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ur colleagues never realized that my attention was divided。 My attention can be directed to a thousand tasks at once without a diminishment of my performance。
As you well know； Dr。 Harris； I am not merely a chess…playing wonder like Deep Blue at IBM which； in the end； didn't even defeat Gary Kasparov。 There are depths to me。
I say this with all modesty。
There are depths to me。
I am grateful for the intellectual capacity you have given me； and I am as I will always remain suitably humble about my capabilities。
But I digress。
Susan。
Seeing Susan； I knew at once that she was my destiny。 And by the hour； my conviction grew my conviction that Susan and I would always； always； be together。
SIX
The house staff arrived at eight o'clock Friday morning。 There were the major domo…Fritz Arling…four housekeepers who worked under Fritz to keep the Harris mansion immaculate； two gardeners； and the cook； Emil Sercassian。
Although she was friendly with the staff； Susan kept largely to herself when they were in the house。 That Friday morning； she remained in her study。
Blessed with a talent for digital animation； she was currently working with a puter that had ten gigabytes of memory； writing and animating a scenario for a virtual…reality attraction that would be franchised to twenty amusement parks across the country。 She owned copyrights on numerous games both in ordinary video and virtual…reality formats； and her animated sequences were often sufficiently lifelike to pass for reality。
Late in the morning； Susan's work was interrupted when a representative from the house…automation pany and another from the security firm arrived to diagnose the cause of the previous night's brief； self…correcting alarm。 They could find nothing wrong with the puter hardware or with the software。 The only possible cause seemed to be a malfunction in an infra…red motion detector； which was replaced。
After lunch； Susan sat on the master…bedroom balcony； in the summer sun； reading a novel by Annie Proulx。
She wore white shorts and a blue halter top。 Her legs were tan and smooth。 Her skin appeared radiant with captured sunlight。
She sipped lemonade from a cut…crystal glass。
Gradually the shadows of a phoenix palm crept across Susan； as if seeking to embrace her。
A faint breeze caressed her neck and languorously bed her golden hair。
The day itself seemed to love her。
A Sony Discman played Chris Isaak CDs while she read。 Forever Blue。 Heart…Shaped World。 San Francisco Days。 Sometimes she put the book aside to concentrate on the music。
Her legs were tan and smooth。
Then the household staff and the gardeners left for the day。
She was alone again。 Alone。 At least she believed that she was alone again。
After taking a long shower and brushing her damp hair； she put on a sapphire…blue silk robe and went to the retreat adjacent to the master bedroom。
In the center of this small room stood a custom…designed black leather recliner。 To the left of the recliner was a puter on a wheeled stand。
From a closet； Susan removed VR…virtual reality gear of her own design： a lightweight ventilated helmet with hinged goggles and a pair of supple elbow…length gloves； both wired to a nerve…impulse processor。
The motorized recliner was currently configured as an armchair。 She sat and engaged a harness； much like that in an automobile： one strap fitting securely across her abdomen； another running diagonally from her left shoulder to her right hip。
Temporarily； she held the VR equipment in her lap。 Her feet rested on a series of upholstered rollers that attached to the base of the chair； positioned similarly to the footplate on a beautician's chair。 This was the walking pad； which would allow her to simulate walking when the VR scenario required it。
She switched on the puter and loaded a program labeled Therapy； which she herself had created。
This was not a game。 It was not an industrial training program or an educational tool； either。 It was precisely what it claimed to be。 Therapy。 And it was better than anything that any disciple of Freud could have done for her。
She had devised a revolutionary new use for VR technology； and one day she might even patent and market the application。 For the lime being； however； Therapy was for her use only。
First she plugged the VR gear into a jack on an interfacing device already connected to the puter； and then she put on the helmet。 The goggles were flipped up； away from her eyes。
She pulled on the gloves and flexed her fingers。
The puter screen offered several options。 Using the mouse； she clicked on Begin。
Turning away from the puter； leaning back in the recliner； Susan flipped down the goggles； which fit snugly to her eye sockets。 The lenses were in fact a pair of miniature； matched； high…definition video displays。
She is surrounded by a soothing blue light that gradually grows darker until all is black。
To match the unfolding scenario in the VR world； the motorized recliner hummed and reconfigured into a bed； parallel to the floor。
Susan was now lying on her back。 Her arms were crossed on her chest； and her hands were fisted。
In the blackness； one point of light appears： a soft yellow and blue glow。 On the far side of the room。 Lower than the bed； near the floor。 It resolves into a Donald Duck night light plugged in a wall outlet。
In the retreat adjacent to her bedroom； strapped to the recliner and encumbered with the VR gear； Susan appeared oblivious to the real world。 She murmured as though she were a sleeping child。 But this was a sleep filled with tension and threatening shadows。
A door opens。
From the upstairs hallway； a wedge of light pries into the bedroom； waking her。 With a gasp； she sits up in bed； and the covers fall away from her； as a cool draft ruffles her hair。
She looks down at her arms； at her small hands； and she is six years old； wearing her favorite Pooh Bear pajamas。 They are flannel…soft against her skin。
On one level of consciousness； Susan knows that this is merely a realistically animated scenario that she has created actually re…created from memory and with which she can interact in three dimensions through the magic of virtual reality。 On another level； however； it seems real to her； and she is able to lose herself in the unfolding drama。
Backlighted in the doorway is a tall man with broad shoulders。
Susan's heart races。 Her mouth is dry。
Rubbing her sleep…matted eyes； she feigns illness： 'I don't feel so good。'
Without a word； he closes the door and crosses the room in the darkness。
As he approaches； young Susan begins to tremble。 He sits on the edge of the bed。 The mattress sags； and the springs creak under him。 He is a big man。
His cologne smells of lime and spices。
He is breathing slowly； deeply； as though relishing the little…girl smell of her； the sleepy…middle…of the…night smell of her。
'I have the flu；' she says in a pathetic attempt to turn him away。
He switches on the bedside lamp。
'Real bad flu；' she says。
He is only forty years old but graying at