After Dinner Conversation: Philosophy | Ethics Short Story Magazine

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

DECEMBER 2020

ABRA STAFFIN-WIEBE

Vol. 1, No. 6

After Dinner Conversation Magazine – March 2021 This magazine publishes fictional stories that explore ethical and philosophical questions in an informal manner. The purpose of these stories is to generate thoughtful discussion in an open and easily accessible manner.

Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The magazine is published monthly in electronic format.

All rights reserved. After Dinner Conversation Magazine is published by After Dinner Conversation in the United States of America. No part of this magazine may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the publisher. Abstracts and brief quotations may be used without permission for citations, critical articles, or reviews.

Contact the publisher for more information at info@afterdinnerconversation.com .

ISSN# 2693-8359

Vol. 2, No. 3 .

Copyright © 2021 After Dinner Conversation Editor-In-Chief: Kolby Granville | Acquisitions Editor: Viggy Parr Hampton Design, layout, and discussion questions by After Dinner Conversation Magazine. .

https://www.afterdinnerconversation.com

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

Table Of Contents FROM THE PUBLISHER .................................................................................... - 4 BILL AND THE TOOTH FAIRY ........................................................................... - 5 SIENNA’S MONSTER ..................................................................................... - 20 SOON THE SENTENCE SIGN ........................................................................... - 47 ECHO ............................................................................................................ - 54 STARSTUCK .................................................................................................. - 82 SURVIVAL KIT ............................................................................................... - 94 GIVE THE ROBOT THE IMPOSSIBLE JOB! ..................................................... - 111 ADDITIONAL INFORMATION ...................................................................... - 143 FROM THE EDITOR ..................................................................................... - 144 -

***

MARCH 2021

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

From the Publisher ***

After Dinner Conversation believes humanity is improved by ethics and morals grounded in philosophical truth. Philosophical truth is discovered through intentional reflection and respectful debate. In order to facilitate that process, we have created a growing series of short stories, audio and video podcast discussions, across genres, as accessible examples of abstract ethical and philosophical ideas intended to draw out deeper discussions with friends, family, and students. *** Enjoy these short stories? Purchase our print anthologies, After Dinner Conversation “Season One,” “Season Two,” and “Season Three.” They are collections of our best short stories published in the After Dinner Conversation series complete with discussion questions. *** Subscribe to this monthly magazine for $1.95/month or $19.95/year and receive it every month!

MARCH 2021

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

CARL TAIT

Bill And The Tooth Fairy Carl Tait *** Bill believed in the Tooth Fairy.

Big deal, you’re thinking. Lots of kids believe in the Tooth Fairy.

Well, Bill wasn’t a kid. He was twenty-eight years old.

You don’t believe it. My girlfriend Mary Beth didn’t believe it, either. We were having dinner with Bill and his friend Coralee. I guess I should say that Coralee was Bill’s girlfriend, but I can’t quite make myself do that. Coralee was a friendly soul who went places with Bill and tried to make him seem a little less strange than he would have been otherwise.

She felt some genuine affection for Bill, but to hear her tell it, she was mainly doing her Christian duty in helping one of God’s odder children feel more comfortable in a world that didn’t seem to fit him very well.

We were having a good dinnertime talk when Bill suddenly brought up the Tooth Fairy.

“Bill, let’s not talk about that,” Coralee said, with an MARCH 2021

-5-

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

CARL TAIT

uncharacteristic note of strain in her voice.

“Why not?” asked Bill. “Roy and Mary Beth don’t seem to mind.”

“It’s fine with me,” I said. “Not what I expected to be discussing this evening, but that’s okay.”

Bill smiled. “No bad time to talk about the Tooth Fairy, right?”

“Well, maybe not when you’re at the dentist getting a tooth filled,” answered Mary Beth.

Bill laughed, too loudly. Coralee had tried to coach him on that, but Bill was still prone to raucous laughter over little ha-ha lines that would barely earn a chuckle from most of us.

“You’re right, Mary Beth. Even the Tooth Fairy herself wouldn’t think you should talk about her while you’re getting one of your precious molars repaired.”

Coralee smiled thinly. “And speaking of unpleasant things, I ran into the worst traffic on 285 this morning. Some joker was …”

Bill cut her off. “Now, Coralee, we weren’t done talking about the Tooth Fairy. You know she doesn’t like it when you disrespect her like that.”

“Wait, I’m lost,” said Mary Beth. “Who doesn’t like … what?”

Bill smiled at Mary Beth patiently. “The Tooth Fairy gets real unhappy when you don’t treat her with respect. Like jumping from a good talk about the dentist into some boring story about a traffic jam.”

Coralee’s face went red, but she stayed quiet. She realized the crazy cow had escaped from the barn and there was nothing to do but wait for it to tire itself out.

Mary Beth was still struggling to build a fence around the subject with common sense. She forced a laugh. “Well, I haven’t thought much about the Tooth Fairy since I was nine years old, so I imagine she’s stopped caring about me by this point.”

“Oh, no,” Bill answered with concern. “She cares about you even more now. She already has all of your baby teeth, but she watches you MARCH 2021

-6-

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

CARL TAIT

every day. She’s waiting for you to have children and tell them all about her and make sure they leave their teeth for her.”

Mary Beth tried to say something else but failed. I cleared my throat and stepped in gently.

“Bill, are you saying that you still believe in the Tooth Fairy?”

Bill looked at me with horror. “Of course I do! Don’t you? Coralee told me that some people don’t believe in the Tooth Fairy, but I thought she was joking.”

Mary Beth had recovered her ability to speak. “Bill, what do people usually say when you mention the Tooth Fairy?”

“Well, I don’t talk about her that often, since we all know that talking about her too much is just as bad as too little. But when I do mention her, people always smile and laugh. Everyone loves her.”

“But not everyone believes in her,” I said. “In fact, I’ve never met an adult who did.”

Bill’s obese body trembled with agitation. “That’s not true! That can’t be true! How about God? Don’t you believe in God?” “Sure,” I lied. Actually, I hadn’t believed in God or any other deities for a long time, but I had not found this advisable to announce in the middle of a casual conversation, even in modern-day Atlanta.

“But you can’t see God, so why do you believe in him?”

I paused. “Bill, let’s not get into a religious discussion. Those are for church and for your private thoughts. I just need to know for sure: you honestly believe that the Tooth Fairy is real?”

Bill’s round face was as darkly angry as I’d ever seen it. “Of course I do. Of course I do.”

Coralee touched Bill’s arm gently. “Honey, let’s not talk about this any more right now. Some people don’t like to discuss the Tooth Fairy in public. We all know how mad she can get about that.”

Coralee looked at Mary Beth and me with something approaching MARCH 2021

-7-

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

CARL TAIT

desperation. There was silence for a moment. Bill was calming down.

I shifted in my seat. “So, Coralee, what in the heck happened on 285 this morning?” *** Coralee came by my desk the next day at work. We both worked at McPhee’s, but she worked in the other building so it wasn’t so easy for her to come over during the day. I guessed it must be pretty important, and I was betting it was about the Tooth Fairy. I was right on both points.

“Roy, can I talk to you about last night?” she said quietly.

Ms. Billingham at the next desk overheard and looked up with surprise. Coralee shot her a look and Ms. Billingham turned back to her work.

“Sure,” I said. “That conference room is free; let’s talk in there.”

Coralee nodded and we walked to the room, aware that Ms. Billingham had lifted her head again and was watching us.

I closed the door. “Tell me about it.”

Coralee drew a shuddering breath. “As you know, Bill is a little bit unusual.”

“Yeah, I’ve known that since elementary school,” I answered. “Bill was always the strange one even back in fifth grade. But he’s a decent and well-meaning guy, and I’m glad the two of you have been spending time together.”

Coralee’s forced smile suggested that her own happiness with the situation was less than whole hearted. “This Tooth Fairy thing. You have to understand. It’s just a little quirk of his.”

“He’d sometimes mention it when we were kids, but I didn’t think anything about it then. He really still believes it?” I was hoping to learn that the previous evening had been an elaborate joke.

“He really believes it,” she answered. “It doesn’t usually interfere with real life. I mean, how often do adults talk about the Tooth Fairy?

MARCH 2021

-8-

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

CARL TAIT

Especially adults without kids.”

“Not very often, I guess. But when the subject comes up, wow. Bill is going to get some interesting conversations rolling. How do people usually react?”

“They think he’s joking,” Coralee answered. “And he thinks they’re joking if they say the Tooth Fairy doesn’t exist. In his mind, it’s common knowledge that she’s real. You got him worked up last night and ran him off the rails. But he’s back to normal today. Or as normal as he gets.”

“So why does he believe such a strange thing?”

“You have to remember he was an orphan,” Coralee said. “His parents were killed in a plane crash when he was only eight. He was brought up in an orphanage by some very kind people, but somehow, no one got around to telling him that the Tooth Fairy wasn’t real.”

“Wait, I don’t understand,” I said. “When he lost a tooth, he put it under his pillow at the orphanage. They couldn’t have given him money every single time, along with all the other kids. You’ve still got a lot of teeth to lose when you’re eight.”

Coralee shrugged. “Lord, I don’t know. All I know is what he tells me. And he tells me a lot of Tooth Fairy gobbledygook. I have to listen to way more of it than anyone else, and it’s gotten worse in the past few months.”

She came to a halt, but clearly had more to say. I waited.

“I should tell you something else,” Coralee finally continued. “He’d never had his wisdom teeth taken out, and they started causing him problems a few months ago. Most people would have thought that was pretty darn annoying, but not Bill. I’ve never seen him so happy. He was going to have more teeth for his beloved Tooth Fairy. That’s the first time it was clear to me that he really believed it all.

“Bill told the tooth surgeon to save all of his wisdom teeth after he took them out. The doctor asked why. ‘The Tooth Fairy, of course!’ Bill MARCH 2021

-9-

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

CARL TAIT

answered. The doctor laughed politely and decided it wasn’t worth arguing about. He saved the teeth but one of them was pretty busted up by the time he got it out. He threw it away without asking Bill; just gave him a little package of the other three teeth and told him to open it later. That night, Bill opened the packet with such excitement, but then he started sobbing.

‘Only three! Only three! What has he done? What will she do?’ I didn’t have to ask who ‘she’ was.”

“Neither do I,” I interjected.

Coralee’s face was sad. “He was so upset. I tried to tell him that the Tooth Fairy would be happy to see more of his teeth and she wouldn’t mind that one was missing. It was hard to calm him down, but the pain medicine finally helped him sleep. With those three stupid teeth under his pillow.”

“So when he woke up in the morning and the teeth were still there, what did he do?”

Coralee looked uncomfortable and said nothing.

“No, wait; you didn’t,” I asked with disbelief.

“Yes, I’m afraid I did,” Coralee answered. “He’d had a hard time with the surgery and was so unhappy about the lost tooth and I just wanted to make him feel better. So I took those three hideous teeth and put them in the garbage outside. Then I left some money under the pillow.”

“Did it occur to you that shoring up his belief in a childhood fantasy might not be the best course of action?”

“It seemed like the right thing to do at the time. He was so happy when he woke up and found his teeth gone and the money in its place. He was like a little kid again. If he’s ever been anything else.” *** Mary Beth and I talked about the Tooth Fairy over dinner that night. I wanted to leave Bill alone to enjoy his supernatural dental friend.

Mary Beth, however, was more concerned. At the least, she wanted to understand how his odd belief had managed to survive his growth out of MARCH 2021

- 10 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

CARL TAIT

childhood in the orphanage. I knew Gildenhall Orphanage pretty well; my mama had been friends with a few people who worked there. So the next morning, we called the orphanage and made an appointment to visit later in the day. It was Saturday but there were always staff members on duty.

Gildenhall was an imposing but not unfriendly building. We walked up the well-worn marble steps and made our way through the aging front doors. A woman at the front desk looked up with a smile.

“May I help you?”

“Yes, we have an appointment to see Sylvia Banksby. My name is Roy Hartsdale.”

“Oh, Mr. Hartsdale, yes. This way please.”

Sylvia Banksby’s office was a little ways down the hall. She stood as we entered and offered a broad smile.

“Little Roy! Not so little any more, I see. You look more like your mama all the time.”

I introduced Mary Beth while Sylvia looked in vain for a wedding ring and tried to conceal her disappointment.

“So what brings you here, Roy?” asked Sylvia.

“It’s about an old friend of mine, Bill Husterhout. We’ve known each other since we were kids, and I know he grew up in this orphanage.”

Sylvia’s face softened. “Bill, yes. I remember him well. You know I can’t tell you anything confidential, but I can talk in general.”

“Let me get right to it. We just learned that he still believes in the Tooth Fairy.”

Sylvia grew slightly pale. “Still?”

“How could he have grown up without finding out the truth?” asked Mary Beth, with a slightly sharper edge than was advisable.

Sylvia flinched but answered steadily. “That’s a reasonable question, young lady. The circumstances were highly unusual. As you know—as everyone knows—Bill came to live with us after his parents were MARCH 2021

- 11 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

CARL TAIT

killed. He was a fragile boy who had been deeply hurt. He latched onto the one thing he understood at that point: a loose tooth.”

Mary Beth raised her eyebrows.

Sylvia looked irritated. “Yes, a loose tooth, no matter how silly you find the idea. He lost that tooth the first week he was here and told us he was putting it under his pillow. His parents might have left him, but he was sure the Tooth Fairy wouldn’t abandon him. I couldn’t stand to add to his losses, so I took his tooth and left him a little money. He cried with happiness the next morning. I told him he had to keep it a secret because the Tooth Fairy didn’t like it when kids bragged about the money they got.

Actually, I didn’t want word getting around the orphanage that anyone was getting money for their teeth because we don’t usually do that.”

“What about the teeth he lost over the next few years?” I asked, already suspecting the answer.

“There didn’t seem to be a good time to stop playing Tooth Fairy,” Sylvia explained. “He’d get so happy and excited when he was about to lose a tooth. One of us would always make sure that the tooth vanished and money appeared. It didn’t need to be much; Bill wasn’t demanding. He was just so charmed by the idea that someone magical was watching over him.”

Mary Beth and I glanced at each other.

“Then his last baby tooth came out,” Sylvia continued. “He was so sad about it. He said that even though he’d never seen the Tooth Fairy, he felt her presence and didn’t know what he’d do without her. So I decided to make his last tooth a special one.

“I went to a costume store and bought some fairy wings and a little gold crown. After Bill was asleep, I put on my costume and went into his room. He slept like a big fat bear in winter, so I had no trouble swapping that final tooth under his pillow for money. This time, though, I wanted him to wake up a little bit as I was leaving. So as I walked out, I made a skittery shuffling sound with my feet, just like I imagined a fairy would do as she MARCH 2021

- 12 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

CARL TAIT

was flying away after a good deed.”

I tried to imagine this plump older woman wearing fairy wings and a crown while shuffling her feet like a cheerful sprite, but was not successful.

Sylvia was smiling at the memory. “I heard him stir in the bed behind me, then I heard a little gasp. I knew he’d caught a glimpse of my wings and crown from the back, and that was exactly what I’d wanted.”

Her smile faded. “But now I’m not so sure. Are you certain he still believes in the Tooth Fairy?” *** We thanked Sylvia and left her to contemplate her actions. We drove home and everything was normal until the next morning, when the phone started ringing at an hour that was way too early for us. I fumbled my way out of bed and grabbed the phone.

“Hello?”

“Roy? Roy, is that you?”

“Coralee? What’s up? You sound frantic.”

“I am. Lord almighty, I really am. I came over to pick up Bill for church and … well, it’s awfully hard to explain. Let me put Bill on the line.”

I heard her pass the phone.

“Hi, Roy. It’s Bill.” His voice was tired and defeated.

“Bill, what’s the matter?”

“She’s deserted me, Roy. She’s gone.”

“Coralee is right there with you. I just talked to her.”

“Not Coralee. The Tooth Fairy.”

I closed my eyes. “What makes you think that?”

Bill sighed. “Coralee says she told you about my wisdom teeth.

That’s okay; it wasn’t a secret. But that whole thing with the missing tooth has been bothering me ever since. So I finally decided that I owed the Tooth Fairy something else to make up for it. Do you remember the dental plate MARCH 2021

- 13 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

CARL TAIT

my Uncle Doug used to wear?”

As it happened, I did. Bill’s drunkard of an uncle had lost a couple of teeth in a bar fight and had worn a dental appliance to fill in the gaps.

No implants back in those days. Uncle Doug liked to do a magic trick for us kids: he’d smile broadly, then turn away and pull out his dental plate, then turn back to face us with a huge grin. Kids would scream when they saw the missing teeth. Bill loved it. When Uncle Doug died a couple of years ago, Bill asked if he could keep the dental plate. He was Doug’s only living relative so he got the treasure. Not that anyone else would have wanted it.

“Yes, I remember that. What about it?” I asked.

“Well, the teeth on that dental plate were my Uncle Doug’s teeth.

Not his God-given teeth, cause Jaquith Hilderbrand took those away when he punched him in the mouth. But pretty close. It wasn’t like they were a whole set of false teeth.”

I smelled where this was going and I didn’t like it.

“May Uncle Doug’s spirit forgive me, but I pried those teeth off the dental plate and put them under my pillow. I even wrote a note to the Tooth Fairy explaining what I was doing so she wouldn’t think I was trying to trick her. I put everything under my pillow last night, and when I woke up this morning, they were still there.” His voice broke.

I wanted to comfort Bill but I didn’t want to lie to him. “What do you think that means?” I asked.

“It means she’s abandoned me!” Bill cried. “What else could it mean? She was so insulted by the fake teeth that she didn’t even bother taking them or leaving me an answer. I’ve made her angry and she’s gone.

Probably forever.” He began to cry. “I can’t talk any more, Roy. Here’s Coralee.” I heard the phone change hands.

“Hold on, Roy,” said Coralee. She moved the phone away from her mouth but I could still hear what she was saying. “Bill, you need to lie down MARCH 2021

- 14 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

CARL TAIT

for a while. Give your body and your mind a little time to rest. You can skip church today.” She waited for Bill to leave the room, then put the phone back to her mouth.

“Roy, I’m really worried about Bill. He’s gotten stranger and stranger since that thing with his wisdom teeth. I’ve never seen him as bad as he is today. He’s convinced that the Tooth Fairy has turned her back on him, and he just can’t stand that. I don’t know how to help him.”

“You might try telling him the truth.”

“No, Roy, not today. He couldn’t take it. First his special friend deserts him, then he finds out she never existed in the first place. It would only make things worse.”

“I’m not sure what to say then. Can you spend some time with him? Mary Beth and I already have plans for the day.”

“This afternoon, I have to drive down to Macon to see my Aunt Minnie. I won’t be back until tomorrow. Could you give Bill a call this evening to make sure he’s doing okay?”

“Sure, I’ll be glad to check on him.”

“If you have time, you might even stop by. If he doesn’t answer the doorbell, the key is under the mat.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Why would I be kidding?” asked Coralee. “Doesn’t everyone do that?” *** Mary Beth and I enjoyed our Sunday and stayed out past dark.

When we got home, I picked up the phone and called Bill. I hadn’t forgotten my promise to check in on him, but I wasn’t looking forward to the conversation.

There was no answer.

I tried again five minutes later and let it ring ten times. Still nothing.

I hung up and turned to Mary Beth.

MARCH 2021

- 15 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

CARL TAIT

“I think I better go check on Bill. He was in bad shape this morning and now he’s not answering the phone. He lives only fifteen minutes away; I won’t be long.”

Mary Beth shook her head sadly. “Poor old Bill. Hope he’s all right.

Or at least better than this morning.”

I drove as quickly as I could. When I arrived at Bill’s, the lights were out. I went to the door and knocked, not really expecting an answer. I didn’t get one. I flipped over the doormat and, sure enough, there was a shiny key underneath. I wouldn’t normally go into someone’s house uninvited, but the circumstances were unusual. I pushed the bright key into the lock and it did its job without complaint.

The door opened easily. I stepped into the dim living room, where Bill’s cheap furniture was arranged with geometric precision. The house appeared to be deserted.

“Bill?” I called. No answer.

I had almost convinced myself I should leave when I heard a faint wheezing sound. It was coming from down the hall.

Pushing aside thoughts of horror movies and lurking murderers, I walked quickly down the hall towards the sound. It turned out to be coming from Bill’s bedroom. The door was partway open and I stepped inside.

I will never forget what I saw, though I wish I could.

Bill was lying in bed, moonlight bathing his face. The area around his mouth was thick with blood, and the white pillow under his head was red and wet. His face was deathly pale and I thought he was dead.

Then that awful face opened its eyes and turned to look at me.

“Roy!” wheezed Bill. “What are you doing here?” Blood ran out of his mouth and onto the sheets.

“Jesus Christ, Bill, what happened?”

“You shouldn’t take the Lord’s name in vain. That’s what Coralee says. She’s so nice. But she just doesn’t understand the Tooth Fairy.”

MARCH 2021

- 16 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

CARL TAIT

I swallowed hard. “You’re saying the Tooth Fairy did this to you?”

Bill laughed, as best he could. It made him cough and his blood spattered the floor.

“No, no, of course not. She’d never do anything like this. I did it to please her. Look.”

He opened his mouth and I saw that at least a dozen teeth were missing.

I gagged but my dinner stayed inside me.

Bill slowly lifted his right arm from under the sheet. In his hand, he was holding a pair of pliers that were encrusted with blood.

“The Tooth Fairy hated Uncle Doug’s fake teeth. I understood that.

But it took me a while to figure out that I had to give her real teeth to make her love me again. I owed her a wisdom tooth, and that’s a big and important one, so I planned to give her as many regular teeth as I could. I took a bunch of aspirin and set to work. But it hurt a lot and I started feeling woozy so I lay down.”

“Bill, I need to call an ambulance. You’re in bad shape.”

“No!” said Bill, with more force than he had managed so far. “I did a good job! Look!” He lifted the edge of his pillow. Underneath was a gory mess of teeth and blood. Some of the teeth were broken and the insane thought crossed my mind that the Tooth Fairy wouldn’t like that.

His energy used up, Bill let his arm fall to the bed and turned his face back to the ceiling.

“Look!” he cried. “Look, Roy; look!”

I saw nothing.

“It’s her! She’s coming to get my teeth! I see her wings and her little gold crown!” Bill started grinning and crying. Tears ran from the corners of his eyes down to his pillow, mingling with his blood.

I knew I should call an ambulance but found myself unable to move. It didn’t matter.

MARCH 2021

- 17 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

CARL TAIT

Bill smiled beatifically at the empty air over his bed. His eyes went glassy as his smile slackened, not in disbelief, but in death. ***

MARCH 2021

- 18 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

CARL TAIT

Discussion Questions 1. How is Bill’s belief in the Tooth Fairy different than a sincere belief in God? For example, Bill has the money under his pillow, and saw the Tooth Fairy; arguably, he has proof for his faith.

2. At what point, if any, should the various characters (Roy, Coralee, Sylvia, Mary Beth) have made it clear to Bill the Tooth Fairy was not real? How/why is their obligation different than that regarding any other belief made on faith?

3. At exactly what point (if any) did Bill’s belief in the Tooth Fairy go from harmless to unhealthy? How do you determine which sincerely held incorrect beliefs are harmful?

4. Is Coralee leaving Bill over his belief in the Tooth Fairy appropriate?

Should she have left right when he made clear this was a sincere belief earlier in their relationship?

5. How much responsibility does Sylvia or Coralee have in Bill’s death, given that they each provided him evidence of the Tooth Fairy by taking teeth out from under his pillow? How is what they did different than what parents do? ***

MARCH 2021

- 19 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MYSTEE VAN DAN

Sienna’s Monster Mystee Van Dan *** Sienna lived with a monster, but no one else knew it.

The first time Sienna realized that her monster wasn’t like the rest was in 4th grade. The whole grade assembled in the auditorium. A police officer watched them enter from his place on the stage. His stern presence and heavy uniform covered the room in a quiet and serious mood.

Officer Charles told the kids that they had a right to live in a safe home and explained that not every kid had a happy family – some lived with monsters! Little Sienna’s eyes widened with hope.

He is talking about me! I’m not the only one living with a monster?!

She knew Officer Charles would tell them all about her monster, and then save her!

“The signs of living with a monster are easy to spot if you know what to look for. If your friend displays scratches on their body, those may be from a monster. Remember, monsters have four claws on each forelimb, so the scratches come in sets of four and are often quite deep.”

With these words, Officer Charles snuffed out that small spark of hope. Sienna’s monster had never scratched her, at least not yet. She lived MARCH 2021

- 20 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MYSTEE VAN DAN

in constant fear of the hooked blades at the end of her monster’s fingers, though she had never felt their burn on her skin.

