Cyber vs Robot: Commentary on Wilson’s Robocolypse

Daniel H. Wilson’s Robopocolypse and Robogenesis, inspired by today’s world of robotics, are on the bestseller list and rightly so. In Makr’s Shadow may be a third such novel worth more than a look.

I’m glad to see a fellow writer who has a similar interest. He is a roboticist, while I am a psychologist.

Our aim is as similar as our approach. We both use an apocalyptic vision to show society at its worst and at its best.  To some literary publishing houses, the subject of robots is passe. Naturally, I disagree. I think it is a subject which time is now. I wrote an article on that recently.

Wilson and I have a similar vision in that our own creations “robots” or, in my case, “cyberts” could be the death of us; however, that said, these human generated or conceived creatures are something special and we can learn from our experience with them.

In Makr’s Shadow is the story of humans relying on technology to make problem-solving decisions that could result in our planet’s annihilation. I say that smiling, knowing full well, Wilson is the more established writer and has the creds to sell his books easier than I can sell mine. I heard his interview on National Public Radio, and I’d love to meet and chat with him. In my defense, In Makr’s Shadow is my debut novel and it needs some attention.

Why Cyber or cyberts and not robots? Semantics. I don’t think so.

Cyberts as I have described them in In Makr’s Shadow are sentient by connection to cyberserver; pure robots exist for mundane taskings–including street cleaning. Cyberts exist in such numbers as to be considered another race, the Cyber, more powerful in every way than their Bio counterparts.

The difference is significant. The cyberts are task- specific mobile extensions of the server, an evolving artificial intelligence called Makr. Robots are tools to aid Bios and perform perfunctory maintenance tasks, nothing more.

In spite of their inferior status, they are still connected and can bring superior “robots” with a connection or cyberts. Some cyberts perform tasks that require intellectual or combat and weapon skills to protect Makr, while others simply maintain the infrastructure of the planet.

In Makr’s Shadow, humanity had reached the end of its patience in trying to save their world from self-destruction–the problems, an “apocalypse” that they themselves caused. World leaders ultimately turned the operation of the planet to the combined intelligence of all the computers in the world, forming an evolving artificial intelligence, Makr.

There’s only one problem. Makr won’t give it back, and tries to create a whole new world populated by Cyber. To do that, he must annihilate the human race.

In Wilson’s Robogenesis, the remnants of society are picking up the pieces, while In Makr’s Shadow, most of society, 90 percent are imprisoned by illusion. Of the remaining ten percent that are not held prisoner, only one percent is actually fighting the cyberts. Interestingly enough, the survival of the human race at stake. Here, though, one man, who has the ability to see through illusions, manages to escape his imprisonment; he is different in a way that changes the world forever. It can never be the same.

“In Makr’s Shadow reads like an Isaac Asimov and Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. novel combining, action, suspense and fun. Thought-provoking. Exciting. Shaw’s characters are dynamic and real. They are as flawed as all of humanity with fears, anger, regret and arrogance, yet heroes emerge from the strangest places. All that seems lost, is not lost.”

Goodreads has good things to say as well.

The biggest difference between Wilson and my novel is probably price and availability.

In Makr’s Shadow is available wherever e-books are sold for $2.99. I’m offering it for free to anyone who is willing to open a dialogue with me or write a review. We’ve all tried to read some horrible e-books, but I don’t believe this is one of those. I believe in this novel’s surprising message and I’m sure you’ll find it entertaining along with way.

At the risk of losing sales of In Makr’s Shadow, I can’t help but recommend Danial H. Wilson’s robotic fiction; they sound as terrific as my own. He said, smiling. By the way, if you are interested in Wilson’s books, here is a sample from this cool site, Science Friday.

I have posted my samples In Makr’s Shadow (previously published as Harry’s Reality) on this website and will continue to do so. I am also working on a new novel called The Jaguar, so you may find clips for that as well.

Styles and approaches vary with every novelist. I hope you like mine. If you decide to take me up on my free offer, leave me a comment. Thanks.

In Makr’s Shadow: A Working Title for Harry’s Reality

If you can read between the lines, you will find hidden meanings. Harry sees two worlds on the same planet: fantasy and reality, but there is something in between, a hidden meaning he seeks.

We needn’t leave the idea of a hidden meaning to Harry. There are hidden meanings in all things creative, but also in the practical world. We read between the lines every day in OUR OWN reality. We have to or we couldn’t understand each other.

For example, words and phrases can have different meanings not readily apparent. A while, awhile and while are words that depend on how you use them. This “word” can be a noun, a verb or a conjunction.

Thus, the words have meanings depending on context–a form of reading between the lines.

If words alone can do that, how do you plant ideas between the lines?

To make that happen you have to lend your creative package to a total stranger.

I tried editing my novel once, twice, a million times–after being told once by a professional author that I could do it easily. Instead I found it difficult for several reasons:

• I was too close to it to the work; it was too personally attached to my psyche.
• It had been written and re-written over a long time.
• I decided to write it in first person and changed my mind, which only meant there was opportunity for more errors.
• I needed to find a focus and stick with it.

Writing a novel, as I have found it, is excruciating if you want to do it right. It takes time–a lot of time to tell a good story and have it mean something to anyone who reads it. That scenario is unlikely to happen without a good editor.

Most people think of an editor as a proofreader, pointing out the usual grammar, spelling and typos. Not so. A copywriter does that. Of course when you start looking for an editor, you have little idea where to look.

Obviously you look for someone who has worked with your particular genre, see some examples of their work, but most importantly you need to talk with the person directly so you both are thinking alike.

Hopefully, before you turn it over to an editor, you have done the most you can do in telling the story your way, with the style that can be attributed only to you. You may fear the editor will “edit” more like a teacher, and spoil your masterpiece.

At the moment it is a masterpiece only to you. At times, it is more like a child and you, the parent, have to keep correcting it. You have to stop. Stop parenting or babysitting, and go on to the next project. That’s the hardest part.

When I made the decision to have In Makr’s Shadow professionally edited, I was far from ready. I had a mangled piece of writing close to my heart–for at least a decade. When I looked at it, it seemed all right, but it didn’t snap–it didn’t grab me. As I looked to publish, I found errors constantly because most of all the changes were of my own making.

Here’s where the editor or a mechanic comes in to fix it. In my case, it was a true book doctor, an editor Tricia Johnson. I made changes every time I read a passage to make it perfect. It’s happened on this blog. I post a clip, but as I’m reading it–it’s all wrong, and disappointing so I fix it. In reality, I’m may not be fixing it at all; I have clarified a paragraph that didn’t read well, but I may have also changed the style and focus for the reader each time I tried to fix it.

