© Copyright 2007 by silli_artie@hotmail.com
This work may not be reposted or redistributed without the prior
express written permission of the author.
A work of fiction, meant for adults. Read something else if you are
not an adult, or are offended by stories with sexual content. Then
again, if all you’re looking for is in-out, in-out, in-out, you
should probably read something else. I welcome constructive comments. Enjoy.
1
Ready for my “vacation?” Our employer was spinning it as “an extended winter holiday break.” We called it a two-week unpaid shutdown, and a shutdown with no schedule relief. As a technical writer, I deal with the nuances of language. Calling this an “extended break” was an abuse of both language and people.
I sighed and shook my head. Let it go. I’d seen it coming, even bet one of my colleagues that it would happen. She paid off after getting confirmation of the shutdown -- from a guy servicing the vending machines; they plan ahead. A bunch of us decided it was prudent, given the rumors, to remove personal belongings from our offices before the break in case our employer did the el-foldo, like they did in San Diego and Colorado Springs.
Let it go... I cleaned up my chickenshit, at least as well as I could, and was going to get out of town a day early. I’d arranged through a friend to use a small house in Arnold, up in the Sierra foothills for two weeks. I’d be taking care of the place while the owner was in Tahiti. Nice deal, that... I could stay two days, two weeks, or anything in between.
I planned to bring my home computer; I had some free-lance stuff to do if I was so inclined. I’d pull it loose from its tethers last thing in the morning. Jules, the guy I was house-sitting, had an older G4 machine but the same monitor, so all I had to do was bring the main box. He even had a high-speed internet connection, so I’d be in good shape.
Last load of laundry was in the dryer, now throw clean clothes in the laundry basket, review the checklist, get dinner, to bed early, get up, pull the computer, and go. I contemplated leaving tonight, but with traffic it would take three and a half to four hours, with the last part in the dark trying to find a place I’d not visited before. I glanced at the clock -- quarter after seven Thursday night. Plus four hours? Past my bed time! Get a good night’s sleep and do it in the daylight! Friday morning getaway traffic should be light.
Dinner and dishwasher, that’s the plan.
Walking from the hallway into he kitchen, thought I saw someone walking up to the front door. Kading! The doorbell told me I thought correctly.
Opened the door to two ladies standing on my porch, a tall one, a head taller than me, and one my height -- two good looking ladies.
“Yes?” I asked, wondering what they were selling. Might be interested in listening.
“Brian?” the shorter of the two asked.
“Yes,” I replied as she stepped closer to me. Very nice figure, the porch light accentuating the way she filled out her top. I caught her perfume and it caught me.
“Would you like to make love with me, Brian?” she asked, pushing me into the house, putting her hands on my shoulders.
Before I knew it, I was sandwiched between them, looking into her eyes, dizzy from their perfume and the soft squeezing, feeling my heart pounding in my chest, the softness of breasts against me.
“Would you make love with us? I want to hold you and squeeze you for hours, Brian, just hold on and snuggle. Would you like that, Brian?”
I managed to get my arms around her as the world floated away.
“Time to wake up...”
Blinking my eyes open, trying to sit up, tangled in something -- seat belt? My head was foggy, but I was relaxed. I was in the passenger seat of my car! The tall gal was driving.
“Where are we?”
“Tracy,” she answered as she unbuckled my seatbelt, then hers. My seat was leaned back a bit. “Dinner time,” she told me with a smile.
As I sat up, I turned and saw the shorter gal in the back seat. We were in the parking lot of the In-N-Out Burger in Tracy, just off highway 205.
I might have been confused, but my stomach wasn’t -- it grumbled. The taller gal helped me inside; I was on autopilot.
“What do you want?” she asked as I turned automatically to the men’s room.
“Number one: spread, tomato, grilled onions only, chocolate shake,” I told her and headed to the loo.
Did my business. I made the drive from Silicon Valley to the Gold Country at least once a month, visiting friends. Eventually I’d move there. This was my usual stop for lunch or dinner. I washed my hands, looking at the idiot in the mirror. Weird shit going on! Hey, look on the bright side -- I’m out of town, and with company. The character in the mirror smiled. Yes, things could be looking up!
The ladies waved to me from a booth. As I approached, the shorter one got out and let me sit down, sliding in next to me, close to me, leg against leg next to me.
I looked at them. They both looked tasty, early to mid-30’s, relaxed and smiling.
Why?
“What the hell is going on? Who are you?” I asked.
An arm around my shoulders, a gentle squeeze. I sighed and relaxed.
“I’m Moira, and this is Ellen,” the one next to me said.
“We’re going to the cabin with you,” Ellen told me.
“Why?”
The hand on my shoulder moved to the back of my neck, touching me gently. I closed my eyes with a sigh. Too long, it had been too damn long since I’d been touched like that.
“To take care of you,” Moira whispered. “We’ll explain later. For now, you don’t need to worry.”
I put a hand on her thigh and she didn’t object. Relax and go with it seemed to be a pretty good plan.
Weird stuff -- the tall one, Ellen, picked up our orders. Except when she brought them to our booth, she put them down and Moira put an unfolded paper napkin over each. Moira and Ellen took my hands. They bowed their heads for a bit. They pulled off the napkins and we ate dinner. Everyone visited the loo afterwards; we had more than an hour’s drive to go.
“That was really good,” Moira said, rubbing me on the back as we walked to the car.
I looked in the back. Laundry basket with clothes, small suitcases, work bag. “Where the hell is my computer?” I shouted. I looked more in my Volvo wagon. Awful hard to hide that distinctive brushed metal quad G5 case! “Where’s my computer?” I hollered again, opening the rear passenger door to get a better look. I didn’t see it!
I was surrounded by them again, Ellen in front of me and Moira behind, squeezing me, pulling my head between her breasts. “It’s okay Brian. Relax for me, Brian...” The world faded out again.
When I was a little kid growing up, our family went skiing at Tahoe a lot. Dad would get home early, we’d have a light, quick dinner, and hit the road. It was a long drive, and my sister and I would sleep in the back of the car. I remember as a little kid being carried half-asleep into the cabin, being slipped into the cold sheets of a bed.
I was half-asleep, floating from the car into bed, in between cold sheets.
And surrounded by warm, soft skin -- holding, kissing, feeling, never really waking up.
Such wild dreams! The wet dreams I’ve had in my life, I’ve either woken up just before, or as I’m filling my shorts. But I not only had wild dreams of sex, I had dreams where I was stretching, swimming, floating, a period when bright lights and weird patterns were shining in my eyes, all sorts of things, some of them not pleasant, and a lot of skin-on-skin contentment.
2
I rolled over and opened my eyes a little to early-morning light leaking around the window shades. I felt good; rested, relaxed, and hungry. I turned in bed to a naked and sleeping Moira. I snuggled up close, wrapping myself around her. She mumbled and moved, and soon I was connected to a nipple. Soft and warm, curled up to her as she was on her back. She held me, moving gently, and we floated together.
Later, moving on top of me, her weight was glorious as we made love. Snuggling together afterwards was even better, that feeling of floating in her embrace again.
But eventually I had to get up. The place had a smaller shower than I was used to, but it worked. Even though I offered to “help,” Moira decided to shower by herself when I finished.
Walking into the kitchen wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, I noticed it was after eleven!
“Well, hello!” Ellen called to me. “How are you feeling?”
“Hungry, but good,” I told her, scratching my stomach. I had to re-tie my sweatpants as they were slipping. “What’s the plan, since I don’t seem to have a computer?” Or a clue as to what’s going on and why.
She smiled. “Let’s wait for Moira.”
“Wait for something to eat as well?”
She nodded. “A few minutes.”
I went to the refrigerator and got a can of Pepsi. I was thirsty.
Moira joined us fairly quickly, drying her short black hair as she stepped into the room. Ellen was sitting on one side of me at the kitchen table. Moira sat on the other side of me.
I took another sip and sighed. “Ladies, what’s happening? Why? What are we going to do for the next two weeks? I’d planned on...”
“Week and a half,” Moira interrupted, “It’s Monday.”
“What! What the hell happened? What’s going on?” Last I knew, it had been Thursday!
“The repair work took longer than anticipated,” Ellen said.
Moira nodded as she toweled her hair. “Your eyes and joints were easy, but the circulatory and systemic work was more difficult.”
“Explain,” I requested, my stomach grumbling, and it wasn’t with hunger.
Moira started talking, and with the third word from her mouth, my head was spinning. I held my head in my hands, elbows on the table.
I understood every word she said. I understood words in a language that didn’t develop anywhere near our star.
