In Makr's Shadow - Book One: Symbiosis Page 2

CHAPTER TWO

  "Illusions commend themselves to us because they save us pain and allow us to enjoy pleasure instead. We must therefore accept it without complaint when they sometimes collide with a bit of reality against which they are dashed to pieces." - Sigmund Freud

  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 can call me Mary if that makes you more comfortable."

  "My grandmother's name was Mary."

  "Yes."

  There was a short pause in the exchange until Mary broke 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!" Then, a realization. "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.

  Why not just erase the dreams? Delete the memory of them? Harry thought and cursed himself that he should have thought-blinked at that moment and didn't. But since he wasn't really sure he could do it now, he yielded.

  "Why these... these awful dreams?" he asked. "So painful. So real."

  "I'm afraid it is a weakness of the Bio brain. All Bios dream. Some remember them. Most do not. Dreams express what we cannot verbalize or otherwise express in a conscious world: our desires, our fears." She lingered on the word fears, drawing it out, until Harry reacted.

  "I'm not afraid."

  "Yes, you are afraid—and foolish, Harry Bolls, because it's not just the Shadows in your dreams you fear."

  Harry winced. "Can you read minds now?"

  "Would that be such a bad thing, Harry? What do you think, Harry? Do you think Cyber can read minds?"

  "Oh, I don't know...an upgrade?"

  "You need not be sarcastic, Harry Bolls," the program scolded him with onl
y the slightest change in tone, and then continued even more tenderly. "In a way, you sent for this SensaVision program when you asked for Makr's help. But to answer your questions: with my cyber-efficient reading of external Bio signs and Bio systems analysis, it would appear that I can read minds."

  His suspicions confirmed, his heart rate returned to normal. He knew the gobbledygook. As a Level-Four Bio-Cyber Program Interface, he provided Makr with human behavior variations for the SensaVision reality programs; he knew how the artificial intelligence analyzed nonverbal cues and process responses. Harry, better than anyone, knew Makr changed realities all the time; however, when confronted with such an alluring program manifestation as this, even he was more often than not unable to break free of its grasp. His softer human side took over and he found it difficult to do anything but respond to stimuli like any other Bio. He was, after all, smart by Bio standards but barely adequate by machine standards.

  Then he noticed it: a ripple, a subtle difference in her image, her scent, her ostensibly true existence in his world flickered and changed somehow, and that alteration made her even more appealing. Lured now by the siren's total presence, he could tell he was losing what little control of the program he had had. Now he wondered if he could even disengage on his own.

  How much control can he lose before he is following the Program blindly? What is left to control? Better to drift along aimlessly than to participate directly. Cyber are never aimless. It is not in their programs. But Bios, that is another matter altogether.

  Harry regarded his sometime ability to see through illusion to reality—to thought-blink—as a gift rather than a curse. How he got it, where he got it, or why he got it—he had no idea. But this gift was failing him now—or so it seemed.

  He needed to concentrate... Concentrate on what should be there, what you know to be true, he ordered himself. She is not. She is not. She is not. His mantra wasn't enough.

  "Relax," a sympathetic whisper floated up from within him, another voice. Not the therapist, he thought.

  "Follow your heart for the truth and be patient," the soothing feminine voice urged gently. "Wait," it ordered softly and seemed to fade away.

  He knew the ethereal whisper could not come from the program. Makr? No, Makr didn't try to assess the human poetic heart not even through one of the therapeutic programs. What does Makr know of the human heart other than its biology? But Harry did know that voice. He had heard it as a child. It made him feel warm, secure and strangely peaceful.

  He knew that nothing that feels this good lasts and he fought back with as much reasonable stimulation to thought-blink the experience away, too. The thought that Makr could be manipulating authentic memories from his subconscious made him nervous. The omniscient, all-powerful Cyber god knew more about Harry than Harry himself could remember—consciously or un-consciously!

  "I can't tell you everything..." He fought Makr's faux reality and paused in mid-thought, attempting to block his mind from being read. It could have been his own probing that gave him a headache. Whatever it was made him stop fighting. When he hesitated he knew he'd lost the battle, and he couldn't help himself answer the siren's call.

  Have to thought-blink now... Not happening... He was too weak, exhausted, his mental resistance low. Finally he had no choice but to drift through the psych program until he remembered his dreams...

  The therapist let her presence be known, "We know that dreams can be metaphors of our fears, if you will." He heard the siren's song in her voice and was enslaved once more. "You work out your fears in your dreams—a catharsis—nothing more."

  As she droned on he sensed a heavy cloud was lifting, and with it, his version of reality seemed more real. He discovered his thought-blinking was working once again, and he mentally separated the real and the unreal. Her question stuck.

  "Harry? What is your value to others? You said you felt worthless. Do you still?"

  "My job," he mumbled.

  "Yes, if we may go there."

  "Sure."

  With that thought Harry immediately felt a pang of guilt that he should be doing a better job to help Makr control his fellow man. He wasn't alone in that task though; there were others to share the blame, others who do the same work as he, others who do similar work related to building an environment suitable for Cyber and Bio symbiosis. Then he rationalized: it's all for PerSoc, which is what we all want, of course.

  "Because of your closeness to Makr, you honestly feel machines are in danger from Bio beings like yourself, because you know them. Hence, you fear the Shadow, your childhood boogeyman. You know that the only harm that can come to Bios is from other Bios themselves."

  "Cyber do not war on one another," he acknowledged.

  "As a program link to SensaVision," she continued, "you serve our society by providing Bio-specific data on the subtle nuances of inexplicable Bio behavior. Your thought processes are so closely tied to Makr's primary cyberserver that you empathize deeply with the Cyber and understand how they might feel if they had Bio emotions."

  It was true: Harry spent more time conversing with machines, programs really, than with other Bios. In fact, it had been years since he had spoken or seen another Bio face-to-face. She does make sense...the program makes sense, but Cyber bio therapists always make sense in the end.

  This was the beginning of Harry the Insider's search for the unadulterated Truth.

  Carlos and his people made war on the Cyber, trying to slow down the evolving new world to preserve the very asphalt in front of him. Or, what was left of it.

  The reason for the ambush was a “disrupt and grab” to replenish weapons and materials for their Nest, nothing more. If there ever were survivors of such an action, they would be recycled. The darkness of the idea made Carlos smile.

  All his life, he had been a soldier whose sole purpose in the Nest was to rid the planet of Cyber. More like give them a hard time. His life and the lives of his people were at stake. Although victory seemed impossible, they had to fight. It was, after all, the chief aim of any organism to survive.

  In most places, buildings like these surrounding Carlos had become rubble. These buildings had withstood the ravages of the ages and the stupidity of Man. Carlos and his people witnessed the death of human history. All stone, steel and glass were disappearing unless they served a purpose and were efficient. Real monuments that commemorated the great among the civilization were recycled for a more practical use.

  The sad truth, Carlos thought, is that this reshaping of the planet supplanted the memories of ancestors long passed. Cyber had even eradicated the flora that would normally re-form a world devastated by human stupidity. This time, the situation was different; nature no longer needed to be in control.

  Now, in this spot, you could still see remnants of an age after civilization had thrived—or so the population thought.

  He thought, if any species that served a purpose would endure, why did homo sapiens persist? Ironic that in Latin, an extinct language, the words meant, “wise man,” while humanity, he was sure, was not. His humanity disappeared in the shadows; the wisdom of Man was yet to come.