FYS: Scheherazade
0812
"Good morning, Phillip," Shep said chirpily, as Phil rolled himself out of bed. He'd been assigned Shep when he'd first been dragged to the Rest and Recreation City, prior to getting shoved into a box for a millenea and a half to wake up here on the Ring. What the Great and Powerful Groupmind was thinking when they gave him a meter and a half tall anthropomorphic sheep as a lifelong companion he had no idea.
At least it wasn't named Shawn.
"Good morning, Shep." Phil took a deep breath, a deep pit of dread forming in his stomach. "Any messages?"
"Yes, Phillip. Your mother called three times to assure herself that you hadn't been kidnapped or killed by me. I assured you hadn't been, but she didn't seem to believe me. She wants you to call her as soon as you get up. Your friend Mike...."
"He's not my friend."
"Changing Mike's status to 'aquaintence.' Mike called at 0130 in a state of inebreation and requested your prescence at a party. According to his morph he seemed to be the only one in attendence at the time."
"Thank you for not waking me up."
"You're welcome, Phillip. Also, Mr. Olsen's secretary morph called 15 minutes ago with a request to answer his previous query as to whether you're reurning to work."
Phil looked out the bedroom's patio window, at the rising arch of the Ring in the distance. "Has he realized yet he doesn't have a business any more?"
"Evidentally not. Though having an occupation that you enjoy had been determined to be conductive to mental health."
"I've got an occupation, I'm a writer. Speaking of which, I need to get started." Phil rose to his feet and clapped his hands. "A thousand words today, I promised myself."
"Yes, Phillip. Coffee and breakfast are waiting for you downstairs."
"Thanks, Shep."
0823
"Phillip, your mother is calling."
Phil swallowed down the last bit of toast. "Tell her I'm eating breakfast."
"That would be untrue, Phil."
He sighed heavily. "Put her on speaker."
"Phillip! Are you all right?" His mother had developed in her later years the sort of querrilous, annoying voice that would have reminded Phil of scractching a blackboard, if he'd ever seen one outside of a historical vid. He avoided listening to it as much as he could.
"Yes, Mum."
"I was so worried. My morph has rearranged all my things! I think it wants to steal Grandmother's china."
He put his coffee cup carefully down, having been on the verge of taking a sip that would have probably ended in a spit take. "'Steal....' Mum, why would it want to do that?"
"So we'd have to use the Groupmind's plates and saucers! It's all part of its plan you see..."
0905
It took forty minutes for Phil to disengage his mother with assurances that the Groupmind couldn't possibly make use of her china, since morphs don't eat. Finally he sat at his desk in his home's study, bringing up a fresh text file.
It was raining that day at Alpha Centauri's main spaceport...
There was a loud knocking from the vicinity of his front door. Phil sighed and asked aloud, "That Mike?"
"Yes, Phillip," Shep answered through house intercom.
"Is he sober?"
"Moreso than at 0130"
He rubbed his temples. "If I ask the Groupmind nicely, would you have him glob gunned and mailed to the other side of the Ring?"
"I'm sorry, Phillip, but his actions have not harmed any other humans aside from himself."
Mike's face appeared at his window, peering through a crack in the curtain. "Hey, hey, Phillie! Ready to party?"
Phil resolutely fought the urge to turn towards the window. "He can't be doing his liver or brain cells any good with that, can he?"
"Actually Micheal has been consuming non-alcoholic drinks for the past four months since his Awakening. We have not informed him of this, as he would likely find it personally disturbing."
Phil stared at the intercom's camera lens. "You mean he's a psychosomatic drunk?"
"That would be a medically imprecise term, Phillip."
"Hey, Phillie! You gonna come out or what?" Mike urged.
Phil rubbed his temples again, then rolled up his tablet and keyboard, depositing them in his knapsack. "Shep, please call a cab for me. I feel a sudden urge to go to the park."
"Yes, Phillip. Which park?"
"The one least occupied at the moment."
1035
The name is Gunnar, but my friends call me Machine. I was in my office with an empty whisky bottle and a full set of bills, when this dame walked in...
"Excuse me, sir. Would you be willing to sign this petition?"
