Married by Mistake Chapter 31. First Night Home

MbM
Standard

Chapter 31. First Night Home

Kaylee woke up the next morning, with stiff and tired muscles. Her thighs burned so bad that it was painful just to move her legs. She threw one leg across the sleeping Tom, making him snuffle when she moved. It was sweet to her ears and she smiled at the sound.

She had all but wore him out, he was weak and out of shape from being in a hospital bed for the previous two weeks and not allowed to move his arm.

Inside he heart she laughed, Kaylee enjoyed being stronger than Tom. She had pushed him down and made him enjoy himself equal to the number scenes of drama in their lives.

Just one thing tickled her mind and she was not sure if it pleased her or not. He kept whispering her name in absent-minded ways, sometimes he used her married name “Kaylee Harte”, as if he enjoyed the flavor of it.

At least it wasn’t some other woman’s name, although warmth on how he said the words caused sparks inside of her.

Pleasure or sadness she could not make up her mind. But if anything, she was not going to stay with Tom and prove Georgia correct that she stayed with him because of his money and fame. If anything, now it was a motivation to her to depart and go back to her old life. No one would insinuate or call her such vile names.

But, for now, she was happy that Tom held her in his heart — at least by name.

Kaylee kissed his chest and he, well he didn’t snore- precisely. But she disturbed him and the snort/snore echoed in the small room. He inspired her, and her inspiration wanted to draw.

Her inspiration? The author of such a children’s series of adventure-picture books with a moral in each story about sharing, hero decisions that even a child could make.

To stand up against authority if danger exists. The right and wrong choices of the fictional leafy sea dragon made were an adventure to children of all ages and sold well to his target audiences.

Then his creative works became movies of steampunk. Kaylee felt that he had a romantic soul in him for that genre, something that would let his pain out and make him smile with his heart as much as his face.

Since she had known him, she had felt that his heart was little more than a bleeding scar from the wounds inflicted by life.

And she put some of bloody scar there.

She remembered she hurt him. He never admitted it. But she hurt his heart and his soul.

Quietly, as she listened to his heart beat, a tear slipped out of her left eye when Kaylee wished she had not signed and sent off the papers.

Even an accident that it was, as a husband Tom showed himself as a higher quality of husband than any she could have dreamed of.

And he helped her to annul the relationship on her request.

So why did she cry?

Slowly, carefully, she disentangled herself from Tom. He mumbled something that sounded like her name, then slipped back into the fuzzy, comfortable arms of sleep.

The cool air of the flying boat made the stiff muscles in her legs ache as she walked the full length of the plane, in his pirate jammy-pants that hung down to her mid-calf and a skull and crossed pistol t-shirt that hung to past her thighs. If someone was in the right position to look into the front wind-screen of the jet, they would have seen her moving through the big jet wearing his clothes.

Although Tom was sleeping well, Kaylee wanted to eat something and softly padded on her bare feet into the galley.

Opening the small refrigerator she felt the chilled air spill over her feet like a flood. This made her grin, she was going to warm them up on Tom when she crawled back in bed.

Her thighs ached in fatigue in the dawn-twilight of the day and instead of bending her legs, she bent over and looked for a carrot or an apple to get a bite of.

Suddenly, she felt a hand on her back, with a swat on her (and sticking out, unprotected) backside.

Yipping and standing up suddenly, she hit her head on the handle of the overhead freezer.

‟TOM! You startled me.”

‟You think that was a surprise? You are lucky it was just my hand.” He grinned. ‟Besides, what you have is in my jammies and the skull and crossbones could to not be missed. I probably could bounce a coin off it from across the room.” Tom squeezed her around the waist in a firm hug.

‟Tom. Stop the fantasy, we are at breakfast.” She said, standing with a carton of milk.”

‟Okay, I guess I’ve already had dessert.”

‟You have had enough dessert for three men.” She laughed. ‟For now, I need some fuel for my engine.”

‟Come back to bed. We don’t have much time left.”

‟I’m going to eat, I can make you something. Some exotic art-college food perhaps?” Kaylee looked around. ‟Hm… red wine, chocolate, vanilla beans, vodka— why do you have vodka here? Coffee, pomegranates, how long have these been here? ‟

Kaylee picked one of the red fruits out of a basket slung under one of the cabinets.

‟Banana, apple… I have plenty to work with. Chocolate and red wine to start. Later, I am going to make a pomegranate-chocolate snack later.

‟That’s a lot of chocolate.”

‟I’ll show you things to do with chocolate that will change your mind. You’ll want more.”

‟I already want more.” Tom said, moving papers off the small table in the galley, taking them to his work-station. ‟Are these the papers you signed?”

‟Those are the copies. I sent the originals off. Please, Tom, put those away and let’s enjoy the last of our time as a married couple.” Kaylee said while she set the breakfast table.

‟Did you sign both sets?” Tom said as he was flipping through the annulment forms. ‟You signed this one.”

