"Well I told you not to mess around with those things; they bite. Don't
you remember when we were kids?" said the girl, switching the portable
phone from her right ear to her left.
The man once known as Roger Healey looked up from the photo album. The brunette on the phone was deep in conversation with her brother.. or her cousin.. he wasn't too sure about their exact relation, only that they *were* related and had grown up in the same household. He'd accidentally answered the phone when, out of habit, he'd picked it up when it rang; and the voice at the other end had demanded to know who it was that had answered Jean Mackenzie's phone. Roger had then demanded to know who was calling Jean Mackenzie in the first place, when she was very busy with her schoolwork. After a minor standoff -- broken only when Jean grabbed the phone away from him -- she'd taken the picture album from the bookshelf and pointed to one of the photos. It was a picture of Jean, her parents (presumably), and a boy who looked a few years younger than her. He'd gone on to look at the rest of the pictures as well. It helped him put names to faces, and also gave him more insight into she-who-was-served. 'Mistress' in his mind, but not out loud, not now.. not when there was a chance the person at the other end of the line could hear him.
Still on the phone, Mistress's voice had taken on a mildly skeptical air. "How do you know you really want to do that?" she asked. "You've only been in college for a month and a half. Do you actually think that in that short a time, anyone could be absolutely, positively, one hundred percent sure of what they want to do with the rest of their life?" She looked over at Roger and shook her head. He just smiled and shrugged, and went back to looking at the pictures. He'd had a lot of things to look at, during the past week.
One week? Was that all it had been?
Just one week ago he was trapped in a magical bottle, imprisoned for decades until this young woman released him. Before that he'd been a normal human being, an astronaut, who'd been turned into a genie as a punishment for some things he'd rather not think about -- things he'd only been able to admit were his fault after being kidnapped and almost killed by Jeannie's sister. Ironically, this admission had been the thing that saved his life. After it was all over, Mistress had cautiously tried to ask him more about what had happened. She'd learned the basics, of course, from what Jeannie's sister had said, and he could tell she was very curious. His feelings must have shown on his face, though. "You don't have to say anything," she'd told him then. "I'm sorry. If you don't want to talk about it, you don't have to."
"Thank you," he'd replied, grateful once again to the person who'd rescued him. Explaining how he'd gone from human to djinn wasn't something he wanted to talk about in detail -- he wasn't exactly comfortable with his new existence. Still, he knew it could have been a lot worse. //And better a live genie than a dead astronaut,// he'd thought with a shudder. He was relieved that Mistress hadn't pressed the issue, hadn't asked any more about what Jeannie's sister had brought up. She understood that it wasn't something he wanted to discuss, and she'd let it go. Instead of asking more questions about his past, she'd been helping reintroduce him to the modern world of 2037. He was a little disappointed that they didn't have flying cars (speculations about the future always mentioned them), but there were other things that were still pretty amazing. There were a lot of things that were different, too. Money, for example.
Paper money should be green, he'd stated emphatically. There were no two ways about it. But now all the bills had splotches of color across them, making it look like someone had spilled paint across them when they'd been printed. Even some of the coins were different. And TV? Please! They had flat screens, just like the computers, and there had to be at least a hundred channels now (Mistress said there were closer to five hundred, but he didn't know if he believed her or not). And you had to *pay* for some of them! Incredible. Plus, the phone he'd used looked like something out of 'Star Trek'. Not a video-phone, although apparently they did exist.. they were just too expensive for the average student to have.
"No, I don't know what I'm wearing to the Halloween party," Roger heard her say. "I don't even know if I'm going."
Roger perked up immediately. She was going -- she just didn't know it yet.
Jean gave him an odd look from across the room, then went back to speaking to her brother.
Roger sighed. That girl definitely needed to learn how to enjoy herself. At least she'd gotten more used to having a genie, or at least the concept of having a genie, since she'd released him from his bottle. She hadn't been letting him help her very much just yet, but he was determined to change that. No sense in letting his powers go to waste.
"All right, all right, if you're set on it. I'll see you there. B'bye."
"You'll see him where?" Roger asked, as Jean flipped the top of the phone down.
"Do you always eavesdrop like that?" she replied, ignoring his question for the moment.
"It's my job. Besides, what else could I do while I'm in here? Unless you'd like me to go out and explore the campus again.. "
"No no, that's fine; eavesdrop all you like," she said hastily. "There's a tri-college Halloween party next weekend. My brother goes to school in the city, and he'll be there. He wanted to know if I was going too."
