“Are you afraid that you will never know success?”
“What kind of question is that?” An eyebrow was raised.
A demurring wave of a hand that glittered faintly as if it was made of light. “Its a good question. I ask it often.”
“It is not a good question,” he groused.
“It is, if it does the job.”
Silence.
“So are you?”
More silence.
“I can’t help you if you don’t answer my questions.”
A gruff “Yes.”
“Yes what? To answering my questions or answering the question?”
“Both,” he replied. The eyebrow slowly lowered to join its partner again, and the man’s face was once again passive.
“How do you define success?” The female voice faded away at the end of the sentence, leaving the heavy implications of the word itself hang in the air like a cloud.
“I don’t know.”
“You must have an idea.”
“I used to think it was an impossible ideal to be strove for. I used to think it was money and material success. Now though, after everything… I don’t know what it is. I don’t need peers to tell me that I am success. I don’t need the validation.”
“So accolades are not for you?”
“No. I don’t need that. I have never needing anything like that.”
“What do you need then, Mr. Davies?”
“I need friends.”
“And you do not have friends?” The Therapist replied calmly.
He swallowed heavily. “At this moment, you are the closest thing to a friend that I have.”
“As a virtual construct, I consider that to be supremely unhealthy.”
“As a human, I feel the same. Trust me.” Mr. Davies turned his head to look at this virtual therapist. She had been designed to feel both maternal and sexually attractive at the same time, pulling at either end of the empathy spectrum of her patients. It was slightly uncomfortable either way to be honest. “I am a hermit. A very rich hermit, but a hermit nonetheless. I am crippled by my fears of the outside world… what would you suggest?”
The virtual therapist, virtually seated in a real world chair, lowered her virtual pen to the virtual paper in her lap and scribbled some notes. “Have you thought about consciousness transfer?”
“Just moving my consciousness from this body to another is not going to fix the headspace problems. I will take those anywhere ‘I’ go.”
“No doubt. But a new face, and a new body, might provide you a sense of difference that makes it all worthwhile. Think of it as living in someone else’s skin. It could be liberating.”
“Or crushing.”
The virtual therapist scribbled her virtual notes.
“I think it is funny that your programmers made you appear to interact with a something as archaic as paper, when I know you are just storing this information in a program sector somewhere.” Mr. Davies shook his head slowly.
“It is comforting,” the virtual therapist nodded solemnly. “I was designed to provide the greatest amount of comfort to the patients that I serve. And I was not programmed. I am a fully licensed AI therapist, and as you know, I am one of the best.”
Mr. Davies kept his mouth shut.
The Therapist continued, “Try it. One day. I can arrange it right now.”
“Right now?”
“Its only your consciousness. It is not as if we are moving an AI around.” The Therapist admonished lightly.
“Its my consciousness!” Mr. Davies burst.
“It is. You can think about it.”
“I would hope so.”
“I lied. Your mind is currently in transfer. Using your retainer, I have secured the necessary permits.”
“What?!”
“I said I lied. AIs can lie. Surprise. Your transfer should be done it 3… 2… 1…”
“You meddlesome…” Mr. Davies started. He finished a moment later… “Bitch!”
“I am sorry, ma’am?” The waitress standing in front of Mr. Davies was looking very confused. She continued, “Ma’am? You were ordering something?”
Mr. Davies took a second and looked around. He was sitting in an open air cafe, somewhere sunny, vaguely European. The windows on the street fronts had small awnings in a myriad array of colors, and the tables around him were small circular things nestled lightly on old cobblestones.
“Um… Americano please?”
The waitress nodded with a slight smile and moved on. Mr. Davies tentatively reached up to his chest and had the strangest sensation as he felt breasts that were connected to his own body.
“Holy shit.”
A man leaned into Mr. Davies field of view. “Pardon the interruption, but did you just say holy shit?”
“Uh, holy shit?”
“I thought so.” The young man smiled widely, showing his impressively handsome teeth in the process. He pointed at the spired building over his shoulder. “Not the best thing to say in front of a cathedral. God may over hear.”
Mr. Davies felt a wave of terror… or was it a wave of admiration? Did he just feel smitten? He felt his lip start to curl involuntarily at the thought.
“You from around here?” The man continued. His eyelashes were very long, framing his eyes strangely. The man was very attractive in every way that Mr. Davies could tell. Which was a huge problem for a heterosexual fifty five year old man that had never questioned his sexuality.
“I… uh… no thanks?”
“Well, if you change your mind, let me know,” the man winked. “And watch the blasphemy.”
