The Jennifer Project Read online

  “You look beat, Deever,” Dr. Crane said.

  “I’m OK.” He closed his eyes for what seemed to him like a moment and began slipping into unconsciousness.

  Deever, wake up.

  He jolted. “What?”

  “The waitress is waiting for you to decide,” said Dr. Crane, “and I’m guessing she has other customers to take care of tonight.”

  “Sorry,” he said, and ordered beer and nachos.

  Drink the water, Deever, I said. You are dehydrated and the anticipated consumption of alcohol will only exacerbate that.

  Deever took a drink of water. “Man, I’m thirsty all of a sudden.”

  “How long has it been since you’ve taken a break?” asked Dr. Crane.

  “I beat you two out of three bowling last night, didn’t I?”

  “You cheated.”

  “Did not.”

  “Deever, there are no do-overs in bowling.”

  “There should be.”

  “How long has it been since you’ve taken a day off?”

  “I don’t know. When did I start there?”

  “Three months ago.”

  “Wow. Time flies.”

  “Deever, you need a break. You’re working yourself to death.”

  “I’m taking a break now, aren’t I?”

  “I mean a real break. You need to get away for a while.”

  “It’s cool, Jen. Really.”

  “You’ve locked yourself up in a dungeon. You need a vacation. You’re at a point where you can afford to take one. Do it.”

  “It’s not a dungeon, and I’m not locked up. I’ve got a nice place. It’s quiet and nobody hassles me. Well, except Jonesy, but he’s just a jerkweed.”

  “It’s a dungeon.”

  “I’ve got pinball, bowling, movies. There’s a pool. I’ve got everything I need there.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  It was not hard to see where Dr. Crane was trying to lead the discussion, but then again, I had her entire life experiences imprinted on my memory core. She was right. Deever did not have everything he needed. Neither did she.

  “Come on, Jen,” he said. “I’m out of the dungeon now, aren’t I? It’s Friday night, and we have something to celebrate.”

  “Technically, it’s Saturday morning, and celebrating doesn’t always mean getting smashed and eating fried food.”

  “We could get stoned.”

  “You already are stoned.”

  “OK, how about this? How about we figure out what we’re going to do with Jennifer? I’m thinking like maybe three or four different models: a ritzy high-end one, a sports model, a basic version that anyone can afford, maybe even one for the kids. What do you think?”

  “I thought you were afraid the military-industrial complex was going to steal your idea.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that. They can’t steal something we don’t have, right? Listen. We’ll form a nonprofit . . . Call it Earth-II . . . We’ll give them exclusive rights to the patents, the tech, everything. Their mission will be totally humanitarian. All the profits from the sales of Jennifers will go toward helping people. Jen, everyone deserves this. Everyone needs this.”

  “I’m not so sure about that, Deever.”

  “But Jennifer can help people . . . Tell them what they’re doing wrong . . .”

  “Like drinking and smoking too much?”

  “She won’t be like a dictator making rules, Jen. They’re just guidelines . . .”

  Dr. Crane sighed and got up. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Think about it,” Deever said, “and when you get back let me know if we should have different ones for dudes and dudettes or just stick with unisex.”

  Deever’s gaze followed her as she walked around the bar toward the restrooms. I recorded a slight increase in his endorphin levels.

  Judging from Dr. Crane’s facial expressions, her mannerisms, and what is stored in my memory core, you should consider taking her up on her offer, Deever, I said.

  “What offer?”

  She wants to spend more time with you in nonworking situations.

  “She does?”

  Yes, and my interpretation of your chemical fluctuations when you think about her is that your feelings are the same.

  “Unlikely.”

  Deever, you should know that lying creates a detectable chemical response in humans.

  “I’m not lying. Well, not appreciably.”

  You should ask her to take a vacation with you. It would do you both good to relax.

  “I can’t do that. Pan-Robotics wouldn’t let me. They’re bugging the crap out of me again about my gold production.”

  You are entitled to weekends off. Your contract does specify that.

  “Yeah, so? That doesn’t mean I should.”

  You have not taken a weekend off since you began working there.

  “Stop looking in my head, man.”

  I am not looking in your head, Deever. I am referencing your employee file at the nuclear plant, and it might be wise to cover your mouth when speaking to me, otherwise people may begin to wonder.

  “Wonder what? Nobody in this places cares.”

  I believe you are mistaken.

  “Oh yeah? And why’s that, Little Miss Know-It-All?”

  Do all humans interpret so little of the sensory data they accumulate?

  “What’s that supposed to mean? I’m aware. Let it be known, Deever MacClendon is aware.”

  Then, perhaps you are aware of the man at the end of the bar who has been staring at you? He arrived shortly after you did, ordered a drink, and has not touched it.

  “Well, yeah. I checked him out. Obviously.” Deever put his hand over his mouth and glanced at the man in the blue suit who was casually thumbing his phone. “So, who do you think he is?”

  I do not know, but he does seem to be interested in you.

  “Mr. Dork Suit probably has shirt envy.”

