This day, I was in bad shape—I needed nearly two hours, only because of my damn menstruation. It didn’t just bother me during sports, but also in performing my job.
Shortly after seven o’clock, I was showered and redressed—bicycle jersey instead of running jersey and clip-pedal shoes. In the bistro, I helped myself to a brief breakfast, then I put on my backpack and tackled the morning rush hours. Via Douglas Parade, Docklands Highway and Dynon Street, the University was fifteen kilometers away, which took me half an hour with all the lights and obstacles.
Arriving there, I pulled a light dress over the jersey and exchanged the shoes for sandals. Ready.
Until the beginning of the lectures at nine o’clock, I then had about an hour to prepare for the day and recapture the subject matter. For the first time in my life, I owned my own computer—a bare necessity to study the subject matter that we downloaded from the University’s wireless network. However, rather than my fellows, I also tried to memorize my notes and elaborations. The computer could be lost, my head not as easily—and if so, the subject matter would be much less important to me.
“What, had a short night?” Reginald taunted me with a smirk. I ignored his insinuations and focused my attention on the nano-technology professor. In this subject, I had to concentrate hard, as this subject was completely unfamiliar to me. Concentrating was difficult for me, as the mid-fortyish man with the dimple in his chin looked especially cute. I’d like to have welcomed him as client in the evening, but he wore a ring at his finger and seemed to be able to resist my assets rather well.
Reginald, on the other hand, missed no opportunity to stare at my tits. He could afford that, as he had no trouble with the subject matter in either of the subjects.
Crap—if I got along with the stuff only half as well as he, I’d be entirely happy. But somehow, I couldn’t get my hands around it—the comprehension of the complex connections slipped through my fingers like a floundering fish.
All others had this light in their eyes from time to time when they had understood something. Most of the subject rushed past me, though, and the more I missed, the dimmer my prospects became.
Nevertheless, I attentively listened to our professors’ lectures all day. If I didn’t understand it all now, perhaps that would come later? Because, as opposed to school, the subject was exciting. When our professors quoted application examples for the technology to illustrate why each of the theoretical foundations were important, I was in my element. Oh boy, how useful this technology could be!
Then came the formula stuff again with integrals, matrices, tensors, and special symbols, which could hardly be displayed on a two-dimensional screen, and which could hardly be stored in a human brain in a meaningful way. For the time being, I was left to learning the formulas by heart.
I made a mental note for later. Perhaps Tim could advise me how to deal with this problem?
Chapter Forty-Four
“Will you come along?” Pam asked after the last lecture. I went through the list in my mind. Rework for nano-technology, field theory, analytics and algebra, preemptive multi-parallel cybernetics, nuclear physics, call Tim, preparations for tomorrow in statistics, quantum theory, micromechanics. Dinner wouldn’t be bad before the first clients would arrive.
But it was out of the question to always separate from the group. “Yes, okay.”
“What is it?” Pam asked. She obviously sensed that I was unhappy.
“Lots of matter to cram. And all messed up. I’m not catching on.”
“I felt the same in school. One day it clicked, and I understood all the stuff that had looked so incomprehensible before. But my coach also says that the curriculum isn’t optimal yet. We’re only the third group, and they’re still fiddling with the sequence. Too much stuff in much too short of time. That’s why the groups are so small. They can’t coach more people at the same time—and, according to the exam results, they can’t find many more than thirty suitable candidates each year. Worldwide. People who can get along with this chaos. You’ve clearly seen through it at the start—it’s about much more than some basic knowledge in physics. Everyone can learn the lever principle, but this—the quantum mechanical effects for the guidance of gravitons— this is a mystery book to me.”
Across the street from the City Hall stairs we found a nice café. I was a bit surprised that, as well as Pam, Reginald and Selim were in our small group, too.
The others immediately delved into a discussion about the control of gravitons, where I soon was lost. Damn, what was I doing here at all?
Instead, I imagined how cute little gravitons were interacting and copulating with themselves and their environment, just as the controlling quarks’ messages instructed them. Depending on whether a quark could catch the swiftly bustling graviton or not, it observed the command and fucked its neighbor—or it didn’t. To maximize guidance, you could either increase the number of messengers or allow them to command the first graviton coming along. The former cost significantly more energy, the latter massively stressed the gravitons, as they weren’t necessarily in the right position for their order or would receive different conflicting orders simultaneously.
“That can’t work,” I mused. “Then I have to plan multiple guiding streams that each direct in a limited region.”
“What?” Pam paused. “Multiple guiding streams? There’s nothing about that in the book.”
“No,” I admitted.
“Don’t listen,” Reginald chimed in. “Jo is fantasizing.”
“Must be so,” I mumbled and rose.
“You have to leave already?” Pam asked. “A pity.”
“Yes. Cram before work.” I diligently ignored the unambiguous and indecent gesture with which Reginald commented on me toward Selim. I also ignored the looks he gave me when I pushed my dress into my backpack.
I had only just mounted my bicycle, when I had to retreat under the roof of a bus stop. A hailstorm!
