Would an Occultist Dream of Steve Jobs

Sunlight shot through the orange-yellow curtains, yet it could not brighten the dim room. The monitor and floppy drive hummed in unison, and the computer case radiated waves of heat, making the air even more stifling. The cramped room could not accommodate a desk and chair, so Paulina sat cross-legged on the bed—in fact, on a pile of quilts—facing the Apple II on the table, an upscale product of the eighties that today was merely junk scavenged from the Foundation’s warehouse. Her crystalline blue-green eyes stared unblinkingly at the CRT screen. A copper-core telephone cord snaked in from beyond the door, rolled over a few times, climbed onto the desk, and connected to the case, refreshing line after line of text on the screen.

Paulina watched for a long while, then realized she had been online too long; the phone bill would exceed its limit. Moreover, she was monopolizing the line, preventing others from using the service. She tapped a few keys and disconnected. Her bangs, damp with sweat, hung down over her forehead. She grabbed them and swept them back.

Shutting down the computer, the room fell into a sudden silence. Paulina collapsed backward, face to the ceiling, and let out a long sigh. She had left home several years ago. At the Foundation, she had indeed experienced a different world at first—a world of occultists. Yet the Foundation was no charity; they trained them for work. All day long she did trivial, peripheral tasks, and the novelty had long since worn off. The human world, on the other hand, was rather interesting. Paulina immersed herself in a world built on 28.3 kbps and dial-up modems.

Come to think of it, why did she think of herself as the one who had left home? There were only J and herself left at home. It was J who had cut himself off from the family, J who had willingly fallen into mixing with street gangs for the sake of the loyalty he believed in. So, in fact, it was home that had left her.

At dinner, she took a roast beef burger, a bowl of mashed potatoes with cheese, and a dish of roasted butternut squash. After circling the dining hall, Paulina spotted a familiar slender figure and sat down beside her.

“Good evening, Hofer.”

“Good evening, Brown.” Adler looked up and greeted her colleague. Seeing what was on Paulina’s plate, Adler could not help but be moved:

“Brown, your appetite is truly remarkable.” “We Americans like our high-calorie dinners. Let me see what you’re having… roast pork knuckle with pickles, and pretzels. Oh, that’s a very German diet.” Paulina lowered her head to tackle her burger.

“Well, Miss Brown, if I recall correctly, you are of French descent? I thought you would like the blackcurrant over there.”

“Ah, blackcurrant… that’s what my mother liked. Perhaps because I inherited my mother’s face? Beyond that, I don’t think I have anything French about me.” Paulina was thoroughly bored and looked up at the television hanging on the wall.

“Britain hands Hong Kong back to China… Harry Potter tops the UK bestseller list… Damn, why is it all British news?”

“Do you have any particular opinion of Britain?”

“I am prejudiced against only one thing from Britain: that shortsighted section chief from West Yorkshire in the branch Technical Division! I will denounce him for his prejudice against humanity! The branch should have brought in some new computers ages ago; I have been wanting that Bondi Blue iMac G3 for so long!” Paulina waved her knife and fork.

“Perhaps the branch simply has no money. Look at it another way—do we in the Investigation Department really have time to go online? We are about to go on a field assignment again.”

“Oh, how amusing you are.” Paulina looked at Adler, who did not seem to be joking, and her eyes gradually widened. “No, it cannot be true? My God.” She clattered her knife and fork onto the plate, wiped her mouth with a napkin, and tossed it down in defeat. “Now are we going to the middle of nowhere this time?”

The Foundation’s American branch was on the west bank of the Potomac River in Washington, D.C.; perhaps actually in Alexandria. Paulina did not care.