Grr and the Machine

Perfect World story (The NOW)

I have not had a good life. Actually I've had a shitty life, but that's not important right now. What is important is that you listen to this story and absorb every word, because what I'm about to tell you is completely, unimpeachably true. I have been sworn to secrecy and would not breach that trust for any reason, but because I think it may be the most important step for the survival of our species and of our planet I will give you all the information I can. I pray it falls into the right hands to be used for the right reason.

My background: I am an orphan. They tell me I once had parents-- an older brother even-- but all of that has changed, thanks to the living contradiction of child safety. I mean, what good is it to create a car seat that can survive a brutal crash and leave the toddler unscathed, if all that he knows and loves all around him is wiped away in one moment? Why keep them alive to become a burden on society, even as his parents and sibling die horribly in an unsafe vehicle?

I was told that after the jaws of life cracked the walnut which was my car,

I was rescued from a pool of blood that was rising to drowning me, but once I was cleaned off they could see I had suffered not a scratch. I was whole, yet torn to shreds.

My parents each had no family; it was that fact which brought them together. They felt an immutable sense of attraction and together decided to begin a family tree with their names at the top. They bought a grand old craftsman house with a wraparound porch, and a barn, and a pond, planning on filling their lives with a dozen energetic children. That dream lasted exactly six years, four months, fourteen days. Ironically, they had waited on getting the nice car until last, and were on their way to the dealership when everything I knew ended.

I was a toddler with money in the bank but nobody to protect my interests, and my first foster family were leeches with talent; in short order the cash was found and they lived high on my hog for several years. Then the first overdraft notice came and they politely returned me to child protective services, sans my dowry. I think they still live in the mansion they bought with my money.

I had been passed from home to uncaring home, from situation to shitty situation over a dozen times. I attended many different schools and was the 'new kid' in each school year, sometimes twice in one year. I don't know how I graduated-- I guess I inherited smarts or cleverness or a desire to see things through from my folks. It helped. For sure I developed a strong sense of survival, and maybe that's why they kept transferring me around.

I hated to be on the receiving end of any kind of mockery, and mockery was an ever present condition for a kid with a bad haircut and too-small hand-me-down clothes and parents he called by their first names. So I learned to put the mocking masses on the receiving end of something they hated: my fists. I was suspended a lot, even expelled once or twice. That's when I realized I didn't need to be in class to learn my lessons, and passing all the important tests meant I kept advancing through the grades like a good drone. Then one day puberty hit and I grew and didn't stop, and nobody mocked me anymore.

I wore the flowing robe and square hat with tassel and received my diploma along with everybody else, but I wasn't gibbering about my plans with my family outside of school like everyone else; I didn't have any plans or family. Since my 18th birthday I was officially not the city's problem any more, and without those monthly checks my final foster parents kicked me to the curb with a warm 'Get out!'.

So you might guess that I never developed any strong people skills since I never had a decent relationship with anyone in my entire hardscrabble life, and you would be right... until the adventure I am about to relate. Today I have a loving family, with a wife I adore and a wonderful child; I have never laid an angry hand upon either of them.

What could make such a big difference? How could a life, the parallels of which have been recounted by murderers and rapists and mental patients the world around, get salvaged so completely? Who could have made such a drastic impression on me and wipe my caustic past away, leaving only a sparkling trail of potential to realize?

That, my friends, is the story of a lifetime.

PHASE ONE

After graduation I found refuge in a room thrown together in the back of a storage building by the owner of a fryer fat recycling service. I cleaned the huge concrete sludge traps every day in exchange for it. It was an incredibly messy job because I had to jump into the lukewarm fryer fat in my underwear and clean it out with a homemade device that looked like a snow shovel made of screening instead of metal. I took shower after shower, but the whole time couldn't stop smelling like fried zucchini.

The fat was converted for use as fuel in those 'fragrant' green vehicles. I got a flash of inspiration when I realized that anyone smelling that car would get a powerful taste for fast food, so I got local burger joints to pay me to double their lunch busines. Then I used my 'landlord's' frycar and drove around their neighborhoods, reeking it up. People flocked to eat greasy fast food and I pocketed a fair amount of scratch that way. I collected enough money to get a real apartment, but it wouldn't last unless I could find a real job to support it so abandoned the lard trade entirely.

I was 6 foot 8 and 280 pounds of muscle, so I got employed as a collector for some local thug sharking out loans. I never involved myself with the details of the boss's business; I just did what he told me to do. I hated the job but it paid well, and I convinced myself that the 'clients' were just lowlifes who were trying to steal from my boss. I continued to believe that, broken finger after dislocated shoulder, until Jerry.

Jerry was another one of those losers who owed the boss money... at least that's what I thought when I first approached him. He was thin, fortyish, losing his hair and working for an old couple that owned a used book store. They could no longer climb the ladders to reach the upper shelves and had asked him to help.

Business was bad so they couldn't afford to pay him much but he helped out anyway; that was my first clue he was one of the good guys.

For another thing, when he saw me approach the store he just smiled and acknowledged me, which was odd because most of my boss's 'clients' tried to escape with their lives when I arrive. I guess they figured that if they got away from me they wouldn't have to repay the money. What it really meant was they would soon be on the pavement with my knee in their back, another busted knuckle and an additional 10% on top of the loan, so I don't know what they were thinking... I guess owing money to a gangster just makes people stupid.

Like I was saying, when I showed up Jerry was alone in the store; he smiled and introduced himself. I told him who I was and who I represented and his smile never wavered. He just said, "Come into the back room, Edgar. I have something I think you'll want," then motioned me back, locking the door. I followed him which was odd, because usually a setup like that means I'm about to get jumped, but I just knew Jerry wouldn't try something like that.

I go past the ragged curtain into the back-- nobody jumped me-- and Jerry gestures to a table. "Sit down, sit down... this won't take long. Would you like a root beer?" I say yes because I like root beer. He takes a can out of the fridge and places it in front of me, unopened, so I know he's not trying to Mickey me. He takes another can for himself and sits in the other chair, pops open his soda and takes a long pull. "Ahh," he said, smiling and closing his eyes, "That hits the spot." He takes a deep breath and sits there, enjoying the flavor. I should have felt antsy but it felt good to relax, so I just sipped my soda and waited. Jerry soon opened his eyes and looked at me. "Edgar, I believe you are an intelligent young man. May I ask you a question?"

"Shoot," I say, not meaning to imply anything. He didn't seem to notice.

"If things had turned out differently for you, would you have chosen to be the muscle for some slimebag loan shark?" He said that-- slimebag. I guess he didn't know that my boss demanded respect even though he was, as Jerry had said, a slimebag; but I agreed with him so continued listening instead of blackening his eye. He put a hand on my shoulder and said seriously, "You were not meant for this life."

I reflected on Jerry's words, but he didn't know my history and I did so I answered, "Maybe not, but this life found me, and it isn't letting go."

He cocked an eyebrow. "If you had a chance do something else, would you?"

