Aden, U.C.

Perfect World story (The NOW)

[Editor's Note: This story is the next chapter in the tale of Dave 'Dubious' Dubois. We were first introduced to him in 'Dave Learns The Truth', posted in April 2009.]

Dave Dubois stood in a large noisy cavern 500 feet below Los Angeles, accessible only by elevators found in the FutureTech Corporation Headquarters above it. Jake Reston, CEO, stood beside him and nodded in approval at his large construction project.

Dave had been given a number of hints as to what this might actually be; he was pretty sure about his guess. It looked like a subway station; and even though there didn't seem to be any tracks, there was a platform. It abutted a large metal cylinder which ran the length of the cavern and disappeared into the darkness of a large polished hole in the cavern wall.

"It's finished, Dave," Jake said. "We're just prettying up the station now."

Dave thought he had all the facts now, and chanced a guess. "Well, it's obvious we're in a train station. But why would there be a polished airtight steel tube running the length of the platform where tracks should be, unless it was separating something significant? And you mentioned an unbelievable speed of 18,000 miles an hour, so it can't be on wheels or travel through air-- friction would melt it. We went way down in the elevator to get here, so I guess for safety the tube runs continuously, underground, from one end to the other. So my guess is it's an airless mag-lev train tube."

"Bingo son, flawless reasoning! And guess what?"

"What?"

"We're taking a ride in it, right now!"

Dave stared uneasily at the welders blanketing the metal tube, sparks showering like glowing rain. "Is it safe? It looks like they've still got important things to do."

"Cosmetics only, son. It's ready to go right now, and we're all going!"

Jake was referring to those in the Overview room with them: Dave's college roommate Joe Hobart, who had arranged Dave's job interview with Jake; and the train's designer, Rick Payne. There were also two stunning young women Dave didn't recognize wearing white lab coats and hardhats, flanking Jake left and right. He tucked his hands around their small waists and led the procession into the din.

Dave was impressed by the organization of construction duties in the cavern. Dozens of workers were productively engaged, side by side, producing smooth, tiled-patterned walls from the rough hewn rock using diamond-studded power tools, in an even tide. Dozens more were polishing the platform's crystallized carbon nanocrete surface, a new blended polymer that was not only impervious to any known solvent but also produced significant power from the pressure of footsteps, piezoelectrically. Many more were polishing every metal surface to a mirror finish. The design was opulent and favorably mixed Ultramodern features with classic Art Deco architecture. Dave marveled at Reston's fearlessness at blending designs; how the station's intricately hand-hewn stone dome soared to dizzying heights and how every aspect of the cutting-edge construction reflected a desire to build a structure with a multiple-century life span.

The group crossed the platform and Rick placed his hand on a terminal screen on the metal tube, which had to have been at least nine or ten feet in diameter by Dave's reckoning. Seamlessly, a curved rectangular door receded slightly into the tube and slid upward, revealing a luxurious train car inside. In neat rows were dozens of thickly padded seats, each flaunting a competent yet fear-inducing safety harness. Each seat was supported by a thick bar which protruded from the top and bottom reminiscent of a carousel horse, attaching to the train's roof and floor.

"Take a seat, don't be shy," Jake boomed (he always boomed, Dave noticed), and chose three together. Once again the beautiful girls flanked him, only now the lab coats and hardhats came off. In their place were mounds of thick blonde hair, and scant bikinis. Unabashedly Jake announced, "These are the VeeGirls, who will be helping me promote this mode of transportation to the general public. They are also my secretaries-- and my bodyguards." They sat down simultaneously. "Latch yourselves in, kids... you're in for a helluva ride!" Dave, Joe and Rick took the row behind Jake and his 'VeeGirls'.

The PA spoke. Dave noticed that, in stark contrast to the shrill and monotone messages heard in regular subway cars, this message was crisp and resonant and easily understandable. A rich male voice said, "All harnesses engaged. Departure in 30 seconds. Destination: Aden."

Aden? Dave thought. Aloud he said, "Aden?"

"It's my town, son. I'm building a big new kind of city. In Nebraska." Jake smiled with the pride of fatherfood.

Until today, Dave only knew of this man from business news where his name was mentioned daily and was aware of his great wealth, but a city? No one man could pay for an entire city! "You mean a development, don't you?" he clarified.