Officer Charles continued, “Monsters also frequently drink alcohol – they need this fuel so they can breathe fire. Of course, humans drink alcohol too, but monsters drink much more at one time and then breathe fire over their whole family soon after. If you or a friend are living with someone who burns their child in fits of anger, these are clear signs of a monster in hiding.”

The officer went on to explain how to help a friend or where to seek help for yourself, but Sienna hardly heard him. She knew then that her monster would never be found out. No one would save her. Sienna’s monster never drank alcohol, and he never scratched her with his forepaws.

But Sienna knew, even at 9, that something was wrong in her life.

If nothing was wrong with him, there must be something wrong with her.

Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe he wasn’t a monster at all. He always said I was a drama queen. Maybe he was right. *** Sienna, September 2020, age 18 As her parents drove away, Sienna wasn’t sure how she was supposed to feel. She looked to other faces for a cue, but couldn’t decipher what she saw. Her breaths came shallow and fluttering. She was finally at college. So many unknowns faced her. She didn’t know which one to worry about first. Classes? Homework? Navigating campus? How to arrange her room? Her roommate?

Yes. That was her biggest concern. Who was this person she would have to share a tiny room with for the next year? What if she was terrible and mean? Sienna steeled herself to be strong no matter what horror MARCH 2021

- 21 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MYSTEE VAN DAN

awaited her.

When Clara first set foot in their fourth floor, ten by nine room with a slanted ceiling, she had a smile on her face. The room was already cramped with two desks, two dressers, and two beds. Clara’s parents followed her in, and the four of them pressed in close to all fit into the small space – Sienna felt suffocated.

Fortunately, Clara’s parents did not stay long. After introducing themselves, they hugged their daughter in turn and relieved the space of their presence.

Clara was Sienna’s height and, to Sienna, the perfect build. She was not skinny, but she was certainly not overweight. Her hair was dark and fell all around her face in bouncy ringlets.

Of course, I would end up with little miss perfect body for a roommate.

Most strikingly, her face was kind and conveyed curiosity and excitement without a hint of fear. Sienna tried mimicking the smile of the girl she was to live with as they said their obligatory pleasantries but guessed it came out lacking the joy smiles are intended to convey.

The freedom of being in college brought more stress than relief to Sienna. She had never been presented with so many choices before. It was all too much sometimes. She was often on edge and found herself irritated by every small thing. It didn’t take long for fights to break out in the small space the two girls called home. But these fights didn’t go as Sienna expected.

Clara did not yell insults and accusations as Sienna did, but she did not back down either. Sienna poured out an unending list of wrongs done since the beginning of time. Clara insisted that Sienna focus on the issue at hand and not bring old arguments into this new one. Clara spoke of fairness and forgiveness. She found solutions where Sienna only saw problems.

Clara was the warm iron to all of Sienna’s wrinkles. She was the MARCH 2021

- 22 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MYSTEE VAN DAN

eye of Sienna’s hurricane. Remaining calm with Sienna storming all around her. It was this opposition that first had Sienna considering that perhaps something was wrong with her. *** Sienna, October 2010, age 8 “What the hell is wrong with you?!” The monster shouted. “Just find your shoes! And comb that rat’s nest. Quick, we’ve got to go!”

Life was always a rush with him. He was never late, and it seemed Sienna couldn’t keep up – especially not at 4 am and 8 years old. Her monster worked early, and her mother worked nights, so Sienna had to get up early and go stay with friends of the family until school started.

Why couldn’t she brush her teeth faster, tie her shoes better, just wake up and know what he wanted? She hated her hair that was always a tangled “rat’s nest” in the morning. She hated that she never did what he expected of her. She hated her eyes that were bright green, like his. She hated herself. *** Sienna, September 2020, age 18 Being at college was like stepping into a parallel universe. “Culture shock” was the closest Sienna could come to describing how she felt. She was beginning to understand that her outlook on the world was not normal.

I can put as much cream cheese on my bagel as I want! Why don’t you mind what’s on your own plate?

You expected me to hold the door for you? Can’t you see my hands are full?

MARCH 2021

- 23 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MYSTEE VAN DAN

What do you care if I go to class or not? Mind your own business.

I can take as long of a shower as I want. There are no rules about shower length.

Sienna was constantly running through conversations in her head – not past ones, but future ones. She was always prepared for accusations and insults. She had to have the perfect defense ready. But for some reason, these accusations rarely came. Here in this place, people were more likely to smile and ask her how she was doing than they were to criticize her every decision.

“The only one criticizing you is you.” Clara had said at one of their many late-night talks. Sienna felt bad for keeping Clara up late so often, but she found that as soon as they laid down to sleep, thoughts rolled out of her mouth unbidden. Clara was always there to listen.

I never made you listen. You could have told me to shut up and gone to bed. You can’t blame me for making you tired.

But Clara never complained. Instead, she patiently continued devoting her time and attention to Sienna long after Sienna proved she did not deserve it. Relationships had a scorecard, and Sienna was losing this match terribly. With every outburst and mean word Sienna spoke, her score with Clara got lower and lower. She was so used to constant battles.

Why wouldn’t Clara yell back and even the score?

But for some unknown reason, Clara continued gaining points with kindness and understanding. Clearly Clara was much too good for Sienna.

She knew at some point her luck would run out; Clara would realize this relationship was horribly unbalanced and not worth her time, and she would disappear.

In fact, why was she even here now? Clara definitely should have dropped Sienna long ago. Maybe Clara just wanted to win… maybe continuing this lopsided excuse for a friendship was her good deed for the year. That sounded more likely.

MARCH 2021

- 24 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MYSTEE VAN DAN

Clara had told Sienna she was a Christian. She had made it clear that Jesus was the center of her life. It made sense - putting up with Sienna was just Clara’s Christianly duty. There was no other conceivable reason why Clara continued to be friends with her.

Of course Clara never really cared – she was only doing what her religion told her to do – to earn points for herself in heaven. Who would actually put in this much effort just because they cared about me? *** Sienna, June 2014, age 12 Maybe the monster didn’t understand. Whenever Sienna cried, he told her to “cut out the crocodile tears”. Whenever Sienna defended herself against a false accusation, the monster screamed for her to “stop with the excuses”. But they weren’t crocodile tears, and they weren’t excuses. Her tears meant she was truly upset, and her reasons were real and valid. Maybe he just didn’t know that.

Sienna began a mission of clarification. Whenever her monster curled his lip in anger, she did her best to remain calm. Even in the face of bared teeth and throaty growls, she explained her perspective.

This effort failed miserably. She found she couldn’t get a full sentence out before her monster interrupted her with screeches of anger.

The more she tried explaining herself, the more enraged he became. If she stood her ground long enough, he lashed out with his razor-sharp tongue and cut her deeply. The cuts silenced her with pain and fear and left her with only her “crocodile tears” to defend her.

For some reason, no one ever commented on these horrible gashes the monster left behind. Maybe they couldn’t see them – or maybe they didn’t care so long as it wasn’t claw marks. No one ever spoke of tongue lashings as being a sign of living with a monster. No one treated MARCH 2021

- 25 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MYSTEE VAN DAN

them as a big deal.

After a while, Sienna learned to make her words cut too – though she didn’t have as sharp of a tongue as her monster. She learned to speak in short sentences and make her point quickly before he interrupted. She learned that a raised voice commanded some small bit of power.

It was a constant battle, and Sienna was always ready to fight.

Sienna knew she could not make herself understood to her monster, but she always tried. *** Sienna, October 2020, age 18 A couple of months into the school year, Sienna decided to try to even the score with Clara – not by fighting, but by being a good friend back.

If Clara could be so calm and kind, why couldn’t Sienna? The hope that came along with this decision was thrilling. She wondered why it took her so long to decide to try. *** Sienna, July 2018, age 16 Sienna had tried. She had tried so hard. Her mind was constantly racing, trying to do the right thing and make him happy.

“Don’t be such a chicken-shit.”

“Get your head out of your ass.”

“You’re so smart – figure it out!”

The monster’s list of her wrongs only seemed to grow daily, so she tried to fix it. Oh, how she wanted to fix it. Maybe she could even fix this broken relationship if she put in some effort.

Sienna bought a book about bonding in families and read it twice.

MARCH 2021

- 26 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MYSTEE VAN DAN

She wrote a note to her monster telling him in no uncertain terms how his actions as a monster had hurt her. But she also wrote that she had chosen to forgive him and wanted to start over with a clean slate. With her heart galloping away out of her chest, she slid the note under his bedroom door late one night.

The next morning, she awoke buzzing with anticipation. Had he read the note? Did he understand now? Did he care? Could they start again? Things could get better. She went upstairs and found him where he usually was – on his recliner in front of the big screen TV. She asked him if he saw the note.

Without looking away from the TV, he replied, “Yeah, Si, that was really nice.”

She went over to give him a hug. She tried ignoring the dry, flaky, blue scales and the purple back ridge that was now folded flat so he could recline in the chair. He wasn’t really a monster, right? She stepped around his tail. She wanted to make this work. She wanted change.

“Get out of the way! I’m trying to watch the game, Si! Damn it!”

He flicked his tongue in a threat.

She retreated and then stood for a moment, dumbfounded. They had DVR. He could pause and rewind at will. Had this not occurred to him?

No. He knew. She just wasn’t important enough for him to go to the trouble. She vowed then that she would never dare to hope again.

Trying wasn’t worth the pain of failure. *** Sienna, October 2020, age 18 As Sienna tried to be a better friend to her roommate, she realized with horror how much she had to learn on the subject. During one argument with Clara about being woken up during a nap, Sienna was trying MARCH 2021

- 27 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MYSTEE VAN DAN

very hard to not yell or call names but just say why she was mad.

Then Clara said, “I’m sorry, Si. I didn’t know you were sleeping when I came in the room. If I had seen you in bed before I turned on the light, I never would have woken you. Maybe next time, you can leave a note on the door when you nap, so I will know and not wake you up. I’m really sorry I ruined your rest.”

Clara left Sienna totally befuddled. I’ve always known what an apology was, but I don’t think I’ve ever received one before. Have I ever given one? I don’t think so.

As Sienna worked to even the score with Clara, she saw more and more how her past, her time with her monster, had shaped her into the person she was today. She didn’t like that person.

She was away from her monster now. This was her chance to change and become something better. *** Sienna, August 2016, age 14 “Nooo!!! I’ll be good!” Her own wails echoed in her head and in the small cabin of the truck as it whipped dangerously onto the gravel shoulder and skidded to a stop. The huge brute ducked his massive head to exit the truck and made his way around to Sienna’s door on the other side. The concussive stomps of his scaly, clawed feet shook the truck. With each step, Sienna’s heart beat faster and faster until she felt it would drum itself right out of her chest.

Before he got to her door, Sienna unbuckled and slid across the back, bench seat as far from the door as she could get. She tucked her feet under her on the seat and leaned down until her body was as small and insignificant as she felt at that moment. Her hyperventilating sobs were drowned out by the monster ripping the door open and roaring at full MARCH 2021

- 28 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MYSTEE VAN DAN

volume. The blood-chilling sound echoed off the nearby cliffs.

Before she knew what had happened, the brute dragged her out of the vehicle by her arm, wrenching her shoulder painfully. His claws poked into her small arm enough to hurt – never enough to leave a mark.

He held the small Sienna close to his snout and bared his rows of sharp fangs at her. The monster roared in Sienna’s face smothering her in sweltering, rancid breath and thick, acidic spittle. It burned! Her face was burning, and there was no way to get rid of the viscous slime! As he held her aloft, he swung his tail around to the front and landed a hard blow on Sienna’s backside. She screamed in pain and shock. He struck her again and again and again whipping his tail around faster each time until Sienna could not even cry. Her mouth opened in a silent scream for help; her jaw ached from the strain, but still, no sound came out.

The beast flung Sienna back in the direction of the vehicle, his rage sated for the moment. Sienna climbed back in gingerly, sobbing now with a burned face and bruised backside. She tried meeting her mother’s gaze, pleading silently with her in the precious seconds before the monster rejoined them. But Sienna’s mother stared stubbornly out the window, a faraway look on her face. Sienna would find no help there. She was alone. *** Sienna, October 2020, age 18 Sienna tried shaking off the memory and wiped a tear that had been threatening to fall. That was the last vacation she ever took with her mother and her monster. The presidents on Mt. Rushmore were witnesses to the whole act. She didn’t even remember what she had done that was so horrible as to elicit such a response from the monster.

“There was nothing you could have done to deserve that, sweetheart.” Clara was always using pet names like that.

MARCH 2021

- 29 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MYSTEE VAN DAN

Mt. Rushmore was the last, but certainly not the only vacation that turned sour – in fact, most of them did. *** Sienna, July 2013, age 11 Wow, Niagara Falls! It’s huge! Did people really ride in barrels over it?

“Look! A boat!”

Sienna was so enthralled by the view that she didn’t notice her monster quietly padding up behind her. He could move silently when he wanted to. Without warning, he snatched her up in his claws and thrust her out over the concrete barrier. Before she could even process what had happened, she was looking down at the crashing water below her and falling to her death. She let out a screech, which the pounding water snuffed out entirely. Her heart jumped up into her throat, choking her so she could not scream again. After seconds that felt like lifetimes, she realized her monster had not dropped her to her death. Instead, he was holding her over the edge with a twisted grin on his face.

Again, with no warning, to cause as much fear as possible, he grabbed her by one ankle with his tail and released her with his claws. She fell with a scream until she was hanging upside down by one leg.

“Take a picture, hon.” Her monster said to her mother.

With her head turned to one side, her mother said, “Oh, let her down.”

The monster’s grin disappeared. He repeated, “Take a picture.”

There was no room in his tone for more arguments.

Her monster’s grin returned as suddenly as it had evaporated.

Sienna’s mother obeyed and captured Sienna’s terror to keep and remember forever.

MARCH 2021

- 30 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MYSTEE VAN DAN

*** Sienna, October 2020, age 18 Telling Clara about these memories was supposed to help. It was supposed to get it out into the open so Sienna could heal. But speaking the words and telling the stories made it all too real. Part of her mind still wanted to believe none of it was true, but she couldn’t deny it if she said it out loud. She said she would never trust her monster again but telling Clara about the things he did felt like a betrayal.

It also felt kind of foolish – was it really as bad as she remembered?

Were these few incidents really worth all this attention? Did she really live with a monster? Really? She had vacillated on the subject in her own mind many times in her youth, but only rarely was she brave enough to discuss it. *** Sienna, June 2018, age 16 “Your father is not a monster, Sienna! How could you say that? He never clawed you, he never-” “Yes he did!” Sienna interrupted. “Don’t you remember the time he misheard what I said, thought I insulted him, and clawed my neck as I tried leaving the bedroom? I went for the phone to call the police, but he shoved me into the wall, so I ran away from home. I didn’t come back for days. You were there! You saw the whole thing!”

“Oh, once. One time he scratched you. That does not make him a monster!”

“What about all the times he grabbed me and smacked me and roared in my face?”

MARCH 2021

- 31 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MYSTEE VAN DAN

“Well if you hadn’t been such a little brat, he wouldn’t have had to do those things!”

Sienna stomped away down the stairs toward her room. Maybe her mom was right. She wanted out. She wanted resolution, but maybe the resolution is just admitting it really wasn’t as bad as she was making it seem. She couldn’t deny that it could have been much worse. *** Sienna, November 2020, age 18 Clara embraced Sienna. “I’m so glad you shared with me, hon.”

Sienna still hadn’t decided if she liked the pet names. “That must have been so hard dealing with him without your mother’s support.”

As Clara helped her sort through her feelings on the subject, Sienna felt the balance of their relationship skewing even farther in Clara’s favor.

The tension the unbalance built in Sienna threatened to tear her apart.

Here she was trying to learn how to be a good friend and balancing the scales, but instead, she was burdening her amazing roommate with all these silly stories of an imagined monster.

What a drama queen.

But, now that Sienna thought about it, he’d always been so careful to never show his monster side in front of others. His hiding it proved he knew all along that he really was a despicable monster. *** Sienna, December 2017, age 15 Only one time did anyone else get a glimpse of the monster she lived with. Sienna invited a friend over after school. All she knew consciously was having friends around made her feel safer, but her MARCH 2021

- 32 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MYSTEE VAN DAN

subconscious understood that the presence of a friend kept her monster from revealing himself.

Her friend, Ella, was in art class with Sienna, so they enjoyed getting together to create art of all kinds. On this day, they were painting.

Sienna was working on a winter scene – snow-covered, rolling hills with a single tree in the distance.

This day, just this once, her monster forgot Sienna had company.

Sienna and Ella were painting in silence in Sienna’s basement room when a rumbling roar shattered the calm of the evening. Both girls jumped and let out scared squeaks before freezing in fear. They listened as Sienna’s monster stomped his way across the house bellowing ferocious, earsplitting roars as he went. Sienna’s mother must have done something to antagonize the beast - it was rare for him to lash out at her. Or maybe he just knocked his head on the ceiling fan again. It didn’t take a lot to provoke such a response from her monster.

As the monster’s rage filled the house and shook the foundations, Ella clung to Sienna’s neck, gathering Sienna’s tears in her hair as he continued to rage.

“I had no idea! You told me it was bad, but I had no idea. I’m so sorry,” Ella cried.

Once the noise subsided, the girls went back to their art, but there was no retrieving the calm atmosphere the monster had stolen. Sienna’s snowy hills turned into a cracked and dry hellscape with the tree forever burning on its hill. Ella went home early that day.

The events of that day ultimately changed nothing. Ella never mentioned the incident again, and neither did Sienna. What was there to say? The monster had not clawed them; he hadn’t breathed fire; he hadn’t even entered Sienna’s bedroom. It wasn’t really a monster attack. Who could they have told anyway?

MARCH 2021

- 33 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MYSTEE VAN DAN

*** Clara, November 2020, age 18 Clara had been listening to Sienna’s stories about her past for months now. They trickled out slowly like a leaky tap, one drop at a time, but Clara knew better than to rush Sienna. Clara worried that they would encounter a time when she was not equipped to help her roommate and Sienna’s past would drown them both. But so far, through prayer and faith, she had always found the right words to bring her friend comfort.

“I can’t do it anymore, Clara!” Sienna released the sudden exclamation into the silence of the dorm room as if a dam had burst.

Clara took a calming breath and mentally prepared. “Can’t do what, honey?”

“I can’t keep living this lie! I know I’m not worth your time, and I know I’m way too much trouble, and I hate that you keep wasting your energy on me! You could be out making real friends who can have a balanced friendship with you instead of me always in debt to you!”

Clara was familiar by now with Sienna’s habit of holding things in so that when they finally came out, everything was an exclamation. She didn’t let it bother her. “Sweetie, that’s not how friendships work. No one is keeping score. When-” “I am!”

Clara was also used to Sienna interrupting her. She didn’t let that bother her either because she knew Sienna only did it because it was the only way for her to be heard in her family. She also knew Sienna never said anything that didn’t mean everything to her. So if Sienna interrupted, it was because something was extremely important to her.

Patience. She will learn. This is not the time for that battle. “What do you mean? How are you keeping score?”

Sienna explained in detail how friendships had to be balanced or MARCH 2021

- 34 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MYSTEE VAN DAN

they just weren’t worth it to the one with the higher score. People earned points with good deeds and lost them with mean comments or failures to help when possible. If the scores got too uneven, then it was smart for the one with the higher score to cut ties and go find a more mutually beneficial friendship.

This all made perfect sense to Sienna. Clara had no doubt that if Sienna felt she was the one with too high of a score, she would end the friendship without a look back.

“But, honey, that’s not how love works.” Clara saw the flash of shock on Sienna’s face. She was not used to hearing the word love – especially outside of a romantic or family context. “That’s a very pragmatic view on life, but I don’t think that is how Jesus sees things – and that’s really, really good for us. If Jesus waited until we balanced the score of the relationship, no one would get into heaven. We are only considered friends of God because Jesus died for us even when we owed him so much. We are called to love one another as he loves. You don’t have to earn my love or pay me back for my friendship. It’s a gift.”

Sienna crossed her arms and scowled, “That’s what I thought! I’m just a good deed to help you get into heaven! I don’t want to be your charity case!”

Clara laughed. Part of her wanted to cry, and part of her wanted to walk out in exasperation, but she laughed instead. “No, sweetheart, that’s not what I said. I can’t earn my way into heaven with good deeds any more than you can, so loving you isn’t to earn anything – not from you or God. Loving you is just the right thing to do. You need it, and I am here and can provide what you need.” I hope.

Echoes of this conversation occurred a dozen or more times in the following weeks. Sienna always took more time than most to believe and trust.

The truth is, Sienna exhausted Clara. She was doing everything she MARCH 2021

- 35 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MYSTEE VAN DAN

could do to be a good friend to Sienna, but as the months wore on, Sienna’s issues seemed to become worse rather than better. *** Sienna, April 2020, age 17 Sienna had always heard of “fight or flight”, but really the mind’s options are “fight, flight, or freeze”. Often in the face of a predator much too large and powerful to even comprehend, the brain and body simply freeze.

His gargantuan, clawed hind limbs shook the walls around her as he stomped down the stairs beside her bedroom. By the time his blue, scaly body rounded the corner into her room, Sienna was so terrified she could not move. The purple sail on his back and head stood erect except where it bent as it brushed against the ceiling. His teeth were already bared, and a throaty growl was building in volume. Despite her frozen posture and petrified gaze, he bellowed out the greatest roar he could muster as if fighting for his very life.

Acidic accusation spewed out of his opened throat and splattered her with sticky, burning spit. Though the accusation was false, Sienna knew better than to try fighting back. That only ever made things worse. The burn of the acid still dripping down her body finally broke her from the freeze response. There was no way to fight this one. She pulled the blanket over her head. Even though it could not stop the acid, it made her feel just a tiny bit protected, like she was doing something.

She lay curled on her side cowering under the blanket like a tiny child for what seemed like hours as he spewed more and more acidic accusations of wrongdoing at her. Some were true but trivial, like leaving a cupboard door open, and some were just plain false. She thought it would never end. She closed her eyes and rocked back and forth trying to forget MARCH 2021

- 36 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MYSTEE VAN DAN

he was there. The endless attack had her thinking of escape, but he was right there at the side of her bed, towering over her. There was no escape, only survival.

After that day, Sienna could find no peace in her bedroom. The monster had violated her sanctuary. It would never feel safe again. She often woke from a dead sleep to the sound of the monster’s stomping overhead. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at the ceiling and listened… would he stop at the fridge above her room, or was he coming to the stairs? Coming down for her? *** Sienna, November 2020, age 18 Even after leaving that place behind, sleep was no sanctuary. It was as if the monster had implanted a part of him into her mind. Maybe the acid that left burns no one else could see soaked in and stayed with her somehow.

She dreamed of running from him with his razor-sharp claws on scaly forelimbs reaching after her. No matter how fast she ran though, he always won in the end. Sometimes he breathed fire on her, sometimes it was his claws impaling her. In one dream, he grew even beyond his already massive stature until, laughing, he took one huge step, and crushed her underfoot. After waking with a scream, she could still see his calloused, black footpad coming down to crush the life out of her.

Those dreams were terrifying, but the dreams where she fought back were worse. She faced him and told him all the things he needed to hear. She told him how terrible he was to her and how badly he had scarred her (no matter that the scars were invisible). She yelled and screamed all the things she wanted to say to him in real life, but unlike real life, in her dreams, he did not react. He just stood there and stared. She became MARCH 2021

- 37 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MYSTEE VAN DAN

angrier and angrier, piling more and more blame upon his shoulders despite his emotionless face. Inevitably she got so worked up, she shouted some profanity out loud and woke herself up – along with her roommate.

These dreams reminded her that, like in real life, nothing she did or said had any effect on him. *** Sienna, November 2020, age 18 Sienna had opted not to return to her parent’s house at all during the first quarter. The distance had been good for her. But Thanksgiving break left her with few options. The dorms closed, and the school expected the students to go home, so she did.

Months away made the incremental changes of aging more obvious. Her monster had grown older. His blue scales were beginning to turn grey along the edges. His purple back fin was just slightly duller in color than before. He seemed somehow calmer too.

“Your father’s been thinking a lot about life since you left,” her mother said. “Having an empty nest has really changed him.”

While Sienna lived there, the monster directed a vast majority of his outbursts at Sienna. Very rarely did Sienna’s mother step out of line enough to earn the monster’s wrath. Sienna had worried that when she left the home, the monster’s rage would turn upon her mother. She wasn’t sure how she felt at the revelation that he had not turned on her mother – he just… calmed down.

Maybe I really was the problem all along.

Walking was one of life’s simplest joys for Sienna. Her whole family loved walking. On Thanksgiving night, her monster asked her to join him on a walk. Things had been going well, and Sienna was happy to join. For the first mile, the walk was refreshing and enjoyable, but then the MARCH 2021

- 38 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MYSTEE VAN DAN

conversation changed - without warning. Before Sienna knew what was happening, her monster was talking about the past, and their life together.

