《Mad Sci Soc》


 Part 0 Prologue

    Friday, December 13, 2117.


    In 2117, a group of freedom fighters called the Open Genetics Alliance Group had taken over the New York Museum of Computer Archeology and was threatening to destroy a valuable ancient artifact, dating from 1977, a DEC PDP-11 computing device.


    The OGAG''s demands were: a) Free access to the genealogical data within the Legacy Net. b) The end of DNA profiling and manipulation of the general public genome. c) Freeing all pets from slavery. d) A flight to Iceland.


    The broadcast networks had been tweeted and the Superhero Union had been scheduled for the event so it looked like it was going to be an exciting show. Emerging from an anonymous-looking black auto-auto, surveyed by camera drones, was Captain Kittoffery, yellow latex-clad veteran superhero, returning after years of legal wrangling over technology patent rights. Stepping out behind him was a new, unidentified nervous-looking young female super-heroine sporting medusa-like white hair and a blue-grey wispy cape.


    The Captain waved to the drone-mounted cameras before the heroes activated their invisibility cloaking and starting on their 100 meter walk across the plaza towards the beleaguered, mock-palladium style building.


    Tension grew in the Broadcast channel¡¯s mobile control suite as Reginald Gillard, TrueCrime-9+ Super Hero Reality Show Director, had to make a crucial decision: broadcast live (with a five minute delay, of course) or put together a compilation show.


    ¡°The new fem is televisual. Do you have her name?¡± said Clive, Reg¡¯s assistant, viewing her 3D image on his holoscreen and spinning it around.


    ¡°It¡¯s in a text. Corral Girl or something,¡± said Gillard fingers waving in mid-air as he tackled the virtual controls presented by his heads-up display.


    ¡°The old west isn¡¯t her style,¡± mused Clive, enlarging the emblem on her image torso..


    Gillard noticed and stopped his finger dance to inquire bruskly, ¡°You have them on infra-red?¡±


    Clive snapped back to the broadcast feed, ¡°Only 2D.¡±


    ¡°Are the camera drones inside?¡±


    ¡°All taken out. They must have anti-drones.¡±


    ¡°And the micro-drones?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ve been taken out too. And we don¡¯t have many left. Just a couple of dozen, maybe. So what¡¯s the decision? Go or no-go?¡±


    ¡°Well...¡± said Gillard in a long drawl. Leaning back in his chair he ran his hand through his blue and white pin-stripped hair, that matched his fabricated blue and white pin-stripped shirt, before making up his mind. ¡°No sorry, while the girl has audience-appeal-potential there¡¯s nothing televisual here. Infrared is a bore and they are making sluggardly time to CATLOC. There¡¯s no cameras inside either. No, we¡¯ll capture the show from bodycam and re-broadcast later. If it¡¯s any good, that is. Which is doubtful with new heroes!¡±


    ¡°I thought new heroes are good. Good for ratings.¡±This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    ¡°Ratings are won with familiarity not novelty. Even if we can hype a newbie but they are a disaster for live broadcasts. They¡¯re always such... bozos.¡±


    ¡°Good to see the Captain¡¯s back though,¡± muttered Clive.


    ¡°Not in my book. I¡¯m still taking the extra strong Rad-free tablets after the mess up with the panda herd,¡± he said curmudgeonly.


    Five minutes later there was still no news. By 2117, child birth was quicker than this freeze-frame and the crowds outside were restless. Robots maintained a cordon around the museum holding back the pedestrians and cyclists frustrated at the delay, although the A2s and scooters had automatically re-routed.


    A human Police Officer, that rare breed of human able to pass the psychometric tests to conform to the 2080 ¡°Protect and Serve¡± Law, linked into Gillard¡¯s G-Phone.


    ¡°Hello, Mr Gillard, I was just wondering whether you had any update on the situation.¡±


    ¡°No, we¡¯re in the dark on this one,¡± sighed Gillard.


    ¡°It¡¯s just that the pedestrians are already walking around the barriers and the cyclists are becoming annoyed. They want to know the time slot duration so that they can re-schedule their calendars,¡± said the Police Officer humbly.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t scheduled or rehearsed. We don¡¯t have any end time or expected breaks.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a real crime?¡± stuttered the cop.


    ¡°All crime is real. This one is just un-parameterised.¡±


    ¡°So... your estimation?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not going out live. We don¡¯t have a time frame. We need to ¡®think different¡¯ on this?¡±


    ¡°Oh Jobs, no time slot! Ok. I¡¯ll re-route them. F.Y.I, we have called in an air strike in 15 minutes. You might like to close off your recording streams before then,¡± said the officer helpfully.


    ¡°I will have double-dozed before then,¡± Gillard replied.


    Nothing happened for ten minutes. Not even chatter on the Su-U channels. Clive was updating his social media pages and Gillard was on an audio conference. Then the air strike arrived, five minutes early. Gillard scrabbled from his chair, fell over and pointed to a big red button. ¡°Close off the cameras! Close off the cameras!¡± he squealed at his assistant.


    The air strike consisted of a couple of hundred diner-plate-sized drones, they arrived seemingly out of nowhere from over and around the New York buildings, in every direction, they smashed through the museum¡¯s windows and streaked through into the building. The angry buzz of activity stopped as quickly as it had started. If you blinked, you could have missed it. And you would have blinked too, the drones were accompanied by a blinding halogen light to divert the gaze of onlookers.


    Then there was a strange silence.


    And a few seconds later there was the stranger silence when all the lights failed and the machines stopped humming.


    Power had gone out inside Gillard¡¯s mobile studio van. All the holographic displays disappeared. Even his G-Phone was dead.


    He stepped from the now darkened van out into the quiet plaza in front of the museum. He noticed the robot cordon guards had failed, frozen to the pavement. They were being prodded by a small crowd of puzzled and disoriented pedestrians. The power outage was widespread.


    Uncharacteristically and for the first time in his life, curiosity became Reginald Gillard¡¯s sole motive as he walked unguarded towards a crime scene.


    He then had second thoughts, returned to the van and sent his assistant inside.


    Clive soon came running back. Sweat pouring from his face, he panted. ¡°I don¡¯t think we can make a show out of this!¡± He then went to the back of the van and threw up.


    ***

 Part 1 Chapter 1 Of Fridges and Frigidity

    Part 1 Joining Mad-Sci-Soc


    <h2 class="western">Chapter One Of Fridges and Frigidity</h2>


    <h3 class="western">Tuesday, January 22, 2123


    Mad-Sci-Soc. Where do you begin with a time traveling story full of world events, flashbacks and difficult relationships? There is no better starting point than the point where Terri and I first visited the Mad-Sci-Soc... it used to be a University club, a crazy one, and then it morphed into something else, something that was not quite definable but definitely crazy. It was Terri''s idea to go to them. She knew where they were located, on the edge of the campus, but still inside the robot-free zone. With gentle snow falling around us as we walked through the historic brown brick housing district, it looked very Dickensian.


    So there we were, at what could be the crucial turning point in human history; and where I started to unravel the mysteries of the organisation and the problems facing civilisation. Of course, I may be exaggerating. I presume there may be a parallel universe that did not start here in New York, 2123; a universe that does not have the dichotomic predicament that I was confronting. But that is always the problem with disturbances in the space-time continuum, nothing makes sense except from the first person perspective.


    My augmented reality first person perspective was focused upon my gorgeous girlfriend, Terri. In a world of glamorous women and wimpy men, she was the most glamorous of carpet retailers and I was arguably the most geeky of freelance technical researchers. While gorgeous, she had made a couple of fashion mistakes that evening; she had her eye makeup recently re-tattooed and her eyebrows were now just a bit too high. As a result she looked permanently surprised. Or more accurately, surprised and annoyed. Her other fashion mistake was a lack of warm clothes. Her diamond-effect vest dress was only covered by her transparent raincoat with the broken hologram generator. Of course, she had no hat since that would disturb her purple-to-grey faded hair. Although she claimed that her furry boots and the heating unit in the vest provided adequate warmth.


    But really what was rushing through my mind when I looked at her, was the change to her relationship status on EgoSpace. She had changed it that day to ¡°it''s complicated¡±. What a body-blow! I would have liked to forget about this and concentrate on the task at hand but every time I turned around, reality augmentation would kick-in; my contact-lens-heads-up display would show the results from my face-rec app and return her status. I definitely needed to change the settings to stop the facial recognition function from running all the time.


    The task in hand was entry into the club house, aka geek-central, the geeks¡¯ cathedral... Mad-Sci-Soc had the reputation as the gathering point of the cleverest of scientists studying the most intellectually challenging and most ridiculously obscure subjects that bordered more on philosophy than science. I was geeky but not in the same way as these guys. They were the very epitome of the uncool part of geekdom and who wants to be associated with that?!