"I said city and I meant it, Dave," he replied, his smile growing even wider than Dave thought possible. "I found a remote valley in Nebraska and negotiated with the President himself to design this special place."

"The President of the United States?"

"The very one-- two administrations back. I came to him with this idea a friend of mine originated, and he agreed to give up this Federal land for a special experiment."

"What makes it so special, Jake? Modern transportation like the VeeStreak?"

"Tip of the iceberg, son, tip of the iceberg. Here. I brought some reading material for the trip." He handed Dave a folder from his attaché; it was only a few pages long and he began reading. The introduction was written as a prospectus for investors... sort of:

Have you ever seen a billboard while crawling down a packed freeway at rush hour which proclaimed 'If You Lived Here You'd Be Home Now!' and wondered how people could be tempted by such obvious bullshit?

Dave was surprised at the word 'bullshit' right in the heading of a sales brochure, but read on:

Well, welcome to a city for which the comment makes an entirely new kind of sense. You could work anywhere in the United States-- from New York to Chicago to Dallas to Los Angeles-- and be home in time for supper, right here in quiet and tranquil Aden, Nebraska!

Dave turned the page to find a brilliant, full color rendering of a gorgeous, spacious city ringed with mountains. He read on:

Designed to be a city for the twenty-first century, every structure is only two years old or newer, and is a city unlike anyplace on Earth. Ultramodern materials and the latest technological breakthroughs are present everywhere in Aden. Carbon nanocrete has found its way into wide use here which allows for the construction of buildings 200 stories tall, with a rooftop airstrip that can land a 747! These 'mesascrapers' are so large that they resemble flat-topped mountains, hence the nickname. Still, with all of those advantages, they weigh just ten percent of traditional steel structures... but are fifty times as strong!

Dave stopped reading when the PA announced, "Commencing travel." He felt the car shudder lightly as it engaged magnetic repulsion; it lifted imperceptibly and rapidly floated forward. The sensation was odd, because even as his body was being driven deeply into his seat's padding he could hear no sound and feel no other inertia. He thought with relief that the acceleration felt mild.

Dave's thought came too soon. "Here it comes, kids!" Jake yelled, although it wasn't necessary to yell; it was quiet in the train car. Then from the PA: "Engaging hyperspeed."

Dave could suddenly not move his body. It was if a die-cast chair had somehow crushed down onto him, squeezing him into a Dave-shaped mold... and stayed there. It rendered him deathly immobile. He could not breath, nor talk, nor swivel his eyeballs to look at Jake. He was sure he would be screaming-- if only he could take a breath.

Fortunately it stopped quickly; he was released from his crushing prison after a few seconds. He had a hundred questions but was feeling claustrophobic so asked first, "Can I take the harness off now, Jake?"

"When we get there, son. You don't want to end up as goo on the back wall, now do you? It would be a mess, and of course very sad."

He considered briefly. "Okay. I think I'll wait."

"But the seats will now swivel." Jake pressed a button on his chair and shoved with his feet; it spun around. The V-Girls did as well and now the group faced each other.

Dave asked, "You say we're going to Nebraska? How long will that take?"

"You should just wait and see for yourself... you won't believe me if I tell you now. Or you could read the answer in the prospectus I gave you, if it weren't flat against the back wall." He gestured. Dave turned his head to see that sure enough, the folder was crushed against the wall, pages skewed and ironed in place. He did not remember letting go of it. Still, his curiosity was piqued.

"Carbon nanocrete?"

"Yes, sirree! I predict it will retire steel."

"What proportion of concrete is mixed in with the carbon nano-- tubes, I'm guessing?"

"Yes, long strings of carbon nanotubes in a thermochemical polymer base. There's actually no concrete in it at all. But it flows and sets up in forms at room temperature like concrete."

"Intense! You create identical I-beams for use in construction?"

"One difference, though; a fifty foot I-beam of the stuff weighs just eighty pounds, whereas the same size steel beam weighs three thousand." Jake stressed the difference proudly. "Plus, it's ridiculously tough. If the World Trade Center had been made of this material, those planes would have been crushed against the sides like launched eggs. This train is made of it, and so is the entire twelve hundred mile underground tube to Aden."