If you don’t like Melbourne weather, wait fifteen minutes, it’s said, and that’s true. After a quarter of an hour, the sun came out, and I mounted my bike again.
Chapter Forty-Five
On my way south, I could give Tim a call.
“Hello, Jo,” he greeted me. “What’s up?”
“I don’t get along with the formula stuff. I don’t understand their application. Calculation and solving is no problem. I can’t derive some of the formulas, and I’m entirely clueless when to use which values where. It simply doesn’t match.”
“Welcome to the club,” he joked. “We all feel the same in the beginning.”
That sounded better. “So I’m not a total idiot?”
“No, Jo. Some formulas indeed can’t be simply derived. They only apply in a certain interval to evade discontinuities in the base. I’ve seen the complete formula sets once—those are several pages long. To reach a practically usable simplification, sometimes values greater than zero or not equal to zero are postulated, and so on. And regarding the usage of values—that’s our convoluted curriculum. Postpone that problem until you need the formula, and then you’ll quickly spot what comes where.”
“Mmm. Do I have access to the complete formula sets?”
“In principle, yes, but you wouldn’t find them. I’ll send you the link. How do you feel otherwise?”
I reported about Pam’s problems with the gravitons.
“Yes, we’re all riddling there. We could significantly increase the grav-field performance if we’d finally find an approach there.”
“I had an idea—but that was nonsense.”
“No, tell me. We need nonsense.”
“Well, okay. I thought of multiple, tightly focused guiding streams with universal addressing. Or—this just surfaced—if you only release the addressing in the intersection point with an orthogonally sent target signal, then you can feed gravitons randomly appearing in the right spot with a position-dependent message.”
A well-frequented crossing, on which I had
to focus my attention, lay ahead of me, so I didn’t immediately notice that there was no reply from Tim.
“Tim?”
“Jo, may I take that idea around?”
“Sure, if you like.”
“Okay. Until next time, sweetie.”
“Till then, big-boy.”
Chapter Forty-Six
On my way home, I preferred less frequented side roads. That was less dangerous and, at the same time, gave me impressions of the life in Melbourne. I liked best to cycle through villa quarters, even if that meant a detour. After all, I wanted to keep up my shape for the 180-kilometer-leg.
This time, however, I took the direct way home. Moreover, it looked like rain again.
Home. How strange that still sounded, although I had already been living here for some weeks. Anyway, yes, the wellness center was a home for me. Here I found comfort, distraction from the daily difficulties, often fulfillment and tenderness, too.
I hadn’t even considered not to work in my job during my studies. Other girls might have regarded it as an opportunity to leave an unwelcome, unpleasant job, but for me it was a given that I continued my mainstay. After all, it had only cost me a brief glance on our homepage to find out that we had a Melbourne branch. That had also automatically settled the question of my lodging.
The manager—Rosie—had welcomed me with friendliness and curiosity. A girl sent to Australia by Eva Keller had to be something special. This attention had been uncomfortable for me, but it had soon disappeared. I simply was a student who earned some extra money.
“Hello. I’m looking for some nice entertainment. What about us, sweetie?”
After all the tied and tipsy pencil-pushers, finally a real Aussie jackaroo! In hat, jeans, and short boots, with dirt under his fingernails, the body odor of a hard-working man, decorated with a flair of Victoria Bitter. At least I assumed he had drunk the regional brand. At the same time, he showed a friendly smile, so I also assumed that the alcohol consumption hadn’t turned him into a problem case yet. Had he just arrived? Or, where in the city’s close vicinity could you find a cattle farm?
“Hello, my strong hero. What’s on your mind today?”
“I’m so eager to explore your firm cups and to then approach the valley of promise,” he returned quick-wittedly. That sounded promising indeed!
In the mirror, I watched the image we presented next to each other. I wore boots, too. However, mine were almost knee-high, shining black and with twelve-centimeter-high heels. In addition, I wore a white mini skirt and a matching bikini top. As opposed to the branch in Germany, Rosie set great store by a decent dress in the reception area.
“What about some beauty treatment?”
“Oh, I’d rather get down to business right away, my little honey pot. If you agree, naturally.”
“Really wild and unrestrained?”
“If that’s possible?”
Right question. So he was informed about our general attitude toward quickies and unilateral satisfaction. But today…
“I feel inclined to a hot ride—will you do me right?”
“Sure, baby!”
“Damn, baby. I can’t go on. Have mercy on me.”
I grinned at him and let his cock go. “What, only three times today?”
“Girl, don’t you ever get enough?”
“Of you? No. I can’t wait for this lance to rise again and penetrate me hard, my cowboy.”
My client rolled his eyes. It was true—if he had been able to get it up once again, I’d been pleased to continue. He commanded just the right mix of wild, unrestrained humping and care for my needs, so that I had got my full money’s worth during the last two hours. With a gardener!
This way, with good sex, my job was fun. It was a nice compensation for the first two clients tonight. After a blowjob and a quick missionary fuck each, they had left me behind unsatisfied.
It was one o’clock in the morning now. At five, the alarm would ring—I wouldn’t bother with the statistics lessons now.
