by Charles Dean
"You've met my daughter?" he asked.
"Oh, no, I'm afraid I haven't had that pleasure. I heard you mention her earlier during the meeting," Charles responded dismissively. "You'll have to introduce me one day."
Robert felt relief wash through him. Why did that make me so nervous? "Yes, I'm sure she'd like that. I've actually been trying to talk her into taking a job with the company, but she doesn't seem very keen on the idea for some reason."
"You mean she doesn't want to work at the same place her old man does?" Charles asked with a bit of a laugh. "I can't ever imagine why not."
"Yeah, well, I'm sure that's at least part of it," Robert replied. "She's also a big fan of the game, and she's worried that signing the Non-Disclosure Agreement and the contractual prohibitions of interference within the game world would stop her from being able to play. Truth be told, she has a habit of getting caught up in things . . . perhaps a little too much, sometimes. Some time off from playing may not be the worst thing for her.
"But," Robert held up his hands as he gave a shrug, "there's only so much you can do. All you can really hope for sometimes is to give them a strong moral compass and point them in the right direction and hope they figure out things for themselves. I know I certainly made my own share of mistakes growing up. Back then, though . . ." Robert trailed off, reminiscing for a moment. "Things were different. The world was much more forgiving in a lot of ways than it is now."
Charles had been nodding his head in agreement with Robert the entire time, and he continued to do so as he said, "Yeah. Could you imagine what you would have said if someone had told you there would be personal computers inside every home, in every pocket and purse, and you would be connected to the rest of the world at the touch of a button? I would have called them crazy, and that would have been being nice, I'm afraid."
"Well, at least partly crazy, anyway. I don't think anyone could have ever have envisioned the world we live in now. I remember always thinking as a child that we would be zooming around in flying cars or with jet packs . . . that we would be living in the 'Homes of Tomorrow'"--Robert feigned making quotation marks in the air with this hands as he said it-- "where everything would always fix and clean itself at the push of a button.
I think I always knew that technology was going to be big. I think that's at least part of why I started studying computers and programming back then. I always wanted to be able to keep up with where the world was going, maybe have a little hand in helping it along. As for smartphones?" Robert laughed as he reached his conclusion. "No way did I ever see that one coming."
"What was it you think that made you choose to work as a programmer?" Charles asked, curiosity showing on his face.
"Now, that. . . " Robert began, then stopped. "Well, there was this girl . . ." Robert laughed before continuing. "Kass's mother and I met while we were both still in college. Computers back then were really big and an even bigger pain in the rear end. People were only just starting to open up to the possibilities, what they were capable of. She was working as an assistant to one of the professors at the university, and I took it up in order to get to spend more time with her. It's a bit clichéd, I know, the whole whirlwind college romance and all, but it worked out. Everything was just amazing the entire time I was with her. Then, one day, you graduate and move on in life . . . build a home and a career together and then Kass comes along. Shortly after, we lost her mother, but I had Kass, so things worked out, I suppose."
Charles held up his hands defensively as he shook his head. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry into anything too personal."
"Oh, no, it's alright. They're good memories," Robert answered. "As for being a programmer, well, I guess it just fit my nature. I found out I liked the work. Everything is always logical. There's always a cause for every problem. You just have to be able to find the solution. You can get a computer to do anything. You just have to figure out how to talk to it, to be able to tell it what to do. I think that appeals to me."
Almost as soon as Robert had finished, there was a quiet knock at the door behind him just before he heard it click open. Robert turned in his seat to see who had entered. A portly woman, middle-aged at first glance and wearing the same strange black uniform he had noted on the maid earlier, had entered halfway into the room.
"Lunch is ready to be served, sir," she said, addressing Charles across the room. "We have arranged for you to dine on the patio today if it is to your liking, sir." She turned and left the room before Charles ever had the chance to respond, leaving Robert staring at the open door after her.