I knew the language didn’t develop anywhere near our star. I knew from the fringes, the shadows, the colors on each word, each phrase. Whatever they’d done to teach me had conveyed more than vocabulary, more than syntax and grammar. I’d been given, or had absorbed some of the color, the shadows, the life of the language.
I knew I could read and write it as well. It’s similar to Japanese in the mixed use of ideographs and phonetic symbols. Letting my mind drift, I could almost feel the stylus in my right hand -- and I’m left handed! It isn’t a tonal language. It has a wealth of tenses, like the Latin I’d been forced to study as a child. Maybe I was lucky in that respect, having something for these structures to map onto. It has similarities with German, compounding terms.
And what had they done to me? Ellen spoke of a long-term investment. Reversing the age-precipitated hardening of the lenses in my eyes was easy. They altered the [band-gap-sensitivity] of receptors in my retinas -- what was that? Reversed auto-immune mediated joint degeneration. Arterial plaque buildup (a multi-syllable term incorporating that and more) was more difficult to reverse, and took more time. A multi-syllable term for risk-benefit analysis concluding that while plaque removal in key areas such as the carotid and heart was risky, leaving those deposits involved greater long-term risk. Dissection risked blockages in narrower vessels. The technique they used involved selective binding to a carrier and filtration by the kidneys, and took about three days. During that time they also cleaned my lungs and took care of other “minor” issues. I surmised that they also fed me the language I was hearing and understanding. Oh, restored range-of-motion in joints, tendons, and ligaments, stripped off thirty pounds of fat, accelerated muscle toning. No wonder my pants were falling down!
It took me a while to realize they’d stopped talking. I sat back, then took a sip from my can. I put the can down and sighed.
“Why?” I asked.
Moira said, “There are things we’d like you to do for us.”
Ellen smiled and added, “We want to make your life more interesting.”
I shook my head. “Ancient Chinese curse, that -- may you live in interesting times.”
They looked at each other momentarily. “I can see it could be,” Ellen agreed with me.
“Why?” I asked again. “And why explain it to me?”
Moira smiled, her brow knitted. “We want you to base conclusions on observables rather than on mere words.”
And of what they told me, what was observable, and what was mouth-noise? The language I’d been given... I gripped my middle -- missing a lot there. My shoulders moved a lot easier. The rest? Harder to tell.
“Okay,” I tentatively agreed. “Something has happened. What now?” I could turn on the television and get confirmation of date and time.
“Pizza for lunch?” Moira suggested.
Ellen nodded. “Cheese, veggie, or meat combo?” She turned to me.
“Meat,” my stomach and I grumbled.
Ellen stood up. “Good choice. We’ll do that, and your computer.” (The term she used was closer to deterministic-calculating-engine. Hmmm -- what would a non-deterministic calculating engine be? The Buffon needle is in essence a nondeterministic calculator...)
I nodded and watched, unsure as to what exactly was going on.
Moira got three plates and silverware.
Ellen opened a case and took out two ... they look like metal disks encased in plastic, about two inches in diameter and a quarter of an inch thick. Ellen looked at me and said a word ... storage elements, very dense and very reliable, highly redundant storage elements. I remembered from In-N-Out Burger in Tracy -- as Moira uncovered our dinners, Ellen picked up similar disks from the table and pocketed them. But part of the puzzle was still hidden from view. I didn’t have access to some parts of the language until someone used it.
She put one disk on the table, and one on the counter. She touched the one on the counter. “That will take a while,” she muttered.
Moira touched the one on the table and sat back. So did I.
A strange noise, very faint, but high-pitched whistling, whooshing, rumbling... A deep-dish pizza in a pan, complete with utensils appeared in the center of the table! It was hot, steam rising from it. Ellen dished out pieces to Moira and me, then put a slice on her own plate.
To my questioning looks, Moira said a word.
My head wobbled again -- matter replication! Thoughts, terms cascaded... It was simple, operationally. Select an object. The object is ... recorded ... in the disk. In replication, information in the disk directs the ... reordering ... of adjacent matter. While I didn’t understand the underlying principles, I had the feeling the energy flows were relatively minor.
Questions... “Isotope ratios?” I asked, but as the words left my mouth, I knew the answer -- replicated, duplicated as of the time of the recording. I smiled. “Flaws?” Ellen smiled and nodded. Those would be duplicated as well! The disk? It was surprisingly light, one metal side shiny, one dull.
I picked up the pizza. Certainly smelled like pizza. Tasted like pizza, too!
I laughed as I chewed. Think of the ethical issues!
Looking to the counter, where the other disk was, I could almost hear the noise again. I thought I could see something, a slight glow, almost an outline of a G5 case?
I asked the question in my newfound tongue and received confirmation; the bandwidth of my eyes had been increased. I could see into the infra-red and ultra-violet!
I thought a bit more, letting shadows of the new terms wander through my mind. “Where is the [replicating entity, apparatus]? On your [ship]?”
Moira shook her head. “Deep underground, many kilometers.”
The apparatus ... Record and reproduce matter! But how? I shook my head. As a physicist, I knew how a microwave oven worked. What percentage of microwave oven users had a clue? Had a clue as to the mechanics of heating using microwaves, let alone the operating theory of a cavity magnetron? A far cry from Fleming’s valve, that! But lack of understanding didn’t stop my six-year-old niece from using one to make popcorn!
But the computer? Could they really do that? I shook my head and took another bite of pizza. We’ll see in a while. Sampling for recording was essentially instantaneous; replication time was a function of mass, volume, and [fractal complexity] of the object. Hmmm... Could you replicate the storage elements, the disks?
Thinking about it, I knew there were limitations. Restrictions on replication of fissionable isotopes (Gott sei Dank!). Didn’t want to try and replicate something with rapidly moving parts, particularly chemically powered -- jet engines, internal combustion engines. How about hard disk drives? Somehow I knew the [replicating entity, apparatus] would [warn, refuse] (how?) about replicating such objects. Another key limitation -- dup a rat, and you end up with two rats -- two dead rats. Life ... what was life?
And I laughed again, tears coming to my eyes as other words, other concepts came to the fore. The civilizations, the societies that developed this language still had a place for mystery, for the Divine. The debate as to whether we are the candle or the light still raged.
“Why are you here?” I asked them, wiping my eyes.
Moira answered. “To study, to learn, to observe.”
Hmpf. Real-estate agents? Pest removal? Freak-show recruiters? Zoologists? Missionaries? Cooks? I remembered an old Sci-Fi story, “To Serve Man...”
“Why?” I asked once more.
Moira shook her head, but Ellen spoke. “To observe, to learn, and to try and guide you through troubling times.”
Moira sighed and made a face.
Ellen looked to her, turning her head at a slight angle, then turned to me. “We will not save you -- only you can do that.”
I nodded. “Good pizza.”
A Power Mac G5 solidified on the counter. I recognized the scratch on the front.
I hooked it up after we finished lunch, using our host’s LCD, keyboard, rodent, etc. He had an older, single processor G4.
Automatically started looking for my reading glasses. Wait -- aren’t my eyes supposed to be “fixed” now? I held my thumb up about half a foot from my nose. Damn! It was in sharp focus! Shifted my gaze out the window. Back and forth between thumb and trees -- easy, sharp, quick. Hot damn! Rack that one up in the “observable” category!
Returning to the computer, even with the language that had been dumped into me, I was still amazed when the pig booted up. Replication of sub-micron details, of charge patterns in the battery-backed parameter memory, and magnetic patterns on hard disk platters -- amazing!
No more amazing than a microwave oven? Light emitting diode? Or fire? Bronze tools? All a matter of perspective, right? Was it Azimov or Clarke who said that “any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.”
And yes, it was Monday, and I had a few days’ worth of spam waiting for me.
Hmmm... I had 8 memory slots in this beast (and its twin at home), with only two slots in use. I turned to Ellen. “So, is this something I can do?”
She frowned briefly, then smiled. “You want another one?” pointing to the computer.
I shook my head. “Nope, just some small parts inside.”
She nodded. “I’ll show you.”
“Be right back,” I told her. I went to the kitchen and got a small rectangular piece of aluminum foil. Powered the system down, opened it up, and pulled out my SDRAM.
She handed me a pair of small objects, the locators. “Don’t lose these,” she mentioned in passing, then said, “Place the locators as corners of a rectangle enclosing the source.”
I placed the locators.
“Touch both locators at the same time, and the [replicating entity, apparatus] will give you a visual indication of what it thinks you want. Try moving them around a bit.”
