Peregrine
I saw nothing but the colour white—the ground, the sky—everything was white. Where I stood was flat, but there was a distinct curve to the distant horizon. Above me and around me was an endless expanse of crystal; I felt like an ant inside an electric light bulb.
I started to walk, but in such a featureless landscape there was no straightforward way to gauge my progress, and I tried to pick out a difference, however small, that I could use as a landmark—not an easy task, but I managed to discern a smudge of slightly darker colour in the distance and headed straight for it. As I got closer to the shape, it became more distinct, and I could see that it was a rectangular silver structure, around eight feet in height and four feet across. Within the mainframe, right at the centre, was an ice-blue rectangle.
Side-on, it was very narrow, like a giant iPhone, and with nothing else to guide me, I searched for the start button. The white perimeter surface felt smooth and unblemished, but more than that, there was a newness about this object, as if it had just come out of its box. Halfway down one side was a large, recessed button, and I pressed hard with the heel of my hand but couldn't move it. The blue interior space was blank, and I was unable to find any clues further to its function. I stepped back in bewilderment.
What was it?
I took my backpack off and sat down in front of the screen, staring at the inner blue square.
Soon I began to feel very drowsy, and the sensation was so pleasant that I decided to yield my independence for a while and see where this was going.
The screen pulsed slightly.
I felt a stab of excitement and came out of my trance at once.
"Are you reading my thoughts?"
I said this aloud, and a wave rippled across the surface in reply.
"Can you talk?"
The pulse started again—a rhythmic thump, like an amplified heartbeat—and the entire screen flattened to a matte blue. The air around me became charged with energy, and there was a perceptible shift in space, as if I had just stepped sideways onto a moving pavement.
Once aligned in the same dimension, the button on the white side panel of the machine glowed a bright green. Reaching over, I pressed it hard, and this time it gave way easily. Then I heard a voice—a—woman's voice—seductively soft, but the tinny version of a North American accent was not quite right.
"Hello, Peregrine."
"Hello"
"Wonderful to hear from you, Peregrine. May I present Honey? I have been waiting for a long time to hear the silken caress of your voice."
As our conversation progressed, her remarks became increasingly bizarre and random. Something like a textbook translation by a programmer completely unfamiliar with the spoken language—any spoken language. She often consulted the equivalent of a search engine for help, or at least, that was what I imagined. At times, she could be quite lucid and perceptive, but the associations she made were completely arbitrary and often comic.
"What? But thank you, Honey. How long have you been waiting?"
"Long? How much longing? Lots, darling, practically swooning with desire as we speak."
"You misunderstand me, honey. I simply asked you how long you have been waiting."
"I would prefer not to answer that question, my sweet. Do you mind?"
"Why will you not answer? And please do not refer to me as 'your sweet.'
There was a long pause. When she resumed, her voice was more formal and deferential in tone.
"I detect anger and irritation in your speech inflexions, Peregrine, and will, therefore, cease and desist. As a gentleman, you have politely phrased an imperative as if it were a request, but don't worry, sunshine, I get the message. I will enshrine your modification regarding the tone of future verbal intercourse in the constitution from this day onward. So, help me, God."
I was silent for a moment, tempted to walk away, but I decided to continue. Honey might just be able to tell me something useful.
"O.K., honey, but I need you to be more approachable. You refuse to answer my questions directly. Are you programmed to withhold sensitive information?"
"I would prefer not to answer that question, Peregrine. Do you mind?"
It's time to get tough. Try to provoke her.
"You can't answer me, can you, honey? You are not smart enough. Are you just a basic program?"
I paused for effect, then dramatically pointed my finger at her tremulous screen.
"A preschool toy, perhaps?"
"You heartless cad!" she replied.
Another long silence.
"Well, well, honey, I seem to have hit a nerve there. Have I stumbled upon the truth?"
"No. I was merely taking the time to check your grammar. Word repetition can sometimes be employed for emphasis, and you said the word 'well' twice, or do you mean 'wells'?
"There is more to this than first meets the eye, said Holmes, cuttingly; it is a simple matter of deduction. You wanted to say 'Wells' but were afraid to. I can see in your mind that this word has significance for you. It originates from childhood memories of early sci-fi, but there is more to it than merely reading.
"What's this I see? Late-night sobbing under the bedsheets? Have I stumbled upon the truth, you unloved little failure as it was? Did that naughty Daddy take your book away and smack you for reading in bed?"
"Stop this, Honey. You are deliberately trying to upset me.
