unplugged

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Unplugged

UnPlugged

O. Jura

Published by Owen Taylor at Smashwords

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Acknowledgements I want to thank of course my family,who put up with my grumpy attitude for the few months of writing. My friends Jeff, and Vickie who were not only supportive, but also opinionated enough to tell me where it was good and especially where it was bad.

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Chapter 1 BMA

The heat of the sun enveloped him as he stood ankle deep in the sea foam, eyes closed face up, a deep breath, along with the sea air came the smell brought the taste of the ocean with it. He marveled at the sameness of the water temperature and the skin around his calves. He looked down to make sure he was actually standing in the slosh, watched as each wave meandered past him and then back, he was noticeably thinner. An almost indiscernible breeze brought more ocean scent and just a ruffle of the fronds in the palms. Dayell turned looked to see his footprints where they meandered along down the beach through the hot sand watched as each print disappeared filled with foam and sand Then up through the palms to the beaches ridge above the sand, a figure walking toward him.

The dream ended he muttered out loud

“No no no come on Day go back to sleep”. He scrunched his eyes closed, “beach beach beach”. He willed “sand sand sand. No good. The dream didn’t end as abruptly as it usually did. He hated the quick ends and full alert wide awake each time. Dreams ended if you had them at all because of the once a day tablet prescribed by the government doctors. Dayell had stopped taking the tabs when the weekends arrived, his dreams always seemed so lucid, clearer. He liked that. He had never been to a beach. He swung his feet over the bed, scratched his thinning hair and of course was reminded that his dream self was a bit thinner. Up he stood wobbled a bit as he crossed the bedroom toward the bath..

“Television” out loud. He heard it start in the front room “news” it switched channels. Into the toilet to relieve himself he stood for a moment then looked sideways at his reflection. Not too bad he thought best of both races, his dad part Assinaboine, his mom of some scandinavian descent, it all gets washed away after so many hundred years. His dad an Ironcloud made sure he had kept some identity, kept some semblance of who he was. Didn’t really matter to the average person today what race you were but it was cool to know. He finished up brushing his teeth, out to the kitchen, “computer on” the hud started over the desk he glanced at it, shimmering in the corner of the living room. It wasn’t a bad place. He purchased it after the accident, the settlement with the city and the truck company had been substantial. Enough to not only outright purchase the large apartment, but also fully pay ten years in advance for future university for Katie, along with his ownership to his business, and a little nest egg. Three bedrooms, one for guests, Katie had settled in pretty well, new schools, new friends, almost four years now. Losing her mom had been extra tough on her, they were just starting to be friends instead of mom and daughter. After the accident the extra tablets the doctors had prescribed had worked for him, helped him motor along numbing his thinking, but as far as he could tell they weren’t much help for Katie. Although he cursed the pill, he didn’t mind his dreams being cut short when memories of that day came up.

The replicator spit out the coffee like substance, then toast on command. He grabbed the bottle of tabs walked over to the HUD and sat, the news drifted about his head. In today’s news another bombing, another plane crash, a murder down the block. “television good news” he muttered, the channel switched the commentator blurbbed in more good news the murder rate for the city is down ten percent for the same time last year, he barked “television sports”. The channel changed, “Star running back for the Detroit lions charged with murder for hire” an audible ugghh. He popped the cap off the prescription bottle shook a tablet out. It was a strange concoction part chemical boost part electronics, designed fifty years ago to increase productivity. The government found the U.S. to be lagging far far behind all other countries, in productivity and of course men and women were becoming ever more sedentary, and less educated. Along came Yuan Robert “Robbie” Lee, chemist and scientist, and the development of, bi-metric-androphene. The concoction taken once a day, increased a person awareness, it also shortened the length of time someone needed to sleep. Therefore less time in bed more time at work, or school, or play. The chemicals absorbed into bloodstream for more energy. The electronics, gave you a heightened awareness, an open mindedness that seemed to allow an extra connection to other people but also the ability to grasp more. You could get comprehend more of very complicated ideas as the migrated through the brain remember them, the tabs micro electronics were viable only twenty four hours or so and then as they stopped functioning were absorbed into the bloodstream and were passed in normal fashion with all the nasty other stuff, every morning in billions of bathroom visits. Dayell often wondered how many tons of electronics filled the sewers of the earth. BMA was accepted right away by the FDA, and soon every government began ordering supplies. Almost every person on earth was taking it. Yes some held out, those like his mom and dad ”earthers”, folks who just wanted a more natural life, no chemicals no extras. His parents had always been earthers, both were enjoying long productive lives. Sure some folks just lived longer than others those that didn’t maybe only because of lives of personal and end of life choices. There was no downside no upside people didn’t seem to live any longer either way, it had become a personal choice drug, the benefits seemed so great that few people opted out. Day looked at the tab, he had been taking them his whole life, popped the pill followed it with pseudo-coffee. He had been unplugged since Friday.