I touched both of them, her right hand on mine, and a glow filled the space between them. I moved them around until the glow snapped onto the foil with my SDRAM on it.
“Good. Now tap both twice in unison and take your hands away.”
I did that. The glow again, a soft humming, and a disk appeared by Ellen’s right hand.
“Oh,” she muttered. Then she called out, “Moira! Where’s his [link]?”
Moira walked in and handed something to Ellen. “So soon?”
Ellen handed me a ring. Simple setting, like white gold, with a stone set in it, a colorful stone like an opal. “You can still decide to have nothing to do with us. For now, though, put this on your right hand. It’s used to keep you [linked] and to [couple systems].”
I slipped it on. Did it snug itself in place? I shook my hand -- it wasn’t going to fall off. Yet when I grasped it with my other hand, it came off easily. I put it back on again.
Moira smiled. “It’s adaptive. It won’t come off unless you remove it.” She kissed me on the top of the head. “Need a nap soon?”
Ellen said quickly, “It’s my turn...”
I glanced between them. “In a few minutes,” I said with a smile.
Moira kissed me on the head again. “Okay.”
I opened up the box and put my SDRAM back in. Ellen put the disk next to me.
“Just tap it?” I asked.
Ellen nodded. “Tap it again once it glows.”
I did. Ping! A small piece of foil appeared in front of me, with two pieces of SDRAM on it. I moved it off to the side and hit the disk again. Ping! Moved that pair, tapped it, ping!
I put in the extra six pieces of memory, closed the box, and powered it up. Damn, from 2 gigs to eight. Mathematica would be happy with that!
I sat back, pondering.
Moira sat next to me. “What?” she asked, putting a warm hand on mine.
I looked at the disk, and did it twice more. I wrapped the four sticks of SDRAM in the foil. As I nodded my head, I told her, “Deciding what to do with the genie.”
She frowned a bit. “Genie?”
I nudged the disk; she nodded. “Before we leave, I’ll move our host’s files to this machine and leave it here. Don’t really need two of these at home.”
She nodded, smiling. “And if you do...”
My turn to frown. “That’s the problem. If I have the ability to make use of this technology, I will. I’m deciding on the limits I should impose on my use.”
“But it’s undetectable,” she told me. “Even we can’t tell the difference between the original and duplicates.”
I frowned again. “Oh, I understand that -- other than time-mediated shifts in isotope ratios -- so if you decided to replicate a stack of twenty dollar bills, you’d have to plan their use carefully to spread out the duplicate serial numbers.”
She nodded.
“One ethical extreme would be to not use it at all, as even replicating potatoes, unless I grew them myself, is depriving someone of income. No, even if I grew them myself... At the other extreme...” I paused and smiled. “Having someone find a large sack of crisp one dollar bills, all with the same serial number would probably drive some folks up the wall...”
Moira chuckled a bit.
“But I won’t do that, as I don’t want to call attention to myself. Comments? Suggestions?”
She smiled, shaking her head. “It’s a decision you have to make for yourself.”
Hmpf... Highly noncommittal response. Should I shut the machine down? Why? Why bother? “What next?” I didn’t feel like writing, certainly not for work.
Moira smiled more. “I think someone is waiting for you in the bedroom...”
I sighed as I stood up and walked to the bedroom. Ellen looked delicious, naked on the bed. Naked on top of a blanket of some kind? She gave me a lusty look. “Be right there,” I told her as I ducked into the bathroom.
I took care of my business as quickly as I could.
When I stepped back into the bedroom, she was floating in the air a few feet above the bed, the blanket moving, writhing around her! As I approached, she smiled and opened her arms to me. So inviting! Getting closer, it felt as if I went through a barrier, a bubble -- and then I was floating as well!
I floated closer, into her arms. The blanket wrapped itself around us. Soft, warm, luscious -- sliding together, the blanket helped, squeezing us together. It added something, setting the pace, bringing us to an immense orgasm, then snuggling us together as we floated.
Late dinner -- a very good rack of lamb, salad, wine. After dinner, we spent time stretching on the floor in front of the fireplace. I’d been limber before, practicing yoga on and off over the decades; now I had far more flexibility, and substantially more strength. Another in the “observable” category!
Someplace along the line, though, we moved from stretching and yoga to partner poses, holding, touching, and I was off in a fog again, hardly remembering going to bed, sandwiched between soft, warm bodies, making love with Moira again, but drifting off in Ellen’s embrace.
Lost in the pattern of the days, making love, snuggling, eating. We ventured out for snowboarding lessons. That was fun, and I learned quick. My balance had improved, too! I was stronger, faster, more flexible. My driver’s license said I was 46, but I felt better than I had when I was in my 20’s!
I learned a little more. Moira and I slept and snuggled in light gravity, about 40% of normal. With Ellen we were closer to zero gee, with her blanket wrapped around us. That was nice, but there was something special about weight on top of me, having one of them on top of me. They agreed; there were times when they really enjoyed my weight on top of them. Other times, drifting, floating, attached to a nipple, the blanket keeping us warm... What a way to spend a day!
“We’re leaving tomorrow,” Moira announced Sunday morning.
“Monday? Why?” I asked. I’d expected to stay until Friday or Saturday.
“We need to,” Ellen replied, as if that would answer things.
It was the only answer I got. Okay. I’d decided what I wanted to do with the computer at home. I ordered a very fast hard disk (a 150 gig Raptor) and a bigger ECC SDRAM. I’d dupe them to fill the machine. Moving all our host’s files from his old computer to the “new” one and scrubbing off my stuff didn’t cut into our afternoon lovemaking and snuggle that much.
Must have been more programming for me; the last I remember was Sunday afternoon, floating, Ellen holding me to a nipple, that blanket snuggling around us, holding me in place.
Monday morning, Moira and I made love while Ellen showered. Moira left me wiped out in bed. By the time I got out of the shower, the place was cleaned up and we were mostly packed up. A light breakfast and we were on our way.
Surprise! I got to drive!
Passing Copperopolis, on the way to Escalon. “So, what am I supposed to be doing for you?” I asked my companions.
“If you’re interested,” Moira told me from the passenger seat, “We’ll occasionally suggest places to visit, things to do.”
“Cat’s paw,” I suggested.
“Probe,” Ellen suggested from the back seat.
Hmpf, I thought... Might make sense. Probes are used to make measurements.
“Why me, how me? How and why was I selected for this potential task?”
Moira slipped into our “other” tongue, explaining that I’d been selected by the [observer watcher composite entity], and they were the field training crew. Ellen popped in that they got to have all the fun, and gave my shoulder a squeeze.
Still, I had a bad thought. “So you just follow orders...” I suggested, trying to keep a smile.
“Not quite,” replied Moira. “We’ve turned down a number of candidates after meeting them.”
That was encouraging. “Will I get to meet any of my fellow probes?”
Ellen replied, “Oh, I expect you probably will,” with an encouraging yet enigmatic lilt.
We stopped at In-N-Out in Tracy for lunch.
As we walked back to the car, Ellen said, “I need one last hug.”
I hugged her, close and tight. “Leaving? Are you leaving?”
She held my head to her. “In a little while. Brian, I’ve enjoyed being with you very much.” She kissed me on the top of the head.
When Ellen let me go, I looked to Moira. She shook her head. “You’re stuck with me for a few more days.” We hugged.
We got back in the car, Ellen in back. I headed West again on 205, heading home.
After driving for a while, Ellen put a hand on my shoulder. “Brian, take care. I hope to snuggle with you again some time.”
I kept driving. “Ellen, thank you,” I whispered.
“Eyes on the road, focus on the road,” Moira told me.
There was a “pop!” from the back seat. I glanced more in the center rear view mirror, moving my head a bit.
“She’s gone,” Moira told me, putting a hand on my shoulder.
“How long are you going to be around?” I asked.
“Probably through the end of the week,” she told me, “a few days at least.”
I sighed; I know I smiled.
She sighed as well and moved a hand to the back of my neck. “I know,” she said softly. “Definitely a fringe benefit for us, too. We have things to do together -- besides make love and hold each other.”
Another sigh, from both of us, I think.
Home and unpacking, doing laundry, putting memory into the “big” computer, even though I was going to replace it. I had other machines -- an older dual G4 set up as a server in the closet, a windows box that hosted the weather station, music, and other stuff. I had ideas for upgrading, but I’d take things one step at a time.
Moira gave me a little goodie to put on the headboard of the bed, out of sight but easy to reach. I guessed it was keyed to the [links] we wear. When activated, it provided a controlled environment with (adjustable) lower gravity as well as filtered air with a higher oxygen content.
