Albert awakened quite early the next morning, which wasn’t much of a surprise, considering that—as he now realized—he had gone to bed barely an hour after getting home from work and had fallen asleep not long after that.  At some point it seemed he had laid the book he’d been reading on his bedside table, though he didn’t recall doing so.

He looked at his bedside clock—a relic of sorts that he kept despite the fact that he could use his cell phone or computer for the same purposes it served.  It was just before six in the morning.  It was good that he hadn’t actually needed to get up in the middle of the night to check on the response to the question he was supposedly going to ask, based on what he had told Walter.  He had certainly not set any alarm.

As the thought about not needing an alarm occurred to him, Albert realized that, despite having slept for nearly eleven hours—that was his estimate, anyway—he didn’t feel the achy, stiff, confused feeling he often seemed to get when he overslept.  Also, despite his having laid down for so long, his head didn’t hurt in the slightest.

He really must be getting healthier.  Certainly, he didn’t feel as if his sleep had been forced, or in response to any kind of intoxication—which made sense, since he hadn’t taken even over-the-counter meds, let alone alcohol or anything stronger.  He just felt like he’d had a luxuriant, relaxed rest because he’d been able to do it.  He made a bet with himself that he would probably look even better, even younger, when he looked in the mirror that morning.

Sometimes on weekends he would put off showering for a while after he got up, since he didn’t need to get ready for work.  Now, if anything, he felt eager to wash himself, since he would be using the V-42 to do it.  He didn’t know if any limits existed on how much it could rejuvenate him, but he realized that even if it hit such a limit, he would want to keep using it.  It smelled so fresh and invigorating, and when he used it, he felt cleaner than any other soap or shampoo had ever made him feel.

As he walked into the bathroom, bringing a casual change of clothes to don after his shower, he looked at himself in the mirror.  It was hard to say if he looked noticeably better or younger than the day before, but he certainly didn’t look any worse.  He also thought, just maybe, that he looked slimmer.  As far as he could remember, last night had been the first meal he’d missed since using the V-42, but maybe he was unconsciously being more physically active—and maybe a bit less gluttonous—since he’d gotten the shampoo.

In any case, he didn’t feel as though his skipped dinner had made him fatigued in any way, and he had to admit that he was starting to crave some breakfast.  It was no more than a minor pang, and his stomach was certainly not growling, but he thought that, after he got dressed, it would be nice to have some eggs and toast or something along those lines.

“Good morning,” he said, as he saw the V-42 in its three containers.  He still didn’t feel self-conscious about disrobing in its presence, though it did occur to him to notice that fact.

The V-42, in response to his greeting, wrote, “Good morning, Albert.  Did you sleep well?”

“Yes I did,” Albert replied, tossing his pajamas into the laundry basket in the closet across from the bathroom.  “And I slept a long time.”

“Yes,” the V-42 said, “we noticed that you were asleep quite a bit longer than usual.  Do you feel ill at all?”

“No, no,” Albert said, turning the shower on and waiting for it to warm up before getting in.  “I feel fine.  I think, maybe, I’m just catching up a bit on who knows how many years of bad sleep.  Like you said, I think it’s just that my body being healthier makes me able to rest better.”

“That seems plausible,” the shampoo agreed.

When the stuff didn’t elaborate, Albert put his hand out to test the water stream.  It was pleasantly warm already, so he stepped into the shower.

He decided he would go back to using the shampoo bottle that morning, in which there was mostly the original liquid—if liquid was really the right term.  He poured it into his hand, already delighting in the scent.  Then he lathered himself up, feeling almost as if he were getting a light, superficial massage all over his body as he soaped first his hair, then the rest of him.

He supposed it was possible, at some level, that the shampoo’s squillions of little machines really were massaging him in some way, or perhaps stimulating local nerves to make him feel pleasant and relaxed.  He thought about asking, but decided he didn’t want to make the shampoo think he wanted  it to do something like that, if it wasn’t in fact already doing it.  Whatever it was doing, he was okay with it, and didn’t feel it needed to change.

