He sat at the outdoor cafe table and watched as across the street a couple of girls greeted each other with hugs, then began to chat about things he'd couldn't hear over the din from the traffic and other people talking. At a table some ways from where he sat, he observed how a couple kissed, sat down, and ignored their menus as they instead held each other's hand and with smiles on their faces, discussed something. Seeing this, and other examples of people together, enjoying each other's company, Richard Nervac, who hated being called Rich, Dick, Rick, or any other diminutive form of his name, longed for what other people had.
Unable to make the connections, as there'd always seemed to be a gulf between him and others, he tried any number of things, including therapy, self-help books, even classes, but none of it seemed to work. In fact, he noticed it seemed to make things worse, as the few times he'd tried to employ what he'd learned, people acted put-off by it, and him, and after some time, Richard stopped. Continuing to watch the others around him, out in the street, jotting down notes in a notebook every so often, mostly on random stuff, all to give him the appearance of working and not openly staring at people, he finished his lunch, settled the bill, and headed back to work, a prestigious company who worked with shipping yards and lanes, as well as over-the-road truck lines.
His job to make sure all the paper work was in order, to file invoices, among other things, Richard took the stairs up to the ninth floor. Heading toward his office, he watched from the corner of his eye the workers in their cubicles, but not seeing anything to catch his interest, he didn't slow as he entered his office, shut the door, and sat down at his desk. Going through the stuff he had to work on over the afternoon, he sorted it by its priority, turned his attention to the basket he'd set up for incoming mail, and was surprised to see a package.
Never having ever gotten anything, as the only mail ever on his desk was the stuff left in the outgoing basket, which was collected either when he was at lunch, or after he'd left for the day around four, he stared at the item. Believing it had to be a mistake, he reached for the small-to-medium sized box, noted it didn't weigh much, nor did it sound as if it had anything inside, and read first the ship-to information. Seeing it was his name and the address of the company he worked for, which, for reasons which baffled Richard, was sometimes confused for a residential address, he also noted there was no return address. Thinking of letter bombs and other hazards which went through the mail, he didn't know of anyone who might have a grudge against him to mail him anything dangerous. Peering at the label, thinking it looked as if it had been created using a computer programme run off a home computer, Richard got from his desk his letter opener and proceeded to slice through the packaging tape.
Inside, the box had been stuffed with packing paper. Removing it carefully, glad it wasn't so far anything harmful, Richard tossed most of it into the bin next to his desk for recycling. Packed about midway into the box, he discovered a weird thing he thought be some type of remote, a USB cable, and a disk stamped Chronivac, a version number, as well as a few other details. Not sure what Chronivac meant, or was, he was tempted to insert the disk into the PC he used at work, but set the stuff back into the box.
"Can wait," he decided as he turned his attention to the Grunning's shipping orders and manifests.
The notion of putting work ahead of anything was something which was important to Richard, as, at the age of twenty-three, he'd managed to land a job most would have to work up to. He hadn't actually applied for the position, and when he'd been offered, it he made sure it wasn't because his dad owned the main company the one he worked for was part of, but rather it was because it was felt he was best qualified. After he'd determined this, and accepted the position, he made sure it was known he could do what was asked of him and he didn't get where he was because of family and who owned what. Staying busy through the rest of the afternoon, he not only had the paper work to address, but several clients, via phone calls, to deal with, as well as a handful of meetings throughout the afternoon.
When he left shortly after four, the Chronivac wasn't even on his mind. Collecting the package sent to him without any thought, he made sure everything was in order and what needed to be taken care of first thing in morning was ready, then left. Nobody bidding him, "Have a good evening," or, "See you tomorrow," or anything along those lines, Richard ignored the few people still working as he took the stairs down, headed for the parking lot across the street, and drove his car to a restaurant for dinner, then to where he lived.
Home a small, one-bedroom apartment, he set the box on a table he'd placed next to the door, along with his keys and the few letters he'd collected from the post box downstairs in the lobby. Opening the package and taking out the disk, he stared at the strange word. Still unfamiliar to him, having remembered it as he drove home, he wondered what a Chronivac was. Heading toward the kitchen, where he kept a laptop on one end of the table, mostly in case he needed to bring work home, he booted up the machine, inserted the disk, and waited as it installed first a programme then several updates. After this was done, he doubled-tapped the icon and pulled up several screens, one with a user agreement, the others with legal stuff Richard some familiarity with, and an introduction and explanation page of what the Chronivac was and what it did. Plugging in the emitter when instructed to, he watched as it determined it had the correct drivers, performed an update on the software within the thing, then directed Richard on how to use the emitter to scan either himself or others.
Not certain he wanted to do this, as it seemed as if what the software claimed was too good to be true, he absently read on how he could use the camera built into the laptop to also scan himself and others. Leaning back, sceptical, Richard stared at the screen, and asked himself, "Is this thing for real?" and he tried to work how it was possible for a computer programme to alter a person, let alone the world around them.