Like the perfectionist most creators try to be, we change anything we craft if there is a way to do it. While it’s impossible to change a piece of art without creating something new, it’s not so hard in other creative endeavors. If we are musicians, we try to produce a better result, or a different result every time we play the same song. If we are actors on stage, we do the same thing–every night. No two performances are alike. It is the “creative” part of us that can’t leave the work alone. In some cases, that’s fine, but not with writing a novel.

Tricia took my novel and broke it down into what it communicated to her. She made my message stronger and the delivery better by deleting words, entire paragraphs, asking me to clarify what I meant. To do this, often paragraphs and chapters were moved around. More importantly as she did this, the novel became more focused, tighter and direct–a grabber and keeper of interest. All that we want in our work.

The King’s English and American English are different. I had selected a British editor who had experience editing science fiction. It seemed to me her perspective could be interesting and it was. There were some surprising differences between us–all good. Now I had a choice. Should the book have an international or American reading? So, I gave a hard look at my idioms, singularly American word choices and phrasing. I changed them to include a more universal audience.

My editor, Tricia Johnson, The Word Weaver, gave me a list with page and paragraph numbers so I could take another look at what I had written. She rewrote passages, changed tenses and cleaned it up in so many ways, but most of all she gave advice–advice that came from editing other novels. What came back to me was a focused, gripping novel. Over the course of the experience, the novel took on a new significance. Instead of a jumbled mess, it was whole and something to be proud of. Tricia’s work was phenomenal. It helped me create my masterpiece. More importantly, she taught me to read between the lines of my own work.

I recently added Tricia to my Facebook and LinkedIn. In fact, upon seeing the result of her fantastic work online, in Harry’s Reality, she pointed out to me that maybe my idea of juxtaposing a frightening image with a less than a mysterious title didn’t working so well. I wanted the novel to be received both as dramatic in thought and scary, and trusting Tricia as I do, a new cover title may be coming soon.

Originally titled, In Makr’s Shadow, there may be a change back to the past. Ironically, it was the working title for Harry’s Reality. The cover will remain the same with the exception of the title. Hopefully, that will make a difference in the first impression the book makes on the public.

At present, Harry’s Reality is available in any digital format wherever fine e-books are sold.

 

What If You Could Have It All Now?

Live as luxuriously as you like? Live as simply…? Be anyplace? Do anything? Or, have the world around you change to suit your slightest whim? All you need to do is accept the rules of the Perfect Society, PerSoc, for short, which states if you must go Outside you must wear your blinders (rose-colored glasses) and absolutely, under no circumstances, will you make any social contact. Unsanctioned personal contact is punishable by death…or so it goes in this scene from Harry’s Reality. But then, some stupid laws are meant to be bent or broken, and as we know, people don’t always say what they mean. Or, think they mean.

“Harry Bolls is mine!” Bio Chief Prosecutor Marlene Hess exclaimed loudly to herself at her monitor as she witnessed him leave Cyber Match Central. Bolls had committed a most heinous crime as far as she was concerned. He had violated personal space and, without Makr sanction, left with a stranger—a known Outsider at that.

Criminal acts like these normally disgusted her, but this single blatant violation by a single SensaVision employee enraged her. While other Bios had committed similar capital crimes, her feelings then had been indifferent, uninvolved, except to prepare Makr for the Bio variable. This one was different: A Bio cyberlink of proven influence! And he was loose Outside!

His psychological profile told her he was a searcher—a troubled soul who was using the Cyber psychotherapist program regularly and someone who can lead us to others.

“Do you wish to delete his mental record now, Prosecutor Hess?”

The question came from an animated, exceptionally lifelike hologram perched on a platform floating some five feet high and in front of the prosecutor’s chair. It wasn’t really necessary for the operation, but it made her feel Makr’s personal presence rather than a disembodied voice that just seemed freaky sometimes. Since Makr always looked to accommodate her preference and the most receptive format for his Bios, so be it. Most times the platform hovered at a safe distance where the chief prosecutor was able to ignore the presence if she wanted to. The sensory-enhanced three-dimensional image was a rather handsome, distinguished gentleman about fifty years old with graying temples and a slightly receding hairline; she perceived him as a seemingly paternal man—firm, yet fair, and found it easy to forget he was not real.

“It is normal procedure,” the image added pleasantly.

“No,” Marlene Hess responded. “Not yet, anyway.”

“What about the girl?”

“Insignificant. No potential impact.” She tried to sound sure of herself.

“If we take her out of the social equation, he’ll become invisible.”

“Excuse me?”

“He either goes underground or back Inside where he’s no good to us.”

“Why ‘invisible?’ How does he do that?”

“Sorry, creative Bio speech,” she offered.

“If you are to succeed in this job of advising me, you’re going to have to be more efficient in your word choice.”

“Yes, Makr.”

She paused, stirring the thoughts in her mind, trying to separate the emotional from the rational until cold hard facts emerged. Let’s see how far he goes, she concluded.

“Do you wish to override State procedure?” The cyberserver image sounded impatient. Strange, almost an emotion, she thought.

“At the moment, yes,” she replied.

“May I remind you that State recognizes there will always be a few dissidents?” Pause. “It is better to let them go than infect investigators with undo evil influence.”

“I know. I know!” Sometimes Makr can be most annoying, she thought.

With that thought, Makr’s image changed from the fatherly authority image on the platform to a six-sensory illusion of a handsome soul mate, a confidant. The voice was gentle, caring, reassuring, but Marlene knew, no matter how real it always seemed, that it was still pure cyberserver magic.

The hologram disappeared because it had perceived its presence was interfering and potentially affecting the chief prosecutor’s thought processes. It would return the instant the chief prosecutor needed it. She sighed.

SensaVision break.

The office, reading her tenseness, became an island escape. Like Harry, she loved the smells of salt air, gardenias, coconuts, and wet sand being dried by the sun; however, the environment was totally hers. She was surrounded by all the positive attributes of the scene she loved so well as a distraction from life’s stressful moments.

Her office, like Harry’s wall, knew she hated bananas so there were no bananas in the fruit feast that lay at easy reach. She thought of pineapples, and the office obliged—slicing them before her eyes. The island birds’ melodic music played to the wind’s bass section and the ocean’s easy beat as waves broke on the beach. Seagulls added the refrain. That was the music Marlene heard. Yet, as she lounged luxuriously she found something missing; an unwanted thought almost invaded her space.

With her next breath she heard the native music. Suggestive, sensual music played with her subconscious, creating the total reality. Everything is real. Believe everything. The presence was complete. The carpet had long become sand as the image combined sounds, smells, and subliminal mental suggestions so Marlene could experience sand squeezing between her toes. She turned her head and discovered her towel spread in the sand waiting for her. She enjoyed this image and let the pampering relax her. Makr knew she needed time not to think. She knew she needed something else.

