Roger, bottle in hand, followed after the girl as she walked him through the lab and the rest of the building. She led him up two flights of stairs, and then through a twisting maze of empty, dimly-lit corridors. She evidently knew her way around -- probably after years of practice, he reasoned. If she was writing a thesis, she must be a senior.
His mind wandered back to his own college days. Happy times, filled with pleasant memories and dreams of flight. It all seemed so long ago. Now he had a new mission in life, here in the middle of the twenty-first century. No doubt there were all kinds of amazing, futuristic things out there. Maybe there were flying cars. Maybe NASA had a base on the moon, or on Mars. Maybe they had discovered life on other worlds. Who knows what wonders awaited him?
He was so busy thinking about what this incredible new world of the future might hold that he nearly bumped into Jean when she stopped abruptly, right in front of a door, and whirled around to face him.
"Wait a minute, you can't go outside like that," she said earnestly. "What will people say when they see you? We could tell them you just got back from a costume party, but there aren't any on campus tonight…."
"Would you like me to change my clothes, Mistress?" he asked, after quickly taking a step back. He wasn't the most graceful person on Earth, but it wouldn't do to crash into the poor girl so soon after they'd met.
She cocked her head. "You can do that?"
"Of course I can," he replied confidently. That was one of the easiest tricks in the book.
"Good," she said, her relief evident. "'Cause you're looking kinda retro, there."
//I can do this,// Roger told himself. //Jeannie must have done it hundreds of times. It's simple.//
He cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and blinked.
He glanced at Jean, expecting oohs and aahs at the magic, or at least a word of approval on his choice of apparel. Neither of those reactions were displayed. Instead, she was standing there with her arms folded and a dubious look on her face.
"Is there something wrong, Mistress?"
"Um, you're still looking a little old-fashioned," she began. "When were you last out,
the 1960's?"
He looked down at himself. He had chosen the most stylish-yet-casual things he could think of, and yes, they were from the 1960's. Very fashionable, he thought, but he didn't want to look out of place. "What would be more appropriate?"
She tugged at the side of her jeans (these looked like they hadn't changed much since the twentieth century). "Well, if you made the legs of the pants a little more like mine, and the heels of the shoes a little lower, and the shirt blue instead of lilac…."
He nodded, then made the corrections. She beamed at him. "Perfect."
"Thank you," he beamed back, never one to turn down a compliment from a pretty girl.
She looked down for a moment. "So this is actually real," she said….as if still trying to prove to herself that she wasn't insane, or hallucinating, or otherwise mentally disturbed. "This is really happening."
"Yes, it is," he replied simply, giving into the urge to pat her on the shoulder. "It gets easier with time. Trust me."
"How…." she began. "How exactly does this work again?"
"I am a genie. You released me," he said, knowing how difficult this was for her -- it had been the same for him, seventy-odd years ago. "And because you released me, I now serve you. I am yours."
She frowned. Roger thought the expression was rather appealing, but wisely chose not to comment on it. "You're 'mine'? You mean, like property?" she asked, her previous expression turning to one of dismay. "No. That's not right," she said slowly. "I can't *own* another person…."
"Mistress," he interrupted gently. "It's not like that. It's not 'ownership'. It's more like...being an employee of a very small company, or being in the army." He brightened; that was an excellent description of how he felt. It was like a job, one that he enjoyed and took pride in. It wasn't all that different from his time in the service. And he was sure he couldn't have found a better person to release him.
"Yeah, but you can quit a job if you don't like it, and you eventually get out of the army," she countered. She still didn't look convinced.
Roger rubbed his chin, trying to think of a better way to explain it. She was clearly very kind, for the idea of this indentured servitude to affect her so strongly. He could tell that the whole concept still bothered her….and he felt a little guilty that he hadn't even considered this aspect of it until it was happening to him. He hadn't given it much thought when it was Jeannie who was doing the 'serving'. He'd just assumed that she liked doing it.
"Let me put it another way," he said thoughtfully. "It's similar to being in the army, but you really like your C.O., and you want to do a good job because you know what a nice person he is. Or she is, as the case may be." He rocked back on his heels, smiling.
She looked at him skeptically. "Nice person? I'm not particularly nice. I can be sarcastic and stubborn, and I have a problem with authority figures. Everyone tells me so."
"I think that might just be a way to protect your vulnerable inner self from the possibility of being wounded emotionally by others," he said knowingly. He'd learned enough about her from their initial meeting to figure out the basics of her personality; and he could throw the psychobabble around just as well as the shrinks from NASA used to. He'd certainly heard enough of it over the years.
Jean still didn't looked convinced. "I laughed when I saw a jogger slip on some ice and go head-over-heels twice before going headfirst into a snowbank," she pointed out.
Roger hated to admit it, but he probably would have laughed as well. He shrugged. "You don't take things too seriously, and you can laugh at the unexpected events life throws you."
She narrowed her eyes, folding her arms across her chest. "I once ran over somebody's entire set of lawn furniture and kept on going."
This one he had to think about. "You don't let obstacles stand in your way." He was proud of himself for coming up with that one.
She shook her head and sighed. "I'm not going to win this one, am I."
"I don't think so, Mistress," he said smugly.
"Ah, but at least I got you to start using contractions," she replied, as if this was a major victory.
"Oh," he replied, a little surprised -- but glad to finally be losing the genie-speak. "So, are we leaving now, Mistress?"
"I guess so."
