Free Will: A Fast Comedy of Liars, Cheats and Earnest Kitchenware

By Kris Back

Nobody needs a toaster.

Except Tammy Tugwell, a savvy toaster shrink who should have known better. Posing as a rival colleague is bad enough, but accidentally losing Will, the fraudulently acquired toaster client, will cost Tammy her much frowned upon Minor Appliance Counselor's License.

With Will’s owner crying foul and demanding his toaster back, Tammy’s control-freak ex-husband breathing down her neck by hover-car and the raging colleague hot on her trail, there is only so much pressure an over-worked, passive-aggressive counselor can take before doing something really stupid:

Risk everything to save a naive, helpless toaster named Will.

Tammy finds an unlikely supporter for her kitchenware crusade, but breaking the law is not a viable career path. And making a run for it is not the smartest move when your ex gangs up with your rabid rival to hunt you down.

In the 23rd century homes are crowded with thinking, troubled things, but people are clueless. When Tammy takes a stand for the rights of a humble appliance, only one thing is certain: No good deed goes unpunished.

A Comedy/Science Fiction novella.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kris Back
• Release date: Nov 6, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311617507

Kris Back

Kris Back is a writer, illustrator and graphic designer. Past credentials include a never-used bartending certificate from Australia, a successful stint as a bingo caller and a B.A. in Political Science. When fine arts failed to pay the bills, Kris worked long hours as a graphic designer in an office with great location but no overtime. Tall tales being a family tradition, Kris ventured into writing against better judgment, starting out as a newspaper columnist. From there on, it’s been a slippery slope. Meanwhile, Kris' illustrations have been featured in books and magazines. One is still tattooed to the chest of a limnologist. Lately, Kris' artwork has showed up in Steampunk Magazine. Maybe there is still hope that Kris will make it big one day and land a real job. It is an established fact that Kris caught the travel bug early and spent years doing little of note in Stockholm, Singapore and Tokyo. The writer currently resides in California, working on a trilogy evasively referred to as 'Sex and Cyborgs'.

Book preview

Worried toaster

F R E E  W I L L

♦ ♦ ♦

Kris Back

Story Teaser

Nobody needs a toaster.

Except Tammy Tugwell, a savvy toaster shrink who should have known better. Posing as a rival colleague is bad enough, but accidentally losing Will, the fraudulently acquired toaster client, will cost Tammy her much frowned upon Minor Appliance Counselor's License.

With Will’s owner crying foul and demanding his toaster back, Tammy’s control-freak ex-husband breathing down her neck by hover-car and the raging colleague hot on her trail, there is only so much pressure an over-worked, passive-aggressive counselor can take before doing something really stupid:

Risk everything to save a naive, helpless toaster named Will.

Tammy finds an unlikely supporter for her kitchenware crusade. But breaking the law is not a viable career path and making a run for it is not the smartest move when your ex gangs up with your rabid rival to hunt you down.

In the 23rd century homes are crowded with thinking, troubled things, but people are clueless. When Tammy takes a stand for the rights of a humble appliance, only one thing is certain – No good deed goes unpunished.

Contents

1. Major Mistake | 2. Clueless Owner | 3. Big Lie

4. Ex-husband | 5. Free Lunch | 6. Lost Item

7. Texting Regrets | 8. Tough Ride | 9. Found Item

10. Secret Stash | 11. BFF Support | 12. A Simple Plan

13. Demands of an Ex-girlfriend | 14. Hijacked Mission | 15. A Lead

16. One A Capella Too Many | 17. A Future Stacked

Afterword

About the Author

Copyright

One.

It was the third call in 15 minutes. The rules allowed Tammy to miss two calls per quarter hour and she did, diligently. Working from home let you get away with little things like that. On the other hand, unless she provided a doctor’s note, missing a third call was negligence. Negligence meant reduced pay. She couldn’t afford more pay cuts than the ones she had already racked up this month.

Tammy sighed. She knew the caller by the 12-digit ID. No need to check the wrist display for the name. Not taking this call was definitely worth a pay cut.

Only he’d call again. The persistent little bugger always did.

There were worse jobs, she told herself. Maybe not in this particular business, but somewhere out there, someone much like her tried to muster up the energy to stock the next shelf, flip the next burger or kill off another continent of perfectly agreeable termites.

She let the fourth signal die out. The small, cluttered kitchen could hold on to a ring tone like nothing else. The sound bounced between the greasy window and dirty dishes stacked high, caught by surprise in a relentless, unexpected echo chamber.