Dave was impressed by the material comparisons but stunned by that last fact. "You dug a 1200 mile underground tunnel?"

Joe chimed in. "We're up to eight."

"Eight 1200 mile underground tunnels?" If he had been standing Dave's knees would have buckled.

Joe grinned proudly and corrected, "Roughly. VeeStreak goes to four cities, two tunnels for each city. The Chicago and Dallas tunnels are roughly 500 miles long, the LA and New York ones are about 1200. I designed the TriMight sonic diamond/pulsed laser drill head to cut fifty miles a day through any ground conditions."

Impressive, Hobo!" Dave said, using his pet nickname for the younger man. Joe scowled good-naturedly as Dave continued. "Did you also dig occasional access tunnels along the way?"

"Every 50 miles we placed an elevator shaft to an airlock near the tunnels for servicing and emergencies. But the elevator lobby entrances are all buried."

"Tell me...what did you do with all the debris?"

"That's the best part! We cored through many valuable mineral fields along the way and mapped them for future beneath-ground mining. Valuable ore we captured was processed while still in the tunnel using a continuous ore separator rolling behind the drill heads, and was sold to pay for materials and machinery produced outside of FutureTech.

But yes, all of it eventually left the tunnel. We accumulated enough earth to raise the entire city of New Orleans by thirty feet and offered it up free, but our suggestion was ridiculed and further efforts were dashed by political red tape."

"Who would thwart such a sensible plan?"

"The last administration."

"Of course. I'm afraid to ask-- what was their reasoning?" Dave was curious about that much the way a death row inmate wonders how his lethal injection works.

Jake stepped in. "Humph! They said the city was doomed in fifty years anyway, when global warming raises the ocean levels. Idiots!" There was a general murmur of agreement.

Rick spoke up. "And we have a plan to combat global warming, too, by farming the carbon dioxide in the atmosphere to make carbon nanocrete."

"Is that even possible?" Dave seemed dubious.

"Sure, using siphon osmosis to crack the carbon dioxide and return the oxygen to Earth."

"Return it to Earth? From where?"

"Orbiting factories. Well, not in the classic sense of the word factories-- more like a machine that can fit in the Space Shuttle's belly. It would be set into a geosynchronous orbit, and then would drop a nanotube chute into the atmosphere, at the CO2 layer. Carbon dioxide would be siphoned upwards, cracked using the unfiltered sun and formed into carbon nanocrete--"

Dave had an idea. "Can we call it Carbonite?"

Jake laughed. "It's been used in the movies-- but I like it! Good ear, son!" He turned to his VeeGirls. "Make it official, ladies!"

Dave feared the bikini twins would 'make it official' by giving everyone a lap dance but thankfully they just entered data into a terminal in the armrest. Rick continued. "Okay... formed into Carbonite I-beams, loaded into a payload delivery sled and floated to the surface. Meanwhile, O2 is dropped back down through the chute and into the atmosphere. Multiply that machine by a thousand, and global warming reverses slowly over the next twenty years. We'll have our planet back! The carbon locked in those I-beam structures won't find its way back into the atmosphere for thousands of years, if at all."

The PA interrupted. "Prepare for deceleration." At that moment, all the chairs turned to face the train's back wall and Dave was again crushed into his chair for an incredibly long 30 seconds. He blacked out

Dave opened his eyes in what felt like only moments later, to the sight of those pretty VeeGirls hunched over him. They were gently slapping his cheeks with looks of pouty concern on their lovely faces. Now he was hoping for a lap dance, but he was out of luck. They just unharnessed and helped him to his feet; as they hoisted him out of the train he noticed their surprising strength. "Wait..." he said woozily, "We're here? In Oklahoma?"

"Nebraska," the VeeGirl on his left corrected, speaking for the first time. She had a 'V' stitched onto her left bra cup.

"Oh, right. In Odin, Jack Weston's city."

"Umm, Aden, in Jake Reston's city," said the other one, the one with a 'G' on her right bra cup.

"Thas's what I said, isn' it?" he slurred, still blurry.

They sat him down at a bench outside of a very similar polished metal tube on a very similar Carbonite platform which also generated electricity piezoelectrically as you walked on it, in a very similar underground dome. Dave looked confused and asked, "We haven't even left yet? What were we doing in there? Was it a trick... or a carnival ride? I see horsies," and laid down on the bench, mumbling.

