An excerpt from Muse

Prologue - San Angeles Metroplex, USA, 0954 hours,

Saturday, January 5^th, 2199 AD.

I suppose it had to happen, eventually. My muse was gone, and my work had come to a standstill. It was all Sharon's fault, of course. The night she left, she killed my muse.

Sharon and I had endured our rocky marriage together, but in the end, we just couldn't make it work. Her jealousy, her uncontrolled temper - that's what did it. Now, she got all the furniture and the second car, and all I had left was an empty house and a dead muse. I was just grateful that at least Sharon didn't get any alimony.

For days after the divorce was final, I tried to get back to work. I just couldn't concentrate, though. My muse was gone, and no amount of Jack Daniels would bring her back. Finally, the morning I woke up with an empty fifth in my hand sitting in my chair before a blank computer screen, I decided it was time to get out of my funk and do something about it. I picked up all the empty bottles, tossed them in the trash, snatched up my car-keys and headed outside. It was time to take a drive downtown.

One.

"I've come to buy a muse," I said.

The salesman behind the counter nodded. "And would that be a standard muse, or a custom model?"

"Custom, please."

The salesman rolled his eyes. "Oh, but sir! You haven't even seen our standard models," he said, and stroked his fingers across the counter. Immediately, a hologram blinked to life. I looked - it was a typical muse. About fifteen centimeters tall, perfectly formed, its little breasts perky, it's eyes bright, its smile dazzling. "This is Calliope-9a, our basic Muse of Literature. Observe her appearance, sir - she is a perfect replica of a human female in every way," he said, tapping the counter. The hologram posed, flashing her curved little body in a way that would have been devastatingly sensual on a full-size woman, but on a muse was simply cute. She tossed her brunette hair, ran her tiny little fingers over her body, and finished by flicking her hands out and away from herself, posing in a 'Y' with a broad grin, one foot pointed.

I yawned.

Seeing my expression, the salesman continued quickly. "Like all our muses, she comes with a full line of standard outfits," he said, tapping the counter again. The little hologram was instantly clothed in a white Roman stola, sandals, and holding a tiny writing tablet in her little hand. She put on a serious expression, as though thinking. The salesman tapped the counter again, and the hologram's clothes changed - now she was wearing a micro-mini dress, short halter-top, spike heels and stockings. She gave me a wicked leer.

I jerked my thumb at the door. "You know, I can go down the street. They're having a sale at Valco."

The salesman blanched. "Sorry, sir. My boss says I have to at least try to sell some of these standard models."

I nodded. "Flooded with 'em, huh?"

The salesman rolled his eyes again, then looked around. Leaning in closer to me, he whispered. "To tell you the truth, sir, the boss ordered too many of the Calliope-9a and Erato-7c last week. I've got a hundred of each in the back, frozen like popsicles. It's annoying as hell - I told him we only needed to order a dozen each," he said, and grinned. We shared a chuckle for a moment.

"Well, I understand that, but really, the standard models are for beginners and people who don't move around much in their job. I've had a muse before - a good one. She was with me for several years. Bought her from this very store, in fact."

"Oh? You've had a Biotronics muse before? What happened to her, sir?" the salesman asked, his eyebrow raised.

I sighed. "My wife and I had a pretty messy divorce. The night she left, she killed it. Beaned it with a full bottle of Jack Daniels. She was mad at Cleo because she advised me to just get a divorce. Sharon said Cleo should have been advising me how to fix my marriage, not end it."

The salesman looked shocked. "That's terrible, sir! You must have been heartbroken," he said, and clucked sympathetically. "You have my deepest sympathies, sir. Truly," he said, looking at me sadly. "Tell me, though, was she under warranty?"

"No, I'd had her about five years by then - she was long out of warranty. I kept the payments up for the medical coverage, of course, but there's not much anyone could have done - she was just a big red smear."

The salesman blanched. "That's terrible, sir. I'm surprised her own muse didn't say something. Did she at least get arrested for animal cruelty?"

"Sharon didn't have a muse. Her psych-profile was all wrong for one. You know the type - plastic plants instead of real ones because she couldn't be bothered to remember to water. As far as her being arrested... Well, she paid a fine, but that was it. I think that's why I was able to wrangle 'no alimony' in the divorce settlement - she knew I could bring up Cleo in court and she'd probably end up with nothing. I just wanted her out of my life as quickly as possible."

The salesman nodded, then changed the subject politely. "Well, do you still have the registration-card for your old muse, sir?"

I nodded, pulling out my wallet and slipping the card out of its case. "This is it."

"Ah, good," he replied, and tapped the counter. The hologram disappeared, and a small slot opened. He slipped the card into the slot, then tapped the counter again. Immediately, a hologram of my old muse appeared. "Why, what a lovely design, sir! Did you think of it yourself?"

I shook my head. "No, the salesman that was here a few years ago led me through the design process. Nice, though, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir. Very nice," he said appreciatively, tapping the counter to rotate the hologram slowly.