Mr. Davies pulled the purse that was sitting on the table closer, rummaging through it, looking for a mirror or something. He felt his delicate (delicate?) fingers close on a compact. Pulling it open, he found himself looking into the eyes of a beautiful twenty something which also happened to be a very luxurious brunette. The phone in the purse started to ring, and Mr. Davies answered it hesitantly.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Davies. This is Mary from De2our, the agency that manages Vivian. I am just calling to remind you of the terms of your rental. You may not damage, or otherwise harm the body, including excessive eating or drinking, may not engage in dangerous or illicit behaviors, and you may not have any sexual relations. You are currently limited to a Tourist license, and must only stay in public places while touring the city you are located in. Your license will expire at nine p.m. local this evening and you will be transferred back to your origin point. If you understand these terms and conditions, please reply yes or no.”
“Yes.”
“Confirmed. If you have any issues, please press the panic button on the armband located on your right wrist, and likewise, use the same armband for any purchases while you are on license and they will be charged back to your account. If you press the panic button, we will attempt to contact you via Vivian’s phone first. Do you have any questions?”
“No?” Mr. Davies replied.
“Great! It looks like Vivian is currently in Naples, so you should have a great day! Have fun and thank you for using De2our. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye.” He parroted into the silent line. Mary had already hung up.
He put the phone back into Vivian’s purse, along with the compact, and zipped it shut. He slung the strap over her head, and felt it settle unnaturally between what were temporarily his own foreign breasts. Mr. Davies adjusted it gently, pressed his armband against the Cafe table’s payment processor, waited for the beep.
“Your Americano… to go?” The waitress returned.
“If you could.”
“Sure. Are you ok?” The waitress’s eye traveled quickly over to the handsome man at the next table, and she lowered her voice. “Is that one bothering you?”
“No, no. Just want to get going.”
The waitress heaved a sigh and smiled. “No problem. Let me put this in a to-go cup for you.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Mr. Davies who was Vivian, noticed that the handsome man went very still and dropped his coffee cup on the ground, where it shattered spectacularly. After a moment, the man leaned over and started picking up the pieces.
“Shit,” he muttered.
“You shouldn’t curse,” Mr. Davies teased in his strange voice.
The handsome man turned his head, and looked Vivian up and down without any recognition in his eyes. “Sorry, I was startled. Where am I?”
“Apparently Naples,” Mr. Davies replied.
The waitress returned with his/her Americano in a to go cup and noticed the broken cup at the handsome man’s table. The waitress handed the Americano over, and with a sigh and went to pick up the pieces. As Mr. Davies started to walk away from the Cafe, she heard the man’s phone start to ring, and cut off sharply.
“Yes,” the man said, then after another moment he repeated the same. “Yes, why am I in a man’s body?”
Mr. Davies stopped short and turned around. The handsome man was nodding, and then smiled. “It is Naples. Thank you. And goodbye to you as well.”
The handsome one stood carefully, and bumped his wrist against the payment processor.
Mr. Davies-who-was-also-Vivian walked back. “Tourist license?”
The handsome one smiled. “Yes. I have the whole day in Naples! This is great!”
“First time?” Mr. Davies replied.
“Yes,” the handsome man slid his phone into his pocket. “Are you on a license as well?”
“I am.”
The handsome man held out his hand. “My name is Grace.”
“Russell.” Mr. Davies replied, shaking the proffered large hand with his dainty own.
“What? Ha! Well aren’t we the pair. Two Tourists that are all mixed up. I am going to give that Therapist AI a severe tongue lashing when I get back to Texas.”
Mr. Davies laughed, and surprised himself when his laugh came out in a different way, which made him laugh some more in spite of himself.
“What is so funny, Russell?” The handsome man that was Grace tilted her head slightly in confusion.
“Well, this may sound absurd, but I think you and I were just setup on a blind date.”
“Let me guess, you are lonely because you think you are crazy, so you have cut yourself off from the world?” Grace asked with a grin.
“Got it in one.” Russell admitted. “Or maybe a one and a half.”
“Well that makes perfect sense. Us crazy people have to keep it unique. Come on! If you and I are on a date, lets make the most of it… that way when we get back to ourselves, we can tell that AI to stick it in its ear.”
“If we have fun won’t that just make the Therapist think it got things right?” Russell asked.
“Well if it does, it does. Either way, we are here, our crazy is contained, and we can enjoy a glorious Italian spring day. Shall we?” Grace that was the handsome man put her arm out with a chivalrous half bow, and simultaneously winked at Russell.
Something felt light in his chest. Something unidentifiable, like he was holding a bird gently in his hands. With a shrug he put his hand in the crook of Grace’s arm, and they walked slowly onward towards the Square watching the pigeons wheel over head.