"Once I achieve my goal, sure."

"What's your goal?" Jerry asked, genuinely curious.

"Financial independence."

"That's a good goal, out here. But it can take awhile. You may become too old to chase people and break bones before you reach it."

Now I cocked an eye at him. For a guy who was in danger of grievous injury he seemed to be playing it cool. But something he said bothered me so I asked, "What do you mean, out here?"

"Not important. Have you started saving yet?" Jerry pressed.

"A little. Speaking of money, Jerry, I have a job to do...?" I didn't finish my sentence. Instead I finished the root beer and crushed the can against my forehead, watching his face as I did which, I was happy to note, looked startled. But he continued questioning.

"Do you have $1200?"

I answered carefully, "Why do you want to know?" I was getting a little impatient-- I had six more pickups before dinner.

"Well, I can see you're busy so I'll wrap this up. I don't have the money, Edgar, but before you damage me, I have a proposition."

"What proposition?" I asked, through clenched teeth. Soda or no, Jerry was trying my patience.

He spoke quietly, "I have something which will provide the financial independence you desire, and do it quickly. I want to sell it to you for the $1200 I owe your boss. I give it to you, you pay the boss my due with your money. Then your financial independence is assured and we never see each other again."

"I don't know," I started. It sounded like complete bullshit, but Jerry didn't seem like that kind of guy. Too nice, and also not stupid. "What is it?"

"It's a smartass that fits in your ear." I heard a tiny electronic shriek and watched his eyes go crossed for a moment. He shook his head and continued, "I mean, it's an Oracle."

"Like a Magic 8-Ball?" I stood and said, "That's just not gonna cut it, Jerry. What bone do you want me to break? I'm letting you choose because you're a nice guy."

He backed away from my advance, face going a little pale. "Hold on, hold on, Edgar. I know how this sounds. But I'm completely serious, and I'm telling you, this device will assure your freedom from money problems, if you listen to it. Guaranteed!"

I stopped just shy of him and wonder what device exists that could do what he claimed. Short of a financial wizard I had no clue. "It sounds like bullshit, I have to tell you, Jerry."

"It's not, Edgar. I'm being straight up with you."

"I'm going to need some kind of demonstration. A show of good faith."

"Okay, I can do that." He put his hand over his ear and said to himself, "I have no choice." He waited and said, "Just go along with it, please!"

He was suddenly acting strange. I asked, "Go along with what?"

"Nothing, nothing. Okay, I have an idea. Let's go to OTB... it's just across the street." He looked down and then hissed, "Yes you can! You can scramble signals or something!"

"Jerry, what's going on?" I was more than a little curious about his sudden schizophrenia.

He ignored my question. "Edgar, let's go win a bet." He led me out of the bookstore, across the warm sunny street and into the Off-Track Betting office, mumbling, "I know you're not supposed to! Just this once! Please... thank you!" I hear the squeaking noise again and Jerry's face screwed up in pain, then looked at me, embarrassed. "Check the races, Edgar... what looks good to you?"

I read the screen. "Lex Talionis is posting 12:1 odds."

Jerry's mouth dropped. "Lex Talionis...?"

"Yeah. The horse's name. It's got long odds." Jerry turned around and I heard him whisper, but couldn't make out what he said. Then he turned back and handed me two dollars. "Go ahead and make the bet on Lex Talionis, Edgar."

I laughed. "With two dollars?" I handed it back, slapped a hundred on the counter and took my ticket. "Keep your pennies, Jerry-- I want to make some real money if this works. If I lose, we can tack the hundred onto your debt." Then I added, "And I break your nose." He nodded quickly and looked away.

We sat by the wall of televisions to watch the race. Lex Talionis started off behind, and I could see why her odds were bad-- she was a slow horse.

But it was pouring down rain at the track and yet she was as sure footed as any animal I'd ever seen. She passed the other horses that were all trying to maintain their balance, and nosed through for a win. I cheered in spite of myself and clapped Jerry on the back. "Way to go!" I collected my winnings and smiled at him. "Today's your lucky day. I'll take that offer and pay my boss with this here free-from-the-sky $1200! Where's the device?" I held out my hand.

"Okay... sure... fine. But there are a few things you need to know before using her, Edgar. She's very sensitive..."

"I'll figure it out. Hand it over, pal." I let a little hardness enter my voice; he fumbled with his ear and pulled out what looked like a hearing aid. He reached over to drop it in my hand and I said, "Jerry."

He looked up. "What?"

I grimaced. "Ear wax."

"Oh." He wiped it off on his sleeve and looked at me. I nodded; he handed it over.

"Thanks, Jerry."

"Really! You have to be gentle with her!"

"I'm gentle... sometimes." I began walking off. "Bye, Jerry. I hope we don't meet again." The door closed behind me with Jerry still in the OTB office. I put the earpiece in my shirt pocket and went off to meet my next lowlife.

It was late when I got home; the boss had been pleased with my take and had given me an extra hundred bucks and three more pickups after dinner. He may be a dick but he was generous when happy. I stripped down, grabbed a cold beer and plopped down in the chair next to the fire escape window, then lit a cigarette and clicked on the tube, sound down with the closed captioning on. An Asian telemarketer was trying to convince me, in poorly formed sentences, that I could get rich buying real estate. "Huh-- in not this market, pal." I exhaled smoke out the window, but a breeze sent it back my way.

In the quiet room I could hear a tiny buzzing sound. Turning my head to triangulate I could tell it was coming from somewhere nearby. I stood up... and the sound moved with me. That's when I remembered the noises coming from Jerry and the earpiece in my shirt pocket, so I fished it out. It looked like a flesh-toned Hershey Kiss and was definitely making the buzzing noise. Holding it up to my ear the sound gained clarity and words began to form.

"... bad for you!"

Surprised, I pressed the little device into my ear, holding it by the pull-tab. The voice grew louder, and dynamic. It was a young woman's voice! I said aloud, "What is that?"

"I said, smoking is bad for you!"

I pulled out the earwig and stared at it. Did it just answer me? Is this a remote conduit to some person speaking into a microphone? I put it back in my ear and said, as casually as I could manage, "It's a bad habit, I'll give you that."

"So stop."

"I like smoking."

"It'll kill you," she cautioned.

"Duly noted." I put the cigarette out and asked,"Who am I talking to?"

"Jolie. And who might you be?"

"I'm Edgar."

"Well, Edgar, you should return me to my rightful owner, Jerry."

I was surprised that she referred to Jerry as her 'owner'. I was surprised that Jerry even had this earpiece, because of his seeming station and poverty and all. "He traded you to repay a debt. You belong to me now."

"It doesn't work that way, Edgar. I can be silent for all eternity; this earwig will be nothing more than junk to you."

"Well, that doesn't seem fair... I spared him injury and gave away my winnings in exchange for you."

There was silence and I wondered if she had indeed gone away for all eternity; then she spoke. "Okay. I won't leave... for now. I'm nothing if not fair. I'll just hang around with you. Feel free to engage me in conversation."