What can I say? The lower gravity environment is great for snuggling. Supposedly healthier and more restful as well.
Tuesday morning we did yoga on the floor, then took a nice walk and stopped for lunch. My computer goodies arrived shortly before we returned from lunch, so I spent the afternoon moving stuff around. The memory was easy. But to do the Raptors (a stack of them, all with the same serial number), I needed an external case with serial ATA. A trip to Fry’s Electronics...
Standing in the aisle, looking at a package; it would do the job.
“You could record it, you know,” Moira suggested quietly in my newfound language. “Put your right hand in your pocket after you start the process and the disk will appear there.”
I frowned at her and shook my head. “Not the way I do things,” I told her.
She smiled and gave me a hug!
Back home, preparing to migrate multiple systems to new disk drives. Hmmm... In the best of all possible worlds, I’d back up each system before hacking it.
I laughed, and pulled out the locators. I could do quite an extensive backup of these systems now! And if I didn’t need the backups, that’s even better.
I explained to Moira what I was doing, and the desirability of always being able to back up a step in case something surprising happened. Concluded she hadn’t thought of these issues. Well, if they’re not relevant to her life, that’s great. But, they’re relevant to mine!
“Backed up” the G5, the server in the closet, and the windoze box.
Copied the 74 gig Raptor (disk drive) in the G5 to the new 150 gig Raptor in the external box, swapped ‘em, and restarted the G5. Nice. Repeat over many drives and systems. I ended up “making” another 300 gig drive for the G5, so it had a pair of very fast 150s and a pair of fast 300s. The windoze box got the old 74 gig Raptor. The server I’d think about; the MacWorld show in San Francisco was coming up .
I insisted on cooking dinner, making one of my favorite recipes, linguini and clams. And before I served it, I partitioned out a large single serving in a plastic container, and recorded it. “I’m adapting,” I told Moira.
She agreed, and thought it tasted good. She skipped the chili flakes I added, though.
Checking out the windoze box after dinner, I connected to work to check e-mail. Hmpf -- got through the VPN part, but the mail server wouldn’t talk to me. Okay, someone must be screwing with it. If you don’t want me to do any work for you, I won’t.
We went for another walk. We don’t have sidewalks or a lot of streetlights in the area where I live. The night sky was clear and the stars were coming out. Standing overlooking the golf course and part of the valley, arms around each other, I asked her, “Which one is yours?” pointing up at the sky.
She made a little noise and smiled. “Not sure... [Ship entity] says we’re in the wrong hemisphere, and it’s occluded by other systems.” She turned and pointed down at an angle. “About there. Not that I’d ever want to see it again... Maybe if it went nova...”
I shook my head and gave her a squeeze. Yeah, there were parts of my past I wasn’t sure I’d want to revisit..
We didn’t spend all our time in bed (or floating above it)... We did yoga together. We did a lot of walking and visiting. Visited museums, galleries, tourist spots, all sorts of places outside my usual travels.
Why?
Hmpf -- a thought: Probes need to be calibrated.
Compare and contrast -- she got a kick out of the home-grown (but scientifically sound) exhibits at the San Francisco Exploratorium, in comparison to the more-polished exhibits at The Tech in downtown San Jose. I introduced her to champagne and popcorn, and showed her sections of 2001 A Space Odessey, then Star Wars. We talked about those, and she agreed that the depictions of technology in each weren’t necessarily extremes -- she’d seen both. Then I remembered Buckaroo Banzai, and showed her the ship sequences near the end of that one. She laughed and shuddered -- and said she’d seen worse!
Reaffirms my view of the world...
FedEx delivered a new cell phone, wider coverage than the old one, and paid for by someone else. Actually talked to Ellen on it.
Walking around Saturday afternoon, getting close to home, we stopped outside a convenience store.
“Go in and buy a lottery ticket,” Moira told me. “Five quick-picks. Now. I’ll wait.”
I raised an eyebrow and did what any intelligent male should do when a beautiful woman uses that tone of voice. “Yes, dear.” I bought my ticket and placed it in my wallet. Smile -- pretty strong hint? We’ll know later tonight, right?
Except she’d made dinner reservations for us, Straights Cafe in Palo Alto. We had a very nice meal, and I didn’t record anything.
3
Back home, I was ready to check lottery results, but Moira pulled me upstairs.
I took a lusty breath and followed, hands on her hips. She sighed and held my hands...
The low-grav field was already activated around the bed; I could tell by the faint UV shimmer it caused. (I like my “new” eyes, even though it means I need sunglasses more due to increased sensitivity.)
On the bed, folded up, was a ... blanket? A nondescript gray color, folded and sitting in the middle of the bed.
Moira put her hand on my back. “It’s yours -- you need to be the first one to touch it. Get undressed.”
“Why?”
She smiled and shook her head. “Let’s get ready for bed,” she told me, turning me to the bathroom.
That I understood! And of course I started getting amorous...
“Oh you,” she whispered, turning and holding my hands so I couldn’t “help” as much... She pulled me closer and into a kiss.
When we paused, she shook her head again, moved her hands up to my head...
And I fell into that pleasant fog once more.
She led me to the bed and told me to touch the blanket, to pull it to me.
I touched it, and it moved! As I felt it, its texture changed, getting softer. It changed color to a very pretty pale blue. It flowed over and around me as I floated above the bed. It floated around me, holding me gently.
After a while, Moira joined me and we made love, wrapped in the blanket. And it seemed to help! Like when I’d made love with Ellen, the blanket wrapped around us, and after a while it picked up our rhythm, and followed... The way it squeezed us... Not the same as having her weight on top of me, but very, very, good. And it snuggled us together afterwards as we drifted off to sleep.
Holding me close in the morning, she explained. The “blanket” could be considered a life form. Not “alive” like a dog, not sentient, but more than a plant. It bonded to me, and could sense my emotional state, how I was feeling, and learn what I liked. She pulled some of it up behind my head, moving it around. It squeezed and held me so deliciously. “Like that,” she said. As we made love again, she pulled some of the blanket over her breasts, holding me to her. I’m not sure if she held me after a while, or the blanket did. It didn’t matter.
We snoozed again afterwards. When we got up and I went to shower, Moira told me that the blanket “feeds” off skin flakes, perspiration, and the like. She smirked at that.
“I get the hint. So is this thing going to jump me every time I get into bed, or touch it?”
She chuckled and shook her head. “No, it’s not aggressive ... unless it gets really hungry, and that can be really, really good... It will be a good blanket, and just be there, until you get it started -- rubbing, squeezing, something like that. And it does learn to take hints, when you want it to stop, just be a blanket, and when you want more.”
“And if one of the cleaners who comes in every week touches it?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. It will ignore anyone but you, other than being soft and warm. Unless you try and damage it, cut it. Then it can get nasty.”
I frowned. “Define nasty, please.”
She smiled. “Noxious odors, rough and scratchy, that kind of thing. It won’t attack or strangle anyone. Oh, you don’t have to worry about it hurting you, either. And it knows what you need.”
Shook my head. “Don’t know about that... Could get pretty addictive...”
She nodded. “To a certain extent, yes -- but so is snuggling with you, darling! You snuggle really, really well -- and that’s quite a compliment! While it needs to feed, it only takes so much, so there’s nothing to worry about. You can leave it for months without problems.”
We showered and washed our hair.
Rituals, those things we do without thinking -- when I turned 40, I got my left ear pierced, and stopped getting haircuts. Linda accepted it as mild rebellion against aging. The only time I pull the earring is when I shower. As I was putting it back in again, putting in the skull and crossbones one, I thought about it, and my recent changes. Looked at the back of my right hand -- there was the scar from a teenage adventure.
When I mentioned these to Moira, she explained that while they cleaned up a lot of things when they worked me over, they left others alone. External scars remained. The piercing remained, as did the snips in my vas deferens -- hadn’t thought of that one! But after long debate, they did remove my appendix, strengthen the enamel on my teeth, and modify my immune system. I’d heal quicker, and wouldn’t be subject to any number of ailments. I probed that one further -- SARS? Bird flu? Moira smiled, almost a smirk. There were quite a few people with natural immunities, and I was in that class now. But that’s not an excuse to engage in stupid or risky behavior. I certainly agreed with that.
I watched how she looked around as we got dressed. I folded the blanket and put it in the antique chair next to the dresser. The thing felt like it was purring when I touched it!
“You’re leaving me,” I whispered, stepping closer and holding her.
