Not A Perfect World

Daniel looked at the plate. "Wow, we ate the whole pizza." He'd wound up subdividing the last slice, giving her three and a half.

Tovala sighed contentedly. "I like pepperoni frozen-pizza very much. Thank you, Daniel."

"You are most welcome," he told her. "Have you got room for dessert?"

"Dessert is, more to eat?"

"That's right. It's usually something sweet, for the end of a meal."

"I could eat a little more," she said judiciously.

"Then we will have dessert," he proclaimed, standing up. He set two small plates on the table, got a large flat rectangular dish out of the refrigerator and took off the cover. He lifted two fluffy-looking white pieces out with a serving spatula, put one on each plate and put the big dish away. He got two more forks.

"What is it?"

"Something Mom — that is, my mother — makes sometimes, and showed me how. Bake about an inch of angel food cake in a big pan, cook up a batch of chocolate pudding and pour over it, and top it off with a pint of whipped cream with a couple of big spoonfuls of powdered sugar beaten in. Can't use regular sugar; it turns out gritty."

"Oh." She watched him again, imitated the way he cut a piece with the fork, and tried a bite. "Mmmmm!"

He ate his piece, watching her. She seemed completely absorbed in her dessert, making little sounds of pleasure. When it was gone, she gazed regretfully at her plate, then smiled at him. "That was very very good. You made it?"

"Yep. It's not hard to make." He chuckled. "Good thing, because I don't like to put a lot of effort into things that have to be done over and over."

She gave him a curious look that he construed as an appeal for more detail.

"It feels like a waste, to work hard at something you're just going to have to do again, and again." He gave another chuckle. "Or maybe I'm just lazy."

She smiled, and looked thoughtful as they both finished the last of their juice. He put the remaining dishes beside the sink, and took out his breakfast dishes and silverware. "I'm going to knock these out now, so they're done."

"Knock them out?" she asked, puzzled.

"Wash the dishes, so I don't have to do them later," he said. "You don't even know about washing dishes, do you?" He chuckled, this time a little sourly. "You're going to have to learn, whether you want to or not. Talk about something that has to be done over and over; nobody can escape washing dishes in this world."

She got up and stood nearby as he opened a door under the sink and pulled out a plastic bottle.

"You want to watch? I guess if you've never seen somebody wash dishes before, it could be sort of interesting." He picked up a yellow and green rectangle. "This is a scrubby sponge. The green side is a rough plastic mat for, well, scrubbing. I soak it," he held it under the faucet and turned the water on and off quickly, "put some dish soap on that side," he squirted orange liquid from the bottle and put it away, "and, wash the dishes."

He started with a small metal bowl that had been in the sink from breakfast, then washed each dish and piece of silverware quickly but completely.

"San Diego is almost a desert," he said as he worked. "Most of our water has to be brought here from a long ways away, a hundred miles or more, and the sources are limited. We should all try to use as little water as possible, so I wash dishes this way. It's one of the fastest ways I've found, too."

His tone changed, becoming reflective, and maybe just a bit defensive. "I have particular ways I like to do chores. One of my ex-girlfriends kept insisting it was Aspergers, but I think she's full of it. I try different things until I find the most efficient way to get the job done, and then why would I want to do it in a less efficient way? There are only about a thousand minutes in a day that you're not sleeping. How many of them do you want to spend on tedious chores that are never really done? I don't see anything abnormal about finding ways to save some of that time for things I want to do. I've got washing dishes down to under five minutes a day."

He finished the last glass and set the sponge aside. "Now for the rinse." He turned the water on to a thin stream, barely more than a trickle, and set the metal bowl under it. He'd been putting the forks and spoons in the bowl all along. He turned each plate and dish under the stream, rinsing the soap off, back and front, and set them in the dish rack. By the time he finished the knives and serving spatula, the bowl was full of water and starting to run over. He swirled the silverware around, put them in the rack, used the bowl of water to rinse out the sink, set it to dry, and turned off the faucet.