The VeeGirls walked over to Jake. "He's gonna need a minute, I think," V said. "It's always tough the first time."

"Poor fella... it's been a day for him, hasn't it? Well, get him a cold drink or something... we need his expertise. I didn't bring him out here to warm the bench."

G shuddered. "I hate cold benches!"

Dave opened his eyes and for a moment thought he had been blinded-- inky blackness was all he could see. Then he noticed a small, glowing red dot. "Hello?"

The dot blinked. "Hello."

He asked, "Are you a good red dot?"

"No, I'm the malevolent red dot of death. Say your prayers, Dubious."

Dave cleared the cobwebs-- that voice sounded familiar. He asked, "Joe-- is that you?"

Suddenly, blinding light was everywhere. Dave could make out a dark blob in front of him. As his sight cleared the blob became Joe, standing in front of a wall-sized window, holding the curtain control cord. "Joe, where in the hell am I?"

"See for yourself," Joe said, and pointed out the window.

Dave stood up, a little unsteadily. He crossed the room to the window, looked out... and jumped backwards frantically, clawing the floor for resistance. "Hey! We're a freakin' mile in the air! Joe, you bastard! Where the hell are we-- in an airplane?"

Joe said, "Welcome to Aden U.C., Dave. Aden Under Construction. You're on the top floor of Mesascraper One, the tallest building in the world that nobody knows about. You passed out in the VeeStreak so Jake gave you time to wake up in his office on the 200th floor."

Inching away from the window and back onto the couch, Dave spoke slowly, seething. "You know I'm not a big fan of heights, Joe."

"What can I do? Aden's just getting built... there weren't a lot of options. Jake's office is the only unit that's finished right now."

"Oh. Hey, the VeeStreak-- how long was the trip? I sorta passed out."

"You passed out right before we stopped. That was the whole trip... about twenty minutes, LA to Aden. Works out to about 3500 miles an hour. The train went 18,000 for a short while but had to expend a lot of track getting up to speed and slowing down, to stop in a way that doesn't liquefy people."

Dave whistled, low. "I am absolutely blown away by this train! Now if I can only keep from passing out..."

"You'll get used to it."

"I guess so. So what's with the red dot?"

"What red dot?" Joe looked around. "Oh, the coffeemaker is on. Want a cup?"

"God yes. Irish, strong."

There was an odd beeping coming from Joe's pocket; it was a phone or a walkie talkie. "Hello? Okay, I'll tell him. BRT." He hung up. "That was Jake. He's a little impatient for your input."

Dave said, "BRT?"

"Verbal shorthand. Be Right There. Get your shoes on, he's waiting." Joe gave him the coffee and Dave sipped it, and whistled. "Smooth," he rasped, and gulped it down. "What input does Jake want from me?"

Joe cut across to the door and said, "Remember that project in college that got you a 'D' because you couldn't prove it?"

Dave spat out, "Wide spectrum, high yield solar power. What about it?"

"We just discovered a process which might make it work."

"Well, let's go then!" Dave stepped up to the door Joe held open-- and jumped backwards in a panic, clawing the floor for resistance. "There's no freakin' outer walls!"

Joe screamed laughing. "I told you it was under construction! The Carbonite girders are all in place, and there's an elevator to the top, going to this completed office unit. Everything else in this building is still open to the world!"

Staring firmly upwards, Dave hugged the wall and shuffled to the elevator; somehow he reached ground level without dying. He looked up at the gigantic structure, the footprint of which would cover eight city blocks in lower Manhattan, then punched Joe in the shoulder. "It's so tall I can't even see the top! Why would you do that to me?"

"Because he's a consummate prankster, Dave," Jake responded from behind them. "I thought you would have remembered that fact from your time in school, when you woke up in a mountain climber's hanging sleeping bag dangling from the top of Royce Hall." He was driving a cool concept electric car. His blonde and beautiful bodyguards sat in the back silently, the beautifully painted, emotionless Robert Palmer girls. They boarded and sped away.

"That sucked, all right. But did he tell you what I did to him in response?" Dave asked coyly.

"Pray tell, son!" Jake, with an eyebrow raised, was all ears. Joe seemed on edge.