For privacy purposes each caller was assigned a name. It certainly helped the flow of conversation not having to address a client with a 12-digit number. For no reason that she knew of, the name was then matched with a randomly chosen voice box. This caller’s voice had a hitched breath element that occasionally broke up his whining, perfectly enhancing his overall personality.

The fifth signal tore at her soul. Good grief. Get it over with.

Tammy pushed the call button.

Hello, Will, how are you today?

It’s bad. His voice trembled. Had he had one, his chin would have trembled, too. Then again, had Will been human he wouldn’t have been her problem. Her grades had been bad, but not that bad.

She eyed her framed diploma on the wall: Tammy Tugwell, Certified Minor Appliance Counselor. The word ‘Minor’ still bugged her to no end. This was one area where size did not matter.

When Tammy had applied to college the degree sounded intriguing. She had seen herself private jetting to some exotic locale to help shape a newly sentient cruise ship computer into a happy servant of mankind. What did she know? The first appliances with artificial intelligence were just coming off factory conveyor belts. It was the next in tech evolution: Thinking things! If someone had told her what the job was really like she would have run away, screaming.

By the time Tammy graduated – years overdue, studying never being her thing – AI technology had moved into anything with circuitry. In her humble opinion, the proliferation of intelligent appliances weren’t mankind’s smartest move. But by then half the government consisted of non-human intelligences. Laws were passed to protect all sentients, bio and tech. The bar was set low; if you know you are and can express it, you’re sentient. The pigs caused a ruckus, but everyone turned a blind ear and bacon was saved.

The requirements could have been a bit more stringent, Tammy felt. Her clients would have been better off without an AI mother card and a voice box. In retrospect, there should have been protection for old school machinery. Machines that simply did their jobs. Machines that didn’t brag, or whine, or keep you in the dark about whether they’d actually do what they were made to do. Machines that didn’t throw temper tantrums over perceived slights. Things that didn’t care when you turned them off. Things that didn’t care should you turn them on.

What happened? Tammy asked Will.

Nothing, that’s what. I don’t even know what I’m doing here anymore, Will wailed.

Well, your person developed gluten allergy—

That’s what he says.

Why would he lie?

Tammy listened to Will’s hitched breath for an appropriate amount of time before continuing. I know you accessed his medical records. Your person isn’t lying to you. He just can’t eat bread anymore.

There are other things he could’ve tried. But he won’t.

It’s his prerogative, said Tammy, drawing a line in the dust on her combo work desk and kitchen table. Will sulked. He was taking the whole thing personally.

Have you given any thought to what I suggested during our last talk? she asked.

Or the previous counseling session? Or the chat before that?

Of course not.

Will’s 2-year warranty came with unlimited counseling, factory guaranteed. It was dumb luck so few appliances realized it in time. Counseling was a well-known ego-booster. Will loved talking to Tammy. He absolutely loved her. They all did, her record-level negligence scores notwithstanding.

Tammy could have had a full, long life without being privy to the thoughts and desires of minor appliances. She could have studied harder, scored better on the final exam and spent her days blowing the psychological boo-boos of Adonis Pleasure Models. But here she was.

You could find a new person, she said.

I don’t want a new person. You don’t just leave because someone becomes sick.

Then you will have to deal with having lots of free time, said Tammy. Or find something to do that you like.

Maybe I should try tennis. Or surfing, said Will. I hear the waves are great this year.

His voice box did a crappy attempt at sarcasm.

You’re funny, she said, struggling to keep the irritation out of her tone.

Why won’t he talk to me? Will asked.

It’s his prerogative.

But why?

Because you’re a toaster, you miserable, self-centered twit, Tammy wanted to scream. Will’s person never had to deal with this shit. No person in their right mind interacted vocally with wired things, except Tammy and she sure wasn’t paid enough for the privilege.

It’s so hard, said Will. "Every morning he walks into the kitchen. He sticks his head into the refrigerator. He always sticks his head in the refrigerator. He has no idea what it does to her. Somebody should tell him. She’s all ‘Yes, baby. Deeper!’ or ‘Mmmm, your breath is so hot!’

Tammy didn’t comment or indulge the fact that refrigerators more often than not came with decidedly dirty mouths and something very close to a libido. Toasters, on the other hand, were tightly wound little prudes and the tattletales of the kitchen menagerie.

Not that minor appliances interacted on more than a professional level. They were gadgets, not social animals. Their existence was as islands of one, separated by location from their kin since no person in their right mind kept doubles of blenders