“Isn’t it delightful how technology brings us together?” Mrs. Hawthorne remarked with practiced refinement, watching the artificial frisbee hover gracefully between her manicured garden’s hedgerows. Her afternoon tea parties had become quite the talk of New Winchester since she acquired the latest recreational innovation.
“Indeed, my dear,” Lady Blackwood responded, her voice dripping with barely concealed disdain. “Though one wonders if such… mechanical diversions truly exemplify good taste.”
The gathering of society’s elite continued their polite observations as the iridescent disc traced perfect arcs through the air, guided by an invisible hand. Mrs. Hawthorne’s teenage daughter Emily stood to the side, her face a mask of proper decorum while her fingers discreetly manipulated the control panel hidden in her bracelet.
“Mother insists on displaying it at every occasion,” Emily confided later to her closest friend, Charlotte, as they escaped to the privacy of the conservatory. “She believes it demonstrates our family’s progressive nature.”
“Progressive?” Charlotte’s laugh tinkled like fine crystal. “My father says these artificial playthings are merely distractions from real accomplishments. Though I must admit, yours does have a certain… allure.”
Emily’s eyes darkened. “If only they knew its true purpose.”
The artificial frisbee had indeed been carefully programmed - not for entertainment, but surveillance. Every graceful loop captured conversations, every hover recorded secrets. Emily had modified its basic functions, driven by a desperate need to understand why her beloved older brother had disappeared three months ago.
“The ladies of quality gather here weekly,” Emily continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “And they speak so freely, thinking themselves among friends. Yesterday, I discovered Lady Blackwood discussing brother Thomas’s ‘unfortunate accident’ with such specific detail…”
Charlotte gasped. “You don’t mean-”
“The recording is quite clear. She knows what happened that night. And soon, the authorities will know too.”
But Emily had miscalculated the reach of her society’s powerful elite. The next day, Mrs. Hawthorne announced with perfect composure that the artificial frisbee had malfunctioned and been disposed of. Emily’s bracelet was replaced with a newer, more fashionable model. The weekly tea parties continued without interruption.
Only Charlotte noticed how Emily’s eyes had lost their spark, how her smile never quite reached them anymore. During the next gathering, as the ladies sipped their Earl Grey and discussed the latest social scandals, a new artificial frisbee danced through the garden - this one strictly for entertainment.
In her room that evening, Emily carefully removed the backing of her musical jewelry box. Inside lay a small data chip, extracted from the original frisbee moments before its “malfunction.” She smiled, a cold expression that would have shocked the society matrons who praised her gentle demeanor.
“Patience, Thomas,” she whispered to the empty room. “Justice moves slowly in our circles, but it moves nevertheless.”
The artificial frisbee might have been replaced, but its harvest of secrets remained - waiting for the perfect moment to shatter the delicate facade of polite society.