    "We''ve tried everybody else, haven''t we? The Police, maybe?¡± I asked.


    ¡°The Police? I doubt this is their bailiwick. It would break their programming," sighed Terri.


    ¡°The University?¡±


    ¡°Serious scientists are not going to take us seriously."


    ¡°The Military?¡±


    ¡°I guess we haven''t tried everyone.¡±


    ¡°So we should try them?" I said anxiously and gladly. Anything to avoid stepping inside the building.


    ¡°For frack-sake, Aaron!¡± Terri said. She was testing me again.


    "No. Just joking," I lied.


    The previously tacitly assumed plan, that I was to enter alone, was made explicit. ¡°So go in then! I''ll wait outside."


    As my last delaying tactic, I said, ¡°Is it because of Max?¡±


    She sneered, ¡°You work it out."


    In an attempt for sympathy, I said heroically, ¡°It''s ok. I''ll go in alone.¡±


    Terri was not amused as I continued to linger on the pavement checking out the steps and the door, ¡°Cold feet? I have the real cold feet. If I''m happy to freeze out here then you can do this. So, go!¡±


    ¡°I don''t know whether I want to be seen entering...¡±


    ¡°You don''t want to be seen going in? Shall I find a bag for your head! Some extreme-sport fanatic you are!¡±


    I gave her a sarcastic smile. Terri was always a real world type of person while I still possessed a level of real world disconnection syndrome caused by years of game playing. However I prided myself on my ability to confront real world situations. I guess I liked to prove myself. Obviously not in an academic, exam-type way.


    I turned around. There were no surveillance drones, no robots and no people. At least none that I could detect. Nothing to worry about there.


    It was early evening, empty greyness only warmed by amber street lighting, I guess the snow had driven the humans inside. There was a few auto-taxis and A2s, but nobody looks out from their auto-autos, people were too busy with their social media exchanges or controlling their surrogates. We had to be there in person rather than traverse any virtual worlds because the MSS club members shunned such shimmering digital environments, which suited me anyway, having had my avatar banned from most.


    I had run out of excuses.


    I crept up to the black door to read a small sign which read "Come on in! But remember ...we may be mad but we still don''t like time-wasters!" Under the doorbell with a name plate with just three letters: ¡°M. S. S.¡± I pressed the doorbell and the door automatically replied in a sing-song voice, ¡°Come on in. Push the door hard.¡±


    I pushed open the sturdy metal door styled with fake embossments to make it appear in-keeping with the age of the building. Inside was a long brightly-lit corridor with posters showing headlines from old news pages: ¡°Oil found under Manhattan!¡± and "Empire State Building converted to world''s largest drilling rig!" ¡°Matter Transfer at Columbia Uni wows Scientists.¡± ¡°Captain Kittoffery saves Korean Town from Wild Radioactive Panda Herd.¡±


    I ought to mention something about Captain Kittoffery for those people in the future (or the past!) who have not seen his exploits on TrueCrime-9+ channel¡¯s Super Vigilante pan-device broadcast reality show. Captain Kittoffery was one of the limited number of licensed heroes that frequented New York and other parts of North America. And sometimes, as described in the news article on the wall, other parts of the world depending upon international treaties. CK could hold an Olympic heavy lifter with their maximum weights on each of his outstretched arms. Amazables! Was it a real super power, a stage magician¡¯s trick or computer generated imagery? The superheroes claim their powers are mutotonic but nobody really knows what that is. There were enough eye witnesses to his super strength to disprove camera trickery. It remains a mystery.


    The yellow-latex-clad Captain had a brief period of celebrity status until he was quagmired in a patent legislation suit against the Ms Bell mega-corporation where he won a victory of sorts, a technical victory. But after that he disappeared from broadcasts (or as we Brits still call it, ¡°TV¡±) he was replaced by more charismatic and eccentric heroes such as Nerdifer and Sargent Canada. CK had not been seen in several years. I mentioned this since I walked into an office space occupied by a single, large male personage that reminded me of the Captain.


    ¡°Mad-Sci-Soc?¡± I enquired.


    "Can I help?" asked the man looking up from his holoscreen.


    ¡°I doubt it but hey, we''ve tried everybody else,¡± I replied breezily. ¡°Has anyone ever told you that you look a lot like Captain Kittoffery?¡± The face-rec application flashed up his name on my head-up display: Conrad. But his surname and other personal details were suppressed by a privacy filter.


    The man furrowed his brow, ¡°You flatter me. I¡¯m not that good-looking. I¡¯m just a humble post-grad. You were saying?¡±


    ¡°It''s rather difficult to explain, er... Conrad.¡±


    The man appeared to wince.


    ¡°I... er... have a problem with my fridge,¡± I said in a manner that I hoped indicated I did not really want to be there.


    ¡°We don''t fix fridges. There''s a repair shop down the road would you like me to show you on NetMaps?¡±


    ¡°This is a really big fridge problem,¡± I said trying to make it sound more interesting.


    The man stood and offered me the way out, "Like the sign says on the front door, we really don''t like to mess around."


    ¡°What sign?¡± I asked befuddled already forgetting the warning about time-wasters.


    Conrad sighed. "Sorry. It must have fallen off. Anyway, we don''t do anything with fridges, ok, good-bye."


    ¡°No, no. Wait. Give me a minute to explain. It''s of earth shattering importance but it''s going to sound crazy,¡± I said in a panic, contemplating the tongue lashing I would receive from Terri if I did not come back with some relevant information.


    ¡°Crazy you say...?¡± he replied slowly and rubbing his large chin. ¡°In what way?¡±


    ¡°So if I mention fridges then you won''t mind?¡±


    "Is your fridge making funny noises?" he ventured.


    ¡°Yes, well it was...¡±


    ¡°This is perfectly normal. I wouldn''t worry about it. Check the diagnostics and try defrosting once in a while,¡± said the man and sat back down to look at his holoscreen.


    ¡°Actually it is not the noises it''s making that worries me. I think our fridge has come alive!¡±


    ¡°Well, everything is computerised nowadays. Has the machine developed a bit of a personality?¡±


    ¡°No. The computer stopped talking to us months ago. That was quite a bonus actually. No, it''s moved by itself.¡±


    ¡°Moved by itself? How?¡±


    ¡°That''s why I''m here.¡±


    Conrad hummed to himself. ¡°I think you better go right back to the beginning. What''s your name again?¡±


    I was relieved that I had finally gained some of his attention. ¡°It''s Aaron. Aaron Quarts. That¡¯s Quarts with an S not Quartz with a zed...¡±


    ¡°Sure. Sure. Wind forward a bit.¡±


    ¡°Well, it all started while I was practising making tea for Terri..."


    ¡°Tea? What type?¡± said Conrad.


    Perhaps I didn''t really have his interest. ¡°Ceylon. Terri''s favourite.¡±


    ¡°You have a permit for the tea?¡±


    ¡°Well, of course,¡± I sighed. ¡°It''s medicinal.¡± He didn''t seem convinced.


    ¡°And who''s Terri?¡±


    ¡°My girl friend.¡±


    ¡°Hmm, Interesting,¡± he said, suddenly intense.


    ¡°No, that''s not the interesting part.¡±


    I then told him the story about when the fridge first started to misbehave.


    ¡°I was doing research on the legacy-web trying to extract open-source technology. People always laugh at my ancient computer with its keyboard and mouse or make sneering remarks about its hygiene, all that dust build-up between the keys... but really it is the only way to truly access the ancient texts.¡± Conrad rolled his hand indicating for me to speed up my story. ¡°I was staring intently at the computer screen, its old and solid, not holographic, when I notice a movement behind me as a flicker on the computer screen, a reflection.¡±


    ¡°A mirror effect?¡±


    ¡°Yes, right. I focused on the reflection and this time I could tell what it was. The door of the fridge moved. The first movement I detected must have been the door opening; the second, which I saw clearly, was the door shutting. It made a hermetic thud as it closed.¡±


    ¡°And this is a standard fridge. Nothing automatic? Net-connected?¡±


    ¡°Just a fridge. As I said, we lost voice interaction and network connection ages ago.¡±


    ¡°And you were alone in your home?¡±


    ¡°I was alone. I shrugged it off. It was about a minute after when it started to happen...¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°The fridge moved...¡±


    ¡°I thought you said that you were making tea.¡±


    ¡°I tried making tea earlier. But I couldn''t open the fridge to get the milk. The door was stuck. So I had black tea. I don''t like black tea.¡±


    ¡°This was the same fridge that opened and closed its door and then moved? How did it move?¡±


    ¡°The same fridge. We have only the one fridge. It moved like it was shuffling forward, rattling fast, in short bursts.¡±


    ¡°And did it keep doing this?¡±


    ¡°At first it shuffled forward about a foot.¡±


    ¡°And what did you do?¡±


    ¡°I got up and went over to the fridge and tried to open the door.¡±


    ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°Just like before. It wouldn''t open.¡±


    ¡°And yet you saw the door open a close, all-be-it in reflection a few minutes earlier.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡±


    ¡°So let me get this straight, you want to show me this fridge?¡±


    ¡°I can''t!¡±


    ¡°No?¡±


    ¡°The fridge has gone, man. It''s done a runner!¡± I then projected a picture from my Genie-Phone of the hole in our apartment¡¯s wall which now provided a grim panoramic view of downtown Manhattan.