Sitting naked on the towel a few minutes later, Marlene was satisfied—at least in body—her mind still listless, undecided. Moments before there had been a lover who had made love to her; she liked her men, tall, slender and fit with dark hair and unshaven. A rough exterior, but gentle inside. As a physical match he had been her type, but she couldn’t love or fall in love with this imitation Bio man; he was image and sensation—nothing more. He hadn’t spoken but her mind had filled in the blanks with a voice calling her name, expressing desire, excitement and fulfillment. Not everyone needs to go to Matches R Us or Cyber Match Central, she thought. There was no need to leave the room; she didn’t have time.

Then again, it was never really up to her. Knowing what was best for her, Makr selected the details accordingly. At that moment, Makr had decided that she didn’t require romantic assignations or emotional commitments, just sex. The right images, a few aromas, multiple sensations, a few specially focused sensations and voila! Our chief prosecutor was primed for action.

She responded to the image Makr had provided by clinging gratefully to her lover’s hard muscled form, moving rhythmically, purposefully rubbing sensitive areas to excite him. Not surprisingly, he uttered moans of pleasure and turned to massage and caress her own svelte form until she reciprocated with her own moans and gasps of delight.

Marlene sensed their bodies flowing together. This motion was pleasing and satisfying in a natural way that seemed in sync with the other rhythms on the island. The six-dimensional image of her world flickered. Instantly, the blue sky turned bright white, then black with stars in abundance. It was as though the sky has turned inside out. The stars melted into a myriad of bright colors. The wind blew gently at first, then, became a hurricane force. She was blown away, scattered to the heavens, but her body remained—and his… She felt his presence inside her and her own warm juices. They were entwined in each other’s body, moaned with pleasure again and again, but it was anything but monotonous to Marlene. More! More! She screamed. She saw his mouth form the same words, but he was silent.

Must be the strong silent type, she mused and stifled a giggle. Then, as abruptly as he came, he’d gone—without leaving a trace—just a feeling, a memory. Sand became carpet again. Island-like images dissolved.

She rubbed her chin, still stinging from being scraped by his rough beard. She smiled. Of course, her chin was not really scraped, although she would see a scrape if she looked in a mirror and the pain would feel real. She knew that the mildly painful sensation would help her remember and enjoy the sexual experience later without depending on Makr’s SensaVision. So, real or imagined, it didn’t matter.

She didn’t need people—real people; she needed to do her job and that pleased Makr, Who, in turn, pleased her by giving her pleasure on her terms. What more was there to life?

A Monster in the Making

For all the revolting things someone might say about Leach, he was Outsider to the end; he would have none of the easy life Inside kowtowing to Makr. He had been willing to give it a try for a human face, but when he saw the horrible result he had vowed revenge on all Cyber. He hated them even more than he hated Carlos.

It was ironic that it had been Carlos who discovered the ancient and abandoned Bio cloning labs—a machine shop for humans—so he could help Kieran now with her part replacement, as well as other Outsiders who were wounded and had lost limbs. However, those cloning labs could only accomplish so much. None of the Outsiders knew how to transplant a face complete with bone and muscle structure, and that was the only thing that could have helped Leach. In Leach’s twisted logic, Carlos’ connection to the cloning labs gave him all the more reason to hate his superior.

All the walking to get Kieran back to the Nest had resurrected a burning sensation on his hip where the Bio surgeon had taken some of the bone to patch his jaw. His people kept telling him that his pain wasn’t real, that he shouldn’t be feeling pain, but they were wrong. Like Kieran, the pain in his head went deep. The intensity of this day’s Cyber encounter and the laser ax accident had caused a flood of feelings and reflection of times past for both of them.

The skin covering Leach’s metal eye socket was tender; exposed nerves, they’d said. He couldn’t deaden the nerves without losing what little muscle control he had left in his face. That bitch knew what she was doing when she gave him a stinging reminder. I’ll get even some day!

With her! With Mama’s boy, too!

Only reason you get to lead, Carlos, is that your mother is the Mother-General. The fact she is your mother is reason enough to hate you. But you did this to me. You made me hate. You should have trusted me, supported me, but you didn’t.

I’m a soldier—a good soldier—probably better than you. I wouldn’t spend all my time on the factory cyberts and their guards. I’d go to the heart of the matter—to Makr Himself—and blow His Ass to space! One look at you and I could tell you didn’t trust me. You should have, Carlos. So I wasn’t “pretty” like you. Our enemy did this to me. All because of you!

You said to wait. “Don’t disintegrate the cyberts just yet,” you said. “We can use them to our advantage.”

How many more will you sacrifice for parts and information? You waited too long. You let them burn me with their lasers. While we waited for you to decide, those same cyberts blew up a building with hundreds of residents. Hundreds, at least, Carlos. Bad enough that the blast nearly took my head off, but to kill hundreds?

“Collateral damage you said. Sorry ’bout that.”

“Sorry ’bout that! Sorry ’bout that” when I called you on it! And you had the nerve to try to have me banished from the Nest for insubordination! But I had friends and Mother-General couldn’t banish her own son..oh, no! She let you off with a warning and demoted you to Captain for the “incident.” It wasn’t an incident. It was collateral damage. For hundreds dead, you get to stay on as an officer.

Me? You tried to discard me like the garbage, but your mother wouldn’t allow it. Is it guilt of having a living reminder of your pathetic leadership, or, are you just disgusted with the sight of some half-human, half-cybernetic creature like me back on your team?

“Bad for morale,” you said, when Mother-General assigned me back to your squad. I can’t believe you thought I was bad for morale after all the damage you personally had caused. “Not a nice thing to say, but it was the reality,” you said.

Well, I know about reality, too. You’ve got me, you bastard, and I’ve got seniority. I’ve got support in the Nest. Not friends exactly, but favors owed. I was out here fightin’ for the Cause while you were still sucking your mama’s teat.

Like it or not, I’ll follow you to your grave. I’ll not “follow” you in the Shadows anymore, but I’ll be there; I’ll even hang on every word like you can do no wrong. You’ll just think I’m on your side, that I’m your loyal subordinate. But the moment will come, and I’ll see you to your darkest hour.

That last thought makes him smile. Lost in his reverie, he almost forgot the servile task Carlos had handed him now.

Kieran, being pulled along almost gently now, was baffled as to how to take him. At times, Harlan Leach seemed so brave and determined, ready to destroy all cyberts. He was a proud warrior, a true patriot. But at times like now he was distant. What goes on in that head of yours? She asked herself and the answer echoed in her mind. You don’t really want to know.

Carlos, why did you send me back with this creature?