Dave saw Joe's discomfort and smiled. "You started it, Joey. Well Jake, it seems my roommate had a dread fear of tight, enclosed places. One night I pennied the door shut, and rented a tree surgeon's rig to blow sawdust in through the window."

"You didn't!"

"I did. I didn't stop until he..."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please stop!" Joe was begging now.

Dave continued, "Until he apologized and washed my car every week for the rest of the semester."

"Ooh, darn you!" Joe growled, relieved.

Jake said sadly, "That story didn't have the kick I thought it would. Oh, well. Onto new business. Dave Dubois, meet your next great challenge."

They rounded a hill near the mesascraper project and Dave gasped. A huge low building the size of a hundred WalMarts covered the acreage like a blanket. The road headed straight into the building, and so did they. Beneath the eighty foot ceiling was a complex manufacturing plant, but of what Dave couldn't tell.

"We are poised to convert the entire United States to solar power... if we can squeeze more electricity out of each joule of sunlight, because right now solar panel test results are anemic at best. I want to see a single two foot by four foot panel light up a home like a Christmas tree. I know you have the brains to make this happen, and this 300 million square foot lab and manufacturing plant is now yours to do just that. Whaddaya say, son? The money Aden makes selling this product to America will pay for Aden and dozens more like it in every country, and the product itself can power the entire world!"

Dave was not expecting an offer of such magnitude, and he actually began to well up. "I would -- would be honored to help change the world with you, Jake."

"I was hoping you would say that, Dave. If you make this happen, the chain of events will be monumental! For one thing, no more ties to Middle Eastern oil wells, which means pollution will drop radically. And best of all, America will be on top of the world again! Just don't forget to build a little planned obsolescence into each exported unit, heh, heh, heh. No point in giving them free power forever!"

"You sound like a capitalist, Jake."

"Fight fire with fire, son. I'll be happy when I no longer have to." He turned to the VeeGirls. "Ladies, help him in whatever way he desires! Joe, come with me. I have an idea for a Pleasure Drome that'll blow your doors off..." and the two of them rode out of earshot.

Dave snickered internally at Joe's vexation during his retelling of the college incident and wondered what would have happened had he let it slip that on 'sawdust' day Joe had not simply apologized but had instead screamed like a girl and crapped his pants before Dave would let him out. Dave smiled internally. He'd keep that one under his hat, to be used as ammunition for when he needed a big favor from Joe.

He turned his attention instead to his new 'assistants'. He looked at the two VeeGirls squeezed into their tight white tube dresses and could think of many ways they could help him physically, but none involving solar cell design. V slid past him in that syrupy way of walking she had and opened one half of a large blank wall cabinet. G also slipped past him and got the other door. Those girls were orchestrated in everything they did! Dave got a look inside and gasped, dropping jaw and pencil simultaneously.

"Pull up a chair, doc daddy," G said and patted one for him to sit in. The embroidered 'G' was on her right hip this time. He did, and was looking at the most advanced EM Spectrum Analyzer available, one he had only seen in action on sales reels.

"Wow. Do you what this machine can do, ladies?"

V said, "Sure. It performs high-yield spectroscopy and field decay entropy analysis for wide-band electromagnetic pulse variables."

"How did you know that?" I barely knew that!" For the second time in as many minutes Dave's pencil dropped. G picked it up and said, "I'll grind a new point on this." She giggled. "Careful, doctor Dave, you don't want your pencil to get too short."

He was staring at V, amazed at her knowledge, but right behind her was G, operating a wall mounted pencil sharpener, wriggling in a most alluring way.

"It was my doctoral thesis at MIT," V responded. "Mine was on quarks," G called out. He looked more closely at them, peering around all the piled up blonde hair and alluring curves, looking for signs of the typical science geek chick he shared classes with at Purdue. He narrowed his eyelids to slits. Nope, still hot. He sighed. How was he gonna work with these gorgeous distractions? He closed his eyes and recited from memory.

"The problem with today's solar cells," he began, "is that they only try to convert visible light into electricity. However, the electromagnetic spectrum is vast. If the entire EM spectrum were a VeeStreak ride from New York to Los Angeles, the visible spectrum would only be a few inches long of the whole 2500 mile trip. Visible light has a lot of energy, but other waves have much more, like x-rays and gamma rays. Harness those, and Man's quest for power is over."