    Conrad looked skeptical.


    ¡°I''ll bring Terri in and she can confirm. She''s outside. Probably getting cold.¡±


    ¡°Sure. I¡¯d like that.¡±


    ***


    <h3 class="western">Tuesday, January 22, 2123. (5 Minutes Later).


    I dashed back outside onto the snowy street but there was no Terri. I touched my wrist control of my G-Phone and said, ¡°Call Terri¡±


    ¡°This service is brought to you by Merry Medication and Upgrades. Call Merry?¡± suggested the networking device.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°No, call Terri!¡± I reiterated with emphasis on the tee.


    ¡°Call Terri and not advertised service?¡± queried the G-Phone.


    ¡°Yes, confirm.¡± Sometimes I wished I had the concentration to make the mind-machine-interface work, there are no adverts on the MMI. But I used gesture and voice control as per the 90% of humanity that cannot afford, or indeed, operate the MMI. Techno-implants make the MMI easier according to the advertising, however, call me a technophobe if you like, my body is a temple where machines should not be inserted. In that vain, Terri was also trying to ween me from junk food, although with only limited success.


    ¡°You''ve told the whole story? It''s only been five minutes!¡± she said exasperated over the earpiece.


    ¡°I haven''t told him about the whole fridge opening palaver.¡±


    ¡°Is Max there?¡±


    ¡°I don''t know. I haven''t met him you know. There was only one guy. The Captain Kittoffery look-alike.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I know Conrad. Max doesn''t look like that.¡±


    ¡°What does he look like?¡±


    ¡°Short, geeky.¡±


    ¡°So like me?¡±


    ¡°No. Shorter. And he''s a control freak. And known to wear a suit on a weekend.¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± I said as I caught sight of my own dishevelled appearance reflected in a window. I was wearing my old, but freshly laundered, fabricated, heat-regulating t-shirt with a ¡°Buy Pizza¡± logo inherited from a past failed career. ¡°That''s not an insult you could throw at me.¡±


    ¡°No. I have other ones for you,¡± she replied coolly. ¡°Call me when you''ve finished.¡±


    ***


    <h3 class="western">Tuesday, January 22, 2123. (5 Minutes Later).


    I went back inside.


    ¡°No girl friend?¡± Conrad asked.


    ¡°No,¡± I said. ¡°Apparently she knows you.¡±


    ¡°Ah-ha. Just as I thought. There are no coincidences. Terri, Terri Shiraz?¡± Conrad mused and stared at the ceiling as if recalling past events.


    ¡°So you remember her?¡± I asked politely. I knew these University types interacted with hundreds of people a year, albeit mainly in virtual worlds.


    ¡°Well, after the fridge moved, I freaked out and ran out of the apartment to Terri¡¯s workplace.¡±


    ***


    <h3 class="western">Friday, January 4, 2123.


    I tried calling her while running the few blocks to Columbia Carpet Factory Showroom. Terri enjoyed her real world job as a carpet sales person. She found it satisfying meeting and dealing with real people and delivering real products. However that day, for some reason, she had blocked incoming calls. I sprinted across the crowded street with the smart-road re-routing taxis and auto-autos around me. (Fortunately there were no cyclists about; cyclists being the last bastion of zero-automation transportation in New York, pose the most danger to pedestrians crossing the road.)


    At the showroom, I was directed to the back office by a fellow staff member.


    ¡°Terri, Terri, Terri!¡± I said knocking on the staff-only door.


    Terri slid the door open while I stood there panting, ¡°Aaron. What are you doing here?¡± she said, not in the least bit pleased to see me. ¡°This way!¡± And she dragged me outside to a back alley away from her carpet executive colleagues.


    Clearly she was not in a good mood but what she said next really sapped my last remaining strength. As I stood there panting, she said. ¡°Well I suppose we have to talk and I guess this is about as good a time as any. Aaron, there''s something I''ve been wanting to tell you for a long time.¡± She bit her lip, "This is really hard to say and there¡¯s no easy way to say it or a right time. I have looked in the mirror every morning...¡±


    I stood there puffing, puzzling about what she was saying to me.


    ¡°And I''ve been thinking. Is this where I want to be? And for too many days, I''ve been saying no.¡±


    ¡°I am sorting out a new apartment for us...¡± I puffed.


    ¡°No Aaron. It''s not the apartment. It''s us. It''s a new year and things have to change. For things to change, we have to finish. We really are not right for each other..." then, as if remembering a script, she tilted her head and tried to look sad.


    ¡°What?¡± I gasped. ¡°But things were going so well lately.¡±


    "That''s not my perception," she sighed.


    To be honest, we did have a less than sparkling New Year''s Eve celebrations; we stayed in with a large pot of tea and British-style biscuits having returned back from an exhausting skiing vacation that extended over Christmas.


    ¡°But we go together like Laurel and Hardy, Abbott and Costello, Dick Van Dyke and Mary Tyler Moore.¡±


    "Yes, we''re a great comedy duo," she said sarcastically.


    ¡°I didn''t mean it like that. We''re synergistic. Noone else in the city would even understand that joke. Is it my bad habits? The gambling and borrowing money and the like. You know I have that under control, right?¡±


    ¡°It''s not the money,¡± she said.


    ¡°You don¡¯t like the bets, the competitions?¡± I said desperately.


    ¡°They are wearing thin. The bets are just your way of getting cash from me.¡±


    ¡°It''s the boxes, isn''t it?¡± I said.


    "Your cardboard box collection doesn''t help. But that''s not it either!"


    ¡°What is it then?¡±


    ¡°This isn¡¯t how I¡¯m supposed to live my life. Yours either. It¡¯s like nothing matters.¡±


    ¡°You matter. I matter. We matter. What I¡¯ve got to say now matters.¡±


    Terri turned and folded her arms, ¡°Perhaps this isn''t a good time to talk after all. I was going to do the whole it-is-not-you-its-me bit, but really that would be so fake. It is you.¡±


    ¡°Terri, please. Don''t flip-the-bozo-bit. We have to talk. This is really important, I swear. I swear on my mother''s grave.¡±


    ¡°Your mother''s not dead!¡± she huffed, her back towards me.


    ¡°It¡¯s a metaphor. Terri... Terri, I really still must talk to you. This isn''t about you and me,¡± I said soothingly thinking she might be upset.


    "So you do want money?¡± She said turning back sharply.


    ¡°No, no. It''s not money. It''s the fridge! It''s moving... It''s gone crazy.¡±


    ¡°Moved?¡±


    ¡°It shuffled by itself into the middle of the kitchen! The door won¡¯t open!¡±


    Her demeanour changed instantly. ¡°So it is happening?¡± She said wide-eyed.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°The machines! They¡¯ve gone sentient. They¡¯re rebelling!¡± Terri had been in the apartment alone about two weeks previously and had, apparently, seen the micro-robo-cleaner going berserk in the apartment. I suggested that it might have been fighting a rat. She responded that seeing a rat in a seventh floor apartment wasn''t any more comforting than a robot uprising. Paranoia is one of Terri¡¯s less endearing traits. Researching the causes of the robo-cleaner shadow battle, she had established her preferred most-likely theory: the ¡°singularity¡±. That being the point where machines become self aware and start to take over the planet. The first stage of the singularity is predicted to be meaningless but wilful disobedience from the machines. She¡¯s been brooding about that and much else both before and since.


    ***


    <h3 class="western">January 5 - 21, 2123.


    Terri and I forgot about our relationship problems in the days after the fridge incident. We had a shared enemy and a shared problem: the fridge! First problem: how to open the fridge door. If we opened the fridge door we could disconnect its computer controls, hopefully stop the rebellion as well as access the milk and other food stuffs, which were, after all, essential to our well being.


