"I Meant To Forget You ... "

By SusanK

Jump to new as of August 29, 2006
Jump to new as of September 15, 2006

Part One

Posted on Wednesday, 16 August 2006

"Next time, let's have a fall picnic. I think just after the first frost would be good." We had never picnicked in the fall, and I thought it would be a nice change. The coats and gloves would be more cumbersome, but the change of scene would be worth it.

"That does sound good," Frederick said. "Colder weather will mean heavier food. Walnut spice cake would be an excellent choice. Oh, and let's use a gig next time. The horses are fine, but the other is nice as well." He moved closer and held a slice of apple to my lips. "Last piece, my girl."

I took the bite, and was surprised when it was followed by a kiss. "Did you get enough?" he asked, smiling at the double entendre.

"Yes, and lunch was excellent. It always is." He touched my chin and sat, leaning against the tree with me. I felt badly sometimes, not allowing him any success with his little jokes, but I wasn't in the mood to coddle him while trying to relax.

The river flowed by quickly, yet quietly. I thought I heard a small animal cross upstream. It must have been something good sized from the cloud of mud, topped with grass and leaves that came floating by. The air was hot, with a light haze hanging over our picnic spot. The only sound was the swishing of the horse's tails, and the drone of flies. The next time we come, I'm going to choose another spot, we've used this one too often and I'm bored with it. I think moving farther down the river near some small rapids will be more interesting. Though, it really wouldn't matter, after eating in this sort of weather, everything feels heavy and nothing is very interesting. But in the late fall—

"So, what are you thinking? Has your headache left? Are you calming down?" He's moved closer and we are now shoulder to shoulder. "I could give you a massage."

I smiled. Having a man so extremely attentive can get to be boring, and is occasionally annoying, but for the most part, I gobble up all the attention.

"My headache is gone and I'm feeling much more relaxed, no massage necessary. And I'm not really thinking about anything, Frederick. Other than it is the perfect day for a picnic, and you are the perfect one to share it with." Without looking his way I stroke his cheek. There is no having to guess his proximity, it's always the same; just over my left shoulder, approximately ten centimeters.

He comes closer and nuzzles my neck. "I was just thinking the same thing about you, Anne." It's always the same. Whether it's the observation deck of the Eiffel Tower, a romantic dinner on the balcony of a beautiful hotel, this picnic in the English countryside, or mountain climbing, or lazing on a white sandy beach, approximately 22 minutes after eating, he begins the courting ritual. And I let him.

I closed my eyes and enjoy his attentions. Who really cares if he's pedantic and lacks any sort of romantic creativity? He knows me and he knows precisely what I like. And what I need.

"Shall we move to the blanket?" He stood and offered me a hand.

"Certainly, sir," I tease. Just as my backside was off the ground, the horses began to complain. Frederick turned towards them, and then let me go. My fall was graceless, but only less than so than the grunt when I hit the ground.

Watching him head to the horses, I thought how this, while painful, was a nice change to the routine.

Walking to the blanket, I dusted myself off. I repacked the hamper and smoothed things in preparation for his return.

Why do I do this to myself? I'd stayed away from him for nearly eight months this time. I'd stayed away because if I was going to see him, I wanted it to be here, in the country with the horses and the picnic and the river. This was the scenario that always got me into trouble. There were plenty of times I was tempted to crawl back and make nice, but I had managed to keep from it. For some inexplicable reason I come back to him whenever my life is more than I can handle. I come back when things are boring. Under either circumstance, the only conclusion is that I use him unmercifully. I suppose the reason I can is that he never complains. The whole situation is so tidy, and quite convenient for both of us.

"It was nothing. Maybe a squirrel or something," he said, pulling off his boots. He had color from moving about in the heat. His brow was glistening and he'd opened the top few buttons of his shirt. Frederick Wentworth is the most handsome man I know, or have ever known. His smile is the most infectious and inviting, and all I can do is put aside my ruminations on how badly I use him and his less-than-stellar romantic skills.

"Well, you are my hero regardless." Opening my arms, I said, "Come here, big fella."

His warm and open laugh filled the space beneath the tree and he practically threw himself into my embrace. His kisses made my head swim. Actually, it was just him rearranging things so I was beneath him. "You are the most beautiful woman in the universe, Annie." His breath was shallow and his hazel eyes softened as he studied me.