All too soon, there was no credible excuse he could make to himself for staying in the shower any longer, so he rinsed himself off, stifling a sigh, and then shut off the water and grabbed his towel to dry himself.  In short order, he was finished, and he brushed his teeth and then got dressed in casual, weekend clothes.  He thought that they felt less snug on him than they had until recently.  Though he knew he might be imagining the change, he honestly didn’t think that was the case.

He was about to head to his refrigerator to get out some food for breakfast, now feeling pleasantly hungry, when he heard his cell phone chirp, indicating that it had received some new message.

He looked over at where it sat on his bedside table, and he grimaced, feeling slightly tense.  There was only one person who was likely to text him so early on a Saturday.

Albert sighed and turned away from the refrigerator, walking across to his bed, which took a surprising amount of time, since he was in no hurry.  In fact, he half wished that his phone would recede away from him with every step he took toward it, but of course, the laws of reality were not quite as mutable as all that.  Within a few seconds, he reached the phone and when he activated its screen, he saw that there were two texts, not just one.  Apparently, the first had arrived while he was in the shower.

They were both from Walter, of course.  The first one read, Hey, good morning Albert.  Anything to report?

Once again, Albert was mildly put out by the terse and borderline rude words, though at least Walter had begun with “Good morning”.  Still, asking about anything to “report” seemed to carry some implication that Albert was a subordinate, and that was irritating.

The next text, which came about ten minutes after the first, read, I hope you’re not still asleep.  Can you call me when you get this?

At least that was a bit more polite, and was plainly a request rather than any kind of demand.

Albert sighed.  He went over to his only real personal seat in the room, a sort of office/gaming chair that he found far more pleasant than anything but a true stuffed recliner.  Sitting down, looking at the phone in his hand, he tried to steel himself for the call that Walter had requested.  Maybe he should just text back instead.  He could claim that he had a sore throat, something like that.

Then again, he was so much healthier since he had started using the V-42 that he felt it was utterly unbelievable that he would have gotten sick enough not to be able to talk in just the few hours since he had last spoken to Walter.  Of course, Walter hadn’t seen him in person since their meeting at the restaurant, so he wouldn’t know just how amazingly healthy Albert was, but still, Albert didn’t think he could quite pull the trick off.

Of course, he could simply stonewall for a while, pretend that he was still asleep right now, and call Walter later.  There was no way for Walter to know how late Albert had gone to bed nor when he had awakened.  Even given the fiction of having set an alarm to wake up after four hours to see if the answer had come early, Albert thought it perfectly plausible that he might have then had trouble getting back to sleep and then overslept.  Walter should fairly expect to receive a call any time before noon and not be too surprised.

Still, Albert was pretty sure Walter was champing at the proverbial bit and possibly even pacing back and forth.  Albert wondered idly whether Walter had slept at all, or if he’d been forcing himself to wait until the earliest reasonable hour to text Albert.

No, it didn’t seem fair to make him wait any longer than was necessary, and it certainly wouldn’t be kind.  Albert did not relish the conversation he was going to have—and not merely because he would be lying—but putting it off wasn’t going to make it easier.  It was only reasonable to get it over with.

If only the reasonableness of that fact had ever, for anyone, made going through with such things easier.

With a sigh, Albert looked at the message from Walter and thumbed the phone icon near his personal information, activating the regular, old-fashioned—so to speak, anyway—calling system.  After a pause, he heard the antique sound of a ringing phone, but the ringing lasted only one round before the call was connected.

“Hey, Albert,” Walter’s voice came through.  “I hope I didn’t wake you up.”  There was, perhaps, a minor hint of accusation in his tone.

“Nope,” Albert replied.  “Though you did text me while I was in the shower, which is why I didn’t answer your first message.  I didn’t call earlier because, whatever you might’ve said, I wasn’t sure if you’d be asleep, and I didn’t want to wake you.  Also, to be honest, I’m not really enthusiastic about talking on the phone in the middle of the night.”

Walter laughed briefly, but it sounded a bit forced.  Then he said, “Well, even if I had been asleep, I wouldn’t mind getting woken up for good news.”

Walter was obviously fishing for some hopeful information, and was clearly avoiding Albert’s description of his own preferences.  Albert couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for him, knowing he was going to disappoint his old friend.  With an indrawn breath that was almost a sigh, he said, “Yeah, well…I guess I can understand that.”

