8
John had gotten perhaps three hours sleep, but he felt better than he had since restoring contact with Five. Damn good, in fact.
It wasn't just grandma's food, or being out of the cave, or having his cuts properly healed. Not even being able to walk more than twenty paces in a straight line, though that entertainment never grew stale. The reasons were complex, and took some sorting out. Just being on Earth for awhile, maybe, with all its odd sensations. The air, for one, contained genuine scents and assorted noises, while the ground and atmosphere were warmed by the sun instead of a heater. But best of all, there were women... or woman, rather: Penny, whom he'd liked well enough to program Five's 'personality' after. Five, though, was far less impressed with life in the dust, and swiftly let him know it.
He'd no sooner cut off the shower and stepped out for a towel, than she started instant messaging. Ever resourceful, the temporarily homeless quantum computer spoke using his wrist comm, television screen, phone, and every other available appliance to transmit rapid messages, shifting her medium to match his line of sight. (And avoid everyone else's, when in public.)
"John Tracy status check. Initiating chip scan. Scanning John Tracy. Results available. Previous 6 hours' activity resulted in elevated blood pressure, heart rate, and arrhythmic breathing. Activity deemed hazardous if continued."
John dried off, smiling slightly, then stepped to the sink, lathered up and began to shave, draping the towel loosely about his hips.
"Not hazardous," he corrected her, when it was safe to speak without cutting himself. Rinsing the razor, he put it back in place and cleaned up the counter, adding, "Just... aerobic, I'd say."
She came back instantly, from the bedroom telecom:
"Listed aerobic activities previously tested and proven safe include the following: running, stationary bike riding, wall climbing, weight lifting, Tae Kwon Do, swimming, walking..." She might have gone on for hours if John hadn't interrupted her.
Rummaging through the bureau for a pair of shorts, he said,
"Well, it's not... exercise, really. More of..." Inspiration struck, as he was zipping up. "More of an upload. A transfer."
There was a brief pause, as she processed this statement. John imagined the stock exchange mainframe inexplicably beginning to smoulder. Then, from the TV screen.
"What is the nature of data being transferred, John Tracy?"
Another tough question. Hadn't he ever programmed her to watch the Discovery Channel? Of course, recording an image was one thing, comprehending it, quite another, if one had no applicable frame of reference. He'd have suggested a web-search, but the last thing he needed was to have his computer stuck at a porn site.
Back at the closet John pulled one of his many black tee shirts off a hangar, and tried another tack.
"Not data, material. You know how Thunderbird 3 used to come up, slip into the access port, and transfer supplies? Like that, a little."
He got the shirt on, then had to look around for his leather deck shoes. Damn, but Kyrano never left anything where he'd placed it. Nobody did. That was the trouble with this room, the mansion, and Earth in general; too many damn places to hide things. Too much confusion. At least out in space, he knew where everything was.
John was about to look under the bed, when Five's next message flashed across his wrist comm.
"Missing items of apparel located beneath folded-clothing storage unit, John Tracy."
Folded...? Oh. The bureau. He found them. Now, though, she had another caveat.
"Need for materials transfer from John Tracy to most frequent subject deemed questionable. Unauthorized user. Recommend denial of access."
The next bit surprised him. Evidently, somewhere in one of the college mainframes, she'd discovered emoticons. She flashed a scowling face at him, from the watch, once again.
He really needed to get going, join Brains in the lab, but didn't want to continue this conversation around the others. Especially, not grandma or, worse yet, Gordon.
"No, it's alright," he responded, a little impatiently. "Believe me, she's authorized. Access granted on all security levels."
If a quantum computer could be said to take on a sarcastic tone, Five certainly managed it now, transmitting her reply in heavy Italics.
"Recommend upgraded firewall, and installation of new anti-viral software, John Tracy. User is known to frequent other sites. Infected attachments highly probable."
John shook his head disbelievingly. Why the hell would she choose to pick on Penny? After all... Lady Penelope had been his inspiration when programming the computer that was going to be his sole companion for long stretches of time.
Definitely, he needed to get Five, and himself, back in orbit. Rising from his seat on the bed, John started for the door, saying,
"Five, trust me. There's no danger involved in the 'transfer', just a mutual good time. I know what I'm doing."
She came back with a confusing statement that he didn't pay much attention to at the time, being halfway out of the room.
"John Tracy deemed authorized user. Access granted."
"I certainly hope so," he replied, running a slim hand through his still-damp, silver-blond hair. "Considering how much work we have to do. Now, scan the house and let me know where everyone is. I have a few things to pick up. Quietly."