Duck

         The display on the microwave said DUCK.  It normally didn't say that.  In fact, Nate Fiala had never seen that word on the display before.  Normally, it just informed him of the time or how long he had to wait until his dinner was hot, but while he was making his morning tea he had noticed the display flashing out of the corner of his eye, and when he looked up, there it was:  DUCK.  Nate's usual way of reacting to strange and sinister anomalies, which consisted of freezing up and being unable to speak, was exactly how he reacted to this situation.  It had never proven to be a particularly helpful reaction, but this time it worked to his advantage.  The microwave was right next to the window, so while he was frozen in place he was able to see the brown blur of something flying straight toward his window.  His self-preservation instincts kicked in, and he fell to the ground, curled up in a ball.  The glass overhead shattered, spreading all over the counter, stove, sink, and floor.  With a solid thunk, a mallard hit the far wall and crumpled to the floor.

         Nate peaked his head out from behind his arms, fully expecting to see the duck flopping around, feet scrambling to gain traction on the linoleum and wings beating to get airborne, but instead it remained where it had landed.  He jumped to his feet and pressed himself back against the counter to put as much distance as he could between himself and the duck.  The back door was to his right, and he would have to pass dangerously close to the animal to get to it.  He considered making a run for it, but he could just image the duck springing to life and latching onto his pants leg as he passed.

         The duck still hadn't moved, and Nate realized that he couldn't see its chest rising or falling.  He grabbed a chopstick that was still sitting out from the previous night's dinner, and leaned forward just enough for his outstretched arm to give the body a little nudge with the chopstick.  It didn't respond.

____________________________________

         Rachel, another data entry clerk that worked for the same temp agency as Nate, got up from her cubicle and made her way over to the copy room.  They had both entered the agency after college, and now, nearly ten years later, they had been there long enough to ensure that temp jobs would regularly come their way.  After all this time doing data entry, they lacked any job skills outside the field, and they were left with few other viable career options.  They didn't really mind, though.  They made enough to live on, and were a part of a group of lifers at the agency who got together regularly to indulge their nerdier sides.  Rachel had actually brought him into the group years ago after she caught him reading a collection of Philip K. Dick stories over lunch.

         The story of what had happened to Nate this morning was practically bursting out of him.  He didn't understand what had happened, almost didn't believe it had happened, which made him want to tell the story to everyone he had encountered:  his neighbors, the guy sitting in the car next to him, the kids at the bus stop.  But he stopped himself every time, knowing that if a stranger ran up to him and began yelling about talking machines and ducks flying through windows he would think that the man was a lunatic.  Nate knew that he had to choose the right person to tell, someone who would believe him.  He got up from his cubicle and headed into the copy room after her.

         "Hey Nate," said Rachel.  "You coming to -"

         "The weirdest thing happened to me this morning," interrupted Nate.

         "What?"

         "Just bear with me on this, Okay?  I was standing in my kitchen making tea, and I looked up and the microwave, where it's supposed to show the time, said DUCK instead. I couldn't believe-"

         "Duck, as in D-U-C-K duck?"

         "Yeah, out of nowhere.  Anyway, I just looked at it because I didn't know what to do.  And then I saw this duck come flying towards my window.  Not like meandering over or anything, it was like a bullet flying straight towards my window.  So I saw it coming and dove out of the way before it came crashing through my window.  It literally flew right over where I had been standing.  If I hadn't got out of the way, it would have plowed right into me."

         "Wow, that's weird" she said with heightened inflections.  The copy machine began beeping like it was done making copies.  "Do you think it meant duck, as in:  'duck, something is flying at your head' or 'there is a duck flying at you'?"

         "Who cares?  The more important thing is that this morning, my microwave informed me that a duck was going to fly through my window!"

         "Exactly why we need to ascertain what the microwave meant."

         Beep.  Beep.  Beep.

         "The microwave is a machine, it didn't mean anything."

         Rachel folded her arms tight across her chest.  "How often, in your entire life, has a microwave said DUCK right before you needed to duck in order to avoid a duck flying into you?"

         "It, never," Nate stammered.  "But machines don't communicate with us, not in real life."

         Beep.  Beep.  Beep.

         "I think your copies are done," said Nate

         "I didn't make any copies."

         They both eyed each other for a second, and then leaned over the copy machine.  The display read GO.

         "What the?" said Rachel, just before the machine began letting off a stream of beeps.  The copier started vibrating, and Nate and Rachel took a step back.  With a clunk, paper began shooting out of the copier with enough force to hit the far wall, narrowly missing Nate's arm.  Rachel and Nate simultaneously took off for the door, and once out of the room, they both reached for the handle and slammed the door shut behind them.  Nate scanned the office, but no one seemed to notice what had happened.