He wasn’t sure if Walter picked up on his hesitant tone or not, but in any case, the response was, “So…how did it go?  What happened?”

Sighing properly this time, Albert said, “Well, first off, when I got up after four hours, the reply wasn’t finished yet.  I mean, it was obvious something was…forming, but it wasn’t anything anyone could read.  I don’t need my reading glasses anymore, so I knew it wasn’t just that I was having trouble reading it.  It was sort of like…like words were gradually fading in, but only in kind of random pixels or something.  I couldn’t tell what it was going to say, yet.”

He heard Walter hum an obviously less than pleased reaction, but then Walter said, “Well, I guess it was a lot to hope for, for everything to be too convenient.”

“Yeah,” Albert agreed.  “I guess so.  So, anyway, I went with your idea about splitting the difference and got up about two hours later, and the reply was just about complete.  It was still a tiny bit fuzzy, but I could read it well enough by then.”

He was fairly impressed by his ability to lie with such comparative intricacy, but it wasn’t a fact that he relished.  He had never been fond of deception, and he did it only when it felt truly necessary.  Still, this was probably one of those times; in fact, it was probably more one of those times than any other time he could recall.

“I guess six hours isn’t all that bad,” Walter commented, sounding, if anything, slightly optimistic.  “It’s better than eight, anyway.”  He paused for a moment, as if frightened to hear the report that he so obviously was eager to receive.  Then, he asked, “So, what did it say?”

Albert could sympathize with Walter’s uncertainty, particularly given what he was going to be told.  He too vacillated, largely because he was going to tell a lie, but he supposed his vacillation would add to his persuasiveness, since Walter would surely take what was coming as bad news.  He said, “Well…it said…it said that it was…it was against its basic programming…or, what did it say, that it had an ‘ethical injunction’ I think it said…I’m not still in the bathroom, but I’m pretty sure that’s what it said, that it had an ethical injunction against being used for monetary gain.”

He waited for quite a long moment for Walter to reply.  When he did, it was only a quiet, “What?”

Albert guessed that Walter hadn’t really had any trouble understanding him, so he didn’t repeat his response, but instead said, “I know, right?  It’s…quite a surprise.”

“No, wait,” Walter said, “that doesn’t make sense.  I mean…I mean, it was in a plastic bottle.  You bought it from the store.  Isn’t that an example of it being used for monetary gain?  What did it actually say?  Can you…could you go over and read it to me directly?”

“I…yeah, I guess so,” Albert said, and he turned to head toward the bathroom.  He tried to keep a slow pace, but he was aware that, given how small his living area was, even a comically slow walk would get him there in a few seconds.

“The message is still there, right?” Walter said as Albert moved.  “I guess it didn’t…it doesn’t erase its message right after it writes it, or right after you read it?”

Albert mentally kicked himself for not having thought to say to Walter that the message was gone, but he had already acted as if it were not.  He could hardly make a credible claim that he had forgotten that fact.  So, he replied, “No, no it’s not gone.  I guess it just…waits until I say something else.  Or, well, probably after long enough it would erase itself.”

“Okay,” Walter said.  “Well, let me know, please.  I want to try to understand exactly what it said.”

Albert, despite his deliberately slow pace, was nearing the door to his bathroom.  He was trying to remember just what the V-42 had suggested as a reply to Walter, so he could say it as if he were reading it off the side of the cup.

When he entered the bathroom, however, he realized that the V-42 had been listening to his conversation, or at least his end of it, and had realized what he would need.  Printed plainly on the side of the cup were the words, “We’re sorry, Albert.  That would be against our programming.  We have an ethical injunction against being used for monetary gain.”

He read this to Walter, who grumbled a bit and said, “That’s…that can’t be right.  It doesn’t make sense.”  He paused for a moment, and Albert heard some movement, the sound of clicking and clacking, a flutter as of a piece of paper, and then Walter said, “Could you read it back to me a little slowly so I can write it down?  I want to get the exact words.”

This request surprised Albert, but he guessed that was the way a scientist would approach things.  He didn’t see what difference getting the exact words would make, but he was actually almost too distracted by the V-42’s cleverness even to think about it.