"There. All done, and it only took about half a gallon of water and five minutes."

"Is that good?"

"I think it is. It may not be much, but I think saving some water makes the world just a little bit better." He pulled a plastic jug out of a cupboard and poured some small bits of…stuff, into a bowl on the floor near the laundry-room door.

"Cat chow," he answered her curious look. "I feed Jake some canned food every night, and he's always got this bowl of dry chow to munch on. There's a bowl of water by the bathroom door, too. Cats don't like for their water to be near their food, or for either one to be near the litter box. Which, I've got to scoop out later."

"Oh." She sounded slightly at a loss.

He put the cat chow away. "I need to use the bathroom again. Do you?"

She nodded.

"You don't need help this time, right?"

"No," she said, standing up.

"All right, I'll see you in a few minutes," he said. "And any time you need to use the bathroom, you just go. You don't even have to say anything."

"Okay."

This time he needed to take a dump. All too soon, Tovala would have to do the same, and he would have to explain the process, in detail… Fortunately, it probably wouldn't bother her. Only he would be tied up in knots with embarrassment. Oh, well. He would almost certainly survive the experience.

After finishing, he went out into the laundry room and scooped Jake's litter box. He returned to find Tovala sitting at the computer desk, clicking at Safari in a discouraged manner. She looked up as he stood behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders. "There is so much…and I can't read it…and most of it is not, not…"

"Relevant," he supplied. "Meaning it doesn't relate to what we're interested in."

"Yes. You understand." She smiled. "You always understand."

"My ex-girlfriends would disagree," he said with a chuckle. "Most of them would say I don't understand anything." He turned much more serious. "Don't ever believe what I say without question. I'll try to always tell you the truth, but I don't know everything. And some of the things I think I know might be wrong. I do my best to weed those out, but I probably missed a few."

Her smile grew. "I believe in you, Daniel. I will always believe in you."

He couldn't reply. He squeezed her shoulders and eventually got out, "I…will strive, to never let you down."

"That's why I believe in you."

He squeezed again, then pushed in with his fingers and thumbs, digging and kneading.

"Oh. Ohhhhh…" she moaned. "Aaahhh, that feels good. What are you doing?"

"You feel tense," he said in a low voice. "I'm trying to help. It's called a massage."

"Mmmmmm, it's nice." She rolled her head around as she enjoyed the feelings, and smiled up at him. "You're always so nice to me."

"I like you. I like doing nice things for you." He smiled, then got a little more serious. "And, I want you to be happy. I want you to like this world, and want to make it a better place."

"Like you do?"

"Yeah, but I can only do small things. I want to vote for the best candidates and policies, but for the most part we're stuck with choosing between bad, worse and oh-God-no! I try to pick the least pernicious of the options presented, but that's just one vote in a hundred million, and one idiot voting for the worst choice will cancel it right out. I don't have much money, I've got no power, or influence, or fame, no special-interest groups to raise hell and demand that everybody pay attention to me…"

She gave him an inquisitive look.

"I'm not an Oppressed Minority," he explained. "I'm white, male and straight. That makes me one of the Oppressors, not the Oppressed. I'm supposed to bear the guilt for all the injustice there has ever been, even though I had nothing to do with it, and most of it took place before I was born." He shook his head. "Some people get so fixated on the rights of their favorite minorities, they forget the rest of us are supposed to have rights, too."

Tovala didn't have anything to say about that.

"So, yeah, small things. Save a little water, recycle, put solar panels on my roof, ride a motorcycle, drive an old car…" He frowned. "Misguided environmentalists want to make old cars illegal, and force people to buy new cars that get better mileage — but building a new car would consume far more resources, and generate far more pollution, than driving my old car for another twenty years. That's a trap you need to watch out for — ideas that feel good, but turn out to be the opposite of good in practice."

"Oh."

"For you, it'll be different. You've got technology that can change the world. Force shields, anti-gravity, who knows what else." He frowned again. "There are a lot of ways the world could be made better, but a whole lot more ways it could be made worse. You have to be very careful, making changes to something as complex as the world."