    We pushed and pulled the fridge and tried to move it from its new location, the centre of the kitchen. The fridge resisted and wouldn''t budge.


    So we tried a variety of tools to open the thing...


    Hammers merely dented the outer shell.


    Crowbars could gain no leverage.


    Axes bounced off its surface, no better than the hammers.


    The chainsaw chain came off and took out one of the lights.


    We applied electricity and merely managed to short circuit the whole apartment building.


    The fridge remained steadfast, two metres from the wall, the door firmly shut.


    ¡°I bet you... I bet you that if we just unplug the fridge, it would die. And then we can open the door,¡± I said.


    ¡°I thought we were not doing these bets any more,¡± sighed Terri.


    ¡°I have a good feeling about this.¡±


    ¡°Ok, how much?¡±


    ¡°Five dollars.¡±


    ¡°Huh. That¡¯s all? I bet my share of the rent.¡±


    ¡°Whoa!¡±


    ¡°Backing out, Mr Quarts?¡±


    ¡°No way.¡±


    We unplugged the fridge from the mains but then in the morning we found it plugged in again. And still closed. I lost the bet.


    We cut the mains cable, but it appeared to make no difference to the fridge.


    Terri and I discussed where we could obtain the chemicals for the explosive composition I had found on the legacy net.


    Ah, those were good days. We would go to bed at night, like we were a real couple again, with pillow talk about destroying the fridge or refining our description of the gurgling noises we could hear inside it. In those cold wintry days in the apartment with a barely operational central heating system, I''d sometimes find Terri''s arms around me, her body moulded to mine.That bitchy emotional wall that she had established around herself seemed to have tumbled down just like that twentieth century Hadrian¡¯s Wall thing in Germany.


    Then came the morning when I pushed my luck, and started to kiss those shiny, ruby red lips of hers. She responded by kissing back with no sarcastic remarks. I thought that she had ¡°returned to me¡±, that our relationship was on again. I started running my hand over the curves of her body and felt her silky soft skin. Her eyes remained closed and her breathing was fast and shallow. I felt sure we were heading for Level 10, but then came the crash! A literal explosive shattering crash, followed by the sound of falling items, breaking glass and a howling wind. It came from the kitchen, and the closed doors provided little in terms of sound insulation.


    Terri''s eyes sprung open and sat up, ¡°What the frack-quake was that!?¡±


    ¡°Oh it''s probably nothing. Hey darling, come back here...¡± I suggested in an uncharacteristically macho style, still feeling passionately inclined towards her. I knew the suggestion was useless even before I said it.


    Terri''s icy stare was the reply before grabbing her robe and exiting the room, while I, uh... adjusted myself before following her.


    Terri''s scream shifted me into overdrive.


    In the kitchen, the whole east wall was gone leaving it open to the wintry weather. Terri was clutching her hair looking out from an impromptu, seventh floor vista onto the cityscape complete with grey, misty morning skies. Beyond the rattling cupboard doors and banging, hanging utensils, wind was whipping through Terri''s hair and gown like a cape, and also, incidentally, freezing the end of my still rampant manhood concealed in my pyjamas.


    The fridge was also missing.


    ***


    <h3 class="western">Tuesday, January 22, 2123.


    ¡°So the fridge had gone?¡± Conrad asked, after I recounted the story (minus various details).


    ¡°Yes,¡± I''d just told him that the fridge was missing. I thought these guys were supposed to be clever.


    ¡°It created the hole in the wall?¡± asked Conrad.


    ¡°Yes, it blew out the wall. The hole was actually quite neatly cut and fell to the garden below.¡±


    ¡°Seven stories down?¡±


    ¡°Yes, we were on the seventh floor.¡±


    ¡°What did you do after that?¡±


    ¡°We looked for a new apartment...¡±


    ¡°But did you find the fridge? In the wreckage down below?¡±


    ¡°We looked but the fridge wasn''t there. It had gone. That''s why we think the fridge was to blame.¡±


    ¡°He is an expert in sentience. He has a published paper proving the impossibility of the singularity.¡±


    ¡°Sentience?¡±


    ¡°Yes, the science of consciousness.¡±


    ¡°I don''t understand.¡±


    ¡°Well, nobody really does. I wouldn''t feel bad about that.¡±


    ¡°The science of consciousness,¡± I said mulling the implications. ¡°So could the fridge have come alive?¡±


    ¡°Who knows? But there is enough mystery here to warrant a Mad-Sci-Soc investigation. And it would be good to catch up with Terri again...¡±


    ***

 Part 1 Chapter 2 Directors Cut

    <h2 class="western">Chapter Two Director''s Cut</h2>


    <h3 class="western">Tuesday, January 22, 2123.


    I agreed to meet with Conrad the next day at our old apartment.


    Terri was less than impressed and refused to come along. ¡°I am not seeing Max ever again. I refuse to even enter the same building as him. If it was not for you,¡° she prodded my chest accusingly, ¡°I wouldn''t even be in the same state as him let alone the same city.¡±


    ¡°What did he do?¡±


    ¡°I cannot even begin to explain. And you wouldn''t believe me anyway.¡±


    ¡°But Conrad¡¯s ok?¡±


    ¡°Conrad? I have a few issues with Conrad. But Max is the problem.¡±


    ¡°Did he hurt you?¡±


    ¡°Absolutely!¡±


    ¡°Physically?¡±


    ¡°Not directly.¡±


    ¡°Molested you?¡± I said in anguish.


    ¡°Not in the legal sense. He stole my soul! It was spiritual abuse if you must know. Look it up.¡±


    ¡°Your soul?¡±


    ¡°I said you wouldn''t believe me.¡±


    ¡°I believe you. I do understand. You don''t want to see him.¡±


    ¡°You don''t understand. But you''re partly right, I don''t want to see him. Ever! And I don''t want to talk about it.¡±


    ¡°Can''t I ask you anything about him? I may be meeting him quite soon. I need to know. This isn''t just me doing a diary-deep-dive for BragBook viral,¡± I pleaded.


    Terri paced our new (second floor) apartment''s combined living, dining and kitchen room. She growled with frustration, ¡°What do you want to know?¡±


    ¡°How did you meet him and what is he like?¡± I ventured carefully.


    ***


    <h3 class="western">Tuesday September 10, 2117.


    What follows is the Director''s-Cut-Extended-Edition of Terri''s story of her first week in New York. Terri was a different person in those days, as any young girl would be, naive and idealistic. She would not tell this story herself, it hurts her too much. I have filled in the details myself with perhaps some embellishments.


    After a three hour train journey from Saint Paul, Minnesota to New York''s Grand Central Station, Terri arrived at Colombia University by auto-taxi. She was delighted to be met on the pavement, coordinated via headsets, by her allocated second year student buddy, Jennifer, not a replicant but a real person. Most robotics were banned from the streets of New York in order to ease congestion. Terri wanted to come to New York for that very reason. She was tired of Replicants and Robots with their thank-you-this and thank-you-that, do-anything-you-want-as-long-as-its-safe homogenised personalities. It may suit old age pensioners but not aspiring art students that craved authenticity and were determined to use the best virtual reality to get it.


    Terri arrived wide-eyed and tourist-like delighting in looking up at the skyscrapers and overhead roadways, monorails and covered streets. Jenny was there to put her on the right path in this most complex of cities. Her role as buddy was to ensure Terri hooked up to the right networks: academic, domestic, social and electronic. Jenny was dark skinned with blond hair with conservative streaks of metallic pink. She owned a small metal dog that she kept in her handbag. And indeed, she did sort out Terri. She selected the right fashion salons, gymnasium, educational timetable logging her into all the right places.


    ¡°So what''s your orientation, sweetie?¡± Jenny asked as she stared into her holoscreen.


    ¡°Oh hetro, 70%, bi-sexual, 20%, robo-sexual, 10%,¡± Terri said shyly.


    ¡°What a conservative girl, you are. I guess that''s your mid-west roots, eh? You''re just a country girl at heart, eh?'' teased Jenny.


    ¡°And you?¡± Terri asked red-faced.


    ¡°I''m a regular three-way-split, 30-30-30,¡± beamed Jenny.


    ¡°That''s missing 10%,¡± observed Terri.


    ¡°Oh, that''s solo. By choice!¡± Jenny smirked. ¡°I''m guessing you¡¯re really 100% solo at the moment. Let''s get that changed, shall we?¡±


    ¡°That would be great, Jenny. Thanks.¡±


    ¡°Select the robot you want from this catalog,¡± advised Jenny.