“Don’t Read This Book! You’ll Never Look Back!”

Intellectually he knew there was a positive side to these insects, but this was not the time to look for the balance in nature. Instead he focused on the sounds he was hearing to be sure they were truly bees.

If they were truly bees, their wrath seemed to be focused on the two travelers, flying at their faces from time to time. As the chorus cacophony became louder, the swarm’s harassment increased in kind. While Desiree accepted these bees as a part of nature something strange was happening to Harry. For him, the convincing natural music took on a surreal quality, losing its buzz and replaced it with the sound of vibrating violin string blades. The natural music became unreal, too, Harry thought, and familiar. He’d heard this music before in his collection. “The Flight of the Bumble Bee?”

Makr was telling him the bees weren’t real. Why?

True bees were thought to be extinct. Harry knew that they had become extinct in the last few decades when the Bio-polluted atmosphere prevented many flowering plants from attracting their biggest pollinator—bees. Eventually, the flowers adapted, producing an even stronger fragrance, but not soon enough. Both the flora and insects died out, but flowers weren’t the problem now.

Harry thought, maybe they’d bounced back. It had happened before when a species was thought to be wiped out. It only takes a few hardy individuals re-start the population. There could have been some hardy individuals that survived. Like Desiree, he smiled, as he playfully swatted at the bees. But something was definitely not right!

The symphony crescendos and the swarm of bees darting in and out, faster and faster, continuing to assail the two Bios; some bees harassed and retreated, while others seemed to be hovering just slightly out of reach.

“Bees!” Harry picked up his walking pace. “Very large bees.”

“I can see that!” Desiree snapped back as she batted as many away from her as she could. “What do they want? Why are they following us?” She increased the speed of her gait, too, while thrashing her arms about to keep them at a safe distance.

“I don’t know,” Harry said, taking her cue and flailing his arms as well. “Wait a minute…” His thought-blink confirmed what he already knew. They weren’t bees at all, but tiny flying cyberts! “Makr knows we’re here.”

“How do you know that, Harry? Have you seen these before?”

“No, but I can see them as they really are. What do you see?”

“I see bees! Why? What you see!” With a wide-eyed, puzzled look, she answered him as she kept trying to wave the bees away! “Bees!”

“Not bees! Not bees! Cyberts! Tiny cyberts!” Harry froze, powerless to wave or slap at the tiny attackers now that he saw them as flying metal insects. Something held him back. Fear. Sadness. He stopped thought-blinking and saw bees again. Bio bees. He could swing at them now, even batted a few to the ground. They kept bouncing back after he knocked them to the ground. The few that fell were stunned and seconds later crept away unhurt and unnoticed.

“Whatever you’re doing, Harry, is working.” Desiree was gaining respect for this ordinary Bio as he kept battling the swarm of “bees” to the ground. Together, they pelted the bees with their hands, slamming them hard to the ground. More were staying on the ground while others keep flying back at them.

“Gotcha!” Harry exclaimed as he knocked two at once to the ground. As he tried to step on them, they suddenly became metal again. He froze again, unable to crush them under his feet.

A flicker of bright light, a low audible roar and both Harry and Desiree sensed the ground shake. Harry saw his picture of the world change slightly for an instant; for a second, he saw a dreary gray reality in his mind’s eye. It left him feeling uneasy. He was positive Desiree had not noticed it. Why didn’t she notice the shaking, the shudder of their reality? Makr!

The cyberts were bees again. While they were bees, he was happy he was able to knock them down; however, this time, he didn’t dare try to crush them. Some of the bees appeared dead on the ground. At that moment, the rest of the swarm shifted position, moving up and away from them as if withdrawing. The swarm hovered for a moment as if to take one last look before heading away from the duo to the north across the city skyline. Neither Harry nor Desiree saw two of the “bees” that had fallen to the ground and were pretending to be immobilized. These “bees” waited for Harry and Desiree to continue their journey before they flew upward and followed them, staying several yards behind.

While it wasn’t the “Attack of the Killer Bees” that bothered Harry so much, it was the fact that he was powerless to fight them as cyberts—tiny or otherwise, and yet he could fight them if he saw them as Bio creatures. Does that mean he was capable of destroying his fellow man—or woman and not a machine? Not even a toaster. The idea is preposterous but the evidence was overwhelming. Rather than sounding foolish he decided not to share this insight with Desiree. She might send him back Inside and he wasn’t ready for that yet. Not even if he was one of Makr’s pawns.

The Endangered One Percent

In Harry’s Reality, it is the one percent that is the most endangered. They aren’t the last of their species, but they may be the first to go the way it looks because they are the only ones fighting for the human race. Now, that Harry, an Insider who sees through SensaVision fantasy, who knows how it used to be, who may be the one to lead them out of the Shadows has joined them.

He could be an Insider spy. There is that. Outside you don’t take many chances. And, you don’t trust strangers. “I never trusted him.” “He’s no leader.” “He’s a coward.” “Can I kill him, Carlos?”

“Not now.”

That is not an actual blurb, but a quick thought-blink, as Harry would say. He does that, too. Below is lighter moment that turns into something else. That something else I didn’t supply, but just to show you that the novel isn’t all that dark, here is Harry trying to have a normal assignation or “date” as we call them.

On appearances alone, this match-up didn’t seem unusual. It was his usual dinner with intimate talk to follow. In the past, he entertained his dates by showing them portions of his vid collection, but they had seldom been as excited as he was about them. More often they were shocked that Harry dared to break the law by showing them to someone else. Did Makr know? Of course, He did; Harry never saw any of those dates again. Onward, he pledged to be more compliant.

He sensed something was different. There wasn’t the usual tension. There was sexual tension, yes, but not the kind of social tension when people stand back and ease into a social pairing. So, what else was different? The instructions for this date were minimal. Harry usually watched a few hours of Makr-approved vid programs or talked with a SensaVision counselor before having a date for dinner.

Without the necessary detailed instructions, Harry was going to have to improvise. Odd that Makr should allow an uncontrolled match-up. He caught himself questioning the logic of it all. Go with it, be a different Harry—a new and improved version, he told himself. Makr knows best.

He jumped up rather quickly from dinner, startling his guest.

“Surprise!” he said, remembering and relishing the act of saying the archaic word. “I have a surprise for you.”

“What’s a ‘sur-prize’? Is that the word?” she asked, clueless to what he was talking about.

“Inquiring minds want to know,” he said, and grinned. “A dessert—a special dessert.” He raised one eyebrow and smiled conspiratorially at the use of his own trivia.

A bit shaken, but more stirred, she gave him an intriguing ‘I’m-interested’ look.

“The surprise in not knowing until the last second,” he continued. “I make it myself. The recipe’s not on the Cyber menu.”