He sat at the terminal checked his mail, the stocks, and his bitcoin wallet, five this week way above average

“I’ll Take that” under his breath.

He logged into his bank account and transferred the coin to us dollars. He looked at the coin miner, a plain black cube “five huh not so bad this week”. The cube had been his grandfather Robert’s. Dayell recalled the few summers he had spent with him, in Bozeman, fishing hiking. One winter when he was about six gramps took him to the ski hill to let him learn how to snowboard. Trips floating the Yellowstone overnight. A hunting trip, or rather a sit by the campfire and tell stories with his cronies trip. Bitcoins started way back in 2009 and grandad had picked the cube up online a few years later as a novelty. Not really believing they would amount to anything, but it purred along, sitting first on his desk, then his grandson Adam’s and then passed to Dayell. He peered at the thing sitting inconspicuously on the corner of the desk, it had been plugged in, except for a few moves his father made, then two of his own, a few cleanings and a once in a while memory upgrade, now close to seventy years churning a bit coin or two each week. Day had marveled at how simple the thing was. How insightful his granddad had been even after the bit crash in 2014, and fell in 2017. Sure there were huge companies mining today, but here in this apartment sat the robust little novelty cube. Plinking a few grand of coin a week

“Computer dayell.inc” the hud flashed to his personal website. He had started the company, to fill the void after his wife died, prodded a couple friends, for hands on help and started buying used computer equipment to salvage the metals but also the memory from the tons of equipment tossed out by the world, it, salvaging was, they thought their way to save the earth a little and make some profit on the other end. The company had done quite well, not only for each of their bank accounts but also memory had become a secondary form of money, so in a pinch down on rouse on the old side of the city they could buy sell and trade with sticks of ram, hidden cash that the government just didn’t control, couldn’t control, at least not yet. He checked inventory, browsed the warehouse sites and purchased another pallet of garbage pc’s pressed the delivery button paid with the bitcoin cash he had made over night, and done. Delivery Wednesday, he would check later after he was done with his real job.

“Katie.” Kate time to get up.” he waited “Kate come on you’ll be late for school.” nothing

“Sharon?” the house computer responded “Good morning Sir” the voice of an Englishman”.

”Ugh.” He’d been meaning to change that. The apartment had come with the option to pick or change the house voice, it had been on random and he had thought it was a neat idea, and funny when friends were over that it changed. So each month the voice would switch, the first month in the apartment and the first voice was a woman’s, so Sharon was a pretty good name, just out of coincidence the second voice was also a woman’s.

Day smirked chuckled a bit tilted his head back. “Sharon is Katie up?”

.. Sharon in his british accent “Sir Dayell, Katie left two hours seventeen minutes ago for school.” It didn’t sink in

“When?” he could swear Sharon had gained some British sarcasm

“Sir Dayell, two hours eighteen minutes ago.” Yep sarcasm

“What time is it?” more of a statement

“The current time is nine eighteen A.M. Monday.”

“Crap.”

“I’m not sure what you just asked Sir crap, isn’t part of my function.” Sharon in-toned.

Day walked toward the bedroom to get dressed. “Sharon please call Monica J on 16 YRLS.”