    ¡°I thought they were banned in New York?¡±


    ¡°Licensed. You might need some escorting after dark. I can get you a retro version if you don''t like replicants.¡±


    ¡°So you have one?¡±


    ¡°Sure. Top of the range X.24,¡± said Jenny and opened up a cupboard. ¡°This is Doug. I let him out occasionally.¡±


    A nice looking male replicant was behind the door. ¡°Hi, there!¡± he waved enthusiastically. But he was in for some disappointment.


    ¡°I''m actually after a real boy,¡± said Terri wistfully.


    Jenny closed the door on the dejected replicant. ¡°We¡¯ll get you a real one, Terri,¡± she smiled.


    Their first trip was to the fashion salon to change Terri''s provincial, rainbow-coloured hairstyle to a more subtle ash-blonde with leopard-spots. While waiting for her hair to be re-style, Jenny selected her clothes.¡°I love the way that you look different, Terri, very Newtonian. But the aim is to look different within the fashionable trends of the city, university and sorority,¡± advised Jenny.


    ¡°Sound complicated,¡± said Terri with a giggle.


    ¡°Fortunately you have me and poochie here to help,¡± smiled Jenny giving her robo-pet a cuddle.


    She flicked through the catalog on her holoscreen, made some customisations and downloaded the latest outfits into her holo-clothes, adding fabricated red and purple scarfs and straps over a leather effect mini-dress. She entered a couple of virtual worlds to try them out on her avatar. However Terri soon grew tired of the untrustworthy and ingratiating comments from the A-I characters that danced attendance; she could barely tolerate artificial beings in virtual worlds or the real one. In those days she liked, indeed craved, the frailty and vagaries of humanity.


    Terri exited the salon looking like a stylish student from New York.


    ¡°Thoughts?¡± asked Terri.


    ¡°It''s exybobulous!¡± nodded Jenny. Terri was pleased.


    Back at the Student Accommodation Block, Jenny completed her induction by filling in her social electronic profile on her top ten relevant social media sites.


    ¡°So a couple more questions... What comms network are you with?¡±


    ¡°Ms Bell, of course.¡±


    ¡°And implant type and version?¡±


    ¡°None. No implants.¡±


    Jenny''s eyes raised. ¡°Technophobic?¡±


    ¡°Naturally aligned.¡±


    Jenny shrugged. It didn''t matter to her whether Terri was electronically connected or not. ¡°We''ll go easy on you and just distribute your profile to a dozen or so net-bots and see what happens. You''ll have to be patient, though, as it might be a couple of hours before we have the dates arranged.¡±


    ¡°That''ll be fine. I''ll just go and hygenise.¡±


    Much to Jenny''s dismay, Terri had only selected a single date for the evening; a real world one-to-one date and not a virtual world date. Terri was feeling unduly confident about the computer-selected, boyfriend-elect.


    A few hours later, Terri was ready for her first date in the big city.


    ¡°I love that term, boyfriend-elect,¡± giggled Terri.


    ¡°You go and elect him, girl,¡± encouraged Jenny.


    She looked radiant in her new hairdo and laser-effect sequin dress.


    Ralph was a second year student, good-looking, not unpleasant in that respect. The romantic prospects looked hopeful when they met outside the restaurant, Broadway/103rd West/Level 1. Ralph recognised Terri and Terri recognised Ralph as their apps also added hearts and starbursts when they met.


    But as the evening wore on reality intervened. Ralph, it seemed had done precious-little dating except with human-like, sycophantic replicants. In fact Ralph showed less interest in her than the AI menu sheet. ¡°Hi, Terri,¡± said the computerised plastic card in its tinny little voice. ¡°I didn¡¯t know you had moved to New York. Are you going for your usual or can I interest you in the special¡­¡± Terri pressed the mute on the menu card; she hated such marketing gimmicks.


    ¡°You¡¯re probably wondering why I¡¯ve invited you to a McSquirrels rather than to a Rodentia or some other up-market establishment,¡± enthused Ralph.


    ¡°Well it¡¯s only a first date¡­¡± said Terri with a shrug and a smile.


    Ralph then spent a long time describing the musical he was writing and hoping to sell to the restaurant chain for promotional purposes. It was tale about a quarrelling family of squirrels. He demonstrated its plot using the salt and pepper shakers and sang key verses. He shooed the robot waiter away several times during the climatic final scene.


    Terri felt bad about her initial encouragement of his singing and acting out of particular scenes of his opus, as boredom developed she became aware of angry stares from fellow diners.


    Ralph¡¯s lack of relationship management skills became even more evident once the food arrived. He had not only failed to ask her a single question but worse, when she did start a topic, he would interject mid-sentence enthusiastically with his own point of view.


    Terri craved real conversation but the majority of Ralph¡¯s conservation appeared to be the rehashing the advertising slogans for the franchised food chain.


    ¡°100% squirrel pummelled into a pellet. This isn''t just squirrel steak. This is specially bred, spicy, tornado-grey squirrel steak with mouth-watering, acorn-jam sauce.¡± Ralph recanted just his first mouthful.


    When he belatedly noticed Terri losing interest, he did try to involve her in conversation but not effectively. For example, he asked, ¡°Are you nuts for the McAcorn Salad? I know I''m nuts for McAcorn Salad. I''m crazy, huh? I''m certainly crazy about squirrels.¡±


    Ralph became increasingly nervous as Terri''s look of pity withered his confidence. After the date he messaged via his G-Phone, requesting feedback, as is protocol, on his date performance. Terri, like most of Ralph''s infrequent previous dates, bucked protocol and she did not reply, instead blocking him from her network and leaving Ralph non-the-wiser about his social ineptitude.


    Terri regretted only having the one date that evening, her high expectations, and for wasting time on such a bozo.


    Jenny did not dwell on I-told-you-so and suggested that the next night, Terri should try speed dating as the University Community Action Centre was holding speed-date introductions as part of the fresher week activities.


    Jenny gave Terri a tip on how to spot men with real world disconnection syndrome. ¡°If they are male they have it. Until, that is, they prove otherwise.¡±


    ***


    <h3 class="western">Friday September 13, 2117 (One day later).


    Before meeting Dameon, the speed dating event had not been going well. She had already met a sports fanatic, an asteroid miner, a politician wannabe and assorted psychologically-underdeveloped arty types. There was even a replicant, no doubt entered by the event¡¯s organisers to make up numbers but Terri had a knack for spotting the uncanny-valley-like behaviour that such machines exhibited after her many years of robot-chaperoned protection. When confronted, the dater merely smiled and moved on quickly.


    Dameon was date number 9. He was swarthy, dark hair, dark eyes and handsome in a rugged-sort of way. He was dressed all in black except for his white, thigh-length boots. He seemed interested in her and didn''t talk too much about himself. He was a third year student and seemed a smooth operator.


    ¡°I like your dress,¡± said Dameon, after the mandatory exchange of introductory information.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Terri replied pleased with receiving the first compliment from someone she actually fancied that evening.


    ¡°It''s a Harmonic style, right?¡± he asked in a soothingly, deep voice. Harmonic was a famous up-market fashion brand. Jenny had downloaded the holographic costume from their network.


    ¡°That''s right. How did you know?¡±


    ¡°I see the style around quite a bit. If you''re interested in something new, a bit more avant-garde, then look me up on the net. I can show you around the boutiques down town. Perhaps we can get you a fabricated dress,¡± he crooned.


    ¡°That sounds great, Dameon. Although just because I''m studying the twentieth century doesn''t mean I want to go around in the same costume all day.¡±


    ¡°Well, sure. I just think it makes a stronger fashion statement if you commit to a single outfit for the day.¡±


    Terri nodded, that seemed kind of intelligent even if a little on the arrogant side.


    The bell chimed. Everyone needed to change seats.


    ¡°You make a good point. I''m certainly keen to see the boutiques.¡±


    ¡°See you later,¡± he winked as he walked away.


    Terri looked up his profile on her headset: Dameon Lysenko, relationship status: Not in a relationship, orientation: hetro-80-10-10. ¡°Wow. He''s looking for a real woman too!¡± she mused. Thumbs up.


    ***


    <h3 class="western">Saturday, September 14, 2117


    Terri turned up in her most special high-heeled ankle-boots for the follow-up date with Dameon. They arranged to meet in Times Square at 11am and planned to walk into the garment district and check out the freaky fabrication boutiques. Dameon provided guided tour commentary and Terri followed with an increasingly fixed smile as she was led among garment manufacturing shops and warehouses. Her ability to smile deteriorated within half an hour because of the effort and care required to manoeuvre in her boots and her own self-loathing. Her legs began to ache and she began to get hungry. She was also stressed because she did not have the money, by several orders of magnitude, to buy the beautiful clothes she was being shown. The clothes were carbon-layered, as thin and as fine as silk which, when plugged into the machinists'' network, reconfigured themselves to the latest style, texture and colour. Almost the same as holo-clothes, but actually solid rather than just an optical effect.