He meant every word. And I meant it when I said, "I love you too, Frederick."

His eyes closed and he came close. "Frederick."

His eyes opened and he looked puzzled. "I mean it, I really do love you."

"I know." He smiled and again closed his eyes.

As much as I wanted it, I couldn't let him kiss me. Only occasionally did I allow the scene to play out completely; I usually ended things before we even get to the blanket. If his lips touched mine I would be a goner, and I would be dependent on this manipulative cycle for the rest of my life. The only way to be free was to walk away. Again.

I turned my head just as he was about to touch my lips. "Computer. End program."

When the grass and blanket disappeared, I was left prone on the hard floor of the holosuite. Immediately, the heat of the program's fresh summer air dissipated and the station's cool, insipid, recirculated air washed over me. Closing my eyes, all I could see was the surprised look on his face as the hologram dissolved and vanished. Regardless that Frederick was nothing more than light and shadows trapped in a computer program, all our time together was real. Sadly, the time we spent together was more real than most of my life outside this computer program.

Leaving the holosuite, I merged myself into the traffic of the space station. Though I run the station, and know at least nominally most of the faces I see, I couldn't be more alone if I were still lying on the floor, crying over Frederick and the wounded look on his face.

Exeter Station and the hectic life I live are all I have, and while there are times I would give everything I own to live far in the past and have picnics with a lover, I simply can't. Technology makes it possible for me to do lose myself in a computer generated fantasy on occasion, but I am beginning to wonder if the holosuite has become more of a torture chamber than a recreation.

When I arrived twelve years ago, large portions of Exeter Station were derelict. The station was a design nightmare and technologically inferior, but being so far-flung it wasn't vital to the Elliot Group's business plans and had been allowed to deteriorate until was little more than a squatter's paradise.

Between the red ink threatening to swamp my father's business, and changes in trade routes due to ever-changing galactic alliances, Exeter Station was recommissioned and I was put in charge of making it lucrative again. The first few years are still a blur. Reading the logs I kept, I'm always shocked by how much I accomplished. The steady growth of the station has been marked by growing pains certainly, but nothing remarkable. Bringing long-neglected systems online was challenging, learning about technologies of which I had no working knowledge was time-consuming, but it was working with people I enjoyed. Particularly working with Frederick creating the holo programs. He was never a modest man, and I'm sure he would be quite gratified to know I have several of which he is the star.

It 's been the profitability of the station that has presented me with my biggest challenge. I learned ways to cut corners and still serve the specialized needs of various travelers, traders, officials and military groups that pass through Exeter. I've done such a good job that my father is quite certain no one else can keep the place running so smoothly, with such a positive profit-to-loss ratio. I'm afraid this success is going to keep me stuck here until one of us dies.

"Training session?"

"What?" Charles Musgrove had joined me, unnoticed, as I walked. Charles is my chief of security. He looks soft and simple, but he knows who to hire and whom he needs to keep an eye on. He's kept the station a safe haven in a troubled area of space for ten years, and I have no complaints. "No, why do you ask?"

"You're all flush. You look like you've been really working out. Or crying." He waved to someone across the walkway and hopefully didn't see my surprise.

Charles was here when I fell in love with Frederick Wentworth, and he was here after.

"Well, you caught me. I was training on the rock-climbing program. I was using Smith Rocks, but I couldn't help falling a few times. You know how I start crying like a little girl when I can't have my way." If knew if I just kept talking, and kept putting one foot in front of another, I would eventually make it to my quarters where I could shut out my well-meaning friend, and the rest of the station.

"Yeah, but you do it to yourself. You always go for things you can't have. If I know you, you modified the program and the natural level fives are now tens, and you've added a snow storm just to make things fun." Normally all this would have been said in jest, but his voice had the same serious tone he saved to tell me about a killing in one of the cantinas or a missing kid or some other terrible bit of news. For a guy who came off sort of dim, he had a keen mind and a good heart. Why couldn't I marry him when he asked?

I exaggerated a shrug. "I can't help it, Charles. I'm just a girl who can't help herself."

"I'll be right with you, Grandy," he called to his assistant. Putting his hand on my arm, he pulled me to the side of the walkway, and said, "I know you can't. But you're going to have to try. You can't keep throwing yourself into things that are slowly killing you." Now he looked as though he was about to say an invasion force was on our doorstep.

"I keep the safeties on, Charles. Nothing I do in the holosuites can hurt me."

