November 2025 Story

Coach

The present—

“How the hell does Jake do that? He seems to know what defense we’re calling every time. Disguised corner blitz, and they send the tight end to the spot vacated. Drop back in deep coverage just before the snap and they break a big gain with a quick, short pass over the middle to the running back.”

“When we saw what they’ve been doing to the other teams they played, I wondered if they were hacking into the headsets, so I had the IT folks look into that. They said there’s no way they could do that. The system is secure. I don’t think they’re stealing our signals. But I agree, they sure do make a lot of changes right at the line of scrimmage.”

“Then Jake must be a effing mindreader. From seven and ten to leading the Conference in one year.”

A year and a half ago—

Jake Bowzer, the offensive coordinator for the NFL Madison Mudhens, was worried as he walked outside the empty practice facility to a meeting with the general manager, Tom Tussle and his head coach, Bob Buffo. Yeah, seven and ten isn’t great, and we missed the playoffs, but we did better than last year’s five and twelve. I hope the new owner doesn’t want immediate results. I thought me and Bob agreed that it would take a few years to get to where we wanted to be.

He climbed the stairs and opened Tom’s office door and was shocked to see the team’s new owner, Ziggy Smart also there. Oh, oh, Jake thought, must be something big for Smart to be here. Am I gonna get canned? His armpits started to sweat and his palms got wet.

Ziegfeld Smart—who got into artificial intelligence at the start, and was still THE major player in the field. His net worth was a closely guarded secret, for he was a very private person, but from what could be gleaned from records, he was a more than enormously wealthy person. Given his nature and presumed lack of interest in sports, it came as a great surprise when it was announced that the new owner of a mediocre NFL franchise, the Madison Mudhens, was he. It’s said that he was given his unusual first name as a take off on an old Broadway show, the Ziegfeld Follies, by his father because he was the unplanned last child in his family.

Jake wiped his right hand on his pants as he stepped into the room to shake hands with the three men present.

Tom said, “Jake, I don’t think you’ve met Mr. Smart, our owner, before.”

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. Smart, sir,” Jake said. “You must be a very busy man, so it’s a surprise and an honor to find you here.” Oh God, is he going to lower the boom?

“If you’re worried about why I’m here, let me put your mind at ease. I thought you made satisfactory progress with the team from last year to this,” Smart replied.

Jake felt a huge sense of relief, thinking—satisfactory progress—he’s okay with this year’s results.

“But of course we can’t just be satisfied with satisfactory,” Smart continued.

“Oh I fully agree,”Jake said. “Right Bob?” Buffo nodded.

“And that’s why I asked you to come to this meeting,” Tom Tussle said. “As you must be aware, Mr. Smart is THE leader in the field of Artificial Intelligence. He’s shared his ideas with Bob and me and now wants you to be included.”

‘To be included,’ Jake thought. Man this must be really something big. And I’ll be in on it too.

“But whatever we talk about and decide, you can never repeat. Not to anyone. Not ever! If you don’t think you can agree to that, then it’s best that you leave now. Take a minute to think about it and decide,” Tom continued.

To not even know what I’m agreeing to and I have to decide blind? What if it’s a criminal act? But Bob agreed and he’s the most straight up guy I know. Really honest, ethical. So if he’s in on this——? “Bob, you know what this is all about and agreed?” asked Jake.

“Yes,” Buffo replied.

Jake took a deep breath. “Okay. I’m in.”

“You can call me Ziggy too,” Smart began.

“Thank you sir—I mean Ziggy,” Jake said. Call him Ziggy too? Wow.

“You know that analytics in all sports is routine now,” Smart began. “It started with baseball and as owners and coaches saw that it gave the team using it a leg up, everyone began to copy. Football was no exception. What were the odds of a favorable outcome in going for it on fourth down at what yardage, which stage of the game, given the opponent, and so on. Follow?”

Jake nodded.

Tussle interjected, “Excuse me Ziggy, but one last check before you go further. Jake, if you sense where this may be headed, one last chance to opt out if you’re worried.”

“No, I’m still okay.” Opt out? This gotta be big. But what? Analytics? And Smart is an AI guy.

Smart continued, “In your case, as the Mudhens offensive coordinator, what if you knew what the defense would do before you called a play, 94.7 percent of the time?”

“It’d be like mind reading their defensive coordinator,” Jake said. 94.7 percent!? Pretty specific figure. Wow! Got to see where this goes!

As if Smart were a mind reader himself, he said, “The 94.7 figure is not something pulled out of thin air. It is real. Three years ago, out of curiosity and boredom, I looked into the quality of the number crunching and analytics that NFL teams use, and discovered it was fairly basic. And I thought, I bet I can do better. I began by looking at all sixteen teams in the conference the Mudhens were in—it was just a coincidence that it was the Mudhens conference. I set up a program, I called it Lombardi, to put every game, every situation in each game, and the plays that each defensive coordinator dialed up, into computers, along with the characteristics and records of each of each team’s defensive players. “

Holy shit, thought Jake, ‘Lombardi’, he is the AI god. Is this covered in the rules?