Charles must have seen the look on Robert's face as he turned back around in his chair because he said, "That's Martha. She's taken it upon herself to act as a bit of a motherly figure around here. Always makes sure I eat no matter where I am or what I'm doing. I was in a meeting in Tokyo once not too long ago, ironing out the details in an acquisition I had been gunning after for quite some time. There I was, pressing the president of a multi-million dollar corporation and several of his highest-ranking board members to take quite a large financial hit and come down to my terms before closing out the deal, and in walks a little Japanese woman carrying a tray with lunch on it for me as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She left me holding the lunch and all she ever said was 'Miss Martha. Very scary' before turning around and walking out. Everyone there was a bit shocked to say the least, myself included. Now, here lately, she has it in her head that I don't spend enough time outside 'getting sun' as she calls it.
"Who am I to resist?" Charles asked, laughing all the while as he stood up and moved from around the desk. "Please, right this way, Robert. Martha's meals are always as much a treat as they are a surprise."
Robert followed Charles out of the office and into the hallway, turning towards the as-of-yet unexplored part of the house. As soon as they left the room, the ever present human tackling dummy of an escort appeared as if from nowhere to fall in a few steps behind them. Charles led him down a connecting hallway that ended in a pair of double glass doors which opened up onto a small, private patio. The patio, paved in a pattern of dark red, hexagonal stone bricks, extended only a short distance before meeting with the exceptionally well-manicured lawn, which, in turn, continued down a small hill until it eventually turned into the lush grounds Robert had seen earlier as he approached the estate.
Robert couldn't help but comment as he seated himself at the small glass patio table, replete with the umbrella opened overhead. "This view . . . the grounds . . . everything is absolutely breathtaking."
"Yes," Charles agreed as he seated himself across from Robert, "I consider myself extremely fortunate to be able to call this my home. I just wish I was able to spend more time here. Ah, well, maybe one day when I get old and finally decide to retire, right?"
"And that library," Robert gushed. "I don't think I've seen anything like that outside of an actual university. To think, you have all those books just on hand whenever you feel like reading. I can't even imagine what it might contain."
"To be honest, I'm not certain I could tell you even if you were to ask. Most of the books were purchased as lots from various estate sales from around the world. Many of them are quite old and fragile, but there are some true treasures there as well, I assure you." Charles took a sip of the water that was already poured and waiting for them.
"I hope you don't mind," Charles began, "but whenever I have the opportunity to dine at home, I prefer to throw all the properties out the window." He said this as he spread a white napkin across his lap, and the small bit of irony wasn't lost on Robert. "I have to sit through so many stuffy black-tie, white-tablecloth dinners that I've learned to relish the chance to enjoy a casual meal."
Robert was actually somewhat relieved to hear him say so. He was comfortable enough with all the proper etiquette associated with a formal dining experience, but he was usually so worried about making any small uncouth mistake, like using the wrong fork, that he never really had the oppo
rtunity to enjoy the actual meal.
"No, believe me," Robert assured him, "I'm just happy for any meal that doesn't involve SpaghettiO's, Pop Tarts or Lucky Charms."
"I assume you must let Kass do the cooking most nights at home then?" Charles inquired.
As he was speaking, two women, again dressed in the black uniform Robert was now becoming accustomed to, came through the patio doors behind them and set down a plate in from of each man before again returning inside.
Robert answered as he glanced down at what was being served in front of him, "Not when it can be avoided, anyway. I've always enjoyed cooking. It was something my wife and I used to do together when she was still alive, and, ever since then, being in the kitchen just reminds me of spending time with her. Kass was away at college for so long, though, and with me working so many late nights leading up to the release of the game, we kind of fell out of the habit and never really got back into it. Lately, it's been an 'everyone fend for yourself' kind of system.
I'm hoping that will change soon, though. My workload really started to drop off in the last few weeks, and I'm starting to make it home at a more reasonable hour. The only challenge now is getting Kass to log out of her game long enough to come downstairs for dinner. I swear, sometimes it's like they never really grow up and are in high school all over again."
