A Good Old-Fashioned Future by Bruce Sterling Page A

blowing out of the pipes like bubbles from a magic bubble wand. Every now and then an air-bubble would start to swell too large before plopping free, and one of the two robots would step forward and snip it off.
    “Reckon we got enough yet, Tug?” asked Revel. “I done lost count.”
    Tug did a quick estimation of the volume of the garage divided by the volume of an air jelly and came up with two hundred thousand.
    “Yes, Revel, I’m sure that’s way more than enough. Stop it now. How did you get around having to dip the plastic jellyfish into the slime?”
    “The smart nose knows,” said Revel, horning up a thumbnail of white powder. “How was your big date?”
    “My date was fine,” said Tug, pushing past Revel to turn off the valves on the five pipes. “It could even be the beginning of a steady thing. Thank God this garage isn’t wood, or these air jellies would lift off the roof. How are you going to feed them all into the pipeline to Orange County, Revel?”
    “Got the robots to rig a collector up top there,” said Revel, gesturing toward the distant ceiling. “You think it’s time to ship ’em out? Can do!” Revel slapped a large toggle switch that one of the robots had jury-rigged into the wall. The deep throb of a powerful electric pump began.
    “That’s good, Revel, let’s get the jellies out of here. But you still didn’t tell me how you got the jellies to come out of the pipe all ready-made.” Tug paused and stared at Revel. “I mean how could they come out ready-made without your having to dip a plastic jellyfish in them. What did you do?”
    “Hell, I can tell by your face you already know the answer,” snapped Revel defensively. “You want to hear it? Okay, I went and put one of your goddamn precious plastic jellies in each of the big tanks. Same idea as back at Ditheree. Once the whole tank’s got your weird math in it, the pieces that bubble out form jellies naturally. We got sea nettles in tank number one, moon jellies in number two, those spotted jellies in tank three, bell jellies in tank five, and ctenophores in tank six. Comb-jellies. Tank four’s busted, you recall.”
    “Busted,” said Tug softly. Outside the screeching ofmetal rose above the sighing of the wind and the chug of the pipeline pump that was sucking the garage’s jellies off the ceiling and pipelining them off to Orange County. “Busted.”
    A huge crash sounded from the tank field.
    Tug helped the disoriented Revel out into the driveway in front of the garage. Tank number six was gone, and a spindle-shaped comb-jelly the size of a blimp was bouncing across the sloping field of artichoke plants that lay north of the tank farm. The great moving form was live and shiny in the slanting moonlight. Its transparent flesh glowed faintly from the effects of cold fusion.
    “The other tanks are going to break up, too, Revel,” Tug murmured. “One by one. It’s the helium.”
    “Them giant air jellies are gonna look plumb beautiful when the sun comes up,” said Revel, squinting at his watch. “It’ll be great publicity for Ctenophore, Inc. Did I tell you I got the papers for it drawn up?”
    “No,” said Tug. “Shouldn’t I sign them?”
    “No need for you to sign, old son,” said Revel. “The Urschleim’s mine, and so’s the company. I’m putting you on salary! You’re our chief scientist!”
    “God damn it, Revel, don’t play me for a sucker. I wanted stock. You knew that.”
    A dark figure shuffled up behind them and tapped Revel’s shoulder with its metal claw. It was one of the industrial robots, carrying Revel’s portable phone.
    “There’s a call on your phone, Mr. Pullen. From Orange County. You set the phone down earlier while you were ingesting narcotics.”
    “Busy, busy!” exclaimed Revel. “They must be wantin’ to transfer payment for our shipment. We’re in business, Tug, my man. And just to make sure there’s no hard feelings, I’ll pay your first year’s salary in