In Loving Memory of Robert A. George and Donald R. George

“What!”
“I told you they could make computers really small. I mean I can see
implanting a computer to fix a problem with the brain’s wiring that can’t
be fixed any other way, but to have a full-fledged computer in your head,
with the internet and phones buzzing away all the time, that’s wrong. It
would drive me crazy. I think it drives most of the Wire-Heads crazy.
They should make those things illegal.”
“Why would anyone even want a computer in their head?”
“Some people have to have the ultimate gadget. Come on. We need to
find your puter.” She went over a couple of aisles and stopped, picking up
a small silver box. “How about this? Small enough to carry in your pocket
and big enough not to lose. Don’t know how many ring computers I lost as
a kid.”
She handed him something the size of an Altoids box, only slimmer.
Sherman looked it over. “Okay, I guess.”
She took it away from him and stuck it back on the shelf.
“Hey, I thought we were going to—”
“Floor model.” She pulled out her own computer and pointed it at the
object. “Tom, buy.” She checked her screen and looked back at Sherman.
“There, paid for. They’ll have a boxed one waiting for us when we check
out.” She began walking down the aisle, her own PAL ready to make more
transactions. “Now for accessories. How about a large monitor you can
use at home? Virtual screens are nice but I get a headache staring at them
for hours. Keyboard?—solid, not virtual? Rather go all voice?”
Sherman tried to keep up, both physically and mentally with
Serendipity. Just then, someone brushed against Sherman. He turned. A
teenage boy wearing a black skull cap, suddenly burst into flames two feet
away.
“Oh, my gawd!” Sherman jumped back.
Serendipity looked over her shoulder. “Relax. Holo-cap. He’s not on
fire.” She went back to studying three foot and larger monitors as thin as a
CD case.
Suddenly self conscious, Sherman looked around, noticing people
staring at him. They totally ignored the human torch walking away.
Sherman stuffed his hands in his pockets and scrunched down. Customers
averted their gaze from him and returned to shopping.
It was then Sherman came to a realization: of all the weird things in
this store, the other shoppers considered him the weirdest of all. What
would they do if they knew he was from 1985? Would they run away,
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