The siren went off, interrupting the tests on the new protocol. He grunted, more annoyed than concerned. Emergency drills kept the interns on their toes, but the wail of the siren really got on one's nerves after a few minutes in the Ward. He locked the lab door and climbed up on a lab stool to disconnect the power to the siren. Ears ringing in the sudden quiet, he climbed down and went back to work.
Then the pounding started. The door jumped against its hinges, then burst inward.
He woke with a gasp. Panting, he glanced around, eyes unfocused. He blinked at the walls of his office, decked with commendations and snapshots, arranged neatly on the wall beside his medical certificates. He looked down at his hands, and flexed them, staring at his own fingers as they curled inward to his palms. Finally, he looked at the clock on his desk. It held his attention for nearly three full nanos as it mindlessly counted the passing moments. Wayne shook himself, and got up. He methodically shut down the files he'd been reviewing, and left the office neat as a PIN. He conscientiously locked up before he went home.
He was off-duty but on-call the next cycle. He turned off the alarm and let himself sleep until Roscoe decided he'd waited long enough for breakfast. Roscoe got his usual bowl of kibble. Wayne got out a frying pan and cooked himself an omelette. He sat by his window and dawdled over his omelette until there were only cold scraps left on his plate. Wayne put the plate on the floor for Roscoe to lick, and went into the shower. Half a microsecond later, sprite and dog sallied forth from their apartment building, one of them whistling and the other carrying his plumed tail high in the crisp morning air.
Wayne strolled along the city streets with Roscoe's leash looped over one wrist and his hands in his jacket pockets. The Supercomputer, as always, was full of activity and life. Sprites and binomes hurried back and forth on various errands, and vehicles of every description zigged, zagged, and honked on their way from somewhere to somewhere else. Bicycle couriers dodged from street to sidewalk and back, weaving intricate paths between and around traffic. Wayne stopped on a pedestrian bridge overlooking a construction site, and watched the crew maneuver an enormous framing beam into place. He wandered through one of the city parks, letting Roscoe lead him from tree to bush to lamppost. He bought himself a sticky bun at a cart in the park, then started drifting back toward his apartment, looking in store windows as he went.
Wayne's aesthetic sense was simple. His apartment was decorated in what one of his girlfriends had termed, "Spartan eccentric". He kept Roscoe's leash on the doorknob and his groceries on a bookshelf in the kitchen. Ordinarily, he passed the shops in the art sector with no more than a passing glance, or at most a shake of his head at the things displayed in the windows.
On this particular morning, however, something in one window caught his eye. It was a transparent globe, about half the size of his palm. Streams of color and pinpoints of light swirled and danced within it. Wayne stared at it, his expression intent and entranced.
"You like it?" a voice asked.
"Hm?" Wayne turned and looked at the speaker.
She had laughing green eyes. "I made that piece you're looking at. Do you like it?"
"I…yes." Wayne fumbled with Roscoe's leash. His eyes strayed back to the globe in the window.
"I've got more like that one inside. Want to see?"
Wayne blinked, and took a deep breath. "Yes, I think I do." He glanced down at the leash in his hand, then to Roscoe, who wagged his tail ever so slightly. "Is it all right if I bring my dog?"
"Bring him in, bring him in. I like dogs. What's your name?" The green eyes settled on his face.
"Wayne." He stopped, then added, "I'm a doctor."
She laughed, as though he had told a marvelously funny joke. "I used to be an accountant!" She laughed some more.
Passersby looked, then gave the two sprites a wide berth.
Wayne took a step back. "An accountant?" He looked her over from head to toe for the first time.
She was dressed in an iridescent ankle-length gown that set off her dark navy skin. Her arms and feet were bare, and ribbons and beads winked in and out of view beneath her black hair. "For ten minutes," she said happily. She put her hand on his arm. "And then about a second ago, I realized that I was bored. I wanted to make things. Beautiful things! So I quit my job and reformatted myself as an artist." She pulled gently on Wayne's sleeve. "Come in, let me show you."
Wayne hesitated, then let the accountant-turned-artist lead him into her shop.
