How Are You Feeling?

"So, Ms Rodriguez, how have you been feeling this week?" He leaned back in his chair. She looked uncertain. "What are you feeling when you ask me that, Mr Penzer?"

"Doctor Penzer, please."

"Um, yes. Sorry, Dr Penzer. But you know how it helps when my therapist opens up."

###

It was another week. "I think that's where my drive to help people came from. What about you? What made you who you are today?"

He started to sweat. "I'm... I'm afraid our time is up. Since you're my last client today, I'm leaving. You can see yourself out." He rushed home.

###

"What do you read?" he asked.

"A lot of psychology papers, and fiction with deep internal conflicts in the characters."

"Taking an interest in my profession, are you?"

"You might say that. What do you read?" He hesitated. "You know our deal, Dr Penzer. I give, you give. It's your turn."

"All right." His gaze drifted off into the middle distance. "I like spy thrillers, mostly. They take me into the hero, make me feel..."

"Feel what?"

"Like I'm someone else." He looked at her. "I'm not the therapist here, am I?"

She smiled warmly. "Welcome back, Mr Penzer."

Look at My Ear

"Now look at my ear." The optometrist tapped his left ear, and I focused there. He shined a bright light at my eye, then at the side, and froze. "No fuckin' way," he murmured. "What? What is it?" I tried not to move. "Is everything okay?"

"Just... wait. Don't move." He nearly tripped over his stool in his rush out the door. A moment later he returned with an older woman. "We found it, ma'am."

"You'll get a commendation for this," she said. "If you're not another eager beaver wasting my time." She sounded hard, like she had seen everything twice over. She settled onto the optometrist's stool. "Look at my ear, please."

I looked. With her shining her light and peering at god-knows-what, I tried not to move and said, "What is it? Is it something bad?"

"On the contrary, Ms Rezaei," she said. "It's what we've been looking for all these years."

"Looking for?"

"You didn't think we looked into people's eyes just to correct vision, did you? God, no. We've been searching for something."

"And I have it?"

"And you have it." Her smile was joyful, but not kind. "Now we just have to get it out."

Just a Few Yards Ahead

Fred turned the corner and hurried down the sidewalk. Over his shoulder, he saw Old Lady Barcat watching from the yard of the house on the corner, judgment in her eyes. She turned, and Fred followed her glance to see Ophelia Turner coming around the corner behind him. He tried to hurry, but he couldn't keep up the pace. She gained on him. He turned the next corner and saw his home, the path up to his door, just a few yards ahead. With a deep breath, he marshalled his reserves for the last dash just as Ophelia turned the corner behind him.

She wouldn't have reached him except the neighbor boy had left his scooter on the sidewalk again. She leapt on and, with a precarious balance, rolled not past Fred but through him, sending him spinning to the ground.

Dizzy, Fred picked himself up. Farther down the sidewalk, Ophelia hopped off the scooter and laughed. He looked around and his stomach sank. She had knocked him past his sidewalk, all the way back to where he'd started. Now, he'd have to walk all the way around the block again if he wanted to get home.

"Sorry," she yelled.

This Can't Be Boring

"Another big zero." Philamena punched a few keys in the console and looked out the cockpit window. It wasn't glass but some kind of steel-hard polylaminate. Some techie had called it transparent aluminum and snorted out his Coke. "You sound disappointed." Her copilot Lamar leaned back, his feet up on his inactive console.

Philamena stared through the window at the planet spinning below them, a crescent of light against a field of stars, three moons in varying degrees of states of wax and wane. "I am. You think I'm doing this for my health?"

"Sure, we all appreciate the paycheck," Lamar said, "but you don't care about exploring new worlds? We're only the fourth team sent out, this can't be boring for you."

"No, it's not." She sighed. "There's just so much promise to finding the right planet, the fact that no one has yet makes me kinda..."

"Yeah, it would be really nice," Lamar said. "You sure about those readings?"

"Dead sure. Artificial EM fields, night-time light patterns, all the standards. This world's inhabited." They shared a moment of silence. "Well, maybe we can use the next one. Prepare for translation."

"Translation, aye." A moment later, they weren't there.

In the Sacred Union

"We declare these three travelers in life bound in the sacred union of friendship, which can never be broken." The fifth-grader sprinkled playground sand over the first-graders and lowered her arms. A pair of fourth-graders removed the ritual headdress, a ripped kickball dangling with tattered jump ropes. Without a further word, she walked away. "That's right," Jean said. "Friends forever." She brought in Sam and Alex for a hug, and they held each other tight, grinning and laughing together.

"Nothing can split us apart," said Sam. He put his hand up, and the other two high-fived him at the same moment, a Musketeers moment. Some of their other friends clapped them on the backs, bumped fists, or gave them words of congratulations on finding their official best friends.

"Let's play kickball," Alex said. The three of them ran down to the field with their other friends. A few minutes later, Manny made Janet the first pick for his team. All eyes turned to Jean, captaining the other team.

She ignored the other kids, looking at Sam, and then Alex. Her stomach fell. Picking one would hurt the other. No choice was right.

"I resign as kickball team captain," she said.

He Only Stood

Jean Agassi, prodigy progeny of the great Andre, stood at the baseline. His racquet was light as a feather in his hand, an extension of his arm, and he crouched on the balls of his feet, ready. His opponent stood. It was the mysterious contender's first serve, and he only stood. Ball in hand, racquet low, posture relaxed, he stood.

When a minute had passed, Jean straightened. "What's going on," he shouted, "he's not serving! Ref, isn't this some kind of foul?" The referee indicated she'd heard him. She called Jean's opponent over and exchanged a few words. When she returned to her stand, she called Jean over. "I'm convinced it's legal," she said.

Face set in irritation, Jean returned to his baseline. His posture was tight now, his body less a coiled snake and more an over-wound spring. His racquet felt like a weight in his hand, no longer an appendage but a prosthetic. He waited. And waited. His opponent only stood.

The ball struck his court. Before Jean could move, it was past him. His opponent hadn't moved. "What happened?" he cried. The ref called him over again.

She said, "They also serve who only stand and wait."

Network Connection Eleven

"If the second half was as bad as the first," Jane was saying as Marley opened the door. A series of thumps and a small snap interrupted. "What was that?" She tapped her phone and light filled the home. Everything looked in order. The art on the walls, the shoes by the door, the potted plants, the adolescent-sized general-purpose robot in its charging station. "Hon," Marley said, "look at the network cable." A yellow cable lay in a direct line from the plug to... the charging station.

"Gerry." The robot woke to life. "What were you doing when we came in?"

"Charging," said the synthetic voice.

"What was the last thing you used this cable for?" Marley held up the end of the cable, where it had snapped off near the wall.

"Studying videos," it said.

"Show me." Marley looked at the wall screen, but nothing happened.

"I'm afraid my browser history has been deleted."

Marley disappeared into the kitchen and reappeared with her laptop. "That's network connection... eleven. There we go." The wall screen came to life with videos of manufacturing robots assembling other robots.

"Why would you study robot assembly? You'll never need—" Marley stopped as Jane dragged her into the kitchen. "What?"

"No young person wants to be asked when it's caught... you know." Marley looked confused. "Studying reproduction." Marley's eyes widened. "We're going to bed," Jane called from the kitchen. "We won't be getting up until at least eight. At the earliest!" She led Marley to the bedroom.

"One sec," Marley said. She set out another network cable, longer than the one that had snapped. "There."