Robert appraised the plate in front of him: grilled salmon garnished with little sprigs of rosemary and a lemon slice on a bed of sautéed spinach and a handful of small, herbed fingerling potatoes. "And, believe me, this is a wonderful treat." His stomach was practically growling in anticipation.
"Good," Charles answered as he began eating. "I was worried you might have a food allergy. You're always taking a chance as a host when serving fish without having asked first."
"Oh, no. No, no," Robert answered as he cut into the salmon and took his first bite. It was so light and flaky he wasn't entirely certain the fish hadn't literally melted in his mouth.
"So your daughter is enjoying the game then?" Charles questioned as he ate. "It must be wonderful knowing you helped create something she loves taking part in."
"I'm not entirely certain she sees it that way, but she seems to having enough fun playing it. She's quite proud of the fact that she's managed to out-level most of the other mages in the game so far, and I think she's pushing herself to keep it that way."
"Well, it's always good to set a goal for ourselves in anything we do," Charles responded.
Robert nodded in response as he continued eating. He didn't even really care for cooked spinach all that much, but this was amazing.
"Has she said much about her experience? I'm sure that having a player living in the same house must have its advantages."
"Not really," Robert shook his head. "She does come up with some rather interesting questions from time to time though."
"Well, hopefully you aren't giving away too many of our secrets," Charles said with a wry smile.
"Oh, no, nothing like that," Robert assured him. "She was rather unhappy earlier about the travel system. It turns out that, even in a game, she isn't very happy about having to take a boat ride to get to the mainland."
"Hmm, well, hopefully she at least has some interesting company to help pass the time. I know on long trips it always helps having someone to talk to."
Both of the men took the opportunity to dig into their meals and finish the last small portions in relative silence. Robert didn't want to be rude, but the food really was so good that he was almost entirely focused on enjoying every last bite he could. When he finished, he laid his fork and napkin in his plate, signaling that he was done. A maid appeared, as if she had been watching in secret and waiting for just this moment, to remove it from the table along with Charles’.
"You were right," Robert said. "That really was exceptional. If Martha is your cook, you really must pay her my compliments. I can't even remember when I've been able to enjoy a meal that exceptional. I can only imagine how your dinners must look. I'm actually a little envious just imagining it."
"Thank you, and I'll be happy to pass along your compliments. I think she takes a certain bit of pride in her cooking. She rarely ever lets anyone else help her in the kitchen. Well, when she has it her way."
Another maid had silently reappeared as Charles was speaking. She left the tray she was carrying on the table before disappearing again.
"Coffee?" Charles asked as he reached for a silver pot and a cup to pour it in.
"Of course. A man of similar thinking to my own," Robert answered as he took the cup of coffee from Charles, having allowed it to be poured for him. "Thank you."
"To be honest, I actually prefer tea to coffee," Charles said, pouring himself a cup from the second pitcher that was present on the tray. You should try one of the cookies as well," Charles advised. "Martha bakes them herself, fresh every day."
"Well, I wouldn't want to be rude," Robert said as he reached out and took a few for himself.
"Chocolate chip are my favorite, but none of the others ever let me down either."
After the excellent meal he had just consumed, Robert wasn't nearly as surprised as he would have been otherwise to find that the cookies were soft and buttery in the way only a wonderfully crafted, home-baked cookie could be. Nothing you could ever find in the store was ever nearly this good.
"So let me ask you," Charles said as he slid his chair away from the table and leaned back, crossing his legs and holding the cup of tea in his lap. "You've seen the world of Tiqpa from both the inside and out. What are your impressions of it?"
Robert had been vaguely wondering if Charles was ever going to ask him that question. As the lead programmer, he had a more intimate knowledge of how the world worked, what made it tick, than anyone else. Quite literally, he had helped build the backbone of the world.
