With the advent of the printer, Damon anticipated the many ways of life they took for granted would soon be mechanized. When Ty asked for examples, Damon promised him service jobs, i.e. store clerks, would most likely become obsolete.

Ty laughed. "Who would do everything in a store then?"

"Machines," Damon said.

"People like talking to another person, to get ideas, opinions."

Damon shook his head. "No they don't. What people like most of all is lower prices. A mechanized operation from store-to-store would be cheaper in the long run. It'd be like slavery without the oppression, because robots have none a'dem pesky feelings."

"Tell that to Asimov's robots," Ty said.

He hated when his younger brother won an argument, like he did all the damn time. Though, losing arguments seemed the price of having a genius in the family.

Ty recognized his name being called on the tiny speaker attached to his earlobe, and stopped what he was doing.

"Ty to the balloon counter please," Antoinella said.

For the first time that hour, he noticed the product he had been placing on the peg.

A gun.

Pink handle, purple flume, rubber tip, but a gun all the same.

Ty stepped back to view the entire four-foot section filled with toy guns of different sizes and shapes.

Big guns, small guns, some as big as your head!

Every year, he stocked a variety of toy weapons, and it never bothered him. He thought of the little girl with the revolver and shuddered.

Get over it. They're just toys.

He glanced at his phone, noting that in twenty minutes he had lunch with Pen. Until then, menial tasks would fill his time.

"I'll be right up," he radioed back to Anotoinella.

~*~

Lunch at Dave's Shack proved eventful.

Pen filled Ty in on Darren's escapades from the night before: The former manager drank, showed up at the store after closing, and then cut a major artery with a box-cutter, spreading his blood where he could. The employees managed to lock him out of the store, but he still craved destruction. He pounded on the glass doors with bloody hands until the firefighters and State authority arrived. At that point, he wore only his blood and cherry-patterned silk boxers.

"Why'd he take his clothes off?" Ty wondered.

"I wish I could tell ya," Pen said. "The important part of the story is, Good Time needs a new front-end manager. I hope I'm lookin' at the right man."

Ty straightened up in his chair. "I'd say so, sir. First though, what's the benefits package look like?"

They hashed out the details of Ty's raise over a basket of onion rings and a couple of beers.

The rest of the day, Ty walked on helium-infused air. He couldn't wait to get home and share the news. The thought of Jennifer's under-reaction dampened his high. She never showed too much enthusiasm for any one thing, unless he came home with a bottle of wine, and he never did that anymore. What might excite her about his promotion was the thought of quitting her own part-time job at the liquor store.

No, she'll never quit that job, because she gets a discount on wine.

When he arrived home and swung open the front door, Helia traipsed the halls, naked, free as a bird on the run from her mother. Jennifer huffed after her. He smiled, appreciating the chaos some households called bath time.

"Would you stop fucking grinning like that and gimme a hand?" Jennifer snapped.

Together, they bathed their vivacious two-year old daughter and put her to bed. After Helia was asleep, Jennifer put on a coat and headed for the door. She informed Ty of her plans for a girl's night out.

It had been girl's night out the past four nights.

~*~

A/N: Dedicated to a rockin' WP buddy, 

He's taught me a lot about science fiction, writing, and about general awesomeness. Check out his profile to read up on some seminal sci-fi works.