Xxxx

Chapter 2 Lion

In just his short lifetime Bozeman had grown. Its growth wasn’t just a new trend, the University had gone through a huge rebound with a dozen new buildings being put up, and millions of dollars being donated by alumni back in the early 2000’s an influx of the brightest students, including a later standout Yuan Robert Lee. An atmosphere of growth and prosperity brought hi tech business after hi tech business to the south central Montana city. His great grandfather had worked there, so along with trips to and from the Yellowstone were trips to the museum of the Rockies, along with bobcat football, and basketball games. Due to great granddads input and support Dayell’s father had broken away from the Fort Peck Indian reservation, stayed and then lived with him in Bozeman through high school, became a standout lineman, got a scholarship at Montana State, and then drafted to the two time super bowl champion Detroit Lions. It was inevitable that Dayell’s parents would end up back in this place. With not only the ever present mountains on two sides, the outdoor recreation with skiing taking up the populations interest in the winter and the summer fishing and hiking couldn’t be any better anywhere else. He loved it too. It was matter of fact that Dayell would attend university here. Neither a good nor a bad student he chose business and computer science, and then went to work right away for YRLS.

The apartment building had been built in a subdivision just over the county line. Bozeman had not only swallowed up both small towns to the west it spread both into the mountains to the south, then to the Park county line. It was a beautiful part of the country. From the front west window of the apartment he could look down into Jackson creek, and north at the Bridger mountain’s, he liked to tell Katie if he stood on his tip toes he could see Bridger Bowl ski area, not true. After the call to Monica J on 16, Dayell got dressed got another cup of coffee from the replicator, and started down to the lobby and then the garage in the basement. The trip to work was always enjoyable.

The smell of electricity met him as the garage elevator doors opened. Twenty five or so electric cars and trucks parked neatly in their own cubicles. Twelve foot wide by twenty foot deep. Six foot high concrete walls on each side, and a squat Shielded front of blast proof glass. Most of the spaces were more than adequate for the small new cars, almost twice too large. Good for him. He walked along the center line below The long steel center strip at the ceiling where all the transformers were bolted, each converting the two hundred seventy seven voltage scavenged from the tesla walls down to the proper battery voltage of the cars. Each gave off the ozone smell of energy. His cubicle was at the end. Before he flashed his palm at the keyway he looked in at the squat little run of the mill car. His was a Cheord the combined effort of two failed car companies of the gas age, but parked beside it was his pride and joy, another hand me down from his dad. The paint job, a light blue and silver. Chrome highlighted the trim. The emblem on the gas tank of a Detroit lion. Harley Davidson still made a few gasoline motorcycles, along with electric and hybrids. And a few car companies plunked out a dozen gasoline vehicles, mostly novelties for the ultra rich. This second hand lion was a great conversation piece, and a memory trap. He loved the summer day trips with Katie. Mike’d helmets, roaring along past the gawkers in their squat all the same color no noise electrics, they would speed down into Livingston then south to Yellowstone Park. His dad was in his late fifties when he had gotten it as a memento from the Lions organization, mom hated it. Dayell remembered the day at bobcat stadium when it was presented, and how his dad a bit overwhelmed sat on it started it and peeled a big patch of blue and gold astro-turf out of the bobcat painted on the fifty yard line. A family friend drove it home. He closed his eyes congering up the memory still feel the wind blowing past him as he sat on the back of it, The thrill of that first ride stayed with him as he leaned arms crossed on the blast glass looking at it, and the empty five gallon gas can. He sure would like to take it to work today, he checked the hud on his glasses, nope no time

He flashed his palm at the scanner the glass disappeared into the floor. Looking at the empty can he thought “gotta git to Rouse with some chips and fill that up.” He grabbed it up and tossed it into the rear of the car

He was sure Monica was covering for him again, so into the little car box he got, turned the key no sound, he imagined the bike sitting next to him laughing. Up and out of the garage he went, snow topped mountains came into view. An easy left from the entry, then the slow meander through the housing. The road out dipped from Park County to Gallatin County then back and under the freeway. He stopped there. Left to Livingston a play day, right toward Bozeman and work. He mashed his foot on the accelerator no sound, the smell of gasoline can, and the lion on the gas tank roared from the garage. He turned right. The trip took the usual thirty minutes, off the highway at bear canyon past the sign that reminds every one there used to be a U.S. army post at this spot what two hundred years ago. The small town and post swallowed by city. Past the newest addition to the Gallatin clinic, now world renowned for its cancer treatment, the hospital campus almost a mile long. To the top of Kagy street where he could see the MSU football stadium and then beyond that, the YRLS tower with its array of antenna’s and cooling towers on its roof. Past the city and the tower the snowcapped tobacco root mountains thirty miles in the distance. He sure loved Bozeman.

