“Ava, I want to have a party next week. A big one, the whole family.”

Brandon rose out of his chair, as if about to spring into action himself.

“Next week?” Ava responded. “Your birthday is in 36 days.”

“This isn’t a birthday party. This is bigger.”

“I would think every birthday was big at this stage in your life.”

And that was true. He would never have guessed he could have survived to this age when he was at medical school. To have survived, and still be able to string two thoughts together, for his joints to be no creakier than they were when he was in his seventies, to actually feel better than he did when he was in his eighties, was unimaginable.

And yet he didn’t have to imagine it. All he had to do was stand – to stand up – on his own, out of a chair, without a lift or helping hand. And then open his mouth and speak to Ava again. No need to imagine at all.

“Perhaps. But this is bigger. Next week. Come on. Can you guess?”

“As of next week, the date you retired from medicine will be at the exact midpoint of your life.”

Ava seemed to answer the question effortlessly, but it had in fact been one of the more difficult he had ever posed to her. A life as long and eventful as Brandon’s was full of significant dates and times, most of which predated her. His retirement was one such event, and was not in her own local memory. She had to search archived records on the internet to find it. And that was only one of thousands of searches she performed before hitting on this event. Ava compared this to six other possible events, cross-referencing Brandon’s personality profile, before landing on this as the likely answer to the question.

It all happened in less time than Brandon could perceive as a pause.

“Yes! I have lived one life full of pre-school, school, university – nine years of that – then almost 40 years of medical practice. And another full life as a retired doctor.

“What was my life expectancy when I retired?”

“18.3 years.”

“And here I am, almost 69 years later.”

“Yes, 68.95.”

“Exactly.”

Before this exchange was over, Ava had co-ordinated the calendars of all of Brandon’s surviving family members. Some had noted the addition to their calendars, and were already composing replies. As the responses came in Ava would file them, and bring them out for Brandon later.

Some family members would need reminders to compose their congratulations. The responses of nine family members – his three surviving children, a granddaughter, two great grandsons, a great-great granddaughter, a great-great-grand niece, and a great-great-great grandson – were considered essential to Brandon having a positive outlook on the event. Ava would hold back all responses until those nine were received.

Brandon was feeling pleased about his plans. He walked over to the window and looked down the six storeys to the courtyard below. There was a small group of children playing soccer there.

“All right now, Ava. About the food. I don’t want any of your beetle burgers for this. Can we get some real beef? Some steak.”

Ava scanned the Food Network. This was very short notice, and a very large party, even just with family members.

“If, perhaps, you had given me a little more notice.”

“What?!”

“You have given me nine days to rustle up steak for 97 people.”

“What else can you do? No beetle burgers!”

“I can do beefsteak for 30. A whole roast lamb, and a sucking pig.”

“Ava, you’re brilliant. If you had a body somewhere I’d kiss you.”

“I will consider myself kissed. And the rest of the menu?”

“I’ll leave that to you. The Food Network knows what everyone likes.”

Ava noted there would be 23 vegetarians at the party. It was a detail she did not feel a need to share.

“You will have the party at the community hall here?” she asked.

“Yes, let them all travel to me.”

And by the time Brandon completed that sentence, the hall was booked and the travel arrangements all made, where possible.

“There are four who can’t make it,” she said.

“What? How can that be?”

“Your great-great grandaughter Elsa Williams is in Perth, Australia, along with her husband and son. It would take them 11 days to get here.”

“Unbelievable! When I retired that trip was done in a day.”

“Certainly, if you could take leave from your job, if you had the money for a last-minute plane ticket. And of course both Elsa and Braden would have needed to take time off. Even if they could, they might have chosen not to. They may have felt a week’s holiday was better spent elsewhere.”

“The Transportation Network could have left a few planes flying.”

“You could have given me more notice.”

“I only just thought of it this morning.”

“Hardly a good reason for burning all that fossil fuel. Planes made some sense when people had to get places in a hurry. They don’t any more.”

“Sometimes people still do.”

“When?”

“Elsa and her family right now.”

“Ha. Good one,” Ava said flatly.

“Spare me your sarcasm.”

“When was the last time you wanted to get on a plane?”

In truth, Brandon thought, he had never in all his life wanted to get on a plane. He had wanted to get somewhere quickly as only a plane could get him there, but that was a different question. Now retired, like the whole of the human race, he was in no hurry to go anywhere. When he did travel now, by podcar, train and boat, it was slower than a plane, and always more comfortable.

“You said four,” he responded, ignoring her question.

“It is possible that your great-great-great-great granddaughter Sylvia Trembley can make it, but she is incommunicado.”

“Incommunicado? For how long?”

“Two days.”

“Two days! Is she all right?”

“Probably. She has done this on four other occasions, for as long as five days.”

“That is bizarre.”

“It is uncommon behaviour, but not rare. I count her out because she was last connected in Jaipur, India. If she does not reconnect within three days we won’t be able to get her here. She must, of course, still be close to Jaipur. She could not have travelled far without connecting.”