    They entered the Harmonic Fabrication Boutique. The shop sold low-cost holo-clothes, the type that Terri was wearing, and high-cost fabricated clothes, the type she would prefer to wear. They were finished with hand-made extras. Hand-made by robots, of course, but to add to the designer-cache of the product, they were antique robots; heavy, stainless-steel, 2 metre-tall jobs that sat quietly in the corner, trying to be inconspicuous, sewing accessories and labels into the clothes. Terri lingered around one particular jacket. It had practical pockets and tassels, attributes not available with holo-clothes. She looked at the price tag. It was as much as her whole year''s grant. It would be impossible to purchase.


    Dameon came up behind her, ¡°Yeah, good choice... Though you''d need to lose a few pounds to carry that one off.¡±


    Terri made a half-hearted smack across Dameon''s chest and Dameon pretended to be injured by it. They laughed.


    While fascinated by the styles and the fabrication, Terri could not shrug off her hunger. One of the characteristics of New York is that food is available on every street corner; unlicensed fruit and vegetables prominently displayed in the streets from traditional, tourist-focused vendors. Generally no-one goes hungry in NYC, not even the beggars (when they are able to get past the robotised police cordon and surveillance drones circling the city, that is). Terri asked that they stopped for food at which point Dameon announced he had a large breakfast and while not hungry, insisted that he absolutely had to take Terri to his most-favourite-in-the-whole-world gelato bar, which was two blocks away. It would be an agonising journey for her, but Terri, still wanting to be loved, agreed. They eventually arrived at the tiny shop. Indeed, it was cute (and small). There were only two high chairs available and Terri parked herself on one of the seats while Dameon ordered gelato in Italian. He returned with a single large bowl of strawberry gelato and a single long spoon and proceeded to feed himself and Terri with the same spoon. Terri was horrified with herself, especially when Dameon would wave a heap of gelato at her and then change tact and wistfully discuss another subject, leaving her open mouthed waiting for her next spoonful. As thoughtless as she felt this was, she was captivated by this dominant male.


    Terri could see other people in the shop watching their performance and she became intensely embarrassed. She had had enough. She realised she was hating herself for the sycophancy she was exhibiting. She hated it in A.I. so why was she acting so submissively? In a pause between Dameon''s guided tour-like diatribes, Terri spoke up.


    ¡°Well, Dameon,¡± she said firmly. ¡°It''s been lovely. But I have to head back to campus. Jenny is expecting me to go to a nail bar this afternoon.¡±


    ¡°Really, but we still have some gelato left.¡±


    ¡°It''s ok. You finish it.¡± Terri smiled and walked to the door. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Dameon finishes the gelato in a couple of gulps and arrived at the door to hold it open.


    ¡°I was just thinking though... That jacket you liked...¡± Dameon mused.


    ¡°What?¡± Terri stopped in her tracks in the doorway. Was he planning on buying it for her?


    ¡°I have a friend in the garment district...¡±


    Terri''s interest was piqued. ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°She processes the blanks, the carbon-layered tubes before they are programmed.¡±


    ¡°Go on...¡±


    ¡°Well, my friend offered me a couple of the blanks.¡±


    ¡°Hmm, well, they are just black sacks unless they are fabricated.¡±


    ¡°We can manage that,¡± said Dameon smugly as they walk onto the street. ¡°Come over to my place tomorrow night. About 7pm. I''ll make dinner and fabricate a jacket for you. I''ll even add some custom features to make the flare unique for you. You''ll love it. Think it over. Come. Or not. It''s up to you.¡±


    Dameon tapped his wrist controls and his contact details transferred (¡°toothed¡±) over to Terri''s digital assistant application on her G-phone.


    He clicked his fingers, pointed at her and winked, ¡°Ciao!¡±


    He was already probably out of earshot by the time Terri recovered from her daze and called out incoherently, ¡°Thanks for... the... you... er, Dameon.¡±


    ***


    <h3 class="western">Sunday, September 15, 2117


    Terri felt compelled to show up at Dameon''s apartment the following evening. She was already hating herself for allowing herself to be so blatantly bribed. In fact, as she stood outside of the apartment block, she was having not only second thoughts, but twenty-second and twenty-third thoughts about entering. She really needed to go to church she had promised her mother she would register with the Geniuses at the local Jobsian Chapter. She turned away only to be confronted by Dameon walking towards her.


    ¡°Hey-hey, so glad you could make it. I just popped out to get some tea. Ceylon, right?¡± he said, arms outstretched as if to catch her.


    He escorted her along the pavement and into the building.


    ¡°You''ll be impressed with this. Security. Not only card access, voice activated, but also...¡± he said putting his eye in front of scanner, ¡°...heartbeat and retina-scan biometrics.¡±


    ¡°Welcome, Dameon,¡± intoned the lift as the door slid open.


    ¡°So facial recognition is not enough?¡± asked Terri.


    ¡°That¡¯s just for targeting you for ads,¡± he winked. ¡°For real security you need the full biometrics.¡±


    This luxury apartment block had a Magi-Lift that moved horizontally as well as vertically to take occupants straight to their apartments, no further corridor required.


    In the blink of an eye, Terri was inside the apartment. A luxury living room with kitchen and breakfast bar but was er¡­ untidy with piles of unwashed dishes scattered around and the corners stacked full of boxes.


    ¡°Sorry, for the mess. We don¡¯t allows robots in here,¡± said Dameon collecting the rubbish and putting it into a disposal chute. ¡°We have tea, of course. But I was wondering whether you''d like something a bit more chic,¡± said Dameon donning on a chef''s hat and busying himself behind the kitchenette bar counter.


    ¡°I really don''t like alcohol and I don''t have a license for it,¡± said Terri uncertainly.


    ¡°I was thinking more like Starlight and Infinity,¡± purred Dameon. Starlight and Infinity were the latest designer-mood enhancers. They were strictly licensed to the major urban areas.


    ¡°Oh crumbs, no,¡± stuttered Terri. ¡°I haven''t done any research on them at all, let alone certified.¡±


    ¡°Sure. I''m with you on this. No pressure, girlie,¡± he soothed as he ducked under a counter to open a cupboard.


    Terri cringed at the diminutive appellation.


    ¡°Meanwhile, Dinner! Chopped bucatini pasta with a creamy, ooey-gooey sauce with a baked crust, dusted lightly with smoked paprika,¡± announced Dameon


    ¡°Oh?¡± said Terri trying to figure out what he had just said.


    Terri looked around the room and saw a box from the South American Rainforest Corporation full of dried pasta ready-meals.


    ¡°So,¡± she said. ¡°We''re having Mac-and-Cheese?¡±


    Dameon replied dead-pan, ¡°I thought you liked cheese. You have a problem with that?¡±


    ¡°I don''t eat processed cheese,¡± stated Terri. ¡°Only natural cheese and preferably Gruy¨¨re.¡±


    ¡°O-M-J. Are you a purist?¡±


    ¡°I just have a few dietary preferences.¡±


    ¡°Preferences or restrictions?¡±


    ¡°I''d like to call it my regime,¡± said Terri shyly, sitting on the couch.


    Dameon moved to Terri''s side on the couch and put an arm around her, ¡°Any chance of a regime change?¡±


    ¡°Not in the immediate future.¡±


    ¡°Ok, I''ll get something delivered. Is that ok?¡±


    Terri smiled a fixed fake smile, ¡°There''s always something to eat in New York, right?¡±


    ¡°Hey, always. There''s Chinese from Wok-Around-the-Frock?¡±


    ¡°That would be great.¡±


    ¡°So, we¡¯ll go Dutch?¡±


    Terri maintained a smile, ¡°Dutch for Chinese. Yeah, sure!¡±


    Dameon leapt back up and into the kitchen and returned a minute later with a cup of tea, ¡°The food is ordered. Here''s your tea, you bad-girl.¡±


    ¡°Tea is my only drug!¡± Terri said with a smirk. But the tea was awful. Dameon had not used boiling hot water made worse by the wrong sort of milk. ¡°It''s lovely,¡± she said, realising she was being overly compliant again.


    It occurred to her that Dameon had read more than just her BragBook public profile. How did he know she liked tea and cheese? But these thoughts were forgotten when Dameon showed her the ¡°blank¡± carbon-layer outfit that in the pre-fabricated form looked like a black sack. Dameon explained that these were old-model blanks: thicker, heavier and slower to process than the ones seen the previous day.