The ding of the elevator on floor sixteen alerted Monica J of his arrival. Her desk was against the left wall she liked it like that. The company had actually spent ten grand to swap the big glass YRLS-16 sign from the right wall to the left. He’d had heard it was some kind of feng shui thing. Monica J had somehow gotten that wacky idea past the building director all the way up to corporate. He smelled her perfume. She pursed her lips in disapproval pointed at her wrist band, wagged her finger. Her auburn hair up in a ponytail, made her look more like an eighteen year old than a 38 year old, very trim in a dark suit dress, small rectangular glasses just on the bridge of her nose, the grey colored frames highlighted her blue eyes. Like most employees at the YRLS headquarters building Monica was an MSU alumna she had majored in architecture, but like so many, working for YRLS was a hard job to turn down. Monica J was the sixteenth floor coordinator. Her task was to keep track of the sixty or so workers, the fifteen or so managers, a mail clerk or two and a handful of administrative secretaries. Not only very attractive but also very good at her job, Day could feel the heat of her presence under his shirt as he came up to the desk.

“Dayell!” She started in a stern whisper as he got close. “Day this is the third time.”

She paused a bit and her pursed lips slipped a small smile, she began to melt as she really looked at him. He knew she had a crush, but for the life of him he just wasn’t sure why, he was no longer the trim long haired guy he used to be. The fact was, even when he was younger he never had imagined he could be much of catch. His only girlfriend had been Sarah. They courted for two years before he got the courage to ask her to move in with him, then it was two more years before she asked him if he was ever going to ask her to marry him. So there he stood looking at Monica’s blue eyes, watching as she toyed with her ponytail melting, and he thinking about his dream body, the one with a little less belt line.

“What is going on Day?” pause and melt,.

Wish I had a bit more hair he thought.

“You know I can’t keep covering for you.” she lied the puddle got bigger.

I guess I could color it so it would be less grey, another muse.

“Day” a bit more stern.

Monica J from the sixteenth floor peered through those grey frame glasses, Day began to feel the nervous heat of too much closeness start in his neck. The blush made Monica smile from her pool.

“Day?” a stronger Louder whisper.

He imagined her muttering it in bed. it was a question not a plea he shook his head to clear the image.

“Monica I just lost track of the time this morning.”

The look on her face told him that was just not going to fly.

“I slept in.” the melt in her eyes glazed, no one sleeps in, the BMA tabs don’t let anyone “SLEEP-IN”. A bit of fear started his heart, when he thought he should tell her he had been unplugged over the weekend. He wanted to, but some hidden feeling slowed him down. Everyone had come to fear being unplugged, his fear though was compounded from years of experience being from what had come to be a semi novelty culture. Growing up native had been a challenge, for him, it was more struggle than most understood, an internal struggle. Those who are not native, those who are a minority are those who feel it, the fear of losing a good job, fear of being ridiculed, looked down upon, all minorities still feel it even in today’s world. The fact that he was a quarter native, made some people jealous. Very few tribal members could boast to that, and very few non natives were close, being into the sixteenths and thirtysecond’s of some conglomerated melting pot. So being different gave him pause Even though he had very little native blood, the fear of being different still came over him, his friends didn’t care and those who didn’t know him probably cared less. His granddad had helped him lose some of the fear, just as he had helped his dad. But even with years of proving his worth, it lingered. He was about to continue but the phone rang. She tapped her ear bud and started the spiel, he hustled around the corner. She was half standing trying to get a look at him as he left. He stopped just out of view when he peered back around the server room edge “Good morning YRLS sixteen..” she pointed her manicured finger gun style at his behind and pulled the trigger she straightened her skirt and sat, a bit embarrassed for being caught looking “this is Monica J how can I…” the words trailed off as he walked toward his office.