"I…think I understand."

"I think you do, at that." Daniel finished the massage and half-sat on the couch back. "Feel better?"

"Mmmm, yes. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"So…what do you think I can do?" she asked, intrigued.

"I've only had a few hours to think about it, but I've got some ideas. What if you could give force shields like yours to our soldiers and police — Oh! And firemen! Now there's an application… I wonder, does it stop radiation? I'll bet it does. Maybe a bigger version for vehicles…and aircraft. Shielded F-22's! And buildings. No more wacko fanatics blowing up our buildings with bombs and hijacked airplanes. Maybe an inside-out version we can drop around a suicide bomber, to protect everybody else?"

She gazed at him, fascinated and slightly confused.

Dan was on a roll. "And that's just your shield. Can whatever you did to cancel electricity be aimed? The police could shut down any criminal's car instantly. Well, it wouldn't stop an old-school diesel engine, but now they use electric fuel pumps and injectors, electronic controllers… Hey, most terrorist bombs are detonated electrically!" He let out a nasty cackle. "There's Mad Bomber Mohammed, frantically pushing the button and wondering why nothing happens! Of course, they'd figure it out eventually, and go back to chemical or mechanical detonators, but there's just not as much they could do with those."

"Then there's anti-gravity. We could build real spaceships, instead of damfool rockets that are ninety-five percent fuel and can only be shot off once…imagine what it could do in construction, or just moving things around in general…flying paramedics who can go anywhere, rescue anybody…escape packs for tall buildings, in case of disaster…our soldiers again, with shields and able to fly…"

She was still staring at him.

"Your nanotech might be the biggest world-changer of all. Making diamonds is just a quick and dirty way to get some money, but nanotech should be able to make anything. Like…drugs. Analyze a drug sample, and you should be able to churn it out by the gallon for practically nothing." He frowned. "Of course, the pharmaceutical companies that spent billions of dollars getting those drugs developed and approved can't just be left out in the cold, but I'm sure something could be worked out. Making insulin should be even easier. Oh! Heparin, so we wouldn't have to import eighty percent of it from China, a lot of it contaminated, or deliberately mixed with cheap chemicals to make it pass the simpler quality tests. That stuff is killing people."

Tovala waited long enough to be sure he was done rambling, then said, "Wow. You really think I can do all that?"

"I think that's just the start," he said, excited. "I'm sure there are a lot of things we haven't even discovered about you yet. Whole new fields of science and technology that can lead to…the most amazing things."

"What should I do?" she asked, sounding lost again.

"That, I can't tell you," he admitted. "I can give you some ideas, some advice, but I'm aware of my limitations. At least, I try to be. I've seen so many people make so many mistakes…made some myself, too…and I think I'm smarter than a lot of them, but I'm sure I'm not smarter than all of them." He snorted derisively. "At least I'm not stupid enough to believe I know how to create a perfect world."

"But…you said I can change the world," she said, confused. "I thought you were telling me how I could change it. Are you saying I shouldn't?"

"I said you can make the world better, not perfect. Do you know how to create a perfect world?"

"No…"

"Neither do I. But," he said harshly, "there's no end of people convinced that they can create a perfect world. None of them can agree on how to create it, or what it should look like, but they all seem to believe they have to make room for it by destroying the one we've got, and creating their perfect world from the wreckage."

She looked at him, dismayed.

"To me, that's like blowing up the boat everybody is sailing on, in the middle of the ocean, because somebody thinks they can build a perfect boat from the pieces, even though they never built a boat, or designed one, or even sailed one before." He chuckled. "And I'm sure there are sharks."

"Sharks?"

"Big fish that eat people if they fall in the water," he explained. "We've got a boat, and at least it floats. I'm opposed to sinking it."

She nodded agreement. "But…nobody would really do that, would they?"