He reread the words written on the side of the plastic cup slowly, one at a time, erring on the side of almost sarcastically slothful speech, but Walter didn’t seem to mind.  He repeated back each word as he heard it, even confirming the punctuation as he copied it down.  Albert half expected him to ask to check the spelling, but he realized there were no ambiguous words in the message.

After they were done, Walter read the message back, saying, “‘We’re sorry, Albert.  That would be against our programming.  We have an ethical injunction against being used for monetary gain.’  But that’s bullshit.  It’s…you bought the stuff at the convenience store!  Is it only okay for convenience stores to make monetary gain off it?”

Albert supposed that was a fair question, though he didn’t think it was a thoroughgoing contradiction.  “I don’t know,” he said, not having to feign his uncertainty.  “Maybe it’s…maybe it’s one thing to sell a bottle of it, but another thing to sell its…its properties or something.”

“But it said that it…didn’t it already say it wouldn’t let itself just be reproduced and bottled and sold and everything?  Why would it…it doesn’t make sense.  I mean, it said it wanted to work for you, but now it’s like…resisting.  And anyway, what’s the idea of an ‘ethical’ injunction against being used for monetary gain?  There’s nothing unethical about making money, as long as you’re not cheating someone, and we definitely wouldn’t be doing that.  What’s wrong with making money?”

“I don’t know,” Albert admitted.  He was a bit thrown by Walter’s questions, so he was only half serious when he said, “Maybe it’s sort of, more…well, socialistic in nature, or something.  I mean, it really is made up out of a bunch of really tiny machines, all working together for the ‘common good’, you know.”

“So’s the human body,” Walter countered, “but believe me, each cell doesn’t act as anything but an individual entity, following its own programming.  It does what it means to do according to its local signals and forces.  It’s just that cooperating with other cells is the best thing for any one cell to do to benefit itself.  But even that can go awry, when something like cancer happens.”

Albert blinked, surprised to receive a biological/philosophical discussion triggered by his own flippant, off-the cuff remark.  “I don’t know,” he said.  “Maybe the fact that cancer happens is an example of the…the evils of capitalism, or at least the pitfalls, when it goes off kilter inside a person.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Walter said.  “Cancer has more in common with communism than capitalism.  But all that’s beside the point.  I don’t understand how this stuff can possibly have some…some ban on working for profit.  It doesn’t make sense.  How would it know?  Why would it care?”

“I don’t know,” Albert admitted, “I didn’t invent or program the stuff.”

“Maybe…” Walter began, then hesitated.  He paused, muttered, and Albert thought he heard the sound of what might have been his friend chewing a fingernail.  Finally, Walter asked, “Do you think it would let me ask it questions?  I mean, do you think I could come over and…and talk to it?  That it would answer me?”

Albert was a bit taken aback by this request.  He hadn’t expected Walter to ask for such a thing, given that replies to questions took six hours as far as he knew.  Indeed, Albert responded, “What, you want to come over here and ask it questions and then just…just wait around for it to answer?”

“I don’t know, maybe,” Walter replied.  Albert was more than a little irritated by the fact that Walter didn’t even so much as ask if that was okay with him.  “I just feel like I’m missing something in the go-between kind of situation we’re in.  I want to be able to ask it stuff, directly.  I’m…well, to be honest, I think it might be holding out on us, like…like deliberately saying things that aren’t true.”

Albert was a bit unnerved by Walter’s suspicion.  Had there been something in his voice, in his choice of words, which had given away the fact that he was being disingenuous?  He guessed that not being a good liar was nothing to be ashamed of, but it was troubling at the moment.

Trying to play his part as well as he could, Albert asked, “Why would it do that?”

“I don’t know,” Walter admitted, his frustration only too clear in his voice.  “Maybe it’s some kind of…test or something, to see if someone has the gumption to really use it or…or maybe it’s got some kind of relative prohibition kind of thing, but it’s not absolute.  Like, maybe it doesn’t want to be used for profit in a perfect world, but because it does want to work for you it’ll make an exception.”