The hologram standing between us on the counter was of a humanoid female, with the typical lovely, perfect body of a muse. She was wearing a short, sleeveless, white dress slit up to the hip on the right side and a pair of white spike heels. There, however, the resemblance with any other muse ended. For starters, her entire body was covered with fine, white fur, like a mouse. From out of her back sprouted two hummingbird wings, the feathers a pearl-white. Her head was similar to that of a mouse, complete with little rodent incisors, except her eyes were on the front of her face, like a cat or dog, and she had a shock of white hair that curled over the top of her head and between her large, pink ears. Her eyes were sapphire blue, and gleamed with intelligence. Her tail was long, furry, and had a little lion-like puff at the end. The finishing touch, though, was the little cobalt blue garter around her exposed right thigh. She looked sweet, yet sassy - which Cleo had been.

The salesman glanced at the information he'd read off the card, then looked up again. "May I ask about the symbolism of your muse, Mr. Donovan?" the salesman asked, apparently having read my name from the registration data.

I grinned - he knew his stuff. Why Cleo had looked the way she looked was something I was very proud of. "Well, it had to do with the basic personality choices. I chose a mouse-like head because she was quiet and gentle, like a mouse. The lion-tail was because she was also brave. I was most proud of that, and still am, even though eventually it got her killed. If she hadn't stood up to Sharon..." I said, then shook my head. "Ah, well. In any event, the wings were because I move around a lot, and carrying a muse in a cage or in my pocket would have been inconvenient - but they ended up looking very nice. The rest," I said, gesturing at the hologram's dress and heels, "was simply so her appearance would match the 'sassy' personality trait. I didn't want a muse that would just whisper encouragement, I wanted a muse that would actually be useful."

"And the fur?" the salesman asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh - that was just so she would use less energy keeping warm. I noticed with my first muse when I was a kid they get cold easily."

The salesman nodded, and returned to looking at the technical specifications he'd downloaded from the card. "Ah! Sir, you'll be pleased to know we've made a few improvements since you purchased your muse."

"Oh? Like what?" I asked, curious.

"Well, the sensory package you ordered was a bit pricey five years ago. IR and UV vision was difficult to manage in eyes that small. Now they're much cheaper. Also, the olfactory sense is a bit sharper, and the auditory package you ordered back then is much cheaper today."

I shrugged. "Cleo seemed to get along fine with what she had, I don't see as it will make much difference."

"Well, sir, there's also the digestive system and metabolic improvements. You'll find that your new muse feeds less frequently than the old one."

"Oh? Well, that would be an improvement. Cleo was always hungry. It got to the point where I just started carrying around a little whiskey flask full of honey for her."

"Well, sir, the flying muses are like that. They have an extremely high metabolism, in general. But, Biotronics has developed a more efficient metabolism for their flying muses - you'll find that she eats about half as much as your old muse did, assuming normal activity."

"Well, I move around a lot, so that's probably going to still mean I'll need to carry some honey around with me for her."

The salesman nodded. "And a cuttle-stone for her to gnaw on, to keep those incisors short. Still, sir, after you and your muse have had time to get used to each other, I think you'll find she is much more convenient than your old one," he said, then tapped the counter again, scrolling through the data. "Well, sir, everything else appears in order. You'll need to sign the 1024 form again, of course. Government regulations, you know," he said, and tapped the counter once.

I sighed as a slot opened in the counter, and the printer inside the counter produced the required form. "You know, it's 2199 - we've had muses for nearly a century, now. You'd think the government would stop worrying about them getting out of control and overpopulating like rats or something. It's nearly the 23^th century, not the 20^th, dammit. The government should stop being so damn paranoid. They can't reproduce at all - they've only got one gender. Why bother having a muse-owner sign an Animal Non-Procreation Agreement?"

"Well, sir, if you remember, one of the problems in the 20^th century was uncontrolled animal procreation. People didn't care enough about their pets, and let them run loose. They'd been doing that for centuries, and by the end of the 20^th century, the streets were littered with wild cats and dogs. We still have a problem with them today, in fact. Some people insist on being old-fashioned, and getting an ordinary cat or dog. Most do the right thing and spay or neuter their pet, but some of these old-timers don't. They sign the 1024 without even thinking about it, they don't watch their pet, and the next thing you know there's a new litter of puppies or kittens loose on the street, spreading disease and all sorts of nonsense. A muse would never do that, of course, even if they could reproduce. They're just as intelligent as you and I, and they have better control over their instincts - primarily because the only instincts they have are the ones we give them," he said, and shrugged as he handed me a stylo. "Maybe in another century or two, dogs and cats will finally go out of style. They're really nothing compared to a muse, anyway, sir - as you well know," he said, and sniffed as I signed the form. "They can't even talk."