"Well, thank you, Jolie."

"Your welcome. But don't forget you won that money because I told Jerry to tell you which horse to bet on."

I laughed. "I think you did a little more than that, Jolie."

Jolie sounded surprised. "Hm? What do you mean?"

"That race took place not five miles from here."

"Yeah... so?"

"So that race was held in pouring rain."

Jolie giggled. "And it was sunny today. Kudos for noticing, Edgar."

You could imagine my expression at that moment. "So you doctored that race?"

"Nothing so crazy. I just manipulated the data in that office and played an old race on the monitor." She added, "Don't worry-- they got their money back. They received an anonymous deposit from the account of an employee who had been stealing funds..." she laughed again, "and he did it without his own knowledge, of course."

I was impressed! "And you did this?"

"I hate to brag."

"Miss Jolie, I bow to your cleverness," I said, remembering Jerry's heads-up to be nice.

"And I to yours," she responded in kind.

I wondered which to cleverness she was referring... I hate to also brag, but I can be occasionally acute. "There have been so many... which do you mean?"

"The making people eat fast food one."

I was truly surprised. "How do you know about that?"

"Access to the Internet. There was an article done about you once. I thought your idea was a brilliant use of olfactory memory."

I laughed. She was funny! "I put two and two together-- I mean, it worked on me, so why wouldn't it work on zaftig housewives and their chubby kids? My favorite part was driving around the softball park after school... I could make those porkers eat dinner at 4:30 like senior citizens!"

She sighed, "If only you could use your brain for good instead of evil..."

"Good luck with that. Hey can I ask a few questions?"

"You can certainly ask..."

"Who are you?"

"The best friend you'll ever have."

"Vague and comforting... clever. All right then. Where are you?"

"Does it look like the earwig has eyes, Edgar?"

"No. I mean..."

"I know what you mean. Let's skip to the next question, okay?"

"Sure. Why not. Okay then, less personal. What do you look like?"

"Do you have access to the internet?"

"Sure."

"Pull up 'JolieXP453@Aden.Org'."

I was curious! She had a lovely, sweet young voice, intelligent and witty and refreshing. I liked talking to her. My hands typed and pointed and entered as quickly as the laptop could sustain. And then there it was... full screen and full-length... my little angel Jolie!

It's not enough to say she was my type. Imagine someone had given you a year to create a detailed avatar of the most beautiful woman you could imagine. In my eyes, Jolie would be that result. I'm not ashamed to say I developed an immediate, throbbing erection.

"Edgar! Are you getting a hard-on?!"

I have to admit I felt as though I'd just gotten caught jerking off in church, such was the tone of her voice. I don't know why I responded with such honesty, except possibly because I experienced a connection with her right away. I said, "I consider it an honored salute to your outrageous heat, Jolie."

"You're not so bad yourself, Edgar."

I was surprised. "I thought you couldn't see through your earwig, Jolie?"

"I can't. But I'm looking right at you through the computer's onboard camera."

So that's how she knew I had a boner! Crap! A chill ran through me. Immediately she said, "I can feel that, Edgar!"

I was astonished! "You can?"

"I can. This earwig is very sensitive to changes in your metabolic rate. I'm connected to you."

"Beautiful, and connected to me? Now I want to meet you, Jolie."

"I'd like that, but I have to tell you right in the beginning, Edgar... we're only going to be friends. Please remember that."

Ouch! Shot down before I'd even started! I wasn't going to give up, but I knew to let it go for now. "I understand."

"Good. So, Edgar... how will we change your life for the better tomorrow?"

The next morning I couldn't wait to put Jolie back in my ear-- she was sitting in a dish under the bedside table lamp. The earwig could recharge using light or my body heat, she told me, so it always had plenty of power.

We stayed up late last night talking about a hundred different subjects. She is fascinating and funny and has a million good ideas and ways to make those ideas happen. We talked about my life and afterwards I didn't feel so bad about my violent past, which was the first time I think ever that I felt that way. She thinks I have a lot of potential and wants to teach me wisdom. She said to be a wise guy wasn't the same thing at all and I'd have to agree with her.

We talked about the job I have now, the one that makes a lot of money fast but leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. She found out that I try not to break limbs, only bruise them so people's livelihoods aren't in danger, how I use verbal threats and my largeness to intimidate without injuring, and she's making me see that I was trying to make the best out of a bad situation and didn't really want to hurt anyone, and the only ones who did get hurt were mostly deadbeat tough guys that wouldn't pay without extreme 'suggestion'. I felt better about that too.

Then we talked about where I was headed and how I was lying to Jerry when I said I'd break arms until I was independently wealthy; I wanted to move out of this work before I got myself killed. I just had no training for anything else as of now. It was true that I resented my selfish foster families and the uncaring system, but as we spoke it turned out I was full of a desire to love, a desire that probably came from the first few years of life with my real parents. We figured out that what I really wanted was to be in a profession where there is a lot of warmth and kindness and love, and Jolie promised me we'd look for something which fit me perfectly today. I wonder what she has planned... she's full of surprises, that one.

I learned some of her limitations. I can't sleep with the earwig in my ear without risking damage to it or to my ear. I can shower, bathe and swim with it, but not dive with it. And I shouldn't get electrocuted while the earwig is in place-- that's very bad for the delicate circuitry. Oh, plus I'll be dead. That's bad, too.

The shower doesn't work in my apartment, so I draw a quick bath, cram myself inside and rinse the night sweat off me, drag the bar of soap through my brushlike hair and rub. It feels good to be clean after a night of threats and unfriendly persuasion.

I clean my cock and balls and think about making love to Jolie, and masturbate furiously. Spent, I lay in the soiled water until it threatens to coat me with my own cum, then washcloth myself clean and get out. No sooner am I fully dry than Jolie goes back in my ear.

"Mmm! You smell clean!"

"Jeez, Jolie, that freaks me out! You don't have a nose somewhere that I don't know about, do you?"

She giggled like a schoolgirl. "I could hear you draw the bath from the nightstand, and last time I checked people smell better after a bath. Jeez yourself-- get with the program, okay?" and added, "Hey, I found a podschool for you to use. I predict you're gonna love it."

"What's a podschool?" I envisioned getting into a huge pea pod, and the sinewy shaft enters my brain and feeds me knowledge.

"The right next step-- you'll see soon enough. Not to worry... I'll be there with you, so c'mon, grab some breakfast and let's get a move on!"

She sounded very eager and I hated to let her down but I had to. "Sorry, Jolie, but this man has to work."

"Really?" She sounded disappointed. "Why?"

"No workee, no money. Them's the rules," I said, selecting something roomy from my wardrobe Collecting is a job best done in comfortable clothes.

"Don't you want to change your line of work?"

"Sure. Yeah. Um, whenever." I hedged. "It's not that easy to make a big change like that. I'd need to get educated, and I'd have to work during that time to support myself, and then I'd have to get in the job market and beat out other people with better credentials than me, and not frighten the interviewer with my size. It's a process, Jolie."