Albert was, he admitted to himself, impressed by just how much Walter had thoroughly accepted the fact that the shampoo was actually a sentient collection of tiny machines, networked together and capable of doing actual repairs on a human body.  The situation should have engendered greater skepticism.  It wasn’t as thought Walter’s improved allergy symptoms would have been that impressive.

Then again, Walter was the one who had actually tested the stuff, had seen it hide itself, and self-destruct, but who had also seen under the microscope what its physical nature actually entailed.  Maybe that was so remarkable and unusual, especially for someone who knew how things usually looked and acted under a microscope, to be utterly convincing.

But Walter had never seen the writing on the cup.  He had only received reports from Albert.  It would be hard for him to accept that the messages had all been accurately conveyed, even if he trusted Albert completely.  If he did, it was misplaced trust, Albert admitted to himself with chagrin, but after all, he hadn’t asked Walter to have such schemes and dreams.

Perhaps his guilt was swaying him somewhat, and that was why he honestly wanted to let Walter come and question the V-42.  Nevertheless, he was diffident enough about it at least to want to put it off a bit.  So, he said, “Okay, well…I guess it’s okay with me.  But, before you bother coming over, let me ask it if that’s okay.  I mean, if it’s not going to answer questions from you, or if it’s not going to answer at all while you’re around, then that would be a waste of your time.”

Walter took in a breath, but he paused, and then he asked, “Do you think that’s going to be…do you think it would do that?”

“Honestly, no,” Albert replied.  “I don’t see why it wouldn’t answer if you’re around.  I mean, if it wants to work for me, it ought to at least be okay if I ask it to let you ask questions and to respond.  But it’s worth being sure.”  Then, further inspiration struck him, and he added, “Also, on an unrelated and a lot more ordinary note, I actually have some errands I need to run, and if you’re going to be coming over to do this, I want to get them done before you do, so I don’t have them hanging over my head.  I can ask it if it’s going to be okay with you asking questions, and then we’ll know in…well, I guess in about six hours if that’s going to be okay with it.  So, by early afternoon.”

“Oh, man, I don’t…” Walter began, and Albert guessed he was going to say that he didn’t really want to have to wait that long.  But then he paused, and in a brighter voice, he said, “You know what?  Actually, I think that’s fine.  Like you said, we have to wait six hours anyway, so what’s the point of me coming over earlier and just…waiting for the answer to your question, when it might not even be worthwhile to come over if it says it doesn’t want to talk to me?  And, actually, there are things I could stand to get done this morning before coming over, too.  My fridge is kind of bare, to be honest, and I don’t want to have to go out to eat for every meal, right?”

Albert thought the sudden shift in tone was slightly surprising, but he was glad for it.  He also thought Walter made good points, so he was eager to accept them.  “Okay, then,” he said.  “So, as soon as we get off the phone, I’ll ask the V-42 if it’s okay for you to ask it questions and for it to answer them.  And I’ll text you as soon as I ask it, which, to be honest, ought to be only a few seconds after we get off.”

“Why not ask it while I’m on the phone?” Walter asked, sounding merely curious, not accusatory.

“I don’t know,” Albert replied with a shrug.  “If it’s even a little hesitant about talking with you here, it might be able to tell that I’m talking to you on the phone, and it might button up.  Then, we’d just have six hours go by and get no answer, and we wouldn’t know what the story is.”

“Okay, that’s not a bad point,” Walter admitted, and he actually sounded slightly impressed.  Albert didn’t know why—maybe it was his use of logic that rated highly in Walter’s estimation—but he was okay with it as long as it made things easier for Walter.  And then he would have time to discuss and plan with the V-42 about just how they were going to dissuade Walter from his notion in a way that would be thoroughly convincing but wouldn’t be too distressing.

“All right, then,” Albert said.  “So, I’ll get off the phone and ask the question and then get started on my weekend errands, and you can do your grocery shopping or whatever, and then, in about six hours, I’ll let you know what answer I get.  Sound good?”

“It’s not as good as I wish it was,” Walter replied, “but it’s good enough for now.”

“All right, then,” Albert said.  “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Right,” Walter said.  Then, before saying goodbye, he added, “Oh, hey, if you get caught up doing your stuff and it’s gonna take longer than six hours, please let me know, so I don’t just freak out over here, okay?”