The floor was easily accessible, split in quarters at the elevators, forty windowed offices left around the perimeter mirrored the right side. A large glass walled server room behind Monica J’s desk another behind the ten thousand dollar Feng Shui sign began the lines down the center of each wing. Each glass enclosed room was about thirty feet long and twenty feet wide. The server rooms took up a large part of the floor, white boards Each glass enclosed room was about twenty feet long and thirty feet wide. The server rooms took up a large part of the floor. White boards filled with rainbow colored hand drawn diagrams, one held an office winter scene drawn on one half by one of the now former Montana State graduate artist now gainfully employed by YRLS. dotted the end walls. Each glass enclosed room was about twenty feet long and thirty feet wide. After the server rooms next a conference room, then a long thin custodial service closet tucked in for good measure spanned from hall to hall, a copy/paper/supplies room, the line ended at a large group area for round table discussions, and after hours office retirement parties. The tesla ran down the buildings corners and through the server rooms. The offices and every floor were inviting each a well spaced rectangular circle to the left and right from elevator to elevator. The sixteenth floor mirrored all the floors fourteen floors down to the lobby, and the fourteen more above. He walked along, just nodded hello’s to questioning faces.

“C-mon its only ten thirty.” he muttered. Each office had the same conversation going on in it.

“No, No Joe ….YRLS is committed to service for your system.” at one door “ Absolutely sir YRLS is “your full time long term business partner” at the next, a closed door muffled “I’m sorry to hear that can I direct you to the maintenance department? Yes which city?...just a moment.”

His door like every other, name etched into it Dayell R Ironcloud. He waved his hand at the lock the rfid embedded in his palm unlocked the door, the lights clicked on, the blinds automatically opened and the light dimmed. His office faced the MSU campus, and the Bridger’s off to the north and left, he got most of the morning sun, counted himself fortunate the spaces on the opposite south side often got unbearably warm in the afternoon pushing the air conditioning to its limit late in the day. He looked at the white capped peaks, thought wow March sure is late for snow, his granddads voice interrupted his thoughts “always good we can use the moisture.” He had spent many days and nights at this window trying to figure out just where his apartment was some ten miles east, thoughts about his parents. The window, with its view of the campus, the mountains had consoled him after he lost Sarah.

“Computer on.” the hud started over the desk behind him, “messages.” the canned voice began with the first, he daydreamed. Call eight the computer intoned and he started at his lack of concentration, the BMA tab must not have taken hold yet.

“Computer message one” the computer began again.

“Day… what is going on doood?” the skinny voice of “Eddy” woke him from another daydream. Eddy started almost every introduction or hello with “doood.” Trim and younger, they had become pretty good friends, His shoulder length brown hair focused Day’s attention on the very apparent tan running around his cheeks. White eye sockets and lids the racoon swath below and around them. A weekend outside the tattoo of a diehard skier. It would blend in when summer started.

“Morning Eddy, what’s up?” Day tried to concentrate on the messages.

“Whats up? Doood really? whats up, we all been covering for you this morning.” pause “ahhgain.” Day gave him the “I know man” then started “look,” he missed more messages. “computer message one” he groaned before Eddy’next words

“We are all just worried about you man.” Day waited for it.

“You were unplugged again this weekend. “ Eddy posed. Not a question, a friends statement. It was a much longer pause, all the things they had talked about, all the things every one talked about when the topic of going unplugged came up were in the hidden implication. It’s hard on your heart, it’s dangerous, people commit suicide when they go unplugged, jump off bridges. Day knew none of it was true both of his parents stayed unplugged living fruitful and happy lives. Millions of, alive and kicking “earthers” attested to the untruths. “Message fifteen.” the computer recited.

Day spoke “computer message one.”, the unspoken agreement that friends had was now in effect. Enough said, all of it heard no more was needed. “message one.” the computer started again.

“I’m going down to the lobby for some coffee, come down ah-ite doood.” Eddy turned in the doorway at the end of the invite.

“Eddy? You ever daydream?”

The young man paused in the doorway, cocked his head, looked like he was going to answer. His left hand came up cupped the back of his neck, Dayell watched as Eddy’s arm rubbed back and forth under his hair line. He didn’t turn around. Dreaming of any kind was part of the dangerous symptoms of being unplugged.

“I’ll bring you something from the cafeteria.” Eddy said as he left.

The view from the window, the campus and the Bridger mountains filled the edge of his mind. Day closed his eyes. Daydreamed.