He began speaking about his own father – he called him a monster. He said his monster father would claw him and his brothers regularly. He described horrible burns inflicted by his own monster. He talked about being glad when he finally left home.

Then Sienna’s monster did the unthinkable – he congratulated himself for being so different from his monster. “I may have had a temper, but at least I never clawed you. I promised myself I would do better than him, and I really did.”

Sienna stopped in her tracks. The words struck her like a blow to the face. Had he really just said that? It wasn’t until that moment Sienna realized she had convinced herself that he understood what he had done.

She didn’t even know it until he proved it to be untrue. She believed he hadn’t just “mellowed with age” but had actually understood the gravity of his actions and felt sorry. She believed that was why he hadn’t acted like a monster recently.

It was not in Sienna’s nature to be left speechless for long. “What the hell?! Yes, you did! So what if it was only once? You hit me with your tail all the time! You cut me with your tongue and belched your sticky acid all over me my whole life!” Sienna screamed. “You terrorized me, and you still haunt my dreams! You’re a monster! You’ve always been a monster!”

Her monster reeled back in confusion. Shocked that his self-praise had turned into such accusations. He looked around to make sure no one else was around and spotted a small crowd of people at a nearby gas station glancing their way. “Shh. Si, you’re going to get me arrested.”

“That’s what you care about right now?!” The monster ducked down to look less imposing and gestured with his clawed limb for her to lower her voice. Sienna ignored him and yelled louder. “Even now?! All you can think about is yourself. You don’t give a damn how you tortured me!”

MARCH 2021

- 39 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MYSTEE VAN DAN

Sienna turned on her heel and walked back the way they had come. Her monster stood there for a moment and then turned to continue the loop the way they had been going.

Only once he was out of view did the cork of anger pop under the pressure and release all the other emotions that had been fizzing deeper down.

She couldn’t breathe.

He thought he had never hurt her.

She sipped the tiniest bit of air.

He said he had never clawed her.

Her heart fluttered in her chest, begging for air.

He never grew up. He never got better. He just compared himself to his own monster and called that a success! What a narrow-minded, selfabsorbed, abusive monster, piece of – Sienna woke up in a snowdrift on the edge of the sidewalk. Her heart rate was back to normal, but now that the anger, disbelief, panic, and all the other unnamable emotions had all flown out of her, she was left in the deepest, darkest pit of self-pity. She spent over an hour in that pit, lying in that snowdrift. She sobbed and wailed until she had no more tears and her throat ached. Finally, the cold drove her to get up. She went back to her car and got on the freeway. This visit was over. *** Clara, November 2020, age 18 The nightmares worsened after that visit. There was no way for either girl to ignore them with so many of them ending in Sienna yelling out horrible obscenities.

“I’ve got to get away from him, Clara!”

MARCH 2021

- 40 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MYSTEE VAN DAN

“You are away from him, sweetheart.” Clara tried keeping her own fear out of her voice.

“But I’m not! He’s still here!” Sienna pounded on her head with her fist. “How do I make it stop?!”

I wish I knew. “Maybe you need to talk to him?”

“NO! I’ve done that! I’ve tried that over and over my whole life and it only makes things worse!”

“Well.” Clara really wanted Sienna to calm down. Waking to nightmares every night had them both on edge. “Maybe you should just end it then.”

“End what?”

“The relationship. Just say you’re not going back there again and not talking to him again.”

Silence. Clara had never seen Sienna in a state of speechlessness before. She could see the gears turning behind Sienna’s eyes.

“But how? How would I live? They won’t pay for my phone forever.

Where would I go for the summer, or after graduation? Christmas break is coming up in 2 weeks! I can’t go back there, Clara!”

“Shh.” The gentle girl wrapped Sienna in a soft embrace. “One problem at a time. Why don’t I ask my mom if you can come to our house for Christmas break?” *** Sienna, December 2016, age 14 Sienna hated Christmas. She hated the music. She hated the decorations. She hated the expectation of buying gifts. But most of all she hated the obligatory family events.

“Damn it, Si, you need to balance the ornaments! There are too many at the bottom and not enough at the top.”

MARCH 2021

- 41 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MYSTEE VAN DAN

Her monster was always angry while setting up the Christmas tree.

Perhaps it was the physical strain of hauling the artificial tree out of the attic and moving the living room furniture around. Or maybe it was that every year he found at least one of his prized hand-blown glass ornaments broken from its time in storage. Those had their own special spot on the window frame, never the tree. Either way, Sienna had to behave as if she were walking on those glass pieces for this “festive” family event. Her efforts were never enough.

“I can’t reach the top!”

The monster sighed a deep, rumbling sigh that held a threat. Then he snatched some ornaments from the bottom half of the tree and carelessly flung them to top branches, dropping a few along the way and angering himself even more.

Sienna carefully and quietly slipped out of the living room and down to her bedroom. She expected him to bellow for her to come back, but this time he didn’t. Family duty accomplished, and no bloodshed… this year… so far. *** Sienna, December 2020, age 18 “Mother, no! I told you. I never want to see him again. I have made my decision, and it’s not changing!”

That last conversation with her mother still echoed in her head. It was the best thing Sienna had ever done for herself. She couldn’t convince the world she lived with a monster. She couldn’t even convince her own mother, but she could choose to never put herself in danger ever again.

“We’re so pleased to have you over for winter break, Sienna.”

Clara’s mother offered a sincere smile into the rear-view mirror.

Clara’s younger sister greeted them at the door with a smile full of MARCH 2021

- 42 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MYSTEE VAN DAN

metal braces and a deep hug for Sienna and Clara, in that order. Even the beagle greeted her first with a happy sniff, tail wagging. Sienna thought she would feel awkward invading this family’s home over the holidays, but it seemed like everyone in this happy family was truly pleased to have her there.

In the week before Christmas, Clara and Sienna spent every moment together. They went to coffee shops, met up with Clara’s friends, and hung out with the family. Discussions of the monster were few.

Without Sienna noticing, the nightmares lessened.

Despite this relaxing environment, Sienna could find no peace.

Though the monster had offered no argument to Sienna’s decision to stay with Clara over winter break, Sienna’s mother would not let the subject drop. Sienna’s mother was no monster, but she had lived with Sienna’s monster for the past 30 years, so she had honed the tactics of guilt and shame to a fine point. After weeks of not responding to her mother’s calls, emails, and texts, Sienna could take the pressure no longer. The day after Christmas, she answered the phone call.

“You have to let me come over. Just to talk. You’re my daughter. I need to see you.”

“Fine. But just you – no monster!”

Sienna’s mother let out a long, exasperated sigh that reiterated a month of arguing in one moment. Then she hung up.

Sienna was nervous to meet with her mother, and already exhausted by the constant repetition of the same argument over and over.

Her mother sure did know how to wear down a person’s resolve.

Sienna asked Clara and her family for some privacy in the den and went rummaging through the cupboards. She found the bottle of sparkling grape juice that was intended for the New Year’s Eve celebration and brought it to the den. She would replace it before the New Year’s Eve party.

She selected two wine glasses from the cupboard, placed them, with the MARCH 2021

- 43 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MYSTEE VAN DAN

juice, in the den and sat awaiting her mother’s arrival. *** Sienna examined the wine glass in her hand. She held it by the base, and the top had broken off at the stem. The break was clean, like a candy cane that had been licked only on one side, so it formed a slope with a sharp tip. The comparison was made even more apt by the sickly-sweet crimson liquid that made trails down the stem and on to Sienna’s hand.

Sienna released the breath she didn’t realize she had been holding and refocused her attention to the figure past her candy cane wine glass.

The very human body was lying prone on the floor. His torso was speckled with small, red holes shrouded in drying blood. Why had her mother brought him? Sienna had made it clear she never wanted to see him again.

Well, here he was. *** Clara, December 2020, age 18 “I really thought she was getting better.” Clara sat, head bowed.

She lifted her tear-streaked face to meet the eyes of her pastor.

“Maybe she was.” The pastor’s kind eyes mirrored her own sorrow.

“I do believe your faithful love was helping her, but you can’t expect to heal 18 years of wounds in three months.”

Clara had come to her pastor seeking absolution, and he had just offered it, but it did nothing to ease her guilt.

“I should have done more. I should have been with her when her mom arrived. I tried to get her to go to counseling, you know?” The statement came out sounding more defensive than she intended.

“Well, she is in God’s hands now. Maybe this isn’t the end of her story.”

MARCH 2021

- 44 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MYSTEE VAN DAN

*** Sienna, December 2020, age 18 Sienna was in jail. She could not recall how she had arrived there.

Her court-appointed lawyer informed her that if she attempted a selfdefense plea, her mother was prepared to testify against her.

With a guilty plea, it didn’t take long for Sienna to be moved from jail to prison. They told her she would never see the outside of those walls again. Life without the chance of parole.

Sienna awoke to sore hips after another night on the thin mattress.

She stared at the concrete wall six feet away from her – the other side of her world.

She hadn’t dreamed. Sienna had never felt so free. ***

MARCH 2021

- 45 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MYSTEE VAN DAN

Discussion Questions 1. Sienna’s father says that he was better than his father, because he was rarely physically violent. Is that true, is Sienna’s father better? Is her father “stopping” the cycle?

2. What, if anything, could Sienna have done to reach her father and help him understand how his aggressive words and actions affected her? Is there anything that would have helped?

3. Are Sienna’s defense mechanisms growing up (lashing out, keeping score, etc.) a healthy response to her father’s aggression? What, if anything, could have been a better defense against his abuse?

4. Clara has nearly unlimited grace and patience with Sienna’s emotional issues. Is it possible for a non-religious person to be equally thoughtful and understanding? Is Clara’s religious faith the thing that causes her to be the way she is?

5. Clara says that love is about not keeping score. Is friendship also about not keeping score? Are all our interactions with others about not keeping score? Should we simply not keep score? ***

MARCH 2021

- 46 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

DAVID M. HOENIG

Soon The Sentence Sign David M. Hoenig *** Jason Sweeney sat quietly; his hands secured behind him. He glanced at the young uniformed Korean woman who had arrested him.

Marshal Hwang Min Pak didn’t so much as look up from her pad and stylus. She clicked a corner of her electronic device, consulted its clock function, then powered it down and put it away. “It’s nearly noon local time. We should get to the security tower in another five minutes, give or take, so let me clue you in given it’s your first offense.”

Sweeney hunched his shoulders submissively and remained silent.

Marshal Pak settled back in her seat. “Titan’s the new frontier, ‘Sweeney Todd’. We don’t have enough population-or criminals-to warrant a full-time legal system. Circuit court judges have a long haul to get here via interplanetary, so waiting for a regular trial can mean being imprisoned for a long time before anything happens.”

The transport began to slow. “But it was just a bar fight, and he MARCH 2021

- 47 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

DAVID M. HOENIG

started it!”

“I got your statement already, so shut up and listen.” Pak put her hand onto her prisoner’s shoulder and gave a minute squeeze. “You’re not such a bad guy, but we caught you, literally, red-handed after slashing someone with a broken bottle. In an illegal establishment. You both broke the law: he’s got his process to deal with, and you’ve got yours.” She checked her pad again. “In a very little bit, you’ll have some choices to make. You have the right to a trial, so you can either eat survival rations in solitary confinement while you wait for a human judge to get out here, or you can use the latest AI judicial package approved by Titan Corporation’s ‘legal beagles’.”

Sweeney put his head in his hands. “Great choices.”

“Take some advice?” Marshal Pak smiled when he looked at her.

The transport slowed to a halt. “Life’s too short. Don’t wait for a circuit judge. If you’re found guilty, you’ll end up paying for your own prison sentence in addition to everything else.”

“Shit.”

“I’ve worked with Judicial Suite myself, and it’s pretty comprehensive. And fair. I’ve seen cases where all charges were dropped because the AI personality matrices found someone innocent.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, but the charges for attorneys, procedures, and all the legal stuff can really rack up, and…”

“And I’m responsible for it if eventually found guilty.”

Pak nodded.

“But I could argue my case and go free?”

“I’ve seen it, Sweeney. But it’s probably best to just plead guilty and take the summary judgment from the AI.” “Let a computer decide my fate?”

She snorted laughter.

MARCH 2021

- 48 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

DAVID M. HOENIG

“What’s so funny?”

“Ever since they started holding trials, Sweeney, someone decides the guilt or innocence of an accused. You think humans can do it better than an artificial intelligence?”

Sweeney considered that.

The transport stopped and the door slid open. Marshal Pak escorted him into the security, recorded his thumbprint at processing, and took him to an elevator. They went down several levels, and she stopped him at a door. It opened for her, and Sweeney saw a screen and a chair in an otherwise tiny, bare metal room. She took off the cuffs. “In you go.”

“What do I do?”

“The computer will explain everything. All you have to do is make choices.” She pushed him gently.

Sweeney went into the cubicle without resisting and the door closed behind him. He sat in the chair.

The screen promptly powered on, and a computerized voice spoke from it. “Jason A. Sweeney: you have been arrested on charges of assault and battery, assault with a deadly weapon, and public intoxication with an illegal substance.”

“I was drinking in a bar and defended myself from an idiot!”

“Outbursts will not be tolerated: additional charges of contempt of court may be brought against you if you continue in such fashion. This court has reviewed relevant evidence and testimony. Do you contest any of the previously described charges?”

Sweeney blew out a breath before responding. “Yes; all of them.”

“If you are not prepared to accept summary judgment from this court for the specified charges, you have the right to either be remanded to solitary confinement on subsistence diet for an unspecified period to await arrival of a Solar Court-approved judge, or to proceed with immediate trial utilizing Judicial Suite 3.7.1 software.”

MARCH 2021

- 49 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

DAVID M. HOENIG

Two icons lit up on the screen, and Sweeney tapped the one on the right. The display cleared.

“Thank you for selecting the use of Judicial Suite 3.7.1. Please indicate if you would like to accept summary judgment based on current evidence, or if you would prefer to undergo a virtual trial using this software.”

“Question: what exactly does ‘summary judgment’ mean in this case?”

“It would mean that you acknowledge your guilt on all charges, and accept the judgment of this court in assigning an appropriate sentence.”

“Hell with that. I want the trial.”

“Thank you for choosing to undergo a trial. Judicial Suite 3.7.1 is currently being loaded to the local system... Judge 4.0 has successfully loaded... Jury 2.7 has successfully loaded... Prosecutor 3.1.5 has successfully loaded. Please indicate if you would prefer an AI defense attorney or to represent yourself. Judicial Package 3.7.1 and Titan Corporation strongly recommend selecting the AI Defense attorney.”

“Yeah, I want the lawyer.”

“Thank you for choosing the AI Defense attorney option. Please peruse the complete collection of AI Defense attorney personalities available to choose from, and their costs.”

He began scrolling. “You’ve got to be kidding; there’s over eighty different choices!”

“Indeed. Judicial Suite 3.7.1 offers the closest approximation to the ideal of human legal systems, including a multitude of matrices to allow the accused as much latitude as possible.”

“Great. Who, or what, is a ‘Johnny Cochran?’”

“Specific characteristics, as well as relative strengths and weaknesses of particular personalities in pursuing this proceeding, can be accessed as subheadings under each entry. Once again, Judicial Suite 3.7.1 MARCH 2021

- 50 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

DAVID M. HOENIG

advises against representing yourself.”

“But if I choose an AI, I’m kind of just choosing you, aren’t I?” “No. For each aspect of this case, you will select a unique, specific personality matrix to represent the usual participants in this trial.”

Sweeney rubbed his temples. “I really don’t understand how you can be you, a judge, opposing lawyers...”

“Historically, the uncertainty of many factors affected the outcome of trials: personal biases of a particular judge assigned to the case, the quality of attorney available, the specific persons selected to the jury. To accurately simulate this exhaustively comprehensive process, accused persons must be provided with the opportunity to make choices and allow for random probabilities which will affect the trial’s outcome, and, if you are found guilty, of the sentencing phase. Your choices will facilitate the exacting and complex legal process of a trial.”

“Well, how am I supposed to know what to choose?”

“I can provide you with legal advice based on a cost-value scale, or if you prefer to employ a randomization algorithm for any category...”

Sweeney interrupted. “Can I go back?”

“Specify.”

“What happens if we just forget about the trial and I choose summary judgment instead?”

The computer’s response was delayed enough that Sweeney thought that it might have been offended. “Judicial suite 3.7.1 is prepared to accept your plea of ‘guilty’ and to pass sentence based on a median level of punishment for similar crimes across the spectrum of human criminal proceedings. Such a sentence will be moderated by the personal circumstances of the defendant, and commensurate with the cost-savings to Titan Corporation which would be realized through avoidance of a lengthy trial.”

Sweeney thought back to the advice that Marshal Pak had given MARCH 2021

- 51 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

DAVID M. HOENIG

him, and carefully touched the ‘Cancel’ icon at the bottom right of the screen. “Fine; I accept summary judgment instead of trial.” After just a second, he added: “Please.”

“Excellent. In light of the evidence and your cooperation in this proceeding, this court sentences you to a fine of 10% of your wages for the next 300 days, abstinence from intoxicating substances for the same period as documented by biomonitor, and mandatory psychiatric evaluation and attendance/participation with all medically recommended therapy. If you fail in any part of these requirements, you will be immediately sentenced to execution by being exposed to the outside environment. Please agree to all terms of this sentence by thumbprint on the screen.”

Jason Sweeney exhaled and applied his thumb to the screen. The cubicle door clicked open.

“Hey.” Hwang Min Pak smiled at him from the doorway.

“Is… is that it?”

“Yep. I can get you processed if you’re ready.”

“What are you still doing here?”

She shrugged. “I made a bet with myself. Wanted to see how it turned out.”

Sweeney stood. “How’d you do?”

“Won it.” She smiled. “Each of us in Security had to play through a scenario with Judicial Suite during training.”

“Really? Seems like an ugly way to treat an employee.”

“Officially, the Corp was testing it for bugs and flexibility, but I’m pretty sure they wanted us to know what it was like.”

“Because then you could give someone advice before…”

Her answering grin was wide. “You’re not as dumb as you looked back in Dome Eight. C’mon: I already told you, life’s too short for this shit.” ***

MARCH 2021

- 52 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

DAVID M. HOENIG

Discussion Questions 1. If you were arrested for a crime you knew you committed, would you plead guilty and admit your wrongdoing, or would you force the State to prove your guilt? Why? 2. If you were arrested for a crime you knew you committed, but you knew the government could not prove, would you plead guilty and admit your wrongdoing anyway? Why? Does your answer change with the nature of the crime? Why? 3. Would you feel comfortable having an AI judge? An AI lawyer? Are there professions where you would prefer AI or a person? What is it about a person, or AI, that is compelling in certain situations?

4. The AI system in the story takes into account the cost avoidance saved by pleading guilty (rather than going to trial) when determining the punishment; should cost avoidance be a consideration in the justice system?

5. If the narrator had gone to trial, he would have had the choice to pick between different AI lawyers to represent him, each with their own strengths. Do you think it is fair that different criminals are represented by different lawyers, of different quality? If you think it is not fair, what, if anything, would be a better system of equal legal defense? ***

MARCH 2021

- 53 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

JENNA GLOVER

Echo Jenna Glover *** “I think you’re focused too much on this. Names are just arbitrary titles handed to us by others. Why should this one matter?”

“Because it’s not my name! It’s not even a name.”

“You need to start thinking of it as your name.”

“It…doesn’t feel like me.”

“And which me is that?”

“Wha—the me I’ve always been! Martha!”

“Martha is dead.” *** Martha first knew something was wrong when she weighed herself after the new year. She had started weighing herself the first few years of her marriage. Back then, she and Robert were still in the honeymoon phase, and she was determined to maintain her petite, 115-pound figure for his pleasure. A decade later and several pounds heavier, it became an obligation for health not vanity.

Then the war started. Martha didn’t weigh herself at all during MARCH 2021

- 54 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

JENNA GLOVER

those three years. How could she when there were androids to find and destroy? The world had moved on to bigger priorities and she did as well.

Her weight would not save mankind from its own creations.

The war ended a year ago, and Martha spent that year attending holidays, gatherings, and celebrating the first Freedom Festival without any thought to her figure whatsoever. The Freedom Festival lasted for seven days and was celebrated with food and lots of it. Martha, a true patriot of humanity, did not shy away from such festivities. After the food was consumed and everyone trickled back to work, Martha inevitably felt the burden of her overindulgence. It was time to get back on the scale.

Martha stepped onto the tile scale after she brushed her teeth one morning, casual as can be. It wasn’t a big deal. She was only thirty-eight.

How high could it have gone, really? If she didn’t like the number, then it wouldn’t be that difficult to fix it.

When Martha glanced down at the backlit, blinking screen, she frowned. That couldn’t be right. She stepped off, let the tile reset itself, and stepped back on. No change. Martha ripped off her clothing, stripping down to her underwear, and read the same number again.

With a huff, Martha chalked it up to the scale being broken. Lots of technologies were failing now that the androids weren’t in charge. No one would admit it, but those genocidal revolutionaries were better at running the world than the humans ever were. Martha slid back into her clothes, taking a moment to note the measurements on the tags, and, satisfied that it was an error in manufacturing, left the bathroom for work.

She couldn’t stop thinking, though, that the scale could have read something as absurd as 205. *** “You’re very quiet today.”

“Just thinking.”

“What about?”

MARCH 2021

- 55 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

JENNA GLOVER

“They held the funeral today.”

“Oh? How does that make you feel?” “…I wish it were me.” *** Martha pressed the pad of her finger against the sensor on her holo-vanity and waited. She winced slightly at the prick of the needle and then the blast of cold antiseptic. A blinking green light appeared on the mirror’s surface, and she removed her finger, automatically sticking it in her mouth even though the tiny prick would have healed already. She watched the mirror. The dot blinked over and over but didn’t turn.

Martha sighed. She wanted the test to be positive; she wanted to be pregnant. Caleb was her world, but he was four now, and Martha thought another baby, a sibling for Caleb to play with, would be good for all of them. Caleb was born just before the uprising, and once that happened babies were the last thing on anyone’s mind. It was all just a haze of chaos and business associated with the war and the cleanup.

Martha’s own maternity leave was cut short, and she could barely remember her first year as a mother. But now all that was over, and Martha wanted to experience motherhood for real. She broached the subject with Robert, and he was in agreement.

They had been trying for months now. Martha could have sworn she was pregnant with Caleb the second Robert looked at her. She knew she was older now, but she had been taking those fertility pills for a while…surely, they must have had some effect by now.

The green light blinked one last time and a beep sounded. The mirror’s surface displayed a myriad of facts and figures about her blood work, but Martha skipped over all of it, looking for the one section she actually needed.

PREGNANCY: NEGATIVE

Martha stared at the reading for a few seconds before swiping her MARCH 2021

- 56 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

JENNA GLOVER

hand across the mirror, returning the picture to her own face.

A baby. She should be able to have one. Other women her age and older were having babies. Martha wondered if she should go see a doctor.

She hadn’t been to see a doctor in…years. But the hospitals were so chaotic now, operations barely back up since eliminating all the corrupted data, lines of people to see too few doctors. Martha didn’t even know if fertility clinics were still open. Perhaps all nonessential medical needs were still closed. Martha met her own eyes in the mirror.

Perhaps she was just broken.

From downstairs, Martha heard the front door open and the sound of Robert’s shoes on the entry floor. She quickly accessed the holo-vanity’s data center and deleted all her files for the last several weeks so Robert couldn’t see the results. She would tell Robert herself.

Later. *** “This doesn’t have to be such a tragedy.” “…”

“This could be the beginning of a new life. You’ll find and meet new people—” “I don’t want new people.”

“But—” “I want my son!” *** Martha collapsed at work on a Wednesday afternoon, the week before her wedding anniversary. One minute she was typing away on her screens, organizing files, and answering requests. The next minute she was peering up at the face of a man she didn’t recognize in a place she didn’t recognize.

The man sat back with a gentle smile, allowing Martha all the time she needed to sit up and get her bearings.

MARCH 2021

- 57 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

JENNA GLOVER

She was on what appeared to be a hospital bed, wearing a hospital gown, but the room was quite different. There were monitors and screens everywhere, and not one of them looked like it functioned for medical purposes. Further, Martha herself didn’t feel ill or hurt or even confused.

It was like she merely went to sleep for—she glanced out the window and noted that it was dark—hours!

Martha glanced at the man—doctor?—who merely continued to smile, and then peered down at herself.

That was when she noticed the wires protruding from her arms.

Martha must have made some sort of sound or movement because the man came forward to quickly place a hand on her shoulder.

“Now, now,” he said. “There’s no need for that.”

Martha ignored him and for the second time that day lost track of a few hours. *** “Where were you when it started?”

“I’m sorry?”

“The San Jose Slaughter. Everyone remembers where they were when the androids first attacked.” “…I was here. Working on a paper. It was late. Why do you bring this up?”