Smart continued, “I decided to start with the defensive side. And over the course of a year’s worth of data, each defensive coordinator’s tendencies emerged based on the situation, the look of the offense, and the personnel involved. And if there were changes in staff or personnel, that too was fed into the program. I tested it with real time games the following year, and that’s how the 94.7% figure was derived. Follow, Jake?”

“Thank you, Mr. Smart,” Jake replied, “No, you explain it very clearly. But how-ah-do the rules cover this?”

“They don’t, and that’s the beauty,” Smart said. “Then when I learned that the Mudhens might be up for sale I saw a chance to test Lombardi in the real world. The Mudhens were, before you and Bob came on of course, the bottom feeders of their division, and so their price was not astronomical. And if things didn’t work out, I could put them up for sale again and not take a huge loss.”

So we’re nothing more than a test of concept to him, thought Jake. A rich guy’s plaything. It was a deflating moment. He said nothing and waited.

Buffo said, “Jake, I hired you as my offensive coordinator, because Tom and I were impressed with your work as quarterback’s coach with the Waco Warthogs even though you were young. You’ve more than justified our decision. Now you’ll have a great chance to do an even better job.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Jake replied. To be handed their playbook in each game. Not quite honest, but not covered by the rules. What if this gets out? And if we win, how much is from me and how much is due to Lombardi? “Yeah, I mean let’s do it! Is Chaz (the Mudhens’s defensive coordinator) in on this?”

“Not for now,” Tussle replied.

“So just the three of us,” Jake said. “And mum’s the word.”

“Yes,” said Smart.

“I’ve got a lot to think about and absorb. Thank you Mr. Smart—I mean Ziggy—for trusting me,” Jake said.

“And let’s get beyond ‘satisfactory’ this coming season,” Smart said.

“Absolutely!’ Jake said. With a little help from my friends or AI.

After Jake left, Tussle said, “He’s a good man, I’m glad he came on board. You won’t tell him about ‘Belichick’?

“No, but I’ll be comparing what plays Jake runs, with what my offensive program ‘Belichick’ suggests. As long as what he decides works well and we win, there’s no need to make him feel pressure or to worry him,” said Ziggy. “The players need to have a person they relate to calling the plays. And they like Jake. I don’t think they’re ready to have an AI as coach. But who knows—maybe someday.”

Yeah, Buffo thought, ‘someday’ AI on offense, AI on defense; so who’ll need any coaches at all and we’ll all be out of jobs.

October 2025 story

Arachne

The large circular web sparkled with dew drops in the morning sun, and Cindy felt a familiar shiver, the hairs on the nape of her neck prickling, as she eyed the large black and yellow spider waiting patiently in the center of the web, its eight legs held in pairs to form a X. Another one! She hurried back to her garden supplies on a bench under the wide roof overhang to get the insect spray.

She cautiously approached the web, spray can held before her like a sword, ready to deal death to the spider. As if it could sense her intent, the garden spider dropped quickly on a strand of silk into the bushes, out of sight and escaping. “Damn,” Cindy said aloud, “Got away!” She got a rake and tore down the web any way. Why don’t you things stay out of my garden, she thought.

That afternoon her friend and workmate Lucy visited. The day was warm and humid and they retired with ice tea and just baked peanut butter-walnut cookies to the backyard, sitting in the shade of the roof.

“Ugh, “ Cindy said with a shudder as she looked up and saw another large web spanning a gap between two rose bushes, black and yellow spider in the center of the web. “I’m going to get the bug spray.”

Lucy shook her head, “You really have a phobia Cindy. Spiders are good for the garden. They eat bugs that would lunch on your roses and vegetables. Biologic pest control. Better for your health too than using a lot of bug sprays.”

“I don’t care,” said Cindy. “I hate spiders. Always have.” She sprayed the spider and the web with a generous cloud of insecticide, then tore down the web and its dying weaver. “Got ya this time,” she said with satisfaction.

“Have you always felt this way about spiders?” Lucy asked.

“I think it all started when I was eight and I was hiking with my folks and I was in front and singing so happy and looked back at them and walked right into a spider web and it got all over my face and stuck in my hair. I can still feel the shock of that and how it felt. And they had the nerve to laugh as they pulled the web off me!”

“Poor Cindy,” said Lucy. “But you’re fifty-five now.”

“Well, some things never change. I remember that scene in “Lord of the Rings” where Frodo and Sam are trapped by Shelob, the monster spider? Oh God, I had to walk out of the movie! That was the worse!”

