for your life in the heat of combat.
    I slipped on a mood helmet at one of the simulators and scanned the on-screen menu. The range of choices was staggering: Moorish
     Harem, Eye of a Hurricane Experience,