E Pluribus Human

Bingbing. The door chime. “Yes, yes, yes...”

“You can call me Dixie.” The hologenic girl pouted becomingly and curtseyed, arms outstretched. “Your HappyGram girl.” She flickered and held out a packet festooned with fluffy florets of pink and blue. “Somebody is thinking of you,” said Dixie. The Personal Services application flushed with a palette of subdued pastels

“Dixie. Because that is your name,” said Grenadine. A bead of syrupy lemon-whiskey residue clung to the rim of a stemmed flute that dangled at her fingertips. “Unusual that you should have one at all―a name, I mean. What is your system name? Uh, what they called you. Your programmers?” The lines of her mouth softened. The warm tinglies from the morning’s mood elevators had crept up Grenadine’s spine to rendezvous with the whiskey sour in a place behind her eyes. Ahh, lift-off. She smiled. The HappyGram girl smiled back.

“They named me Ariel. I thought you might like something more straight-up. Girl-to-girl? I’m new. You are my first customer,” said Dixie/Ariel.

A nymphet, thought Grenadine, and impudent for an application. “Ariel. That is a lovely name, like a name from the Romances. Dixie is, well... trashy.”

The HappyGram girl was not offended. Dixie was watching the lemony droplet quiver, fascinated. “Pretty, you know?”

“What?”

“Your dribble―the play of the green and the light.” The last droplet of the day’s first whiskey sour plummeted to the tufted wool shag of the hall carpet. “Oops!” Dixie held dainty fingers over her face in a gesture of mock horror. The messenger application waited hopefully for a second droplet. None was forthcoming. She wriggled enticingly as she bent to examine the tiny puddle.

“Housekeeping will get it,” said Grenadine. This was keeping her from today’s streaming. Rights of Spring was her personalized Romance. She stared intently at her nose.

“Nice nose,” said Dixie/Ariel.

“It’s a nose. People have noses. And I am speaking with an application as though it was a human being.”

After a pause Dixie/Ariel piped up, “It takes all kinds to make a world, different strokes, et cetera. E pluribus human, y’ know...”

“E pluribus... what?” Grenadine squinted.

“Human, e pluribus human.” The girl squinted back at her. “That hormonal? You should get yourself in for a fix.”

“I am at least human.”

“Lucky you,” said Dixie. Giving her too-perfect breasts a jiggle, she winked and thrust the packet forward. “Well... open it and find out. Could be you have a secret admirer.”

“Go away,” said Grenadine.

“My aren’t we cranky today. May I inquire with what part of my script you are having difficulties?”

“Pluribus,” said Grenadine McKenzie, “E pluribus human...” Grenadine teetered. “Forget it. Go away.”

Dixie disappeared. The gaily wrapped HappyGram remained, floating eighteen inches from Grenadine’s nose. Shaking back the embroidered drapery of a caftan sleeve, Grenadine reached out a finger to caress the HappyGram.

“YO, BABE!” a man’s voice blared at her, “SURPRISE, YOU’RE PREGNANT.”

The warm tinglies made an abrupt U-turn. “Softly!” The voice was familiar―George? Grenadine looked quickly up and down the hallway; there were no intruder alarms. Yet. A nascent migraine demanded to be noticed. A miniature throb of pain had settled behind her eyes. “Who are you?”