I slid the form and the stylo back to him, and he tapped the counter again, opening another slot. He slid the form into the slot, and the slot closed. "Your cit-card, sir?" he said, pulling out Cleo's old registration card from the slot in the counter. I pulled out my cit-card and handed it to him without comment, and he slid it into the slot. After scrolling through the information for a few moments, he smiled. "Ah - you planned ahead, sir! Your last psych-eval was taken less than two weeks ago."

"Not really. I always take my yearly psych-eval after Christmas. It's the slowest time of the year over at the Federal Psychiatric Commission offices, and you can usually get same-day service."

"Really? I'll have to remember that. My last annual checkup was in July - I had to wait two weeks," he said, then looked back down at the data the counter displayed. "Well, I can't call up the specifics, of course - the Privacy Act applies, here - but the analysis software here says that your personality choices for your muse and your own personality will be a perfect match, once you get used to each other."

I sighed. "Wish I could just get Cleo back," I said as the salesman handed me my cit-card back.

The salesman held up Cleo's old registration card. "Well, sir, all the basic information is in here - even her starting quirks. Your new muse will have the same initial skills and knowledges, as per your choices here, but her personality and initial quirks will be different. We could match the exact mentality your old muse had when you first got her - but that really wouldn't be wise."

"Why not? Wouldn't it make things easier?"

"No, actually, sir, it would make things harder. Your subconscious would very quickly begin thinking of her as your old muse, and she isn't. She wouldn't have your old muse's knowledge. Thus, you would find the experience of bonding with her to be... Less than satisfactory. Each muse has to be an individual, sir. That means new quirks," he said, then looked at me seriously. "We also recommend you give your new muse a new name, and not call her 'Cleo.'"

I sighed again. "Hrm. That's the part I was having the most trouble with. I don't know what to name her."

The salesman and I stood, thinking, and finally he looked up. "Ah! Was 'Cleo' short for 'Cleopatra?'" he asked.

"Well, yes. When I got her, I was single. I'd had muses before, and I realized that a muse with the personality choices I made might end up becoming 'Queen of the House', so I named her after Cleopatra, the Queen of the Nile," I replied, and smiled sadly, remembering. "And she did, too. She became Queen of the House - well, until I married Sharon, anyway," I said, and sighed.

"Well, sir, how about 'Nefertiti?'"

I thought about it, and shook my head. "Nah."

"Hmmm... Well, how about 'Elizabeth?'" he asked.

"What, that 20^th century Queen of England with all the scandals in her family?" I replied, making a moue'.

"No, sir - I meant Elizabeth the First. I seem to remember she was a powerful queen in her day."

"Hmm..." I replied, thinking about it. "Yeah - she was. Took the Brits from being nobodies to being the ultimate world power back then, and they stayed that way for several centuries," I replied, then grinned. "Besides - 'Liz' has a kinda 'ring' to it. I like it."

The salesman smiled, stroking the counter to call up a touch keyboard. "'Liz' it is, then, sir," he said, tapping the counter again briefly.

"When can I pick her up?"

"Well, sir, if she was a standard model, I could have her thawed out and ready to go in fifteen minutes. A custom model has to be grown," he replied, and tapped the counter to call up an estimate. He looked at the display, then at his watch. "Well, sir, it's almost noon, now, and we're closed tomorrow, because it's a Sunday. I believe I could have her delivered here Monday morning, though. She'd be thawed out and ready to go by about 0900. Would that be alright?"

I nodded. "That'll be fine."

I slotted my cit-card once again in the counter to make the payment - the salesman had been right, the latest refinements had made her cheaper, by nearly half. "Well, that's it, sir - just come back at 0900 Monday morning. Please, don't hesitate to call if you have any questions - you can ask for me. I'm Bob," he said, holding out my cit-card to me.

"Thanks, Bob. I'm Alan. I'll be here Monday morning, then," I replied, taking my cit-card back and slipping it back into my wallet. I bid the salesman goodbye and walked out of the Biotronics Muse Shop. I didn't know how I'd manage to make it until Monday, waiting for my muse. Fortunately, I still had a good fifth of scotch in the house. Maybe that would help.

Two.

Darkness... Warmth... I am floating... I am dreaming...

I can feel my body growing... An uncomfortable sensation... Pain?

A light flares... Information! So much... Too much! The knowledge of a lifetime... A dozen lifetimes...

Language... Concepts... Abstract Relations! Existence, relation, quantity, order, number, time, change, event, causation, power, space, dimensions, structure, form, motion... Physics! Heat, light, technology, physical properties, color, organic and inorganic matter... Sensation! Touch, taste, smell, sight, hearing... And more! Much more! Too much!

Silence... I hear my heart beat... I know who I am, and what I am...

I slowly notice I am cold... Yet, as soon as I notice it, I feel heat from beneath me... Life and light is above me, but I still swim beneath the surface of consciousness, in an ocean of dreams... I reach out with my mind, struggling towards the surface, towards *him*...

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