She sighed. “Yes, I’m afraid so. But I’ll see you in a few weeks, I promise.”
I helped her pack, everything going into two small suitcases. She left the case with the disks in it, and showed me a new trick. If you held a disk by the edges and looked at it from a certain angle, a “ghost” image of the stored object appeared above the disk. Some were also labeled along the edge -- she showed me the stylus for doing that, and strongly suggested I label them in “their” language. Oh, the case would only open for someone with a link. Anyone without a link wouldn’t even be able to see the seams in the case.
We hugged and kissed more, and moved downstairs.
We stood together in the middle of the living room, in front of the fireplace where we’d practiced yoga, made love, a number of times.
She stepped back, holding her suitcases.
“I’ll miss you,” I whispered.
She smiled. “I know. See you in a few weeks.”
Pop! She was gone.
I went out and collected the Sunday paper.
Checked lottery results. One winning ticket sold, guess where. $68 million plus. I got the ticket from my wallet and checked it. Yup, that’s the one.
What did I feel? Excitement, yes, some, but also inevitability, expectation?
Most of all, I knew that my valued employer could go straight to hell. Many of us thought that’s where they were headed already; now they could go faster, and with my blessing. I wouldn’t have to argue with anyone about taking time off to go to MacWorld, either!
Big sigh -- but I’d be sleeping alone tonight.
What next?
I cooked up bacon and toast, recording that before I sat down to eat. Even though I was lighter, I needed to watch what I ate!
Dug out my address book. When my wife Linda died a few years back, I found a good attorney (they do exist) for settlements, trusts, the whole deal. Still had his home phone number.
“Paul?” I asked when he answered the phone.
“Yes?”
“This is Brian Morrow calling. Have a few minutes?”
“Sure, I have a few minutes.”
Somehow I thought his mild irritation would dissipate quickly. “Paul, I need your help. Guess who has the sole winning ticket from last night’s lottery, in excess of sixty eight million?”
“No shit?”
I laughed a little. “No shit. Think we could get together and talk?”
He laughed. “I’ll call David.”
“Great.” David was my accountant-financial planner-tax guy. Paul recommended him.
“Ah... How’s two o’clock sound?”
“Sounds great. I’ll be expecting you.”
I puttered. I knew I was going to quit work. But why hadn’t I done that already? I had over three mil from the settlements on Linda’s death. I didn’t have to work.
Ah, but there’s a difference -- I needed to work. I need something to keep me busy. So how had an extra pile of cash changed things? I don’t know. But it did. I’d been telling myself I’d keep working as long as it was fun. It hadn’t been fun for a couple of years, and I knew it.
The phone rang.
“Eighteen wheels,” I answered.
“Brian? This is Paul.. Got that ticket handy?”
“Not leaving my sight,” I told him.
“Good answer. Wait a minute...” Some clicking, and, “Still there?”
“Yah, I’m here.”
A female voice. “Good morning, sir, I’m with the Lottery Commission in Sacramento. I’d like to ask you a few questions about your ticket?”
“Okay,” I said, digging it out of my wallet.
She asked about some numbers on the ticket. I read ‘em off. She asked where I lived. “In a house,” I told her. She laughed, and so did Paul.
“We’d like you to come to our offices in San Francisco so we can verify the ticket,” she told us.
They opened at 9 Monday morning. We thanked her and she cleared off the line.
Paul, David, and I met that afternoon. We talked about risks and futures. Paul had the amounts roughly figured, for a lump sum and yearly annuity payout. Risks -- I didn’t trust future tax structures. I was for taking my lumps early, and having things more under my control. Paul and David were all for that. I was also interested in securing the money to protect me against wingnuts who would sue me for a zillion dollars for looking at them wrong. More agreement. David had been doing my taxes for the last few years; he thought he had what he needed. I gave him my end-of-the-year deposit slip with the totals for the year just ended. I’d be paying a staggering amount of taxes to both the state and the feds, but would be left with around 30 million or so. Add that to the about three mil from the settlement of Linda’s wrongful death, a paid off house worth another million, and I could take a nice long vacation!
We talked about futures. I was for moving to Nevada or Washington -- no income tax. The house I was in now was meant for raising kids; we were within walking distance of great schools, K through 12. Sell the fucking house.
New car? I shook my head. Reminded them we had this discussion when I got the Volvo wagon -- we’d just gotten the first settlement from my wife’s death, and the transmission in my old Jeep took a lurch. Yeah, I’d looked at BMW, Mercedes, but got the Volvo. Yeah, I really liked some of the Mercedes models, so I’m not saying never, just not real soon.
They thought I had a good perspective on things.
Okay, so where do things go whacky? I want to hide. Gave ‘em my new cell phone number, and told ‘em I wasn’t going to answer the house phone. Paul said he’d contact utilities, banks, and the like starting early tomorrow morning to nail things down as tight as we could.
But the weirdos would find me, bet on it! Yeah, that’s why I want to sell the house and move. Besides, too damn many ghosts around here.
Plans for tomorrow? Go to the Salt Mines early, flip ‘em the bird, and leave! Paul offered to drive us to San Francisco. He reminded me to keep it clean at work, clean and professional. Told him not to worry; I’ll give notice and leave. They make their own hell.
Paul and David left. I took off as well, ending up at Fry’s in Sunnyvale. My Windoze box was a wimpy old Socket A Sempron 2800. I could take care of that! But why? It worked, right? No hurry on any of this stuff!
Stopped at Chili’s on the way home and got an order of their baby back ribs and fries to go. Recorded it when I got home, opened a bottle of red wine, and had a nice dinner. Gee, I could do better than Chuck Shaw Merlot now... But it tasted fine. I liked Kunde’s “Bob’s Red” -- I could switch to that. A smile -- I had a few bottles of that now, and could have more, quite easily! Recorded a bottle to have it on store.
Why get a giant screen HDTV when the programs are crap? Nine at night and I was ready for bed.
Cleaned up, unfolded the blanket, and got into bed, turning on the low-gee environment.
Damn blanket started to get friendly! But I started to pull it away, and it stopped! Guess the thing can take a hint!
4
Got up early Monday morning with the alarm clock -- something I wasn’t going to miss!
Decided not to shower; the blanket left me feeling pretty clean. Had a quick bacon sandwich. Hmmm -- ended up with an extra plate! I’d have to watch that, or I’d end up with a lot of extra plates!
Drove to the Salt Mines. Usually, I go in a side gate and park by a door near my cube.
But when I drove up, the side gate was still closed! It was closed on weekends, and I was earlier than usual, but it should be open by now. Oh well... It usually took them a couple of days to get the clocks on site reset after going on or off daylight savings time, even though they all ran off a master.
Drove around to the main gate. Security trolls stopping people going in! TV crews parked in the parking lot across the street!
“Hot damn!” I chortled. “The bastards are doing it!” About eighteen months ago they’d closed the San Diego site after a week-long “Summer holiday break.” Did the same with Colorado Springs, letting about half the people go at that site.
I pulled up and showed my badge. The guy waved me in.
I parked, and before I got out of the car, went through my pockets. I usually carry a USB memory thingy; decided I’d leave that and my Swiss Army knife in the car. Got the secure token card out of my bag, though. If this was The End, I’d turn it in. Eyed the box of office stuff in the back -- I’d make a second trip if I needed to bring it in. Doubt it!
Glad I was earlier than usual. There were a few people in the lobby, and none of them looked happy. I smiled.
A guard and a woman in a serious looking business suit walked up to me.
“May I have your badge, please?” the woman asked, holding out a hand.
“You work here?” I responded flatly, eyeing her hand as if she was offering me something curious but loathsome.
She showed me her badge. No surprise, she was from corporate HQ on the East Coast.
I handed her my badge, and she gave me an index card with a number on it, 46.
“How humane,” I told her with a smile.
She didn’t even frown; she just walked away.
The bozo at the desk called 42. Guess I had a wait. Still, glad I got in early -- the place was going to be a zoo in another hour, and not a friendly, happy place, either!
My cell phone rang.
“Dwarf, pliers,” I answered it.
“Hey, this is Paul -- did you know your place is closing down?”
“Oh yeah, I’m waiting to have my head handed to me. Pretty cool timing, huh?”
A rent-a-guard came up and glowered at me.
“Piss off -- I’m talking to my attorney,” I growled at him. He pissed off.
“Yeah, it’s on the news. Want me to read you the press release?”
“Nah -- it’s lies and spin,” I told him. “I’ll give you a call when I’m done here. Shouldn’t take too long.”
“Okay -- hang in there. Keep it clean.”