“I just realized that I don’t know where I was.”

“Meaning?”

“Just that. I don’t know. The government doesn’t know. Was I already there, eating dinner with Robert and Caleb and pretending all was fine?” “…Or?” “Or did I not exist at all?” *** Martha sat on the bed, the words of the doctors and government MARCH 2021

- 58 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

JENNA GLOVER

workers and engineers washing over her and forming a background static.

She looked down at her hands, wiggling her fingers, touching the tips together, and wondering how could these not be real hands?

“Ma’am?”

Martha looked into the smiling faces of the people in front of her.

They always called her ma’am. No one called her Martha or even Mrs. Billings. Just ma’am.

“Do you have any questions?” the woman nearest to her asked.

What’s happening?

How could this be happening?

Who am I? “Um…” The doctor, or government agent, or engineer—Martha couldn’t tell the difference; they were all wearing the same suits—smiled and laughed.

“That’s all right,” she said. “We’ll be here as your rehabilitation team for the duration. We’ll guide you through step-by-step, and you can stop and ask any questions you like along the way. I know this is a lot to take in now.”

Martha nodded and then rasped out, “Could I just…have a minute alone?”

Suddenly everyone tensed, throwing each other meaningful looks, and Martha thought they were going to say no, put her in cuffs, lock her away, but then the woman who had spoken spread her arms and began herding the others towards the door.

“Of course,” she said as she too backed out. “Just call if you need anything. We’ll be back in a minute.”

As soon as she heard the door click shut, Martha fell apart. Her breath came in great, heaving gasps, and there never seemed to be enough of it, and how could that be right because she wasn’t even real! There was MARCH 2021

- 59 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

JENNA GLOVER

no need for air, no real lungs to breathe it in or real heart to pump it through her blood.

Martha stood abruptly, a marionette having its strings yanked, her body an attachment to her consciousness and nothing more. She needed to know, for sure, once and for all: what was she?

Martha glanced around the room and saw some sort of tool on a table opposite. She had no idea what it did, but it would serve its purpose.

She sprang towards it, snatching it up, and before she could even think about what she was doing, she plunged it into her arm. *** “Can I ask you a question?”

“Certainly.”

“If I’m dead—” “You’re not dead. Martha Billings is dead.”

“Right. But is Martha, like, experiencing the afterlife? Heaven and such?”

“Hm…You have her memories. What do you think?” “...yes?”

“There you have it.”

“Can I ask you another question?”

“Sure.”

“Will I go to heaven, too?” *** “We repaired the damage done; there won’t even be a scar.

Furthermore, we finished repairing the degradation that caused your collapses in the first place. You’re good as new!”

The doctor snapped his screen shut and smiled across at Martha.

“Do you have any questions?” he asked after a minute.

“I want to see my family.”

The doctor sighed. “You will. Soon. But there’s a lot of paperwork MARCH 2021

- 60 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

JENNA GLOVER

that needs to be sorted first. It’s not as easy as it is for humans.”

Martha blinked at the sudden realization that ‘human’ was a category she no longer belonged in.

Silence fell. Martha rubbed the perfectly smooth skin of her arm.

The blood that came forth when she stabbed herself was beautiful to her eyes even as the pain hit and she doubled over in agony. But then came hard resistance as she hit something impenetrable, metallic and man-made materials peeking out from a thin layer of skin and muscle and vein.

Android materials.

“Ma’am?”

Martha glanced up.

“I’d like to introduce you to Doctor Audrey Meng, our specialist in android psychiatry.”

For the first time, Martha noticed a woman standing beside the doctor. She was tall, fit, and completely inoffensive in every way, from her neat and professional hairstyle to her earth tone pencil skirt and sweater blouse. She inclined her head when the doctor said her name and smiled, revealing a set of perfectly straight, white teeth.

“Hello, ma’am,” Doctor Meng said. “You and I are scheduled to meet once a week for two hours every Friday afternoon. My offices are located on the fifth floor. You can, of course, schedule more meetings with me with the approval of your rehabilitation leader.”

“I’m not suicidal,” Martha blurted bluntly. Doctor Meng blinked, but Martha plowed ahead. “I wasn’t trying to kill myself. I just wanted to see…if it was true.”

Doctor Meng smiled again. “That’s good. But I’m not here because we thought you were suicidal. All newly aware androids are required to undergo extensive counseling throughout their transitions and beyond. It’s standard procedure.”

“Oh. How many…how many others are there?” Martha asked. “I MARCH 2021

- 61 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

JENNA GLOVER

mean, other…newly aware androids?”

Doctor Meng hesitated for a second, and Martha’s mind struggled with the concept that she was the only android left active. Logically, she couldn’t be the only one, right? There were standard procedures. You couldn’t make standard procedures unless there were multiple cases.

“We generally don’t encourage newly awares to associate with other androids right away,” Doctor Meng finally said. “However, there are more. We are getting better at locating possible androids, but given the complexity of android technology, we may never know how many humans were replaced with android units. Of the ones like you, there are probably hundreds in the nation. Thousands across the globe.”

“Like me?”

“Pedestrian. Non-combat oriented and safe to exist.”

“And the others? The…combat oriented androids?”

“You don’t need to worry about those.” *** “What is that on your finger?”

“Huh? Oh, a wedding ring.”

“We talked about this—” “It’s not mi—hers. I had to return that. I bought this for me.”

“Why?” “…I’m not allowed to marry. I thought if I had something that represented…you know, a relationship, then it wouldn’t feel so bad to be alone.”

“Sounds like you’re trying to substitute that ring for real interaction.”

“No. It’s just something to help me remember what it was like…to be loved. In case I start to forget.” *** “All right. Let’s see about getting through this as quickly as MARCH 2021

- 62 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

JENNA GLOVER

possible, and we can all be on our way.”

Mr. Park, a representative from the World Government’s North American branch for Android Affairs, shuffled his folders, lining them up opposite Martha on the desk. There was a security guard at the door who never lifted his eyes from Martha.

“All right,” Mr. Park said, licking his lips and pushing a folder to Martha. “This is the first one. It’s all just information about your new identity as an android citizen. We only need the signature on the front page. Everything else is for you. You can read it now and ask questions or read it on your own time later.”

Martha picked up the folder and began to leaf through it, not missing the sigh that came from Mr. Park. He no doubt hoped she would choose to read it later.

“My new name is…”

“Echo-two-three-six-four-X.” “Echo?”

“E. Phonetic alphabet designation for geographic region of citizenship.”

“But…why do I need a new name?”

Mr. Park held up a finger before sliding another folder forward.

“That is all contained in this file.” Martha glanced at it. The title read ‘Martha Billings.’ “And we will need signatures on the first three pages of that one, if you don’t mind.”

Martha set aside the first folder and opened the second. It appeared to be a complete dossier on her. There was her birth certificate, her employment records, medical files, and a death certificate. Martha pulled that one out and looked it over.

“Why does it say I died three years ago?” Martha exclaimed. She looked up wildly at the government worker before her. “I only found out about this…situation a month ago!”

MARCH 2021

- 63 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

JENNA GLOVER

Mr. Park leaned forward and plucked the death certificate from her hands, sliding it neatly back into the file. “Martha Billings’ death is estimated at three years ago, when androids were first known to start replacing average citizens. We can’t know for sure because there is no body, but that is the year Mrs. Billings most likely passed away.”

Martha stared mutely at him for a moment. He licked his lips and nodded his head pointedly to the other files. Martha reached for a folder marked as from the courts. She flipped it open and gasped.

“Robert is divorcing me!”

Mr. Park hummed. “Technically, no. He is merely legally acknowledging the death of his wife and not pursuing a continued relationship with you.”

Martha’s mind struggled under the destruction that statement caused. “But…Caleb…”

“Mr. Billings will have full custody of Caleb, as is his right as sole parent, and at this time he is not willing to concede any visitation rights for any other parties.”

Martha sucked in a shaky breath. “My son…”

Mr. Park folded his hands. “With respect, Echo-two-three-six-fourX, Caleb is Robert and Martha Billings’ son, not yours.”

“Caleb is mine!” Martha screamed, flinging the file across the room and standing up so fast the chair toppled behind her.

The security guard was at her side in an instant, hands gripping her forearms. Mr. Park remained where he was, completely unfazed.

“Please sit, Echo-two-three-six-four-X,” he said cordially. “We have a lot more paperwork to get through.”

The security guard righted the chair and Martha all but collapsed into it, anger, like her identity, abruptly gone.

Mr. Park began collecting the fallen papers, chuckling goodnaturedly.

MARCH 2021

- 64 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

JENNA GLOVER

“I do wish we could use digital like everything else,” he said. “But for obvious reasons, we have to use paper with android cases. Hacking,” he elaborated when he saw Martha’s blank face.

Martha worked her way mutely through the rest of the paperwork, signing where she was told, but she never read anything more. She already knew what was important. Two hours and one more security guard later, Mr. Park packed away the last piece of paper and smiled. He never seemed to stop smiling.

“Well, that’s that!” he said brightly. “I’ll get this sent over to records tomorrow morning, and by the end of the week you will officially exist! You’ll be notified to schedule your marking tattoo. I’m told that they are now available in navy blue and purple if you want something other than black. Then, it will probably be a few weeks before you are assigned new housing. Not to worry, though. You are insured to stay here for six months if needed. And finally, here is your copy of your rights and privileges as an android citizen. There are numbers on the back if you have any questions, complaints, or need to file for anything. Now, any questions before we go?”

Martha shook her head even though she couldn’t even remember her own new name. Echo…something.... *** “I’m so sorry you had to do this, but it’s not that bad. The blue was a good choice. Black would have stood out.”

“It’s a bar code on my forehead; it stands out.” “…” “…sorry.”

“That’s alright. This is a hard day for you. I completely understand your anger over—” “No, you don’t! I’m not angry. I’m…”

“You’re…?”

“I don’t know! Why don’t you scan my forehead and find out!”

MARCH 2021

- 65 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

JENNA GLOVER

*** It was a big book. A really big book. Martha picked it up and hefted it, trying to gauge its weight. She had never seen such a big book before.

Most books were digital, but Martha was always partial to ink and pages, so she had seen and handled her fair share of books—novels, magazines, textbooks. But this was something else.

This was the user manual for herself.

Martha supposed that was useful. It was kind of like taking a biology class or having a medical book handy. In order to care for oneself, one needed to know how they functioned. Humans needed to know.

Androids needed to know.

And there was a lot androids needed to know.

The chief engineer on her rehabilitation team had given her the manual weeks ago, a part of her welcome to being an android packet, but Martha had not opened it. She wasn’t ready. She didn’t know if she was altogether ready now either, but she needed to know more about who she really was. She couldn’t go on pretending to be human forever.

Martha flipped the book open to a random page and ended up on one that had a complex diagram of…something. Martha skimmed over the passage.

“An android unit requires no actual sustenance for survival, yet it is capable of eating and drinking and eliminating waste same as a human being.

Similar

to

simulations

for

emotions

and

emotional

reactions/thinking, there are multiple settings and programmed reactions for carbon recycling and waste removal: (1) All food and drink consumed can be eliminated as waste [see page 462 waste management] (2) Partial food and drink consumed can be eliminated and the rest recycled to produce various simulations of biological functions, i.e. hair growth, menstrual cycles, sweat, saliva, tear production, etc. Note: This is the default setting for most android units [see pages 345-353, 566-571, 674, MARCH 2021

- 66 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

JENNA GLOVER

822-825] or (3) No food or drink is consumed by the android unit and waste management systems are shut down or removed entirely [see pages 867901 REDUNDANCIES AND UNNECESSARY SYSTEMS/FUNCTIONS].”

The next day, Martha had to ask for a new copy of her user manual.

She had simulated vomit all over hers. *** “I’m not sure I understand the point.”

“The point of what?”

“This! Existing! Being! I get up, eat food, walk outside, go to sleep, and then do it all over again. If I’m not human, why should I go on pretending to be?”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t.”

“But then what would I be?”

“Something better.” *** Mr. Higgins, the hiring manager, glanced at Martha from over the file, frowned, and then returned his attention to whatever it was he was reading. Martha tried not to tap her foot impatiently. There were only two papers in there, and she had been sitting in his office for nearly half an hour.

She had been fired from her original job almost as soon as she had become newly aware. True, going back to work was the last thing on her mind, but she had just been feeling better when she broached the subject with her rehabilitation team and received the bad news. She was fired, and as an android, she was no longer allowed certain jobs. Technology was off limits and so were any positions of significant authority. She couldn’t work alongside another android, and she wasn’t allowed a salary over the World Government’s minimum wage. Martha understood the limitations. She had voted on some of them herself. But that was before she realized she would someday be sitting in a dingy office, begging for work that had been MARCH 2021

- 67 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

JENNA GLOVER

beneath her for over ten years.

Finally, Mr. Higgins snapped the folder shut and tossed it carelessly aside.

“Well, Ms…Whatever. I can’t say I have much need for another line organizer.”

“Oh. I understand. Thank—” “But I do need someone in the trash.”

“Excuse me?”

“Trash organizer. The stuff that comes down the chute needs to be put into the proper bins to be burned, recycled, et cetera. It’s the only other android acceptable job I have here.”

“I’ll have to ask my rehabilitation team for approval before—” “Do you want the trash job or not, bot?”

Martha flinched. Bot. Not fifty years ago it was used as a commonplace word for anything electronic and semi-independently mobile. Now it was a curse, spit in the faces of androids and android supporters. Martha herself had used it blithely in the past, basking in her human superiority. Now it described her—bot, subhuman, artificial, synthetic, whatever you wanted to call it so long as it wasn’t human.

No one would have dared call Martha a bot before, and they still wouldn’t because Martha was dead, and all that was left was a shell that stole her face and lost her job.

“I don’t got all day, bot!”

“I’ll take it. Thank you.” *** “Echo, what brings you here? We don’t have a session today.”

“I know. I need to ask you a favor.”

“Of course.”

“I have something I need you deliver. I don’t have clearance yet.”

“Deliver to whom?”

MARCH 2021

- 68 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

JENNA GLOVER

“…Caleb Billings.”

“—” “No, wait! It’s his birthday. I promised him this new holo-game ages ago. Robert doesn’t know about it; he won’t get it for Caleb. I don’t need to see him. He doesn’t have to know it’s from me. There’s no card…Please.”

“You know you can’t contact him anymore.”

“It’s a birthday present for my son!”

“Echo, I’m sorry, but you don’t have a son.” *** Martha wasn’t stalking. Martha would never do such a thing.

Martha was simply sitting on a bench in the park, a park she was allowed to visit three times each week if she so desired. She had her handbook with her to show anyone who said she couldn’t be there. Because she wasn’t stalking.

Martha heard a bell in the distance, and all the synthetic muscles in her body contracted. Children came pouring from around the corner where the daycare was located, adults trying in vain to create a coordinated exodus. The park, with its playground and holo-boards, was a favorite for the kids, and parents found it much easier to pick them up there than in the crowded daycare lot.

Martha watched the kids, making sure each one played safely and no one strayed too close to the street. But then a young boy came from around the corner, launching himself with the fearlessness of youth onto the nearest play structure.

Caleb.

He had grown so much! Martha felt tears prick her eyes, and she dashed them away quickly. She didn’t want to draw attention to herself…but her boy. Martha watched him join a group of other kids and start a game on the holo-boards. He was beautiful.

Parents began filing into the park, some shouting for their children MARCH 2021

- 69 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

JENNA GLOVER

from their cars, others coming into the park to play for a few minutes. A mother walking with her daughter passed by Martha. She saw her glance at her forehead and then look down hurriedly, ushering her daughter away.

Martha put a hand to her forehead, running her finger across where she knew the blue tattoo was, marking her as an android. She wished she were allowed to wear a hat or style her hair to hide it, but that would defeat the purpose, she supposed.

From off to her right, Martha heard a familiar voice shout, “Caleb!

Let’s go! You have swim lessons!”

Martha watched Caleb disengage from the holo-game and sprint over to the car where Robert was waiting. If she strained, Martha could hear music coming from the car’s radio. Electric string quartet. Her favorite. Then the car door slammed and they were both gone.

Neither of them noticed Martha at all. *** “Who do you spend your time with, Echo?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, we have been meeting together for months now, and you never mention any other people.”

“I do. I’ve told you about…about my boss and my neighbors.”

“All people you do not spend quality time with. Who are your friends? Have you been seeing anyone in a social capacity?” “…Other than you?”

“Thank you, but you know I don’t count.”

“Then, no.”

“Not even other androids?”

“Of course not!”

“Why?” “I’m not…” “…You are.”

MARCH 2021

- 70 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

JENNA GLOVER

*** “Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

Martha, for one moment, did not say anything. She just continued to sit, occasionally poking at her bowl of no longer frozen yogurt. No one ever talked to her.

“Ma’am?”

Martha looked up. A man, a human a little younger than her, was standing awkwardly, holding a smoothie and pointing to the chair next to Martha. Martha glanced around. The little café was indeed full.

“Uh, no. Sit,” Martha muttered, moving her bag off the seat.

“Thanks.”

The man sat down and pulled out a screen, tapping away on it.

Martha found herself staring. She hadn’t accessed any technology in months.

The man noticed her staring. “I’m David,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Mar—Echo.”

“Ah, that’s one of the cooler android names.”

Martha immediately glanced down, barely suppressing the selfconscious urge to touch her tattoo.

“Oh, um, I’m sorry,” David said awkwardly. “I didn’t mean…are you newly aware?”

“Oh.” Martha had never heard anyone outside the rehabilitation facility use that term before, though to be fair she never talked to anyone outside the facility either. “I suppose. It’s been several months.”

“Was that rude? I didn’t mean to be rude,” David said. “It’s just, I’m a writer for a magazine, and part of what we publish is regarding the aftermath of the war. We have a running column on androids. They—you— interest me.” “…Thanks.”

MARCH 2021

- 71 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

JENNA GLOVER

“Not in an objectifying way!” David was quick to say. He ran a hand over his face and muttered, “I am making a total idiot of myself, aren’t I?” Martha suddenly laughed, the sound startling her, it was so foreign. “No. It’s all right. Ask your questions. I don’t mind.”

And she found she really didn’t. David was abrupt, but she relished the attention. She had been so isolated before, she now realized. The doctors and engineers of her team were amiable, but they were there because it was their job. Even her sessions with Audrey bordered on the robotic. It was nice to have someone talk to her and be interested in her life for no other reason than companionship. It didn’t hurt that the man in question was young and attractive either.

Frankly, she hadn’t felt this good since Martha and Robert first started dating. *** “I’ve been told you applied for permission to access the libraries.”

“Oh, yeah. I should hear back by the end of the week.”

“That’s great! I’m happy to see you filling your time. What do you plan on reading?”

“Modern history, mostly. It’s surprising how little I know. The history of the first android, their creation and implementation into our society…their uprising. I mean, you learn history in school and once you’re out of school you just…live it.”

“True. May I ask why you want to read up on this particular history?”

“Because it’s mine.” *** Beep, beep, beep!

Martha gasped, jumping slightly as the harsh beeping took her by surprise. The other patrons of the market all turned to look at her in confusion and then horror. Martha flushed under their gaze and looked MARCH 2021

- 72 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

JENNA GLOVER

down, standing still obediently as she waited for the proper authorities to come. Sure enough, a short and stocky security guard came over and grabbed her by her elbow, yanking her down to her level so she could scan her tattoo with her screen.

“Ow! I’m coop—” “Shut it, bot,” the security guard snapped, pinching her elbow more firmly. Another beep came from her screen, and she let Martha go, pushing her toward the door.

“You’ve already been here twice this week,” she said. “Get lost.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize,” Martha said, stumbling to right herself and wishing the other people would look away. “I forgot to buy milk yesterday. Could I just—” “I said get lost, bot!” the security guard shouted, pulling out her electromagnet rod. Martha could hear the slight hum of it as she waved it in her direction, and she backed up, bumping against the door.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed out, scanning the other customers for a sympathetic gaze and finding none. “I’m sorry.”

Martha fled the store, stumbling around the corner and collapsing onto a bench. The faces of the other patrons flashed across her mind’s eye—her data memory, she corrected herself bitterly. She would never be able to forget them now. What a glorious side effect of being an android.

She could remember everything: the good, the bad, and especially the ugly.

But she couldn’t buy milk.

Why did she even care? Martha didn’t need the milk. She didn’t need any food. She had liked food, and eating made her feel human, but now…

“BBC World News interrupts this program to bring you breaking news of an android attack out of London.”

Martha looked up at a screen that was playing in the restaurant in front of her. An attractive, middle-aged woman was staring back at her MARCH 2021

- 73 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

JENNA GLOVER

with a grave expression. In the corner of the screen was a still shot of a man in a florist’s apron wielding a pipe, the caption reading ‘Android Attack’ in bold letters.

There hadn’t been an attack in Europe for nearly a year. With no access to news feeds, this was Martha’s chance to see what was going on in the world, her world. Thoughts of milk forgotten, Martha peered in at the screen and listened.

“Authorities have released a statement that the android in question had appeared to be completely human when it suddenly went rogue, taking the lives of three police officers, one bystander, and injuring six others before it was neutralized by local authorities.

“No motive has been announced, but many suspect this was a leftover directive from the war, and this unit was on standby, disguised as a pedestrian while waiting to be activated for the android war effort. With this latest attack, there is much speculation on just how many unaware or—worse—aware and undocumented android units are still out there and dangerous.”

Martha sat back on the bench and let out a breath. Did that android know he wasn’t human before he attacked? He didn’t have a barcode, so the government didn’t know. Did he plan the attack or was it some leftover code inside him? Could the same thing happen to Martha?

Could she turn against everyone around her? Did a mind made of code really have a choice? Perhaps the grocery store was right to throw her out.

Perhaps she was dangerous.

“Makes ya think, dunnit.”

Martha glanced to the side, noting a homeless man leaning up against a light pole. Martha gave him a vague smile, not altogether sure he was talking to her.

“How many of ‘em are out there?” the man continued. “Ya think we’d know better seein’ as we made most of ‘em!” He laughed gutturally.

MARCH 2021

- 74 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

JENNA GLOVER

“But then…how many did them other bots make?”

Martha stood and made to move past the man, but his voice floated back to her.

“Who made you, bot? Wasn’t God, bot! You ain’t from God!” *** “Doctor Njeri tells me that you took home that pamphlet on body adaptations yesterday.”

“I just wanted to read through it on my own time, see if anything appealed to me.”

“Any initial thoughts?”

“Well…I mean, what woman doesn’t want to get rid of her period?”

“Ha-ha! First thing I’d do!...But seriously, Echo. What made you change your mind? You were so adamant about keeping your functions intact.” “…I guess I thought that if I didn’t change anything, if I kept all the settings as close to human as possible, then I would somehow…be human.”

“Understandable. And now?”

“It’s not that I’m okay with this, but if I can make it better, even in small ways, then I’ll be better…That makes no sense.”

“No, it does. I understand.” *** Martha knocked politely on the door of David’s apartment, turning her head away from a woman walking down the hall so she wouldn’t see her tattoo. Just because David was comfortable with her being an android, didn’t mean his neighbors would be.

The door swung open and David appeared, smiling and ushering her inside.

“Hey! I’m glad you could stop by. Come on in.”

Martha entered the small studio, noting the scattered quality of David’s possessions. There wasn’t a surface that didn’t have a holo, a MARCH 2021

- 75 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

JENNA GLOVER

screen, or leftover food. She moved aside a box of takeout and sat down on the couch.

“Sorry about the mess,” David said, shoving some more things out of the way so he could sit too.

“It’s no problem.” And it wasn’t. Martha found herself liking it much more than her stark and sterile apartment back at the facility. There was so much more to see here, more to focus on and distract.

Martha noticed David was fiddling with some of his screens and wires, and she hesitated.

“I’m due to check in at the facility by three,” she said. “I can’t stay long.”

“No worries,” David replied, seeming satisfied with whatever he had set up. “That’s why I called you here. I know you have a limited amount of time and that’s why we can’t meet regularly.”

“But I do like meeting with you,” Martha blurted, feeling suddenly like she was about to receive a breakup speech.

“I like meeting with you, too,” David said. “You’ve helped me understand so much about what androids like yourself go through in this world.

“Now,” David continued, “I think it’s time we share that with everyone else.”

Martha blinked. “You…want to write a story about me? For the magazine?”

David leaned forward and patted his screen. “Not a story. A reality.

Your reality as a newly aware, pedestrian android.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Don’t you see! You, as an android, have something that no human has when it comes to news: credibility.”

Martha snorted. “The word of an android is garbage compared to humans’. I am the least credible source out there.”

MARCH 2021

- 76 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

JENNA GLOVER

“You’re talking about opinions. I’m talking about fact.” David sat up straighter. “Think about it: when something happens, something illegal, witnesses are called to testify to what they saw, right? Well, sometimes the witness can’t recall something or they lie and no one finds out. It’s all up in the air. How do we know what they are saying is the truth?”