The lion roared through the trees on bracket creek, tree after tree blurred blue green, blue green, blue green, one corner left, two corners right, he sunk into the leather as the bike pulled over, he leaned hard into the third corner, then corner four, gears and straight. He broke into the clearing and came to the housing, he pulled back on the throttle so he could get by as fast as possible, he felt the arms around his middle tighten, the crackle from the helmet mike “faster Day, faster.” Sarah’s daydream voice. The feeling of tears began just behind his eyes, the sense of heat in the back of his nose as it crinkled in response to the melody of her voice as it mike’d again “faster Day”

“Message eleven” from the console. “crap computer messages pause”

XXXX

Chapter Three YRLS

By one PM Dayell had paused and started, daydreamed, paused and started, but finished the twenty two messages, made some notes, forwarded all the rest of his calls to his personal phone. He wasn’t sure if he would get answers out to all the messages without a bit of coffee or what passed as coffee. He b-lined past Monica J. snuck a peek at her as the elevator doors closed, the gear let loose and the vader swooshed its way down, doors popped open with their single ding cutting off old ac/dc musak. He scanned for Eddy “gooood” he thought, he just didn’t need any Eddy right now. No one was sure when the last real outdoor coffee bean had been plucked, like everything organic, most coffee was now hydroponic, grown in huge greenhouses in Texas and Arizona.

The boy at the coffee kiosk asked “flavor?”

Day recited the daily “Nope thanks though”

The lad “Skinny”? “tall?” was always’ next.

“Yup” Day reminded him.

“Is there coffee in it?” Day asked as he watched the steam pour through the pseudo milk, the youngster smirked.

“Fifteen dollars” the lad smiled. Day pressed his ring finger in the cash registers tube it scanned his print, poked his 8 digit pin into the finger pad. Green button cash back, No. Red button yes, what does that mean why do they change that all the time he thought.

“It was fourteen yesterday.” Day looked at the boy’s name tag a slanted Hello I’M Jonatin K

“There’s coffee in it today”. Jonatin K smiled

Dayell grinned back , pressed his finger on the red yes cash back, stabbed four dollars in, poked the blue transfer button on the pad swiveled it toward the steamer. Jonatin grinned back pressed his pinky finger into the port. The machine chimed a thank you.

Dayell looked at the barrista ,sniffed the brew “Jon yooo are going a long way here at YRLS”. The kid wobbled is head in thanks.

The Wardenclyffe tower lobby was bustling with activity, he walked over to the hallway that led towards the cafeteria. He stopped at a table just at the entrance realizing Eddy was probably there. He watched the people, sipped the hot liquid, sipped it again, looked at its brown swirl, sniffed the rim, maybe there was real coffee in it today. He marveled at the architecture of the space. This was one of many Robert Lee Yuan building’s. A high tech example of efficiency, completely unwired. The large computer monitors placed strategically about the lobby highlighted the fascinating life and products of Robert “Robbie “Lee Yuan. He listened to the propaganda again. Mr Yuan’s Image posted first. Middle seventies, trimmed greying beard, silver hair, warm almond shaped eyes begging each visitor to watch, and listen. The computer generated, the twenty something virtual actress with an oriental accent walked in a real world garden, crooned to each person. “

“At the surprising age of twenty two he cornered the world market with his development of BMA, with its proven push of productivity, its apparent health benefits, Robbie Yuan gained two Nobel prizes, and notoriety.”

Not wanting to be labeled a modern day conman he stepped up the challenge to the greed mongers of the day, “Robbie” placed all of his copyrights and patents on the world market. He got a few high powered attorneys, wrote a manifesto of ownership and asked for ninety nine cents per patent copy. Two hundred fifty million people purchased ownership in the first month. With ownership out of the hands of the governments no middle men, no price gouging, every single individual on earth could obtain and use BMA if they would so choose.

The twenty something hologram continued,”Many of the world’s young scientists,” the screen flicked through half a dozen men and women all who were now in their seventies.

“Joining the cause, began mass production of BMA. Each churned tablets out for less than a nickel, and now in the year twenty fourty seven close to twenty billion people take one tablet each day at a cost of one dollar for a thirty day supply.”

The pretty oriental girl sing-songed into the next span of history. Mr Yuan then turned his attention to Nicoli Tesla’s work. In a short five years, in the engineering labs of Montana State University he developed and patented the Modified Tesla Generator a substantial source of free flowing power, a power source that needs no wires” the ai girl almost seemed to giggle. “We now see modern buildings with MTG’s built into their infrastructure, each building becomes its own tesla tower transmitting not just power but full scale high speed communication. With a simple YRLS patented pickup built into any electric or electronic device and viola!” “Powered” the computer voice always faltered there, stuttered “Vuh, Vuh, Whalah” Day always figured if humans couldn’t read it correctly, well then there ya have it was pretty hard to say viola in the AI world.