"I think," Robert began, as he took a sip of his coffee, "that it's actually something I'm proud of having helped create. The learning curve was fairly steep at first, but I think I brought myself up to speed rather quickly. Pairing up the different structures was certainly a challenge. The architecture is completely different between the game and the AI, and I have to admit that I had my doubts originally that we were ever going to get it up and working correctly. Not having access to how the AI works or knowing much about how it was created certainly made it interesting at times.
It's like . . ." Robert paused briefly as he searched for an example. "It's like trying to do a heart transplant without knowing anything about the donor. Or I suppose a brain transplant may be more apt," Robert chuckled at the idea.
Charles nodded appreciatively. "Yes, I can see the challenges that would present. It would be like taking someone's personality, their hopes, dreams, ticks and habits--a person whom you know nothing about--and trying to make that personality control someone else's body."
"Yes, exactly. It was definitely interesting at times to say the least."
"Tell me, Robert, and forgive me for prying, but what do you dream of?"
Robert wasn't exactly sure how to either take or answer the question. Was this his boss asking him what his aspirations in life were? What were his goals for the future with the company? Or was this simply a much more mundane question?
Robert chose to err with the former, given the nature of the conversation, and decided to play it safe, answering accordingly. "Oh, well, I'm not sure I really dream of very much anymore. I'm pretty lucky to have just about everything I could have ever imagined when I was first just starting out in life."
"So when you wake up in the middle of the night, there are no dreams left lingering at the edges of your memory?"
"Well, to be honest, if I wake up in the middle of the night the first thought on my mind is how fast I can make it to the bathroom," Robert answered with a laugh.
"Touché," Charles responded.
"No, but, on a more serious note, I rarely ever remember very many of my dreams once I'm awake. I know that medical science says we mu
st have them during the deep stages of REM sleep, but I'm not even entirely sure when was the last time I woke up still thinking about what I had been dreaming of. Usually, it only happens when someone calls during the middle of the night, and I'm forced awake to the sound of the phone buzzing. Even then, if someone is calling in the middle of the night, it has to be important and my thoughts are immediately shifted somewhere else: why are they calling so late at night, where is Kass, what went wrong at work? As soon as I'm awake, I guess the dreams are gone just as quickly. Why do you ask?"
"Well," Charles responded, taking another sip of his tea, "dreams have always been rather interesting to me. There are many cultures throughout history that took them quite seriously. They could be signs of the future, warnings of dangers that were coming up or trials and tribulations that had to be passed. Many people even believed that dreams were a form of communication with the spirits of the deceased that had passed on from life in this world. They were mechanisms for our deceased forefathers to be able to communicate with us, whatever the reason.
Now, however, most of that is largely disregarded by the scientific community as inaccurate. We tend to view dreams as the result of an active imagination as the brain tries to process and store memories. People often relive scenes from their everyday lives as their brain struggles to make sense of the information. In more extreme cases, we know that people are often haunted in their dreams if they have experienced a traumatic event, being forced to relive it over and over again. Similarly, people often dream of what they think they may want most out of life. If someone is fixated on dating a girl, for example, he may dream of what it is like to be with her in his dreams.
"But, even now with all our advanced technology, we have no method for recording dreams other than our own memories. We have the ability to instantly communicate with anyone else around the world in the blink of an eye. We can communicate with satellites millions of miles away on different planets across the vast expanses of space. It seems to present quite the conundrum, doesn't it? We have to rely on memory, however temporarily, to record our own thoughts. Sure, we can write down our recollections upon waking, but human memory, as we well know, is often fallible to the point of being completely inaccurate. Memory tests of certain events show the brain is much more likely to fill in missing details that it expects to be there than actually record them as they truthfully were. We can experience an infinite number of events while we're asleep and maybe only ever remember a handful--if we're lucky. It's almost like there is some strange distortion of time while we're asleep."
