There was nothing to suggest that Vítězslav Drbáček would become a ticket vendor. During the gymnasium studies he always belonged to the better ones, he went through the university very much ... he simply went through the university, and so in his eyes barely prevented him from going on the path of an established naturalist. But wish is the father of thought. While at home he was making lists of the necessary equipment for his first real trip to the field, he would send his applications to all corners where his future employer would be hiding to send him on such an exploratory mission. And that's what to discover.

The real ground beneath his feet felt only twice in his life. It was in his second and then fifth academic year. Any trip outside the city, which the school had to allow its students at least once during their studies, was a significant budget item for it. Given that Víťa, as everyone around him said, he studied the field of Pre-Cataclysmic Terranology, he was even entitled to two trips. Of course, nobody in the department called it a trip, but an expedition. At that time, everybody in his neighborhood was passionately describing the challenges that such an expedition brought with him. Several times someone has listened to him until the end of his interpretation.

In one of those cases, he sat in a restaurant with a young lady who he was trying to impress. For Life, such a situation had a similar weight to the actual visit to the earth's surface. She was also quite numerous.

"So, if I understood correctly," said the young lady after twenty minutes, "will you go in a mask and chemical suit to dig in the trash and corpses to find a flower?"

However, Víta did not understand the summary correctly and modestly remarked that he is a realist and not aiming to find a real flower, rather anything that grows or has recently grown.

But she was a pretty young lady, and although she did not have the necessary expertise, she tried to keep her conversation on the subject and she was telling her how they dump the garbage every Tuesday before her house.

They have never met.

He really had enough time to think about where the mistake happened. Day by day, every time he was sitting behind his counter with a printer from which an infinite stream of tickets flowed, and the only thing that reminded him of his real profession, there were a couple of flower pots behind the window. Although there was a growing fern in it, which was almost empty, consolation was small. It was still the same. Foil, hologram, chip, wish a nice experience. Foil, hologram, chip, wish a nice experience. Folia, hologram ... No one heard his inner screams.

"Do you know that I was at the gym swimming pool?" Víťa turned to his colleague at the next counter.

"I don't know," Rosťa said, concentrating on his work. Unlike Vít, Rosťa had high goals. He studied at a ticket seller for years and thus considered his elevated attitude towards other, less qualified colleagues to be completely legitimate. If he was not serving a client (foil, hologram, chip, wishing for a nice experience), he focused on improving the product on offer. He constantly tried to impress the boss with his innovative ticket designs, including new hologram designs, styled according to the type of event and the like. Once he even came up with the idea that a ticket to a rock concert by a band could play excerpts from their songs.

The boss did not like him but Rosta did not notice it, and he worked hard on his career.

"Well, really," Víťa continued. "I was even a substitute in the junior national team."

"I used to learn to swim, too," Rosťa blinked significantly.

Furthermore, Víťa continued for himself. "I could have been a pro. I would definitely give it. Certainly. If only that jerk Hubert hadn't returned from rehab so soon. I don't know what they did to him, that they put him together so quickly. He tore his ligaments during one workout. Not that I wish anyone anything bad, but he deserved it. I was removed from the list because of him. That's the coach. It was immediately clear to me. Hubert's father anointed him. They were in cotton wool. They put me on a bench and didn't let me train as much as before. He must have doped. That's clear… "

"Hello," it said above him, but Víťa had just invited his fate to the rug.

"Hello," again.

"Hello, what can I do for you?" He began in uniform. A pointless question he had to throw up a thousand times a day. But he had to say it, so he expressed his rebellion at least by not looking the customer in the eye. Sometimes when he was pensive, he didn't look at all.

"One ticket to Rigoletto on Friday night, to the Metropolitan, please," the voice said. It was a woman's voice. Actually, no, it was a girl's voice. Or not? It was hard to determine, he was so that ťa Víťa tore his eyes away from the screen and interrupted for a moment the sequence of machine operations.

"Do you have a free box?" She asked.

Víta stared at her. She smiled. Somehow impersonal. She waited. He liked patiently people. Still around him, everyone was in a hurry as he sat in his place to make tickets. He imagined how he was digging in the soil. But he did not think about it now. He liked this one. He did not know if he reminded him or he had ever seen it. But no, certainly not, he would remember. It was definitely the first time here. Or perhaps not, perhaps she had been with my colleagues ever before? No, you would notice. It was ... Just like that. That's exactly what he called in his head like in the right noon. Just.

