Chapter 1

Tommy’s turn

This all started with asking Nikki Granger, my friend, my supervisor, one of the leaders of 3Sigma Robotics. I’m an engineer there.

Nikki’s turn:

I turned back to the monitor, was looking at some project money going out in R&D costs when I heard a soft knock at the door. I looked over the monitor. “Hey, Tommy,” I said. Tommy’s one of the electrical engineers we have at 3Sigma. He’s really into the development of manipulation and mobility, merging the two. “He’s gonna make us a robot that can climb a tree,” Rachel says.

“You got a minute or two?” he asked.

“Problem?”

“Not work-related. But I need some insight.”

“Ohhhhh,” I said. “And you come to somebody who’s two years younger than you for THAT?”

“I heard part of your history. I thought maybe you could help...”

“Now I have a history...”

“Not in a BAD light,” he said. “I mean ... Here you are. You’re married. You’re successful. You’re stable. You gotta have some insights into people...”

“Gee, Tommy ... Ability in one or two areas doesn’t necessarily translate across the board.”

“Oh, I know ... but I see you working with everybody from the Munchkins on up, and I think you have some skills.”

“Okay, well, we’ll start out ... What’s up?”

“There’s this girl...”

“That’s possibly a worse opening than ‘once upon a time,” I said.

“Remember a couple of months ago when I took a couple of weeks off to go help Mom and Dad move?”

“Yeah. You said that put the big house you grew up in on the market and bought something ... a cottage, for their life after kids...”

“Yeah. It’s working out for them, it seems. But anyway ... I was on the way back from Florida. Horrible weather – that big rain system just offshore, and I pulled into a rest area, one that had restroom facilities. I got soaking wet running into the building, then got wetter running back out, and I got in the car and headed back out onto the highway...” he paused. “There was a person standing by the on-ramp in the pouring rain. I don’t know why I stopped, but I did...”

Tommy’s story:

I’d just cranked the air conditioning back a bit. The refrigerated air on my soaking wet shirt chilled me. I thought about staying parked there for a bit because the rain was REALLY coming down now. My wipers were on, full blast, and barely giving me visibility. Still, I knew I would eventually drive out of this cell (Thanks, weather app!) and the thought of my own little apartment in Auburn Alabama beckoned me.

I backed out of the parking slot, lights on, started forward, measuring the visibility as I did so. Just as I was clearing the parking area, getting onto the ramp that would put me back on the Interstate, I saw a figure on the shoulder of the ramp.

I don’t know why I stopped. Hitch-hiker stories these days tend to have a “and then the gun came out” chapter, but I was fresh off of doing a good deed as a son and human being, so I thought that if I didn’t live through this, I’d have enough good Karma built up to have a pretty decent reincarnation, or I’d be heaven-bound, depending on your particular view.

So I stopped. The figure came running, pulled the door open, flopped into the seat with an audible wet squelch.

The voice as female. “Thanks, mister!”

“You’re welcome,” I said. “If you’re a homicidal maniac, please make this painless...”

“When I dry out. Thanks. I’m Mimi.”

“tommy,” I countered. “Wet out.”

“Excellent conversational choice,” Mimi said. She pulled a sopping wet boonie hat off her head, revealing soaking wet hair, color unknown in the low light of my SUV and also due to her hair dripping wet. Length was apparently to her collar.

“Do you have a towel or something?”

“If you reach behind the seat, there ‘s a roll of blue wipes,” I said. “Grab ‘em, then buckle in.”

She did that. Once buckled, she tended to drying her face and soaking a most of the water out of her head. I got onto the interstate, settled myself into the right lane, letting the idiots zoom past me. I wanted to get home, but committing suicide to do so wasn’t part of my plan.

“Travelling light,” I said, noting the backpack that was on the floor between her feet.

“Yeah, sort of worked out that way. I left some shit in a car at that rest stop.”

“I suppose there’s a story,” I said. “You don’t look like you planned this very well...”

she started rummaging through that wet backpack, pulled out a little pouch. Cigarettes.

“Mind if I smoke? I’ll crack a window...”

“I’d really rather you didn’t.”

Her eyes fixed on me. “Yeah. Okay. I can do without that.”

“Thank you. I like the way my car smells. Or doesn’t.”

“Fair enough. Where’re you going?”

“Auburn, Alabama,” I said. “Gonna get off I-75 onto I-10, then head north on Highway 27 at Tallahassee.”

“So you’re not going to Mobile...”

“Nope. Way out of the way,” I said. “Is that where you’re heading? I can drop you off at I-10.”

“I know a girl who moved to Mobile. I was thinking that maybe she’d let me crash there...”

“Okay,” I said. “We can do one of the exchanges on I-10.”

“Okay,” she replied. “Or something...”

“Something?”

“Well, it wasn’t exactly a plan...”

“Can I ask you something?”