"Yes, you are," he said knowingly.
Jean folded her arms. "I thought you were supposed to do what I tell you to, not the other way 'round. Isn't that what genies do?"
"Well, yes, but this is in your own best interest. You need to get out more," he said. He held up the photo album and tapped one of the pictures. "This is your brother?"
She nodded. "That's Owen, yes."
He looked down at that page's pictures again. In the background of one there was some sort of animal, possibly a bird, but it wasn't quite in focus. He squinted at it. "I don't mean to be rude, but that's the ugliest looking chicken I've ever seen."
"That's not a chicken, that's Rufus," she admonished, as she glanced at the photo he'd indicated. "There's a bunch of them at the Mid-Atlantic wildlife preserve. That's what bit Owen."
"What was he doing at a wildlife preserve?"
"My parents work there; he was visiting. Rufus can't hear very well -- he was born that way, so he couldn't survive in the wild -- so they use him for the center's education program. He's tame, but he can be nippy if he's approached too quickly. Especially with Owen."
Roger glanced at the picture again. Even out of focus, 'Rufus' still looked like a half-plucked chicken. "Anyway," he said, putting the book down. "You need to get a costume for the party. I can help you with that."
She looked at him dubiously.
"I can," he protested. "Just give me a chance."
She still didn't seem convinced, but she didn't argue. "Now stand up.. and stand still.. so I can get a good look at you." He circled around her, looking her up and down. "What did you have in mind?"
"I really hadn't thought much about it," she admitted.
"That's all right; I'm sure I can come up with something good.. ah, how about -- this." He blinked.
Jean looked down at herself. She was wearing a white dress, high heels, and her hair had been turned to blonde. She grinned. "Hey, I look like that actress from the twentieth century.. Marilyn Manson or something."
"Marilyn Monroe," he corrected automatically. He'd gotten good at this during the past week. (Jean's knowledge of ancient history was excellent, but that of the more recent past was not quite as complete.) "Hmm, that's sort of a summery thing, and it's pretty cold around here. How 'bout something a little warmer?" He blinked again. Now she was in Victorian- style dress, all velvet, with petticoats and ruffles.
"You have *got* to be kidding me," she said.
"What's wrong with it?"
"I can't move in it, for one thing. It's also very hot." She pulled at the high collar uncomfortably. "Do you have any other ideas?"
Roger blinked again, this time changing her attire to something a bit more futuristic.
Jean shook her head. "I'm not really into the Judy Jetson look."
"If you say so.. hey, how do you know about Judy Jetson?" he asked. "That show's from a little before your time."
"I told you there are over 500 television channels -- they've got reruns of everything that's ever been on. It's the same with radio; you can find any kind of music you want, from classical to classic rock to the latest techno- pop-fusion."
"I thought I heard the Beatles coming from someone's room the other day," he said. "It's good to know that there are still some familiar things out there."
"There's probably a lot more than you realize," she said. "Listen, Roger.. would you like to come to the party with me? I know you've been dying to go out, and I haven't really been too thoughtful about what you might like to do."
"Why thank you very much, Mistress, I'd love to come with you," he replied graciously. Actually, he'd been planning to crash the party as soon as she'd mentioned it; at least this way he wouldn't have to go in disguise or hide the fact that he'd been there. "But now there's a bigger question than what you should wear."
"Oh? What's that?"
"What *I* should wear." He rubbed his chin, brow furrowing as he thought about what he might look best in.
"Well, I don't know about that, but we've got seven days to decide," she said with a smile. "I'm sure we'll come up with something."
And they did.
Seven days later, two figures in Halloween garb strode up to the entrance of the college hall. Jean had been unable to decide on a costume, so in the end Roger had blinked her into harem-type clothing similar to Jeannie's. (Very fetchingly done in purple and gauzy pale blue, complete with sandals, veil, and long braid.) His costume, on the other hand, had been chosen by Jean. In keeping with his current situation, and given the time period he was from, she had come up with something older yet still recognizable. "Yeah, baby," she'd said, affecting a very strange accent as he blinked up what she'd described. He'd looked at himself in the mirror then -- it was rather comfortable, and except for the glasses, it was what was in style when he was still in the space program. "You look great," she said, as they walked through the doors and into the midst of the party.
"Thank you, Mistress," he said. He'd been telling her how wonderful she looked since he'd blinked her into her costume, and he was pleased that she approved of his. "But if you could tell me something.. " he looked down at his clothing, then back at her. "Just who is this 'Austin Powers' person, anyway?"