I folded my phone up.
A woman walked through the lobby from inside the building, escorted by a security goon. She was carrying a box, rapidly packed cubicle contents most likely, and was in tears. Fuckers! Hard to be happy, even though the timing of this was pretty much perfect for me. So much for deadlines on the latest drivel I was to polish into acceptable prose on a too-short deadline!
“Number 46!”
I looked at my watch as I stood up; only took ten minutes.
When I got to the counter, a kid (maybe 30) in a coat and tie asked, “Doctor Morrow?” He was holding a large manila envelope.
“Yup,” I told him. “And you are?”
“Please follow me, sir.”
We have a bunch of small conference rooms off the lobby, usually reserved for purchasing to meet with vendors, interviews, things like that. Wait a minute -- I don’t think it’s “we” for very much longer. I could only hope!
We sat down. He opened the envelope and silently handed me the contents.
I skimmed the top page. “Thank God! I was worried the bastards were going to keep me!”
The poor kid gave me a really, really confused look at that!
The anticipated layoff package -- with my 23 years of service, plus the 60 day notice period, plus accumulated vacation, the layoff package maxed out at 12 months plus vacation! Read it over again -- I’d receive my “normal” direct deposit paychecks over that period, have insurance coverage, looks okay. If I signed a release promising not sue them, I’d get an extra $5k. Reminder of my continuing duty of confidentiality, availability of COBRA coverage, transferring my 401(k) plan. Hmmm -- should I call Paul? Nah. Read it through again, line by line. Damn lawyers -- every grammatical sin you could imagine, and then some. Once more, looking for gotchas. Should I have Paul go over it? Nah -- punt and move on.
I looked up at my handler.
“Do you have any questions?” he asked.
“How long does it take you to get to sleep at night?”
I could see his reaction -- confusion then pain -- I’d hit a nerve, and I wasn’t sorry I’d done it. “You’re working for reptiles,” I told him gently. “Look how they’re treating people who have worked here over twenty years. That’s how loyalty is rewarded. How long will it be before you’re sitting where I am? Is it worth the shit you’re going through?”
No response, but I didn’t expect one. I plopped my secure token card on the table.
“Okay, I’m ready to sign. It wants a witness -- do they trust you, or do we need someone else?”
He shook his head. “I can do that.” He put my token card in his envelope.
“I get copies of everything, right?”
“Copies will be mailed to...”
“That’s not what it says here,” I interrupted, and read from page two where it clearly said I would be given copies of all these documents.
He blinked this time. “Okay, I’ll make copies while you’re cleaning out your office.”
“Don’t need anything. It’s all yours.”
I signed. He signed. He went off to make copies. He came back with copies, handed them to me, and I looked at them.
“It’s all there,” he said with some irritation.
I shook my head. “If you were in my shoes, would you double-check?” I went back to my stack of paper, taking my damn time.
“Looks like it’s all here,” I announced, and stood up. My handler turned to the door.
“One moment,” I said. He turned to face me, stepping back a bit. I held out my hand. Surprised, he shook it. “Go out and get drunk tonight,” I told him. “And I wish you luck -- you’re going to need it a whole lot more than I am. I hope you can find a job you like. I had a great one for most of the time I was here. But remember, loyalty isn’t rewarded, it’s abused.”
“Thanks,” he mumbled, and led me back to the lobby.
Ooh, nasty crowd! People were lined up out the door, and looking none too happy.
The woman who’d taken my badge yelled out, “Form one line to the right.” No “please” in there, just point and yell.
I made eye contact with her and offered, “Is this how you would like to be treated?”
She gave me a nasty look.
“I’ll pray for you,” I told her. That always pisses people off!
My desire to laugh out loud was tempered by the looks and the vibes from the people around me. How many of them were screwed? Some would retire, or easily go on to other things. So sad. I’d moved from research to tech writing about eight years ago. I expected that most of the writers I worked with would find new gigs pretty easily. Well, the good ones would.
An envelope on the driver’s seat of my car -- what the hell?
I laughed as I looked through it. Exhibitor’s badge to the Consumer Electronics Show in Las Vegas, plane tickets out Wednesday morning and back Sunday morning, confirmation at Bellagio for four nights! Looks like I’m traveling! I stuffed that package back in the envelope, and put it and my termination shit in my bag. Called Paul and told him I was on the way.
Half an hour later we were on our way to San Francisco. Paul looked over the termination package, and didn’t give me too much shit for signing it. David told me it made financial planning a little easier, or at least predictable.
Talked about my trip to CES; I thought it would be a good idea to get out of town for a few days, and they agreed. Next week was MacWorld at Moscone Center; I’d take the train up for that one, and go at least one day, maybe two. David asked if I was serious about selling the house. I was. Okay, he’d get the ball rolling.
David wondered out loud how much money Vegas and MacWorld would cost me. I laughed and told them I wasn’t a gambler, and I had more compute power than I needed already, so I might only replace one or two machines.
Paul had directions to a place downtown, go around to a side parking entrance and announce yourself. We did, were directed to a particular parking spot, and the gate opened.
We went upstairs to the lottery office, signed in, and were shown to a conference room. Two folks came in and talked to us briefly. I gave them my ticket and they disappeared, but not for long.
They came back smiling. The woman, Patricia, said, “Congratulations Mr. Morrow!” and shook my hand. Handshakes all around -- it was official.
More folks joined us, financial, and of course state and federal tax folks. Details, details! I was going to take it as a lump sum. Paul and David had the details, down to where to do the wire transfer to a money market account. All well and good. We did that part of the paperwork. Sandwiches were called for and arrived; we had a working lunch. I wiped the mustard off my hands and used my fountain pen to sign things.
The next batch of people came in, the publicity team. The news media was of course hot to know who the latest multimillionaire was. Some publicity was required. I understood that, and told them I hoped they understood that I was interested in my privacy, and had certain tools and techniques to help achieve my goals. When the publicity gal raised an eyebrow, I told her that I’d be happy to pose for the ceremonial photo with the oversized check, but if interviewed for radio and/or television, I fully intended to sprinkle obscenities into my responses to minimize the amount of material suitable for broadcast. The gal looked shocked, but her boss laughed and thought that was an interesting strategy. I replied, “Got that fucking right.”
The publicity gal muttered, “I think he means it!”
I smiled and said simply, “Yes!”
She braced herself, but after a few seconds when I didn’t say anything more, she sighed in relief and turned to her boss with a look of concern. Her boss laughed.
Okay, we’d do the press thing at two, maybe three depending on availability of news crews. We started going through the usual questions. I wasn’t going to give my address, just the city. My home phone was unlisted, and I didn’t show up in a Google search. I expected that would only slow people down a little. One of them asked what I did for a living, and I happily told them I’d just been laid off, and named my ex-employer.
The gal turned pale! “Oh my!” she whispered.
Her boss shook his head. “This may be a problem.”
Paul asked, “What’s a problem?”
“You didn’t hear?” the guy asked.
“What?” I responded.
The guy explained that an employee at my site went on a rampage this morning, killing five and wounding three before taking his own life.
We moved to another conference room, one with a television set in it, and caught part of the noon news. Holy shit -- at least one news crew had been on site, and it looked nasty.
A talking head mentioned the name of the shooter.
“Oh fuck,” I said, flopping back in my seat.
“Know him?” Paul asked.
I nodded. “Not closely -- he started two weeks before I did. Saw him queued up this morning, and he looked really pissed. Most people did.”
“I think I need to talk to Sacramento,” the PR guy said unhappily.
Paul spoke up. “Going to be a news heyday -- a tale of two employees, started at about the same time, one is a multimillionaire, the other...”
“Right...” the PR guy said. He left the room, shaking his head.
We watched more news coverage. The good news, if there was any, was that the company was taking major shit for the way they handled the shutdown, and it wasn’t the first time they’d pulled this stunt. I saw a tech writing colleague in tears. At least she was alive.
The PR guy came back, with two other folks. Sacramento wasn’t sure what to do -- no big surprise. They thought about just putting out a press release with a picture and the minimum details, but realized that it wouldn’t take long before someone figured out where I worked. Maybe punt things to later in the week when they have more information.
I shook my head. “Do it now. Delay it and you’re covering things up, providing more fuel for rumormongering. Besides, I’m taking off on a business trip Wednesday morning and not returning until Sunday.”
I looked to Paul, who nodded.
“I believe you have a statutory requirement on making the transfers within 24 hours,” he told them. “I agree with Brian though -- issue a printed press release with the minimum information in it now, and let the rest play out. If you delay and we’re asked about it, we are most emphatically not going to cover your ass.”