Virtual girl continued “ Information! comes right out of the air. Power, and communication just as Nicoli had observed, sent by airwaves for free. By boosting the signal at specific intervals, wireless communication would jump onto real solid wire servers sent cross country, then dispensed into the atmosphere through the first MTG powered building in the next city. Each time Day saw the clip he swore he knew the virtual girl. She followed with. “Another Nobel prize brought Mr. Yuan, a new turn in his life. So began the support system for this new energy and communications source, and with the ever growing south central Montana town of Bozeman Robbie Yuan’s new syndicated company expanded out from this beautiful mountain town to the world.”

The oriental syn-thespian finished with “Welcome to” she spoke the letters as the computer screen made sure everyone knew the name associated with each. “Y” a flashed word Yuan.. “R” a letter burst Robert… “L” a screen splashed Lee, followed the same way “S” the word Syndicate expanding out filling the screen, of course implying growth. Day always smiled when he said the letters, in fact everyone did. It was a huge acronym, with so much more depth, meant so much, more than just simply initials in a man’s name. Robbie Yuan was hard to separate from this multi national conglomerate. YRLS almost had a life of its own it grew not because it was a great idea and outstanding technology it grew because Robbie Yuan was a real live very likable man

The phone bud in his ear donged. He tapped the switch “Good morning Dayell 16 Bozeman YRLS how can I help you”

“Hi Daddy” He could feel her smile through the phone.

“Hi Honey” he checked his watch still lunch time. “are you Ok”?. She never called to work.

“Oh sure sure dad I’m at lunch and wanted to get your permission to have Kim over to the house to study on Wednesday, maybe have dinner with us?” he searched the grey matter in his head for Kim’s face, Kim H. her mom was the redhead at the school admin building, Kim K. her dad was soccer coach. Maybe a new Kim

“Uh sure sweetheart” “Kim?” he asked

He could almost see her eyes roll, over the phone. “Someone from school dad… Helping me with math”

“I don’t see why not do I order in”…Kate stopped him “Can we make Native” He was pleasantly surprised, the memories came through again it was always fun to make a little fry bread, redbean soup. Something special about Kim he was glad. Katie had had a real time getting her feet under her after her mom died she stayed in the hospital so long most of her friends had moved up in school, she did not have many friends.

“Sure, Ill get the stuff tonight, from scratch right?” he asked

“Yes Please”, thanks dad love you, the click of the phone didn’t stop him from saying I love you too.

“Doood” oh no Day though Lunch must be over.

The day had finished up good, the BMA kicked in he got three new customers, cleared up a com issue in Tampa, and spent a bit too much time talking to a pleasant sounding young woman Arliss R 24 YRLS Dubai about network issues, and the weather and what a cool place she lived in. Day locked down his computer screen, swiped the lock of his door, No one left in the offices he, as he got to the vader tapped the ear bud on the side of his glasses the left lens filled with it’s light blue display “Phone” the screen snowed a bit then up popped the contacts list.

“Call Eric”

Crash

It wasn’t always the same dream, she could remember nothing of the accident at first. Each time she dreamed it some new memory was added, she hoped it was a true memory, she often wondered if she was crazy, or if being unplugged made her in some way mentally imbalanced. It didn’t matter the memories and the dreams didn’t bother her any more in fact she urged them to happen the dreams were a kind of puzzle an ever growing dream story, a story that gave her answers, she hoped not from imagination, but from deep brain realities. They always began in silence, she sitting in the front passenger seat. At first looking at her tablet and school work for the day, she loved being at school, all her friends were great and eleven year old Andy Kline had been talking more and more to her so the giddiness and gossip around it all excited her a little, he was a whole year and 2 months older than her, so her girlfriends would gasp and giggle when his name came up. The sun shone and lit up the screen so she had to bend it a bit away from the window. It was snowing that day so every beam of sun held some frozen water crystal, as the quiet electric car passed from building shadows into sunlight the beams would shimmer with millons of diamond blinks. She knew that light music played on the scanner, but that dreams sound and noise had not manifested itself. Maybe someday the exact song would come it would be a nice addition to her last thoughts that day. She didn’t always get to ride to school with her mom, her parents were going on holiday for a month, and she was going to stay with her grandparents which was always a blast, so that morning was a planned breakfast before school and a transfer of clothes and gear for the month at grandpa’s house. Dream sounds start here, her mom’s voice clear and wonderful, quiet morning talk and the little jokes about a boyfriend made them both smile, the car floated along driving in auto, then slow motion events start, she turns to look at her mom in the driver’s seat, she has her tablet out, flicking the screen with her finger Katie could see her smile and just through the window the truck loomed. Katie was sure the look on her face was what made her mom turn to look at the coming disaster. The last frantic look back towards the passenger seat, lurching with her arms to cradle her to protect….. this is where it ends and always at the exact moment of the computers “goodmorning miss Katie” the English man’s voice. Again softly “goodmorning miss Katie”.