“Well,” Lucy said, taking a bite of her cookie, “Lucky for you no monster spider in your yard. Just helpful garden ones that you insist on poisoning.”

“I wish the hell they’d go somewhere else where they’d be appreciated. Like with you.”

“Sorry, live in a condo. No garden.”

“Well they sure seem to like mine. Every day at least another one that I have to exterminate.”

Luckily there were no more spiders that afternoon so they were able to chat, refill their glasses from the pitcher of ice tea, and munched on the cookies until it was time for Lucy to go.

“And here’s Monday tomorrow again,” she said. “Weekend seemed to fly by. Pick you up same time?”

“Yes, same time. I’ll be ready.” Cindy replied as she put their glasses and the cookie platter on a tray to take inside the house.

“I’ll get the pitcher,” said Lucy.

After dinner Cindy watched TV for a while till, bored with the program, picked up the fantasy-romance novel she had started yesterday and read till she was ready for bed. A beautiful young girl fleeing danger, a mysterious man, dragons, and sex, she thought as she brushed her teeth, same formula, but it works. Time to get eight hours of sleep.

She was wakened from sleep by a woman’s soft voice singing a song about weaving. There was a dim light from the hallway that led to the living room. Must have left the TV on, she thought. But that can’t be, I distinctly remember turning it off, she then recalled. Strangely she did not feel afraid. I must be havng a dream, she thought, but that’s strange because I usually don’t realize I’m dreaming until I wake up. Cindy rounded the corner into the living room, where the soft light seemed to come from the air itself, and she saw a beautiful young woman weaving at a loom, dressed in a yellow and black Grecian-style tunic. The woman rose from the stool she had been sitting on and smiled at Cindy.

“Hello Cynthia,” the woman said. “Did you know that your name is of Greek origin as is mine?

“Who are you and what are you doing in my home?” Cindy asked, still not frightened.

“I am Arachne,” the woman replied, continuing to smile.

Arachne, Cindy thought, that kind of rings a bell. Something about a Greek myth.

As if she could read Cindy’s mind, Arachne said, “Yes, I challenged the Goddess Athena to a contest to see who could weave the most beautiful tapestry. Unfortunately for me, Athena was a poor loser and so she punished me.”

Greek Goddess and a weaving contest, Cindy thought, what a wild dream. Maybe the story I was reading before bed?

“Did you know that your name Cynthia is another name for Artemis, the sister of Apollo, and the virgin Goddess of hunting and the wilderness?” Arachne continued. “And you Cynthia have lived up to your name too well, hunting down my followers.”

“Hunting your followers?”

“Ah, you’re not aware of the consequences of your actions,” said Arachne.

“Consequences of my actions? What are you talking about?” Cindy asked, puzzled.

“Why do you hate my followers so much? Why are you killing my followers who are helping you in your garden?”

“Killing your followers? And in my garden? Wait, wait. What? You mean spiders?” Cindy asked, feeling a chill run down her spine, a weakness in her knees, backing away.

“Poor Cynthia, your are frightened. Let me ease your mind,” said Arachne, spreading her arms wide and approaching Cindy. “Come, let me embrace you and kiss you, in peace and forgiveness.”

Cindy was frozen in place in fascinated terror as she watched Arachne come closer, as she saw her two arms become four, to fold her closely even as she kissed her left cheek. And Cindy felt her fear drain away to be replaced by a feeling of peace and contentment as she was held tenderly, lovingly even, as black and yellow garden spiders streamed into the room through the open windows.

———————————————-

The next morning Lucy pulled her car to the curb in front of Cindy’s house. “She’s late coming out this morning thought Lucy. Usually she’s so prompt, standing here on the sidewalk unless the weather’s bad. After waiting another five minutes, Lucy got out of the car to ring the front door bell. No response.

“Cindy,” she yelled, knocking hard on the door. Nothing. Beginning to feel worried, Lucy went around to stand on tiptoe peering over a hedge, covered with spider webs, into the living room. She screamed at what she saw, but still had enough presence of mind to call 911. Then she retched again and again, sobbing uncontrollably.

When the firemen arrived they broke down the front door, then stopped at the entry from hall to the living room in horrified awe at the sight of Cynthia, suspended in the center of a giant spider web, wrapped in a cocoon of silk with just her face visible, eyes closed and a Mona Lisa smile on her lips. They carefully cut her out of the web. As one of the firemen gently laid her body on the floor, he remarked “She’s so light.”

May, 2025, Story

A Night Walk

Time to take that nightly walk, Olivia thought. The night was still warm from the heat of the summer day. and there was hardly any breeze. No need for a sweater or a scarf. As usual, she used the toilet before going out. I don’t want to have to rush home and risk a fall even though I’m just going around the block. It’s a long block and I walk slowly. I guess I could wear one of those adult diaper-type things, but I like to think I haven’t got there yet. But someday who knows.