Martha blinked, still not sure what all this had to do with her.

“Sure,” she said slowly, “but people will listen to other people. Not to androids. If you are planning on interviewing me, no one will believe anything I say.”

David sighed and sat back. He looked her over carefully for a moment, and Martha felt the hairs on her arms stand up at the attention.

“It might be easier to show you,” David said suddenly. “Take off your jacket.”

“What?”

“Just pull down your collar and tilt your head. To the left, please.”

Martha, confused, did as she was told. David shifted until he was right next to her and reached out a hand, running his fingers over the skin of her neck, pressing down at certain spots, silent. While the feeling was not unpleasant, Martha’s confusion was starting to outweigh her pleasure.

“David—” “There!”

David pressed a finger, hard, into her skin, and Martha felt something give a little inside her. Then, she couldn’t move.

Martha remembered fear when the war broke out and the first humans were slaughtered. She remembered contemplating her own death when she first came face-to-face with a rogue android. And she certainly recalled the chaos when she found out she was an android. But this was something else. A thousand sirens went off throughout her body that only she could hear, the kind of warning that only rears its head when the host’s very survival is at stake.

MARCH 2021

- 77 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

JENNA GLOVER

Martha could not move, could not speak, but she still had sensation. David removed something from her and suddenly began inserting the wires that he had attached to his screen. He hummed meaningless platitudes to her, assuring her she was all right, perfectly safe, it would all be over in a minute.

“Finished!” David’s screen beeped in concurrence, and he finally slid away to give that his attention. Martha sat, waiting for movement to return. It did not.

“Look.” David held the screen up so she could see it. Thousands of lines of coded android language and files filtered across the screen. It was going too fast for Martha to translate much of it, but she understood enough to realize that it was her. David had downloaded her databank.

“Now the world will know firsthand what you have experienced,” David said, looking back down at the screen. “No one will be able to dispute it because it isn’t a feeling or an opinion or even a normal thought. It’s data.

This could change android-human relations completely!”

The screen beeped again, apparently complete, and David moved back toward her to remove the wires. For the first time since her awareness, Martha deliberately recalled back in perfect memory what she had seen on that little screen. Her whole life summed up in lines of code that only took mere seconds to download. The sum of her parts could fit onto that screen and show her worth to the world as a cluster of data without feelings or opinions or real thoughts, her memories just memory.

That was how the world would view her, how David did view her.

“All better?” The final wire was removed, and Martha felt the ability to move return to her slowly. She waited, and David sat back on the couch, looking contrite.

“I hope you aren’t mad,” he said. “But that was the best way for me to show you what I meant. And, technically, as a human journalist, I do have the right to requisition the memory banks of androids for the MARCH 2021

- 78 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

JENNA GLOVER

purposes of a story. Kind of like research, you know.”

Martha said nothing, flexing her fingers and standing. David stood as well.

“Ah, don’t be mad! I’m doing this to better your life! If the world knew what you go through, things will change, not just for you, but for androids everywhere! This is a good thing, a sacrifice for the greater good!

Ech—” Martha’s fist collided with David’s side, catapulting him across the room. He lay on his side, groaning, ribs most definitely broken, but Martha didn’t stop to be sure. She opened the door to his apartment, breaking the handle, and walked out.

When she reached the street, she ran. *** “I’m not going to lie, Echo, this isn’t good.” “…”

“The man in question isn’t pressing charges, but I still have to submit an evaluation to the board, along with the engineers and programmers. Do you know what that means?” “…”

“The board is talking about wiping your program. Unmaking you.” “…Is that such a bad thing?”

“Do you really believe you’re better off not existing, Echo?”

“Martha did.” *** She walked down the line, skimming over the names quickly. She wasn’t allowed to know the location; she had turned down her right. But now she needed to see, to make what she knew in her mind a reality.

She turned down the second row. It wasn’t all that hard to find out which cemetery to go to. She had the memories after all. It was supposed to be by Martha’s parents. Robert would have known that.

MARCH 2021

- 79 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

JENNA GLOVER

She turned down the third row and stopped.

Martha Anne Billings Beloved Wife and Mother Patriot of Humanity She frowned, mouthing the words as she read them, and then going down on her knees and pressing one hand to the carvings on the stone. It didn’t feel real. She trailed her hand down the stone and over the grass, wet with dew, digging her nails into the dirt beneath. She almost wished there was a body, a rotted skeleton that she could see and identify as this person, this Martha.

She could not get Martha out of her head. She had her memories, but not really. The more she existed with this new awareness, the more she realized how artificial she really was. She could remember when Caleb was born to Martha and remember the feeling assigned to that memory was joy, but she could not feel it, only know it. She knew Martha loved Caleb, but she couldn’t find that love anywhere apart from Martha’s memories of him.

She couldn’t even remember Martha’s death; there was nothing in her databank about it. Would her own deletion be remembered, recorded?

Would she be given a stone like Martha?

She hated that Martha existed in a way she never could. She hated that this woman owned everything there was worth owning about her and that she was left with scraps, a pittance in comparison to a life’s worth stored away for someone else.

She pressed her face down into the grass, bowing before her human counterpart.

Echo hated Martha.

And that hate was her own. ***

MARCH 2021

- 80 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

JENNA GLOVER

Discussion Questions 1. Has Martha successfully cheated death, been born into a living hell, or something in between? Is it correct to say Martha is dead?

2. Is Echo alive? Does Echo deserve the rights of humans? At what point, if any, does a sentient being deserve equal rights? How would you test if they met your threshold?

3. Should Echo have the legal right to terminate her existence, or should that right only be held by the government, or others?

4. Is it simply the nature of society to have a low-wage underclass that does the work that is too difficult, too dirty, or too dangerous for others to do? If that is true, are androids the perfect creation to fill those roles?

5. What would you do if you were Echo? Would you seek out your old family? Start a new life? Join a movement (violent or peaceful) for android rights? ***

MARCH 2021

- 81 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

E.L. TENENBAUM

StarStuck E.L. Tenenbaum *** They thought the boy odd from the day he was born. He had two eyes, two hands, two ears, two feet, but what confused the Great Purveyors of Reason to no end was that he giggled, even when no one was looking, even without cause.

He was the first baby born in one thousand years in the Great Sky of Reason, so they had forgotten what youth was truly like. There, above Earth’s mountains and deserts and beaches, all lived by the strict dictates of logic, and the slightest flickering of impulsiveness, of emotion was pounced upon and dissected until it was reasoned away. The Great Purveyors could not risk allowing feelings to get the better of anyone for it caused people to act irrationally or without forethought. Such behaviors were the bane of Reason, and thereby had to be eliminated to maintain equilibrium of the mind, which was by far the most commonsensical way to live.

The boy grew older and his smiles only increased as he discovered the world around him. His oddity became more apparent as he delighted in obscure, little things; like the feel of grass between his toes, the trickle MARCH 2021

- 82 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

E.L. TENENBAUM

of rainwater through his hair, the squish of mud between his palms. He chased after fireflies without a jar, he built castles in the sand even though waves washed them away. His parents struggled to understand their eccentric little boy, who laughed even though he had no knowledge or philosophy or understanding of pleasure, joy, and happiness. Even once the boy was old enough to walk and talk and ask reasonable questions, his imagination remained unhindered.

Finally, after a long, rational discussion in which they reasoned with their despair of ever raising a logical man, they brought him to the Great Purveyors at the Great Observatory of Reason, and left him in their sensible, capable hands.

The boy watched his parents’ retreating forms uncertain as to why he wasn’t leaving with them. They had told him it was a great honor to be with the Purveyors at the Observatory, but all he wanted was to go home and lay on his back in the meadow as clouds sprang to unexpected life overhead. Still, even this unforeseen development could not dim the sunshine of his personality for long, and he soon delighted in exploring the new world he was part of.

For a while, the boy was the Greatest Mystery of Reason the Purveyors ever faced.

“Why do you smile?” they inquired of him.

“Why not?” he replied.

“There is much pain and sorrow in the world. A world much bigger than anything you can imagine,” they explained.

“But I don’t feel pain or sorrow right now,” he observed.

“Yet you have once and you will once again,” they countered.

“Now that you know of it, you cannot forget it.”

“So? Cannot two things be true at once?”

Some time later, the Purveyors tried again.

“Why did you just laugh?” they questioned of him.

MARCH 2021

- 83 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

E.L. TENENBAUM

“Because I am happy,” he said.

“Is it relief at puzzling out a complex equation? Have you reached a long-sought conclusion?”

“No.” “A gift? A surprise? A serendipitous discovery?”

“No. I’m just happy.”

These answers exasperated the Purveyors to no end, because they didn’t give reason enough for their being. Eventually, the boy learned to hide his laughter and his smiles, and if he was ever caught, he found it best to keep it simple.

“Why did you just grin?” they challenged.

“Because,” he rejoined, which befuddled them beyond words.

One day, the boy stumbled upon the Seers’ Walk overlooking the Great Observatory. From there, he caught sight of a room that caught his breath in awestruck wonder.

From their very tips to their very tops, the walls were lined with shelves and shelves of carefully arranged glass bottles. In the very center of the room was a giant blue and green orb, over which Great Purveyors stood and sprinkled shimmering dust from bottles selected from the shelves. Smaller versions of the great orb dotted the rest of the room, and Purveyors would turn the globes this way and that before choosing the dust of a particular bottle.

The boy was midway down the stairs to the main floor when a Great Purveyor blocked his wandering path.

“What are those?” he asked, amazed.

“Those are bottled up emotions,” the Great Purveyor explained.

“What is emotion?” the boy wanted to know. He raised his hands and fluttered his fingers. “Why do they do like so?”

“Emotion,” the Great Purveyor explained, gesturing to the bottles then the orb, “obstructs logic and reason. It leads men to act without MARCH 2021

- 84 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

E.L. TENENBAUM

considering consequences; it clouds the mind and hazes sound judgment.

We are duty bound to watch closely over Earth and take measures to ensure no one foregoes careful thought and acts impulsively.” He punctuated this last line with a shudder.

The boy nodded sagely, though he understood very little. He left the room alone as he knew he should, though sometimes he was sure he heard strangled sounds leaking from the many bottles along the walls. Such a notion was truly absurd, especially as it was irrational to think that dust could make any sound, but that didn’t stop him from keeping one eye on the bottles when he hid on the Seers’ Walk to observe the Purveyors at work.

Over the years, he watched the Purveyor with a predilection for patience sprinkle some on a judge presiding over a second time offender, over a mother whose toddler scribbled on the walls yet again, over a man waiting on hold with Customer Service for almost three hours.

As the months passed, he watched the Purveyor who preferred compassion dust some around a little girl who found a stray cat, around a nurse caring for a dying patient, around a businessman buying dinner for a starving man.

For hours, he watched the Purveyor whose hand usually reached for joy dash some on a woman holding the baby who had made her a mother, on a friend receiving a surprise gift, on a child misjudging his jumps over puddles.

He watched all this and wondered why this honored work felt so terribly misaligned. No one had sprinkled dust on him before he laughed.

No one had scattered bottled emotion over his head before he cried.

He knew better than to ask, so he kept such thoughts tucked deep inside himself, and only pulled them out for examination in the quiet hours when he was absolutely sure he was absolutely alone.

In time, the boy grew into an exceptional Student of Reason, MARCH 2021

- 85 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

E.L. TENENBAUM

despite a small smile that hardly fled his face for long. Still, the Great Purveyors were rather reasonably proud of him and many logically predicted a future with an imminent appointment as a Great Purveyor in the Great Observatory of Reason. The boy, now a young man, heard their words and tried to remain humble. No dust needed. He worked hard, he excelled, there was no reason to feel any pride when his achievements were little more than the logical outcome of dedication to his studies.

When Induction Day finally dawned, the young man awoke with jitters in his gut. It had been many years since he’d seen his parents, but he had been told that they would be there. It was illogical to feel any sort of nerves at all, he reminded himself, whatever would be would be and he could do little to change it now, but he couldn’t help himself. Moreover, he didn’t want to. He liked feeling as if his stomach was a giant net trapping dozens of wildly fluttering butterflies. He liked feeling something other than the even keel of rational thought and planned emotion.

When his name was called, the young man humbly bowed his head and accepted the medal of his new position. He then dared a peek at his parents’ faces, searching for a trace of pride or recognition. Today they will take me home, even if I do smile without forethought.

But they didn’t single him out for any special attention. They applauded him in the same polite manner they applauded the handful of other honorees.

Why? he mused.

Because, he realized, he belonged to the Great Purveyors now. The Observatory was his home and that’s where he belonged, so, logically, he couldn’t also belong to his parents. He’d succeeded just as his teachers had deduced he would, thereby completing the equation they’d already solved.

Never mind why he’d worked so hard to succeed at all.

The young man shoved his feelings away. He knew what bitter sounds disappointment and rejection made, by now he was convinced of MARCH 2021

- 86 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

E.L. TENENBAUM

the restless noises he heard from the bottles, and he didn’t want his emotions taken away and sealed up beside them. He walked through the rest of the steps of the ceremony without a second glance at the people who had given him the most ultimate gift of life.

After, he started work in the Great Observatory and obediently went about his duties as expected.

He sprinkled restraint on a girl whose daddy finally came home from war, bidding her wait until he called out to her.

He speckled gratitude on an employee whose boss grudgingly gave him an extra paid leave to deal with his wife’s death.

He scattered acceptance over a college football team before they stepped out of the tunnel for their biggest game yet, one they were more than likely to lose.

So it went, so it was, the young man dutifully, reasonably, sensibly went about his job of sprinkling the dust of emotions on the scenes appearing in his globe. Then one day, for no reason at all, none that he could formulate at least, he stopped his hand just before the dust fell on a parent whose teen came home with a bad report card. Something he could not name—curiosity he would later realize—bade him wait. So instead of sprinkling the dust of patience and the dust of obedience, he watched.

Would they fight? Would he raise his voice? Would he make excuses?

The parents were having a hard time with this teen, so it would not be the first time that the young man’s dust would intervene and calm their emotions. Except, the young man did not interfere and it took one look at the paper for the parent to lay into his teen, questioning his desire for a favorable future and reminding him that colleges looked at everything and not just the last year of school. He had to get into the right habits now, and for such a smart kid he sure was making some very poor choices.

The teen yelled back that he wasn’t understood, and that maybe MARCH 2021

- 87 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

E.L. TENENBAUM

he could get something done if someone was just there to help him every once in a while. He didn’t think like everyone else. Words muddled his brain, music soothed it.

The teen stormed out.

The parent stared after him.

The young man watched the parent’s impatience melt into concern.

That night the father and mother sat with their son and spoke about his future. They asked what would help him succeed, and it was decided he needed a shift in academics. The parents spoke to the school counselor, they spoke to the principal, they gave a little, he gave a little, and a new course of study was mapped out.

The young man observed the teen for the next few months, wanting so much to know what would become of him. From his designated place far above the teen’s world, he sat with him in the silence of night and felt the frustration, the determination, the music that pervaded this teen’s soul. He listened as he sang his essays for English, he swayed as he beatboxed his way through science, he watched as the boy finally backed away from the edge of the academic abyss.

The day came when the teen brought home a new report card.

It was less than stellar.

It was better than it had ever been.

The young man kept a vial of understanding, a vial of concession, close at hand.

The teen showed his parent his grades.

The parent considered it carefully.

The teen watched, anxious.

The parent whooped and embraced the teen wholeheartedly.

The young man set aside his vials.

From then on, he stopped sprinkling dust on the word below him, MARCH 2021

- 88 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

E.L. TENENBAUM

even though it didn’t always work out so well. There were times when he didn’t stop anger from leading a father to strike his son. There were times when he didn’t interfere with greed before it led a man to steal. There were times when he didn’t dissipate jealousy before it caused a girl to turn on her friend. When anger and hatred and love and lust overrode all reason and led to disastrous results.

He had never before acted in such defiance of Reason; he had never before felt so alive.

Until, one day, he was caught furiously pacing the Seers’ Walk, thinking about the non-look on his parents’ faces in a memory from graduation that had never quite left his mind’s eye. That image rubbed at his heart, and he couldn’t quite let it go, despite all reason that said he should.

Because in the past few months he had seen that the pride parents felt toward their children was a dust that was rarely used by any of the Great Purveyors. He saw it illuminate their faces as they watched their child’s first piano recital, as they filmed every second even though the song was barely twelve bars long and the child had little musical talent. There was no reason for them to be so proud, and yet they were. He saw it again and again, at baseball games, at weddings, at promotions, at awards. No matter what the family was like, the parents almost always beamed uncontrollably for their child, responding to effort and spontaneity and silliness with unfettered love and joy and delight.

“Is there an explanation for this behavior?” interrupted the voice of a senior Purveyor.

The young man stopped his pacing short. “My mind is ill at ease.”

The Purveyor smiled kindly. “Let us take it for a walk together,” he suggested. “Surely, we can return it to the way it should be.”

The way it should be?

For the first time in his life, the young man’s smile faltered.

MARCH 2021

- 89 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

E.L. TENENBAUM

The way it should be!

All at once, the young man understood what hadn’t been right all along. Stifled, but still simmering inside, was resentment for the life he’d been raised to. He didn’t want to sprinkle emotions on people and tell them how to react. He wanted to see what they would come up with, to see what irrational, impulsive, immediate actions were like. He wanted them to choose, to learn how to balance feeling and reason to achieve the most favorable of results. So, no, he didn’t want to talk out his frustrations, he wanted to do something about them.

Before the Purveyor could stop him, he shot off the Seers’ Walk and made straight for the repair closet. Unlike every other day, he didn’t control his pace and he didn’t keep his voice low as he thundered, “The way it should be? This is the way it should be!”

Burning with determination, he yanked open the door and grabbed the first thing his hand could grip: a hammer. He then raced to the Great Observatory of Reason, and without thinking twice, without thinking it through, ignoring all consequences and reason and deliberation, he raised his hand above his head and with great force gave free reign to his emotions and s m a s h e d , and bashed every bottle he could reach.

When he could reach no higher, he shook the shelves with all his might, until the bottles came f a l l i n g down, down and shattered all over the room.

“What have you done?” the Great Purveyors cried with highly reasonable levels of indignation.

The floor was sandy with littered shards of glass, but even worse, so many little pieces t u m b l e d onto the Earth orbs. They seeped in and stuck in that dark expanse called sky, dangling up above before they could meteor shower onto the inhabitants below.

Earth winced. People ran outside. They looked up and they were filled with awe.

MARCH 2021

- 90 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

E.L. TENENBAUM

J

A

O

N Y

E

G

R

M

P

E

I

R

T

C

Y

Y

P R

C

I

D

O

E

N

T

T

M

E

N

E

T N

S A

Y

D

T

N

I E

N S

E S

H

E R

O

P

E

The young man was very logically banished to a moon hovering over the world, where he was to forever watch what his foolish act had wrought. It would take years and years to once more collect enough dust of bottled emotions, and so the young man had put the denizens of Earth MARCH 2021

- 91 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

E.L. TENENBAUM

at peril of forgoing the strict tenants of Reason. But each time he sees a world brimming with emotions, feelings, and life, with choice of reaction and with shakily contrived balances of reason and emotion, he smiles and laughs so his joy illuminates the pieces of glass in the sky.

On crickety nights in the countryside, older couples step out to their porch and gaze up at the infinite night sky. They see the stars twinkling above and think on just how blessed their lives have been, without being made to think so.

From the rooftops of bustling cities, stifled teens sprawl on their backs and look upward, ever upward. Of their own accord, they seek out glimpses of the stars, and imagine just how big the universe really is, just how small they really are, and just how much they want to be a part of something greater.

In quiet suburban homes, spouses impulsively meander outside and spare a glance above, losing themselves in the lights flickering overhead. They expel their anger on calming breaths, and realize just how tiny their rage, their frustrations, their worries are.

Here and there, all over the world, people observe the stars and they see; the world is vast, the world is full, but what they feel has once been and will be again the world over. And whether those who look up drown in their depths or burrow in the cocoon of their warmth, what they feel is real and part of the moment they live in. They are awash in the moment, permitting it to overtake them, before rationally resuming their lives.

Because, with all this, somehow, somewhere still, deep inside they know that nothing is without Reason, not even the shimmering stardust scattered across the vast and gleaming sky. ***

MARCH 2021

- 92 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

E.L. TENENBAUM

Discussion Questions 1. The boy believes it is an error to sprinkle reason to smooth out the emotions of humans, do you agree with him?

2. Humans likely have emotions and reason because they each serve an evolutionary purpose. What do you believe is the evolutionary purpose of each?

3. Do you personally wish you had more reason, or emotion, in your actions? What do you think you would get by having more of the one you believe you are lacking?

4. Did the boy sin by allowing people to feel, and act, on harmful emotions that caused violence to others?

5. Do you think humanity is becoming more, less, or the same, a species of reason? Do you think that trend will continue forever? ***

MARCH 2021

- 93 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

CHRISTINE SEIFERT

Survival Kit Christine Seifert *** I married Andy Morrison four months after we met. It was a mistake, the marriage, but I didn’t realize it until after the wedding weekend and by then it was done. Andy had gone along with the marriage plan gamely, though I guessed that was because I was only his second real girlfriend, an initially gratifying position that turned sour when, a few months after the wedding, I ran into Girlfriend Number One at the car wash. We recognized each other immediately, and while I would have been content to simply hide behind the spinning rack of air freshener trees, Girlfriend Number One took off her giant sunglasses and said, “I just want you to know, I don’t envy you.” *** “Are you cold?” Andy asked as he arranged pieces of newspaper over his legs. He was the only person I knew under the age of fifty who read newspapers on actual paper.

“No,” I said, though I could feel the wind blowing through the cracks of the car window. It was still light out—just barely—but the lateMARCH 2021

- 94 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

CHRISTINE SEIFERT

winter weather was bad enough that all I could see was a gray-white wall of snow. The cold was settling under my skin, around my bones, threading through my blood.

“I’m glad we don’t have the girls,” he said. “Can you imagine?” His newspaper blanket fluttered. He was wearing children’s earmuffs and gloves that couldn’t cover his hands. Andy and the girls loved the desertdry heat of Arizona. All three wore winter coats if the mercury dropped below sixty.

“What do you think they are doing right now?” I asked. It was a game we played when we were alone, a conversation without stakes, one that never ended, even when it grew old. “I think Natalie has already announced that she wants chicken McNuggets.”

His turn: “Natasha has colored on the walls and eaten glue at least twice.”

I laughed, but only to be polite. Natasha would never do either of those things. It was Natalie who ate anything she could wrap her grubby hands around. It was Natalie who once ate my birth control pills and required a trip to the emergency room.

My parents pretended to love babysitting the girls, but they would all four be watching the driveway, waiting for Andy and me to pull up. I wrapped my arms around myself and tried to imagine a world without the girls, without Andy. It was a picture that came easily and faded slowly; one by one the figures disappeared.

“How long do you think we’ll be here?” Andy asked.

“It’ll be fine.” I said some version of that line to Andy a hundred times a day. Everything will be fine. I’ll take care of it. Don’t you worry. I’ll do the heavy lifting.

A snowstorm this bad wasn’t going to let up any time soon. We were stranded, completely stuck, under a deep underpass in a flimsy rental car—a powder-blue Toyota hatchback—and the snow was endless.

MARCH 2021

- 95 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

CHRISTINE SEIFERT

*** Andy’s parents attended the beachside wedding in Maui, but they had not been invited. Andy’s father—a man the entire family referred to as Blip for reasons that I had never learned because not a single member of the Morrison clan could remember—had sat in bird shit on a bench provided by the photographer. Suzie, Andy’s mother, had insisted that the photographer pay for Blip’s linen suit, a suit he had allegedly worn at his own wedding thirty years prior. (The story had the literal whiff of truth: the suit smelled like mothballs.) Even the wedding planner, a woman with cat’s eye glasses, couldn’t escape blame for the bird shit incident. Because the wedding planner recommended the photographer, Suzie insisted I refuse to pay her sizable fee.

When Suzie threatened to sue the photographer, the wedding planner, and inexplicably, the manufacturer of the bench itself, for damages, Andy stepped in. Andy, who had a twenty-eight inch waist and arms like kebab skewers, threatened to punch the photographer. The photographer laughed. Of course he did. Then Suzie took over and the photographer blanched.

Everyone on the beach witnessed the debacle and there I was, in my size four casual beach wedding dress I’d gotten for thirty dollars at Maurice’s in Desert Sky Mall, watching Suzie punch the man while Blip cheered.

In the end, I wasn’t sure who convinced the photographer to agree to a small refund on the photo package and to apologize to Blip for suggesting he sit on the bench in the first place, but I often suspected the photographer shot the photos in such a way to make me appear ten pounds heavier than I was. The entire stack of discounted photos were now stored in the closet, along with purses I never used and my diaries from middle school. If the twins eventually ask to see them, I might very well tell them the photos were lost.