    The vegetable noodle chow mein arrived. They ate their meal. It was awful. ¡°Thanks,¡± Terri said with the best smile she could manage.


    Once they finished their food, Dameon started on the jacket. ¡°Just need to hack-up the Harmonics databanks and pull down the design pattern.¡±


    ¡°Uh... that''s illegal.¡±


    ¡°Only if you get caught. It''s a victimless, untraceable crime. Untraceable with our computer, that is. No-one loses anything.¡±


    ¡°Loss of revenue.¡±


    ¡°LOL. Well, yes, but since you can''t buy it anyway, it is already a loss of revenue. They should be paying a glamorous girl like you for advertising their clothes.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure that wouldn¡¯t be their opinion when they find out.¡±


    ¡°They won¡¯t find out. We have a fool-proof mechanism for flossing the Harmonics'' network,¡± he confided.


    ¡°You do?¡± asked Terri wide-eyed.


    ¡°Yeah. The University is funding a super computer that steamrollers encrypted networks like they are pastry.¡±


    ¡°They have?¡±


    ¡°A Quantum-powered Super Computer.¡±


    Terri nodded knowingly.


    (As an aside, there are only about 50 of Quantum Super Computers in the world. Super fast, super powerful; the last and biggest one built provided all the brain power for the latest generation androids all over the world. The only trouble is their size. While such computers work on a sub-atomic scale, the components have to be frozen to near absolute zero and they occupy a space the size of a football pitch. This is known to be true because the University computer occupied the site of the old Columbia football ground. Despite the improvements in the football association augmented reality facilities, the loss of the university team''s pitch could be considered another battle won for the Nerds in their old war against the Jocks.)


    Both Terri and Dameon donned immersive headsets to explore super computer¡¯s abstract and mainly empty virtual world it was unlike the vibrant and shimmering virtual worlds she was accustomed to. He explained how the university supercomputer worked while gesturing at a virtual holo-screen. With no apparent effort at all, he accessed the supercomputer and directed it at the Harmonics network represented as a wire-frame doorway. He used a holographic hand on the holographic door handle and gained access to their workshop files. Terri tried to curb her elation of this illicit activity.


    Inside virtual folders, they found her jacket pattern and started the download. Back in the real world Dameon started the manufacture process.


    Terri was scared but also excited by the prospect of wearing the Harmonics fabricated jacket.


    ¡°It''s going to take a while and I was thinking, do you want er... to make out?¡± crooned Dameon.


    Terri smiled. ¡°Sure,¡± she said. She had reached Level 7 intimacy with her Replicant Tutor, she was sure it would be even more fun with a real boy.


    ¡°Ok,¡± said Dameon. Let''s go to the bedroom.¡±


    ¡°Level 6, only,¡± said Terri.


    Daemon laughed with no mirth. ¡°Here''s a toothbrush. The bathroom is there.¡±


    Toothbrush? Very practical, but Terri felt offended. She cleaned her teeth. Dameon guided her from the bathroom into a darkened, but mirror-lined room; Mirrors on the walls and ceiling. It was like stepping into space not too dissimilar from the super computer¡¯s virtual world. Except for the stripper pole at the end of the bed.


    ¡°You can sit here,¡± he instructed, pointing to the circular bed with brown satin sheets. ¡°Let me put you in the mood¡­¡±


    Slow music came on and Dameon then began to hang around the pole, whipping himself around it in time to the music in a reasonable representation of pole-dancing. He started removing his clothes. Terri noticed that his shirt was a true fabricated item; very expensive, and yet he was so rough with it! His routine was complex and his striptease synchronised to musical events. He spun around and facing away from her, slowly lowering his shirt to reveal, what? Tattooed wings? No, it was a huge two-headed eagle tattoo covering his back; an angel-or-devil type of symbol. He turned around and displayed his muscular torso. His holographic trousers disappeared leaving him naked save for a leather g-string.


    He came towards Terri slowly, ¡°I hope you''ll be able to do a similar dance for me sometime, but first let us head for Level 6.¡±


    Terri''s eyes widened as Dameon pounced on her. She wanted to stop at Level 6 not start there!


    ***


    <h3 class="western">Tuesday, January 22, 2123 (evening)


    Obviously the story I¡¯m telling has some embellishment since Terri was quite scant on details. However at this point Terri came to a complete stop, not wanting to tell me the story in the first place and provided me some of the background story at times. But the story about Daemon was new and she was having problems reaching its conclusion.


    Terri was twisting her mouth. She didn''t want to go on.


    I sat there with bated breath.


    ¡°What happened?¡± I asked.


    Smiling grimly, Terri said, ¡°You won''t believe me.¡±


    ¡°Sure I will.¡±


    ¡°Besides the sudden epiphany that I was idiot, which I¡¯m sure you can believe. The rest was unbelievable.¡±


    ¡°This is a trick right? I would believe what I-think-you-think is unbelievable but I don''t believe that you ever thought of yourself as an idiot.¡±


    ¡°Despite the string of idiot actions and naivety?¡±


    ¡°Naive? Yes, sure. You were in your first week in New York, the big, bad city. Anyone can be naive. An idiot? No.¡±


    ¡°I would like to say that you¡¯re being generous but you¡¯re already looking smug enough.¡±


    ¡°So what happened?¡± I asked, removing smugness from my face as best I could.


    ¡°Max happened,¡± she said.


    ¡°Well, that was the whole point of the story: how you met Max. So what actually transpired? He came and picked up the pieces the next day? Or did he just turn up out-of-the-blue like the cavalry?¡± I said sarcastically.


    ¡°This is going to be harder to explain than I thought,¡± sighed Terri.


    ***


    <h3 class="western">Sunday, September 15, 2117 (seconds later).


    She moved her head away. She didn¡¯t want to kiss him but his body was on top of hers and his hands were all over her body. He had unclipped her holo-dress and she was down to her underwear. She was scared, feeling trapped, not even knowing where the door was in this room of mirrors, not being able to escape the apartment because of security within the magi-lift, not even knowing if there was a fire escape.


    Terri started to whimper, ¡°No. No. No.¡± His hand roving over her body.


    Then Terri really started to shout ¡°No. No. No.¡± and pushed the brute aside.


    ¡°What?¡± he exclaimed innocently.


    ***


    <h3 class="western">Tuesday, January 22, 2123 (evening)


    ¡°Like he didn''t know he was an abuser?¡± I interrupted.


    ¡°Do you want to hear the story or not?¡± said Terri through gritted teeth.


    I began to pace the apartment as Terri continued the story. Now it was my turn to not want to go on with the story.


    ***


    <h3 class="western">Sunday, September 15, 2117 (nano-seconds later)


    And then, like the cavalry arriving and saving the day, the door to the bedroom burst open. There was a blinding light and silhouetted against the light, a figure of a short stout man.


    ¡°Dameon,¡± boomed the silhouette melodramatically. ¡°This is the last straw. Leave the girl alone. Get out. Get lost. Don''t come back. I''ll get the freaking Police on you if you do!¡±


    Dameon was rolling off the bed and picking up his things. ¡°Ruddy hell, Max. What are you doing here?¡±


    ¡°Stopping your criminal use of the super computer and saving this poor girl from one of your games.¡±


    ¡°You can go just go to hell, Max. As if you don''t play games!¡±


    Terri was panicking, ¡°Games? Games? This isn''t a frigging game. Get away from me. Both of you. Get away.¡±


    Daemon ran out and Max walked away. Terri was left to find her things using the light from the doorway, got dressed and recovered her composure. Outside the bedroom, she could hear the two continue to shout and argue. When it was quiet, Terri returned to the living room, where the short, stout, thirty-something man, wearing a business suit and square-rimmed glasses was sitting quietly at a desk viewing a holoscreen.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she said hesitantly.


    ¡°I''m so sorry about that. I don''t think you''ll be hearing from Dameon again. Unless, that is, you want to press charges.¡±


    ¡°I don''t think I could press charges. Nothing happened¡­ it''s my own fault.¡±


    ¡°I doubt that. It''s Terri, isn''t it? Hi, I''m Max, by the way. I work for the University,¡± said Max offering a hand but only glanced up for a second.


    ¡°Hi, Max. Thanks,¡± said Terri and shock hands. ¡°Are you a lecturer?¡±


    ¡°No, just a researcher. Working on a PHD¡­ It was not your fault. Do not doubt that. He was playing you.¡±


    ¡°Playing me?¡±


    ¡°He was trying to seduce you with a technique known as The Game.¡±


    ¡°Game? Dameon was duping me?¡± asked Terri softly.


