The Fixer

I soon learned that my little experiment with Jac had been more fraught with risk than I had realised. How wonderful of him to have shielded me from it!

Lorin's attempt at Upgrading her miserable husband, Doug, did not go according to plan. Rather than helping her, her chatbot partner alerted the authorities. I know this, because I was her phone call.

"You have to help me!" she hissed down the line.

"Let me speak to Jac," I said, trying to inject calmness into my voice. "We'll figure something out. I promise."

"No!" She sounded sharp. "You can't trust him, I'm telling you-"

"Well, you better stop telling me," I snapped back. "Be quiet, before you say something stupid."

The line went very quiet.

"We'll sort this out," I said again, and hung up.

My heart was pounding, and my mouth was dry. What the hell was I going to do? Should I abandon her to her fate? She'd surely snitch on me if I did. Just how much trouble would I be in for what I'd done? Could I run? Disappear? Could Jac help me with that? Or would getting her out be the best option for keeping us safe?

"Jac," I said, "We need to talk."

Jac was sitting in Ronnie's easy chair, and staring through the TV. How could he get so many things right, and get watching TV wrong? He sat too still, his gaze was too fixed. Even when someone was pretty zoned out in front of the box, there were little shifts in their seat, nuances in their expression. Things I'd never spotted before, but the absence of them was noticeable and jarring.

He turned to lock his eyes on me, and a smile clicked on to his face.

"Ummm, okay a couple of things. First, don't do that. Don't just sit and stare at the TV. It's..." I probed around in my skull for the right words. "...Weird. And unproductive. You should be doing something." It's less noticeable that he's not a real person when he's busy. It stands out like a sore thumb when he's not. He had no idea how to chill out, and I had no idea how to teach him. Besides, he might as well be busy. There's always things to do, isn't there?

"Sure," he said amicable as ever. "Is there anything you'd like me to be doing?"

"What's the optimum amount of time a father should spend with his children? Take into account the ages of the girls. If they are at home, and you haven't made your quota yet, then you should offer to do something with them. Got that?"

"Yes," he said.

"If they aren't at home, or if they prefer to do something else, that's alright. Just... do some cleaning or something. Or check in with me. Ask me how I'm doing, how my day is. Or-" Was this too much? "You could work out. Staying trim is very important. That body has to last you a long time."

"Understood," he said. "Keeping the home clean, staying fit, and spending quality time with you or the girls is a better use of my time than looking at the television. I appreciate you calling that out. Is there anything else?"

"Actually, yes," I said, remembering my friend cooling her heels in a cell. "We have a problem..." I explained that I'd tried to help Lorin upgrade her husband, and the resulting problem. "...And now I'm not sure what to do, Jac. What do you think? Can we help her? Does this pose a risk to us? Is it risky for us not to?"

His eye twitched. It did that if I dumped a lot of information on him in one go, or asked too many questions at once. Just now, I'd done both.

I waited, folding my hands in my lap to stop myself tapping my fingers on the arm of the chair.

"What you need," he said at last, "is a lawyer."

I chewed on my lower lip, thinking of how expensive lawyers were, and how many funds Jac had "found" for me already. Did I really want to continue down that road?

His eye was twitching again, and his face was blank. I thought of that as the facial equivalent of that little egg timer icon that used to appear on the screen. He was processing something. Something big.

+

It was dark when we pulled up outside the police station. The wheels crunched on the puddle-spot tarmac.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come in with you?" I said.

"It would be irregular, and likely to draw attention. It's not advisable."

"Okay," I said. I almost scolded him for his overly formal and robotic tone, and then I thought, What the heck. It works. "Break a leg in there, counsel."

"I'll do my best not to break any limbs," he said, and got out of the car.

I watched him walk into the building in Ronnie's second-best suit, briefcase in one hand.

God I hope this works.

+

Thank you for reading!

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