         Rachel whipped around and grabbed Nate's arm in a vice grip.  "I thought you were pulling my leg!"

         "No, but you're pulling my arm out of its socket," grumbled Nate, removing her hand from his arm.  "This is really happening.  That idea gets driven home when things start flying at you from out of nowhere."

         Rachel's chocolate brown eyes widen to a point that Nate had never seen before.  "We have to get out of here."

         "Wha- Why?"

         "It said to go, so we have to go."

         "I think it just meant to go out of the room, and besides, I can't leave.  I need to keep this job to pay my rent for next month."

         "Something big is happening here, Nate.  Machines.  Are.  Talking.  To.  You." she said, poking him in the shoulder with every word.  "Do you really think that this would be happening on a day when you are just supposed to sit quietly at your desk?  Hell no, you're supposed to do something today, something important, and I'm coming along for the ride."

         She took a step back and smoothed out her blouse.  "As for getting out of here without losing our jobs, you just let me handle that."

         She gave Nate a coy smile and walked across the room towards their boss's office, swinging her hips ever so slightly.  Rachel wasn't a bombshell, but she wasn't hard on the eyes either.  She was short with a thin, boyish frame, her best feature being her thick, flowing red hair that she knew how to flick in the most perfectly seductive way.  Rachel had caught their current boss staring at her several times already, and she had taken to giving her hair a playful flick whenever he walked by her.  Nate headed towards his desk to shut off his computer and gather his things.

____________________________________

         Drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel, Nate sat in his car ready to take off as soon as Rachel joined him.  He hadn't been sure about what she said at first, about how he was supposed to do something big, but he had thought it through while waiting for her and now it made perfect sense.  He had been obsessed with science fiction since he was twelve years old and had devoured anything in that genre that he could get his hands on.  It was his one passion; he devoted so much time to it that the rest of his life was like a poster for underachievement:  an average degree from an average college, an average job, an average house that he didn't even own.  But now it was going to pay off.  He had been chosen to do something big, and the machines were going to tell him how to do it.  He was ready.

          Rachel came bounding up to the car and got into the passenger seat.  She had the silliest grin on her face, like a kid about to meet their lifelong hero.  It was infectious, and Nate could feel an equally ridiculous grin break out across his face.  "You ready?"

         "Yeah, let's go," she said.

         "Where to?"

         "Just start driving, it will tell us where to go."

         Nate put the car into drive and pulled out of the parking lot.  As soon as they got on the road, the traffic light in front of them changed so that only the right turn lane had a green light.

         "Turn right, we're supposed to turn right!" yelled Rachel, practically bouncing in her seat.

         Nate had to cut off an old Impala in the process, but he managed to change lanes and swing a hard right.  As they went through the intersection, they could see that everyone had a red light but them.

         "This is so cool," squealed Rachel.

         "I know, I know!"

         The next light changed and again they were instructed to turn right.  Nate made the turn, and they both leaned forward to see how the next light would change.  It indicated a right turn, and another right turn after that.

         "We went in a circle...."

         "There's a reason.  Maybe we're early or something and we need to kill some time," explained Rachel.

         "Maybe," said Nate, hanging another right.  They continued following the traffic lights, making right turn, after right turn, after right turn.  By the time they had circled the block ten times, the novelty of the situation had worn off.

         "Did the duck die?" asked Rachel.

         "It was dead when it landed on the floor.  I put it in a bag in my garage, but I'm really not sure how you're supposed to dispose of a dead duck."

         "Ew, you put in your garage?  It's probably diseased and now it's rotting in there."

         "It's only been a few hours, it wouldn't be rotting yet."

         "Oh, it's rotting.  Its diseased flesh is coming apart and oozing out of the bag all over your floor," she said with a smile.

         "No it's not," said Nate laughingly, making another right.

         "Seriously, are we going to keep going in these circles?"

         "That's where it's telling us to go.  Like you said, maybe we're running early."

         "We've been doing this way too long for that to be right, and I'm starting to get queasy.  There's an alley coming up.  I say we take it and get off of this block."

         "But that's not what it's telling us to do."

         "It's not saying not to do it.  Maybe it wants to see if we can think outside the box and solve our own problems."

         "Or to see if we really will obey it."

         "It's not like it's going to abandon us just for getting off this block.  You're its guy, it chose you."

         Following the direction of the lights, Nate made another right turn.  He could see the alleyway approaching on his left.  He slowed down, unsure about what to do.