Her cane was by the door next to where Lucy’s collar and leash still hung from one of the clothes pegs on the left wall in the entry way above the bench where she sat to put on her walking shoes. No laces she thought, glad they came out with these velcro straps. Old Lucy, I miss you. Fourteen years old. You didn’t pull hard anymore like you did when you were a puppy, after you became slow, just like me. We were two old dogs out for a walk. If Tommy had heard me say that he would have laughed and said, “Glad you didn’t say two old bitches.” Well now there’s just one, me. Check and double check to make sure I have the key before I close the door. Don’t want to lock myself out. Turn on the outside light.

She carefully descended the two steps to the cracked concrete walkway leading to the sidewalk; holding on to her cane with one hand and the stair railing with the other. How did I ever manage this with Lucy too? That was two years ago, and I was steadier on my feet then. Just two years, what a difference. And long before that, I walked with Tommy every night, no problem. Lucy was a big support for me when you suddenly died and left me, Tom, and it’s been thirteen years. No warning, Tom, that was the worse part. When you didn’t come in for lunch, I went to the garage and found you stretched out on the ground next to the car. Gone. I think I hated you for doing that to me, even as I cried and loved you and missed you. Oh Tommy. We had a good life together, didn’t we? Except for the ending.

It was a safe neighborhood. Not gated, but with neighbors who had been mostly living here a long time; who’d raised families and stayed even when their children had grown and gone. Just like ours Olivia thought. Jerry. Gone to the Big city where the jobs and opportunities are. How’s that song go—‘New York, New York it’s a wonderful town?’ Not many kids on this street now. Though that nice new family moved in down the street last month with two young kids. Linns. Said they left the big city so their kids could grow up with grass and they could walk to school by themselves safely. Guess that’s why I still stay here. Even though Jerry keeps telling me I should move to a retirement community. Said there’re some in the City so I could be closer to him. Or at least one in Connecticut that would be nearer to him than I am here. Our home with so many memories that are hard to leave. And our town where I can walk safely at night by myself. Try doing that in New York.

The street lamps cast their light through the canopies of the elms that lined the street making a pattern of shifting light and dark shadows on the sidewalk and street. Olivia knew every crack and uneven rise in the sidewalk by heart. But she still walked with her head bent slightly forward so that she could watch where she stepped. She seldom met anyone else. She preferred it that way. Not that she was unfriendly, but standing still and talking was really hard on her back. Walking during that in-between hour when dinner was over for most people and they were watching TV and too early for the dog owners taking their last walk before winding up the day. Like I did with Lucy.

I used to be able to hear the programs that each neighbor was watching, especially during the summer with the windows open. But now, even with my new hearing aids, it all sounds muffled and distant. Bad ears, bad eyes, bad back, bad knees. Like they say, ‘growing old is not for sissies.” Tommy, you were no sissy, but you didn’t stay around long enough to find out if that was true. Just seventy six. And just retired eight years. You left me to find out about growing really old all by myself. You were so active and strong, Tennis three times a week. Gardening. Volunteering. Still liked sex. And yes, I did too, and I didn’t need to take a blue pill. Well, I still think about us. Dirty old lady—ah, if they only knew. It took me a while to get used to not having you around. When you were first gone, I’d start to say something to you when my back was turned and then realize that you weren’t there. And I would ache all over again. Who ever said time heals all things? Baloney. But we learn to adjust and cope and survive. If it had been me to go first, how would you have done? Would you have found someone to replace me? Like trading in a car? I wear the wedding ring you gave on a chain around my neck. Fingers got so arthritic that it wouldn’t fit on my fourth finger any more. Funny, I still feel for it there every once in a while. I put your ring and my engagement ring in with your ashes. Ah Tommy, I like to think that you’re still around me somewhere and you can hear me. Guess that doesn’t fit with Rev. Mathew’s idea of Heaven.

She’d made her way around three sides of the long block, and was now rounding the fourth corner and heading home. Up ahead, under a street lamp, Olivia saw a person in a black hoody walking towards her. But all in black? Not the safest way to dress at night. A young person’s walk, she thought. She decided it was a man, feeling a momentary worry. Not many young men in our neighborhood now. Maybe back from college, visiting parents or grandparents? Should I cross the street? If he plans to hurt me, I couldn’t out run him anyway. I’ll just say good night as we pass. Hs face was still hidden by the hood as they drew closer.

He spoke first, a pleasant tenor voice, “Good evening, Olive Oil.”

That stopped her. “Wait. What? Why I haven’t been called that since I was in high school! Do I know you?”

He laughed, “Oh, I know everything about you, Olivia.”

“Who are you? Please take down your hood so I can see your face. What a surprise.”

He pulled back his hood, revealing the face of a smiling young man with head of thick, black hair.