Daniel scowled in disgust. "Some of them have done it on a small scale, raising 'people's revolutions' to destroy whole countries and build their 'perfect' societies. Almost all of them have been miserable failures. They have their revolution, kill a lot of people, overthrow their corrupt rulers and replace them with another bunch of corrupt rulers. Viva la revolution! Yesterday's oppressed become tomorrow's oppressors, but it's okay because they're not those Evil Capitalists and Oligarchs. Yeah, they control all the money and property, but that's just until they create their Perfect Worker's Paradise, in a few months — well, okay, a few years — actually, it might take a few decades — ah, hell, these new rulers are as bad as the old ones after all, if not worse. Time for another revolution!"

"The United States was one of the few successes, mainly because the Founders were not trying to create a perfect world, or even a perfect country, but just a better one. They studied the successes and failures of the past, and learned from them. And, they weren't destroying an existing society, but throwing off foreign occupation, and building on what was already here."

He shook his head dolefully. "I don't think it's even possible to create a perfect world, when it has to be full of imperfect people. I don't think I'd want to live in a perfect world anyway. What would there be left to do? If the world was perfect, any change would by definition make it imperfect. Nobody could be allowed to introduce anything new, or retire anything old. I think after a while such eternal sameness would have to become a fair imitation of Hell."

"But for the ones that want to create a perfect world…no cost is too high, no sacrifice too great, no atrocity too horrendous. Their goal is so noble and lofty that it justifies anything — like changing all those imperfect people that won't fit in their perfect world. And if they won't change, if they can't be made to fit — dispose of them. We've seen that, over and over. When you start to learn about this planet's history, you're not going to like a lot of it."

Tovala gave him a long, serious look. "But…you don't want me to believe all that without question."

"Uhhhh…no. No, you shouldn't," he said reluctantly. "Believing without question means you're substituting somebody else's judgement for your own. They could be wrong, or they could be lying to you. I'm not lying, but I could be wrong, about some of those things, or even all of them. I don't think I am, but we have to allow for the possibility."

She considered that. "Still, you said it for a reason. It must mean something."

Dan smiled at her. "I guess all that was just my long-winded way of saying, you can change the world — you can change it a lot — but be reeeal careful not to break it. And beware of anybody that is willing to break it. Putting the pieces back together is a lot harder than most people think."

She returned his smile. "That sounds like good advice."

"Thank you."

She took her time formulating her next question. "So, what kind of not-perfect world do you want to live in?"

"Cheez, why don't you ask me a tough one?" he quipped. "The world I want to live in…hmmm…I'd call it a good world. One where good people can live good lives, and bad ones can't take that away from them. Of course, that requires the definitions of who's good, and who's bad."

"The bad people are the ones that lie, cheat, steal, or inflict violence on people who never harmed them. The good people are…everybody else. The ones who don't make trouble, or do harm to others, except in self-defense."

"The good people are not all the same. I think that would be another kind of Hell, if everybody was just like everybody else. People are different, and a good world has to give them the freedom to be different. Of course, there have to be limits. Some differences can't be tolerated, because they cause harm to other people, or take away their freedom."

Dan scowled again. "Just 'offending' somebody should not be considered harm. Anybody can decide to be 'offended' by anything."

"Like, not covering up a few places?" she asked, grinning mischievously.

"Yes, that's one example," he agreed with his own grin, but it faded quickly. "Some people would be offended by the fact that you're learning to read, and use a computer, or because you're alone in this house with a man who's not your husband."

"My…husband?"

"The man you're married to."

"But…we're getting married tomorrow."

"I hope so," he agreed, "but I'm not your husband now, and yet here we are. There are several groups that would be highly offended about that."

"But…why?" she asked, puzzled. "This is your house. We're not…they're not…"

"We are not affecting them in any way," he supplied. "They believe what we're doing is wrong, but we don't agree, and do it anyway. They find this offensive, and some of them believe they have the right to punish us for breaking their rules."

She frowned in puzzlement. "That doesn't make sense to me."

He smiled reassuringly. "It doesn't make sense to me either, so I ignore their stupid rules and do what I think is right. Which includes inviting you to stay in my house when you've got no place else to go."