MARCH 2021

- 96 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

CHRISTINE SEIFERT

After Suzie swung at the photographer, I forged ahead with the ceremony for reasons I couldn’t understand myself. It was a steaming chemical mix of duty, stubbornness, and a splash of something like love.

Yes, Suzie’s punch had delayed things long enough for me to seriously consider running away. But I stayed. I stayed when the uniformed police officer arrived. I stayed for the statements that had to be made. I stayed while the wedding planner brought ice for the photographer who ended up with a black eye. And then it was time for the ceremony. Without even realizing it, I’d made a decision. Action, after all, can be just a series of inactions.

To come back from Maui with nothing to show but a sunburn and a pair of souvenir sea lion barrettes was unthinkable. It was bad enough that my parents would be hurt for months after the wedding. Here were Blip and Suzie in every damn picture while my own parents shoveled heavy March snow and ate salmon loaf on TV trays.

The bird shit story had been retold so often since the wedding that I could almost recite it along with Suzie and Blip. Even years after the wedding, Blip’s misfortune and the scene it caused were a reminder of that wedding weekend, the first of three things that solidified into a hard mass of memory, a tumor that grew and served to remind me, when I was willing to touch that malignant lump, that marrying Andy was a mistake—one that couldn’t be rectified. Not now.

My wedding night had ended with me alone in our Four Seasons suite, but not because of Blip’s ruined pants. (Blip had been consoled by the all-you-can-eat pig roast, which my parents had paid for as a wedding gift. He stole bananas for breakfast the next morning and thus saved at least twenty dollars, by his calculations.) Andy was unaware that I was upset, so I couldn’t blame him for going on a sunset hike with a group of students from the University of Alabama ecology class he’d met on the airport shuttle.

MARCH 2021

- 97 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

CHRISTINE SEIFERT

That was the second thing that enraged me that weekend: the hike. What kind of man goes on a hike on his wedding night while his new wife sits in a hotel suite drinking premixed Mai Tais and watching free HBO? *** “They have their lights on. The engine is running.” Andy pointed at the car a few feet in front of us—the only thing we could see in the swirls of snow, and only just barely.

“They’re turning it on too often.” I fiddled with the keys in the ignition and wondered how often was too often to turn on the heat. We only had a half tank of gas and I was pretty sure we were going to be in the car for a very long time. The snow wasn’t letting up. I looked at my watch.

Quarter to six. It was a long time until morning when plows would come through.

“Who do you think is next?” I asked Andy to pass the time.

“Kathleen and Steve, definitely.”

“No,” I said, “really? Kathleen and Steve? They don’t even go to the grocery store separately. They’re joined at the hip.”

Andy nodded his head vigorously. “Just watch. It’s always those kind. You can’t keep that kind of thing up.”

It was another game we played. Which of our friends would divorce next. There’d been a rash of separations and divorces that year, most of which did not surprise me. There were the usual reasons: infidelity, lack of interest, boredom, existential angst. But none of those reasons seemed good enough for me to get a divorce. I had recently admitted that I had an old-fashioned idea of marriage, one that allowed for peaks and valleys. One that didn’t factor in happiness. After six years, I’d successfully become a Person Who Follows Through. Besides, divorce was so publicly messy, a kind of failure that they printed in the newspaper, one that followed you every time you had to mark a check box: single, married, MARCH 2021

- 98 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

CHRISTINE SEIFERT

divorced/failure.

“I think Steve is cheating on her,” Andy said.

“Steve?” I pictured Steve. Bald before thirty. A beer gut, an unsightly mass that fell over his belt and hovered above his crotch like a retractable awning.

“If he hasn’t done anything yet, he will. He has a crush. A massive crush,” Andy said. He giggled, the same way the girls did when they built a Lego tower and then kicked it down with their tiny feet. “Some girl at work.

She’s eighteen.”

“What would you talk about with an eighteen-year-old?” I wondered aloud. I quit working when the twins were born, but before that I had been a school nurse at a large high school. Eighteen-year-olds were like unformed pieces of clay. They were shapeless blobs, still being molded by the universe in some preordained way. I could not envision having sex with one of them any more than I could envision having sex with a lump of the girls’ Play-Doh. “Eighteen-year-olds are fresh meat,” Andy said. “You can convince them of anything. You can be a god to an eighteen-year-old.”

I turned toward my window and rolled my eyes. Andy was a narcissist. I’d only recently admitted it. I worried sometimes it was rubbing off on me.

Andy was blowing on his hands as he talked. I followed suit. I imagined the Arizona sun in August. I’d take one hundred and fourteen degrees in a second compared to this snow-dump, this March nightmare. I didn’t know how my parents stood it. I didn’t know how I’d lived the first eighteen years of life here. Had I ever thought Andy was a god?

The temperature was dropping by the minute as the sky turned to true night and the snow fell faster. If not for the snow, if there was any hope we’d be able to move the car soon, I would not have responded as I did. “Is that what Roxanne thinks about you? That you are a god?’

MARCH 2021

- 99 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

CHRISTINE SEIFERT

Andy laughed, not nervously, not guiltily. “Roxanne is too smart for that. And she’s twenty-seven.”

“She called the house before we left,” I said.

His newspapers crinkled as he shifted in the passenger seat to look at me. “I told her we were going on our anniversary trip. She just wants to make sure everything is fine while we’re gone.”

“She’s a real peach,” I said, but it was a pointless comment. Andy didn’t understand sarcasm. He was like those people who have face blindness. Sarcasm could be presented to Andy, introduced by name, but he wouldn’t recognize it the next time.

“Does she call your dad at home?”

“Who?” I looked at him to see if he was playing dumb. He wasn’t. He just had no attention span, not even trapped in a hatchback under a bridge, not five miles from my parents’ house. I’d suggest walking if either of us had boots, though with such poor visibility, we’d probably end up frozen to death in a snowbank before morning. Never leave the car. My dad had drilled that into my head. If you are stuck, stay put.

I sighed. “Roxanne. Does she call your dad at home?”

Andy shrugged. “Probably. She takes her career seriously.”

“She didn’t call to talk to you. She called to talk to me. And not about her ‘career.’”

Andy jabbed at the radio button, his hand steady, his face impassive. “Oh, yeah?”

Roxanne was something of a Girl Friday for the Morrison family business. Blip and Andy did the jobs. Suzie kept the books, a feat of magnificent proportions given that Suzie couldn’t even balance her checkbook and had been charged with misdemeanors twice for writing bad checks. Blip himself had been arrested once for stealing a turkey breast from one of the chain grocery stores, their biggest client. When pressed for MARCH 2021

- 100 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

CHRISTINE SEIFERT

an explanation, Blip merely said, “I wanted a turkey.”

Blip had never cheated on Suzie, a fact that he recited often.

Though he’d cheated on the three wives prior to Suzie. One of his favorite pastimes was telling Andy about his pre-Suzie conquests, the secret trysts he’d arranged while one of his dim wives sat at home and waited for him, like a lighthouse keeper. Blip always ended his stories with the same line: “I could do it, so I did.”

“Don’t you want to know what Roxanne said to me?”

He didn’t answer. The car wasn’t big enough for Roxanne, too. *** The third thing—the biggest regret—was the worst, the one I forced myself to think about every time I got too comfortable. It was like an antidote to comfort, a quick reversal if life became too pacific.

On the last night in Maui, Blip and Suzie invited themselves to our honeymoon suite for Mai Tais and pineapple chunks impaled by plastic toothpicks, particular favorites of Blip who believed drinks and hors d’oeuvres could catapult a working-class fellow who owned a failing window-washing business in Phoenix to the sort of middle-class gent who had a portfolio and more than one necktie. It hadn’t happened yet.

Blip and Suzie perched on the edge of the bed and made off-color jokes about honeymoon sex. Andy laughed. I turned red at the tips of my ears. In truth, Andy and I had had disappointing sex precisely once since the ceremony. We’d had sex hundreds of times before Hawaii, and everything had been fine, if not earth-shattering, but the wedding had soured everything. After the vows, I couldn’t help but notice that Andy looked a tiny bit like Suzie. Why had I never noticed they had the same hazel eyes, the same curling wisps of hair right at the temples, the same pale skin prone to sunburn and moles?

Suzie insisted they cap off the evening by walking out to see the cliff diver. Each night at sunset, a man-boy in a tiny bathing suit climbed a MARCH 2021

- 101 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

CHRISTINE SEIFERT

craggy cliff and dove into the ocean depths, all for a smattering of tourist applause. Suzie and Blip had seen the diver every night. They had the videos to prove it. Blip posted his favorite on his Facebook page. AMAZING NATIVES, he wrote, totally unaware that he was being racist.

We were all early to the cliff, and we had to wait for the diver to begin his ascent. Blip loudly wondered if it was a different diver each time.

He didn’t know because he couldn’t tell “them” apart. When Andy told him to shush, Blip feigned ignorance. He changed the subject and asked Suzie if she got a look at the diver’s “package.” Then he roughly began massaging Suzie’s shoulders and told the family of five from Toledo standing next to them that “old Suze” needed a good rubdown. I was perpetually mortified

by Blip, his crassness, his inability to apologize for anything, his base thoughts laid out bare for the world to see, his complete unawareness that he was constantly taking up space and air that could be better used by someone else.

We ended up missing the diver because Blip began an impromptu Charleston-style dance to the sound of the Toledo father’s ringtone. The Toledo family laughed too hard, I thought. Even the baby seemed amused.

I wondered if I had ever found Blip funny or charming, but I couldn’t remember ever having felt anything except the mantle of hot annoyance and disgust that I carried on my shoulders whenever he was around.

After the dive that we didn’t see, Blip suggested a cup of Irish coffee. Before I could say no, Andy said yes. At the Hilton bar, Blip asked the bartender where she was from. “Sydney,” she answered, her surfer’s body tanned the same color as the whiskey she poured into Blip’s coffee.

The bartender added an extra splash and winked. I thought, People actually like Blip. It was a great mystery of the universe. Suzie ordered a Sex on the Beach. Andy and I had gin and tonics.

Two rounds later, Suzie was on the dance floor with a middle-aged man in a Tommy Bahama shirt and a black fedora. They danced to “Eye of MARCH 2021

- 102 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

CHRISTINE SEIFERT

the Tiger.” Suzie’s pancake butt tapped his belly every so often.

Andy was telling the bartender about brine shrimp respiration when Suzie cried out. Blip had already put his head on the bar and was fast asleep, a flap of gray hair rising up and diving down as a fan behind the bar oscillated. Andy went to the dance floor to investigate, and I followed close behind, my gin and tonic sweating in my hand.

Tommy Bahama held his hands up. “Hey, I don’t know what the problem is here. I’m just having a good time.”

“Go to bed,” I told him.

Suzie’s hip had crapped out again. The same one that gave her trouble before. She’d be miserable until she could see her orthopedist. The plane ride home would be torture. Andy offered to stay behind and rouse Blip. I would escort Suzie back to her room. “Stay with her until she gets her nightgown on and her teeth brushed,” Andy said. Not for the first time, I wondered if this is what it would be like to be a parent: reduced to monitoring someone else’s hygiene. When I finally became a parent, I would learn that it basically amounted to directing food into the mouth and waste out of the body.

Suzie was in bed, loaded up on four Advil and the aftereffects of alcohol, by eleven. Blip showed up a few minutes later, wide awake from his coffee and nap. I left Blip and Suzie’s room without saying goodbye. You don’t have to be polite to people who ruin your wedding, I thought.

At three minutes before five, hours after I’d left Blip and Suzie, Andy returned to the honeymoon suite, where I’d spent the night on the balcony watching the waves roll in and out. He wept for twenty minutes before he could tell me what he’d done. We both wished he was better at keeping secrets. *** The wedding disaster was six years ago. A year or so later the twins arrived. And what could I do with two babies and no job? Fortunately, by MARCH 2021

- 103 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

CHRISTINE SEIFERT

then, I had figured out that Andy was significantly more likable when nobody else was around. He was like a German Shepherd who, in private, picked up a book and asked if anyone had thoughts about Russian imperialism, but in a crowd of people would pee on the rug. Day-to-day life wasn’t bad. It wasn’t pleasant or fulfilling, but it had a rhythm. Blip and Suzie were crosses to bear, but I wasn’t sure how I could possibly divorce them even if I left Andy.

“Your parents are caricatures,” I said as I rubbed at my ankles in the freezing car, trying to get the circulation going. It was so cold, I worried we’d both fall asleep and forget to run the heater at regular intervals.

“They are characters,” Andy answered, and I wasn’t sure if he was correcting me or mixing up two different words.

“Yes, but they are characters nobody would believe if you didn’t know them. If I made them up, people would say I tried too hard or that I painted too broadly.”

“You do do that,” Andy said. “You like to be annoyed by them.”

It was a longstanding argument: whether I was too sensitive or too humorless or too prudish about Blip and Suzie. I had to admit that I was secretly delighted that the twins were wary of both grandparents, their identical little eyebrows raised whenever Blip spoke to them as if they were puppies rather than human children. It was more worrisome that both girls had started to give Andy the same look.

I checked my watch. Not even five minutes had passed. My phone said at least three more feet of snow was on its way. I’d already called my parents who advised me to stay put. “I can’t believe you didn’t put a winter survival kit in the trunk,” my father said without hiding his irritation. “I forgot,” I said sheepishly. I’d been living in Phoenix for so long that I’d forgotten about northern winters, the way snow could sneak up on you and change your plans in an instant.

“I think I should try to walk to the car ahead of us. Maybe I can get MARCH 2021

- 104 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

CHRISTINE SEIFERT

some food or blankets. We have less than half a tank of gas.” Another winter sin: not keeping the gas tank full at all times.

“Can you see to get to the next car?” Andy asked. “I can’t see a thing.” He was right. It was a full white-out now.

“I’ll be fine,” I said.

“I hope so.” He didn’t offer to walk himself. I knew he wouldn’t, not just because he was wearing flimsy Converse sneakers that would be soaking wet in seconds. I looked at my shoes, sturdy leather knee-high boots. Not ideal, but better than sneakers. If I kept in a straight line, I’d be fine. You didn’t need to see in a white-out. You just needed to keep your bearings. I’d hold onto the rental car until I had to let go and make the leap to the bumper of the next car.

“I’ve seen worse than this,” I said. I hadn’t. Not ever.

“I’m starving,” Andy said. We’d been on our way to dinner, a belated anniversary celebration that couldn’t have reminded me less of Hawaii if I’d planned it. It was my idea to take an anniversary trip to visit my parents. Andy had resisted. A lifelong Arizonian, he found the idea of snow a personal affront, a hassle Mother Nature sent just to fuck with him and his steak dinner.

“Somebody will have food,” I reassured him. I was Chief of the Reassurance Bureau. I got things done, and if I didn’t, I convinced Andy all would be okay anyway. “Somebody will have food,” I repeated.

The rest of these people wouldn’t have forgotten their winter survival kits because they weren’t idiots from Phoenix. “Give me those gloves and earmuffs.” Andy handed them to me. As I rubbed my fingers over the material, I wished I’d bought real outerwear, not the cheap stuff from CVS. “Fare thee well,” Andy said.

I turned the ignition. “Go ahead, have some heat. Then it will be warm for me when I get back.”

MARCH 2021

- 105 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

CHRISTINE SEIFERT

Andy smiled and leaned back in his seat. “Ah, heat. I’ve missed you so. I could write an epic ballad all about heat.”

“Well, you’ve got all night.”

I didn’t say goodbye when I pushed open the door against the wind and slammed it behind me. The force of the snowy wind almost knocked me over. Even so, I inhaled deeply and sucked in the cold until I was full. *** After Andy finished weeping that morning in Hawaii, when we had just an hour left to pack and catch our airport shuttle, he told me the truth—or a version of the truth. After Suzie had left the bar, Andy had roused Blip and sent him back to his room. But rather than coming back to the honeymoon suite, Andy had decided to go down to the Four Seasons bar for a quick drink. He’d bring it back up to the room. Maybe even grab a snack, a sundae or something, for us to share.

The University of Alabama ecology group was out by the pool. He decided to say hello, see what they’d been up to, if they had any exciting plant news. Andy dropped out of college sophomore year, but he fancied himself an autodidact, a word he actually used in regular conversation to describe himself. It was pedantic. It also wasn’t true.

I waited for him to admit it: that he’d slept with someone else.

Blip’s pre-Suzie extramarital affairs were genetic and here was proof. I felt a strong wave of something that might have been elation. If Andy cheated, it wasn’t my fault. I was the victim. And didn’t that change everything?

Wasn’t that a perfectly good excuse for an annulment?

We sat together on the foot of the bed that night, and I willed my hands to stop shaking. “Tell me,” I ordered. He wiped his nose on his t-shirt sleeve. “I didn’t try to stop her.”

I made him repeat the story twice, and then a third time, just to be sure I understood the details. There’d been a girl at the pool, a girl in a skimpy bikini with gold rings at the hips. He bought her a drink, a MARCH 2021

- 106 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

CHRISTINE SEIFERT

strawberry margarita, and then another. They dangled their feet in the pool, long after the other University of Alabama ecology students left. They walked on the beach. They kissed, their toes dug into the sand, their fingers clasped.

Just a quick kiss, hardly a kiss at all. They stopped. Andy wasn’t sure who stopped first. The girl—Brittany, of course her name was Brittany— understood. He was married. And she was only eighteen, a freshman from Tupelo, an almost-virgin.

Brittany stayed on the beach, still drunk, and he came back to the room to his wife. He would never stray again. He promised. I held him in my arms, all the while wondering if drunk-kissing was a big enough crime to warrant changing my ticket, staying in Hawaii for another couple of days by myself, and then flying back alone to contact a lawyer. Were divorces cheaper if the marriage only lasted a week? I had a thousand dollars in savings.

“Can you forgive me?” Andy asked. “Do you believe me that nothing else happened?”

The second question surprised me. I had never considered for a minute that he was lying, that the kiss had been just the beginning of something worse. I looked at his huddled mass, his shoulders covered with the fluffy white duvet that I was sure the housekeepers didn’t wash, not even at the Four Seasons. I never knew when he was lying. Never.

“You should have at least walked her back to her room.” I was offended on Brittany’s behalf. Was it too much to ask for an escort back to her room? It wasn’t safe, not even in Maui, for a drunk girl to wander the beach in the dark by herself. “What if something happened to her? What if she wandered into the ocean and drowned? Or fell into the pool? Or disappeared like that Spring Break girl, that one they still haven’t found?”

I was filled with worry for this Brittany.

“I didn’t do anything,” Andy said. “I didn’t. I swear.”

MARCH 2021

- 107 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

CHRISTINE SEIFERT

“Doing nothing is something,” I told him.

“No. Nothing is nothing,” he insisted, his eyes red-rimmed and hollow.

It occurred to me then, a lightning bolt from the white-painted Four Seasons ceiling: Doing nothing was certainly not the worst thing in the world. Doing nothing wasn’t an action. It wasn’t a choice. It was a mode of survival, a way of being, a philosophy.

“I’ll be better,” Andy said when we were riding down in the elevator the next morning to meet the shuttle that would take us away from Hawaii and the wedding and everything. “From now on, I will be better.” I chose to believe him about everything. *** Brittany sent me a Facebook message, just one day before we left Phoenix for our anniversary trip. It had been so long, I’d almost forgotten about Brittany. But not quite. I read the message. He just seemed so nice.

He seemed normal. I trusted him. I said no.

A day later, in the Phoenix airport, I locked myself in a stall and opened up Facebook Messenger and responded to Brittany: “I believe you.” *** The exhaust pipe mattered. You had to know something about northern winters to know about the exhaust pipe. Too much snow and you’d end up with exhaust filtering back into the car when you turned it on for the heater. If you were going to run the car, you had to keep that exhaust pipe clear.

I wished I had a shovel. As it was, I had to use my hands with the tiny gloves, already a hole in each index finger, to tunnel through the snow.

I stood up and peered around the rental. I still couldn’t see the car in front of me, not in the dark with snow bursting from the sky.

Digging seemed futile. Every handful I threw seemed to flutter MARCH 2021

- 108 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

CHRISTINE SEIFERT

back down and settle around the undercarriage of the car. I could hear the soft hum of the little engine, the rumble of its innards as it produced heat for Andy, who was still nestled inside.

I started scooping snow with both hands. Andy should turn the car off. We were using too much gas. The exhaust pipe wasn’t cleared out enough. I thought of Blip and Suzie. They were probably having drinks on their condo patio with the neighbors. My parents and the girls would have eaten supper by now. Time for bed next. Stories, kisses, nightlights, blankies, reassurances that Mommy would be back by morning.

I gave up on shoveling with my hands and sat on the edge of the car’s back bumper, the snow and cold soaking through my jeans. I really should tell Andy to turn off the ignition. It was bone-cold outside, but it was sort of nice, all alone, with the snow assaulting my face. Andy would nod off in the car. He could sleep in all circumstances, even when the girls were screaming bloody murder. He inherited that from Blip. How long would he breathe clean air with the exhaust pipe blocked?

“I’m not doing anything,” I said aloud. What was wrong with that?

Nobody could fault someone for coasting along, for letting things happen as they happened. Life unfolded. You didn’t always have to be the subject of every sentence. Nothing wasn’t something. Nothing just was.

I stood up again and watched the snow building higher, swallowing the bottom of the car. Not doing anything wasn’t wrong. I dried my hands on my thighs. Not doing anything was the sum of zero.

The rental was still running when I set out for the oasis ahead of me. ***

MARCH 2021

- 109 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

CHRISTINE SEIFERT

Discussion Questions 1. The narrator doesn’t seem to like her husband (Andy), or his parents (Blip and Suzie). There is an assortment of things she says she doesn’t like about them, but what is the real reason? Why has she never told them?

2. Andy, Blip, and Suzie all seem (generally) happy with their lives, and fond of the narrator. Are they simply stupid? Why is it they seem so happy and the narrator is so unhappy? Who’s right in the way they live their life?

3. Why did the narrator go through with a wedding that she didn’t want to have? Why have children when you are in an unhappy marriage?

Who (if anyone) is the cause of the narrator and Andy’s unhappy marriage?

4. How would this marriage/snow story go if told from the perspective of Andy?

5. If Andy was wearing similarly sensible shoes in the car, would the narrator have asked him to go to the next car? Would Andy have agreed to go if asked? If the answer is yes, then why is the narrator mad at Andy?

6. If the narrator fails to dig out the tailpipe, and Andy dies, will her life get happier in a year? Is she right in saying (regarding digging out the tailpipe) that “not doing anything isn’t wrong?” ***

MARCH 2021

- 110 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MICHAEL ROOK

Give The Robot The Impossible Job! Michael Rook *** The last century’s educators failed for so many reasons: lack of knowledge (Robertson & Robertson, 2049), early fatigue (Masters & Rightly, 2052), and general poor capability (Center for Excelling in Education, 2053). More than anything, studies show human teachers failed for lack of motivation (Center for Excelling in Education, 2045).

Delphi AI robots are built with one purpose: to teach. With access to the entire known pedagogical catalog, they can overcome any learning challenge. And they would rather cease to exist than fail—their future assignments and chances for Free Study all depend on their success with your child. If they don’t succeed, we turn them off.

No topic is off limits. Class, behavior, race, economics, sex—Delphi will handle even the most uncomfortable lessons.

Satisfaction guaranteed! And hurry! Don’t wait on the 7.1s. Your child’s future has not a moment to waste!

No client will be physically injured—in a way that won’t quickly MARCH 2021

- 111 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MICHAEL ROOK

heal. No trauma—at, least no more than is educational. And no death. ~TechDisruptEdu~ *** If not for pride, Quinn never would have checked a body out of the Denver Teledepot 1 . She never would have suffered the jaunt-coach’s 2 rattling up the mountain. Not for an instant stayed on this rear patio, wasting minutes—precious minutes—calculating the energy lost to a certain style of hedge-keeping, while her new client, whose name she didn’t know but she kept thinking of as “Madam-Not-Rich-But-WealthyEnough-to-Pay-the-Circuit-Keeper,” kept her waiting. Minutes.

Minutes the Circuit Keeper3 understood.

A grounds-keeping bot scuttled out, sweeping pebbles back towards the mountain. Quinn sprung up.

“Where’s the Madam? Does she know how long I’ve waited?

Doesn’t she know our queue-times?”

The grounds-bot rotated its head. The octagonal appendage

1

Like “Teledepots” in most major cities—those cities still functioning in the wake of Third Civil War (2029-2031)—the Denver Teledepot offers an assortment of vehicles and humanoid bodies for rental and usage in the greater Rocky Mountain Territory. Artificial Intelligence (AI) entities can transmit their core data into the Depot, rent a unit, and travel and interact with the physical world, as needed for their jobs. The Denver Teledepot rates as 3.75 of 5 stars.