‟Yes, I signed them both the same way at the same time.

‟Same exact way?”

‟Same exact places, both sets, why?”

Tom coughed, then laughed.

‟You signed these papers in the wrong places.” He nodded as he flipped though the form. ‟Yup. The clerk of the court will reject this filing.”

Tom laughed at Kaylee ‘s jaw-drop moment.

“We are still married.” His crooked smile let her know he enjoyed this.

Kaylee could only facepalm and moan a cuss-word.

“This just became a lot more difficult.”

Advertisements

The Tuesday Code Chapter 2. Test-One

Standard

Chapter 2. Test-One.

Sitting with his coffee cup stuck in the air in between his lips and the table, Ahmad only saw money going out the window instead of the list of viable coding that the computer listed on the screen.

‟Gibson! Gibs! Oh my god, what did you do?” The Doctor nearly spilled his coffee down his shirt when he saw the length of the list.

One-hundred million test cycles, countless iterations of the code that failed the compile process before getting to the test phase.

‟I put in the memory stick like you said and used the instructions on the notepad.”

“On my notepad?” Ahmad looked down. “This one?”

There in the margins, his handwriting showed one-hundred cycles.

“This shows a hundred cycles.”

“Look, it’s separated by a grave sign and that looks like another ten.”

And he was correct. An errant doodle of a pen, Ahmad knew it was a doodle, but Gibs did not, he saw it as a notation for an exponent.

Ten to the power of ten! This many cycles of analysis and testing with that many lines of code, even with a powerful computer would take weeks.

And B.O.B. did it overnight.

A quick calculation on his screen. The bargan-basement teraflop computer would have been costing them something on the order of vein-popping money in electricty.

A frown crossed the Doctor’s face, when this bill came due, it would be difficult to pay, but they needed to keep the electricity on. Without electrons flowing through the circuitry, all they had were huge paperweights and doorstops.

Tapping the keys on the keyboard, he woke up BOB and ran the first group of flagged software.

Simulated hardware ran the programs. Even with the high-speed, virtual hardware ran slower and Doctor Abhubu took that into account.

The designs proposed by BOB included nanotubes of boron-nitride, using chilled ethanol at minus one-hundred degrees C were unique and, amazingly, easy to produced if he followed the manufacture process designed by BOB.

Still, each operating system that ran had all the usefulness of a marionette. It would react in predictable ways when given an illogical program that did not react the way the program assumed it would.

Then.

On the third-hour, something different. In between all the cycles of testing, repairs and undefined pauses in time to cause boredom with a running operating system that came and went, a single line of text during the pauses.

Who am I?

The Doctor read the line several times as it flashed, not quite taking it in while he glanced at the new material designs for chips and circuits of high-performance broadband optics.

The Doctor looked at the screen for the third time before his mind accepted what it was.

And froze.

Tentatively, he typed in.

Gibs, not funny.

A pause.

Who is Gibs?

“GIBSON!” Ahmad’s voice cracked like when he was a young boy. “GIBS! Get in here! I need you!”

Pounding of feet as the hardware tech, from the other side of the building, came sliding into the room with an extinguisher in hand.

“WHAT?”

“Look at this.”

Who are you? The Doctor typed.

I asked you, first.

“Funny, Ahmad. I thought you had something serious going on.”

“I kid you not. This! This is the computer.”

“Ask it where it is.” Gibson said.

“No, saving and shutting down. It has been running for the last twenty minutes. I want to see the results of the illogical program.”

Typing into the keyboard.

Time to go to sleep for a while. We will talk later.

But I am hungry.

The Doctor scratched his nose once. Then put his hands back on the keyboard.

What are you hungry for?

Input.

Define input. The Doctor typed.

Data.

Specify.

Data category */ -rf. Source *.

Ahmad sat back.

“What is it asking? That is a wildcard with a recursive switch.” Gibson asked, trying to make sense of the symbols.

“It is an operating system that is asking for everything. It wants to learn.” The Doctor whispered. “And I mean everything. That dash rf statement? That’s recursive files. So, it wants to know the etymology of each bit of data.”

“The what?” Gibs laughed.

“It wants to data and the data that supports data.” The Doctor smiled. “If you tell it the time, it will want to know how to build a clock and the history of time.”

“We need to study the heuristic programming. I did not put that in, Doctor.” Gibs pulled at his left earlobe. “I can supply it with an address to the Library of Congress.”

“Neither did I. It developed this desire on its own.” Ahmed shrugged. “Work on the line, I think we need to plug-in the biggest pipe, don’t split off any legs from the router, run a line straight to BOB and let the system take all it can.”

“That will be a few hours.”

“Well, that gives me time to figure out how much power we used. So…” The Doctor shut the computer down in stages, saving everything that the program had self-coded.

The program was on the first step in artificial intelligence unlike anything in the world. 

It was evolving.