         "Either take the alley or let me out, because I'm about to puke all over your car," said Rachel.

         Nate took the alley.  When he got to the next road, he saw that the nearest stop light was a few blocks to his right.  He turned left onto the road.

         "How about we get as far away from that block as possible?" he asked.

         "Fine with me," said Rachel, rubbing her stomach.  "Gives me time to calm things down."

         They drove for several minutes before they came to another stop light.  As they approached, it changed to a green light for the lane going straight.

         "It appears that it's still with us," said Nate.

         "Told you."

         They continued to follow the lights, but this time it appeared to be taking them somewhere, even if the path was meandering at times.  At first, stop lights came in quick succession, and they both were focused on watching for the next light's direction.  But as they moved towards the edge of town, the lights got fewer and farther between.  Rachel used up the free time sending texts, leaving Nate to himself. 

         He tried to remain focused on his task, but a tightness in his chest that had started when the duck flew through his window that morning was distracting him.  It had originated in the small area where the rib cages meet at the bottom of his chest.  Once he had accepted that Rachel was right, that he had been chosen for an important task, the tightness slowly began spreading throughout his torso.  Now he was on his way, and he should have been using the time to mentally prepare himself like the heroes in his stories did.  But instead he was focused on the tightness in his chest, which spread at a more rapid pace the more he thought about it.  He could feel it throughout his torso now, from his shoulders down to his groin.  It made his chest so tight that he was laboring to breathe, a fact he was desperately trying to hide from Rachel.  He imagined it expanding into his arms and legs, making it difficult to move his limbs.  This was the last thing he needed before going into battle.

         "Hey, it took us by my apartment," said Rachel, pointing up at the building she lived in.

         Nate looked up at her building, instinctively finding her balcony on the second floor.  While he was looking, the light ahead of him turned red.

         "Stop!" yelled Rachel.

         Nate slammed on the brakes, bringing the car to a halt just before the intersection.

         "I think we're here," said Rachel.

         "Where's here?"

         Rachel shrugged.  "My apartment, I guess."

         "Why would it take us to your apartment?"

         "I don't know, but there isn't anything else around here."

         Nate couldn't argue with that.  The area of town was a series of apartment buildings, and it had brought them to a halt right in front of hers.  Nate pulled into a parking spot, and they both sprinted towards Rachel's apartment.  At first, the short run was excruciating for Nick.  He was out of breath from the start, and he struggled to keep up with Rachel, who had leapt from the car and bounded towards the building as soon as they had stopped.  But when they hit the steps, Nate began to feel the tension shaking out of him.  With each pump of his legs, he felt it subsiding, was sucking in more air, and was gaining on Rachel.  He caught up with her at the door, and they burst into the apartment together.  It was a disaster.

         Everything was on and making as much noise as possible.  The TV was changing channels every second, the stereo was blaring music, lights were flickering on and off, her computer was cycling through the websites on her browser history, the printer was spitting out paper, the overhead fan was spinning as fast as it could, the washer, dryer, microwave, coffee maker, and dishwasher were all on, even the ice maker in the freezer was running.  The sound was cacophonous, and it made Nate freeze in the doorway.  Rachel jumped right into the fray, leaping over the couch and grabbing the nearest remote.  She frantically hit buttons, trying every single one on the remote with no success.

         "It doesn't work!" she yelled over the din.  She tried the power button on the TV, and still got no response.

         A new noise, a sizzling, came from the kitchen as the coffee maker overflowed onto the counter and floor.

         "Crap," grumbled Rachel as she leapt back over the couch and into the kitchen.  She grabbed a towel and tried to wipe up the mess, but coffee kept spilling out of the pot.  "Will you do something?"

         "What do you want me to do?" yelled Nate, still standing in the doorway.

         "Tell it to turn all this stuff off!"

         "How the hell am I supposed to do that?"

         "I don't know, but you're the chosen one.  Figure it out."

         Nate racked his brain for a way to communicate with whatever was causing this.  None of the machines had spoken to him, so he doubted talking would work.  He could write a note, but he wasn't sure how to make it visible to whatever was doing all of this and he didn't have any paper.

         "Cell phone!" yelled Nate as soon as the idea popped into his head.  "Maybe if I send a text it would be able to read it!"

         "Try it!" yelled Rachel from the kitchen.

         Nate pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and sent a text reading STOP to Rachel.  Her phone began pinging, letting Nate know that the message had gone through.  None of the machines turned off or even quieted down.

         "Did you send the text to me?" yelled Rachel.

         "Yeah.  It didn't work."

         "Why did you send it to me?  Did you think we needed more noise in here?" Rachel gave up on cleaning up the coffee and let it spill out everywhere.