"I hope not, Anne. I have to do a health and safety on the Playground. I'll see you later at the Ambassador's dinner."

"Oh, you had to remind me." A dinner with Ambassador Russell was generally a pleasant experience, but could also be boring to the bone depending on the other guests she invited. And unfortunately, she had let it slip that her nephew was going to be in attendance. A nephew she was quite certain would make the perfect husband for me. "Thanks, Charles."

He smiled. "Anything for a friend."

I watched him join up with Grandy and head towards the section of the station devoted to the various sex-based businesses. Early on I knew that was one commodity that would be in high demand, and one I really didn't want to deal wit. So, I did what all good businessmen do: I found a willing subcontractor. I. M. Willing, INC, owned by Will Elliot, a cousin comfortably removed, does a great job licensing those trafficking in the "sensual arts" as he calls it. I suspect a lot of graft, and other things, change hands. If this place ever comes under strict planetary regulations, the Playground will have to be cleaned up, but for now it is an aspect of the business I ignore completely.

Again I wondered why I hadn't snapped up Charles up when he showed interest in me. As I watched him and Grandy going up the escalator, and he gave Grandy bunny ears, I knew why. Despite that, Charles is still the only guy I know who will voluntarily take a mental cleanse to wipe out all the lewd and lascivious things he'll have to see while on his inspection tour. For his trouble, he'll put up with a seven-hour headache. On top of it, the woman he did marry, my sister Mary, will have a jealous fit and hack into his job log to spy on him. This is a little something I can fix without any trouble at all.

"Teram, take Charles Musgrove off the logs for the next two hours, and unlink him, please."

Talking to myself aloud was the only thing I really had to get used to when I took over Exeter. Ours is an experimental implantation communication system and instead of talking into a badge, a hand communicator or head set, we all just talk. A chip behind the left ear recognizes the voice and interprets mental images, then connects to the desired party. It's odd to see everyone talking away, making faces, arms waving, and there's no one around that seems to care. I saw a digital display of what was called a "mental health facility" in the twenty-first century, and the clients were all doing the same thing. In the display, all the people were mentally ill, now it's just the norm. I wonder which group would be considered the happier.

"Yes, Madam Elliot. I shall do away with the Musgrove immediately."

"Teram, please. And I don't want Musgrove deleted, just disconnected for a couple of hours."

"Oh, yes, Madam El— Disconnecting him now, Ma'am"

"Thanks, out," I sighed. Teram is my assistant of sorts. Though I have no need of an assistant, a hand-held com router is enough to suite me, her devotion knows no bounds and sometimes spirals out of control with the reverential greetings. Off-worlders can make life interesting, but they can also make the mundane even more so.

It's funny that I would think of anyone else as an off-worlder. I haven't been on Earth for more than a decade, yet think of myself no different than some woman working a nine-to-five in Bangkok or Denver. Ah, the glamour of working in a floating Spam can. It's probably a good thing I don't think too much about it. It was my wanting to stay here that ruined all the other hopes I had for my life.

Entering the observation deck, I get a few nods but most everyone's attention is focused on James Benwick and the loud exchange he's having with an incoming vessel.

"I don't care who you are. You're fourth in the queue." He's squeezing a soft rubber stress ball as he listens to the hotshot on the other end. "And I don't care if you spoke with every pilot in the intergalactic command, you are fourth in the queue, and it is imperative that you take your place in the pattern just like everyone—" Turning to me, he said, "He's landed on level three, and says he'll meet you in your office in ten minutes."

"What's the name of this rocket jockey?" This idiot has just made my life a misery, and I want to know precisely what to call him when I start yelling.

"Harville; piloting Laconia." Scanning his screen, Benwick added, "—hauling mining equipment from the Regis sector."

"Great, I'll do a little mining of his head and see if I find a brain anywhere." Before I turn to leave the deck, I see a sly smile come over Benwick's face. He's a hard worker, and one of the best controllers on Exeter, but he can be the pettiest man alive. Like most five-year-olds he really likes to see others get in trouble.

But, Benwick's character flaws are of little concern to me as things are within a few minutes of getting very loud and nasty. Level three is undergoing annual maintenance. All equipment with moving parts is stripped down to the frame and built back up, cleaning and repairing as needed. This leaves magna lift out of service, and all I could hope was that this show off is skilled enough to do a hot launch off the deck without the aid of the catapult.