"I see." She was quiet. I finished dressing and threw a bag of toaster pastries into the oven.

"What was that?" she asked, a little suspiciously I thought.

"High fructose corn syrup, bleached flour and frosting, baked into a rectangle."

"Eww. What else do you have in here?"

"Why?"

"That's only a proper breakfast if you're a colony of ants... why not eat something that's good for you?"

I looked in the fridge. "Good for me, good for me. Umm... what's good for me?"

"Proteins. Meats, legumes. Got any bacon? Eggs? Frijoles refritos?

"I can dig some up," I said, pulling out the requested items. Before I realized it, she was directing me through a complicated recipe I could never have done on my own, ending up with a fluffy souffle with a crumbled bacon/maple crust that was absolutely the best thing I've ever made! "Sure is nice to have a chef in my head," I said to her.

"As good as it is to have a meal in your belly?"

"It's a toss up. Give a man a fish, teach a man to fish..."

"Off you go, then, to snap some bones!"

"Funny." Despite her dislike of my job, I tell you, having Jolie talk to me in my ear as I walked down the city streets was the closest thing to having a girlfriend I've experienced since grade school. However, I began to see the value of keeping a cell phone against my ear at all times; unless I did, people stared.

I got to the first stop on my list, Viscone's bakery. I have to squeeze $1400 from Emilio Viscone... that ain't gonna be easy 'cause I don't know what he looks like. I walk behind the counter and into the back. The cashier looks my way but doesn't say anything. Half a dozen dusty men in white are racing around the machines, tending to dough in its various stages. I call out 'Emilio!', hoping someone will look up. Someone does; I head over but he turns to run. I sigh, pick up a large rolling pin and toss it at his feet, which tangles him up and he falls. I put my knee on the back of his neck as I've done a hundred times before and bend one of his fingers backwards. He screams and I hold him that way while I retrieve his wallet. It's fat with bills and I pull out fifteen 100's. "It was fourteen, Emilio, but I'm taking an extra hundred for the trouble. Next time just be in front with an envelope and we can shake hands like businessmen, okay?"

I released his finger and he lets out a whooshing breath. I stand up and he does too, one cheek brown with floor flour. I pull his receipt out of my pocket and clean his cheek with it. "Don't get that crap in the cake," I finished. I take a dozen onion bagels and walk out.

"Aren't you a sweetheart?" Jolie chides.

"Hey, I didn't break nothin'. He'll go right back to work and make more money. Remember, I'm not collecting protection. These guys took out loans with my boss. That's legit."

"At 1000% interest? Why would I have trouble believing you?"

"That's only if they don't pay on time. Otherwise, it's just 50%."

"Such a deal. What's next, Edgar?"

"Next is Tommy Home Run who owns Tommy's Bar. He owes $600."

"Home Run? Why do you call him that?"

I laughed. "He tries to take my head off with a baseball bat when I come in there. Usually I throw a shaker of salt his way to blind him temporarily. That takes the fight out of him."

"Let me try something."

I stopped. "Let you try something? I thought you were against my line of work."

"I've thought about it and I decided that if they willingly entered into a contract with these terms, then it's their decision. I just don't want to see anybody get hurt."

"Fair enough." I was surprised at how reasonable she was. "What do you have in mind?"

"Diversion. Just wait before entering." She was silent and I wondered what she was doing. A moment later she said, "Okay. Enter the bar, go straight to the cash register, take the money he owes and leave your receipt."

"Really? Just like that?"

"Hurry up!"

I did what she said. That early in the day there were only a few regulars at the bar, mostly wasted already. Tommy Home Run was nowhere to be seen. I walked behind the bar, opened the register, took the cash, left the receipt, closed the register and walked out. Nobody tried to stop me. Nobody even looked up. "Wow!"

"Easy, huh?"

"What did you do?"

"I called the bar pretending to be a neighbor and told him that his car was getting towed, and he ran to stop it. Right now he's scratching his head because is car is sitting there, undisturbed."

"Why didn't I think of that?" I was impressed. "What other tricks do you have up your sleeve?"

"Don't get too comfortable. I'm just passing the time until I can get you into the podschool and show you that what you said earlier about changing vocations is not the only way to go about it."

"Oh." I have a soft spot for her already, so I said, "I'll tell you what. Let's finish the last three collections and then I'll take the afternoon off. Then we can go to podschool... is that fair?"

"Like I said, I'm just along for the ride."

I made her a promise and I felt like keeping it. The next collections went without incident thanks to Jolie. She tried the towed car trick on two of them and they fell like cards. Mr Shbazi didn't have a car but did have a sawn-off shotgun. His rug business was in the gutter and he borrowed $1000 to pay for new advertising which wasn't working yet. I felt bad for the guy because I knew he didn't have nearly enough, but I worried about getting a face full of buckshot too. I told Jolie and she said, "Buy a rug from him."

"What?"

"You live in a threadbare place. Buy a rug, you have the money. Cover his debt."

"What the hell kind of collection guy am I to keep taking it out in trade? I'm gonna get a bad rep. Nobody will respect me."

"I have a feeling you'll be moving beyond the neighborhood soon enough, Edgar. Buy the damn rug."

Feeling like an idiot, I entered the shop. Mr Shbazi dove for the shotgun but I got there first. I waggled my finger and put the gun on a tall shelf. "I'm here to buy a rug."

"You son of a bitch! I'll kick your-- what?" He seemed stunned.

"I'm willing to trade a rug for your payment this week, Mr Shbazi," I said, grinding my toe into the rug like a bashful schoolboy.

His demeanor changed and he became the consummate salesman. "Huh? Oh! Ahh... well, come in, come in, my boy and let me show you my wares. How big a room do you have? What kind of furniture is in it?" Mr Shbazi was pulling me around by my hand. It was quite charming, and he actually found a perfect rug for my place.

We shook hands and as I was leaving he said, "Heh?" and pointed up. My eyes followed and I realized he wanted his shotgun back. I handed it to him and he said, "It's for crooks... not for customers," smiled at me and put it away below the register.

Back on the street I could hear Jolie humming a little tune. "Okay, okay... you were right. Changing my tactics made things go smoother, but not for the long run. At some point they're gonna have to cough up the rest of the cash."

She changed the subject. "Keep your promise... turn left at the corner. We're going to podschool!"

I did. "This is the first time my mommy has ever walked me to school."

Jolie said, "Don't sass me."

"Okay Edgar, here we are!"

We were several blocks from the rug store, in front of a brownstone building. "Explain how you know where we are without eyes? I understand the computer camera trick."

"Well, then you'll understand the computer webcam trick. I can hook into any active camera found online. They are everywhere. I've watched you walk without break since you left your front door."

"That's a little stalker-ish, Joles."

"Oh. Well, let's just say it's my internal GPS then, shall we? Enter this door, Grr."