"Well, then what are we waiting for?" G said, returning with his pencil. "Aden has a lot of power requirements, and harnessing the power from people walking on Carbonite sidewalks ain't gonna cut it."

"Do you ladies have names? I've been calling you 'V' and 'G' in my head."

"I'm Vickie, and she's Gina," G said.

Dave blinked. "Wait, wait, wait, wait. Let me get this straight. You with the letter 'G' embroidered onto your clothing... you're 'Vickie'?"

"Uh-huh."

"And you, 'V' girl, your name is 'Gina'?"

"Yes, doctor Dave."

"Well, why not switch them? It seems confusing."

"Oh, it isn't."

"Why isn't it confusing?"

"Well... they are the first initials of our last names, Davy," Vickie said. "She's Gina Verone, and I'm Vickie Gibraltar."

"O-kay. No less confusing, but let's shelve that for a moment. Ladies, let's start big. I want to build a gamma ray generator."

"A machine which generates gamma rays?" Vickie asked.

"No, an electric generator which runs off of gamma rays."

"You know gamma rays pass through most matter, right? They poke holes in everything they touch, including us. Thankfully they are incredibly small, smaller than an atom, plus not many gamma rays rain down on the planet to begin with."

"Yes, yes I do. But I think we might have some luck with superconducting magnetic plasma, to influence the direction of gamma ray travel. If we can move one gamma photon into a rotational orbit within the generator, it can be powered for months or even years with no harmful by-products. And that's with only one photon." He smiled at them confidently. They weren't smiling back. Their expression could best be described as-- hungry.

"Ladies...?"

"Dave Dubois, you really know how to talk a nerd girl's clothing off," said Gina Verone, 'VeeGirl' extraordinaire, wriggling out of her tube dress.

"Intelligence is so hot," Vickie 'G Girl' Gibraltar chimed in, pulling his shirt off in one swift motion. "I've been wanting to do this since the train," and straddled him, pressing her endowments to his chest.

Dave remembered that nothing like this ever happened to him at Purdue. But thankfully, these girls were from MIT.

Copyright 2009 Bruce Ian Friedman

Aden Stories- Grandpa Returns Forever

Perfect World story (The NOW)

She sat in the darkened sickroom and listened to the faltering breaths of her father, raggedly asleep in his overstuffed bed overlooking all of Aden. The view was magnificent up here in the rarified air of Aden PermaCare, atop the tallest megascraper in the first Perfect World city, but she wasn't there for the view-- her beloved father was dying. He had been her only parent-- her mother had died in childbirth.

It was so very hard at first to raise a child alone, but he had promised his beloved wife that his daughter would want for nothing. Over time the responsibility became an intractable bond of love.

Truly she was a handful as a toddler, running in all directions at once, examining everything and leaving nothing untried. She survived the emergency room visit after finding and sampling the furniture polish. Nonetheless, she somehow made it to the age of reason, making her father proud with every achieved goal and earned award. And he was her beacon and mentor, her motivation for wanting success and happiness. At the first sign of a sorrowful tear he would tuck a finger under her chin and murmur softly, "There, there, pumpkin... there's too much to smile about. Cry for the happy things."

She attended college and mastered a field of study. He attended her graduation, tears streaming down his face.

And then her life truly began, and his began anew. She moved out but not far, found a man, made a life and a daughter of her own. Her father again found love with another warm and delicate woman and settled into a comfortable life and retirement with her. The family celebrated life, and the holidays and the coming of children together, and grew larger in love. Fate would bring them together once again when his second beloved fell victim to illness and left him alone again; she wanted her father to live with her, and her family and would hear no argument, and so it was decided. Then came Aden.

An opportunity too rich to ignore, her training had prepared her for this place and its modern day wonders and she convinced her husband and her father to uproot from warm and crowded California and move to the rugged beauty of Nebraska. Her own child, now herself a lovely young woman, remained behind and went off to school; they parted to kisses and tears.