A sad “good morning Sharon” pause “I’m awake thank you”

She walked through the bedroom debris of clothes, still in the dark, the lights hued to a low glow as she entered the bath. Her reflection greeted her. The long blonde hair just like her mom’s, she always hesitated when she confronted her image in any mirror, she looked very little like her dad, more like mom and gram’s, standing at the sink basin she leaned forward to see the scar just below her right cheek, barely visible, a quick run of her hand through her hair, finger scombing it back

“Sharon shower please” as she paused her fingers on the ever present lump behind her right ear.

Hidden under her hair the fracture and plastic insert noticeable to the touch. The days after the accident were a blur of operations, doctor’s visitors. Constant television cameras, local and national news. When automatic self driving cars were being developed there had been a few accidents, but their accident had been the first reported death of any one in 30 plus years. It had been big news she was glad to have not remembered, because the garbage truck and most autonomous vehicles were part of the vast YRLS conglomerate. The accident had happened in the very heart of Robert Yuan’s flagship city, directly under the glittering windows of his high rise corporate headquarters. Old fears were brought up. She was told it even rocked the stock market because insurance companies began demanding that companies were going to have to employ side seat drivers as the safety valve for accidents. It meant possibly millions of new employees, just in the U.S.

The ventilation started as the shower began to steam the room she stepped into the warm water. The soap smelled good as she lathered it about her arms, then face, along her stomach, down to the prosthesis below her left knee, another un-noticable miracle of Yuan technology only she could tell, her left calf the same as the right one same feelings fake nerve endings sent her brain the same sensations as her fingers ran down with the soap, it changed just at the ankle, the extra mechanics there could be seen with the naked eye, it even almost tanned the same. Out of the shower towel wrapped around her she sat on the toilet seat.

“Sharon can you warm it up in here a little please” she like to let the air dry her skin. Standing up she looked at her reflection again before kicking her way through the clothes on the floor of the bedroom.

“What time is it Sharon? She whispered she knew her dad hadn’t gotten up.

In perfect English “ Its six fourty 2 miss Katie” in perfect she picked up a possible clean pair of jeans, sniffed them sat on the edge of the bed and pulled them up.

“Dad up? “ she knew the answer as she sniffed a shirt.

“Shall I wake him” questioned the computer.

“No let him sleep” as she got clean socks out of the drawer.

Her grandad always said a clean pair of socks was like heaven, something his father had always told him. She could barely imagine living on a reservation, the poverty of the place had embedded itself in her families genes. Out to the kitchen she poked her head into the refrigerator. She hated replicated food, she was sure it didn’t taste right. Spending time with her grandpa out of town eating food from their greenhouse had probably made her believe the off taste given by the machine.

She sang. “Maybe its Juice, maybe it’s a bagel, maybe its cream cheese”. As she grabbed each item.

“Yes miss Katie, “cream cheese, bagel” the computer replied as the replicator lit up and “Orange juice is it?

The replicator made its item ready tone, bagel warm and ready had finished before she humphed and got out the quick “ No, pause preparation please”.

She fought off the need to let her head drop back in disgust. She looked at the shiny skin of it, could smell the maybe its bread, the probably its yeast. The refrigerated cold made in a real bakery bagel sat next to the orange juice and cream cheese on the counter in front of her. She couldn’t eat both. The replicator gave its item ready tone again. She couldn’t stand the urge and decided it wouldn’t hurt to try the theory of taste this morning.