If he can't, I'm going to see that his cargo is downloaded; the craft dismantled and then order the whole kit and caboodle set adrift. After that, just for grins, I'll fine him for littering.

"There is a Captain Harville an audience with you, Madam—"

"I know, Teram. Take your meal break now." She scuttles out from behind her desk and heads for the door. The poor thing was nearly devastated the last time she heard me give a full-fledged dressing down. It seems that she in her culture, royalty neither screams at the top of their lungs, nor do they use foul language. Amazingly, she still thinks I'm the greatest.

For some reason, my door doesn't automatically open and I nearly run into it. Jabbing at the override, I get just a little hotter under the collar. "Open! You cursed piece of techno trash." That does it. The door's quiet swoosh welcomes me into my own domain, and I stalk into my office.

Before me is a rather beefy woman leaning over my desk, screeching at the back of my chair. Listening for just a few seconds lets me know that whoever is sitting in the chair should be looking for a way of escape that takes them in the opposite direction from my rather loud guest.

"Excuse me. This is my office. I'm Anne Elliot, the representative of Exeter Station. If you'll get off my desk, I'll help you."

The woman turns and looks me up and down. I think she was considering whether I could possibly help her. Sometimes people think I'm too young, too slight in build, too quiet, or too something of their own choosing. She evidently thinks I can handle the problem because she comes at me and starts her explanation.

"They told me when I came in that you all think I'm the pilot that disobeyed the tower. I didn't. I'm not even the pilot. I own the cargo, but I'm not the pilot. I don't even know how to fly that lousy piece of junk—"

"I will thank you to be a little kinder when referring to my dear ship."

Harville turned and began hollering again. The chair turned and all my worst fears were realized.

There sat Frederick Wentworth, smiling and taking great care not to scatter anything on my desk as he put his feet up.

Part Two

Posted on Tuesday, 29 August 2006

The first time I saw Anne Elliot I was drawn to her. She was sitting in one of the canteens reading a book on a Saturday night. I'm not usually drawn to that sort of woman, but Anne was the exception to that rule. I took it upon myself to interrupt her book and introduce myself. She was pretty enough, and still is. Looking at her now, hands on hips, shooting me a look that could freeze moving water, I can't help but appreciate her dark, simple beauty even more. No, I think I'm about to meet the Anne I always suspected to be lurking inside the quiet, polite young lady.

"I've taken care of your problem with that Harville character. She'll have her cargo off your ship in an hour. By the way she was swearing, I don't think you'll be getting paid for your … debatable services."

She's put on a few kilos. Not that that is a bad thing. They seemed to have migrated to all the right places. And her hair's different. She's wearing it down around her shoulders. Wasn't it short before?

"I know this probably doesn't matter to you, but coming in under a false registry is a crime and I'm going to have to hold you."

Well, progress. "Having you hold me will be a pleasure," I said.

The look that could freeze moving water, the one that shot me full of warm feelings, now went dead serious.

"Captain Wentworth, I'll thank you to keep the clever remarks to yourself. And I would also appreciate it if you would remove your feet from my desk and your ass from my chair." She began to walk around the desk and I was pretty certain she'd physically remove me if necessary. I decided not to test my theory.

We reversed positions and now I stood before her. "I'm going to order your craft impounded until I decide what to do with you." She looked sharply at me, waiting for the expected biting remark. I didn't give her the satisfaction, though I had several suggestions for my punishment. "Since you wouldn't ever part with a craft under your command, I'm going to allow you to move about the station freely. Don't make any trouble, or you'll wind up in the brig." Her icy stare didn't waiver. And her comment about my not leaving my ship proved she remembered a lot about me. Maybe too much.

Before I had a chance to say anything clever or cutting, she walked across the room telling me where I could find food and quarters. Without looking back, she left me.

I realized this woman was certainly different from the Anne I left eight years ago. For another indefinable reason I was more attracted than before. But this Anne was also dangerous. If I dared to pursue, this woman would meet me head on. Leaving the office, I began to plan my strategy.

"She's at four o'clock," the bartender said. Jock remembered me from my first trip through Exeter and was willing to help me out for old times sake.

Her elegant form wasn't hard to spot across the dining room. She was dressed in a ruby red dress that made every other woman in the place fade into oblivion. Crossing over to her, I was rewarded with a genuine, though slightly questioning smile. My plan was coming together, and I knew I was breaking through. Taking Anne's hand I was confident that everything was going to work out brilliantly.