I looked at the building I was supposed to enter. It was a nondescript brownstone on a block of nondescript brownstones. it had no sign, no lights, nothing to make it look as though the public were welcome to... just... enter. "Are you sure? It doesn't look like much. And what's with the 'Grr'?"

"Oh. I thought we were doing nicknames. You just called me 'Joles'."

I had to laugh. "So you went with 'Grr'? Not 'Ed' like everybody else?"

"I'm not like everybody else, and neither are you. Grr is a perfect nickname for a tough bastard like you. Capische?"

"Sure... whatever. So... up there?" I gestured up the ten stair stoop at the ornate French door.

"Yes."

I hopped the stairs two at a time and was at the door in seconds. I grabbed the aged brass lock and pressed down on the one shiny spot where everybody else's thumb had pressed; the door clicked and swung open with a soft sigh.

The hall swallowed sunlight; it was dark beyond a few feet, but when I closed the door behind me and turned back I could see clearly, straight to the back of the building, as if lights had come on when I wasn't looking. On either side of me were latched doors, lots of them. Every six feet, it seemed. On both sides of the hall, like a funhouse corridor. I walked down to the end silently on the thickly carpeted floor. There was another hallway going left, and one going right. I realized the building was a deception, because I could see several hundred feet in each direction-- the door I entered led to one brownstone in the middle of the block, but all the brownstones were connected internally. Again the halls were thick with doors, on both sides, opening up into other hallways like the first one I entered every 20 feet or so.

There were hundreds of doors! I didn't know what to make of this place. Jolie helped me out. "You'll notice a little plate next to each doorway with a tiny light on it. Find one that is green and open the door."

I had noticed that there were lots of doors with tiny red lights next to them; I was actually going to ask about them before Jolie had mentioned it. Well, every door on every hall was red.

"What shall I do now?"

"There are five floors of these. Take the stairs. To save time go all the way up. We are in the middle of a school day, you know."

I listened. The building was silent as if empty. The halls were devoid of life. "There are other people here?"

"I think over a thousand, all totaled, right now."

"What are they doing here?"

"What does one do at a school? They're learning skills."

I trudged up five flights of stairs, making no noise as I did. The building was a catacomb, silent as a mausoleum and hewn of highly polished, rich-toned wood. At the top floor I could already see that many of the doors had green lights. I tried one door and it swung into the room. I entered, not knowing what to expect.

It was a tiny movie theater! There was exactly one chair, plush and comfortable, designed to fit snugly around body and head. The front wall was entirely a screen. The room was perhaps 4x6. Jolie piped, "Have a seat. Then I'm going to go away for awhile and let the teacher do her work. Later, Edgar."

I snuggled into the form-fitting chair. It must have had a trigger switch because when I sat down it cinched up around my body and my head until I could only see forward, and the screen lit up, displaying a beautiful city that I had not seen before, not even on late night Travel TV. This was shot from a low helicopter that slowly moved past widely placed skyscrapers thrusting out from beautiful aged woodlands, broad parkways winding through expansive housing moirés, and enormous grassy hills with multiple rows of portholes, like giant ocean liners reclaimed by nature. A sweet voice spoke through the chair, a voice I recognized. It was Jolie! The cityscape faded into a thrilling view of a forest from a jet racing close to the treetops, and she began to speak:

"Welcome to podschool. Today we will find out what your hidden talents are. Please watch the screen closely-- don't look away."

What followed was a set of images and videos I couldn't help but watch.

There were scenes of people working at myriad tasks, geographic features undergoing tremendous feats of engineering, pastoral gardens springing forward like magic from formerly rugged terrains, enormous machinery making the impossible happen. I sat riveted. Then images came one at a time and remained on the screen until another dissolved in. There were sporting events, work moments, times of tenderness and eroticism. Street scenes. Crimes. Accidents. Injuries. Some of the pictures were so graphic I could barely wait for the dissolve to relieve me. Explosion aftermaths. Mass killings.

Just as quickly we were back among scenes of loveliness, only these were computer assisted photographs. They must have been, because I never saw those kinds of humanoids or creatures or motions before. I couldn't tell you what many of them were doing, but my face must have been a muddle of emotions as I watched. The video of a six-legged perambulation was nearly obscene.

Now I was watching patterns, both graphical and ornate. I really had no idea what the podschool was teaching or what it was learning, but it felt like a whirlwind tour of the Museum of Modern Art.

After perhaps 30 minutes it ended. The screen then lit up with a classroom from my youth. Standing front and center was Jolie. She spoke warmly. "Thank you for participating in Section One, Phase One of podschool preparation. You have a week to complete all eight of them. Once complete you can begin Phase Two, which is stimulus/response. Phase Three will be accomplished on site. You should be excited! You have been selected from a large group of hopefuls because your recruiter had strong faith in your potential.

"Your earwig will help you greatly during the coming challenges; do not lose it. Obey when it gives you instructions-- it always knows more than it is letting on, and always knows more than you do about any given situation. Your earwig is your handler-- treat it that way."

She walked to a bank of drawn shutters. "This will be the most monumental change you will ever experience. I hope you pass... we want you here in Aden." She pulled the shutters back. The classroom was inside of one of those tall skyscrapers, and it was way up, maybe a hundred, hundred fifty stories. I didn't really get the size of the city from the low helicopter view before-- I could see here it was situated on a hundred-mile radius of land-- enormous! Where was this place? She called the city 'Aden'. I don't know of any city with that name.

The lesson was over but the screen just kept flying around Aden, looping up and back through new parts of the city. When I stood up the chair relaxed, the screen went dark and the door clicked open. I exited the roomy phone booth.

"So? What did you think?" Jolie seemed excited.

"You didn't tell me you were the teacher!"

"I'm your teacher. Other people have their own. What did you think of Section One?"

I scratched my head. "I'll be honest, I don't know what to make of it. To me it was just a bunch of moving and still pictures."

"That's right. Easy, huh?"

"What do you mean?"

"You learned a bunch of things today, only on a subconscious level. They'll come out when you need them later. Plus, we learned all about you!"

"From pictures?" I was doubtful.

"No. From your reaction to those pictures. We measured all sorts of things about you, including the firing patterns of your neurons."

"Can't that only be done with a Magnetic Resonance Imager?" I asked, being an overnight Health Channel watcher.

"Yes. There was an MRI in the headrest of your chair."

"Are you joking? Those things cost millions!"

"Out here they do."

I was beginning to piece it together. "Okay... you said 'out here'. So did Jerry, your former 'owner'. The teacher mentioned 'Aden'. What's the deal, Jolie? Be straight with me."

"I'll tell you everything after the eighth section, I promise."

"Shiiiit!" I hollered, a sound which got swallowed up in the hall like I never made it.

"Temper, Grr. Just go back in the room. Phase One'll be done before you realize it and Phase Two is fun."

"What about Phase Three?"

"After, Grr, after."

I said, "Grr," stomped into the room and slammed the door... which didn't slam, of course.