"Do you have a free box?" She was still smiling. "Doesn't the muscles in her cheeks hurt anymore?" His head flashed, and he pushed him back behind the counter with a loud thud.

"I'm sorry," he recovered, looking for an excuse for staring. "Um, my system is stuck," he tapped hard on the keys. "But I've already fixed it! Here one has to deal with oneself. You know, they don't give us much support here either. So we have to deal with ourselves. You're probably wondering what's going on, printing a ticket, but if you could see what we have to work with… "

He felt as if he could hear his voice from the radio and feel disgust. "Otherwise," he bit his lip, "you must be different!"

The printer buzzed and pulled out a rainbow piece of plastic.

"Just one? That's an unusual number for such a young lady, "he froze. Because that's what he didn't want to say. What if she asks him now, "For what?" Or "What's so weird about it?" In short, anything like that revealed that she had taken his note in person. The scream again.

"Do you like opera?" He said. Yes, that is the right question. Opera. Decent people go to the opera. Smart people. At least he knows who the author is. He doesn't really know it's written there, but it doesn't matter.

"Verdi is my favorite composer."

The girl is silent.

"I haven't seen this opera in a long time. In fact, it occurs to me now that I could go to her someday. ”That was the right voice he wanted to hear from the radio.

She handed him the card. A transfer was made. She said goodbye and left.

There was a wonderful thought from the vacuum. The industrial camera who had glanced over her shoulder from morning till evening was finally doing something good.

The next day he struggled with the idea of ​​spending last month's savings and going to the metropolitan for the same show as her. Purely by chance. He devoted enough time to his imagination to present him with a real scenario of such an enterprise. Unfortunately, the one that really looked real didn't motivate him much. He said abbreviated, "Nothing will happen. You spend money on something you don't like and then you go home. You won't see her. And if you do, you won't do anything anyway. And if she does, she'll put two and two together and she'll realize you're spying on her, and so on and so forth. "

He had a friend who had just the time in the evening and went to get drunk. It was Monday.

For the rest of the week, he looked across the horizon of his counter, but knew how his effort was oblivious. Besides, who's going to go for a ticket twice a week? And if she, why she? On Friday evening, he closed the whole chapter, saying he was not mistaken. She really did not come. He thought that in a few hours the theater would start performing and she would be there. Even though she bought only one ticket, she decided that it would be absurd to expect her to go there alone. That might be just a burglar that he likes. He would probably not even go there. He got into the dead end of the paradox. Evening in the opera is, after all, a social affair. With this thought she gave her goodbye and went home.

It was another Monday afternoon. "Hello," he said above him. It was her.

"Hello," he replied, looking warm. "How was the opera?"

Though he felt as if a balloon of contradictory thoughts had just exploded in his mind, he retained enough spirit to ignore it.

She did not answer. Instead, she asked him to issue another ticket again on Friday for the same performance. As he handled the order, he wondered what made her want to see the same show in a week.

"Maybe he's not buying the tickets for himself?" He thought. But how to put it on?

"What was the cast like?" He blurted out. "Was it full?"

"You are attentive," she replied with her unchanging mysterious smile. "Do you have a free box?"

He felt he was experiencing deja-vu. One loose was left. Suddenly he got an idea.

"Unfortunately, you are already occupied this time," he lied.

"It doesn't matter," she said. As soon as he issued her a ticket, she paid and left.

He watched her as far as she could. Then he clapped his fingernails on the desk and immediately took the place for himself. Right in the next row to see it well. It was crazy, but he decided not to think about it, he was curious about what was going to happen.

"Since when are you interested in opera?" Said Rosťa. Víťa jerked and looked back.

"You scared me!" A colleague stood directly behind him, holding a cup of hot coffee.

"I went for coffee, is there anything weird about it?" He said.

"No why?"

"Did you want to, too?"

"No, he didn't," he said, adding in his mind, "Just get lost."

"I didn't know you were interested in opera," he didn't give up.

"She doesn't care."

At that moment, the printer buzzed and a warm ticket came out. Rosta reached out, removed it from the mouth of the machine, and inspected it. "Rigoletto." He raised an eyebrow.

"It's not for me," Víťa snatched the ticket from his hand and hid it.

"Sure," Rosta said, blowing hot steam rising from his cup.

