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Mister Dancer - ch 19

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After gliding through quiet residential streets, our auto-car turns onto a broad avenue with other vehicles running bumper to bumper in lines. The two-lane roads become four-lane city bypasses, after which we spill out onto an eight-lane highway with a mix of auto-trucks, -vans and a few auto-cars like ours. Marc seems busy tapping away on their cell and even makes a few calls on the trip. Their tone changes for each, going from stern and commanding with one, to polite and unctuous on the next. I stare out the windows and try not to listen too closely. The traffic gets a little faster driving on a toll bridge high above huge basins and gullies that were presumably once ponds and rivers. Blue lights flash overhead. The car behind us has tinted windows, while on our right are a line of auto-trucks with high-end brands on the side. I turn on the maps app of my cell and watch as we drive south toward a neighboring city. We finally exit the highway, passing a transit center exactly like
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Mister Dancer - ch 20The thick, spongy carpets of the restaurant’s halls silence my footsteps. I wander along the upper balcony, one hand trailing the sturdy railing, glancing down at the dining area below where people in the finest of finery eat and whisper and laugh.If any of them are androids, here to chat with friends and have fancy food chemicals delivered to them at home, are they in danger of disconnections too?Everyone down there looks happy and healthy and unconcerned with anything bad happening in the world. Searching the crowd, I don’t see any notable celebrities or media icons. But considering the makeup, editing and filters, I might not recognize one if I saw them. Or they’re all up in the private rooms, and everyone below is here for the reputation. “Pardon a small question,” someone says from behind me. Turning around, I find the waiter droid with the tray of plastic flower blossoms staring at me. Their voice belongs to a different user from whoever spoke with us earlier.They lean closer to me. “Can I help you find something?”I consider asking for the bathrooms, but the sign at the elevators was fairly obvious. “No, I’m okay. Thanks.” They stare at me. “Good. We, um, ask that all patrons not loiter on the balcony. You might get in the way of the staff or another patron.” Starting to back away, they add like an afterthought, “And someone below might, uh, feel nervous with you watching them. We try to make our dining atmosphere comfortable for everyone.” “Oh.” Yeah, I probably would look kind of creepy up here. “Maybe I will ask you to help me find something. Is there anywhere I can sit and relax while my, uh - while the others in my group eat? I’m not hungry but I don’t want to go too far from them.” Nodding, the droid turns and gestures for me to follow. “Right this way, sir.” ~-~ The elevator doors open at the top floor to a lounge bar with dim lighting. Soft piano music comes from an actual grand piano in the center, a single hidden spotlight shining down on the player.Thousands of stars glimmer in the ceiling as if seen through a glass roof, convincing for a moment but clearly a static display when I take a step inside. The elevator closes with the faintest sound behind me. Glass walls full of water and colorful plants divide the room into smaller sections, twisting and obscuring the handful of customers sitting in couches and leather chairs.I walk along a wall, searching for an empty spot away from others. My gaze keeps returning to the piano and the player, a slim androgenous droid in a suit and bowtie. In my progress around the room, I see their legs pumping the pedals and their fingers smooth and precise on the keys.Changing course, I hurry toward the center of the room.The android’s eyes remain half-closed, their body swaying in time to the music as their hands flow back and forth. When I near the spotlight’s edge, their head turns to me.“Hello there, young man.” Even the voice is musical, almost singing along to the elegant tune. “Have a song request for me? Wish to try some karaoke?”I whisper back, “You may not have heard, but there’s a problem at the job board causing disconnections. To be safe, you should log out.” The music suffers the briefest pause but continues smoothly. “That’s not a very nice prank, young man. Please leave.”What? A prank?!“This isn’t - If you’ve been working here an hour or more, you wouldn’t have seen the notice.”“Please. Leave.” They play slower, lengthening the notes. “I won’t believe any such lies.”I try - and just about succeed - to keep myself from shouting. “I’m not lying. I’m trying to help. You could be in danger.”“Am I?” The player’s voice rises to match mine, losing their careful tempo. “Let me guess. You think playing a piano is too old-fashioned, that all music should be electronic or crafted by partners.” Their head shakes, then turns to me. “Well I refuse to be replaced by a machine. This right here is the only true performance because only a live player can make mistakes. You people and your full electronica are destroying music.” “Then play it in person,” I fire back, gesturing at their android body. “Even on a normal day, do you know how dangerous neural jacks are? You could suffer a disconnection and be lost for - forever!” My hands grip the piano’s edge and I glare at them. “Whatever you believe about me, I would never joke or lie about disconnections. Today, the job board put up a notice about them being more likely. So play the piano in person if that’s what you want to do!”The furious music stops. All chatter in the room ceases.We stare at each other, the android and I. The silence stretches until I wish I could look away, but I keep my eyes on their blank, neutral face. “Hey, kid!” A shout from the darkened edges of the room interrupts us. “Stop arguing with the player and walk!”A few half-hearted grunts of agreement follow them. Murmurs spring up from around the room, some angry, others concerned. I turn toward the first voice, standing my ground.