Albert wished he had thought to suggest that his imaginary errands might take more than six hours, but he didn’t think he could add that to the mix—especially after Walter had brought it up—without it seeming  suspicious.  He said, “Fair enough, I’ll do that, thought I don’t think it’s gonna happen, barring flat tires or whatever.  Talk to you later.”

“Yep,” Walter said.  “Bye.”

***

Albert paused for a few moments after hanging up the phone.  He wanted to give himself time to think of what specifically he would have said had he indeed needed to ask the V-42 whether it was okay for Walter to talk to it, just in case Walter asked him to relay the specific words he used.  He didn’t know why such a thing might truly matter, but Walter’s meticulousness in writing down the V-42’s message made him want to be sure.

After perhaps half a minute or so—it felt like a long time—he wrote a text to Walter that read, Okay, I asked it if it was okay for you to come and talk to it and for it to answer you the way it’s been answering me.  I even remembered to ask it to answer in complete sentences.

Walter took only a few seconds to reply, Okay, good thinking.  Albert half expected a sarcastic attempt to repeat his own words of praise in response to Walter having thought of the idea in the first place, but it seemed the current situation had him too preoccupied to be snarky.  Walter concluded, I guess I’ll talk to you in six hours.  Though if it ends up finishing earlier and you notice, please let me know.

Albert smiled.  Then he texted back, Roger that.

He felt a bit foolish with this back and forth about minutiae.  He felt like a young boy playing spy games using old-fashioned toy walkie-talkies, which was why he’d used his pseudo-military phrase.  He’d resisted the urge to add “over and out” to the end of his message, fearing that Walter might think he wasn’t taking things seriously enough.  He waited another moment to see if Walter would text anything else, but after a long enough interval, it became clear that Walter was not in the conversation anymore.

Albert had no actual errands to run, despite what he had said.  Of course, there were always little tasks that could be taken care of on the weekend, but none of them felt important at the moment.  Instead of preparing to go out, he walked into his bathroom and sat down on the toilet lid again, noting as he did so that the V-42 had already erased its previous words, the ones he had conveyed to Walter.

Wanting to give due credit, he said to it, “That was quick thinking there with that message just now.  Thanks.  I was worried I was going to have to ad-lib something.”

“It seemed a useful thing to do, when we heard your conversation,” the V-42 wrote on the cup, the words appearing as quickly as Albert could read them.  If Walter could see this now, when he currently believed that it took a long time for the stuff to reply, he would not only be astounded, but he would probably also be pretty pissed off.

“Did you figure out what to do based just on what I said?” he asked, prepared to be further impressed by its ability to interpolate.

“Not just that,” the shampoo wrote.  “We are also able to listen to Walter’s speech.”

Albert was surprised.  “What, really?” he asked.  “You could hear the other end of the phone call even from out in the other room?”

“That might be possible, but it would be unreliable,” the V-42 replied.  “However, as we mentioned, our modest presence in Walter allows us to hear even his subvocalizations.  Hearing his fully spoken words is much easier.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” Albert said.  “I forgot about that.”  Then, after thinking for a moment, he asked, “So you get the information from the other…parts of you over at Walter’s end and can just run it together in a coherent conversation?”

“That’s correct,” the shampoo said.  “Since the messages pass at light speed, any delay is negligible.”

Albert thought that made sense.  He knew that there was no noticeable delay in voices when people spoke to each other on cell phones, and that involved microwaves and so on going first to cell phone towers, then across to other towers and out to someone else’s cell phone, and vice versa.  He’d never really thought about it much, but the process of such cell phone conversations really was impressive.  How much more impressive then was the ability of the V-42 to communicate with other parts of itself and share the information to make a complete conversation.

This led him to another thought, and he said, “You guys must have pretty impressive signal strength, huh?”  He knew only a little bit about the ins and outs of how such things worked, but he knew that most cell phones needed the phone towers to repeat messages back and forth, and the V-42 clearly didn’t.