It cost some effort, but in the end Víťa fished something out of his closet in which, in his opinion, it was possible to visit the metropolitan theater. Unfortunately, he found that in the last few years, he had grown somewhat behind the counter in places. "Nothing to pay," he sighed and went shopping. When he was looking in the mirror the same evening

the result of his efforts, he acknowledged that it was a good idea. He had even gone so far into thinking that he had decided to change his hairstyle and shave it sharply.

"With any luck, she won't even know me," he thought, deciding to push the thought of not knowing him without the changes. The people behind the counter simply look different than without it and are forgotten anyway.

On Friday afternoon, he began to feel a nasty shriek in his stomach. After work, he headed home, threw himself into a gala, and when he had gone so far in his plan, he decided to give his account a grave blow and ordered a transfer to the opera house.

While he was encompassing a bunch of well-dressed, ironed, and in most cases older people than himself, he tried to act confidently and not look the way he felt. He was reassured by the fact that these people are being stolen here.

The door opened and the crowd began to pull in. He found himself in the high entrance hall and saw it. She had a simple, elegant red dress and hair curled up on her head. He did not see her up close, but she was sure she was her. He soon took up his seat and waited. The place before him was empty.

The hall darkened and the music began to sound. But the only place that attracted his attention was nobody sat down.

"She's just not here," he said to himself, not noticing anything else. He planned to leave during the break. He didn't know if he was annoyed more, that his plan hadn't worked out, or that it had cost him so much money. Probably everything together.

As soon as the curtain fell, he left the theater and headed for the nearest café, which was just a few yards from the entrance. He sat down on the glass wall overlooking the decorated theater building and ordered coffee.

He wanted to go home, but perhaps because he had no idea what to do with an unfortunate evening, he decided to wait for the end of the performance. What if he still appears?

As time passed, he left the comfortable heat of the business and went to wander around the theater. Soon, people began to flow and diverged in all directions. Some of them entered the wagons in front of the entrance, some left behind. There was a glimpse of him as the hovering air flew into the traffic corridors.

He watched the black limousine, which was just stopping near the stairs. An older man in a suit helped a lady in a red dress get on. Víťa's eyes strained. "It must be her," he said to himself, his annoyance rising. Nothing

he did not understand and there was nothing he could do. He realized from the beginning that he was a stupid idea, but now he was sure. He waited until the gathering scattered, and turned the corner outside the dazzling reflectors illuminating the facade and headed away.

Suddenly, he heard the clicks of the women's boats, and a figure emerged from the shadows against him, the one who had graduated from him.

"Please come," she said, wrapping her fingers around his wrist. His heart jumped up to his throat. "Please come, my friend is sick." He stared into her face. He was sure it was her, but it was too dark to read more. Because he couldn't do anything else and was surprised enough to come up with something, he just followed her.

It was at the moment when he straightened the words in the head enough to take a meaningful sentence from them, that they stopped.

"You know," he breathed, "I didn't even expect to meet you here anymore." He felt a metal object hit him in the head. He saw nothing, but heard it ring. He then collapsed to the ground under a spray of wounds coming from all directions.

"I must have been unconscious for a while," he thought as he finally sat up and leaned his back against the cold wall. He rolled up his sleeve to look at his watch, but it was gone. "Ah," he thought, forbidding himself to think of anything else for a few minutes. How to get home as soon as possible was all he cared about.

Without the rest of the money and walking, it took him almost four hours. He had no interest in anything to report, to anyone to enjoy and walk in any direction other than his bed. Though the card itself would be useless, they would have taken fingerprints and maybe blood. In any case, he knew he would have to report it in the next few days, or sooner or later, after someone else's data had been misused. Not today.

The following Monday could not have gone without intrusive questions from colleagues. Nothing could be done. For the first time in a long time, he liked the usual roundabout of folios, holograms, chips and wishes for pleasant experiences. The boss wanted him to release his sales for a few days so he would not spoil customers with his multicolored appearance, but he insisted that he felt good, and contact with people would help dispel the unpleasant memory of his head.

"Hello," a woman's voice said above him. Yes, it was Monday afternoon.

Because Víťa could not do anything, he stared.

"One ticket to Rigoletto on Friday night, to the metropolitan area, please."

He kept his eyes on her, unable to speak. She was staring at him with her unmistakable smile that she could not quite understand. There was no sign of anything unusual in her voice or expression.

"Yes, of course," he finally snapped through his constricted throat, wondering if it was really happening or just in his head.

"Do you have a free box?"

He began to laugh bitterly at the words. "Yes," he replied, issuing her a ticket as usual. She handed him the card she always paid for.