“There’s some kind of problem with the job board.” My voice remains level and calm, with more confidence that I normally feel. “A lot of people using neural jacks for work have already been disconnected. There’s a notification telling people to stay off.” At least talking to shadows is easier than to someone's face. “If you know anyone working tonight, you should call and convince them to log out - just for today, or until the job board says the problem is over.” Silence fills the room again. A whisper comes from an onlooker as a half dozen hands rustle in coats and slacks. I hear one angry grumble but no one comes forward to refute me. A plastic hand nudges my arm. I turn back to the piano player. “I - I can’t play in person. Not here, anyway.” The android’s eyes blink, as if tears should be running down their cheeks. “No one wants to hire a - a larger woman as a piano player. It - doesn’t fit the image.” Their hands fold into their lap. “And I can play anywhere in the world using androids. You can’t tell me to just quit on my dreams.”My breath lodges in my throat. I don’t know what to say. I want to run, to escape from these impossible situations that seem to be everywhere. Androids are dangerous, but some people really are helped by them. Androids are dangerous, but the people using them accept the risk. Androids are dangerous, but - people will make their own choices no matter what.“Okay,” I manage to say, my voice low again. “How about - as a small favor to me, please log out for a while. Check your job board notifications and your news feeds. Today seems to be especially risky, but I don’t know why. Tomorrow could be better.”After a moment, they nod once and lower their head. The droid slumps down, falling forward into my arms like a forgotten toy. I prop them against the piano and leave the spotlight, almost heading for the elevator before remembering I don’t have anywhere to go. There’s an empty table along the path so I sit down and lean back in the cushioned seat, hoping no one tries to send me out.Staring up into the starry darkness, with the aquariums around me distorting the whispers and low light, I finally feel alone. Now I can think - or try to let go of all this anger from moments ago. The spotlight over the piano dims and soft jazz begins to play out of speakers in the ceiling. What should I do? Wander around the city looking for android users to save? I came here today already exhausted from worry and waiting. Knowing that I can’t help everyone, I still wish I could tell people about this - or that someone would.I message Vin and the Hans with a link to the post and ask them, ‘can you spread the word on this?’With my cell out, I notice a notification informing me that the local network includes an app for this restaurant. They serve food, beverages, snacks and even offer some services like birthday celebrations and private meeting catering. In the menu I find a few house favorite courage crystal drinks, those custard mixers I saw the other day - or a small glass of wine, which isn’t too expensive when you’re not buying a bottle.After a moment I decide on the glass of wine, wondering how different it will be from courage crystal drinks or the six pack I shared with Dad.The music from above transitions to another song, this one slower and with more crooning horns. I look up from my cell in time to see a woman in a low cut, slinky dress approaching. She’s very thin, yet curvy in an eye-catching way, and carrying a rosy-pink drink in a martini glass. Could my order have come this quickly? She sits at my table and offers the glass.“A token of my esteem.” When I don’t take the glass, she sets it down on the table. “I checked the news. There’s a few stories appearing, mostly in the theme of, ‘We don’t know anything but we’ll keep you informed.’ And it’s happening in other parts of the world, not just here. Something big is going on.” I try to pull my gaze away. Who is this woman? She looks like a fantasy born to reality - or more likely someone with a lot of enhancement. Why is she talking to me?“That would make you something of a hero, you know.” She slides along the seat, closing the gap between us. Her shoulders lean toward me, shifting her dress. “I’m curious how you knew so early. Is that a personal interest?”“Hardly,” I grumble, glancing at the woman a few times, trying to keep my gaze on her face. “I found out by chance. Then I told people. That’s the same thing anyone would do.”Her smile curls up and I finally realize her mouth isn’t moving to speak. “Luck counts for something. As does interest. Do you watch for news stories about androids?”I shake my head. “You’re in an android. You heard me say to log out. So why -”“I’m well within a safe tether distance, and I’m not on the job board. This droid I’m renting belongs to a private business, which handles all the routing and network stuff.”What business would rent out droids of this style while avoiding the job board? … My face gets hot. Turning away from her, I pull my arms closer and make sure my cell sitting on the table is within reach. She snorts. “You blushed. That’s cute. So - you interested?”I gulp and let out a slow breath. “Um - I’ve never really done that kind of thing and I'm not sure I'd want to, so …”“Uh - Yeah? Finding out is half the fun.” Silent and smooth, she slides to a few inches from me. “The business cleans the droids very thoroughly. I’ve never been coerced or forced in any way. There’s a few places nearby which rent rooms by the hour, or we could even do a few things right here.” The drink she brought sits waiting on the table. Obviously she isn’t going to drink it. Common sense would suggest I don't drink it. So why did she buy the supposed gift at all? Would my imbibing a stranger’s gift create some basic level of trust? Her already soft voice drops to a murmur, “So you don’t know me, huh? Guess I’ll have to tell you about myself then. I’m an engineer in my day job and currently single. These gigs are how I unwind after work. My other hobbies include painting, going to basketball games and hanging out online with friends. How about you?”I shake my head. “You’re an engineer? Do you know much about disconnections?” “More than some do.” Something changes in her voice and she turns in the seat, no longer angling herself towards me. “But why would we talk about something sad? Let’s enjoy the evening, you know?”The android has gone so quiet now, I can hear the faint chatter of people at other tables. This woman who doesn’t know me - I could tell her anything. All the things I never told Dad or anyone at the IRL group. Talking to shadows is easier than talking to people.