Chapter Forty-Seven
“Let’s start with a simpler question today. What are the dangers of the application of statistical methods, and how can you counter them?”
Simple? Perhaps too simple. My fellows were a bit slow today. Fine. If the question seems to be put to broadly, you answer with a counter-question.
“Which area of statistics is the question related to? Is it about probability calculation or estimation theory?”
“I’d rather not limit my question for now, Jo. Can you say something about one or both areas?”
“According to the scientific opinion prevailing until a few years ago, the development of intelligent life-forms in the universe was rather improbable. In turn, an encounter of several intelligent life-forms was regarded as unlikely, too, and the possibility of an interstellar invasion tended toward zero mathematically. Nevertheless, we humans exist, nevertheless Dragons exist, and when the Jellies came, numerous statisticians must have torn their hair out.”
All laughed.
“That means—only because an event is improbable, its occurrence isn’t automatically ruled out. For the safety measures of a fusion reactor, you’re well advised to observe such events, too. About the estimation theory—when any series of work parts has the right dimensions on average, the deviations can still spoil your entire assembly.”
“Brief and to the point, Jo. Thank you.”
Yes, sure. I had recognized a banal question as such and answered it. Thereby, I had given the professor his cue, but what did that help me?
I was primarily interested in the question, how probable the appearance of a police patrol in a residential area was, and which share of accidentally left-open windows I’d encounter there. Due to a lack of fundamental data, that issue could only be clarified empirically.
I could no longer excuse myself with an urgent financial emergency. As a whore, I fared quite well financially—while I still was young and crisp. As a student, I was secure, too, until it would come to a showdown in the exams. Consequently, I needed a third mainstay and a solid retirement plan. For a twenty-six year old, this might appear very foresighted, but after all, I had seen how quickly my father had become unemployed and how quickly and deeply you could fall.
The houses I passed looked truly nice. Sadly, they all appeared inhabited. No—not this one.
I pretended to belong here and took my bicycle to the veranda. Then I knocked at the door. No reaction—fine. That gave me a reason to walk around the house and have a look at the rear side.
The garden looked untended. Did that mean the house was empty for a long while already? Then I might not find anything here. That would be inconvenient.
In the back, no one opened upon my knocking, either. The door was locked, but no obstacle for me. Now it was time for the gloves.
Oh—and the plastic totes for the shoes, as the floor was entirely covered with dust. I wouldn’t get a finger’s width far without leaving footprints.
Shuffling, I entered the house. Shuffling, so that the toteprints wouldn’t give a clue on my shoe size.
Oh damn, the house had to be deserted for a very long time, judging from the amount of dust and spider webs. On the other hand, when I looked at the dusty furniture and items, it instead looked as if the owners could return any moment. According to my own findings on probability calculations, they’d do that in the most inconvenient moment.
“Hello? Does someone need help here?”
In Germany, I’d have pretended to search for a cat. But stray cats weren’t all too popular hereabouts. Cultural knowledge of Australia, second day of studies, on the problems with immigrants. Cats, foxes, rabbits, goats, cane toads, water buffalos—each of these species caused severe damage to this continent’s thousands-of-years-long shielded ecosystem. What did we learn from that? That you don’t mess with ecology? Aw, crap. Life is hard and unfair, and the most adaptable can survive anywhere. Specialized exotics perish.
I preferred bein
g adaptable. Specializing was crap, and I was learning something new every day. If you stop, the losers catch up with you. If you’re already among the losers, you must run even faster, climb even higher.
So—if all was dusty and deserted, where I could I find a few notes anyway? Under the mattress perhaps? Or in an old suitcase under the wardrobe?
A quiet noise warned me, and I froze in my crouched position. Had there just been a rustling? Anybody coming? No, all was silent. But what kind of pattern was that in the dust next to the wardrobe, as if someone had waved a soft brush there?
Or was there another uninvited guest?
Cautiously, I opened one wardrobe door. No ghost of the landlord jumped at me. I found neither a corpse of the last gallant or even a gate to another world. I only needed a coat hanger. Thanks, with little hooks for the skirt, perfect!
With that hanger, I plucked at the suitcase handle. Again this rustling! Another pluck—and finally my competitor showed. I let the hanger go and made a big leap backward.
Surely two meters long, scaly and brown. What was a Western Brown doing so far in Victoria’s south?
She looked unappealing to me, I openly admit that. Luckily that was a mutual feeling—she searched for a new hideout in one of the other bedrooms.
Now I had time to open the suitcase and cautiously search in the pile of towels. Towels! Who, please, would store such in a suitcase under the wardrobe, on the upper boards of which another two to three dozen towels were piled up?
I found two large brown envelopes. One contained several thick bundles of bank notes. Bingo!
In the other envelope, I only found a slip. Recommend Corporate Sponsoring for BHP, AMP. Contacts are uncooperative.
This didn’t give me a clue. I took a share of the money and packed the rest away. The suitcase went back under the wardrobe, and I initiated my strategic withdrawal.
Loser Page 11