“Our signals are reasonably strong relative to our size,” the V-42 replied.  “A number of us need to link together to form our ‘antenna’, and it would be more difficult for us to use true radio waves, as the wavelength would be larger than our combined linear dimension.  However, much of the ability for us to perceive and process the information between ourselves is made possible by the specificity and redundancy of our code, so even with signal loss, there is little to no information loss.”

Albert thought he vaguely understood what the stuff was saying; he hadn’t read a lot about computer science or information theory or whatever, but he had definitely read some, and it made more sense to him than things like Walter’s areas of expertise ever had.  After all, it was just about communications and related matters, and he dealt with that in his own work all the time, if only informally.

“Wow,” he said.  “That’s pretty cool.”  Then, after a pause, he asked, “So, what do you think about Walter coming over and asking you questions, anyway?  I mean…obviously, we’re gonna have to make him wait six hours between answers, so it’s not like we’re gonna have to think fast or anything, but…I don’t know.  I mean…I guess we just…just stonewall him on this, huh?  I mean, just tell him no, there’s nothing that can be done to override that little programming ‘injunction’ thing.  What do you think?”

“Perhaps that will be the ideal way to go,” the V-42 wrote.  “We may be able to adapt specific responses based on his words and actions.  However, it isn’t necessary to plan for such things at the moment.  Presently, we are concerned about…other things related to Walter.”

Puzzled, Albert asked, “What do you mean?  What sorts of things?”

The stuff wrote quickly now, the words seeming to form faster than before.  “Walter is more agitated than he is trying to allow you to hear,” it said.

“Really?” Albert asked, though he did not think that the shampoo was lying to him.  “What…well, what exactly do you mean, what’s he doing?”

“At the moment,” the V-42 replied, “he is apparently pacing back and forth in his bedroom, sometimes muttering under his breath words to the effect that he thinks what you have told him cannot be correct.”

Albert bobbed his head back and forth, and he said, “Well…I mean, that sort of goes along with what he said, like he thought there had to be more…more nuance, I guess, to the rule and making money off you, or something along those lines.  That’s why he’s coming over later, right?”

“That’s true,” the V-42 wrote.  “However, his level of suspicion and even perhaps paranoia is far greater than he is allowing to be obvious.  He has been muttering such things as, ‘Albert, what are you not telling me?’ and ‘Are you trying to keep this stuff all to yourself, Albert?’  He has also been muttering phrases about how such a thing would be unfair.”

Albert was about to interject something, though he didn’t know what he ought to say, really, but the V-42 went on before he had a real chance, writing, “Also, his nervous and endocrine systems are quite elevated.  There is a significant amount of epinephrine—which you might know as adrenalin—in his blood stream, certainly far more than is typical of a person at rest at home, and more consistent with a true fight or flight response.  Also, his amygdalae and related parts of his brain are highly active.”

Albert was distracted from whatever he might have otherwise said by these last few words.  He knew well enough what adrenalin was, though he had to admit to himself that he hadn’t quite realized that it was the same things as epinephrine, which is what the V-42 seemed to be saying.  But the last sentence included at least one term that he did not recall ever having heard or read.

“Am…am I…g…dillay?” he sounded out, far from sure he was pronouncing it correctly.  “What’s that?”

“The amygdalae are a pair of structures within the parts of the human brain that comprise the limbic system, responsible in general for basic emotional and arousal states.  The amygdalae are named after almonds, which they are said to resemble somewhat in size and shape, and they are a major center of the fear, ‘fight or flight’ and hostility and aggression portions of human behavior.”

Albert not sure what the V-42 was implying, and not wanting to be mistaken asked, “Well…what does all that mean with respect to Walter?”

“Walter seems to have a truly unusual level of activity in the region, more than even his baseline slightly elevated state,” the V-42 replied.  “He is approaching a level we would think consistent with someone preparing to be attacked by a hostile enemy, a literal attacker.  Or, perhaps, he is at a level consistent with someone preparing to be a hostile attacker, in a preemptive strike of perceived self-preservation.”

Albert shook his head, not in negation so much as to try to clear his thoughts.  “Wait, that…he sure didn’t seem like he was in a state like that.  Not to me.”