“We - My family lost someone to one.” My gaze goes to the drink on the table. “I lost someone. I mean, I was there.” I reach out, pick up the glass and spin the stem, swirling the drink slightly. “It was my fault.” Without stopping to consider any longer, I take a sip of the drink. The taste is sweeter than the bitter six pack, spicier than a bland courage crystal, and sends an instant hot flush to my cheeks. No wonder Marc prefers wine.“This was - over ten years ago now. Pretty soon after disconnections were first reported. We had news crews coming to our house for a while. My dad told them all he had tripped over the cord - that’s what I told him had happened.”I glance at the android. She’s no longer speaking, just looking out across the room. If I keep drinking, keep spilling out more words, I might feel … What I want is to be empty, like this glass. I want the worries and stress gone, everything clean and empty like my rig’s home world.“But I’m getting off topic. You wanted to know why I watch news feeds for stories about disconnections. It’s because I’m hoping they get cured someday. And it’s more important than ever today, because my Dad is -”“Please, stop.” Holding up both hands, the android interrupts me, their voice still quiet but no longer smooth and silky. “Nobody wants to talk about this, you know? You’re stuck on something really painful. Have you considered therapy? Talking to someone paid to listen might do you some good.” I look away and finish off the first glass. Why is she complaining now? This is what she wanted to talk about.“An uncle of mine disconnected a few years ago.” She’s no longer smiling - her face is flat and neutral. “Doctors say he might find his way back, but his kids couldn’t keep him tubed all the time so they had to - pull him out.” Trailing off, she looks away. “He’s in one of those special coma wards somewhere.” Cemeteries in all but name. Placing the empty glass on the table, I spot a waiter droid bringing my order. That drink is a darker red color and gleams when placed on the table. I nod at them and they swipe a hand above my cell before leaving. The android continues, “Anyone who gets disconnected, that’s rough but - You’ve taken this whole self-flagellation thing over your dad or whoever way too far.” My eyebrows raise. I stare at her and she stares right back so hard that I look away again and start on my second drink.“So - let’s agree on no more disconnection talk. And could you give me a definitive yes or no on that earlier offer? I’m willing to bet exorcising some of your repressed emotions could be fun, but I’m not waiting all night for you to decide. There’s plenty of other guys with issues.”It’s not funny, but I find myself laughing anyway. I’m stuck on something? Does she not hear herself? I wish I could be so unconcerned with people dying as we speak. And maybe I can use this. Picking up my cell and tapping open my budget app, I ask, “Out of curiosity, do you charge, like, by the hour?”She perks up, smiling and leaning closer. “There’s more of a menu actually, and a simple waiver to sign.” Her hand approaches my cell, palm upward. “But I do package deals and special combo offers all the time.”“That’s what I need.” I stare into her eyes. “I’ll pay you to walk around the city until the sun comes up, telling as many people as you can about the disconnection problem.”Her smile drops like a deactivated delivery drone. “You’re - fucked up.” I shrug. “I’m just done being the hero today. So I’m offering to pay you to be the hero while I try to relax and be alone for a while. Either take the offer or go. I would prefer the former.”The song changes. She sighs and looks away, but her hand remains outstretched.“Okay. Buy the premo combi deal and I’ll do it. But only because this thing is so big.”Waving my cell above her hand, I open the purchasing app. There’s a menu of technical terms - only about half of which I understand at a glance - and a box to select at the bottom next to a line saying I won’t hold the business or staff liable for insult or injury. I do as she said, not even batting an eye at the price, then add a generous thirty percent tip before agreeing.She blinks and stares at me. Turning away and standing up, her voice whispers, “Why would you do this?”“Simple.” Laughter escapes me again, unwanted and perhaps impolite. “I’m tired, frustrated, and don’t care anymore.” But the funny thing is, thanks to Marc, for the first time in a while I’m not worried about my finances. I can do things like this, or rent an office in town or buy a new wardrobe, all because I finally went out and tried something no one would have thought I could do.Looking back once, she smiles. “Yeah? Congratulations I guess.” She leaves, walking toward the elevator without a hint of her earlier saunter.Alone at last, I stare out at the room and sip my drink. With everything so far, maybe I did help. ~-~ Later, the thought sinks in that she may have simply walked away with the money. But there’s nothing I can do about that, right? I don’t really feel bad about the decision - I don’t feel worried about much, actually. With good music, a beautiful room and a nice couch seat, I feel pretty great.A message from Marc breaks into my blissful reverie. Wondering what they could want, I try to unlock my cell and find my fingers slipping up on the sequence. But after a few tries, I get it and see:‘Sorta urgent come back please’I sigh and get up from the table, only stumbling a little as I head for the elevator. Someone standing at the doors, an older gentleman with impressive jowls and sideburns, looks at me as I approach.