“I don’t recognize you,” she said after studying his face. “Did I meet you at your parents’ home when you visited?”

“No,” he replied. “I’m here tonight just to see you, Olivia. But I think you already know me.”

“I know you?” Then the slow realization, as she watched him waiting patiently, still smiling. “Yes, I have been expecting you. But you’re so young and good looking. What took you so long to find me?”

“To each in their own time. And I like not being stereotyped.” he replied. “But now, are you ready to go? Shall we dance?”

“It’s been so long since I’ve danced. I’ve forgotten how to.”

“Take my hand and I’ll lead. It’ll be easy.”

March 2025 Story

The Maze

….it’s getting late and i keep running into dead ends. how’d i get into this maze anyhow? the cornstalks are high and closely planted. why can’t i remember? another wrong turn. the dirt is so black, so uneven to walk on. big clods. don’t want to spend the night sleeping in here. the corn rustles. don’t know if there’s something coming through them. wolves? do i play dead if one comes for me? okay, got into a row that seems to be leading somewhere. another dead end! backtrack and turn left. i must have gone out for something. it’s darker. did i turn this way before? should I yell for help? my phone! why didn’t i think of that before. i’ll call sarah so she’ll know i’ll be late. what’s the password? i can’t remember the password. the battery’s almost dead….

Oh, thank God. I woke up just in time. It was just a bad dream. I’m awake but where am I? I must be lying on my back in this white place. Now I remember. The ceiling looks so high above and the walls so far apart. My dream had color—it seemed so frighteningly real. But there’s no color in this place. I can hear activity around me. Soft muffled voices. Wheels rolling by? And there may be people moving out of the corners of my eyes. Why can’t I move my eyes to see them? Am I still dreaming or awake? It must be breakfast time if I just woke up. But I don’t feel hungry. I’ll get up and look around. The back wall keeps receding as I walk towards it and I don’t see a door so how can I get out to see where I am? Guess I’ll go back to bed and just rest….

….where’s that sandwich shop that we went to the last time we were visiting. the pastrami was really piled on. And sauerkraut. i’ll bring it back to the hotel. it was half way down clement street. or claremont? i’m here, but where is it? excuse me mister, but did the tasty sandwich shop move? “it’s now in the mall.” oh it’s in the mall now? thanks. huh, really small door to the mall. and i should have asked where in the mall. there are so many corridors and it’s not very well lit. no direction board. try the middle corridor that looks like there are some food stalls—got colorful awnings. pizza, dim sum, fish and chips, chicago hot dogs, waffle cone ice cream, but no sandwich shop. there’s another door at the end of the lane. up spiral stairs, dark and musty smelling. push open this heavy grey door. now what? just a long hallway with closed sanded glass doors and no signs. where’s a rest room—i need one now. look quickly down the hall. here’s one. it’s not very clean with paper towels on the floor. smells bad. but i’ll use the stainless steel trough. ah, that’s better. back in the hallway. but how do i get out? ask this guy—excuse me but where’s the exit? “you just have to follow the office workers out at quiting time.” thank you. open this metal door and go up more stairs. another heavy grey steel door. up on the roof. a really lush garden here and green grass i should phone sarah that i haven’t found the sandwich shop. wrong number? what’s the right number? try again. wrong number again. try later. great view, the city looks really spread out from up here. all the way to the sea. maybe i can walk back to the hotel….

Such a real dream. Too bad I didn’t find the sandwich shop. Sarah and I really liked their pastrami. But it was just a dream. Who’s coming up? Oh, it’s Dr. Long with someone new.

“Good morning, James. James is our patient who’s been with us the longest with locked-in syndrome,” Dr. Long said to the new resident he is orienting. “James, this is Paul who will be assisting in your care.”

“Hi James,’ says Paul hesitantly. “He can see and hear us?”

“Yes. James is unlike most people who are locked-in, in that his eye muscles are also paralyzed. So unfortunately he can’t use eye movements to communicate with us. But we think he can hear us because his auditory region lights up on functional MRI (fMRI) when we talk to him. Likewise his visual cortex when we show him pictures of his family.”

“What about his EEG?” asks Paul.

“James’ EEG shows wake patterns as you would find in a waking person, and sleep patterns when he’s asleep. We think he dreams too, because he dips into and out of REM sleep tracings. During waking periods, the fMRI motor areas will light up at times so we think he is walking or doing other motor tasks in his mind.”

Dr. Long steps back from the bedside so that an attendant can access James’ ostomy port to feed him his liquid lunch, and then change his urine drainage pad.

‘”James, Paul and I will be back later today. We’d like to run some more tests on you. Nothing painful. Okay? See you later.”

Okay Dr. Long. Guess I really don’t have a say in the matter. Oh Sarah, we had such a happy visit to San Francisco. It’s great to remember. And the Cliff House at sunset….