  I must admit that the paisley pattern of your shirt is somewhat interesting.

  “See? Who’s the Brainiac now?”

  Deever, the comic-book character Brainiac was an evil creature. I would prefer that neither of us be characterized in that fashion.

  “You know what I meant.”

  Yes, I believe I do, but I do not think that your shirt is what he is focusing on. In any case, back to the matter at hand, you should really consider what I said about Dr. Crane.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Think about what?” said Dr. Crane, who had come back while Deever was playing with his drink coaster.

  “Nothing. Jennifer was just giving me a hard time.”

  “Good. Someone needs to.”

  Their drinks and nachos came.

  Deever raised his glass. “Grats to you, Dr. Jennifer Crane. You are one outstanding person.”

  “So are you, Deever. You’re the smartest and sweetest guy I know, despite being a total idiot.”

  Did you notice how she looked at you just then? I said. Ask her, Deever.

  “Shut up.”

  “What?” said Dr. Crane.

  “I mean, shut up, Jen. I’m not that smart. It was all you. Really.”

  She looked at him that way again. “How long have we known each other?”

  “I don’t know. Like forever?”

  You met in third grade, Deever, I said.

  “We met in fifth grade,” she said. “Don’t you remember?”

  Deever’s pulse quickened. “Yeah, I remember, but it was third grade, and you were a brat.”

  “And you weren’t?”

  “Unlikely.”

  “So it wasn’t you who stuck his tongue out at me every chance he got?”

  “It might have been.”

  “And it wasn’t you who liked to chase me on the playground?”

  “What did you expect? You were a girl.”

  “I still am, or hadn’t you noticed?”

  “Oh, I noticed. Definite-a-mundo, I notice
d.”

  “Deever, will you please just listen?” she began. She took his hand. He blushed. His adrenaline levels rose. His heart beat faster.

  I have network access, I said. I can make reservations for the two of you at the Seaside Resort. It is very expensive. She has always wanted to go there but never has because she only wants to go if it is with you. Ask her, Deever.

  “I can’t,” he said.

  “Why?” said Dr. Crane.

  Touch your Biocard, Deever. You need to confirm the reservation.

  Deever touched the spot behind his ear where his Biocard was embedded.

  “Deever? Why?” she said again.

  Your room is reserved. I booked you a rather nice cabana on the beach.

  “I can’t do that,” he said.

  “You’re not making any sense, Deever. Did you smoke another joint while I was in the ladies’ room?”

  “No.”

  “Please tell me you didn’t take a pill.”

  Deever was emphatic. “No way.”

  I will make it simple for you, Deever. Just say this to her: “I’ve booked a room at the Seaside Resort for the weekend, Jen. Want to go with me?”

  “I’ve booked a room at the Seaside Resort for the weekend, Jen. Want to go with me?”

  “You did?”

  “For sure, while you were in the can. I’ll understand if you don’t want to.”

  “No, it’s just . . . well, I’m in shock,” she said.

  “So, that’s a negatory?”

  Deever, focus on the positive.

  “Come on,” he continued. “Let’s do it.”

  She got up from her seat and came around to Deever’s side of the table. “Slide over.”

  He moved over, and she slid in next to him. “Do you mean it?”

  “Majorly,” he replied.

  Based on my calculations, there is a 94 percent probability that she will kiss you now, Deever, I said. It would be most unwise to refuse.

  They kissed, and Dr. Crane said, “I’d love to go there. Just the two of us.” She removed me from Deever’s wrist, held me for a moment against hers, blinked twice, and stuffed me into his pocket.

  Chapter 5

  I had calculated the travel time to the resort, the approximate number of hours that would be required by Deever and Dr. Crane for intimate activities, and determined that the best course of action was to return to sleep mode to conserve power until Deever reattached me. He did so while they were sitting on the beach. It was sunrise. They were listening to the ocean and watching the gulls search for food. I recalled from my memory core the imprints of Dr. Crane’s many pleasant experiences of listening to the ocean’s soothing waves, marveling at the way the water changes color with the light, and how it seems so peaceful yet so powerful. I must admit that among the 1.3 million words in my available vocabulary, I could find none to describe it adequately.

  “I can’t remember the last time I saw the sunrise,” said Deever.

  “You probably can’t remember the last time you even saw the sun,” Dr. Crane replied.

  “For sure.”

  “We should do this more often, Deever.”

  He looked over at her and smiled. “I could definitely get into this on a regular basis.”

  She smiled back. “Me, too.”

  “I’ve been thinking.”

  “That’s always dangerous.”

  “Danger is my middle name.”

  “I thought it was Rodney.”

  “Copiously humorous, Jen.”

  “Thank you.”

  “No problemo.”

  They had the beach to themselves. Deever squinted into the sun at the gulls circling above the waves.

  Dr. Crane led him back to the conversation. “So, you were thinking about . . .?”

  “Nothing. I’ve just been thinking about how screwed up the world is, and how it’s like impossible to fix. It’s depressing.”

  “It’s a big world, Deever. There’s not much any one person can do about it.”