“You!” Despite a stern presence and a voice like gravel, something about him is jittery. “What is going on with the job board? Have you heard anything else?”Shrugging, I press the down button - only to realize the arrow is lit up already. “It’s pretty terrible, right? I’ve got someone, I think, working on it. Let’s all hope it’s been fixed or something tomorrow.” He grumbles and stares at the elevator doors. “Yes. What a terrible waste this is.”The doors open and we walk in. He presses the button for the first floor and glances at me, so I hold up two fingers and he presses the second floor button too. As the doors close, we stand side by side facing the slightly reflective metal surface. “I’ve got several hundred factories around the globe.” The old guy folds his hands together with a stiff posture and stares at the door. “Some parts involve very delicate work that requires highly trained and specialized androids. At this rate we’re going to lose hours of production.” I glare at him. “But how’s your death count?” His head tilts, staring at me, eyes widening. “My … How in the world would I know that?” “Take a guess, shithead.” I nod, waiting to see if he wants to respond. He doesn’t speak, grumble or even breathe. In complete silence we stare at the elevator doors until they open. I walk out at the second floor and down the hall towards our rented room.Walking in, Marc smiles at me from behind their chair. “Perfect timing! Please, stay with Xharm for a bit while I use the restroom.” They wave a hand at the table. “And have some ice cream! Or whatever you feel like. We ordered - a lot. It was on sale.” Xharm lounges in her chair with her legs - wrapped in a tight, white blanket - propped up on another seat. She’s staring out the balcony window, a bowl filled with several scoops of colorful cream in one hand and a spoon in the other. She doesn’t look like she needs or wants anyone to keep her company.Marc slips out through the door before I can form a response and hurries off toward the bathrooms. I sigh and walk in, glancing at the table.Several plates and dishes have been delivered since I left: chicken wings with quite a few small jars of dipping sauces, a platter of yellow and orange curly fries, sliced fruit and cheeses, eggs cut in half and drizzled with a yellow sauce, a tube of - My thoughts freeze on the brown cylinder of what looks like mush but which I recognize as canned barley bread. Memories of long ago holiday dinners threaten to overwhelm me.Pulling my gaze away, I try to calmly examine a pizza with green veggies and something shiny black for toppings, a bowl of salad, and two cartons of ice cream. About half of everything is left, and I wonder for a moment if either Marc or Xharm plan to take leftovers with them.I grab a clean bowl next to the ice cream and take a few samples, sticking with the fruit and salad at first but eventually grabbing other things as my stomach growls. “Found your hunger?” Xharm mumbles, half-turned from the window. She takes a small bite of ice cream, her spoon clinking against the bowl.My hand stops, held over the chicken wings. “Yeah, I guess I did.” I take one, dip a fried corner into a sauce I hope is ketchup, and place the piece atop my slice of pizza. “I had time to process some things - felt angry and sad and thoughtful and hopeful and angry again - and now I’m doing better I guess.” She chuckles, a deep sound, slow and solid. “Drank a bit, as well?”“How did you know?” Was Marc watching my payments somehow? “Your voice, footsteps and posture. You’re loose.”After placing her bowl on the table, she reaches forward and pulls her feet off the other chair and back to her wheelchair, then turns to me. Her gaze is steady enough I want to look away, yet my body won’t move. She hums and gives the faintest smile.“What made you lose control?”I pull away at last and sit down, feeling released. “Control? What do you mean?” “When you left.” She leans back, cracking her neck from side to side. “You were losing control of your emotions.” Her hands settle to the chair’s armrests and I hear creaking from the metal under her grip as her eyes return to me. “Athletes train their minds. You are similar, somehow. Not trained but tightly wound.”Picking up a slice of fruit from my bowl, I pop the piece into my mouth and chew, marveling at the explosive sweetness and crispy crunch. Is this another variety of apple? Or - something else? I need to try more fruit. “I’m fine with not being an athlete. I do jog but I don’t really watch sports.” Her voice softens, “Yes. Most people hate exercise. You jog. They avoid effort. You searched a building. They cluster. You danced all alone. Tell me - What made you different?” Different? I pick up the chicken wing to nibble the fried exterior while staring at the pizza, wondering what the black toppings are. Am I different? Her steady gaze on me is palpable.“What’s on the pizza? I mean other than the sauce and veggies. What’s this black stuff?”“Caviar. Stop evading my questions.”Setting the chicken wing down, I look at her and evaluate the threat in her voice. Physically, I might as well be made of paper compared to an athlete. If Marc came back and found me unconscious on the floor, I’d probably be the one to get in trouble. If I tried to run, even in her condition, she might somehow catch me. That’s just the feeling I get.“I - Why do you even care?”Xharm smiles. “Because.” She looks away for a moment, easing the tension on me. “Marc is too trusting.”Oh. She was watching out for Marc. That was fair. I nod and look down at my bowl of food, not sure anymore I’ll be able to finish everything I took or if I should ask for leftovers.“How do you feel about Marc using a neural jack?”“It is necessary.”No, it’s just a choice some people make. Marc could probably do everything they needed to with droids and communication apps. They had always been at risk - If not for their date tonight, they could have suffered the same permanent disconnection as the others.