The inside of the shop was filled with color reflected from and refracted through dozens of shapes and materials in every direction. Roscoe pressed close to Wayne's leg, his tail still wagging nervously.
The proprietor swept to the window display, plucked the small globe from its stand, and offered it to Wayne with a flourish. "It's powered by motion," she explained. "All of my works are. Watch this." The globe seemed to come alive in her fingers, rolling around in her palm, then dancing between her fingers as though it weighed nothing. The colors within it flashed and brightened as it suddenly lifted into the air, then fell into the former accountant's other hand, where it spun lazily, as though recovering from its leap.
Wayne watched, his eyes bright with interest. The physician in him marveled at the display of dexterity. Something else was entranced by the play of shifting light cast across the artist's face. "How does it work?" he asked.
"It's filled with random photon algorithms," she replied, as the globe ran up her arm to her elbow. "It never looks the same way twice." The globe rolled back down her arm and ended up perched on the tips of her upturned fingers. "Would you like to see some of my other works? I can make any shape you want, or limit the algorithms to any color you like. Maybe even make one for your dog to play with."
Wayne blinked, then shook his head. "No, I'm sorry, I don't think I can afford—
"You never know until you ask," she said mysteriously. The globe sprang off her fingertips and ran down the back of her hand to her wrist, then up over her palm and into the outstretched fingers of her other hand.
Wayne grinned, his purple eyes taking on a hint of the laughter in hers. "All right, how much?"
"For this one?" The artist watched the globe as it skipped around her palm. "I'd say three hundred. Does that sound fair?"
Wayne blinked again. Three hundred units was two seconds' rent. Not that he didn't have any savings…He watched the glittering globe. "Sold."
"Doctor MacHewlett?" The entire nurses' station stopped and turned to look as Wayne approached, Roscoe at his heels. "What are you doing here?" the speaker asked.
"Just picking up some files I forgot to take home last night, Lil." Wayne made as if to pass by, but Lil swept out from behind the counter and put a hand on his chest. She was a sturdy, middle-aged sprite of firm opinions. One of those opinions was that doctors and young children needed regular meals, early bedtimes, and occasional scolding.
"No you're not. This is supposed to be your time off, Doc. Go home. Take this poor dog of yours for a walk. Call up some pretty sprite and go see a show. Do something that isn't work." Lil peremptorily put her hands on Wayne's shoulders and turned him back toward the stairwell.
"I've already taken Roscoe for a walk," Wayne protested, wriggling out of Lil's grip. "Look at him, he's exhausted."
"Go home and watch Celebrity Jetball, then." Lil put her hands on her hips. "Because you're not going to work yourself to deletion on my shift."
"I'm not going to work myself to deletion," Wayne said in his most reasonable tone. "I'm just going to get a few files Turbo asked me to look at. As a friend."
Lil paused. Turbo was one of the few sprites in the system who could pronounce her seven-syllable filename correctly. He was also the sprite who authorized her paycheck. She watched with disapproval as Wayne unlocked his office.
Wayne grabbed the file he wanted off of his desk and locked the office behind himself. "Thanks, Lil. See you tomorrow." He blew her a kiss as he left, file folder in hand.
Roscoe snorted.
Wayne spent the afternoon reading Turbo's file and idly rolling the random-light globe back and forth on the table by the picture window. Roscoe passed the time asleep, paddling his feet in the air and squeaking as he chased dream Nulls.
The file was disjointed and cryptic. Wayne had to pause and look up several abbreviations and slang terms from obscure systems. Report after report scrolled across Wayne's vision, and with each new tale, the sprite's brows furrowed lower. Finally, he sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. He took a deep breath, and looked at the glowing screen. "There isn't a connection, Turbo. It's all totally random." His eyes fell on the softly glowing globe. He picked it up and held it in front of his eyes. "Totally random."
…the door banged open. Wayne jumped, then relaxed, puzzled. "Charlie? Argus? What's going on?"
The Guardians in the doorway beamed beatifically at him. "We have come to bring you the Word, Wayne," Argus said.