Harry eyed her suspiciously, looking for clues to her guilt or innocence in some plot to catch him at this most vulnerable moment. As he was about to reveal the real Harry, he felt unprotected, exposed—with his pants down—figuratively speaking.

“Shall we?” Harry said in his most charming voice as he offered her his arm for the trip to the kitchen.

“Yes. Why the hell not?” She accepted his offer. “I’m up for something new.”

That didn’t sound like something an Insider would say, but Harry brushed it off as refreshing.

In the kitchen, Harry ordered Annie to put herself away until morning. As soon as the Cyber cook left the immediate area, he went to the freezer and took out three containers of different flavored ice cream.

“Do you like ice cream?” Harry grinned. Of course she did, or they wouldn’t have matched.

“Yes, of course,” she answered cautiously. “Doesn’t everyone?” she quipped as she buckled up for the unknown and the unexpected. So far, he hadn’t shown her much of either.

“The rest is personal,” he announced.

Next, he proceeded to make the two of them a giant sundae in a single bowl, topped it off with some of his favorite sweet, fruity, and nutty ingredients—then after she added some of her favorites, he topped it off with lots of whipped cream. This sundae was not just a sundae or a combination of flavors, it was a union of individual preferences—a shared affinity only he and Donna could have. Harry was beaming with pride in his creation.

Now, for the experience…

With spoons at the ready, Harry and Donna clinked them together in a toast to the unknown and unexpected delights they were about to share. Harry began first by dipping his spoon in the sweet concoction and offering it to her. Still in her devil-may-care mode, she took it with a flourish, closing her eyes. The result was dizzying. She opened her eyes widely, letting Harry know she loved it, and fed him a spoonful of her choosing. Then, the silliness began.

“It’s good! Wonderful! Mmm!” She and Harry couldn’t stop talking. Trivial exchanges of words. Happy emotional remembrances. They swapped happy ice cream memories. Childhood memories. Ice cream dribbles. Harry laughed and wiped her chin. She laughed and wiped his. More laughter.

“Alarm! Alarm!”

Laughter stopped in midstream. They both became very quiet—and serious.

“There is an unsanctioned presence at the door.”

“Who is it? Home Security, identify.” Even though exposure to the rebel lifestyle had prepared him to look over his shoulder even at home now and then, his heart skipped a beat.

“The presence is not registered. Repeat. Presence is not registered. Cyber security notified.”

Harry knew the Cyber security would take only a few minutes to arrive and remove the intruder. He switched off the automatic door security system, and the door opened. It was Desiree.

“Hello, Harry.” Pause. “I see you do not lack for company, sanctioned or un-.” She smiled, but it seemed somewhat hypocritical.

Both Harry and Donna looked like dirty-faced children, shiny with streaks of chocolate and strawberry ice cream, and dried whipped cream; guilty of wild abandonment and irresponsible behavior. Harry, unable to contain himself, blurted out: “Desiree!”

Silence.

Why didn’t she say something—anything? The pause was too unnerving, so Harry broke the silence.

“I…I’m….I’m glad to see you again.” Still no response, so Harry stumbled on uncomfortably. “Uh…uh…this is Donna.”

“I see,” she finally said rather coldly. “I didn’t know you were ‘friends’—is that the word, Harry?” The ice cream had given them away.

Audio Clips–the Next Best Thing to Video, etc.

Scene note: Kieran O’Shea is blind from an earlier incident and is being led home by Carlos’ senior sergeant. Don’t forget to look at my past few blogs for a coupon code allowing you to download a free digital (any format) copy of Harry’s Reality. Imagine hearing this scene rather than watching a video slide show promoting my novel. Which do you think would be more effective?

“Don’t pull me so hard, Harlan!” She struggled and pulled her arm free. “I can walk. Talk to me,” she ordered. “I’m not a child.”

“So you aren’t.” There was always something unsettling about that voice. Sergeant Harlan Leach was a scumbag, but he was also a ruthless survivor. After all, he had so far effectively evaded the cybert forces after the accident even with the loss of some of her Stealth garments. He was still a loathsome human being. He expected all others to bow to his self-serving, cold-hearted authority. It was time and experience that had made him Carlos’ chief sergeant, not strength of character. Hard times require hard people, and he was a good soldier when it counted.

Harlan hooked his arm gently around hers and guided her. Maybe he’s not so bad after all? Or so she thought until she felt the fabric of her cloak moving away from her skin as if picked up by the wind… There is no wind! Then a touch of her breast! Then she felt his touch lower and lower! She recoiled, tearing away from his grasp.

“Damn you! Damn you, Harlan! Haven’t you an ounce of decency?”

“What for? We live like rats. Might as well act like ’em.”

“You know why.”

“The Nests protects us,” he sneered.

“We’re all in this together.”

Now she is beginning to sound like Carlos.

“So what!” He was in her face. She felt his stinky hot breath when he opened his mouth. “I don’t need anyone. I can take care of myself…”

“I’m sure you can, Harlan.”

“…and I take what I want.” His tone was rough, edgy and menacing.

Sensing that he was reaching for her again, she swung her right arm back and forth wildly, hoping to keep him at bay, but she missed him palm forward, and struck him with her harder back-handed return—on the face, she guessed.

“Ow,” he squealed. “What’d ya go and do that fer?”

“Some of us aren’t ready to join the rats yet.” She hoped she was reading him right but he backed down too easily.

“Sorry.” He almost sounded genuine. Almost.

“What is it you really want, Leach?”

“Nuttin’. Just wanted a feel, tha’s all.” He sniffed. A cold? Bloody nose, more likely? The thought of that made her smile—which was not at all what he wanted from her.

She laughed hysterically as one can in Stealth gear —it was more like the body shaking really.

“Did you run out of cybersex toys? I’m surprised at you, Harlan. Taking advantage of a blind woman. You stupid bastard! Open my Stealth cloak for a peak and we’re both more exposed. Is that what you want?”

Silence.

“No answer, Harlan? Is it because you know I’m right?” Still silence. Has he left her? “I know you’re here, Leach. I can still smell you.”

I can just leave ya here, Bitch, he thought, standing belligerently a few feet away. Let the Cleaners get ya! Not exactly the kind of action you’d like, I’m sure. You got Carlos in your dreams, Honey?

While her depraved companion kept his thoughts to himself, Kieran was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with his silence.

“What no words, Leach? C’mon deal with me. Not thinking about leaving me here, are you?”

Who’s bluffing now? She was worried he might do just that—abandon her. She wouldn’t survive for long without the others. Maybe that’s best. Stop thinking like that, Kieran, she told herself.