Aden was all it had promised to be, and more. Named after its biblical counterpart, it was a city of peace, a bustling modern metropolis with one glaring difference from every other city. Its credo asserted that every man, woman and child was truly equal and as such would be afforded the best opportunities found anywhere on the globe. Her husband, his life previously spent as a corporate pawn, was retrained according to his innate abilities and became an artist, an inventor and a mathematician. She built upon her early schooling and specialized in medicine, and developed ultra-technological equipment to revolutionize the treatment of aging and decay. Her father settled into active retirement as a vaudevillian performer; he found himself to be in high demand among the seniors. Aden was idyllic and they flourished for years, but the flux of life ultimately demanded its due. And now her father lay dying.

In the darkness of late, at an hour of the blackest night he passed into oblivion. His breathing was there... and then it wasn't. A wave of emptiness crashed over her; she buried her face in her hands, sobbing her loss. The suite echoed with her muffled wail; no other sounds were heard. But then...

Her father's voice? He lay there in bed, his life gone, color drained from his cheek; but she could hear his voice, distant yet clear as when she was just a small girl. "There, there, pumpkin... there's too much to smile about. Cry for the happy things."

This couldn't be! She wasn't hallucinating in her grief-- she was far too pragmatic for that. No, she heard his voice, and coming from right around the corner! She uncertainly stepped towards the source, the common room between their two bedrooms. She rounded the corner, expecting... what? Certainly not her father's ghost, nor his floating, speaking soul... but there was no apparition in that room. Then confusion struck her immobile.

For what she saw was no ghost or unearthly body to cause her fright but something far more comprehensible, much more disappointing. In the far corner of the room on the writing stand was a computer screen, and displayed on that screen was a photo of her father, recent but hale, smiling and warm. She figured it must have been the computer and hoped that maybe he left a message for her, so crossed the room to enable the app. That's when she saw the eyes move, the head turn just so slightly in her direction. She stopped. It stopped. She crossed the other way, and the eyes and head followed suit. Her mouth dropped open. "Huh... weird!" she spoke to nobody, into the open air, and was unprepared for what happened next.

"Not so weird," the face spoke, animated. She screamed, and screamed again. "Try and relax, sweetheart," it said. "There's an explanation."

She crumpled into a ball on the floor, drained. Her father was dead... she had just witnessed it. And yet now he was seemingly conversing with her. She didn't think she could speak a full sentence, but managed to squeak out one word-- "What?"

"It was your idea, really," the face on the computer said, enunciating every word. He spoke with a confident smile on his handsome older face, which, now that she was noticing, seemed to have considerably more hair than her father did now, and he was wearing a hairstyle she remembered from her youth.

He continued. "Your excellent medical work with senior quality of life not only added healthy years to my own life, but shed light on an important issue. Virtually every senior citizen we spoke to mentioned their distress at having to leave their loved ones behind. Their long years alive had given them a particular advantage in life, a 'wisdom of the ages', which they utilized to guide the younger generations in their families, and was something they did not want to deprive their families of."

She found her voice and spoke, knowing full well she was talking to a computer-- a computer that inexplicably looked like her father, using the same voice and the same inflections and the same facial expressions and the same logical thought process. "You've always guided us well, dad," she breathed, choking back more tears.

"Thank you, sugarplum. So all these seniors asked the same question-- they wondered if there were some way to have their wisdom continue on beyond their deaths." He paused and lit a pipeful of tobacco in a ridiculously large meerschaum. "And there was."

Her eyes widened. "There was?"

"Yes indeed, darling. One of Aden's wunderkind in the Brain Trust created a fantastic and complex program. You happen to be using it right now."

"I am?" She knew her monsyllabic responses sounded idiotic but was flooded with sensory overload and could emit nothing clever right now.

"Yes. You see, it's based on Aden's ICPU, the interactive computer that organizes the city..."

"Why, thank you, pop!" spoke the City computer for the first time. "I'm flattered!"

"AND interrupting,' he harrumphed.

"Sorry. I'll be quiet, pop."

"To continue, the app required each senior to spend goodly lengths of time with it, answering lots of questions, having extensive conversations, getting their faces photographed from every angle and their voices recorded to catch every expressive comment, then a processor merged the data. What they've produced is a 'permanent parent' to continue those wonderful conversations, to pass on sage advice when needed, and to be there for the family's important moments."

She absorbed this information, not knowing what to think. Her poor father was lying in the other room. She would no longer be able to hug or kiss him, no longer be able to smell his aftershave lotion or feel the solid strength in his shoulders. Then she remembered an image just displayed for her on the screen. "Dad, you don't smoke a pipe-- you never did!"