Escorting her to a quiet table in one of the darker corners of the dining room, I nodded to Jock then seated her. It took every bit of restraint I could muster not to accidentally stroke the top of one of her bare shoulders.

"Would you like a drink?" Even if she didn't care for anything, I was in need of something for the nerves.

She leaned on the table, and her brown-eyed gaze drew me in. She said, quietly, "Sure. The usual."

This was going to be a piece of cake. To the waiter I said, "A whiskey, straight up, and-" Anne smiled but said nothing. She wasn't going to give me an inch. "-a sherry. Extra dry." Her smile widened and for a moment I was so mesmerized that the room, the plan and anything I hoped to accomplish, disappeared.

Suddenly, I was pulled back to the dining room by loud music flooding the room. I recognized it as Middle Eastern, and looked around with everyone else to try and find its source.

I had expected the Turkish feast I ordered to come in courses—quietly. Obviously Jock had taken it upon himself to help me out a little. I'd ordered according to the ingredients lists on all the Turkish foods listed on the replicator. How could you go wrong with lots of lemon, olives, lamb, chicken, and an octopus salad thrown in for adventure? As I planned our interlude, I had visions of me kissing her lips glistening with olive oil, and maybe taking the dessert to a very private spot on the observation deck along with a bottle of wine. All those lovely plans were shot as I helplessly watched all the food coming all at once on huge platters. To add insult to injury, trailing along behind was a guy strumming a thing that looked like a lute, another fellow banging a tambourine, and two guys with things that looked like flutes. The real kicker, and probably the worst part of this whole idea was the two belly dancers-complete with finger cymbals.

Every eye in the place was on the spectacle. I dreaded looking Anne's way. She hated calling attention to herself, and this sort of thing was going to be the kiss of death for me. Surprisingly, she was calmly watching as the trays, and musicians, and dancers made their way through the crowded dining room. Again, the easily embarrassed, blushing Anne of years ago was gone and replaced by a confident woman I wanted desperately to get to know know.

Considering how even this glitch seemed to be working in my favor, I figured the best course of action was to act as if all the uproar was part of my original plan and just see where it took us over the course of the evening.

The platters were laid out on our table, and one nearby relinquished by a kind, or perhaps annoyed couple. Eventually, the instruments fell silent, the tiny bells on the dancer's hips quieted, and the conversation of the rest of the room resumed. Now Anne's cheeks matched her ruby red dress, and her smile was a brilliant as I had ever seen it. "Is this all for me?" she asked.

Spreading my hands over the feast I nodded. "All for you. I thought I owed you something for my being such a pain in the neck."

She stood. "Well, you are a pain in the … neck, that's for sure." Turning, she started to walk away.

"Annie, where do you think you're going?" I caught up with her a few feet from the table. (Getting through the crowd now circling our table was difficult.) I'm sure it was accidental, but she'd stopped right between the belly dancers.

"I'm invited to Ambassador Russell's for dinner, and I'm running a little late." The look of innocence on her face was priceless, and the tiny smile playing on her lips made me crazy.

"But what about all this? I ordered it especially for you, and it cost a small fortune." Why did I say such a stupid thing? It wasn't the money that had me all wound up; all I wanted was her company. Maybe what was more compelling was the fact she could clearly do without mine. Her eyes narrowed a bit and I thought I was about to get her a full-volume explanation. Instead, she leaned a little to the left and looked past me.

I heard a giggle and saw a flash of color. Looking at my shoulder I saw a bit of filmy material. It was the same blue worn by one of the dancers. Brushing it off, I turned a little and hissed, "Don't do that." That was when I noticed just how incredibly underdressed they were for a dinner in public.

Anne's smile returned as she once again looked over the assembled throng. "If you had thought to actually invite me to dinner, I would have told you I had plans, and saved you the trouble. And the money." This time she looked quite openly at the two dancers, and said, "But I think you have plenty of new little friends to help you eat it all."

Again, I was caught with nothing to say. She moved closer. Her velvety cheek brushed mine, and the smell of her overpowered all the other scents in the room. For a second I was distracted and thought of nothing but pulling her even closer. Her low voice, and warm breath tickled my ear, demanding I listen. "It was nice of you to remember I like Turkish food, Frederick."