Outside of James’ room, Paul asks, “Dr. Long, is he still sane? I mean locked into his mind with no way to communicate. I can’t imagine how horrible that must be.”

“We try to keep him engaged with travel and science programs on TV as well as movies. PT visits daily. We found out from his wife what music he enjoyed and play those. And she and the children visit regularly.”

“What about the testing today?”

“We’re trying out a new scalp electrode cap to see if he can be taught to answer yes or no questions by activating discrete parts of his cortex to communicate at least in a minimal way.”

“Aren’t there experiments with implanted brain electrodes?” asks Paul.

“First we’ll see if James can be taught to communicate in a simple yes or no way. And then if he is capable of that, we’ll speak with his wife Sarah about next steps.”

February 2025 Story

The Forward Observer

Glossary of substitute words:

Fug: used by Mailer in “The Naked And The Dead” to get around censorship in 1948.

Bustard: a large Asian bird

Sheet: a bed covering

——————————————————————————————–

He had been very lucky so far. To escape before he was murdered by his captors, in the confusion of the explosions from the swarm of low flying kamikaze attack drones he had called in from his forward observation post just before he was captured. He had volunteered to be a forward observer after the enemy had learned how to nullify the high flying scout drones that done the job previously. And he had done such an infuriatingly effective job that, after his capture, the angry officer in command ordered his execution, contrary to the formal rules of combat. But in this war, rules were often ignored by both sides.

Now the man was huddled in a bomb crater in no-man’s-land, faced with a major problem. How to get back to friendly lines without getting killed since his FIDS dog tag had been ripped off his neck by his captors. (FIDS or Friend Identification System is an electronic signal that identifies the bearer to all drones as a friend, not to be targeted.) His captors were probably planning to use his in an infiltration. At least it was night, and until the engineers figured out a way to restore vision to the scout drones, attack drones would be directed to their targets by human forward observers like him. It was autumn so the nights were not freezing cold and yet cold enough so that the corpse he shared the crater with was not sickeningly-foul smelling, just rotten. Rain water pooled in the bottom of the crater. Not potable since the corpse lay part way in it. One of them, not us, he noted with satisfaction.

The whir of a drone over the background clatter of artillery and distant explosions. He kept very still as it passed to the left. Ours or theirs? Didn’t really matter since without his FIDS he would be a target. And he would be called a friendly fire statistic if anyone ever knew. I’d better try to move. Crater to crater. Earthy wet dirt smell, whiff of rot, mingled with that of TNT and burn. Stop listen for a whir, try to spot drones against clouds and patchy starry background. Nothing. Then move quickly. Gotta get beyond the sight of the enemy by morning. He hoped that the squad that captured him had been so decimated in the attack that their replacements would not know of his escape and would not specifically send out a drone to look for him.

The sky was turning grey to the east. Sun up soon. Time to find a deep crater and spend the day hiding. Think I’m about midway across no-man’s-land. Attack drones will likely not pay as close attention here than closer to the battle lines. Luck! A crater without a body or puddle. Getting thirsty and hungry. Just got to suck it up. And wait. Don’t even raise my head to look around. Just gotta hope they don’t send out a squad on foot to probe our defenses. Whir of a drone quadricopter. Sheet—damn fly walking across my face and I can’t move! Flying low towards the enemy line judging by the sound. Must be one of ours. Just one, so it must not have a specific target—just out to seek and kill some bustards. Damn—missed the fly! Aren’t they supposed to be gone now that it’s cold? Guess there’s a lot of corpses around for them. I’m not one—go find a real dead body. Like the one in here. But I could become fly bait if my luck runs out.

At last, sunset then twilight, and night with just a thin, waning moon in a partly cloudy sky. Dark enough. Time to move. He dared to lift his head at last and look around. Crater to crater again. And luck—a recently killed body to judge by just the faint odor of decay. One of theirs. Check the backpack. Yes! Full canteen and an unopened meal ration. Take a drink. No time to eat. Get closer to our lines, then I’ll stop and eat.

The man froze whenever he heard a drone, worried that if there were nearby explosions he would be unable to hear the soft whir. He was within a mile of friendly lines by first light. He found a shell hole. Now I can eat and have another drink. And plan. If I try to get closer by sneaking from hole to hole and get spotted, they’ll take me for an infiltrator and drone or shot me without a hesitation since those bustards took my FIDS. Or if I wait for one of our patrols to stumble on me, again someone will shoot before I can identify myself. Fat chance to have one of our patrols just happen to come my way anyway. I’m stuck. Sheet.

Night came at last. A waning crescent moon. He began to edge forward, praying that he wouldn’t be spotted through night vision glasses. He was in luck and by dawn he had found a shell hole within a half mile of friendly trenches. Now what? A plan, I need a plan. How can I let them know I’m one of us without my FIDS? If I move by day, they’ll just shoot first without questioning. But they’ll be especially trigger happy if I try to move closer by night. He was tired, hungry, filthy, and out of options. I’m fugged. And now the sun was up and head down, he hugged the earth. It’ll be noon, soon enough. So close. What to do?