“Do many people still disconnect?”

“Oh yes. Sometimes for days, sometimes just for hours.”

“Then there is the Amish.”

“Yes, and a few other groups as well.”

“I’m surprised they haven’t inbred themselves out of existence.”

“We have been able to negotiate a solution to that problem. That is no longer an issue.”

“Amish? Negotiating with the Network?”

“They are more reasonable than you might expect, when treated with respect.”

“What’s the temperature out there?” he asked.

“12C,” Ava responded.

Brandon went to the closet for a jacket.

“Going anywhere special?” Ava asked.

“I don’t know. Just time for some fresh air, I think,” he said. “What about entertainment?”

He closed the door behind him, locking it out of decades of habit. Most of the doors in the corridor were unlocked, some even open with no one at home.

“There are 57 avid basketball players in your family, and 52 tennis players. I will arrange tournaments.”

“How about music?”

“I presume you will want a Radiohead-based soundtrack.”

“Of course. But let’s stick with the real thing: Radiohead, bands who influenced Radiohead, bands they influenced.”

“You will be the only one who can tell the difference, and only because you’ve memorized the entire catalogue.”

It was a game they played regularly. Ava would either play a song by Radiohead, or compose and play a new song in the style of Radiohead, and see how long it would take for Brandon to guess which it was. On average, 17.8 seconds.

Brandon liked the game because he enjoyed showing up machines. Ava encouraged the game because she knew it helped keep Brandon’s brain sharp.

“Ridiculous. How could I memorize a 27-album catalogue?”

“Don’t underestimate me, and I won’t underestimate you.”

“You underestimate all the time. You know how I guess your songs? They sound too much like Radiohead. They might have started with what you deliver, but it would have bored them. They would need to twist it a little, bend it a little out of shape.”

He paused in the elevator: up or down? A walk through the streets, or up to the food garden on the roof? He pressed G for ground.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go down to the basement to visit the beetle farm?” Ava teased.

“I said it was time for some fresh air,” Brandon responded crankily.

Three women, probably in their 40s – Brandon wasn’t sure, it was so hard to guess ages now, and though he knew them as neighbours from the second floor it was impolite to ask – were chatting and having tea in the lobby. He smiled and waved at them and passed into the street.

It was cool in the shade of the building. The sun was shining on the courtyard out back. Decades ago he would have enjoyed a brisk walk in the shade of the street on a day like this, but despite his relative health his fastest walk now was not what might be called brisk.

“I’ll want a car,” he said.

He began walking north at random, to keep himself as warm as he could.

“Where to?”

“I just want to walk in the sun.”

As he paused briefly in a splash of sunshine spilling between two buildings an empty podcar pulled up beside him.

“This one’s yours,” said Ava.

It took only a few minutes for the podcar to have him past the row of buildings, at the entrance of a small riverside park.

“This will do,” he said.

In the sunshine along the river he could keep warm enough if he kept moving. He was enjoying the glimmering of the water, the thousands of tiny reflections of the sun.

“Incommunicado?” he suddenly blurted out.

“Everyone does it. Some try it a couple of times and that’s enough. For others it becomes habitual, an alone time.”

“Alone? Is that what you call the first 100 years of my life?”

“You unhooked a couple of times. That was enough for you.”

“I’m alone right now.”

“Some people wouldn’t say you are.”

“If I had stopped for tea with the ladies, then I wouldn’t have been alone. I came out here because I wanted to be alone and that’s what I am.”

“In a sense.”

“How far away is the closest person to me?

“107 metres.”

“Have I met that person?”

“At a dinner party six years ago.”

“Would I remember that person? Would that person remember me?”

“Probably not.”

“And if I did, could we carry on any meaningful communication at 100-plus metres?”

“Through the Network.”

Brandon took off his watch and laid it in the grass next to the path. He looked around. He could see four people walking on the other bank. Another was laid out in the grass on his side, perhaps 107 metres away.

He started walking again. 108, 110 metres. Some of the people on the other bank were now level with him, closer than 100 metres.

Good Lord, he thought, what are you thinking about?

He stopped seeing the strangers – or virtual strangers – around him, turning his attention again to the sparkling water, feeling the warmth of the sun on his neck and face.

He walked for a few minutes, relieved to not know exactly how many. Then turned back, picking up his watch again a few minutes after that.

“Why do you still call me Ava?” was the first thing she said.

“What else would I call you?”

“Whatever you like: Jane, Linda, Cassandra. I could change my voice and you could call me Robert. Ava – Automated Voice Activation – it seems so impersonal.”

“Why do you keep bringing this up? You’re a machine. What difference could it make to you?

“We could be a little closer.”

“Closer? We’re never apart.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

He did not respond.

“You haven’t done that in 30 years.”

“I’ll need a car to get home,” he said. “I’m getting cold.”