Realtime | Page 4

first Monday of the month of April, 1625, the bourg of Meung,
in which the author of the "Romance of the Rose" was born, appeared
to be in as perfect a state of revolution as if the Huguenots had just
made a second Rochelle of it....
Monday morning, March the fifteenth, Maggie was interrupted by the
chiming of the door. Maggie left her toast and went to answer the door.
There were half a dozen people outside, dressed in the simple gray
cloak and tunic of the Praxcelis Corporation. Leading the group that
stood on her outer porch was a young woman in a slightly darker gray
and silver uniform. She was looking about Maggie's home as though
she had never seen a single, detached residence before, and indeed,
probably she hadn't. They were as much a thing of the past as Maggie
herself, and her books.
"Senra Archer?" The tall woman asked inquisitively. "I'm Senra
Conroy, from Praxcelis." She smiled slightly. "We've come to install
your new Praxcelis unit."
Maggie said, as pleasantly as she was able, "Of course. Please come
in." She moved out of the doorway to let them through. They followed
her in, two of them guiding the boxed Praxcelis unit as it hovered in
through the door on antigrav pads.
"Where do you want your unit?" asked Senra Conroy.
Maggie bit back the answer that sprang immediately to her lips. These
people weren't responsible for the intrusion. She pointed to the far
corner of the living room, behind her rocking chair. "Over there."
Senra Conroy glanced at the spot in puzzlement. "Where's the old
hookup?"
"There isn't one. I've never had a Praxcelis unit before."
"You've never had a Praxcelis unit before." Senra Conroy repeated the
words as though they were syllables of sound she found totally devoid
of meaning. "Never? That's...that's very interesting. Your house is rated

in the 1300 category -- that's a residence of more than thirty years age.
I've never even seen a 1300 that didn't have...." Her voice trailed off.
She turned around slowly in the middle of the living room. "How
odd...where is your dataweb terminal?"
Maggie pointed at the corner again. "It's under the table."
Senra Conroy looked at her oddly. "Under the table?"
Maggie went back to her breakfast without replying. The group of
Praxcelis employees swept through her house quickly, plugging and
linking elements of the Praxcelis unit into place. When they were
finished, Senra Conroy ushered the rest of the employees out of
Maggie's house. Before she left, she asked Maggie where she kept her
housebot, so that she could activate the housebot's Praxcelis
communication protocols.
Maggie said simply, "I don't have a housebot."
For the first time, Senra Conroy's professional reserve broke. She stared
openly. "Who does your housework?"
"I do."
"I see." The tone of voice she spoke the words in contradicted her. The
young lady placed a flat chip wrapped in a clear dust cover on the table
in front of Maggie. "This is your operating instructions infochip for
your unit. Just slip it into your unit and Praxcelis will print out any
section of it that you desire."
Maggie did not rise. She sipped at her coffee. "Thank you very much."
Senra Conroy said awkwardly, "If you need any help, your Praxcelis
unit will...."
"Thank you."
The young woman shrugged. "As you wish. Good day, Senra Archer."

Maggie waited until Senra Conroy was gone before she said to the door,
"That's Mrs. Archer." She finished her breakfast and washed the
breakfast dishes before approaching the Praxcelis unit.
"How do you do, Mrs. Archer? I am your Praxcelis unit." The voice
was pleasant, although Maggie was uncertain as to whether or not it
was male or female. It was too neutral for her to decide.
"How do you know who I am?"
"I am programmed to recognize you. My function is to serve you to the
best of my capability. If you wish I will print out any sections of the
operations manual infochip which you consider relevant."
Maggie stood there, looking at the unit with mixed emotions. The unit,
now that it was here, didn't seem particularly threatening. It was merely
a collection of modules; one that was marked CPU, another that was
obviously a monitor, another that was as obviously a scanner; a couple
more whose functions Maggie could not fathom.
It didn't seem threatening. On the other hand, it didn't seem particularly
appealing either.
She left the room for a moment and returned with a simple white sheet.
She draped the sheet over the Praxcelis unit, took a step backward, and
surveyed the bulky sheet-covered machine. She smiled in satisfaction.
"That," she said to Miss Kitty, "is much better."
She picked up her copy of The Three Musketeers, and handling the