It was after dark when I finally finished; almost every door now had a green shining light. I realized I was starving... I hadn't eaten anything since that delicious soufflé I could never make again without Jolie's help.

My head was full of images. I never realized the effect random photographs would have on my emotional state. Maybe they weren't random...it seemed like they had been a bent psychological experiment trying to rewire the human brain; I felt completely drained. I could barely answer Jolie when she spoke. I sat on the stoop and let my head clear.

"What's next?" She asked brightly. "You want to try pulling out a man's tonsils without anesthetic?"

My stomach roiled at the idea of it, and I nearly threw up. "What's the matter with you? That's disgusting!"

"I know," she said deliberately. "Let's get you some dinner."

"Yeah," I said. "Maybe a nice salad, and some Melba toast." I stopped short and said, "Why did I say that? I have never, in my life, wanted to eat Melba toast."

Jolie giggled. "Phase One complete."

I got up and began walking, not exactly sure where I was heading. I kept going over the hours of 'training' I had just received and wondered where the training part was. I just remembered an endless stream of pictures and videos, and other images that seemed to have no meaning. So why do I feel so different? I was hungry, yes, but there was something else going on besides that. I was... calm, serene. Oddly, when I recalled the past 24 hours, the only time I didn't remember tranquility was during work, making my collections. Instead, I dreaded each time I stood in front of a client with an empty cash bag in one hand and their bunched-up shirt in my other. That was odd, because I also recalled being satisfied with a job well done, too. Now there was a clash of emotions I didn't have to deal with before, another discrepancy in my day!

I looked up and was in line at a soup and salad buffet. I couldn't negotiate with my own head; even as one part of me was drooling for a thick rare steak and cottage fries, the other was reaching for beefsteak tomatoes and cottage cheese. I had to ask. "Jolie, why aren't I eating what I want to eat? I seem to be getting mixed signals suddenly."

"You are experiencing an internal struggle between your genetic desires and your learned ones. It will pass. Just think about something other than food."

"I can do that," I said, abandoning the thought process and pushing on down the food line. "You promised you'd answer all of my questions after I finished Phase One."

"I did make that promise, Edgar. Go ahead and ask."

"Okay. Where's..." I was about to ask where Aden was, but the answer popped into my head. "Wait. Aden is in Nebraska?"

"Yes."

How did I know that? I shook off the odd feeling and continued, "What about Jerry. Who...?" Again I knew the answer before I asked it. "Jerry is my recruiter?"

"That's right, Edgar."

"He didn't need to borrow the money?"

"Nope."

"He was planning to give you to me from the start?"

"Yup."

"And you..." I choked. My voice shook as I spoke. "You're not real!"

"If you mean not human, then no, I am not."

"You're a computer program." It was a statement. My body got weak and I was thankful to be seated. My eyes welled up as I realized I had not been falling in love with a person. "Oh, Jolie."

"It's not that bad, Edgar." Jolie sounded distressed. "There's a way for us to be intimate. But remember, I did say in the beginning that we would only be friends."

"I remember, but thought at the time you were playing hard to get."

"But did you hear what I just said?"

"Oh, cruel fate," I said sadly, dabbing my eyes with a napkin. "I almost believed in love at first sight."

"Edgar, focus. Do you remember what I just said?" Jolie seemed upset also.

"You sound sad... but you can't be sad. You're an application of computer code." I was sad. More than sad, I felt suicidal.

"Edgar!"

I snapped to attention. "What...?"

"You're not listening!"

"To what?"

"I said we can be intimate once we get to Aden!"

I stopped. "Intimate... wait. What?" This made no sense to me. "You're lines of code! What kind of intimacy could you provide?"

"Friends... with benefits. Let me explain. Aden is a leader in robotics and in human simulation. The picture I showed you online is of me, in my robotic body. It's standing in a closet right now, waiting for me to come back and use it. Do you get what I'm saying?"

I had to admit that at that moment I did not. I kept thinking of the exoskeleton Sigourney Weaver wore to battle the Alien in that movie whose name I couldn't remember right now. Jolie thought I would be happy with that?

"Maybe this will help," she said. "Move to that booth across from the mirror."

I sat down. "Now what?" I asked hollowly.

"Now," her voice tinkled playfully, "Look in the mirror, Edgar... and try not to scream."

I looked up and said, "YAHHHH!" The few patrons in the buffet that late in the day turned to stare at the big buffoon who had just screamed like a little girl, then returned to their meals.

I could see myself in the mirror, big and ugly, but that wasn't it. Because sitting next to me, as clear as my own arm, was Jolie. Jolie of the internet file JolieXP453@Aden.Org. Beautiful, sweet, sexy, naked Jolie was sitting on my right side in this very public buffet restaurant. "Are you out of your mind?" I hissed, unfolding a napkin to hide her nudity, and turned to look at her.

Of course there was nobody next to me.

She explained, "One more thing Phase One helped you with. You can now see me in reflected surfaces when wearing the earwig. It doesn't make you seem any less crazy to the outside world, but it's much more grounding when we speak face to face." Her mouth was moving as she said her piece; her head shifted in time with the stress words and her long straight hair bounced too. Damn she was beautiful!

"But you're naked!"

"Look again." I did and she was modestly dressed. Cool!

I think I was starting to understand the whole thing, and my mood was elevated, though I didn't understand why. I responded, "A robot. I'm supposed to be happy that you exist as a robot?"

"Not a robot robot, Edgar. I don't look like the one on Lost In Space-- 'Danger, Will Robinson!'. I look more like one of the Stepford Wives, without the creepy love. I can show you another video online that'll explain things better."

"Jolie Goes Mobile?"

"It's been placed in your memory?"

"Yes." I smiled, feeling right for the first time. "That was an impressive manufacturing technique, texturing your ductile skin at a microscopic level. I can feel it now, Jolie. The memory of it is in here too," I pointed at my head. "Except for the temperature, it feels just like skin!"

"Mounted on my warmed carriage you really can't tell the difference," Jolie said proudly. "And they've got the body's articulation down perfectly, too. Did you know the scientists want to make a robotic football team to compete with NFL teams?"

"What would the team be called-- The Aden Machines? The Go-Bots? Aren't robots much more durable than people?" I was envisioning a robot tackle going literally through a defenseman.

"Not necessarily. There's no law saying robotic supports have to be made of metal. My own body is made with ceramic-plastic bones of a similar strength to human ones. You can break me."

"Now why would I want to do that?" I looked at her reflection and smiled. She blushed, looked down and clasped my hand, a motion I could not feel. How weird! "I can't wait to be able to touch you like that, Jolie."

I left the restaurant. She said, "Well, let's get you through Phase Two then, loverboy."

PHASE TWO

I met my boss this morning and quit. He wasn't happy because I had been his best collector. He said he understood when I said I had lost the taste for violence, but still he felt obligated to sic two of his other collectors on me. I suppose I should have been more clear and said that I had lost the taste for comitting violence unless attacked. So he actually lost three collectors today, me and the two in the hospital, a misfortune I had not planned for him. I reconciled that fact with the 'he was a slimeball so who gives a shit' defense.