The senior PR guy looked to the turkey on his right.
That turkey had balls. He said, “Go make up the check! Let’s get this done and out the door! The press is going to make up stories; I’m not going to give them more fuel! You two! Move! You! Let’s draft the release, now! Get the one we used for the witness protection couple last year; that’s a good place to start. Move!”
I smiled; that must have been a good one...
We whacked out the press release pretty quickly. They did the oversized check. A photogeek came in and did pictures of me with the check and the lottery folks. I insisted on copies of the digital files. They didn’t want to give them to me.
I smiled and asked to see the camera so I could at least pick the one I liked. Is that okay?
The photogeek handed me the camera, a nifty looking Canon, and showed me how to go back and forth among (he said “between” and I corrected him) the images.
As I looked at a pic, I dug the locators out of my left pocket. I set them on the conference table in front of me, and put the camera down between them as I talked. “So can someone explain to me why I shouldn’t have an electronic copy of a picture of me? Sure sounds like a reasonable request, particularly since I’ve signed a release covering it, right? Paul?”
And by the time I’d finished speaking, I’d tapped the locators, put my right hand in my coat pocket, and had a recording of the camera.
I returned the camera to the photogeek and pocketed the locators while people argued.
The last refuge of the scoundrel -- “I’ll have to check with Sacramento.”
“Fine. No big deal. Let’s move on,” I told them with a scowl.
Someone passed out copies of the press release for us to check.
I frowned and pulled out my pen, but laughed and put it away again. “Perfect! Just like that! I insist -- no changes!”
Paul looked at me, looked at the page, and laughed as well. “Yes, this is great!”
The big cheese scowled at his minions. He scrawled his mark on the bottom of the second page. “Send it out -- now.”
They misspelled my name, Bryant Murrow rather than Brian Morrow.
Another geek came in, one of the finance ones? He handed Paul some paper. “The transfers went through. Here are your copies. Revenue has theirs already.”
I leaned over to Paul. He smirked and whispered, “This one looks fine.”
I smiled and nodded. They got my name and social insecurity number correct on the money part. That’s what counted.
The big cheese smiled. “Well, that’s better. Will you let us handle publicity on this if we have any inquiries?”
“With pleasure,” Paul said, “Give me some of your cards.”
He handed some over. “My staff will respond appropriately to all inquiries.”
“And I’m going to make myself scarce,” I added, feeling a little sorry for his staff.
We shook hands. The lottery people abandoned us in the lobby.
“I like the press release,” I told Paul as we made our way to the basement.
“Yah, but was it the result of careful consideration, or incompetence?” David asked.
“It’s a blessing, either way,” I told them. “Gift horse -- saddle up and get out of town.”
“Got that right. Call me if anything happens?” Paul reminded me.
“Oh, your home number is stored in my cell phone -- which is the only damn thing I’m going to answer.”
Paul and David gave me their cell phone numbers, and I entered those. Damn, it was nice being able to operate without reading glasses!
We talked about other details on the ride home. David would take care of real estate brokers. I wasn’t interested in making a killing on the house -- as is, no weird deals. Ideally, I’d like a family with kids. Maybe we could help someone out, lease the place, something like that.
Paul shot that one down, fast. I needed to sell it, to get completely away from it, if for no other reason than to limit my own liability. A passer-by gets hit by a meteor while standing in the street in front of my house is going to sue me, right?
I understood, all too well.
Picked up my car and headed home.
Uh-oh... A police car was parked in front of my house! I turned to the right a block before I got to my place and pulled over, grabbing my phone.
“Paul? There’s a cop parked in front of my house! What the fuck do I do?”
“Where are you now?”
“On Magdalena, a block from the house.”
“Okay, stay there. I’m on my way. We’ll greet ‘em together.”
It took him about ten minutes to get there, ten very long minutes. We drove to the house; I parked in the driveway and he parked behind the cop car.
Paul was talking to the cops as I walked up.
“Doctor Morrow?” one of the cops asked.
“That’s me.”
They wanted to talk about the incident this morning; they were interviewing all those who’d been run through the mill prior to the incident. I looked to Paul, who nodded.
They asked what I knew of the incident. I told them I’d seen news coverage at noon, which included mention of the “alleged” shooter. When I left work in the morning, I’d seen him standing in line, looking upset, but so did all the people around him.
They asked more questions. Had things in the building been normal? What does “normal” mean? People were being thrown out of work with no notice! People were leaving in tears! If you’re asking about violence, I didn’t see any. How about aggressive behavior? Oh yeah, plenty of that, by the security guards and the people brought in from the East coast! We talked about that for a bit.
They read me some names. I recognized two as people in the building but didn’t recall seeing them. They asked me a few times about a John O’Connor. Nope, didn’t recognize the name. Yes, I’m sure.
Then one of them told me he’s the guy who signed off my exit interview.
I told them in the five minutes I’d spent with him, he didn’t identify himself. He wasn’t wearing a badge, and didn’t tell me his name.
And they wanted to know why I had an attorney present. Paul jumped all over them on that one! He represented me, and we’d been taking care of other matters.
One of them walked away and talked on his cell phone for a bit.
He had some follow-up questions, still on the phone. Did I notice anything unusual about the shooter? Nope. He looked upset? Yes, and so did the people around him, so he didn’t stand out. Do you remember what he was wearing? Nope, just the look on his face, the look on other people’s faces -- tears, shock, disbelief, anger.
Paul gave them his cards; they thanked us and took off. Paul and I talked inside for a bit. His cell phone rang, and he answered it. Said, “Yes,” a few times, then, “Thanks,” and hung up.
He held out a hand; we shook. “Brian, you’re a wealthy man. That was my office; we got confirmation of the wire transfers. You need to drop by tomorrow morning to sign the revised trust documents.”
Why not now? Because they wouldn’t be ready until about ten in the morning, that’s why! Okay, good answer.
He left.
And I was standing in an empty house again.
It was getting cold and blustery again. Yeah, “winter” in Northern California where I live is pretty damn mild, and I like it that way. I remembered the undergrad years at Cornell; that was why I went to grad school at Stanford!
Got my coat, made sure I had my phone, locked up the house, and went for a walk.
Standing on the hill overlooking the golf course again, alone this time. I laughed to myself, at myself, shaking my head as the cold wind stung my face. The First Noble Truth -- shit happens. And that other one, about life being a shit sandwich -- the more bread you got, the less shit you eat. Well, all of a sudden, I have a lot of bread. More important, I’m healthy. What do I want to do when I grow up?
Besides have someone to hold, and who will hold me? Money can’t buy that.
Laughed again -- but it sure as hell can rent it...
Nah, that’s not me.
Another thought -- Probes are flexible.
Let’s go home and have some dinner. Oh -- I had some pictures to look at, and a camera to play with!
Soup and good sourdough bread for dinner, and a glass of wine. Started doodling on a pad of paper -- what do I want to do? See Australia, Europe -- hell, see the whole world, for a start! Yeah, some parts, like a cruise around Tahiti, or a barge on the Loire, should be done with someone, but others -- a tour of science museums, starting in Munich -- those could be solo.
A lot of traveling, at least for a while, militated against a number of things, such as an expansive estate, a dog. Tradeoffs everywhere... Sell the house -- how long did I have to roll the money into another residence to minimize the tax hit? David and Paul would know. But a trust holds the house. Questions for experts.
Retrieved the disk, and a few moments later, I had a Canon digital camera, complete with fancy auto-focus zoom lens, and a weird-ass connector on the side. It used a CF memory card -- I’d have to get a charger for the lithium battery, and a spare battery. Popped the memory card out of the camera and put it into the card reader connected to the Mac.
Up pops iPhoto, ready to import 48 pictures. Sure, do it!
The last few were me, but those others! I had to laugh -- somehow I don’t think those were lottery related! She had a nice body, but the look on her face -- she wasn’t enjoying the experience... Deleted those, from my computer, and from the memory card.
Let’s hear it for Amazon -- picked up a PDF of the camera manual and started browsing it. Ooch! The “L” series zoom lens goes for over $1500! Looks like a trip to K and S in Palo Alto tomorrow for a battery and charger.
I thought I’d just skimmed the manual, but I found I could remember stuff from it quite easily. My memory was better as well? Why not -- made for a good probe, right?
Then why didn’t I remember what people had been wearing this morning?
Better question -- why would I remember those faces forever? The looks of betrayal, anger, fear... Did I want to watch the late-night news? No. The phone was quiet, and that was a good thing. I updated the greeting on the answering machine, depersonalizing it.