“Getting you home safe—what’s in it for me?” He reached for her again. She thought she smelled and felt his presence but she heard his cold voice and could tell it was safely distant. Maybe he was planning to leave me to the Cyber street cleaners after all.

“What’s in it for you?” she responded incredulously, a whispered shout. “Your life, Asshole!” Then she spread it on thick. “If I don’t show up, guess who gets blamed! Not me, Sugar. You better find yourself another Nest.”

If I could just see your face, right now… Damn you!

“You know Carlos is just waiting for an excuse, don’t you?” she taunted. “Or are you dumb enough after all to be unaware that Carlos merely tolerates your presence while he is disgusted with you?”

Leach was aware, and knew his own survival to be more important than sex. He muttered something unintelligible.

“All right, damn it!” He touched her arm, which made her jerk it away. “I said I’m sorry. Now, let’s go.”

Pausing for a second to assess the situation, she moved her arm back and allowed him to get hold of her sleeve. He led her by clutching and tugging on the fabric in such a way that he would not even pinch her skin.

“Yes, Sergeant,” she saluted mockingly.

Leach dismissed her tone and escorted her at a safe distance, mindful not to touch any other body part but her arm. Damn bitch won this time, he thought. In fact, he practically forgot the incident with Kieran O’Shea even as he and she zigzagged silently through the Shadows back to the Nest. In his estimation, she was only a slut not worth giving a second thought.

However, what she had said about Carlos was true enough. They hated each other with a passion. Leach had hated Carlos for a long time. Through the fabric of his Stealth cloak, he ran a finger along the scar on his face where a Bio eye should be—a constant reminder of his hatred. He moved his fingers to the stainless steel socket that held a mechanical eye. There had been no cloned eye for him—too much damage to the bone structure, nerves and tendons. He had had to have an artificial, cybernetic one after the Bio docs Outside tried unsuccessfully to graft bone from his hip because the eye socket from his clone had not worked either. Too much damage to the facial structure and optical nerve they had said. His mechanical eye had its own pathway to his brain.

In the end, he went back Inside to a Cyber surgeon that, even with its perfect skills, could only make him part hated machine and part hideous human “to keep him operational.” For Leach, saying the operation was a success but the patient had died, was not just cliché. He was worse than dead; he was nothing. The machines did not even seem to notice when he got up and left to walk back Outside. He was an irrelevant Bio worth a quick repair to keep him pacified. Not even worth deleting.

I could have been a real leader but who’d pay attention to me with these hideous, raw scars and exposed metal-marked face? I look too much like the enemy.

I have always planned to do an audiobook as well as a traditional print copy of Harry’s Reality, but not self-printed. I have a good excuse for no audiobook. No studio. I may do some audio clips and post them on this site; I may even leave the background noise in and see how it does. However, I do think good audio clips can be just as effective as an art presentation turned into a video. Isn’t it really little more than moving pictures and information.

Early on I tried to publish Harry’s Reality traditionally, but at that time it wasn’t ready. It hadn’t been professionally edited, but I went through three agents who thought it worthwhile and received positive feedback from publishers, but no offers. I did, however, receive a handwritten letter from one publisher that encouraged me to re-write Makr as it was titled then to become what it is now: Harry’s Reality.

The question is always: if it is so good, why did you publish it as an e-novel instead of using traditional publishing? Impatience. Time. Wanting to move on. Wanting to test the new medium for writers and see if it was as some claimed–a better way to go for some writers. Harry’s Reality was written off and on over a long stretch of time and has gone through many gyrations. It has even been in present tense. I liked it. No one else seemed to–do it’d not in present tense. I was tired. E-books finally made sense.

I have heard others talk about why they write e-books, and this is what they say: “my subject matter has a limited audience,” or “the publishers have a handful of bestsellers and won’t publish new writers,” or “I don’t want to mess with all the prep work to get it to the publisher and the waiting.” The best one is “you have to be a celebrity to be noticed.” True. Whatever sells books. We, e-book or self-published hard copy writers, have to go door-to-door using the social media electronically so to speak. The fact is our e-books or self-published books still have a stigma attached as poorly written or researched, and most people like paper. I still like my novel. I aim to make it paper, too, but not on my dime.

One thing I do know. I will do some audio clips of Harry’s Reality. Tell me what you think.

My next book won’t take as long as Harry’s Reality to write and will require more research. More on that one later. I may start out trying to publish it traditionally. Who knows what the market will be like then? Right now, it’s a mess.

Monday’s Reality

“Hello,” Desiree’s whisper broke the silence and resonated loudly in a room where people never actually talked with one another.

She heard a gasp or two, and with her night vision contact lenses spied some heads moving to get a look. This Insider even perspires more than the others.

“Hello, I said,” Desiree insisted. “I’m talking to you silly.”

Harry flinched.

Gotcha!

“Yes, you!”

Silently, Harry turned stiffly in his chair, ever so slightly—only a few inches away from the voice, pretending not to hear, trying hard to be inconspicuous. Squinting in the darkness, he tried to see what he both feared and needed: Bio contact.

He listened for the voice again, but his nervous anticipation made his sweat stream uncontrollably. He felt a spring of moisture roll down his side, despite his heavy, neutralizing antiperspirant.

Harry couldn’t help noticing the inviting and delicate fragrance of flowers coming from the same direction as the voice he had heard moments ago and he felt anxious once again. It seemed the scent was created for him alone. The olfactory assault makes the situation even more dangerous.

Desiree saw her prey was frozen with fear. Some hero you are, she thought.

He could barely see, his eyes glazing over with trepidation and indecision. Desiree took advantage of the opportunity to place her ticket, number side down, with a message scribbled on the back, on the very table in front of him. He flinched helplessly a second time as he saw her invading his personal space. He had not been this close to another Bio before—not that he could remember or thought-blink—for years.

Blinking himself back to reality, his jaw dropped as she thrust the note in front of him. I won’t look, I won’t read it! he thought. His body stiffened.

Thought-blinking isn’t working. He’s too nervous. Should have done it sooner, he thought. If he ever needed it, he needed it now!

Is this Makr’s doing? agonized Harry. If so, all is lost anyway. Always the cynical Harry.

In light of this revelation, he reasoned he would lose nothing if he read the note now. Yet he continued debating with himself about reading it. Mindful of this hesitation, Desiree persisted in her physical seduction by pulling her shoulders back—thereby extending her breasts, tilting her head, raising her right eyebrow, and smiling. She blew him a kiss. Who could resist that?

Harry wiped the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief and tried to dry his palms with the saturated cloth without much luck.

A drink! He needed a drink to calm his nerves. More noticeably agitated, he fumbled holding his drink, spilling some of it on the counter. Finally, with a barely audible screech that sounded like thunder in his mind, he inched his chair back, ready to bolt.