"Good. I'm looking forward to seeing….pretty much everything, actually."
"All right," she said determinedly. "Let's go." And with that, she opened the door
His mind wandered back to his own college days. Happy times, filled with pleasant memories and dreams of flight. It all seemed so long ago. Now he had a new mission in life, here in the middle of the twenty-first century. No doubt there were all kinds of amazing, futuristic things out there. Maybe there were flying cars. Maybe NASA had a base on the moon, or on Mars. Maybe they had discovered life on other worlds. Who knows what wonders awaited him?
He was so busy thinking about what this incredible new world of the future might hold that he nearly bumped into Jean when she stopped abruptly, right in front of a door, and whirled around to face him.
"Wait a minute, you can't go outside like that," she said earnestly. "What will people say when they see you? We could tell them you just got back from a costume party, but there aren't any on campus tonight…."
"Would you like me to change my clothes, Mistress?" he asked, after quickly taking a step back. He wasn't the most graceful person on Earth, but it wouldn't do to crash into the poor girl so soon after they'd met.
She cocked her head. "You can do that?"
"Of course I can," he replied confidently. That was one of the easiest tricks in the book.
"Good," she said, her relief evident. "'Cause you're looking kinda retro, there."
//I can do this,// Roger told himself. //Jeannie must have done it hundreds of times. It's simple.//
He cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and blinked.
He glanced at Jean, expecting oohs and aahs at the magic, or at least a word of approval on his choice of apparel. Neither of those reactions were displayed. Instead, she was standing there with her arms folded and a dubious look on her face.
"Is there something wrong, Mistress?"
"Um, you're still looking a little old-fashioned," she began. "When were you last out,
the 1960's?"
He looked down at himself. He had chosen the most stylish-yet-casual things he could think of, and yes, they were from the 1960's. Very fashionable, he thought, but he didn't want to look out of place. "What would be more appropriate?"
She tugged at the side of her jeans (these looked like they hadn't changed much since the twentieth century). "Well, if you made the legs of the pants a little more like mine, and the heels of the shoes a little lower, and the shirt blue instead of lilac…."
He nodded, then made the corrections. She beamed at him. "Perfect."
"Thank you," he beamed back, never one to turn down a compliment from a pretty girl.
She looked down for a moment. "So this is actually real," she said….as if still trying to prove to herself that she wasn't insane, or hallucinating, or otherwise mentally disturbed. "This is really happening."
"Yes, it is," he replied simply, giving into the urge to pat her on the shoulder. "It gets easier with time. Trust me."
"How…." she began. "How exactly does this work again?"
"I am a genie. You released me," he said, knowing how difficult this was for her -- it had been the same for him, seventy-odd years ago. "And because you released me, I now serve you. I am yours."
She frowned. Roger thought the expression was rather appealing, but wisely chose not to comment on it. "You're 'mine'? You mean, like property?" she asked, her previous expression turning to one of dismay. "No. That's not right," she said slowly. "I can't *own* another person…."
"Mistress," he interrupted gently. "It's not like that. It's not 'ownership'. It's more like...being an employee of a very small company, or being in the army." He brightened; that was an excellent description of how he felt. It was like a job, one that he enjoyed and took pride in. It wasn't all that different from his time in the service. And he was sure he couldn't have found a better person to release him.
"Yeah, but you can quit a job if you don't like it, and you eventually get out of the army," she countered. She still didn't look convinced.
Roger rubbed his chin, trying to think of a better way to explain it. She was clearly very kind, for the idea of this indentured servitude to affect her so strongly. He could tell that the whole concept still bothered her….and he felt a little guilty that he hadn't even considered this aspect of it until it was happening to him. He hadn't given it much thought when it was Jeannie who was doing the 'serving'. He'd just assumed that she liked doing it.
"Let me put it another way," he said thoughtfully. "It's similar to being in the army, but you really like your C.O., and you want to do a good job because you know what a nice person he is. Or she is, as the case may be." He rocked back on his heels, smiling.
She looked at him skeptically. "Nice person? I'm not particularly nice. I can be sarcastic and stubborn, and I have a problem with authority figures. Everyone tells me so."
"I think that might just be a way to protect your vulnerable inner self from the possibility of being wounded emotionally by others," he said knowingly. He'd learned enough about her from their initial meeting to figure out the basics of her personality; and he could throw the psychobabble around just as well as the shrinks from NASA used to. He'd certainly heard enough of it over the years.
Jean still didn't looked convinced. "I laughed when I saw a jogger slip on some ice and go head-over-heels twice before going headfirst into a snowbank," she pointed out.
Roger hated to admit it, but he probably would have laughed as well. He shrugged. "You don't take things too seriously, and you can laugh at the unexpected events life throws you."
She narrowed her eyes, folding her arms across her chest. "I once ran over somebody's entire set of lawn furniture and kept on going."
This one he had to think about. "You don't let obstacles stand in your way." He was proud of himself for coming up with that one.
She shook her head and sighed. "I'm not going to win this one, am I."
"I don't think so, Mistress," he said smugly.
"Ah, but at least I got you to start using contractions," she replied, as if this was a major victory.
"Oh," he replied, a little surprised -- but glad to finally be losing the genie-speak. "So, are we leaving now, Mistress?"
"I guess so."
"Good. I'm looking forward to seeing….pretty much everything, actually."
"All right," she said determinedly. "Let's go." And with that, she opened the door
