MCA #3, Saturday Morning
Alex rolled out of bed and stumbled into the kitchen. She'd been up too late, reading case law, drinking Scotch, and making notes. Some tea and some aspirin should help.
That was when she noticed the professional-looking woman, sitting on her dining room table. She dropped her mug and stared. "Who ..."
"Good morning, Alex," the woman said, flipping her cell phone shut. "It's 9:04 AM, with a current temperature of 72 degrees Fahrenheit. Today's forecast is mostly sunny, with a high of 84 and a low of 74. You have three new e-mail messages, two of which I've marked as possible spam. There's a new article on the ABA Journal by Jim McElhaney, about telling a story as your closing argument. What else would you like to know?"
This wasn't happening. "Who are you, and what the hell are you doing in my apartment?" Much less reading her e-mail? This was bad. This was very bad. Was she someone the cartel had sent to track her down?
"I believe my name is Dell," the woman said, standing up and setting the cell phone down behind her. "You brought me here from New York. You left me in bed with you last night, but after I changed shape, it seemed silly to just lie there. Incidentally, you're running low on tea. Turtle and Canary should be open today, though I don't know who the employee on staff is. I can find out."
Alex hadn't brought anyone home with her last night, and certainly not a schizophrenic who thought they'd been dating in New York. "I have a gun," she said calmly. "And I want you out of my apartment, now, or else I will get it, and shoot you."
"Announcement of intent to use deadly force only works in states with an explicit Castle Law," the woman sighed. She pulled her shirt up to expose her abdomen. "Maryland asks that you use no more force than is reasonably necessary. Which is moot, since I don't think Maryland has jurisdiction over this island, and you can hardly be prosecuted for murdering a laptop computer."
There was a small logo on her stomach, where her belly button should have been. It read Intel Inside.
"You think you're a laptop computer." There was not enough liquor in the world.
"No," the woman said, dropping her shirt. "I am a laptop computer. Yours. I seem to be human-shaped for the day. I would imagine this island is responsible. It's multidimensional, and oddities like this seem to leak through now and again."
Alex honestly, sincerely didn't know which was worse: the idea that a crazy woman had broken into her apartment and had glued an Intel logo onto herself ... or that she might be right.
(Establishy, but open if you don't mind some hit-and-miss availability, for today is bumpy like that.)
That was when she noticed the professional-looking woman, sitting on her dining room table. She dropped her mug and stared. "Who ..."
"Good morning, Alex," the woman said, flipping her cell phone shut. "It's 9:04 AM, with a current temperature of 72 degrees Fahrenheit. Today's forecast is mostly sunny, with a high of 84 and a low of 74. You have three new e-mail messages, two of which I've marked as possible spam. There's a new article on the ABA Journal by Jim McElhaney, about telling a story as your closing argument. What else would you like to know?"
This wasn't happening. "Who are you, and what the hell are you doing in my apartment?" Much less reading her e-mail? This was bad. This was very bad. Was she someone the cartel had sent to track her down?
"I believe my name is Dell," the woman said, standing up and setting the cell phone down behind her. "You brought me here from New York. You left me in bed with you last night, but after I changed shape, it seemed silly to just lie there. Incidentally, you're running low on tea. Turtle and Canary should be open today, though I don't know who the employee on staff is. I can find out."
Alex hadn't brought anyone home with her last night, and certainly not a schizophrenic who thought they'd been dating in New York. "I have a gun," she said calmly. "And I want you out of my apartment, now, or else I will get it, and shoot you."
"Announcement of intent to use deadly force only works in states with an explicit Castle Law," the woman sighed. She pulled her shirt up to expose her abdomen. "Maryland asks that you use no more force than is reasonably necessary. Which is moot, since I don't think Maryland has jurisdiction over this island, and you can hardly be prosecuted for murdering a laptop computer."
There was a small logo on her stomach, where her belly button should have been. It read Intel Inside.
"You think you're a laptop computer." There was not enough liquor in the world.
"No," the woman said, dropping her shirt. "I am a laptop computer. Yours. I seem to be human-shaped for the day. I would imagine this island is responsible. It's multidimensional, and oddities like this seem to leak through now and again."
Alex honestly, sincerely didn't know which was worse: the idea that a crazy woman had broken into her apartment and had glued an Intel logo onto herself ... or that she might be right.
(Establishy, but open if you don't mind some hit-and-miss availability, for today is bumpy like that.)