Just then the waiter came up to us with our drinks and she moved away. Taking her glass of sherry, she raised it in a little toast to me, winked and walked away.

Yes sir, this Annie was very dangerous. The danger was that she now could see right through me.

Part Three

Posted on Thursday, 14 September 2006

Entering the holo-suite, I tossed my ditty bag on the floor and commanded, "Computer, chair."

"Arm, side, recliner, corner, easy, elbow, rocking-"

"Arm!" An ugly green leather armchair appeared. If I didn't know better, I'd say Exeter's computer had developed a sense of humor. A few seconds later, a small side table appeared with a glass of amber liquid and a plate of cookies. It had developed a sense of hospitality as well. I took a seat and began running a simulation, hoping to find the reason for a persistent short in the system.

When I designed Exeter's holo program eight years ago, my rampaging ego declared me a master as far as my technical abilities were concerned. As for selling my ideas, I'm surprised that lugging around such massive amounts of bravado hadn't given me a hernia. And, when it came to selling myself in the romance department, I was conceit personified. After all, I'd sold the holo-system tailored to a very small station, sight unseen, for a huge amount of money; what woman wouldn't want such a catch. Well, there was one.

Looking back, I'm sure I was utterly insufferable. The love affair fizzled and now that I'm getting into the guts of this thing, I'm faced with the fact that my technical skills were sub-par at best. I cringed at the sloppy work. I'm embarrassed at how much I had to learn. Well, I have learned over time and I'm hoping the new technologies I've picked up along the way, will please Anne, when I finally see her again. If nothing else, she may be pleased with the free price tag. Regardless of the cost, the system has had eight years of heavy use and while the system is still chugging along, it needs some serious upgrading before the new additions will function without blowing half the other systems on the station. This should be interesting. But, in my work, as with my women, I like a challenge.

Twenty minutes into troubleshooting, I tossed the interface pad aside and ate one of the cookies. The computer can create something that looks like a cookie, too bad it lacks the ability to make it taste like a cookie. It was a good thing I snagged some of the food from my ill-fated date. Not only had the food cost me plenty, but after Anne left me standing flat-footed, I found that the musicians and the dancers expected me to pay them as well. Jock was helpful, but not terribly generous. Out of the whole deal, I managed to salvage my whiskey, some chicken and little things rolled in green leaves, and a proposition from the belly dancers. I was terribly flattered, but declined the offer.

I knocked back the brandy and finished off the chicken. Too bad I hadn't nicked a napkin or two. Wiping my hands on my pants, I went back to the major console if the holo-suite. Something about Turkish food must help with technical thinking because in no time I had the system purged of junk, the new programs installed and was ready to test.
For a minute I was tempted to check out some of Anne's programs. I couldn't help seeing them listed when I was doing the troubleshooting. Some of the titles looked very interesting, but, the old adage about curiosity killing the cat was still true, and as I had used a few more than nine lives in my time, I decided I would be a gentleman and respect her privacy.

Besides, I had a program of my own that I could use. And since it included the lady in question, I could kill two birds with one stone. Obviously Turkish food also makes a person vulnerable to clichés. Anyway, I could test the system and update my holo Anne's physical appearance.

"Computer, run Annie 5."

"Annie 5. Running." Instantly the black and green grid disappeared, and it was a summer day in my hometown. I was standing beside the deep end of the public swimming pool. Under the water was a form swimming towards me. My heart beat a little faster as it came to the edge and broke the surface in a shower of bright crystalline drops.

Bravo. The new codes had cleared up the haze that had always plagued my programs featuring water. The system was handling the extra load and things were looking great. And so was Annie.

She pulled herself up onto the concrete edge. "Throw me that towel, will you, Rick?"

The red towel was hanging on the fence surrounding the pool. Before I had a chance to snag it and toss it to her, she joined me. "Put it around my shoulders, will you?" I did and she caught my hands and held them close. "You're not life guarding today?" I decided then I would never change the way her lips looked when she pouted.

"Uh, no. I'm off. I have a few other things to do." Her skin was of course wet, and cool to the touch, but warmed immediately when held.

She smiled. "If you're not going to be around to save me, like you did last week, I'll be extra careful."

"You should always be careful, Annie."

She moved closer and said, "I can afford to be a little careless, when you're around to keep me safe." The towel dropped when she reached up to touch my cheek.