Played with the camera some more. Pretty cool, and much more flexible than the little point and shoot Nikon I carried around. Take the big one to CES, or the little one? The big one could be fun. I snorted -- and pretty low risk, considering I had it “backed up.”
Gee, that could make traveling fun! Pack a bag, “back it up” and take the disk! But was exposing those disks to inquiry and examination something I wanted to do?
Up to bed. I was tired, but wound up. I looked in the drawer -- three of the anti-anxiety pills left. Laughed at myself; I had a functionally unlimited supply left! I recorded the three left, and reproduced them a few times, putting them back in the bottle, taking one.
Hmmm... Is there a way to get rid of these disks? I could end up with quite a few. Need to check on that.
To bed, the blanket started in again, but all it took was a nasty thought, and it just held me.
Oh, but it got me in the middle of the night, rocking, squeezing, teasing me. I was almost awake as I came. What had she said? It knows what I need? It held me and rocked me, and I went back to sleep.
Didn’t clear the alarm before I went to bed! Oh well, I was rested. No spots on me, or the blanket, either. Bon apetit, mon ami! Still, my hair could use washing, so I showered.
Brushing it out, shaving afterwards -- look closer at the clown in the mirror. My mustache is growing in darker! So is the hair in my head! More “observables!” And damn, but I felt good! Did some warm-up yoga; I could do splits again, with ease! And I was strong and stable in dolphin and balance poses.
Fruit for breakfast, vitamins, and a glass of skim milk. Moved to turn on the TV, but didn’t. The camera place didn’t open for another hour at least.
Grabbed my coat, a hat, and went for a walk. My, but the streets are a zoo early in the morning, full of kids going to school. I had a nice walk. We’d have rain in the next day or so -- the air had that garlic smell that means a storm is coming in from the South.
Picked up the camera, my work bag; no messages on the phone was good news.
K and S had the batteries, and the charger. The batteries came in two flavors -- high capacity and expensive, and higher capacity and ridiculously expensive! I checked the camera; I had the higher capacity one. They’d only come on the market in the last few months, so this one should be practically new. I smiled; I was learning! I got the charger, a lens cap, and looked at some other lenses. Picked up the family brochure. Might replace the viewscreen, but not today.
“Hey Paul, half an hour okay?” I asked when he got on the line.
“Sure. You see the news this morning?”
“Nope. Was I in it?”
“Not yet, just wondering how long the good news will last.”
“Well, my home phone hasn’t started ringing yet, so there’s still time.”
Met with Paul and David. David had a realtor and a cleanup crew scheduled for that afternoon. Fine with me! The blanket was on the bed, underneath the cover, and I assumed that the environmental field generator would be inoperative to anyone without my link. Was that a dangerous assumption?
Sitting in the parking lot, I pulled out my phone. Yes, it had numbers stored for Ellen and Moira. I called Moira’s number and left a message that I had questions for her; please call, and I missed her, especially in the mornings.
Got a sandwich for lunch, arranged a limo to take me to the airport in the morning, and made it to the house in time to meet the realtor. A key to David and one to the lockbox on the front for the realtor to use. A few clarifications -- as-is, and the right buyer is more important than price. The “cleanup” crew was a cleaning and staging crew. Luckily I’m not home enough to mess the place up significantly! I went through the office and made sure I was rid of all of my ex-employer’s documents, paper and electronic. It felt very good to dump that stuff!
Our first problem -- based on comparable properties, the realtor wanted to list the place for 1.3 million! That’s what Silicon Valley and walking distance to three of California’s Distinguished Schools do to property prices! I insisted on starting at eight hundred. She insisted we could get 1.3 for the place, with dirty dishes in the sink. Fine, then start at eight hundred. She pushed back. Finally I told her that I was the one selling the house, and she was helping me. If she didn’t want to help me, I’d find someone else. If she thought it would go for 1.3, then what’s the worry? It will bid up. I’m crazy -- get used to it.
She sighed and swallowed. We signed more papers. Oh, what was I looking for in a new house? I wasn’t sure, but I knew it wasn’t in California.
We cleared out to let the cleaning/staging crew go at it. My current schedule had me returning Sunday, so they could show to their heart’s content the next few days. I’d be happy to look at a first round of offers Monday.
But what if we don’t get any?
I shook my head. Worst case, when her contract was up, I put a “For sale by owner” sign in front and sell it for four hundred fifty, which still triples what I paid for the place. She turned pale. David laughed. She looked up in the air for a bit, then smiled. I told her to contact David with questions or offers. She shook our hands and took off.
When her car was out of sight, I told David, “If she wants it, it’s eight hundred cash, as-is, she eats the commission and pays the fees. I have two weeks to move out. I don’t give a shit about multiple closings. How does that sound?”
“Barely ethical on her part, but I think that’s what’s happening -- she’s undoubtedly out trying to raise money right now.”
We went to dinner. David enlightened me as to how much I could give someone tax-free per year. When we’d gotten the settlement on my wife, we’d set up trusts for my sister and her kids. Could or should we up those? He’d look into it.
I was watching Mythbusters when my cell phone rang a little after nine. I needed to set up distinctive rings on the thing!
Moira! How was I doing? Other than missing her, experiencing a wide variety of life, I told her. She laughed, then sighed. She’d seen the news. So far, I told her, the press hadn’t made any connections. Told her about the lottery office misspelling my name, but that would only be a hindrance. On my questions, yes, the field generator would only respond to my link, which was active only when I was wearing it. To get rid of the disks? That was easy. Turn them upside-down, so the dull surface faces up. Tap three times. The disk glows red. Touch the center of the disk and hold. It will feel as if it’s burning my finger, but that’s just nerve induction. Keep holding and the disk will disappear. I liked it -- a good “Are you sure?” check.
Had I gotten the tickets? Yes, and I was looking forward to it, hadn’t been to CES in a decade or so. Anything in particular I should look for? A very cagey no.
Will I still see you in a few weeks? Oh yes, I would. She asked if the blanket had been good. I laughed and told her it took hints, but ambushed me in the middle of the night. She told me it would undoubtedly do the same when I got back. She started to say something else but laughed. The phone was making funny beeping noises at me. I told her I thought I was running out of battery, so we said our goodbyes.
Call waiting -- David was calling.
“The bitch had the nerve to offer seven hundred!” he told me. “I told her it was eight cash, and she eats all the fees and commissions.”
“And?”
“She gulped and took it. She’ll have a check Friday.”
“Fine. Have I signed enough stuff for you and Paul, or do I have to do more?”
“We’re set. You’ll need to roll the money into another residence, but you have a year.”
“So, David, am I nuts to do this?”
He sighed before he answered. “Paul and I talked about it. We don’t think so. If you sold at six, that would be crazy and would expose you to tax penalties, but eight is reasonable, as is your desire to move and quickly. I’m still surprised your phone is quiet. There was a short Lottery writeup in today’s Mercury News, misspelled name and all, but the shooting is getting far more ink. Oh, the company is really taking gas in the press for the way they treated people. Did you know there was a suicide in the parking lot at the San Diego site when they closed it?
“Fuck no, hadn’t heard that!”
“There was, and they evidently paid off a bunch of people to keep it quiet. That’s one of the things haunting them. You don’t have any stock, do you?”
“Hell no! Bailed on that last year when they canned the Sojourner project.”
“That’s trading on inside information, my friend...”
“Nope -- Sojourner was back East. I moved what little 401(k) money I had in the stock into an index fund two days after the public announcement.”
“Okay, that’s good. You had me worried for a moment.”
“I try and play it clean -- particularly when there’s a risk of my ass going to jail,” I told him. Then I thought about the camera... How clean?
“That’s a good strategy. We don’t want to join you.”
“When I went off to college, my mom told me, ‘Just imagine your mother is watching.’”
He laughed. “What did you say to that?”
“I told her that was pretty kinky... I’ll try and not give in to temptation too much.”
“Call if you have questions, Brian -- and call before you jump off the cliff.”
“Sound advice. Talk to you later.”
I’d missed most of the show. Screw it -- I had to get up earlier than usual. I disabled automagic login on all the computers and went upstairs to bed.
The blanket let me go to sleep, just holding me, but got me in the middle of the night again. This time I woke, right on the edge, being held to a soft breast-like form, sucking, while it squeezed me and milked my stem. Then it rocked me back to sleep.
END of Part 1
Rev 2010/08/29
On to Part 2
Probes 1
By silli_artie@hotmail.com
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/artie/www