She thought about that, and smiled. "I think that is a good thing."

"So do I. I'm glad you're here." He went on smiling at her, then thought of something. "I need to use the computer again."

Tovala turned and reached for the mouse. "Can I do it?"

"Sure. Click in the address bar, there…now use the keyboard, and type in S-A-N space D-I-E-G-O space C-I-T-Y space C-O-U-N-C-I-L space M-E-E-T-I-N-G and now hit Return. Click on that…and that…okay, good."

He nodded with satisfaction. "It says the City Council meetings are at two o'clock on Mondays. I don't know what the Mayor will be doing tomorrow morning, but at least he won't be in a Council meeting. I hope that means he'll have time to talk to us."

"I hope so, too." She looked at the screen again. "Is there anything else we need to look up?"

"Ummm…can't think of anything right now." His gaze sharpened. "You're picking that up fast. You've only been using the computer for a couple of hours, and you're really good."

"It's easy," she said casually. "At least, I think it's easy. Is it supposed to be hard?"

"No, but there's a whole lot of complex programming that goes into making that seem so simple," he explained. "A lot of very smart people have been working on it for more than thirty years." He chuckled. "I guess they succeeded."

"So…if we don't need to look for anything…" She looked up, with a most appealing smile. "Can we listen to some more music?"

"Uhhhb…sure. There should be time."

Her smile got even wider and happier. He told her how to switch screens, back to the one with iTunes, and watched as she scrolled up and down. One caught his eye. "Oh, that one's perfect! There's a song for you. Click on the black square, with people in red…now number four…click on the little circle…Play Next, that one. Now up to the top…click on those blue lines…now click twice, there."

They heard a growl of guitars and a flourish of drums, a fast-paced melody, then a man's slightly high-pitched voice singing:

Living on a lighted stage approaches the unreal
For those who think and feel
In touch with some reality beyond the gilded cage

Cast in this unlikely role
Ill-equipped to act
With insufficient tact
One must put up barriers to keep oneself intact

Living in the limelight, the universal dream
For those who wish to seem
Those who wish to be must put aside the alienation
Get on with the fascination, the real relation, the underlying theme

Living in a fisheye lens, caught in the camera eye…

Tovala listened intently, smiling and rocking her head slightly, until the song ended in a thunder of drums.

"That's Limelight, by Rush," he told her. "You're going to be in the limelight tomorrow, so I thought it was appropriate. Now, there's something I want you to hear for a different reason. Scroll up, a long ways…stop! Down a little…the one with a man and woman in white. Number two…" She repeated the remaining steps without guidance.

They heard thudding drums, a 'pssh' of cymbals, and a woman's rich, warm, sweet voice singing:

After long enough of being alone
Everyone must face their share of loneliness
In my own time nobody knew the pain I was going through
And waiting was all my heart could do

Hope was all I had until you came
Maybe you can't see how much you mean to me
You were the dawn breaking the night
The promise of morning light
Filling the world surrounding me…

The song faded out at the end, leaving her looking at him in wonder.

"That's Only Yesterday by the Carpenters. Karen Carpenter had the most amazing voice…and you sound so much like her…" He smiled and shrugged. "Maybe you'll want to try singing, after we get some things taken care of."

Her expression of wonderment intensified. "You think…I could make music? Like that?"

"I don't see why not. Singing's not that hard. Even I can sing, some, and I think I'm not too bad."

"I think I would like to sing. I think I would like that very much," she said softly.

"You can certainly give it a try, after we get the immediate problems taken care of." He smiled reassuringly. "That's one of the great things about a free country. You can sing if you want to." He chuckled. "You can't force anybody to listen, though." He thought of another song. "I know one you've got to hear. Scroll up…there. The man with cards in his hand…number four."

They heard two strange 'Bowwmp' sounds, rapid-fire hollow-sounding guitar notes, and a man's voice:

Pssst! C'mere!