Damn! He couldn’t breathe. Need more air! More air! Makr, where the Hell are you?

Harry was on the verge of hyperventilating while the less than vigilant Desiree added more bait to her trap to captivate her prey. She smiled. It was the self-assured smile that finally melted his resistance.

Harry imagined he was about to open a door to Hell, but he reached for it anyway. He knew better, but he reached…grasped at the unknown. He spied a look at the note. It said, “I choose you.” Interesting thought, chosen but not matched. But he could do it. He’d have to overcome the unnatural fear that had been bred into him; however, he was determined to try.

He could pass on a match tonight and justify it later. He could say he was sick, which was true; his stomach was churning and bubbling, and he was certainly nauseous. One more personal invasion and he knew he’d lose his lunch. The moment he started up from his seat a Cyber waiter scurried to his table and wiped away the liquid Harry had spilled without knowing it.

Harry died…or thought he had.

His heart stopped. Not really, perhaps only for a fraction of a second as it skipped a beat, but he was sure his end was near.

Whose reality is it this time? This time it would be his, he resolved.

As he left Cyber Match Central to be with Desiree, and with no attempt at getting Cyber approval, Harry readied himself for one hell of a ride.

Taken.

On a dreary Monday’s reality, there’s very little anyone can do about it. Listen to music, doodle, diddle, putter around the house. I’m flowing in and out with the rain. I know it’s good for the earth, but I hate the cold wet of fall. I remember a reality of ups and downs.

Ever hear a song by Melanie called “Animal Crackers.” She sings in her scratchy, little girl voice, “I don’t eat animals and they don’t eat me.” Of course, it was the ’70s or late ’60s. I remember liking her music, but I discovered it while in the Marine Corps so you know I wasn’t living the psychedelic reality. Ironically, neither was Melanie at the time. It was all hype. I saw her short time later in an intimate concert. In a very short time, she had become an extraordinary mother with three children, and a great singer or she was all of these all along. So, she wasn’t up and down at all. A dreary Monday with rain. For a real pick me up she would sing, “Psychotherapy.” That was always good on a Monday.

My Monday offering is a free copy of Harry’s Reality to those reading this who have shown the patience to read to the end. I hope someone will enjoy it and feel compelled to write a positive review on Smashwords or whatever vendor you decide, or even Goodreads. Here’s the Coupon Code: NE22C to use on my Smashwords page. It’s good for a limited time only. Maybe a month. I’d like to get a buzz going. Thanks for reading.

 

The Good Parts

The lifeless Bio figure (what was left of it), suspended in a translucent, golden-colored, gem-hard substance, its biological eye stuck nearly popped out from his wretched skull, his look frozen in time like an insect preserved in amber from the moment it had been trapped 20 million years ago. The only difference was that the man—what was left of him–still lived. He did have a body of sorts now.

The hexahedron slab of amber, some ten feet high and four to five feet in diameter, hung in the air without apparent support. There were no visible wires or chains. Beginning its descent into a green colored vat below, it rotated on an invisible axis, spinning slowly, causing the image of the Bio inside to appear as a distorted, disjointed, disfigured form to anyone who might see it. Once there, the opaque amber gemstone began to melt as it touched the green nano-gelatin. What was amber in color was now green. As the chemical reaction took place, the man melted, too, becoming a creature hardly recognizable, a blob of cells. Yet he lived, held prisoner in the glassy green gelatin composed of tiny single cell-size nanocyberts that were rearranging his cells to form connectors to his nervous system so his new stainless steel and titanium body would answer to his once human brain. Hidden in the microscopic Cyber design, of course, was Makr’s will.

Am I leaving out the best parts of the novel when I give you snippets? Yes, I think I am. Most of what I have taken is from the front of the novel when characters are first introduced. The piece below is taken later in the novel. It could be a spoiler for you if you are planning to buy the book anyway, it’s one of the “good parts.” Spoiler Alert!

Physically he would never see, hear or feel like he did before, but he would have sensors with far greater capacity than his original Bio sensory organs. Had he dreamed up this transformation himself, he would have been delighted to lose his ugly exterior. He had always wanted to be smarter and stronger, but that hadn’t been humanly possible. However, it was Cyber possible. He was what he was and that was that. He wanted more—more of everything he was and what Makr would make of him. He wanted to be smarter and stronger. Could he also be invincible and more powerful?

A voice boomed in his head again.

“You’ll have all you desire and then some. You will indeed be more of everything; you won’t be a Bio anymore, but you’ll be a perfect product of Makr. You’ll be something totally new. You’ll be a creature feared for its power. You’ll be among the giants of this new world.”

With those last words, Harlan Leach’s moment of ecstasy was nearly over. His lifetime of horror had just begun.

Sickening, hideous images.

In his mind, he saw his own body sucked into a machine, shredded and regurgitated. He witnessed his own death—in stringy spaghetti threads of humanity swirling about until it all became liquefied and one substance. He saw Death waiting patiently. He grieved for himself. He felt a loss knowing someone very important to him had died. Was there any such person? He didn’t think so. Now he knew that he was the one who had died. No one else would feel his loss; he was sure of it. He had no specific memories of anyone who might care—not even the parents who had abandoned him as a baby.

Suddenly, unbelievable pain. He felt a hundred heartbreaks and disappointments, as many fleeting moments of happiness, and unbearable loss. Soaring joy. Unfathomable sadness. Memories. Past. Happy. Sad. Remembered. Forgotten. He sensed he was screaming. He was screaming! Nothing came out! He couldn’t scream without a mouth. He heard screams all around, but not his own. The eternal agony of others… He knew the awful helplessness of being Bio, fragile, trapped and doomed! In a millisecond, he sensed an explosion, a tearing apart of his own soul… Hopelessness! He wailed. He moaned. He became one of the screamers. Once he was with them, they stopped screaming and were singing.

Then, no singing. No voices. No sound. Now music. No music. Nothing. No! Memories gone. Who? No matter. Feeling content. Warm, comfortable, cozy, secure. Makr! The man, who no longer remembered he had been anything, realized he was not alone. There were billions like himself. And, yet, he still felt alone, totally alone. Although he knew he must be in a factory where Bios lost their minds and were reconditioned, but this—this had to be different. The Bio man, Leach, awoke, a little tired, but otherwise not feeling worse for wear. Whew! What a dream, he thought. Then he noticed it. It hadn’t been a dream! He discovered the shocking truth. His body was gone. In its place were shiny, finished metal structures. It was only his Bio mind that remained. Had he a mouth he would have screamed. Actually, he had a way to speak; however, Leach had not figured out how to use it yet.

Worse than that, Makr had left him most of his tongue (minus that part that had been bitten off) and a single human eye.