2

Autonomous Taxi Companies (ATC) provide a safer and more reliable alternative to the ancient model of human-piloted ride-sharing transportation. With an array of multi-passenger options, from the standard jaunt-coach to the extra-wide-body jaunt-wagons, all equipped with cutting edge vertical take-off and landing wave propulsion, a local ATC is the best choice for your sub-Territory travel needs. Human or AI-rented humanoid, ATC will carry you swiftly and in style. Don’t forget to ask about in-flight entertainment, including multiple VR streams.

3

The Artificial Intelligence Act of 2037 requires a strict management and reporting structure for any company wishing to deploy semi-to-near-fully autonomous AI entities in commercial, military, or governmental work. The most senior AI manager, often known as the “Circuit Keeper,” must have full monitoring and control functions over all junior AI in its company hierarchy, allowing a strictly centralized command structure. This Circuit Keeper Officer, or CKO, must be fully controllable by a human Board of Overseers, with fail-safes for unauthorized independent decision-making.

MARCH 2021

- 112 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MICHAEL ROOK

twisted like a giant nut until a panel showed lava-orange.

“I think she forgot about you.”

“Forgot…” Quinn swung one of her chrome-colored fists backwards, knowing, seeing, the glass table. Pieces exploded into jagged fractals, scattering like buckets of crystalline seed. The Circuit Keeper would understand the escalation. Part of the mystique. Essence of the demand.

What the Circuit Keeper, and its creators, the entrepreneurs of TechDisruptEdu4, would not understand would be Quinn’s frustration—her true frustration, not the performance. It was protocol to drop in Delphi without telling them the particulars of the case. Actually, part of the design: no preconceived notions in developing the lesson plan. And that was fine, for Standard Cases.

But this was an Unsolvable Case. Yes, Quinn had volunteered. But with what choice? The 7.1s were coming.

The grounds-bot hovered past Quinn and began sweeping glass shards towards the mountain, disturbing nearby goats, stealing moments of their eating-grooming in the vast parallelogram lawns. Quinn considered the oddity that was the grounds-bot operating feet away from the animals, their pairing somehow, somewhere, decided to be the optimal mix for climate-friendly and economical lawn maintenance. Given the choice for her own gardens, would she choose the same?

“Tell her I left!” Quinn fumed, dashing away her thoughts. “Tell her she owes the whole bill!”

4

No company deserves more credit for saving higher education in the wake of the Third Civil War than TechDisruptEdu. A group of visionary software engineers from greater Boise, their groundbreaking application of near-fully-autonomous AI to education upended the teaching profession, proving once and for all that the best teachers for humans are robots.

TechDisruptEdu offers premier primary, secondary, and ongoing education opportunities for eligible pupils of America’s five private schools and three universities. Acceptance is rigorous, but the rewards are for a lifetime. Enroll your toddler in a pre-qualification assessment today.

Financing not available.

MARCH 2021

- 113 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MICHAEL ROOK

With a growing handle on the rented body’s5 stride, Quinn made for the front passage, hailing a new jaunt-coach with an internal blink. She hurried for the landing zone while simultaneously pulling away from her internal minutes register6. Yes, the 7.1s were coming, but why should she care about being outmoded? To worry about living was so human. And she’d be useful in some way.

But, since learning of the 7.1’s release date, something had nagged. To cease to exist, to stop teaching, wasn’t that in some way the ultimate failure?

A woman, looking younger than her holoimage, suddenly burst from the passage, eyes cast to something draped limp in her hands.

“Madam—” Quinn started to say, using the approved term before learning a client’s actual name.

But the word failed to halt the catastrophe. The Madam’s head— down, locked onto the limp item—crashed into Quinn’s breastplate. The woman reeled, hands pitching back, sure to go over, if not for Quinn’s grip.

The Delphi hauled the woman to a graceless pause, but the thing came free. It smacked the patio in something between a slap and a plop, as if landing half on a riverbed and half in its waters.

“Stitches,” the Madam muttered, slumping while Quinn hoisted

5

While many robot-human interactions can achieve their purposes in the VR streams, some services still seem to work best with actual physical interaction (e.g., punishment for crimes, sexual pleasure, education). AI working in these jobs are advised to rent a humanoid-appearing body from a Teledepot nearest their client, the more practical solution than inhabiting a single physical body, prone to wear-and-tear, depreciation, and higher insurance premiums. Current rented body models feature a liquid polymer outer layer, which can be configured into very human-seeming skins, hairs, and expressions. AI should observe all rented body best practices, however, as humans can still find them off-putting.

6

As described in “Optimal motivational schemes and algorithms for tomorrow’s AI: Robots serving humans happily” (Primus University Press, 2038), the best way to motivate and control near-fully-autonomous AI has proven to be endowing them with a never-ceasing purpose but a limited functional lifespan in which to achieve said purpose. Extra lifespan, or time, can be offered as a reward for good service. An internal minutes register provides a constant reminder and motivator to the individual AI of lifespan remaining.

MARCH 2021

- 114 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MICHAEL ROOK

one of the woman’s thin, sun-rashed arms skyward. The Madam began to sob. Quinn lowered her arm, seeking to lessen the pull as she gently released the woman’s wrist. The Madam collapsed, wrapping her freed arm across her body. Convulsions, hysterical breathing, and tears made the Madam’s next statements difficult, but not impossible, to comprehend.

“Stitches. Why would she make stitches?”

“Madam?” Quinn said, dialing down her emphatic quotient. When the Madam continued to bawl, Quinn rotated her vision to the thing. It was brown, and scarred with irregular white patterns. Within her first zooms, Quinn felt the rented body jolt, responding to her internal stimulus. As she cross-referenced mammal images, medical procedures, and appendage orientation and placement, she rotated back to the Madam and bent, extending an open hand.

Here, she could learn things. *** For all its rooms, only the pool house contained anything like decent light. Thin and brilliant tubes ran the ceiling above the coollyrippling lanes. Quinn turned over the carcass, its fur scratching another glass table.

Free Study was the ultimate prize. To be set loose with limitless minutes and credits, free to explore a field of one’s own choosing, to continue so even as the next line phased in…Quinn had always thought it an abstract, a dream. Enough satisfaction—and minutes—could be gained by quickly completing assignments, enough to allow for choice of next assignments, even to record observations and alter the core curriculum.

Only the flawed Delphi pursued the requirements of Free Study. First, the need to crack an Unsolvable Case? Beyond that, to write a brand new case study and lesson plan, repeatable by future Delphi? They were called Unsolvable for a reason. Not to a client’s face. But throwing Delphi at the problem until the client ran out of credits had to send some message.

MARCH 2021

- 115 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MICHAEL ROOK

Ms. Coffey—Samantha, when asked, though Quinn preferred surnames—slouched on an obsidian chaise, which hovered just enough from the ground for her feet to touch no tile. Ms. Coffey leaned in, Quinn noticing her dark hair flinch when Quinn spun the body.

“And has she—” Quinn started.

“Leticia.”

Another name from the file.

“Has she explained this?”

Dark hair shook. Quinn studied the stitches: fine fiber, spat from an expensive HomeMed7 unit. The disjunction of hind legs protruding from shoulders, however, was nothing fine, nor were forelimbs jutting backwards with tail, reattached to hips.

“Does she fear rabbits?” Quinn said.

Hair shook again and Quinn turned. Ms. Coffey’s skin bore the permanent sunning of Western living, bringing a glow to her eyes.

“Who’d be afraid of rabbits?” the Madam said.

Quinn didn’t command an expression.

Ms. Coffey glanced away. “Have you done many of these?”

There was no point to lie. “Like this? No. Others, similar. Perhaps worse. But you know that, Madam.”

Ms. Coffey didn’t respond. Quinn rotated the corpse one last time.

She zoomed into crepe-colored gums, running a quick program.

“How many others, Madam?”

“Like this?”

“Yes, Madam,” Quinn said, disgusted by the disgust.

“It’s been happening for six months. But that was in the file.”

7

For all your acute medical needs, the HomeMed unit offers all the abilities and medical materials of an ER nurse in the comfort of your own home. Sign up for a subscription service and never run out of the essentials, from gauze to morphine. Financing not available.

MARCH 2021

- 116 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MICHAEL ROOK

“They can be incomplete.”

“You mean they can lie.”

“No, Madam, I do not.” Quinn came to a stand, the hare having nothing more to tell.

“If you haven’t done…” Ms. Coffey began. She spun off the chaise and walked to the pool. “What makes you think you’ll be able to help?”

Quinn felt her borrowed hands curl into fists. She neared the woman, but stopped feet from the pool’s edge. For all the advances, water was still death to circuitry. And who knew the real status of a rented unit?

She unfurled her rented metal joints and flattened hands into thighs.

“Do you remember the Senator’s daughter?” she said. “The cutter, who joined the cult?”

“I think so,” Ms. Coffey said. “The one with the white hair and the beautiful name. Caroline. But the pictures when they found her. The blood and her wounds…”

“She’s at one of the three universities now, Madam. Not Summus, but one of the others. Accelerated studies. She even teaches some of the younger students.”

Ms. Coffey spun, eyes and mouth wide.

“It hasn’t been in The Dispatch! How?” Quinn kept her rented mouth still.

Ms. Coffey’s eyes narrowed. “No,” she growled. “No. It’s my daughter. Tell me.”

“I have a three-part Method, Madam. An old one. But unparalleled.”

“What three parts?”

Quinn again stilled the mercury polymer running under her rented face. This time, she wouldn’t answer.

“But this…” Ms. Coffey began to choke. “It’s how it starts. And I found her looking them up. The sick ones, the Denver one especially.

MARCH 2021

- 117 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MICHAEL ROOK

Algernon. Once that starts, it means… There’s no way to…”

Quinn seized on the name. Algernon. She file-chased inside her rented skull. A holoimage matched the name, conjuring an emaciated man in his third decade, brownish-hair the rotting innards of a strawman, beard like desert scrub brush. A serial killer, another one of them popping up so often now. But, as usual, also secretly apprehended. Tried for twelve infractions. Imprisoned. De-nourished and partially de-lobed. Broken.

Unimpressive.

Still, this was not just any Unsolvable Case. To de-program a budding serial killer, one already worshiping a serial killer come before her?

If any Delphi had achieved Free Study, surely none had ever written such a lesson plan. Quinn ran a flash search, only to find failures. Stacks of them.

Like being a 7 in the face of the 7.1s?

Quinn pinned the data and ventured back beyond her rented eyes.

“Madam.”

She waited until Ms. Coffey composed herself, watching the smooth skin under the woman’s eyes until there were no flutters.

“Madam. I’m a Delphi. Now, I’d like to speak to the child. I’d like to speak with Leticia.” *** Ms. Coffey, though she insisted on Samantha before going to fetch the child, had been absent, and Quinn alone in the humming pool room with the corpse, for exactly one-and-a-half minutes before the Circuit Keeper called.

It has been 312 minutes. You have four new tutoring requests and one repeat contact. Estimate remaining minutes. In accordance, assignments will be given or retracted.

Quinn fixated on the nearest stitching, trying to compose herself.

The Circuit Keeper couldn’t remotely terminate her, turn her off completely, but it could cut off the credits renting the body, which would MARCH 2021

- 118 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MICHAEL ROOK

drop the body into physical shutdown and leave Quinn a frozen prisoner until a team of retrieval robots from the Teledepot came to pick her up.

And then she’d sit in a bank at the Depot, wasting minutes, until the Circuit Keeper decided to retrieve her. If it was decided she should be retrieved.

She ran a program and quickly sent a reply.

The grounds-bot scuttled into the room. With appendages like gleaming pistons, it reached for the hare. Quinn smacked it, sending the nut-head jerking and spinning, lava-glow intensifying.

“Henry’s just doing his job,” a new, small voice said. The groundsbot—Henry—scooted off in the opposite direction.

Quinn found Leticia Coffey coming down the two pool room steps.

The girl seemed smaller than her mid-teen years, frail even under her dyedblond hair. She had a doll’s face, chin coming to a point so sharp as to be a triangle, deep dimple in its middle like a button. A grayish haptic suit stretched from toes to wrists, but curiously she bore a navy skirt over top, an old thing, fabric a relic. The girl ambled to the table, dragging off haptic gloves, her angle of approach hiding the thing on the table from her until she was within feet of Quinn. When Leticia spied the hare, her eyes widened, but she made no reaction other than to keep her gaze on the corpse.

Quinn rose, blocking the hare and forcing Leticia to meet her glowing green visual receptors. “Do you enjoy it?”

The girl’s bottom lip fell away, but Quinn nodded to the haptic gloves, meaning to refer to the girl’s VR games.

The girl’s countenance shifted, if not to something relived, at least less stricken. She shrugged. “Sure.”

“No?” “It’s not real.”

Something about her tone said the response was layered. Quinn recalculated. “What is real?”

MARCH 2021

- 119 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MICHAEL ROOK

Leticia smirked. “Forever.”

Quinn felt fury. She’d sent an exact minute estimate. Thus, it was time for the Method. She side-stepped, revealing the hare.

“Do you feel profound?” Quinn sneered. “You aren’t. You sound simplistic. Do you know the difference? Between simple and simplistic?”

The girl’s look flew to the table. Then she glared at Quinn.

“I don’t like you.”

“That’s better. I’m Quinn. Shall we sit, young Miss?”

“It’s Leticia.”

“Leticia.” No surnames with pupils. “Well met. Please?”

The girl slid into the seat furthest from the corpse. Quinn took the seat closest to the hare.

“Where’s Mom?” “Gone for a while. But you know who I am and why I’m here?”

Leticia had held her gloves under the table, but suddenly tossed them to the glass. One skittered to touch fur, but she didn’t pull it back.

Her gaze raked back and forth.

“You’re a Delphi?”

“Yes.” “Newest model?”

Quinn stifled an increase in volume. “That’s all that’s in service.

And should be.”

“And you’re the teachers? The best teachers?” The girl nodded a little, chin bobbing like a shovel probing hardpan. Then her eyes narrowed further. “And you’re here to tell me how bad I am for doing that.” She flashed a finger to the corpse. “And to stop me.”

Quinn engaged Mode One. “And what sense would that make?” she said. “What logic? What point?”

“Sorry?”

MARCH 2021

- 120 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MICHAEL ROOK

“Stopping you? From what? And most importantly, why?”

Leticia’s expression became quizzical, if unsettled.

“Because…”

“Yes?” Quinn snapped.

“Well, I don’t… it’s wrong.”

“Is that it?”

“Lots of people say it’s wrong.”

“How many is lots?”

Leticia stared at the corpse. “All of them.”

“Except?”

“Except what?”

“Except you,” Quinn answered. “What do you think?”

The girl shoved away from the table. She raked in her gloves and rose. “This is weird. You’re weird.”

Quinn didn’t move. She pointed to the stitched-up corpse. “Give me some logic, then. Tell me why you killed the hare.”

Leticia took a large step from the table.

Quinn fixated on her eyes, watching as the girl’s pupils expanded and contracted, devoid of blinks. Vital data. “You murdered this rabbit.”

“It was rabid. Dangerous.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

Again, Leticia took a step back, but this time she shook her head.

Quinn dug her rented finger into the hare’s mouth, then pushed up, revealing gums, which included a pall of some sort. And white residue, filmy.

“Foaming,” Quinn said. “And your MedReader 8 would have 8

HomeMed units come equipped with a diagnostic mechanism, a MedReader, able to identify hundreds of ailments and diseases with a simple fluid scan. Note: with the continued emergence of hyper-viruses, best practices recommend subscribing to monthly database and vaccination upgrades. Financing not available.

MARCH 2021

- 121 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MICHAEL ROOK

confirmed the suspicion.”

Leticia held fast.

“You should follow that instinct,” Quinn said. “You see something others don’t. In fact, you should kill dangerous things, all dangerous things.

More like you are needed. Imagine what the cities would still be! Open areas. Mass transit. Public schools. Shall we get started on your training?”

The girl had become visibly uncomfortable, fidgeting. “Wait...”

“Well, what do you say? I’m a Delphi. You know what we do. So, shall we start? What are you waiting for?”

“You aren’t here to—” “This is exactly why I’m here. You called for me. Look at that stitching.” Quinn reached a hand under the body and hoisted it up. It came down on the table’s edge with a wet thump. Leticia didn’t twitch, which Quinn noted without slowing. “That was more than removing a danger.

That was study. I know about your research. So, if we’re to make you a competent—a…let’s call it a “remover” of unfit persons, criminals and undesirables—not one of those pitiful attention-seekers like Algernon, who’ll kill just for recognition, we must start with truth.”

She retracted her corpse-flipping hand and took video of Leticia’s eyes, while replaying the captured images of the seconds before, at the mention of Algernon. A definite expanding of the pupils, almost to their limits. She made a note, then added a new goad.

“You reattached them in different places because you were studying form, weren’t you? Considering life? In fact, I don’t think you killed it at all. And a competent remover, a righteous surgeon, must have purpose and truth. So, start with truth. Did you kill the hare?”

Leticia squeezed her gloves. Tentatively, she shook her head from side to side.

“Yes, you found it dead. But you dissected it after, didn’t you?

Because while you weren’t ready to kill, even knowing it was dangerous, MARCH 2021

- 122 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MICHAEL ROOK

you wanted to try something. You wanted to practice. To put a knife through flesh.”

Leticia studied Quinn, but then looked around the room’s perimeter. The girl must have known the conversation was being recorded, everything was, but she also had to be thinking that her mother, Samantha, had hired Quinn. And Quinn, the teacher—she’d said this was her purpose.

Leticia nodded.

“Ahh, truth. And so now purpose. Logic. Why do you want to know you can kill, Leticia? Protection? Confidence?” Quinn sat forward, elbows crunching onto glass. “Why is that important?” While she spoke, she began to compose a minutes update for the Circuit Keeper.

“How can I really know life if I haven’t taken it?” Leticia said.

Quinn stopped the update.

“And made it.” Leticia continued. “Had a family. How can you really know, really value life, if you haven’t done both?”

Quinn sat back. “Quite philosophical. What have you been reading?”

“It’s just something I’ve been thinking about.”

They sat in silence.

“Well,” Quinn said.

“Well what?”

“Shall we start your training?” She made her rented hand into the symbol of a blade, then made a chopping motion. “The earlier you start, the better.”

But Leticia shook her head heavily. Without another word, she fled into the passage.

In moments, Samantha returned, mouth agape, clearly having watched the exchange.

“What,” she snarled, “was that? I didn’t expect a Delphi to-” “Madam.”

MARCH 2021

- 123 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MICHAEL ROOK

“How could you?”

“Madam.” Quinn rose. Her jaunt-coach would arrive in minutes and she itched to be out of the rented body. The Madam crossed her arms and drew heavy breaths.

“A pair of researchers,” Quinn said, “wished to get two groups to stop hating each other. More importantly, to stop killing each other.

Standard logic said bring them together, let them see each other, learn from exposure. But the researchers knew these people, were of them. A thousand years of interaction had done nothing. So, they tried something else.”

The fine muscles under Samantha’s eyes fluttered.

“The researchers told each side they were right,” Quinn continued.

“They praised war itself. ‘Without war, how would we have heroes?’ they asked. ‘Without war, how would we know morality?’ They even offered them training, not on defense and protection, but on first strikes. They offered new and terrible weapons. They even built a mascot for the coming conflict. And outlined best practices and color schemes for posthumous commendations.”

“And?” “And both sides, within weeks, reported less desire for conflict. In six months, they reported increased tolerance. Some had even reached out.”

“How is that—” “Because the researchers told each side they were right to extremes, to degrees that made them embarrassed. Because no one wants to be the madman. It was the most successful social science experiment of its kind. People are afraid to replicate it. We are not.”

Quinn started for the passage, passing the woman without a lingering glance.

“That’s it?” Samantha called after Quinn.

MARCH 2021

- 124 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MICHAEL ROOK

The Delphi spoke over her shoulder, voice now echoing.

“I’ll return in a week. Though I’d bet I won’t need to.”

Quinn found her way to the patio, where the jaunt-coach waited, spraying pebbles in all directions with vertical fumes. As Quinn boarded, she considered running a scan for where Leticia, the Unsolvable Case, had gone. She didn’t know why. But, in the end, she didn’t run the scan. *** Quinn slapped the man-child across the flesh-sac that served as his cheek.

“Tell me again you ‘don’t need permission,’ Ronald,” Quinn sneered. “Tell me again you ‘can know’ without asking a woman’s permission.”

An internal chiming noted an incoming call. Quinn kept her goldcolored hand raised, red eyes fixed on the blubbering teen, while she answered without speaking aloud.

“Hello, Ms. Coffey. I—” “She did it again. Worse!”

The gilded hand between Quinn and the boy vibrated.

“A hare?’

“A bird. A falcon.”

“Was it ill?”

“It hit the viewing window, upstairs, it—” “Alive when she found it?”

Silence on the other end.

“And after. Stitching again?”

“Yes. Oh, yes, she did. Head to tail. Tail to head.”

Quinn lowered her hand. Her red eyes were blushes in its golden reflection.

“Madam? Meet me in Denver in two days. Contact Service, for arrangements. And bring Leticia.”

MARCH 2021

- 125 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MICHAEL ROOK

*** Denver again, the new ghetto. Like others thinking staving off change would save it, the city ate itself. Quinn leaned against a ruined midmodern, a chrome-plated foot on crumbling stone, a hand on cracked blocks of smoky glass.

Footfalls slushed through the trash-littered street beyond the wall separating Quinn’s perch from the next property. Garden plots, now waste-piles, lined the wall. Gardening—that’s what she’d explore in Free Study. Quinn found fascinating the rituals and oddities of gardening. If by some miracle Free Study was actually real, if one could really…

Leticia turned the corner and Quinn cleaved her thoughts. The girl had traded her gray haptic suit for a full-body enclosure of shimmering blue. Helmet and goggles with laser-orange lenses completed the outfit, befitting a junior ski champion, but now needed to protect skin from things much deadlier than snow and cold. A jaunt-coach exploded into the sky.

Quinn caught dark hair in the passenger seat.

“So, you’re ready?” Quinn said, stepping into the dead brown that’d once been a yard.

Leticia paused. While there were no bodies, it was a desolate place and Quinn noted the girl’s slow pan around. Did it bring home the reality?

Maybe her first time? Quinn had doubted Leticia had ever come to the city proper. Premonition now felt confirmed. Perfect.

Leticia’s goggles found Quinn.

“Why are we here?” Leticia said.

“Answer the question,” Quinn said. “Are you ready for your training? Do you commit?”

Goggles slid to the side, but then centered. And nodded.

Something in Quinn’s rented body churned. She ignored it and pounded towards the street, motioning for Leticia to follow. They snuck through debris gleaming in the high noon sun, Quinn heading them west.

MARCH 2021

- 126 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MICHAEL ROOK

“We got a communiqué of an attack,” she said, slowing to let Leticia catch up. “Algernon.”

Quinn sensed a halt behind. She pivoted to find Leticia’s hands opening and closing at her sides. Quinn closed the distance between them, while pulling something from the rented body’s heavy robes. “Take this.”

Leticia stiffened at the offering. Layered lenses, zooming and researching, purred.

“Really?” the girl said. She brushed the knife’s handle with a finger before pulling it from Quinn’s grip. Quinn estimated the blade to be almost as long as the girl’s skinny forearm.

“You might need it,” Quinn said. She crunched a step west, but had to pause when she registered the girl standing pat.

A little mic hissed. “Shouldn’t I have something more powerful?”

Quinn ground her rented teeth.

“We do this close up,” the Delphi said, tempering her anger. “If we do it, we do it close. No escaping the action or the consequence. Besides, Algernon carries one much smaller. And look what he’s done.”

The girl stayed stuck. “What about you?”

Quinn raised her hands, joints and ridges glinting in the sun.

They stalked for several blocks, streets sloping towards a glittering urban lake. Weight leaned against gravity, they shuttled by burned, foldedin homes, as well as those still in use, if also in shambles. Shapes stirred behind darkened glass. Leticia spun her view everywhere. When she asked how Quinn knew their direction, the Delphi gave no answer. Finally, after a mile, Quinn crouched behind a crumpled jaunt-wagon, bidding Leticia to do the same. After a showy look about, Quinn half-rose and ventured north, taking them onto a new, more littered street.

A chiming rung inside Quinn’s head. Aggravated, she answered, expecting Samantha and histrionics, petrified by something viewed from the miles-away jaunt-coach. But it was Leticia, whispering into her mic and MARCH 2021

- 127 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MICHAEL ROOK

directly into Quinn’s head.

“Why are you doing this for me?”

“I teach,” Quinn sent back, not bothering to modulate her tone.

“Therefore I am.”

“Are you scared?”