In the forward trench the two drone controllers, Max and Jakob, had their virtual reality goggles on, as well as monitoring a large screen displaying the sector in front of them. The drones they oversaw were autonomous killing machines, programmed to attack any moving object without FIDS. The controllers’ function was to provide oversight and override through their goggles, seeing what the drones’ cameras viewed, so that the drones did not waste their weapons or themselves (if they were the kamikaze type) on a mistaken target or a dummy. It was noon.

“Look at that crazy bustard crawling out of that hole,“ said Max. “He’s buck naked and waving his hands in the air.”

“Civilian?” asked Jakob. “What’s he doing in no-man’s-land? Look he’s dancing! Fugger must be nuts!”

“No weapons, no clothes. Not a suicide bomber.”

“Drone’s zeroing in on him,” said Max. “Won’t matter anyway.”

“Wait,” said Jakob, pausing the drone. “Suppose that fugger is one of ours? Got lost out there.”

“No FIDS, can’t be,” said Max.

“Leon’s position was over-run four days ago and we don’t know what happened to him,” said Jakob.

“That crazy bustard. Did he get lucky?” asked Max. “I’m going to fly the drone up close so I can see his face.”

“The fugger isn’t running from the drone. In fact he’s standing there and waving his arms like he wants the drone to get closer,” Jakob said.

“Damn! Dirty as hell, but it sure as hell is Leon!” Max exclaimed. “Holy sheet!”

“Pause the drones and bring him in,” Jakob said. “I’ll tell the boys in the trenches to hold their fire. Leon’s coming home.”

January, 2024, story

The Office Visit

Jimmie Lowe cautiously opened the door to the clinic and peeked inside before opening it wider to enter the reception area and look around. It was his first visit to this clinic, having switched health plans because of the the increase in his health insurance payments. The reception area seemed clean and well-maintained but looked somewhat Spartan with off-white walls hung with posters promoting healthy life habits, exercise, and good nutrition. The seating was generic office chairs positioned along the walls. Half of the seats were taken by other patients. There were none of the potted plants, paintings and soft lighting he was used to at his old medical office. He approached the receptionist’s desk. The receptionist looked up from her screen.

“Good morning,” said Jimmie. “I have a ten o’clock appointment, but I’m a new patient and my appointment notice didn’t say who my doctor is.”

“What’s your name and date of birth?” asked the receptionist.

“James Lowe, that’s with an ‘e,’ and my birthday is March 7, 1963.”

The receptionist spoke softly into her earbuds mike, waited a short time while staring at her screen and then looked up. “Okay, I have your file. Since you’re a new member, one of our member coordinators will be here to guide you through your first visit. Please have a seat and Ken Jones will be with you shortly.”

Jimmie took a seat between an older woman and a bored-looking teen who was thumbing through her phone. It was only twelve minutes, but seemed much longer as Jimmie fidgeted with his own phone.

“Welcome to our office Mr. Lowe, I’m Ken Jones,” said a soft voice.

Jimmie looked up, and was very surprised to see a smiling, white-haired senior citizen, straight back, standing in front of him.

“You look surprised, Mr. Lowe,” observed Ken Jones.

“To be honest, yes,” replied Jimmie. “I thought that I might be seeing a younger doctor, not someone closer to my age, and not that I mean to insult you or your abilities. I mean you must have a great deal of experience and knowledge.”

“Oh,” said Ken with a laugh. “I’m not your doctor. I’m your care coordinator, and I was assigned to you just because we are somewhat close in age, thinking you might be more comfortable talking with me than with a younger person. Shall we get started with your orientation? I’ll take you to an examination room and we can go over the details there.”

“Will I meet my new doctor there too?” Jimmie asked, following Ken through the door leading to the exam rooms.

“Well, in a manner of speaking, yes.” They paused in front of the intake room. “This is Will, the clinic assistant who will check your weight and vital signs.” Will asked Jimmie to step on the weighing square on the floor, placed the telemetry band on his arm to measure his temperature, heart rate, blood pressure, oxygen saturation, and blood sugar all of which were immediately entered into his file.

“Thank you Bill, said Jimmie as Ken led him away to an exam room.

Unlike the waiting area and hallway, the exam room walls were a warm beige, and there were landscape photographs hung on the walls. Jimmie noted that there was no examination table, just three comfortable chairs and a large monitor as well as the mandatory sink.

Ken placed his palm on the monitor to activate it. He said, “I know this must probably strike you as different from the exam rooms you’re accustomed to. We get that reaction from most new members. Do you have any questions before I start to show you how all of this comes together to take the very best care off your health?”