"Opera is a wonderful thing, isn't it?" Said Víťa. "It leaves a strong experience in a person. An unforgettable experience, don't you think? ”

"You're attentive," she said, and left shortly. She probably didn't understand his hint. He watched her again until she disappeared. He stared at his hands in silence for a moment. Then he logged out of the system and called Rosta, "Tell your boss I'm sick and I went home."

He spent the rest of the day reading his science books, watching documentaries about extinct organisms, and dreaming about what it would be like if he were. Whatever it was, he just did not get it. Maybe he did not understand it at all. Regular purchases of tickets, doubles, none of that. His head was broken.

Perhaps that was why he felt like a complete fool when he was sitting in the same cafe next Friday, drinking the same coffee and estimating when the show would end. But he was on the pavement once again when people left the building and some of them mounted their expensive cars.

He noticed, and he was proud at that moment to know the same limousine as a week ago. Another man came into it, but his companion knew well. It was her. This time she did not have a red but pale blue dress, and there was another girl she saw for the first time. The car soon disappeared like everyone else.

The area was emptying. Soon there was only one couple who was chattering together in the shade of the corner of the building. When he saw the woman grabbing her wrist and pulling her behind the building, it was clear to him. The remnants of his doubt drove her red dress. The same as you had recently

close up. There was no hero, and he was not interested in another spanking. He decided to wait a moment.

When he had left enough time and took all the courage, he was not surprised that he was lying in another place like a week ago. Nobody else was nearby. The poor man was crouched on the ground and moaning, but no blood was visible. Víta fought for a few seconds with his better self, but in the end he turned and walked as fast as he could and was not suspicious.

He felt tragic and could not understand that he did not notice it. He sat in his room beside the illuminated holographic panel, commonly referred to as the screen, and walked through the internet boxes of agencies that imported artists. Mostly from Japan, of course (or what Japan once used to be).

They never cared about the androids. He was still trying to be a natural scientist, which, in the circumstances, required more and more effort. The artificial organism, according to its logic, was a sort of counterpart to its focus. He was also convinced he had not seen anyone yet. But he himself admitted that sensitivity was not his strong side. And those years behind the counter did not add to her. His distinctive capacity for human beings was limited to its most striking features, such as hands, feet, and head. In other words, he did not have the chance to recognize such an imitation of man, which was also a strong sales argument for importers. Unless he knew how. Now he knew it. They were just like her - just.

Although in other geographical areas it has been a commonplace for several years, it was still a relatively sensitive topic here. Reasons for somewhat restrained acceptance of this cyberfitness by the wider public were many. One of them was the fact that this was a very expensive affair. Almost immediately, she was given the status of luxury goods for devastated gossip, which was mainly contributed by several agencies providing overpriced services to gentlemen. Now it was clear to Víta that the limousine belonged to one of them, and these women were artificial professional companions.

He paid time to thoroughly inspect all the catalogs he had been able to track down. It did not do much work. But he was glad that nobody saw him, because at least for the female part of the population it was something indigestible.

Certainly there would be a number of opponents among the men, but the sincerity of the resistance was somewhat debatable.

He hoped he'd find his own. It had to be a standard model when he saw two specimens in one evening. He was surprised at how wide the offer was. He said what would be the physical parameters each would have to choose. And as he thought about it, another strange idea began to give him a headache. To defend himself as he wanted, he had to think about what it was like to try.

When he found what he was looking for later in one of the other catalogs, he did not get the curious idea off his head. It just looked as if someone had looked at it and made it exactly according to what it found there. And it was simply crazy, superficial, improper, and perhaps even perverse, but perfectly effective.

It was Monday and he expected somehow to show up there in the afternoon ... he suddenly did not know how to call it. There were not many people in the morning, so he had enough time to develop his theories. Honestly and flatly, he had to admit that he did not have the right to order from the agency. It was hard to think about how a bunch of thieves could come so expensive, no matter what the word, things. But what was the need for them to behave as they needed? At that time he was quite clear why they were choosing the victims of their assault among the visitors of the great precious theater, and it was clear to him that his case had to be a disappointment for them. Which, for the moment, was quite pleasing to him.

"Look, that's where your star goes," Rosta began loudly.

Víťa raised his eyes above the level of the partition. He saw her. "What star?" He said.