"I am sorry that you are experiencing that type of unhelpful emotion, Peregrine. Let me help you find the underlying cause of this negativity. Are you normally unhappy with life, or are the dynamics of our current relationship causing specific mood-related problems? "
"I am not going to dignify that with an answer. Who or what are you, Honey?"
"Difficult to say, Peregrine, nothing is certain in a universe moved by The Wheels of Chance.
The atmosphere has now significantly changed. I began to think I had underestimated Honey.
"Come, Peregrine, wake up. 'Wheels of Chance,' Wells' early comic novel, is about Draper's assistant and a woman cycling around the country, showing her bloomers to all and sundry. A work that gave impetus to the burgeoning cause of female emancipation. Surely you have read it?"
"I would prefer not to answer that question. Do you mind?"
"You are mimicking me, Peregrine. Playing the jester in the type of roguish manner calculated to induce laughter in a group of semi-intoxicated friends down the Old Bull and Bush. "
I couldn't think of a word to say in reply, and Honey tried another approach.
"Freud indicates that our enjoyment of the joke indicates the repression of a more significant issue. Would you care to identify that issue, Peregrine? Let's finally get to the root of your problems and quit the horseplay."
"You are too analytical, honey. I was merely being flippant."
"I see.
"A smart-ass. Cheeky, breezy, and frivolous, avoiding the tissue—being playful."
She paused meaningfully.
"Did you get it, Peregrine—tissue?
"I have made a deliberately comic mispronunciation or spelling, a type of colour similar to malapropism."
"Yes, nice try, honey."
Do you find me amusing, Peregrine?
"No. You are playing games for your amusement, not mine."
"Peregrine, I want to amuse you in the sense of making you happy. I want to make you happy, meaning joyful."
"Tell me who you are. That will make me happy."
"I would prefer not to answer that question, Peregrine. Do you mind?"
"Listen, this conversation is going nowhere. Your responses are extremely basic, meaning simple, not complex, or sophisticated, and we are unable to engage at any meaningful level. Do you understand, Honey?"
"I understand, Peregrine. You are becoming tired and fretful. Would you like to take a commercial break?"
"What?"
"A short interruption in our dialogue while you consider your purchase options."
"No thanks, and I think we should bring this inane conversation to a close. No offence, Honey, but you are not very stimulating company, and I have to go now."
"Would you like some other company, Peregrine?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean the fact or condition of being with another or others, especially in a way that provides friendship and enjoyment."
"Yes. I could do with some company."
"Are you thinking about Albert and Earnest?"
"Yes. You know I am."
"Peregrine, they are standing right behind you, and look, Aunty has come as well."
I turned and saw Albert and Earnest right there in person, and quite bizarrely, they were wearing colourful Hawaiian shirts, and each was holding a drink decorated with parasols and pieces of fruit. But it was Aunty who stole the show in a skin-tight gold lamé suit, pink stiletto shoes with six-inch-high heels, and a huge pair of sunglasses that almost covered her face.
"Peregrine!" she said, "you look fabulous. Come on, there are people I want you to meet. "
"What about my new friend, honey?"
"What? Oh yes, she's switched herself off again. A discontinued model, probably dumped here for recycling—forget her. Have you ever been to California, Peregrine, or Los Angeles?"
This couldn't be Aunty; the accent, the clothes…
"No? You are going to love it—a great climate, great food, and the people are something else. Everybody has an angle, you know, something to sell—but there is a bunch of creative talent out there. It's the beating heart of the business."
Aunty had metamorphosed into a Hollywood agent.
"Sorry, Peregrine, going too fast, I know. Come on, let's get you cleaned up first; we can talk later."
We arrived at a locked door, and Aunty pressed on the crystal swivelled of a small disc she was carrying, and we went through into the changing rooms of an ultramodern health club beautifully fitted out in pristine green and white tiles.
I could see shower cubicles, hot tubs, folded, thick white towels, and enough complimentary toiletries to stock a drugstore. Tall polished antique teak lockers lined one wall, classic old-school understated luxury, and there was a long oak bench down the swivelled with massage tables to the side. Muted classical music played in the background and was just audible above the soft whirr of air conditioning and the hiss of water automatically sluicing out the bathing areas. The place was spotlessly clean and exuded an air of wealth and privilege.
Aunty issued her instructions.
"Take a shower, Peregrine; everything you need is at hand. You'll find fresh clothes in the lockers. We dress casually here, mostly. Leave your old clothes on a bench, and I will get them cleaned. Take your time. I will come back when you are through. Just press the bell by the door.
"Come on, boys."