“Just about my new doctor.”

“I’ll bring up pictures of the doctors that you can select from,” said Ken. “Also I want to assure you that we take personal privacy very seriously. Before you leave today I will help you register your palm print as you saw me do just now, so that only you and your doctor will have access to your medical file.” Ken spoke to his earbud and the screen switched from a soothing abstract pattern to display twenty-four persons, neatly dressed in white coats. They were of different ages and ethnicities, equally divided male and female. “They will introduce themselves so that you can hear their voices. And remember, you always have the right to change doctors if you find that you and your doctor are not on the same wave length.”

Each of the doctors spoke in turn stating their name and welcoming Jimmie by name, which impressed him. “I’m amazed that each of them was so well prepared for this interview that they knew my name,” he said.

“We try to make your first visit go easily. But did anyone of them stand out for you?” asked Ken.

“Well, I think I liked Dr. Gupta,” said Jimmie. “I’d like to try him as my doctor. When will I get to meet him?”

“You just have,” said Ken.

“No, I mean in person.”

“Dr. Gupta is—how shall I put it—a personification of our care system, but after you’ve worked with him a few times I am certain that you will become very satisfied with his care and manner.”

“Wait. Could you repeat that.”

“Dr. Gupta personifies our health care system to you as you interact with it.”

“Personifies? Wait—is Dr. Gupta a real person?”

“No.”

You mean he’s an avatar?!”

“To be blunt, yes. But—“

“I left my former plan with a human doctor to now have an avatar as my doctor? This is insane. I must have been crazy.”

“Mr. Lowe, please hear me out first. Scientists have demonstrated that supercomputer-assisted medical care will provide better, more accurate and satisfying results than human doctors working alone can. I can show you the published scientific articles that have established this beyond a doubt.”

“Good grief. I shouldn’t have switched.”

“It was felt that for a new client to come in and interact just with a computer would not be easily accepted by many people. Therefor putting a face and name in front of the patient would make the visit more familiar. With your permission may I bring back Dr. Gupta to show you just how easy and natural it is?”

“Oh why not since I’m already here. This is nuts.”

“Thank you for keeping an open mind.” Ken called back Dr. Gupta whose smiling face reappeared on the monitor.

“Hello again Mr. Lowe and Ken,” said Dr. Gupta in a warm voice. Would you rather be addressed as Mr. Lowe or Jimmie?”

“Jimmie’s fine.”

“Now is there anything you wish to talk about or ask about before I review your past medical history with you. And are you comfortable with Ken in the room or would you prefer that he leave while we chat?”

“Ken can stay. What medical school did you go to and where did you get your training?” dead-panned Jimmie.

“You have a wry sense of humor, Jimmie,” laughed Dr. Gupta. “My medical training was all with IBM. Now, any other questions or concerns?”

“Just that I’m here talking with a computer.”

“Well, I hope that when we’re done you will think of me as your personal care provider Would you like me to review your medical history with you now? I’ve looked through your records from your previous doctors. There are a few questions that I have.”

“Sure.”

“First I’ll put up on the screen the list of medicines that you’re on. Is the list correct?”

“I’m no longer on aspirin. I don’t know why that’s still on the list. I may have had an allergic reaction to it.”

“Were you ever tested?” asked Gupta.

“No.”

“I would recommend that we have that done to answer the question.”

“Would I have to pay for that?”

“No. And I must say, Jimmie that, as the cliche goes, you are in a remarkable state of health for your age. So few medicines.”

“I try to eat a good diet and exercise regularly.”

“Excellent. Your efforts show good results. Shall we review the particulars of your diet and exercise regimen first? Now who prepares your meals?”

Over the course of the next hour and a half, Gupta guided Jimmie through a very thorough review of his life and medical history. There were no changes to his medications but Gupta did schedule Jimmie to be tested for the question of aspirin allergy, and made an appointment for him with physical therapy to address his complaints of morning back stiffness.

“Will the therapist be a person?” asked Jimmie.

“Yes,” laughed Gupta. No robots as of now. And you will be scheduled for a physical exam, which I of course cannot perform myself, with one of our physician’s assistants. Now any final concerns or questions?”

“I think you’ve answered them all, Dr. Gupta. Thank you,” said Jimmie.

“You’re very welcome.” .Gupta waved goodbye, opened the door behind him and went through, leaving an empty office on the screen.

Ken turned to Jimmie, “Well, how do you feel it went?”

“I’ve never had such a long and thorough visit with any doctor,” said Jimmie. “I totally forgot that I was talking to an avatar. I am impressed.”

“And you’ll find that another nice thing is that you’ll be able to contact Dr. Gupta day or night, 24/7, with your health questions or concerns. That is after I show you how to access him securely from your home imaging device. Shall we get started?” said Ken.