“Even with everything happening tonight?”She looks at me, eyes narrowing. “What else happened?” “When you were gone earlier, the manager told us about the android chefs not coming in. That reminded me of what I saw at the transit building, so I checked the news for more stories. There’s something happening tonight with neural jacks - something very bad.” I look back to my bowl, wondering what caviar pizza tastes like - then I set the bowl back on the table and meet her gaze again. “I wasn’t hungry after that. And I needed to be alone for a while.” So Marc hadn’t explained any of this while I was gone? Xharm stares past me, listening while not quite frowning, less intense than before. I go on, the words flowing out a little easier than usual, the same as how I was able to tell off that old guy. “The truth is I hate seeing androids. Or - it’s more like I hate knowing anyone uses a neural jack. People can be lost so easily - to a random error in code or a cyber attack or even a power outage. I once saw it happen right in front of me. And after that -”My chest feels tight, the same as when I jog. This isn’t anger anymore, although yelling at Marc right now might be nice. “I started running. I wasn’t going for exercise. Running was just something I needed to do. At first it was to get away from the news crews surrounding our house - we were one of the early disconnections - but I kept going out even after the reporter droids stopped coming.” Xharm holds up a hand. “So you lost someone.”I nod. “Although I might have found her again.” She raises an eyebrow while lowering her hand back down to the wheelchair. Looking away from me, her chin dips in a slow nod. The room’s door opens and I turn around as Marc comes in. “Xharm, so sorry. We should, um, raincheck tonight.” Their voice is rushed and firmer, with almost the same confidence I remember from Ms. Marci. “Things are, frankly speaking, getting crazy. Someone put out a city-wide warning on the local events page about dangerous network issues, the stock market has started going mad, and I’m getting calls from business partners asking -” A stately march comes from Marc’s pocket. They sigh and pull out their cell, holding up a finger to us and turning away. “Yes? Yes, it’s me - I’m out. No, I don’t. Can we - yes, later.” I pull out my cell and look at the time. The video shouldn’t have dropped yet. So this is all from the strange rise in disconnections? A feeling like a hand clenching around my heart comes as I realize our video might get lost in all this. But - could the result be the same?Xharm sighs. “Told you. Shouldn’t check, hmm, your cell.” “I know, I know,” Marc mutters, holding out their hands. “Though tonight’s, uh, quite serious.” The look on their face stops me from saying anything. I could point out I was right, say I told you so, let out some of the anger I was feeling - but I’m no longer angry. My rising worry has become bigger than anything else. “Seems so.” Xharm sets her bowl down with a clatter and nods. “Okay. We’ll raincheck. Now what?” “Bigger cities are probably the riskier place to be right now,” I offer, glancing from Xharm to Marc. “Anywhere with more androids means more things might be going wrong. And if anything happens to partners or droid workers, this could get really bad.” Marc nods to Xharm. “I’ll call for a car. But your room at the hospital might not be safe.”“They might need it.” Xharm rummages through a bag hanging from her wheelchair’s side and fishes out an especially bulky cell. “I can check out.” As the two of them use their cells, I look at mine and wonder if there’s anything I can do. Now that the video might go unnoticed, all my worry seems like a waste. This whole rise in android disconnections might achieve the same result, which should at least give Dad or the medical technician pause. Yet I can’t even be glad.“Where would you like to go?” Marc nudges my shoulder.I shrug. “Anywhere is fine.” My gaze returns to the table - to the canned bread. “Would you mind if I take some of the leftovers?” Would Dad change his mind if I bring some home before we unplug her? Or would the bread simply be food for the wake?Marc pats my shoulder. “Good idea. Go ask one of the servers for some boxes.” That I can do. Nodding in reply, I head out the door.
First: 
Mister Dancer - ch 1When did jogging get easy? Okay, not easy, exactly. At some point these sweaty walks got faster, steadier and maybe even routine. The when doesn’t really matter. Now it’s easier than … work, maybe. But work will always be hard. Why else would they pay us. Hustling along the empty sidewalk, the late-morning haze filters the sunlight to a distant warmth. A tiny mail car shoots down the empty street, slowing only when it goes past me. Another streaks through an intersection far ahead. Factory identical houses, one after another. Dirt lots, maybe an unkempt flower bed, empty driveways next to flood floors. Each home has a few visible differences: window curtains, deck furniture and other outdoor garbage mostly. Back when they were built, each of the thousand or so houses in the neighborhood had been painted one of a hundred pastel colors. Are they able to use different colors in other places? I turn at the corner. A few houses down the road, an old lady stands, water can and cutters in hand amid a yard full of vibrant flowers. She smiles and I nod in passing. I don’t know her but I do jog by here often. There’s no one else around. Or rather, no one outside. More come out in the evening, perhaps to walk around in groups, sit on benches and discuss the day’s scores and prizes. Especially couples, young and old alike, spending time together before they go back home to be alone. I jog and think about the evening, when I’ll be off work. Focusing so I can ignore the sights along the way, like … A red and white ambulance parked outside a yellow house. Three medic droids wheel out a blob of flesh in a blue bathrobe, still sitting in their chair. Probably stuck to it. They heft the blob, all three straining, onto the ambulance’s ramp and push the chair up into the back. You sometimes see them use cranes. On the other side of the street, I jog past. Gotta keep moving to reach the destination. Two small faces stare out a window of the yellow house. That’s why you go outside. ~-~ I jog up the stairs of our house. At the door I stop, allow myself to finally relax, and turn to go sit in the porch swing. Nice day after all, even with the haze. My cell has a bunch of message notifications. Most of them are my local IRL group talking about meetup plans, along with some spam and a few automatic reminders. I delete everything else. There’s a bit of a breeze, just enough to keep the air clean. Birds fly by, or drones shaped like birds. Who can tell anymore. A big mail truck rumbles up and parks across