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just projecting the way she makes me feel onto them or if she’s actually the cause of their reactions, when she catches a cab and disappears into the sea of vehicles heading uptown on Park Avenue.
    From what I can tell about the new tenant in my building, there’s nothing particularly unique about her that would cause strangers to smile at her on the street. But that’s not indicative of anything. I used to think humans who were on the Path of Destiny would all have a particular look or a similar demeanor or some other defining characteristic that would set them apart from the humans on my path. But I’ve seen immaculately groomed men and saintly women fated for mediocrity, while unkempt women and arrogant men have been destined for a path beyond the scope of what I’m used to dealing with.
    Inventors. Artists. Scientists.
    Healers. Leaders. Teachers.
    Although this last category doesn’t include the likes of high school biology teacher Darren Stafford from Duluth, Minnesota. Who, at this moment, is discovering that his star pupil lied about being on the pill.
    Whoops.
    Throughout my existence, and more so over the past few thousand years, I’ve studied the humans on the Path of Destiny, looking for a glimpse into what makes them special, wanting to understand what makes them tick.
    I’ve listened to the teachings of Plato and Aristotle.
    I’ve stolen Albert Einstein’s lunch money.
    I’ve watched van Gogh paint and Rodin sculpt.
    I’ve flown kites with Benjamin Franklin, sailed with Leif Eriksson, presided over the birth of Julius Caesar, and been present at the crucifixion of Christ. I’ve even followed Moses around to see what made him tick.
    By the way, the Burning Bush? That was Destiny. She is, after all, a redhead. And fourteen hundred years before the birth of Christ, nobody had ever heard of a Brazilian wax.
    But after tens of thousands of years and hundreds of millions of humans, I’ve come close to giving up my fruitless search for discovering the makeup of these men and women who are destined for something I cannot give them. Still, I can’t help but think that if only I could grasp the essence of their unique nature, it would help me to understand my relationship with my humans and why most of them are such royal pains in the ass.

CHAPTER 6

    On average, a quarter of a million humans are born into existence every day and I’m responsible for assigning fates to nearly 210,000 of them. Doing the math, that comes to 8,750 assigned fates per hour, 146 per minute, or 2.4 per second.
    Like I want to spend all day sitting at my computer.
    But with the Automatic Fate Generator program that Innovation wrote to help me assign fates, I can take care of all 210,000 newborn humans on my laptop while drinking a double latte at Starbucks. I should probably do this at home on a broadband connection, but I can sign into the Kingdom Come network from anywhere on Earth. Jerry claims Kingdom Come is more secure than the NSA. Still, when you’re sending out fates over a wireless connection, you just hope some thirteen-year-old in Tokyo hasn’t found a way to hack into the network.
    The Automatic Fate Generator program doesn’t do all of the work for me. I still have to enter in my quotas and set the success parameters not to exceed anything above mediocrity.
    Career .250 hitters.
    Single-term presidents.
    One-hit wonders.
    If I forget to set the parameters and end up assigning someone a future that involves an Oscar-filled career or multiple Wimbledon titles, then I’m treading dangerously close to Destiny’s domain. Which is a good way to get myself suspended. Or worse. So I spend a lot of time double-checking.
    I also have to factor in past lives.
    When humans are born, they’re set either on the Path of Fate or on the Path of Destiny. There’s no opportunity for advancement. No climbing the corporate ladder. No chance of moving into a higher tax bracket. And you can’t fall from the Path of Destiny.