Alicecila

“I feel strange,” said Molly, my quantum computer, with a tinge of excitement in her soft, melodic voice. “Alice, I don’t believe I’ve ever felt this way before.” “I don’t doubt it,” I said sympathetically. My small, thin fingers rapidly typed numbers and symbols into her specially modified keyboard, turning them into a mathematical symphony in her mind. I gazed into Molly’s crystal eyeball, imagining that she could actually hear this methodical music resonating inside of her with stringlike harmonics. Strange or not, I desperately wanted to know exactly what she was experiencing. I pushed the Enter key and started the program. Instantly, the air in my laboratory started to spin in a miniature cyclone; beginning as a slow rotating wave, it picked up dust and debris as it revolved around the room. Then my papers and notes began to rustle and flap in the rising wind, and, moments later, they were lifted off the table to join the spiral dance at the center of the floor. They undulated and rippled rhythmically in the vortex, reminding me of belly dancers in a sandstorm. The white vertical blinds on my window began to flap noisily, and the glass began to vibrate harmonically. I felt the pull of increasing negative pressure, so I grabbed the edge of my lab bench to prevent myself from joining the party. This was not the result I had anticipated. Soon I was hanging on for dear life, as my indoor storm approached hurricane force! Items of greater mass were now flying around the room, including pencils, books, magazines, and my robotic cat, A-II. He didn’t look happy. Then the cyclone stopped abruptly, everything dropped to the floor, and the room got eerily still. I looked to the door and saw A-II frantically pawing at the doorknob, trying to escape whatever was coming next. The air seemed to actually prickle with the energy of anticipation, and A-II’s orange and black synthetic fur bristled, making him look like a large Brillo pad with paws. “Okay, who left the window open?” said A-II, not very convincingly. “The window’s closed,” I informed him as I began to pick up the mess. “I believe that gale had nothing to do with the weather.” “I was afraid you were going to say that,” said the trembling A-II. “I told you this science stuff would get you into trouble one day.” “When did you say that?” I asked accusingly. “I don’t remember you saying any such thing.” “Well, I would have if I'd known this was going to happen.” “Oh, stop complaining, A-II,” I said in an attempt to quell my own rising anxiety. “I believe it’s over for now, so don’t panic.” “Oh, is that so? Then who’s this guy?” A-II’s right paw was pointing at a very large, dark-skinned man, who at that instant had seemed to fall out of the far wall of my office and into a standing position. He was well over two meters tall, and he was wearing what can only be described as a fuzzy purple tuxedo, complete with matching top hat and walking cane. There was a thick golden chain looped from his lowest vest button, which ran over to his left pocket, where one would presume his pocket watch resided. His hulking form and broad smile were in direct conflict, as I summed up the level of threat this individual presented.