         "I don't know, I just did."

         "Has it ever done anything through your cell phone?"

         Nate thought back through the day's events.  "No, it hasn't."

         "Maybe it can't use the cell phone then.  Try typing on the computer, it can clearly use that."

         Nate ran over to the desk.  When he sat down in front of the computer, the internet browser closed, and it returned to the desktop.  "I think this is it!" he exclaimed.  He opened a blank document and typed:

                   Please stop.

         "Is it working?" asked Rachel, avoiding coffee and flying paper to get to the desk.  The moment she finished talking every extraneous gadget shut off, returning the apartment to its normal, if slightly messier, state.  "Awesome job," she said, leaning over his shoulder to look at the monitor.  "Now what?"

         Nate shrugged.  He had expected to get a written response back, but none seemed to be coming.  He decided to try again, typing:

                   What do you want us to do?

         He had made sure to ask a direct question, which seemed to him to be a polite way of demanding a response.  If it was going to answer them, it would have to do it now.  Nate took his hands away from the keyboard.

         A single word appeared on the screen, reading:

                   Do?

         Rachel grabbed Nate's shoulders and gave him a shake.  "It came up on its own!  It's talking to us!"

         Nate felt lightheaded.  He had dreamed that this would happen to him when he was a kid, that computers would come alive and he would have conversations with them and they would lead him on heart-stopping adventures.  Now it was happening, he had proof that it was really was happening.  He typed again.

                   You have something we are supposed to do, right?

         Words began appearing on the screen again, and Nate read them as soon as they popped up.

                   I don't have anything for you to do.

         Nate felt his euphoria slipping away.  He typed frantically, trying to get a response before he lost it entirely.

                   You did all those things, you led us here.  You must have some reason.

                   It was funny?

         He felt the last of his high slipping away.  But a new energy was bubbling inside of him:  rage.

                   What do you mean it was funny?  Who are you?

                   I'm Dave.  Don't worry, nothing important is going on.

         "What does he mean 'nothing important is going on?'" asked Rachel.

         Nate wrote:

                   What do you mean nothing important is going on?  You sent a duck through my window, made a copier attack me, led us here, and messed up Rachel's apartment.

                   The duck actually wasn't me, it flew into your house on its own, but I did use the microwave to warn you.  Just don't worry about it, I'll stop messing with you and leave you alone.  This is the last you will hear from me.

         "Don't let him leave, don't let him leave" said Rachel, shaking Nate again.  He typed as fast as he could through the jostling.

                   You don't get to leave!  You have to tell us what the hell is going on.

                   Alright, calm down.  But don't repeat any of this to anyone.  I work for the FBI, and I totally saved this mission, this huge mission, last month.  It was actually really awesome, but I can't tell you about that.  Anyway, as a reward they let me mess around with this old system they installed into the power grid that gives you control over anything that is plugged into the grid.  It's actually a really cool system.  The people who made it must have been geniuses or something.  But no one was supposed to find out about it, and now you did, so you can't say anything or I will lose my job and they will probably come after you too.          "He has to be lying," said Rachel.

         Nate typed:

                   You're lying.

                   No.  Look, watch, watch the TV.  On

         The TV turned on, with the sound still blaring.

                   Off

         The TV turned back off.

                   See, I really do control what's going on.  But you seriously can't tell anyone or we will all be in trouble.  Like, going off to some secret prison trouble.

         "An FBI agent," said Nate.  He expected to be let down, and he kind of was, but he could also feel his excitement building back up again.  He was talking to a real FBI agent and seeing a top secret government tool in use.  And he wasn't allowed to tell anyone about it;  he had to take the secret to his grave.  He turned around to look at Rachel, who seemed to be going through a similar range of emotions as him.  "I won't tell.  How about you?"

         She shook her head no.  "To the grave."

                   We won't tell anyone.

         Nate leaned back with a smile.  Then he remembered the duck in his garage.

                   Do you know how to dispose of a dead duck?

                   Animal control should do it.  I can get someone to your house to take care of it if you want.

                   That would be great.

                   I'll do that, then.  I'm going to go now, so just don't tell anyone and I promise I won't mess with you anymore.

         The computer shut itself off.  Nate turned back to Rachel, who had taken a seat on the couch.

         "So the government can control anything we plug into the wall?" she asked, glancing at all of the electronic gadgets she had.

         "I guess so.  Pretty cool, huh?"

         "I guess," she said.  She got up and unplugged her computer.

         "Come on," said Nate, taking her hand.  "Let's clean this place up and get some lunch.  Then we can do whatever we want with our afternoon."