The man once known as Roger Healey looked up from the photo album. The brunette on the phone was deep in conversation with her brother.. or her cousin.. he wasn't too sure about their exact relation, only that they *were* related and had grown up in the same household. He'd accidentally answered the phone when, out of habit, he'd picked it up when it rang; and the voice at the other end had demanded to know who it was that had answered Jean Mackenzie's phone. Roger had then demanded to know who was calling Jean Mackenzie in the first place, when she was very busy with her schoolwork. After a minor standoff -- broken only when Jean grabbed the phone away from him -- she'd taken the picture album from the bookshelf and pointed to one of the photos. It was a picture of Jean, her parents (presumably), and a boy who looked a few years younger than her. He'd gone on to look at the rest of the pictures as well. It helped him put names to faces, and also gave him more insight into she-who-was-served. 'Mistress' in his mind, but not out loud, not now.. not when there was a chance the person at the other end of the line could hear him.
Still on the phone, Mistress's voice had taken on a mildly skeptical air. "How do you know you really want to do that?" she asked. "You've only been in college for a month and a half. Do you actually think that in that short a time, anyone could be absolutely, positively, one hundred percent sure of what they want to do with the rest of their life?" She looked over at Roger and shook her head. He just smiled and shrugged, and went back to looking at the pictures. He'd had a lot of things to look at, during the past week.
One week? Was that all it had been?
Just one week ago he was trapped in a magical bottle, imprisoned for decades until this young woman released him. Before that he'd been a normal human being, an astronaut, who'd been turned into a genie as a punishment for some things he'd rather not think about -- things he'd only been able to admit were his fault after being kidnapped and almost killed by Jeannie's sister. Ironically, this admission had been the thing that saved his life. After it was all over, Mistress had cautiously tried to ask him more about what had happened. She'd learned the basics, of course, from what Jeannie's sister had said, and he could tell she was very curious. His feelings must have shown on his face, though. "You don't have to say anything," she'd told him then. "I'm sorry. If you don't want to talk about it, you don't have to."
"Thank you," he'd replied, grateful once again to the person who'd rescued him. Explaining how he'd gone from human to djinn wasn't something he wanted to talk about in detail -- he wasn't exactly comfortable with his new existence. Still, he knew it could have been a lot worse. //And better a live genie than a dead astronaut,// he'd thought with a shudder. He was relieved that Mistress hadn't pressed the issue, hadn't asked any more about what Jeannie's sister had brought up. She understood that it wasn't something he wanted to discuss, and she'd let it go. Instead of asking more questions about his past, she'd been helping reintroduce him to the modern world of 2037. He was a little disappointed that they didn't have flying cars (speculations about the future always mentioned them), but there were other things that were still pretty amazing. There were a lot of things that were different, too. Money, for example.
Paper money should be green, he'd stated emphatically. There were no two ways about it. But now all the bills had splotches of color across them, making it look like someone had spilled paint across them when they'd been printed. Even some of the coins were different. And TV? Please! They had flat screens, just like the computers, and there had to be at least a hundred channels now (Mistress said there were closer to five hundred, but he didn't know if he believed her or not). And you had to *pay* for some of them! Incredible. Plus, the phone he'd used looked like something out of 'Star Trek'. Not a video-phone, although apparently they did exist.. they were just too expensive for the average student to have.
"No, I don't know what I'm wearing to the Halloween party," Roger heard her say. "I don't even know if I'm going."
Roger perked up immediately. She was going -- she just didn't know it yet.
Jean gave him an odd look from across the room, then went back to speaking to her brother.
Roger sighed. That girl definitely needed to learn how to enjoy herself. At least she'd gotten more used to having a genie, or at least the concept of having a genie, since she'd released him from his bottle. She hadn't been letting him help her very much just yet, but he was determined to change that. No sense in letting his powers go to waste.
"All right, all right, if you're set on it. I'll see you there. B'bye."
"You'll see him where?" Roger asked, as Jean flipped the top of the phone down.
"Do you always eavesdrop like that?" she replied, ignoring his question for the moment.
"It's my job. Besides, what else could I do while I'm in here? Unless you'd like me to go out and explore the campus again.. "
"No no, that's fine; eavesdrop all you like," she said hastily. "There's a tri-college Halloween party next weekend. My brother goes to school in the city, and he'll be there. He wanted to know if I was going too."
"Yes, you are," he said knowingly.