"Computer, freeze character of Annie."

It was still a hot summer day in my hometown, but my ultimate fantasy girl was frozen mid caress. A drop of water highlighted her bottom lip. If I didn't know better, I'd say the computer was taunting me.

Annie 5 had been one of my favorite programs, until now. Returning to Exeter and seeing the real thing again helped me see the errors in my program. For a minute I thought about deleting her completely in favor of the real Anne.
Just as quickly I decided to keep my holo Annie. If nothing else, tonight proved that nothing is a sure thing, and the chances of Anne and I reconnecting in any meaningful way was a roll of the dice at best. I'd keep my holo Annie, but improve on her resemblance.

"Computer, lengthen Annie's hair, 15 centimeters."

The hair grew instantly and now was brushing her shoulders.

"Add ten centimeters to her hips." Too much. "Subtract five." About right. "Add ten to the bust." That was very lovely, and I was tempted to leave it. "Subtract four. Five. Six." It's funny how four centimeters can make such a noticeable difference. "Add two." She'll never know, and I'll never tell.

I could have saved myself a lot of trouble and just ordered the computer make an exact match of Anne Elliot, head of Exeter Station. But, there are privacy laws, and making a duplicate of a real human for entertainment purposes requires the permission of said person. I'm fairly certain she'd be horrified to find such a request on her desk in the morning.

"Computer, add 3.5 centimeters to height." There was something else that was missing. I walked around her and tried to figure out what it was.

It came to me. I'd never taken notice of Anne's shoulders before. "Computer, place a small mole on her left shoulder, just here." I could have approximated the location verbally, but I ached to touch her. The sun had warmed her skin, and now that she was very nearly an exact copy of Anne, she was more desirable than ever. Except that was all she was, a copy. Just the little time I'd been with Anne since returning to Exeter, I knew that all my programming was wrong. The woman I loved and cared about was not flirty and shallow. She never had been.

Walking around her, I noticed a little irony coming home to roost. I had long ago dressed Annie 5 in a deep red, one-piece bathing suit. When I was a hormone driven youth, I'd seen pictures of a woman from the twentieth century named Marilyn Monroe. At that point in my life, she was the sexiest woman I'd ever seen. One of the pictures was her, on a sunny beach, in this same suit. Somewhere along the line it had become my standard of sensuality. Maybe that was why seeing Anne in her strapless red dress earlier had made me a little nuts. And maybe my programming had been based on my perceptions of what Marilyn Monroe was like. I seemed to have messed up all the way around.

Just as I was about to close Annie, her figured flashed brilliantly, disappeared, and then reappeared. All around us a setting of trees and grassy meadows replaced the pool. The setting flashed and closed, but Annie was reanimated.

"I was hoping we could go for a drive later, Rick." She stepped closer to finish caressing my cheek. "We could take a picnic and go up to the lookout." Leaning in for a kiss, our surroundings again flashed and changed back to the meadow.

Obviously, someone was trying to start a program, not noticing there was already one playing.

"I'm going to go home and change. You pick me up at six!" Anne ran off towards a small wood at the edge of the pasture. It was also now clear that my program had somehow morphed into this one, and my Annie 5 had become part of the new scenario. When I turned to run after her, I ran smack into someone who belonged in the program.

"Hello, I'm Frederick Wentworth. You look awfully familiar, sir. Have we been introduced before?" His hand was extended and I shook it. This was certainly me, but hazy, indistinct somehow. His clothing was of an ancient style: a billowing white shirt and pants of a rough woven material. Buttons on the front looked to be an opening of sorts. The boots were tall thick-soled, and of all the items he wore, they seemed to be the most substantial. His hair was lighter and his face less lined than my own. This was a younger me, taller and more muscular me.

Obviously, this was Anne's program. I had to wonder why she found it necessary to run it so late at night. Taking another look at my improved self, I had to laugh a little that I was not the only one who felt the need to augment reality. Or maybe like me, over time, she had forgotten the actual person.

Just as I let go of holo Frederick's hand, I heard the door open. I couldn't let Anne find me rummaging around in her scenario. "Uh, Frederick, good to meet you, but I'm in a bit of a hurry." I gave him a little salute, and dashed behind a hedge that cut through the field. It would take some doing, but I would have to find a way out of the program and keep Anne from seeing me. Not a little challenge, but an interesting one.

© 2006 Copyright held by the author.

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