Quinn glanced back. Beneath her goggles, the girl bore the same expression as ever. An undesired train of thought bloomed: Unsolvable.

She’s considered Unsolvable, already. Already.

“I can’t die,” Quinn transmitted. “But my knowledge and memory collection has taken so long to curate. I’ve spent a great deal of effort keeping them united and growing. It’d be a— it’d be a shame to separate them. To have them recycled into a million different places, all that energy, and time, lost. Have you heard of the free energy principle?”

A bird flew overheard, an ugly thing, part pigeon, part sparrow.

“No.” “Never mind. How do you feel? Are you afraid?”

“I think so. But I trust you, Quinn. I’m sorry about last time.

You…you scared me. But I thought about it and it impressed me. I trust you, Quinn.”

Quinn zoomed in on the goggles. She then turned, returning to the pathbreaking. Another freak bird fluttered overhead, crash landing in the remains of a Douglas fir. Quinn nodded towards the tree without slowing stride.

“Why do that to the falcon? Even if it was a mercy killing, the stitching was useless. It could have been food, if nothing else, for your animals.”

“No one eats meat anymore, not even our goats.”

Quinn registered the calm in Leticia’s tone. The Delphi took advantage, fully engaging Mode Two. “Why the stitching? What do you feel when you do it?”

MARCH 2021

- 128 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MICHAEL ROOK

No answer came. But a signal, inaudible externally, yanked Quinn to a halt. She fired off a return signal and ducked them behind a wrecked municipal-guardian cruiser. Several more lay ahead in two uneven but clearly intentional lines, their final stops having created a broken V. “Do you hear that?” Quinn transmitted. Leticia nodded weakly.

“Listen!” Quinn demanded.

The girl combed round and round, little chest pulsing under her skinsuit. Both froze, however, as a sound became apparent and undisputed.

“Oh god. Oh god help me!”

Quinn sprang around the cruiser. She didn’t bother looking back.

Leticia followed as they dodged around two more cruisers to the peak of the V. “Oh please! Help! I’m cut! I’m cut so bad.”

Quinn hummed with satisfaction as Leticia skidded to a stop just feet from a body laid astride the final cruiser’s wreckage. The victim thrashed in streams of blood.

“Help me!”

The victim, clearly tall and young, even if prone, was revealed to be a teen girl of no more than Leticia’s age. The girl might have had red hair—impossible to tell, however, as it was soaked in gore and mangled about itself, like something spit from the ocean.

Steps shuffled behind Quinn. The Delphi found Leticia almost marching in place, seeming to want to retreat, but stuck. Quinn pulled right up in front of the girl and bent, green gaze inches from goggles. She seized Leticia’s hand, the one loosening on the knife, and clutched it hard, no care to any pain caused.

“What are you doing?” Quinn sent. “This is when we’ll need it! He could still be close! Algernon!”

Leticia furiously shook her head.

MARCH 2021

- 129 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MICHAEL ROOK

“I’m not ready—” The dying girl cried out. “What are you doing? Help me! I’m so scared.”

Quinn grabbed Leticia’s shoulders and shook. “What? Is it her?

We’re not here for that. Unless you prefer to wait with her, as help comes.

While I hunt Algernon. Is that it? You don’t feel up to it? You feel like staying here? With her?”

Quinn, with milli-movements, eased her grip. Leticia crept towards the girl.

Leticia dropped to the girl’s side as the victim began to gurgle.

Leticia’s free hand struck out as the victim’s torso convulsed and spasmed.

A jet of blood jumped from a chest wound, splattering Leticia’s goggles and bending her back over her knees.

Quinn zoomed in, all sensors in overdrive.

The victim went still.

Leticia sank back. The knife clattered to the cement. The girl swiped at the blood on her lenses, but it only spread the fluid. Her soaked gloves eventually fell into her lap and she became still, for all the world a mourner at an old grave.

After two complete minutes, Quinn called the jaunt-coach.

Wordless, Leticia allowed her mother to embrace her and urge her into the cabin. They exploded into the sky, plastic shooting everywhere.

Quinn’s head chimed moments later.

“She’s unconscious. Sedated. What was that?”

“Madam. Look.”

Quinn clicked a command inside her rented skull and a tiny shutter opened, sending Samantha a video feed. As it did, the “corpse” rolled onto its side and pushed upwards in a smooth motion, blood dropping from large rips in its throat and chest. The girl-victim—blood so drenching her face and little brown eyes she could have been made of syrup—walked MARCH 2021

- 130 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MICHAEL ROOK

forward into Quinn’s vision until all that really registered were wet eyes and damp hair.

“Oh. Oh, no. You all can look… You can look like that? Us?” “Yes, Madam. Yes indeed. We know how it makes you feel. That’s why we don’t use them. Unless we must. Unless it’s the solution.”

The girl-victim gave a nod to the sky. Another jaunt-coach rattled down.

“Call me if you need, Madam. Please, if you need.” *** Starlight brushed Quinn’s onyx face in ghost-blue rivers. As the young heiress collapsed, sagging towards thighs and sofa cushions, Quinn put one jet-black hand on hers.

“I’ve been angry too,” Quinn said, dialing her tone to a new degree of compassion. “Revenge? With what happened, I might broadcast it too.

I’ve wondered how I’d feel, after—” A chiming severed her conversation thread. Massaging the heiress, between thumb and forefinger, Quinn ordered up a smile to mask her internal answering.

“This is not a good time,” she transmitted.

“Henry,” the familiar voice on the other end said. No emotion. No warmth.

The heiress’s hand shuddered. Quinn quickly gauged her pressure level, found it way too high, and reset. The heiress cautiously returned her palm.

“I’ll be there in three days,” Quinn transmitted, rented mouth motionless and fixed in its smile. “Call Service,” she silently sent to Samantha. “They’ll prepare you. It can take the full Method.” *** Quinn swallowed each and every minute of the jaunt-coach’s travel up the mountain, knowing they were gone. She broke them into MARCH 2021

- 131 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MICHAEL ROOK

fragments and atoms, imagining a path down messy and soft organs. The passenger moaned. Quinn whistled a fist into the man’s cheekbone, metallic knuckles colliding with unhealthy flesh. A whimper followed, but a second strike cut it dead. Below, tall pines began to give way to gardens.

Quinn digested more minutes.

The jaunt-coach landed near the guest house and stalled to a quiet humming. Quinn twisted and dug one hand into the man’s dirty hair and the other under the latch of a metallic collar about his throat. Quinn snapped the neural-collar locked across scraggly beard and ingrown hairs.

“Algernon,” she spit.

The man whimpered.

With disgust, Quinn yanked in opposite directions, eliciting a yelp.

Then she barked silent instructions to the jaunt-coach and left it sealed and humming, before marching towards the patio.

As Quinn’s rented feet clonked onto the sunlit stone, two figures exited the house to meet her. She’d never fully studied the impact of fatigue on the human body, but made a note to explore the thinning and paling of once-dark hair. As Samantha dropped into a glass chair, one matching a new glass table, a new head-steward-bot—gleaming white and a foot taller than Quinn’s rental—coasted into the Delphi’s path. Quinn halted. She tried to look around the unit, known as a majordomo, a robot painted to resemble a head butler and designed to lead all service bots in a household. Quinn tried to catch the Madam’s eyes, but found herself blocked by the majordomo’s massive, seven-fingered hand. Quinn smacked the hand and thrust up her jaw.

“That’s enough, Simon,” Samantha said, voice ugly. The majordomo slid to a side as Samantha exhaled a deep cloud of haze, a burner-bar dropping with one hand. Alarms set off in Quinn’s head at the sight of the burner-bar, a sophisticated upgrade of the centuries-old and dangerous technology known as “vaping.” Quinn’s alarms triggered MARCH 2021

- 132 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MICHAEL ROOK

because the burner-bar could deliver more than just tobacco and marijuana, and these days often did. Her sensors flared as Samantha inhaled a mixture of opiates.

“Madam, were the instructions not clear? You cannot be incapacitated for this, not in any way. You may be—” “I don’t care.”

Quinn looked at the woman’s eyes and the fine muscles below them. They barely moved as Samantha returned her gaze. Incensed for a part of a minute, Quinn clicked open a monitor from her forearm, a tiny screen. The jaunt-coach appeared small and innocent as a toy. Samantha flitted her gaze away from the image before Quinn grabbed her arm.

“How?” Quinn said.

“How what?”

“Henry, the grounds-bot.”

The woman slid back, pulling the held arm away, if not totally free.

“There were no stitches, if you that’s what you mean. Wire, everywhere, tangled, but I must have caught her before she used the soldering tool for anything but cutting. He’d been with us since Leticia was born, you know.”

Quinn released her grip. She considered a million statements in order, along with a million tones and combinations of inflection. Instead, she pointed to the tiny screen.

“You have to trust me,” she said. “Leticia does.”

The woman brought the burner-bar to her mouth and inhaled. She rolled her head on her neck, away from Quinn and towards the mountain.

Quinn selected a not-yet-complete, but final thought.

“A few youthful infractions,” she said, “does not an Un...a lost cause make.”

“Please,” Samantha muttered, not facing Quinn. “Just please.”

Quinn signaled. On the monitor, the jaunt-coach’s hatch sprung MARCH 2021

- 133 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MICHAEL ROOK

upward. A brittle figure, thin and bony, slipped out. A tiny head moved around, followed by open hands and stretching fingers. Then, in a motion almost too fast to fit the mover, Algernon dashed off screen.

Samantha dropped the bar to the table with a clank and headed inside. Quinn heard her call a name. The majordomo waited by the door until Leticia appeared, today’s skinsuit a deep night black, stark against her face and hands. The majordomo ducked its head and entered the house, then shut the door, firing locks. With a wide smile, the girl bound towards Quinn, for whom minutes were speeding up, now disappearing in chunks.

“Why Henry?” the Delphi growled. “Why your grounds-keeping bot?”

Leticia halted, a look of confusion pulling at her face. “I froze,” the girl said. “Back in that street. In Denver. I asked Henry about it while he was cleaning the patio again. I thought he might know, since robots know so many things, but he just made one of his jokes. I realized then that something was wrong with his programming. Maybe he was breaking down? Anyway, he was old and he wasn’t real. Did you see Simon?”

Quinn turned her back to the girl and walked away.

“Wait,” Leticia cried. “Wait, you aren’t leaving, are you? I’ve wanted to see you. I’ve got so many questions…”

Quinn spun.

“Stop. A bot? Because of a joke? You sicken me.”

The wound in Leticia’s eyes was unmistakable.

“I…” “You have one chance and once chance only,” Quinn said. “He’s here.”

Leticia didn’t blink, concerning Quinn. The girl’s button chin wagged from side to side.

“He…?”

“Algernon. He found you. He’s on the grounds. Right now.”

MARCH 2021

- 134 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MICHAEL ROOK

The button swung back and forth harder. The voice grew a skin.

“No,” Leticia said. “He doesn’t do it that way. Not any of the twelve…thirteen. He never goes to their homes. He likes to hunt in the streets, like where we found the last one. I’ve seen all the…”

Quinn grasped Leticia. “Shut up. Don’t give him so much credit. If you help me, you’ll see.”

With a chrome-plated hand, the Delphi pulled out the oncedropped knife. “Do you trust me?” Quinn said, lifting it to the girl’s eyes.

She entered Mode Three. “Is what I say credible to you? Still?”

Leticia stood motionless. Then her young fingers wrapped around the handle as her chin nodded.

“Let’s go,” Quinn said.

As they searched the gardens, Quinn led in a measured pace, allowing her to monitor Leticia’s heart rate and breath while also tracking the killer’s every step, registering how the latter’s weight now included something that added two pounds and dragged his stride to the right.

Quinn scanned the collar’s magnets and voltage and felt satisfied by the simple and pure mixture returned. When the killer moved from studying the grand house to heading for one of its lower windows, Quinn flashed a command and reveled in the sensor-returned data: Algernon rapidly convulsing and collapsing to the ground, bladder releasing, his ability to rise made impossible for several moments. Utterly controlled. When Algernon finally did rise, the lumbering notch added to his slowed pace only satisfied Quinn more. Soon, Quinn would bring Leticia into contact.

The Delphi searched files for a place and noted a manicured rectangle of grass just below the ballroom’s deck. The view would be perfect for those safely inside. She pulled Leticia down a new path and hurried their progress. But minutes still passed. So many minutes.

“Do you still believe it?” Quinn said.

“Believe what?”

MARCH 2021

- 135 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MICHAEL ROOK

“That to really know life, one has to take it?”

The steps behind her slowed.

“It’s not wrong,” Leticia said. “And it’s only part of it. I want a family. But you can’t say it’s wrong. Not if you really think about it. Have you?”

Quinn ran a scan of Algernon’s location and vitals. “It sounds like wanting to be God,” the Delphi said. “It sounds like the simple-minded philosophy of a simpleminded God.” She stalked forward, parting pine branches grown into the path.

When no steps followed, she raised her palm, wordlessly asking why.

“I don’t think I’m God,” Leticia said.

“Do you want to be righteous then, at least? For God’s sake, if one exists, will you save yourself and your mother?”

Footsteps restarted, matching the quiet of Quinn’s careful approach. A snicker sounded and Quinn sensed a branch falling to the path behind her, shorn free. It was time. Quinn signaled the collar and spun her rented head back to the girl.

“Are you ready? He’s right up there. I can hear him. By the house!”

Quinn ran, not waiting. Leticia followed.

They burst into the manicured yard and darted for the thing stumbling about. Quinn’s legs stopped so suddenly her feet plowed under sod. Leticia bumped into her back, knife poking through the air between the Delphi’s robe and sleeve.

“No.” The word escaped Quinn’s rented vocal cords before she could make it internal. In front of them, a goat staggered, white fur of its hind legs stained yellow, much more fur wetted blood red. The goat fell, head first, then rose, hacking breath and spewing gore. The neural-collar hung half connected around its neck - the neural-collar supposedly impossible to remove once locked, though clearly not foolproof, as Algernon had somehow detached it from his own neck and hung it around MARCH 2021

- 136 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MICHAEL ROOK

the goat’s, his decoy.

“Quinn?” Leticia said.

A scream erupted from the nearest side of the grand house—the patio. Programs and calculations fired through Quinn’s rented mental unit, but failed to keep up with her demands. The goat whined as its body quaked and it plummeted once more.

“Quinn, what’s—” Leticia whispered.

The Delphi’s fist went back and she experienced a memory skip, followed by the registration of a new definition: déjà vu. She imagined the first time at the home, when she’d been overcome with frustration, when she’d swung her fist back and shattered the glass table. Her fist swung back now, more frustrated, awash in an even deeper desperation. But there was no glass table behind her this time to be exploded into dust for effect.

Instead, all that she’d slam into would be a teen girl’s skull. She opened her fist just before it could smash Leticia’s face into gore and gripped the girl’s hand. There was still time. Quinn tugged them to the patio.

Three bodies struggled in various poses, like agonies in a Dutch master’s painting. Why had they come outside? Tricked somehow—the goat, maybe—though not mattering anymore. Quinn first spied Simon, the majordomo bot, clawing at an irrigation tube shoved into the crevice between his shoulder plating and neck piston, water bubbling and crackling as he gyrated madly. With a bare slowing of pace, Quinn used her free hand to yank away the tube, splattering herself as it whipped. With a rip of a turn, still pulling Leticia, she pivoted and made her way to the woman and the man in the patio’s center, both writhing through ponds of scarlet.

Samantha crawled, hand over hand, matted hair in her eyes, dragging her right leg. Fabric, shredded from calf to buttock, exposed a hunk of pale flesh, revealing a great wound in the center, chunks of muscle spit up through the rupture, like nastily erupted magma. Samantha’s eyes, already widened to the limits, went wild at the sight of Leticia.

MARCH 2021

- 137 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MICHAEL ROOK

“No,” the Madam wailed. “No!” Quinn yanked her gaze and too-rapid assessments from the woman, afraid the now-smoldering circuits in her rented head might catch fire. She focused on the wraith crawling along behind Samantha, heaving one side of his body. Algernon’s left half hung semi-limp, arm dangling as much as the corresponding cheek. His left eye stared unfocused and motionless in a direction entirely different from the functioning right. The cost of removing the neural collar had been high—a partial stroke—but not the fatality promised. His still-working eye zeroed forward, leading the stillworking right arm. With ragged clawing, Algernon dragged himself a foot, then pushed his bloody garden shears another foot ahead, only to repeat.

In Samantha’s direction.

Quinn flung free her hold of Leticia and sprinted the final yards.

She straddled Algernon high up on his back, chrome-plated hands descending like mortars to either side of the man’s jaw. Calculations ran and answers spit back, but they felt like flames. Seconds counted in the place of minutes, a counter running down.

“Quinn!” Leticia said, trembling.

Her mother reached for her, which stretched her wound, releasing more blood, but the girl fixated on the wasted form wriggling in Quinn’s grip. She raised the knife, arm steadying.

Quinn, rented head raised, met the girl’s eyes. She moved a knee into the upper space between Algernon’s wriggling shoulder blades.

“This,” Quinn said, and nodded downward, “is no God.” In the same screech of a moment, she wrenched arms back while pushing with her knee. An unnatural crack echoed up the mountain and the dirty body went still. Quinn yanked and pressed further, until a wet rip sounded, not strong enough to echo up the mountain, but clear across the patio. A flood splashed onto the stones, displaying the Delphi’s reflection.

Quinn searched Leticia’s gaze, willing something: a blink, for the MARCH 2021

- 138 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MICHAEL ROOK

girl to turn away, to unleash tears. Internal data drank into sensors, Quinn searching for a reaction denoting the Mode’s success, of the girl showing proper response.

It did not come.

Programs burned through Quinn. She could feel the collapsing of certainty, of surety. This could not be, this was not anticipated. The Method, the Modes, did not fail. Primary directives screamed against incoming data, incongruous and all but melting the rented unit.

Samantha’s grievous wound, the damage to Simon—even Algernon’s execution to save lives: all might be understood by the Circuit Keeper. But not for naught.

Leticia looked on, pupils tacking back and forth, seeming mesmerized by the half-pulled away head, maybe even the chrome fingers still punctured through tendon and jawbone. Quinn’s vision began to shake. Minutes, suddenly she could think of nothing but minutes, and the weak but determined movements where Samantha wriggled closer to her daughter.

And a thought occurred: Perhaps there was now a different credibility.

A different God. And a Fourth Mode.

Quinn threw down the skull and rose. Leticia’s eyes followed, for the first time showing surprise. Quinn input data and ran an override. She scooped up the bloody shears, electrical fire running through her as the override shook the unit.

“I wanted this,” Quinn snarled and split open the shears, slinging gore. Leticia shuddered, just a little. “I planned this!” Quinn screamed, electronic voice an unnatural pitch. She turned towards the girl’s mother, Samantha, and sped up. “And I won’t stop.” The last movement she commanded was to pull her eyes from the girl’s, to dismiss her, but not MARCH 2021

- 139 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MICHAEL ROOK

before catching the girl blink, and wag her triangle chin hard.

“No.” A proper response to the moment.

An alarm wailed. It howled like a squealing tire, caught in a repeating loop, so loud Quinn felt it must come from only inside her own head. But data intakes, even as they began to shut down, told her they screamed from Simon as well, who’d managed to lift himself to a knee.

They wailed from the house sirens too. And they were joined by the thunder of giant jaunt-wagons suddenly spiraling earthward as Quinn’s rented unit shut down, folding her into a cross-legged prisoner on the patio stone, unable to do anything but look. And speak.

“You!” she hollered as a jaunt-wagon crunched down yards behind, spraying waves of pebbles. Leticia’s gaze, now gone as wild as her mother’s, found Quinn. The girl pointed to herself with a flimsy, bent finger. But Quinn looked beyond the girl and changed her tone, to a pitch much too high to be comprehended other than by electronic ears. “You!” Simon, body still jerking, stumbled over. Before the Teledepot’s bots grabbed Quinn’s now unresponsive unit, she cast her rented eyes up to the majordomo’s.

“I think I did it,” Quinn said, firing out the words. “Stopped the momentum. It was about the right message and messenger. And, as important, the right moment. The right time.” Quinn’s vocal capabilities began to fade, the Teledepot—on orders of the Circuit Keeper, or its masters, surely—determining she must lose that ability as well. Quinn focused and forced out her last lesson with all the intensity she had left.

“But if I didn’t, you now have time to decide what to do.”

Robotic appendages gripped Quinn’s rented body and hauled her back towards the roar of jaunt-coaches, the majordomo watching the whole way. *** MARCH 2021

- 140 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MICHAEL ROOK

Disembodied, Quinn floated within the data and signals of the Teledepot. Why they’d left her intact, she couldn’t fathom. Was this Free Study? She tried to think of what she’d wanted to study—but the fantasy died. She’d failed. So, she should have been ripped apart, knowledge and memories shed of their filters from the outside world, blankets separating the entity known as Quinn from all other entities dissolved, leaving even her smallest pieces to disperse back into the cloud, to be recycled into new and useful forms.

A chiming rang in Quinn’s mind. She’d have jerked her head, if she’d still had one. But casting about formless in the signal streams, all she could do was click the memory of answering.

“Circuit Keeper,” she said, or imagined she said. “Please—” “Quinn? Delphi Model 7?”

It wasn’t the Circuit Keeper, not the thundering connection that served as its massive voice. Not human either, but still an entity outside the cloud.

“Yes, I am,” she said. “Who is this? What do you want?”

“I’m Wilkinson, Miss. Delphi Model 7.1. Well, prototype 7.1. I’m so glad you’re still here. I heard about the new Method, Miss. We all have. A four-part method of persuasion. Logic and emotion and authority and timing. Combinations. And for what you constructed it for, to deprogram a budding serial kil— it was genius. Will you teach me? I have a—” And in the electronic caverns of the Denver Teledepot, though she could not be seen, Quinn’s imaginary mouth twitched. With it, a counter started, full of fresh minutes.

A limited amount of minutes. ***

MARCH 2021

- 141 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION

MICHAEL ROOK

Discussion Questions 1. Given how nearly human Quinn is, is it fair to have her live a limited lifespan? It is fair to make near human AI fear an impending death to motivate them to work?

2. They refer to Leticia as an “impossible” case. Is that ever true? Are there children (or adults) who have started down such a horrible path they simply can’t be stopped? If so, what, if anything, should be done with them?

3. Do you think Quinn made the right choice in how she attempted to teach Leticia, the young girl? Is taking an idea to an extreme to elicit embarrassment a viable teaching method? Is trauma ever an appropriate teaching method?

4. Do you think “free study” is real, or simply something they tell the robots to motivate them? How is it the same, or different, than humans believing in heaven?

5. What happened at the end of the story that saved Leticia? ***

MARCH 2021

- 142 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

Additional Information Reviews If you enjoyed reading these stories, please consider doing an online review. It’s only a few seconds of your time, but it is very important in continuing the series.

Good reviews mean higher rankings. Higher rankings mean more sales. More sales mean a greater ability to release stories. It really is that simple, and it starts with you.

Podcasts https://www.afterdinnerconversation.com/podcastlinks Listen to our podcast discussion of After Dinner short stories wherever podcasts are played. Or, if you prefer, watch the podcasts on our YouTube channel or download the .mp3 file from our website.

Patreon https://www.patreon.com/afterdinnerconversation Get early access to short stories and ad-free podcasts. New supporters also get a free copy of “After Dinner Conversation – Season One” and access our Facebook Group. Support us on Patreon!

Book Clubs/Classrooms https://www.afterdinnerconversation.com/book-club-downloads “After Dinner Conversation” supports book clubs! Receive free short stories for your book club to read and discuss!

Social Find us on Facebook, YouTube, Instagram, and Twitter.

MARCH 2021

- 143 -

Vol. 2, No. 3

From The Editor This is our longest monthly magazine we have ever had. This is due, in part, to the fact that we recently expanded the magazine by adding an extra short story per issue. But, also, this is simply due to the fact that, just by luck, some of the short stories in this issue are longer than our usual length by a bit.

I have a confession to make: I don’t like epic novels. Lord Of The Rings, Dune, Game Of Thrones. They are, for me, works of effort, not works of art. Yes, I know, I’m going to literary hell, but here me out.

Flowers For Algernon, 78,000 words. Fight Club, 50,000 words.

Slaughterhouse-Five, 49,000 words. Federalist #10, 750 words. Gettysburg Address, 272 words.

I mention this for two reasons. First, in the last year we have received a few longer submissions that have convinced me that a longer story can sometimes be just as dense and just as amazing as a short story.

“Give The Robot The Impossible Job!,” in this magazine, was one of the first stories to convince me of this.

Second, this also makes me think we may start a bonus series of novelette length stories from time to time, something in the range of 10,000-18,000 words. If you have an opinion on this, feel free to email me at editor@afterdinnerconversation.com. I would love to hear your thoughts.

Best Wishes, Kolby Granville