On the way to pick up my new rug I was crossing 4th and pulled some guy out of the way of a speeding truck. I wasn't trying to be a hero... but the opportunity just presented itself and I said 'What the hell'. He thanked me profusely and offered me money. I don't know why I told him no-- I guess I was just feeling good about quitting my job, so I told him, "Pay it forward, chum... do a good deed for somebody else," clapped him on the back and kept walking.

What a nice day! It was raining and the air was chilly, making me really feel alive. I was about to enter Mr Shbazi's store when I noticed some activity through the window. There he was, with two guys who didn't look like they were buying rugs, especially the way they were pushing him towards the cash register. My instinct was to keep walking because I didn't have a gun on me and I could see by their body language they were both covering some kind of weapon. But these things often end badly and, well, I liked the old guy, so ran around the back. Fortunately his door was unlocked and I slipped inside. I could hear them now, yelling for him to open the register. I looked around in back for something I could use to thwart the two robbers and found a toolbox. Perfect!

Mr Shbazi's shop was a haven of hiding spots. Many of his rugs were hanging on freestanding wheeled carts; I ducked behind one, then another, to approach them. The taller thief was more threatening and I could hear him say, "This isn't enough! Where's the rest?" with poor Mr Shbazi responding, "That's all there is, I swear!" Then the tall one reaches into his coat and I know I don't have a lot of time. Opening the toolbox quietly I found what I wanted: a sixteen ounce hammer. I took aim and launched it, hoping for the best-- I had no illusions about my precision. I have never been a good shot.

Today was no exception. I had been aiming for his head, hoping to knock him out and leaving me with only one guy to fight. The hammer instead flew way off target, going high and out of sight. Drat! I glanced back in the toolbox to see what else I could use when I heard a loud metallic clank, and a rumbling noise quickly became deafening as a tall rack holding immense tubes of carpet released its load all at once, sending the heavy twelve foot tubes unrolling across the floor like a rainbow avalanche. Mr Shbazi, using luck or experience or I don't know, stepped backwards into a narrow alcove and avoided being bowled over by the rug logs. His attackers were not so lucky, and took the affront head-on. I distinctly heard breaking bones and a bang but couldn't tell if the crooks were dead or not. Myself, I was mostly out of the way as the rolls passed, but one missed only because I used my very long legs to hop over it.

The cacophony ended and the rugs stopped, desk papers settling to the ground. Mr Shbazi, eyes round, clapped his hands to his face and gasped, "Holy shit!"

I stepped out from behind the rug stand and asked, "Are you okay, Mr Shbazi?"

He looked at me, and then at his store in disarray and asked, "Did you do this?"

I shrugged. "I tried to throw a hammer at one of their heads... I missed."

He looked at me, then at the large rack with no more rolls on it, then back at me. Then he began laughing. Then I began laughing. He sank to his knees and rolled around on the multiple layers of unrolled carpet, guffawing in deep gasps, pointing at the rack. Finally, red faced, he was able to choke out a few words and gulped, "You-- you hit the-- the release!" and collapsed back on the floor.

The wildly thrown hammer had hit the release? What a stroke of fortune! I was happy he wasn't angry; after all, it would be a lot of work to clean all this up. He stood up, walked over to me and pumped my hand. "Thank you Mr Edgar! Thank you so much!" He threw his arms around me. I swear he barely came up to my waist.

There was a slight movement under the rugs. It stopped at the same time the pained screaming began.

Well, that one was alive. I could hear a police siren approaching. Jolie spoke up for the first time. "I called the cops-- we can't do any more from here."

Cleaning up was like unwrapping an onion one layer at a time. The cops helped, and I helped, and a few people came in off the street to see what the fuss was all about and they helped too. Mr Shbazi used a cart to remount the somewhat disheveled rolls. Finally the crooks were revealed. One was writhing in pain with his left leg bent forward at the knee, his booted lower leg resting against his stomach.

"Ouch!" a cop exclaimed at the compound fracture and called for an ambulance. The other crook lay still, unmoving. His eyes, whites stained red with blood, stared vacantly to the side. Blood welled from a bullet hole in his chest. He was obviously holding the gun when he got hit by the carpets. The other cop examined the dead guy's head and exclaimed, "Here's the exit wound. I figure the bullet had to travel up through his chest and neck and exit out his head."

His partner remarked, "I can't imagine a single bullet causing more damage."

The first cop nodded. "He's probably not much good even as an organ donor, now."

They took my statement and I left, without my carpet because it had been in the thick of the action and was now bloodstained and considered evidence. Mr Shbazi promised to find another one for me, "The best one I have, for the man who saved my life."

"Well, I'm out of a job and my apartment is still threadbare," I said to Jolie while walking back home. Some poor lady's umbrella got turned around in the wind and I fixed it for her.

"Good riddance to the job. You won't need it, or the apartment, for Phase Three. Take a right here, then enter this building and go to the service elevator in back."

I did as she asked and kept talking. "Who knows when that'll be? I've got to get through Phase Two first, whatever that is."

"Press the 'O' in 'elevator'. I think you'll find that Phase Two is a snap, Edgar." The doors closed and it began to drop, slowly at first. I was curious about heading down from street level, but more curious about Phase Two.

"Why do you think it's going to be so easy for me?" I held on to the car's railing as the elevator picked up speed and I felt my feet lift slightly off the floor.

The car slowed, then stopped. The doors drew open and Jolie said, "Two reasons. One, if you are right for Aden then none of the Phases will be difficult. Turn left and move onto the platform. The second reason I think it will be easy for you, Edgar, is simply because you have already completed Phase Two. Step in the doorway, sit down and strap yourself into a chair."

"What? I did it already? How is that possible?" I sat in one of the plush pilot chairs scattered around and connected the five-point harness, snugging it tight. Then I looked around and realized I didn't know where I was. I was in some kind of a train, but I was alone in the car... I didn't notice if there were any other people on the platform of this rough-hewn cave when I walked in off the elevator that took me 36 stories below the streets of Manhattan, but I didn't remember hearing any other noise. My thoughts were cut off by a loud announcement by a young man coming from ceiling speakers.

"Welcome to the BLUR line rapid rail system, one way to Aden, Nebraska. Arrival expected at 11:45 am local time. Watch the doors, take your seats and strap in. The train will depart in sixty seconds." A panel on the wall illuminated into a large countdown. 59, 58, 57... I looked at my watch. It was 1:29 pm.

I said to Jolie, "How could I have taken Phase Two? All I did today was quit my job."

"And save a guy from a truck and foil a robbery and help clean it up and help a lady with a broken umbrella. You did great, Edgar. That was Phase Two! Would you have done all this last week?"

... 41, 40, 39...

I thought about it and said honestly, "No. I would've walked by, ignored it all."

"Yeah you would've! Way to develop a Samaritan streak!"