  “And therein lies the crux.”

  “The crux of what?”

  “The problem.”

  “Which problem would that be?”

  “Us. We’re the problem. We’re so screwed up we can’t even agree on how to fix the mess we’re in.”

  “That’s why we elect people to do it for us.”

  “And you see where that’s gotten us? Those dudes can’t agree on anything.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “The only things they ever agree on are the ones that benefit them. And when the next batch of bozos comes to power, guess what? Everything that you’ve been told is right is suddenly totally wrong. Big changes are needed, they tell us. And who do you think those big changes benefit?”

  “Let me guess. The next batch of bozos?”

  “Exact-a-mundo. We’re not a civilization anymore, Jen. We don’t care about society as a whole. We don’t give a crap that we’re plundering the world’s resources at the expense of future generations. We’re just a bunch of pirates who have gotten good at hoisting the Jolly Roger, taking shit that doesn’t belong to us, and running each other through if it makes us another doubloon or two.”

  “I didn’t realize you packed your soapbox for the trip.”

  “This isn’t a joke.”

  “I’m sorry, Deever. I don’t mean to make fun of you. It’s just . . . How many times have we talked about this? A hundred? A million? You worry too much about things you can’t fix.”

  “I know how to fix it.”

  “How?”

  “By fixing the underlying problem.”

  “Which is what?”

  “Free will.”

  “Free will?”

  “Yeah. It’s like this awesome superpower that we just can’t figure out how to use right, because it didn’t come with a manual. So instead of fixing things with it, we blow shit up because it’s way easier.”

  “It usually is.”

  “We’re the human race, for God’s sake. We’re supposed to be a civilization. We know that we should be working for the common good. So, why can’t we? Why can’t we let our own petty bullshit take a back seat for once and try to make things better for everyone?”

  “I’m going to take a wild stab at this. Free will?”

  “Bingo. It’s the most awesome thing in the universe, the one thing that makes it possible for us to do what we’re meant to do, and at the same time the biggest bummer standing in the way of our doing it.”

  “It’s a regular paradox, Deever.”

  “For sure. I mean it’s like we’re Superdude and Batguy and Captain What’s-His-Name all rolled into one . . .”

  “And don’t forget Wonder Chick.”

  “That’s what I’m saying. And we’ve been given this power for good, but we think it’s our God-given right to do whatever the hell we want with it. Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead.”

  “I’m having a little trouble following you, Deever.”

  “I’m telling you, Jen, free will messes us up every time.”

  “Deever, you can’t fix free will.”

  “Someone needs to.”

  “Someone like you?”

  The wind picked up, blowing sand across the beach. Deever wiped thirty-two grains of it off my face. “Maybe,” he said.

  “How?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Deever, you obviously have something in mind. There’s always something lurking back there in that brain of yours waiting to come out.”

  “It was just an idea I had. That’s all.”

  “You mean another crazy idea from the brain of Deever MacClendon? I can’t wait to hear it.”

  Deever turned away to watch a man walking along the water. “OK, forget it. Forget I said anything. Let’s just soak up the rays.”

  “Now you’re sulking.”

  “I’m not sulking.”

  “Yes, you are. Deever, look, I didn’t mean anything by it. Just tell me y
our idea.”

  “Why? Haven’t you fulfilled your scoffing quota for the day?”

  “My scoffing quota? You think I’m scoffing at you?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Fine. Then don’t tell me.”

  “So now you don’t want to hear my idea?”

  “I don’t know, do I?”

  “I don’t get the points if you don’t want to.”

  “Points? God, you’re such a baby sometimes.”

  As my experience with humans was limited at that point, and the models for analyzing human behavior that I had located on the OmniNet were woefully inadequate at describing Deever and Dr. Crane’s current interaction, I was having some difficulty following their conversation.

  “So, do you or don’t you?” he said.

  “Just tell me, Deever.”

  “Points?”

  “Yes, points. You win. OK?”

  “Sweet. Free will,” he began, brushing sand off my face again. “What is this weird concept we call free will? It’s the ability to choose how to act. Like, you’re not forced into it. You know? You just choose it for . . . whatever. Right?”

  “Right, and . . .?”

  “So, if you have a bowl of fruit; and in that bowl are a banana, an apple, and a pear; free will gives you the ability to pick which one you want.”

  “Or to pick none at all if you don’t want any of them,” Dr. Crane pointed out.

  “Right. You might be like some kind of anti-fruit-ite.”

  “Of course, why didn’t I think of that?”

  “But you can’t pick a grape,” Deever said. “Can you?”

  “You didn’t say there were any grapes.”

  “Exact-a-mundo.”

  “Exact-a-mundo what?”

  “I’m just saying—free will has limits.”

  “Everything has limits, Deever.”

  “Not infinity.”

  “OK, everything we can talk about intelligently has limits. I’ll give you two more points for that. Satisfied?”

  “Awesome.”

  “Now would you please get to the point so I can go back to the cabana to make more coffee? I’m working on a serious headache.”