the street, the logo for a sports drink on the side. I stand, walk back to the door and tap in the keycode. Dad is in the kitchen, sitting at the counter with a cup of coffee and his newspaper. The ads on every page start moving each time he moves his head. A story on the front page flashes once before updating a few details. “Morn,” I say, walking to the fridge. The paper rustles behind me. “Sup.” My post-jog drink in the fridge is a bright neon green. Real OJ brand Chartreuse Juice. All the added vitamins and minerals a stable body needs. I pour out the remainder in the jug, filling my cup to the brim, then tap the message on the fridge door saying I’d like to order another. Dad tilts his head out from behind the newspaper and eyes my drink, but says nothing. I shrug and take a sip. No matter what he thinks, Chartreuse Juice is better than most of the other stuff on the market. It’s more bitter than sweet. He sighs and puts down his paper. “Good jog?” “The best.” His arms fold over a sugar gut and he smirks. “For real?” The ambulance siren receding in the other direction comes to mind. I grin and twist my hand like I’m shaking off water. “Nice weather.” While I finish my juice, he picks his newspaper back up. I pour egg hashbrown mix into a bowl, sprinkle on some hot sauce and head for the microwave. The kitchen stays quiet for a minute other than the steady cooking buzz. Going to the sink, I rinse and scrub the sticky residue from my cup. “Retirement good?” He chuckles. “The best.” “Can’t wait.” I open up the drawer beside the dishwasher and pull out a fork. The newspaper lowers as his eyes peer over. “Trouble, uh, at work?” “No.” What does he even mean by trouble? “Super boring. Normal.” He clears his throat with a slight cough and says in his deepest tone, “Not much you can do about that now, son.” He’s back to his paper before I can arch an eyebrow at him. The microwave beeps and I pull out my lunch, puffed up to double its liquid size, soft and chunky and bread-like. I stick the fork in and a scent very clearly of cheese wafts from inside. “Gonna work.” “See ya.” As I head up the stairs he calls out, “Dishes, sink.” I tiptoe down the hall to open my door at the end. My two side-by-side windows face our neighbor’s siding. The overheads come on dim - they’re not really necessary with enough sunlight angling in. Setting my bowl on a nearby shelf, I stare at my recliner. Either most chairs look similar or that blob had the same brand as me. I bend down, spot the seam where the base would disconnect, and trace a finger along the groove in the plastic. There’s not really any latch that I can see. After they separate, can a chair reconnect to its base? I lean back, stand up, slide into my chair and flip the power on my rig. The computer hums to life, lights blinking along the box and up the cables to the head-mount display. I toggle over to screen mode. My old display projector lights up the ceiling and the operating system’s boot process flashes through lines of code faster than I can read them. Still, it’s hard to look away. I pull my left and right hand controllers from their pockets on the sides of the chair and set them in my lap. At the login screen, I tap my password into the controllers and the home page loads. My news feed begins scrolling past with stories about athletes cheating, politicians fighting, NGTOs attacking, and new video games dropping. Finally I dig in to my lunch. The egg hashbrown has cooled enough to not be mouth-blistering hot. I drink some water from the tank beside my recliner before I’m through. Reading through the news, I learn the government is testing atomic bombs in space. Some corporations ordered them to stop. Another company is raising funds to try building a human colony on Mars. This one thinks they can find water deeper under the surface. Someone filed a lawsuit against one-to-one neural jacks. I stare at the headline for a moment before moving on. When I’m done with my lunch, I close the news and toggle back to headset mode. I sink into my recliner and position my legs over the restraint loops, which roll and snap into place. The room lights dim and blinds close over my windows. The shelf beside my chair has a small bowl of oblong pills. I swallow one, sip a little water, and pull the headset down over my face. My home world inside the computer is infinite, bright and uncluttered. A few colorful icons float nearby, all my apps and most used portals. The Bureau of Labor portal waits but first I tap my warmup exercise program. My world disappears. I'm inside a large cube room with the logo Precision Movement Industries plastered everywhere. My virtual skin is the typical fitness guy, probably the same one most freeware action games use. I’m pretty sure I could jog three times a day and never look as fit as he does. A tennis ball bounces nearby. I snag it and throw towards the cement-textured wall. The ball bounces back at a decent simulation of real gravity and I reach up to catch it. Too easy. I open the program’s settings with a button on my hand controller and increase the room’s gravity, making the ball harder to throw and catch. After a few more, I tap the button to move on. The skin’s hand grows a tennis racket and now I have to rebound the ball across the field to a simulated partner. She sends the ball in a new direction every time with the exact same motion. My ankles press against the leg restraints to move in two dimensions, pushing harder as she forces me to go faster. When I tap the button again, the ground disappears and we are free to fly in all three dimensions. The ball travels a little faster with each exchange. After three misses I move on. Floating orbs of different colors appear around me. Instructions scroll below: ‘Touch Red’ ‘Hold Green’ ‘Yellow and Green twist’ ‘Look Blue to Red to Yellow’ ‘Blue and Yellow push then pull’ and more and more, requesting longer series and more complex interactions. The orb test has an actual end and the results screen pops up, graphing my performance over time. The line has almost flattened out; I haven’t gotten much faster for a while. Maybe it’s a slump. Or my limit. A picture of my tennis partner, lean body curved and arm back to hit the ball, asks if I would like