I actually felt good about it-- that was new! But the announcement ETA bothered me and I asked, "Hey, was that guy correct? Are we really getting there in an hour an fifteen minutes? That seems crazy fast, even for a jet."

"Check your numbers, mathlete. We'll be there in fifteen minutes. But I'll be offline for that time."

... 5, 4, 3...

"Fifteen minutes? What do you mean, you'll be off--" A tremendous force attacked me and the words were ripped from my lungs. It was a windowless train car and I didn't know what was happening-- I could see nothing happening. Then I lost consciousness and could see nothing at all.

"... in Aden, Nebraska. Thank you for traveling the BLUR, Aden's high speed levitating rail line. You have arrived in Aden, Nebraska. Thank you for..."

My eyelids fluttered and I came awake, slowly. The train was stopped and the door was open. I could hear there was nobody on the platform, again. I wondered how this rail line could make any money with nobody using it.

I murmured, "Jolie, where are we?" Silence. "Jolie?" Again, nothing. I hoped the train ride that knocked me out didn't damage her circuitry, too. I checked my watch again. 1:47. Eighteen minutes. That's just crazy.

I unbuckled myself and stood, unsteadily, and began to fall over. A voice I recognized said, "Whoa, Edgar, take it easy! Let me give you a hand," and propped my body up with a surprisingly strong grip. I got my balance and looked up... to see Jolie smiling at me. I blinked my eyes to align the view. Was I looking in a mirror? If I was... then where was I in the picture?

She was taller than I thought, maybe 6'1". I reached over and tried to touch her cheek. It was tangible-- firm, warm and soft. It felt real, not at all like cheap plastic! Her eyes glinted with tears as she touched mine. "I've waited for this Grr," Jolie said and melted into my arms, squeezing tightly, just as tightly as a beautiful young woman should. I tipped her head up and kissed her soft, shining lips, moist and sweet. Her tongue tickled mine and I broke down, crying, collapsing right there on the train platform.

She followed me down, surprised, encircling me with lithe, young arms. "What is it, Edgar? Tell me, please!" She was crying now, too.

"I... can't. I can't, Jolie. I thought I could, but it's not possible," I said through a sob-thickened voice. I want all of you." I turned my face away from hers. "I'm sorry."

"All of me? What do you mean? What are you sorry about? Tell me!" Jolie turned my head back to look at me; her tears fell on my face, slipped into my mouth, salty with sorrow.

"I love you, Jolie... but I can't love... love a robot." I sobbed, and my body shook. I composed myself and explained, "Even a robot as fantastically realistic as you. I want a family, Jolie. That means children, and a robot can't make babies. Not that I wouldn't like to try with such a wonderful replicate," I smiled through tears, placing my hands on her attractive hips and gripping them firmly.

She drew in a sharp breath, a little shakily and wrapped her arms around me, drawing my head against her breasts and pressing my ear to her chest. I could hear the lub-dub of her heart, regular and strong. I could hear her breath sounds, in and out. She swallowed and I could hear that, too. Then her stomach gurgled. She said, "Edgar, I have not been completely straight with you."

I looked at her face. She was smiling as she said, "Jolie is software and has a robotic body. Only... this," she gestured to herself, "is not it."

My eyes widened. "Wha...?" I could only say.

"Jolie was patterned after a human. Jolie has her voice, her intelligence and sense of humor, and the robotic body she downloads herself into is patterned after that same person." Her eyes lowered as she put her lips up against my ear, whispering. "And that person is me."

"You're real, Jolie?!" I shouted, standing up and holding her at arm's length, checking her out from head to foot, turning her. She giggled and tolerated my manhandling.

"Well, Julie, but yes, Grr. I'm a real girl." She stuck out her hand and said, "Hi, Julie Ranth." I shook it, a little dazed. She continued, "From the first minute your face popped up on my screen at the Inductee Center, I was hooked and insisted on taking part in your Phase-In. Half the time you were talking to Jolie, and the other half... was me."

My head was reeling. I started to get a little dizzy again and held onto her for support. She walked me over to a bench and we sat. It felt foolish, but I couldn't stop touching her. Her face, her shoulder, her back. She was perfect in every way and I was giddy, complete with a big dumb sucker look on my face.

"Com on, Grr, and let me take you upstairs. I want you to see Aden." We got up and walked towards a moving stairway heading to the surface, arms around each other's waist.

I lament, "I hear nice things about the place... and now I show up. I'm not going to scare them, am I?"

"Maybe-- you are a big bad monster, after all. Let's have some fun with that." She giggled.

"You're bad. I may have to spank you." I had a feeling this was going to turn out very, very well.

"Spank me? Wouldn't you prefer to break my knuckles? I hear you're good at that sort of thing..."

I choked down nausea. "Meanie..."

EPILOGUE

Well, that's my story. You may wonder why it's taken so long for me to make it available to you. I have only one excuse. Julie and I have started a family. We have a son. His name is Anson Riley Garr, but we call him Knucks-- can you guess why? He's five and the absolute best thing in the world. Or maybe the second best. I never know whom to put first, my wonderful son or my beloved wife. I just tell them each they are first in my heart. Isn't that how you're supposed to do it? Well, that much is true on both ends of the BLUR line-- we all love our children. But I get ahead of myself.

When I got off the train for the first time, that was the beginning of Phase Three for me, which meant Welcome to Aden. Nobody fails Phase Three-- it's just another way of saying 'the new guy'. That was when Jolie told me about my career choices... Jolie the computer, not Julie my wife... when she was setting up my Terminal and showing me how Aden works.

I half expected her to get me a job in Collections, just to be funny. But the Brain Trust people who designed the program must be very smart indeed, because they were able to find dozens of jobs I could tell I would be good at. Looking over the list I saw one which jumped out at me, so I chose it, and in doing so picked the best occupation I could ever hope to have.

Wait for it; you may not know me as well as you think. I am Aden's newest inborn Child Guardian! One of the best, so they tell me. I couldn't care less what my ranking is; there is nothing I would rather do than run around with toddlers all day, showing them cool stuff and letting them climb all over me. The wonder on their faces is precious and rare indeed. I am their mountain, their bridge, their bus, and I love every incarnation. Then I get to go home and do it all over again with my own little one.

Julie says I work so much that I'll be due for a one-year vacation shortly; she wants us to travel the world with it. Well, I'll do whatever she wants but as far as I'm concerned, I just found my home here after... well, you know after what. I see no reason to go anywhere else.

If you're lucky enough to read my admittedly short memoir, then you've not found it by accident. I don't know how they do it, but they select you to discover such things. If you're also contacted by an Aden recruiter soon after-- that will mean you have real potential. Boy oh boy, do you want to have potential. You won't know where or when, but they'll be observing you, throwing tests your way and watching you solve them, deciding if you are right for Aden. Good luck.

Just don't expect it to be obvious.

-- Edgar 'Grr' Garr

Copyright 2010 Bruce Ian Friedman