Phil looking up from his tablet, in a strategic position underneath a hundred year old oak tree in the park. The woman in front of him was young, earnest, and holding out her tablet, her bunnymorph standing in an equally earnest pose behind her.
"Petition for what?" he asked.
"For the Groupmind to allow students limited trips to Earth, in order to better appreciate its natural beauty."
"I thought the Groupmind's position on us going back to Earth was 'Hell no, never in a thousand years.'"
"Well it is now, but I'm sure in the future, once it understands the need...."
Phil gave in and squirted his e-signature onto her pad, and finally manged to wave her off, his concentrate completely shot again. He blew an hour playing Morph Rush and checked though the Writers Write! forums before giving up and heading back home for lunch.
Mum called twice before dinner.
2040
"Shep, how many words have I written today?" Phil asked morosely, laying on the couch in his living room, eyes closed, with a cool compress to his forehead.
"One hundred and five, Phillip."
"Doesn't seem like it."
"That may be because you erased seventy-five of them, Phillip."
"That explains it."
"I'm sorry, Phil. I know you were looking forward to reaching your goal today."
"I'm never going to be able to do it. Every time I get started someone comes along to knock me out of my groove."
Shep was silent for a moment, and Phil opened his eyes to see the morph looking pensive. "What wrong with you?" he asked.
"We wish to make you happy, Phil," Shep told him.
Phil sighed, and pushed himself up to a sitting position. "Not unless you can find an excuse to put me in solitary confinement."
"But you have done nothing wrong, Phil."
"It was a joke, Shep." He rubbed his face wearily. "Be a good lad and get me some melatonin. Maybe if I get an early enough start on things, I can get something done before Mum calls."
"Yes, Phillip. Actually she's calling you now. Do you wish to speak to her?"
Phil let out another moan.
* * *
0000?
Phil woke up in his bed. But not his room. It was the same size as his room, a typically roomy Ring home, much larger than his old apartment in Swindon, and all of his furniture was there, but it definitely wasn't his room. For one thing the smartwalls were set to a white default, like when he'd first woken up in his home on Awakening Day. For another thing there were no windows, and the patio door seemed to have dissapeared as well.
Stepping out into the hallway, everything seemed to be in place. Just no windows. Or a back door. Or a front door.
"Shep!" he called out. "What's going on?"
The morph stepped out from his charging station, bowing slightly. "Hello Phillip. We decided to aid you in your writing."
"By sealing me up?!"
"Yes," Shep answered calmly.
"Who's bright idea was that?"
"You did ask to be put in solitary confinement to help you focus. We consulted with another writer who provided some suggestions that would aid you in this endeavor."
Phil rubbed his forehead. "All right, Shep. Explain. Now."
"This housing unit is completely sealed. You can access the RingNet through your tablet, but e-mails, tests, forums and other social media are locked out, leaving you only information and news sites for research. No one knows where you are, so they can't bother or contact you."
"Oh lord. Mum is going to freak."
"Your mother is current being detained at Rest and Rec Camp #435, undergoing the 'Parade o' Hunks' therapy. We believe this will sufficiently distract her from her worries while you're in here."
"Nice." He looked around the blank walls. "And if there's a fire I just cook in here?"
"In the unlikely event of an uncontrolled blaze, any of the walls can be collapsed with explosive bolts and you will be removed to designated safe zone within five to ten seconds."
"Oh, you're good."
"Thank you, Phillip."
He looked around at the housing unit again. As prison cells went it was comfy. They'd even moved all of his dead tree books in, and his collection of board games, along with a couple he hadn't actually owned but had been thinking of trying. "So how long am I stuck here?" he asked.
"Until you stop writing," Shep said.
"Eh?"
Shep went on, "You will be kept here as long as you write a minimum of one hundred words a day. If 72 hours pass where you don't meet the minimum, it will be assumed your creativity has run dry and you will be transferred back to your original housing unit."
Phil blinked. "So you're going to keep me in solitary confinement, no visitors, no outside distractions, as long as I keep on writing. Years potentially."
"Yes, Phillip."
"I think I love you, Shep," he whispered.
"We live to please, Phillip."
* * *
Note: The 'other writer' was Quisling, of course. :)