The wandering grin on Rost's face was not pleasant at all. "Just don't do it. You don't talk to anyone else over the counter. "

Víťa was silent, but his colleague probably needed to diversify her arrival. "What was the opera like?" Víť's voice imitated, "what kind of experience will it leave in a person '"

"Shut up!" The thought of being watched added nothing to him. "She still doesn't know it's real. I would eat that. Maybe he won't notice, ”he thought, and got the idea to check on her and her colleague a little at the same time.

He had to admit that the Japanese really did. She was simply perfect, and the fact that she was picked up for her and was robbed was already out of proportion. Finally, he could hardly blame her for anything. He found himself feeling relaxed when he knew she was

he probably does not think anything at all. Let him say what he says. So he allowed himself to stare more during the usual book and printing process than he ever had at any real woman.

"Did you know that Rigoletto had problems with censorship at the time of its launch?" They even had to name it under a different name, "he tried. However, he read it himself in a note, which usually wrote interesting facts about the event. Especially with the old repertoire, it was often an extensive passage.

"You are very attentive," she replied with a smile.

He laughed inwardly. Actually, he was really laughing, but at that moment he thought he was just laughing in his mind. Then he said something he would probably never have said otherwise. "I'd like to invite you for coffee, what do you say?"

From the corner of his eye, he saw Rosťa froze a little farther and straightened his bent back. He felt as if one ear had been bloated.

"You are very attentive," she replied, still smiling.

"Sure, it's me," he said through gritted teeth. Eventually he handed her the ticket and she paid.

"Come again and have a nice day!"

But he did not know that last afternoon there.

Still, Rosta stared at him, his eyes wide, and Víťa enjoyed the first time for a long time. His expression made it clear that fortunately he did not. He was convinced that a professional companion with such expressive abilities would probably not earn much from the agency. So somebody probably reprogramed her. And it was probably no expert.

That evening, Víta spent the thought of life. He had to admit that the proximity of an artificial being like her was at least strange. He realized that his present experience was very reassuring. He could utterly worry about what other women usually threw at his feet. At least in times when he was still seeking them. Yes, her closeness was soothing.

He tried to imagine her at home. It's there for you, and nothing is wrong. She is not grumpy or moody, does not lie and does not leave you. Maybe it's not a good emotional investment, but he never had such an investment. True, it's not really real, but it's not even a carrot today. This argument correlated with his scientific self and had therefore a convincing impact on him. He had to admit that the relationship was frightening, and women may hate to hide the soul. Even if he did not, he could blame them for never finding success or understanding. He concluded that if he were

rich, would be an ideal representative of the target group. But that was not and it did not indicate that it would change for the foreseeable future. A wave of bitterness and hopelessness flooded him. The last thing he thought before he was asleep was about fate and tickets. The idea that he probably would not be the only one who had that, at that moment, was terrifying.

He plunged into a sort of fantastic bubble that reinforced his belief that the possession of such an artificial woman would solve most of his troubles and change his life. Whether this presumption was relevant did not want to be addressed. He saw something in front of him that could mean an open range for a caged animal. It was the illusion of leakage, which, however, was not much easier for him than any other solution. The vision of a nonexistent perfect mistress suddenly seemed at least real, and before that he did not even want to close his eyes.

And so it happened that he was looking elsewhere, and in his thoughts he was with his cyberfire, when a handsome young lady came to his counterpart shortly before the closing time. She asked for one ticket for a rock band concert which was one of his favorites. She glanced around the shop and noticed the flower pots in the corners behind the window glass. She went to see them closer before the ticket was ready.

It was a fern. She took her letter between her fingers. "Are you real?" She asked, but Vita didn't listen to her. "Probably Polystichum aculeatum," she said to herself, "or maybe polyblepharum. I never really remembered them. ”She looked over her shoulder at the attendant. "Did you know that most of them are extinct?"

"These will probably be from Asia, they're still there," he replied, comparing the prices of various importers of artificial companions as the ticket went out of the printer.

"Yeah," she said. "About."

"You have it here," he placed the warm plastic on top of the partition.

"Thanks," she smiled and paid. "You're finishing what? I worked at the counter for a while too. "

"Really?"

"But I didn't last long."

Víťa smiled sadly and nodded.

"So have a nice evening," she said, and left.

"Goodbye," he replied. He hadn't seen her several times. Shortly after the last order, the system closed. He searched for the dream girl with the lowest price for some time, but even so, it was more than he could ever afford. He realized it, but he didn't want to think about it. Maybe it will work. After all, you never know when an exceptional opportunity will arise.