I hear the music daylight disk
Three men in black said, "Don't report this,"
"Ascension," and that's all they said
Sickness now the hour of dread

All praise, he's found the awful truth
Balthazar
He's found the saucer news…

This song trailed off in wild guitar notes, drums and cymbals.

"That's E.T.I. by Blue Oyster Cult, because, well, you're sort of an E.T.I. yourself." he said lightly.

"That was…different."

"You didn't like it?"

"I'm…not…sure," she said very slowly. "I think I'll need to think about it."

"That's fair," he admitted. "Blue Oyster Cult's not for everybody. But, here, try one more. One row down, with the green stripe on top…number four."

The next song started with a much lighter melody, and a man's voice:

Perfect water
The dark wind braids the waves
The crazed birds raid the trees
Is this our destiny?

To join our hands at sea
And slowly sink
And slowly think
This is perfect water
Passing over me…

She looked curious but unconvinced until it got to the chorus, then she smiled.

To flow inside the spiral tide
To drop my eyes like a bride and ride
Across the curve unmarked by borders
It waits for me like an orphaned daughter…

She was still smiling when the last note faded away. "That was good. Maybe I do like Blue Oyster Cult."

"That would be nice. I like 'em, in case you couldn't tell."

"I did get that impression," she said, amused.

She scrolled down until another picture caught his eye. "Oh, now there's one. This is an eternal classic everybody should listen to. The white one, man with a guitar…yeah, that one, number five."

They heard a thunder of drums, a wail of guitars, cymbals, and a man's voice sounding somehow forsaken, seeking something unknown:

In the day we sweat it out on the streets of a runaway American dream
At night we ride through mansions of glory in suicide machines
Sprung from cages on Highway Nine
Chrome wheeled, fuel injected and steppin' out over the line
Oh, baby this town rips the bones from your back
It's a death trap, it's a suicide rap, we gotta get out while we're young
'Cause tramps like us, baby we were born to run…

They sat in silence as the last note faded out. Dan blinked several times, and his voice was thick. "That one always gets me, a little."

Tovala nodded her agreement, and maybe her eyes were just a touch damp, as well.

"Oh, that was Born To Run, by Bruce Springsteen. Sort of before my time, but…well, eternal, like I said."

Tovala nodded again.

Once more, the computer's time display caught his eye. "Woah, it's after nine. If we want to get any more done tonight, there's not much time left." He brought Safari back on-screen.

"What more do we need to do?" she wondered aloud.

"I don't know," he admitted. "But if we forget something, it will bite us in the ass. That's just the way the world works."

Tovala giggled. "Good thing I'll be wearing my armor, then."

"What about me?" he asked plaintively.

She giggled again. "How fast are your reflexes?"

He laughed. "Fast enough to hide behind you."

She laughed with him, a delightful sound, free of the concerns that had troubled her earlier. She moved the mouse randomly while they both looked at the screen, without ideas. She clicked a few items, for no particular reason, then tilted her head down, staring at the mouse. "Hmmmm..."

"What is it?"

She didn't respond, but lifted her head and continued moving the mouse, watching the pointer intently. She rubbed her finger over the scroll surface, clicked on the left side, the right side, then looked up at him. "This mouse…it sends…signals, to the computer?"

"That's right. It uses high-frequency radio signals, a protocol named Bluetooth. You figured that out, just by observing?"

She shook her head absently, still moving the mouse, watching the pointer. "It's like I can…hear? Feel? No, not hear or feel, but…something. I know the signals are there."

It was some time before he could say, dumbfounded, "You're picking up the mouse signals?"

"Yes," she said, still distracted, moving the mouse around. "Or, no. It's like, there's something, doing it for me, and I'm getting a…sort of feeling. Like when I watched you and Officer Nelson from outside. I don't know how I did that, either. I just thought about it, and it happened."

"Huuhhh…" he muttered. "I wonder what else you can do…"

"I think…this." She took her hand off the mouse, pointed her finger at the screen, and moved it from right to left.

The pointer moved, too, tracking her finger precisely.