Jean folded her arms. "I thought you were supposed to do what I tell you to, not the other way 'round. Isn't that what genies do?"
"Well, yes, but this is in your own best interest. You need to get out more," he said. He held up the photo album and tapped one of the pictures. "This is your brother?"
She nodded. "That's Owen, yes."
He looked down at that page's pictures again. In the background of one there was some sort of animal, possibly a bird, but it wasn't quite in focus. He squinted at it. "I don't mean to be rude, but that's the ugliest looking chicken I've ever seen."
"That's not a chicken, that's Rufus," she admonished, as she glanced at the photo he'd indicated. "There's a bunch of them at the Mid-Atlantic wildlife preserve. That's what bit Owen."
"What was he doing at a wildlife preserve?"
"My parents work there; he was visiting. Rufus can't hear very well -- he was born that way, so he couldn't survive in the wild -- so they use him for the center's education program. He's tame, but he can be nippy if he's approached too quickly. Especially with Owen."
Roger glanced at the picture again. Even out of focus, 'Rufus' still looked like a half-plucked chicken. "Anyway," he said, putting the book down. "You need to get a costume for the party. I can help you with that."
She looked at him dubiously.
"I can," he protested. "Just give me a chance."
She still didn't seem convinced, but she didn't argue. "Now stand up.. and stand still.. so I can get a good look at you." He circled around her, looking her up and down. "What did you have in mind?"
"I really hadn't thought much about it," she admitted.
"That's all right; I'm sure I can come up with something good.. ah, how about -- this." He blinked.
Jean looked down at herself. She was wearing a white dress, high heels, and her hair had been turned to blonde. She grinned. "Hey, I look like that actress from the twentieth century.. Marilyn Manson or something."
"Marilyn Monroe," he corrected automatically. He'd gotten good at this during the past week. (Jean's knowledge of ancient history was excellent, but that of the more recent past was not quite as complete.) "Hmm, that's sort of a summery thing, and it's pretty cold around here. How 'bout something a little warmer?" He blinked again. Now she was in Victorian- style dress, all velvet, with petticoats and ruffles.
"You have *got* to be kidding me," she said.
"What's wrong with it?"
"I can't move in it, for one thing. It's also very hot." She pulled at the high collar uncomfortably. "Do you have any other ideas?"
Roger blinked again, this time changing her attire to something a bit more futuristic.
Jean shook her head. "I'm not really into the Judy Jetson look."
"If you say so.. hey, how do you know about Judy Jetson?" he asked. "That show's from a little before your time."
"I told you there are over 500 television channels -- they've got reruns of everything that's ever been on. It's the same with radio; you can find any kind of music you want, from classical to classic rock to the latest techno- pop-fusion."
"I thought I heard the Beatles coming from someone's room the other day," he said. "It's good to know that there are still some familiar things out there."
"There's probably a lot more than you realize," she said. "Listen, Roger.. would you like to come to the party with me? I know you've been dying to go out, and I haven't really been too thoughtful about what you might like to do."
"Why thank you very much, Mistress, I'd love to come with you," he replied graciously. Actually, he'd been planning to crash the party as soon as she'd mentioned it; at least this way he wouldn't have to go in disguise or hide the fact that he'd been there. "But now there's a bigger question than what you should wear."
"Oh? What's that?"
"What *I* should wear." He rubbed his chin, brow furrowing as he thought about what he might look best in.
"Well, I don't know about that, but we've got seven days to decide," she said with a smile. "I'm sure we'll come up with something."
And they did.
Seven days later, two figures in Halloween garb strode up to the entrance of the college hall. Jean had been unable to decide on a costume, so in the end Roger had blinked her into harem-type clothing similar to Jeannie's. (Very fetchingly done in purple and gauzy pale blue, complete with sandals, veil, and long braid.) His costume, on the other hand, had been chosen by Jean. In keeping with his current situation, and given the time period he was from, she had come up with something older yet still recognizable. "Yeah, baby," she'd said, affecting a very strange accent as he blinked up what she'd described. He'd looked at himself in the mirror then -- it was rather comfortable, and except for the glasses, it was what was in style when he was still in the space program. "You look great," she said, as they walked through the doors and into the midst of the party.
"Thank you, Mistress," he said. He'd been telling her how wonderful she looked since he'd blinked her into her costume, and he was pleased that she approved of his. "But if you could tell me something.. " he looked down at his clothing, then back at her. "Just who is this 'Austin Powers' person, anyway?"