It is always interesting taking another deep look at your work. You think, “Wow, was I that profound,” or “that clever?” But you also say, “I think it will work better if I say it this way.” So, I made some minor changes over a couple of days and republished at both Amazon and Smashwords. Both have their advantages. Harry’s Reality is now available through both Amazon in kindle format and offers a free app, and Smashwords in many formats, including mobi format, which is for kindle, with instructions on how to download to your device. There, of course, is only one way to read between my lines…

Harry and His Virtual Angel

The day has come to re-publish Harry’s Reality so it is available in any format besides Kindle. Before I re-publish, I’m looking for little typos–things I see in other e-books I’d like to stay free of mine. When I have re-published, Harry’s Reality will be available in all digital forms, not only through Smashwords and Amazon, but all other e-book vendors as well. Let’s get back to Harry’s reality now. What does one do in paradise when they have a problem, i.e., bad dreams like Harry is having. Simple. Just as we would do… Almost.

The Cyber Bio therapist, a Bio face and form of the warmest proportions, sat in a plush, leather-covered easy chair, pursing her lips, shaking her head and affectionately scolding her patient. For a psych intervention program, her titillating image was real enough: blonde hair, pale delicate skin, full lips, voluptuous in form, sensuous in movement, and generally soft in focus. Her presence was also familiar to Harry—like someone he knew intimately. He knew the face and body well because it was from his own memories; she had the look of Marilyn Monroe, an archetype film star that he recognized from his vidchip collection of ancient media entertainment.

Harry was completely relaxed and calm with his 70-inch frame stretched out in a leather recliner that belonged in the archetypal psychotherapist’s office, an embellishment to the SensaVision reality used to create an atmosphere conducive for probing Bio behaviors. His living quarters merged with the program environment. These surroundings were now more spacious and comfortable, subtly laced with the therapist’s personal images, which Harry finds relaxing.

Olfactory elements complemented the visual impressions as he was enveloped in a fragrance that reminded him of fresh air, flowers and the aftermath of sex. He saw a well formed, physically fit woman and his eyes were immediately drawn to her ample breasts. She had a fit body-type like Harry, with pale skin and platinum blonde hair, but that’s where the resemblance between the two ended. She was very attractive, almost beautiful, and sensual in a way that made her not only a suspicious Makr choice but dangerous to a control freak like Harry.

Although he prided himself on being fit, he had never considered himself a very attractive Bio. Oh, Makr could make anyone who sees you see you the way you want to be seen—of course subject to His approval. Harry appreciated being unique, yet he couldn’t help seeing himself as too medium in stature and too ordinary- or average-looking to have had anything other than a typically boring social life among his Makr-approved liaisons. That’s life. Bio life anyway.

Makr’s SensaVision technology creates a perfect world as determined by the greatly evolved artificial intelligence Himself. In doing so He had produced a convincing multi-dimensional set of images, sounds, pressure, and smells to shape Harry’s personal reality, thus making him emotionally receptive for the therapist program. The female psychotherapist seemed a genuine part of Harry’s household, maybe even a part of his intimate family. In a way she was. She was part of Harry’s psyche, reinforced with Makr’s reality of a perfect Bio world.

That he found himself irresistibly drawn to her was to be expected. A certain amount of “chemistry” between therapist and patient is necessary in establishing rapport.

This seductive experience was more than that. He knew from his work as a Bio program analyst that this was beyond the limits of any of the therapist intervention programs he knew of. But then Makr was constantly evolving. Harry could draw only two conclusions: one, this program was simply a new and improved version over others he had used previously, or two, this was more than a therapist intervention program, and something else. It was the something else that worried him.

With that thought his heart beat a little faster and perspiration began to form on his skin.

Suddenly, he felt a barely detectable current of cool air dry his skin.

“You must not be afraid, Harry Bolls,” cooed the Cyber program’s holographic manifestation. “You wanted Makr to intervene and comfort you in your dreams so He sent me. I am here to help.”

“A virtual angel?”

“Something like that, Harry.”

“I just need someone to talk to.”

“We know. I am considered a great conversationalist—even in Bio terms.”

“You aren’t a psych intervention program at all, are you?” Harry asked, immediately on the offensive. “You’re more than that.”

“Well, yes and no. You might say I’m an improved version.”

“What do I call you? Doctor?”

“If you wish. In addition to the usual medical degree, I do have the knowledge equivalent to those holding doctorates in all relevant scientific areas of psychology, neurobiology, chemistry and physiology, and I have reviewed the scientific literature for the last 2,000 years, but you may call me Mary if that makes you more comfortable.”

“My grandmother’s name was Mary.”

“Yes.”

There is a short pause in the exchange until Mary breaks the silence. “Do you have any more personal questions to ask me before we start?”

Harry was at a loss for words so he said the first thing that came to mind. “Do we have a time limit? Bio psychoanalysts…”

“Ancient history. No time limit. I’ll be here as long as you need me.”

Or Makr wants me to be here, thought Harry.

“I have dreams, weird dreams,” he blurted out.

“Yes, I know.”

“I can’t move my body.”

“Actually, you can move your head in your dreams. Technically, that’s…”

“I know…part of my body.”

“Hmmm.”

“Wait. How’d you…”

She smiled and winked a knowing wink.

“In my dreams, I hear a loud banging—like someone banging on old-fashioned metal cooking pots…”

“And…?”

Exasperated, he exploded. “And? And! I don’t want to feel this way.”

“Temper,” she cautioned gently. “How does that make you feel?”

Harry backed down and took a breath.

“Besides the pain?”

She nodded. “The pain is important, too. We’ll come back to it. That is, if you don’t mind.”

“No. No…of course not.” He had almost forgotten he was talking to a Makr SensaVision program. No harm yet. Maybe some answers.

She looked at him inquiringly.

“Harry?

“Angry. Afraid.”

“Angry you’ll lose control? Afraid you’ll lose your identity? Which?”

“Both. Yeah, something like that. Exactly like that, actually. Hey, how’d you do that, Doc?” That made sense to Harry. He didn’t like the answer, but she made sense.

“What else, Harry?

“When it’s all over, I feel bad—worthless, I guess. Exhausted and kinda worthless.”

“I see.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want the dreams to happen at all,” he stated emphatically.

“You need not concern yourself with this. Makr has everything under control. He is looking out for you. I am here now to help you get through this. Our dreams are our teachers. We must listen to them.”

The psychobabble began.

Reluctantly, Harry felt her vibes, embraced her empathy, and was seduced and violated by her verbal rhythm. Her sweet, whispering, soothing voice enslaved him with a melodic and rhythmic hypnotic dance, attaching her programmed thoughts to his psyche.