to purchase the premium version. I decline and close the program. Time for work. I dive into the Bureau of Labor portal, already wishing I was done. The server recognizes me and logs me in; ‘Wil’ appears at the top of my screen, along with 7429WI and a bunch more numbers I don’t bother to read. Their world is formal and mostly bare, a hall with white marble walls and a few flags fluttering to the side. Four doors appear along the hall with a golden, labeled plaque on each: ‘Janitorial’ ‘Material Handling’ ‘Media Sorting’ and ‘Security’ … the only jobs I got licensed for after my early exit from high school. I’m not feeling like a thinking, waiting type of job today. My hand wavers between the first two doors and my stats at each scroll down. I’ve got more years with Janitorial and I’m closer to a promotion, but my pay is already better with Material Handling. With one long press I’m through, the world transitioning to the basic lobby … for about two seconds. The job’s empty training room appears around me. I lift the hands of my virtual droid skin up to my eyes and inspect the rubbery grips on the palms. A partner droid walks in, sets some kind of clunky object down on a rack, and walks back out. The object is twice the size of my entire home rig but covered in the usual data ports and power jacks of a computer. I check the site details. A medical scanner manufacturer and used device refurbisher. That must explain why their part looks a decade old. The job nav overlay points me toward a stack of cardboard along the wall. I grab one and follow the cues to open the flat box, seal the bottom closed with heat glue from inside my droid’s finger, and flip the box over. A stack of irregular pieces, a mix of foam and pre-folded cardboard with plastic screens, appears nearby stacked one atop the other. One goes into the box, then the computer, and more packaging to sandwich the device inside. I close the box with another swipe of glue and the cues direct me to slide the completed package out through another door. My skin walks back to the center of the room and the training continues. The partner brings in two more objects, one a bit smaller and angular like a machine attachment, the other a much larger and heavier monitor screen. The first gets stretched plastic and cardboard, the latter a few large pieces of foam. Halfway through packaging a part identical to the first, a large red ‘5’ appears on my screen. ‘4’ ‘3’ ‘2’ My screen goes dark. Somewhere in the real world, an empty droid recalibrates to my settings as I'm sent in. The room is bright from the LED+S bulbs above. I’m in some kind of warehouse, or rather a side-room of a much larger building. The racks of parts waiting to be packaged sit along one wall, and the stacks of cardboard packaging on the other. The instruction overlay returns - though the arrows and lines don’t fit the real world as neatly as in the training room - and I head for my first flat box. “Hi, Wil,” someone calls out from ahead of me. Another droid stands in the corner, cardboard packaging flipping and twisting in their hands to form the insert pieces, which they stack in a tower beside them. “Welcome to the crew.” I nod and grab the box I need. Above the other droid’s head floats ‘Tiyr’ and a shield medal symbol with a ‘5’ in the center. I speak into my mic, “Glad to be hired, Tiyr.” My droid body has a bit of a crackle to its speakers. “How is the work here going?” “Busy as can be.” He - I’m guessing - flips the insert around like he’s juggling, fingers darting and catching the side to slap the piece down and fold the other edge. “That droid’s been running for at least an hour straight. You might be ported to the backup at some point.” One finger extends, gesturing behind me. I seal the box’s underside just like in the training. The hot glue almost spills over the edge but I smooth down the drips before getting any on the floor. “Busy is great. Means no waiting.” I turn the box over and go toward the parts shelf, then turn as the overlay flashes, pointing me toward an insert first. “Good point.” The dull monotone seems to suggest otherwise. With the insert in, I place the part inside and close the box - the overlay again reminds me about an insert. I add that, pushing to get a tight fit before the lid goes down. With no more warnings I can seal the top and push the box out. At most places the part comes prepped ready to go into the box, but everywhere is different. The next room is a huge warehouse space with aisles of racks going up to the ceiling, a couple of droid sleep closets at the ends, and several droid-forklifts driving around storing and retrieving the boxes. One beeps at me and scoops up my finished product without a word. I glance to my left and see a long row of other packing rooms like mine along the wall. No time for gawking. I go back inside and pull my next box. “If I may ask, where are you?” There’s no response as I seal the box, flip it and drop in an insert. I look over and see the droid in the corner, hands frozen idle at its side. The stack of insert pieces he made stands within my reach. I get the part, lower it into the box, sandwich down the second insert and seal the box shut. ~-~ I’m pushing out my tenth or eleventh part for the forklifts when a droid walks out from a room two down from mine and yells, “We are not machines! We are people, we deserve the rights of -” They’re cut off as the droid powers down. A second or two later, the droid stands up straight, turns around and reenters its packing room. My instructions overlay says, ‘Your shift is not over. Please return to work.’ I go back in and continue packing. ~-~ Another droid, piloted by a ten-year veteran named Greag, brings a cart full of parts at some point during the shift. They don’t say anything but wave once before focusing on moving the parts to racks. A true professional. Tiyr returns a few times, always folding me a stack of the inserts before porting off to some other droid. He’s in Germany and likes metal bands. We talk about rhythm games and he gives me a few track recommendations. After a long two hours, the overlay says, ‘Break time. Please finish current operations.’ I seal up the box, push it out, walk back to the center of the packaging room and stand still. Nothing happens for a moment, then the large red ‘5’ appears. ‘4’ ‘3’ ‘2’ My view of the real world freezes and my score scrolls down the screen: forty-six parts in one hour and fifty-three minutes. They probably took off ten minutes for that disruption. The average for the position is fifty-three parts in two hours. I get a Good Worker rank and my promotion experience bar updates with a few more points. The screen cascades and I am back in the lobby. I sip some water and for a moment consider going back and doing Janitorial after all. The words ‘Please enjoy a fun game on us during your break’ slide across the screen. Ten icons appear in front of me, most of them popular VR sims and micro-action games. On the bottom row I spot Dance Kings. I tap the icon and the lobby disappears. If their copy comes with Elvis unlocked, I might stick around. ~-~ After my break, I’m dropped somewhere with snow drifting against the windows. The time zone also appears to be different, a deep black dark outside rather than early afternoon. They put me at an assembly table packing small parts into larger boxes: ten of some kind of cable into a tray which goes into a shipping box and then those into a larger container. Next to me is a woman named Yeara who has no achievements. She chats on and off in a language I don’t know with Regin, the five-year veteran who brings us everything. I turn on some music and tune them out. At some point, Yeara taps the table in front of me. “It is good working. Bye now.” She waves and then stands still. A second later, the name above the droid swaps to Qris. Their hands move, settling on the table, as their head tilts to look around. I turn down my music. “Hi, Qris. Welcome to the crew.” Their gaze settles on me. “Eh, we’ll see. No promises, okay?” They grunt, short and dry, perhaps as a laugh. Masculine? Older, but not retired? And no achievements? Regin hands me the next shipping box tray. I continue stuffing cables inside trays, layering the ends so they won’t tangle. We all go back to work and Qris fits in like Yeara never left - except for the silence. When I’m jogging, music is a distraction. Even if I never went by another house with flowers, even if I saw ambulances on every street, I can't listen to music while I jog. But at work, I need the distraction. Between trays, I turn my music back up. ~-~ My score for the second shift isn’t quite as good, but my Teamwork stat received a credit from someone, maybe Tiyr. The day’s salary transfers to my account and I pay my daily bills at the same time. They portal me back to my home world. I stare into the empty infinity, letting my hands rest, wondering … At work I only need some of my attention for the tasks, like a really grindy video game. Music helps keep me sane. Yet when I jog, music doesn’t feel necessary. Jogging became easy at some point, which is kind of cool now that I think about it. There’s not a single job I could say the same about. Then again, I get paid to work. No one pays me to jog; I go outside for my own benefit. Speaking of which ... I sigh and push the headset away from my face. My closed blinds glow green and lilac from the chemical sunset outside. Pressing a button on my chair releases the leg restraints and I sit up. My hand hesitates for a moment but then I flip the rig’s power off. Walking across the room, my legs buckle and pop like Elvis. How does he make it look cool? I bend my knees and squint at the wall. “Thank you very much.” ~-~ On my way down the stairs, I smell something cooking well before I spot Dad at the stove. He’s actually using flame, like a caveman. But the smell is rich and strong and smoky. Red rice and synth-meat. He turns and eyes me. “Evening. Dinner?” “Yeah,” I reply. “Gonna jog.” I stop and lean against the door frame. “Can I, uh, ask you something?” His eyes widen but he nods. “What?” “Did you like working?” He goes back to the stove and stirs a spatula through the rice. “Uh, sure.” His voice deepens, “In my dad’s day, they didn’t have all that fancy droid work.” I smirk, even though he can’t see. “Uphill both ways?” “Through snow,” he adds with a chuckle. After another glance back at me, he returns to the rice. “Why?” Where would I even begin? “Wondering.” I open the door. “Back soon.” The sunset looks like a painting, streaks of color layering in bands across the clouds. Many-hued light covers the landscape around me, a rainbow spread across everything. These are the sights I go outside to see. A steady traffic of mail cars drive by, along with a few auto-vans and one silent ambulance. As I jog, the sunset begins to fade and each house I pass looks more muted and somber than the last - yet a few have lights on. There’s even people coming outside.

As I've already explored in previous chapters with Vin's group office, cities in a telepresence work future would have to be very different. For one, with so many people able to work from home, there would be far fewer need for companies to have large central office buildings. That would mean less need for lunchtime restaurants, exercise studios, parks and all the other small businesses which spring up to serve the big business ecosystem like dry cleaners and coffee shops. So will cities die? I doubt it. Instead they might take on the “theme park” style, or in other words a place which people visit to enjoy that place. Imagine a Las Vegas or a Disneyland in every corner of a nation, but free like visiting the mall or a public library. There would be cities full of every restaurant or museum, or even abandoned places treated like parks.

What I like about Wil's mini adventure in this chapter is how jogging gets to be his superpower. The old guy at the top floor is honestly surprised and impressed to have anyone visiting him. Normal people in this world would never walk up twelve floors of stairs; they might fear their legs breaking, or having a heart attack, or falling on their way back down. The stairs exist because people once viewed them as a normal option, but now they are only slightly more used than the dumbwaiter. Next time you have to go up a few floors, take the stairs! Take it slow, pace yourself and enjoy the burn!
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