“Our presence in Walter’s body has allowed us to observe him for a time,” the V-42 said, “and we have noted that he carries a relatively high baseline level of anxiety and hostility, but that he appears to be well practiced at concealing this fact from those around him.  We do not have many sources for comparison other than our general knowledge and, of course, our experience with you, but we believe he has significant psychopathology.”

“Wait, what?” Albert asked.  “You think Walter’s a…a psychopath?”

“Not at all,” the V-42 replied.  “Though confusion given the terminology is understandable.  Psychopathology merely literally translates to dysfunction in the mind, whereas psychopathy is a specific type of personality disorder.  Such people in fact often tend to have underactive amygdalae and be underresponsive to stimuli that should lead to fear or hesitation.  This is part of why they tend not to restrain themselves.”

“Oh,” Albert said, feeling foolish but far from enlightened.

“We think that Walter has the characteristics of some manner of generalized anxiety disorder,” the V-42 then wrote, “not presenting as fearfulness or timidity, but rather as a general viewing of all others as at least potential enemies of one kind or another, and of course, at least some degree of self-aggrandizement and self-importance.  He carries a sense of wounded pride that all but reaches the level of post-traumatic stress disorder.”

Albert blinked.  He didn’t think he’d ever heard of anything like that before, though of course he was aware of PTSD.  He just didn’t think he’d ever heard of anyone having it just because they hadn’t gotten the recognition that they thought they deserved.

Was Walter really like that?  He didn’t seem that way to Albert.  Then again, Albert knew that his friend had an ego and that he could be prickly.  “I don’t know,” he said.  “I don’t think Walter’s really that…that, uh…messed up.”

“Perhaps if he had never become aware of us, he would never have encountered enough of a stimulus to trigger much in the way of negative responses,” the V-42 mused.  “But he has become aware of us.”

“Well, yeah,” Albert said.  He grimaced as he added, “I guess that was my fault.”

“It could hardly be considered a culpable action,” the V-42 reassured him.  “You were curious about our nature, and had exhausted all ordinary sources of information available to you.  You were fortunate, in that sense, to have a friend such as Walter, who could be helpful in such an investigation.  It is only regrettable that we had chosen to put off making ourselves known to you until after you had already decided to bring Walter into the situation.”

“Yeah,” Albert said.  “I guess that would’ve been nice if you’d told me ahead of time.  Though, come to think of it, maybe I wouldn’t have believed you were real…or, well, really what you are, anyway…if I hadn’t had Walter there to give me an objective, third party sort of input, you know what I mean?”

“We believe we do know what you mean,” the V-42 said.  “And you may be correct that it has been easier for you to accept our nature given that Walter revealed it to you—in a sense, anyway—than if we had revealed ourselves to you first, directly.  However, we believe we could have found ways to convince you.”

Albert chuckled, and he said, “Yeah, I bet you probably could’ve.  But at least this way I didn’t have to spend any time thinking I’d gone insane or something.”

The V-42 wrote, “That does seem to be worth avoiding.  Still, whether it outweighs any trouble Walter might cause is difficult to say.  And it may always be difficult to say.”

“Yeah,” Albert said quietly.  “I guess that’ll depend on how well we can sort of…deflect Walter, I guess.”  He pursed his lips for a bit, then shook his head and said, “Well, I’m trying to think on an empty stomach.  And even though I’ve read that, supposedly, people think quicker and better when they’re not full, or when they’re fasting, or whatever it was, I think maybe I’ll think more clearly if I get some food in me.  So I’m gonna go have some breakfast and sit and think for a little bit.”

“Very well,” the V-42 responded.  “That may be quite useful.  We would ask if you could, please, check here periodically, just to ensure that, if there are new events concerning Walter, or if we think of a useful way of perhaps derailing his proposed scheme, we will be able to let you know without too much delay.”

Albert stood, saying, “Okay, fair enough.  Meantime, I’m gonna heat up a couple of breakfast burritos and maybe make a nice cup of coffee.  I’m not used to going without dinner, even if it is just because I’m healthier.”

“That seems reasonable,” the V-42 stated.

With a wave to the cups—and then, as soon as he thought of it, a secondary wave to the bottle in the shower—Albert walked out of the bathroom.