"Ahh, yes. Well, that's both true and false, my sweet child. I never smoked around you or the family. But I did visit a smoking club once a month for several decades--"

"Your Poker Night!?" she practically shouted.

"Yes. We played poker, too. I didn't lie. But I let myself occasionally let my hair down and be a single guy for a night, which I believe helped me to be a better father. I even put some marijuana in the pipe once in awhile."

"You're kidding!" she gasped, a smile passing across her face.

"I kid you not. But because I am software now, I have an advantage-- I can't be harmed." The screen pulled back and she saw her father dangle out of an airplane, then drop. He fell with alarming speed but pulled a cord to open a parachute, allowing him to gently float over a familiar scene.

"Dad, is that Los Angeles?"

"Good call, honey! I really missed that town, even though I loved it here in Aden. Where else in America could you surf in the morning, skydive in the afternoon and snow ski in the evening?" He landed on top of the tallest building downtown, popped off his 'chute, grabbed an anchored rope and rappelled down the side. He was suddenly in San Francisco."I would never have tried anything dangerous when I was alive and a responsible father, but I got to tell you, this is great!" He reached the bottom and dropped, landing on his feet. "Whee-hah!" The screen returned to a close-up of his face. "Like I said, now I can do anything... virtually. Literally. Literally virtually."

"But dad, what about your memories? You can't have remembered them all to tell the software! Are they lost forever?"

"Regrettably, there will be a few missing pieces, even though a timeline of my life was filled in pretty thoroughly. But the ICPU has cobbled together many facts from overheard conversations over the last few years and added them to the database. I gotta tell you I feel pretty complete for an old man with no body who is gonna live forever."

She sat silent for a long while, mulling over all the shocking new information. Finally she looked up, tears brimming. "But I can never hug you again, dad!"

"I know, I know, kitten. But think of the alternative. Fifteen minutes ago you thought you'd never hear my voice again and yet, here I am." He frowned, then smiled. "Just think of our conversations as me Skyping you from the afterlife. Plus, our resident roboticists are working on Grammabots, designed to resemble the departed. I don't know when those'll be rolling off the assembly lines, but put me on order when they do. I wanna try break dancing."

She laughed despite herself. "Dad! I don't remember you ever dancing anything but the twist. Even at my wedding."

He laughed heartily. "I remember that! They wanted me to dance the first dance with my daughter. I held you as in a waltz, but when the music started I twisted like Chubby Checker."

"Who?"

"The inventor of checkers."

"Chubby Checker, born Ernest Evans on October 3 1941, was responsible for the 60's dance--" the ICPU began.

"Interrupting again."

"I'll shut up, pop."

"Dad, I have a serious question. You're lying dead in the room next door... what shall I do with you?" She had trouble believing the sentence coming out of her mouth.

He spoke. "ICPU?"

"Yes, pop?"

"Take care of me?"

"Yes, pop."

"That's it then, puddin'. Aden will have my body interred next to my wives back in Los Angeles as per my instructions when I went before the city's 'Death Panel'." He snickered wetly. "Death panels! I heard about that on 'Outer's News' and I could not believe how stupid a concept that was. Is the general public really that naive to believe the direct lies broadcast by the far Right Wing?"

"I'm afraid so, dad. The Right has helped destroy public education over the last 35 years, and now there's a groundswell of ignorant conservatives out there who listen to the lies spun by a few very deceptive talking heads. These same poorly educated conservatives are then homeschooling their kids, which will guarantee our national backslide. Then it'll be easy to enslave their children to pay back the immense debt we owe China." She caught her breath and slowly smiled. "Dad, did you realize we've just had our first political discussion since you got sick?"

"Well, what do you know? I guess this software works just fine." He became serious. "Sweetheart, you should say your goodbyes to the real me-- they'll be taking my body out of here soon. We'll have a funeral locally before they ship me away. ICPU will follow the detailed instructions I left for throwing my final party. I've asked for a reggae band!"

"Oh, dad... you didn't!"

"Oh I did! One thing," he said, grinning. "Take me with you. I've always wanted to attend my own funeral!"

Copyright 2009 Bruce Ian Friedman