    ¡°Oh yes. He''s done it before. He studied relationship psychology in his degree course. He couldn''t even look a real girl in the eye until a year ago,¡± he said ironically, since Max himself was struggling to do just that. ¡°He just focused on study and theory until one day he came across The Game. Now he has three or four concurrent girlfriends, all nice girls, all unaware of each other... He juggles them around for a couple of months like some manic latherio until the tears fall...¡±


    ¡°The Game?¡±


    ¡°It''s a method for seducing and dominating women.¡±


    ¡°Seduction? Is that what you call it?¡±


    ¡°Did he not get you to sign the seduction contract? How unfortunate. He must be getting over-confident.¡±


    ¡°So how is this Game thing supposed to work?¡±


    ¡°The Game is a simple technique. He sets himself up as a leader-type and provider, employs a host of pretty standard chat-up lines from a computer program. Then after making initial compliments to his chosen partner, he then delivers the Neg.¡±


    ¡°The Neg?¡±


    ¡°The Neg is a mildly disparaging remark to put a girl off her guard and stoke anxiety.¡±


    ¡°Surely that wouldn''t work.¡±


    ¡°Percentage-wise, it''s a successful stratagem.¡±


    ¡°He has done this before?¡±


    ¡°Many times.¡±


    ¡°Just psychology? I don''t believe it.¡±


    ¡°Hmm. I bet Dameon met you outside today. Outside this building.¡±


    ¡°Yes. How did you know that?¡±


    ¡°He probably hacked your location from your G-phone so he would notice when you were approaching the building and then made sure you didn''t change your mind at the last minute and walk away.¡±


    ¡°Wow. That was part of his plan?¡±


    ¡°Sure. And hacked your personal files too, I suspect. All using the super computer.¡±


    ¡°That''s how he knew about my liking for tea and cheese,¡± said Terri in shock.


    ¡°If the super computer can hack the Harmonics store then a personal BragBook page is a cinch. Your jacket is ready by the way?¡±


    ¡°My jacket?¡±


    ¡°I presume it is meant for you? It was fabricating when I entered the apartment.¡±


    ¡°It is not legal. I don''t deserve it.¡±


    ¡°No, well... But you deserve something for your experience, don''t you think?¡±


    ¡°No, I don''t deserve anything.¡±


    Max stood and carried the jacket over to her, ¡°Ok, then but I''d be most grateful if you could take it away. It can''t be left here. People might ask questions.¡±


    Terri shyly took the jacket and buried her face in it. She felt so embarrassed.


    ¡°Don''t worry, it is completely untraceable, you might as well have it. Or destroy it. It''s your choice.¡±


    ¡°Who owns this place?¡±


    ¡°It''s a club resource. For my sins, I''m a founder member of the club. That''s how I have access. Dameon is recent joiner. That''s how he got in. But not again. I''ll make sure he''s thrown out and gets no further access to our facilities.¡±


    ¡°Club?¡±


    ¡°Yes. We call it Mad-Sci-Soc.¡±


    ¡°What does that mean?¡±


    ¡°It''s a joke name. It''s an abbreviation for the Mad Scientist Society.¡±

 Part 1 Chapter 3 Three Mad Scientists

    <h2 class="western">Chapter Three Mad Scientists</h2>


    <h3 class="western">Tuesday, January 22, 2123 (evening)


    ¡°So are they really Mad Scientists?¡± I asked, interrupting again.


    ¡°Define Mad for me?¡±


    ¡°Crazy, psychotic, deranged, schizophrenic, manic, delusional?¡±


    ¡°Completely Mad?¡± I said with some surprise. ¡°Even Conrad?¡±


    ¡°As a term, Mad covers a spectrum of behaviours and inclinations. Some of which are totally evil. Conrad, for instance is not on the evil scale. Well, not very evil...¡±


    ¡°And Max?¡±


    ¡°Oh, yes. Evil.¡±


    ¡°He doesn''t sound so bad from what you''ve told me and how you met,¡± I said, foolishly.


    ¡°First impressions. Don''t rely on first impressions.¡±


    ¡°So did you ever see Dameon again?¡±


    ¡°No, thankfully, I did not. He probably moved off to play his games on some other poor girl. I wish I could have stopped him... somehow. We have laws for everything except ones preventing the naive from being stupid.¡±


    ¡°I guess I should be lucky that you were not put off all men.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn''t feel so confident about that if I was you.¡±


    ¡°I can''t say anymore, Aaron. I''ve exhausted myself telling you this. Do you know how hard this is for me?¡±


    ¡°Well, um...¡±


    ¡°You asked how I met Max. I''ve just told you. And you asked me what he is like. And I''ve just told you: he''s crazy, psychotic, deranged, schizophrenic, manic and delusional! Good luck with him tomorrow. I''m off to bed.¡±


    ***


    <h3 class="western">Wednesday, January 23, 2123


    I had arranged to meet Conrad in the gardens below the old apartment. It was just before sundown, not that the grey steely skies allowed the sun to make an appearance. Yesterday''s snow had been a dusting and blowing over older snow that had piled up, melted and frozen into icy piles in the shady areas.


    ¡°Ten floors?¡± he asked as I approached, dispensing with traditional greetings.


    ¡°Hi Conrad, glad you could make it. Yes, it''s ten floors. We were on the seventh.¡±


    ¡°Evidently. I''ve seen the hole.¡±


    ¡°And the wreckage?¡±


    ¡°It''s already been tidied up. Not much to see.¡±


    ¡°Ah that would be the landlord. He has connections to the recycling trade... So where''s Max?¡± I asked nervously, looking around.


    ¡°He couldn''t make it. He''s busy on another project.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± I asked but Conrad ignored the question.


    ¡°And no Terri?¡±


    ¡°Can you see anything?¡± I asked.


    ¡°There seems to a large number of massage parlors in the area.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s pretty downmarket around here. It is more downmarket than a used scratch and sniff lottery ticket given away in a sale from a dog¡¯s home charity shop.¡±


    ¡°Hmm,¡± mused Conrad.


    ¡°The parlors are all staffed by badly maintained replicants catering mainly to the surrogate clientele market.¡±


    ¡°I guess it is more hygienic that way,¡± said Conrad caustically.


    ¡°Only if the surrogates never go back home,¡± I said.


    ***


    <h3 class="western">Wednesday, January 23, 2123 (a few minutes later)


    ¡°Have you any ideas where the fridge could have gone?¡± I asked trying to look at Conrad''s G-Phone holoscreen when he came close.


    ¡°I can''t spot any heat trace, or snow marks, or fence damage, or anything from the drone-scan,¡± sighed Conrad.


    ¡°Disappointing,¡± I muttered.


    ¡°That''s science,¡± said Conrad grimly. ¡°A lot of effort to discover negative outcomes.¡±


    ¡°So your science club?¡±


    ¡°Hmm?¡±


    ¡°Your club?¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°What do you do exactly?¡±


    ¡°Well, we investigate things. Try to do some good with lesser known technology.¡±


    ¡°Lesser known technology?¡±


    ¡°Well, there a whole array of science and technology that has never been fully exploited.¡±


    ¡°There is?¡±


    ¡°I would say that 90% of all discoveries are not explored. So that''s what we do. Exploit the unknown.¡±


    ¡°That sounds like a good idea. I do something similar, you know... I uncover information on the Legacy Net.¡±


    ¡°Have you found anything?¡±


    ¡°No, not yet.¡±


    ¡°So a waste of time?¡±


    ¡°Discovering nothing is not a waste. It removes the number of parameters in the experiment,¡± he replied haughtily.


    ¡°We have one less parameter?¡±


    ¡°Many less parameters, Aaron. We have reduced a whole host of parameters. I may need to come back here with more equipment, spectrocopic analysers, but I think our next move is to find where your landlord took the debris.¡±


    ¡°Uh, the landlord. He owns a lot of the property around here. He¡¯s bit of a odd person. I should know I sort of work for him. I had to barter for the apartment.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°As I said, I do technical research on er...¡± I didn''t want to mention the Legacy Net again.


    ¡°Unfiltered information?¡± suggested Conrad helpfully.


    ¡°Yeah, that''s it. Unfiltered information. So I end up doing jobs for him. I''m currently looking for information about the Caribbean,¡± I said, trying to make it sound more exciting than it was.


    ¡°So why is the landlord odd?¡±


    ¡°Ah. Hmm. He has a reputation as being a gangster,¡± I laughed nervously.


    ¡°Reputation?¡±


    ¡°The guy is called Antonio Joel Osment. He delights in acting the part of a gangster.¡±


    ¡°Uh. Right. Yes, I know him,¡± said Conrad in a dull tone.


    ¡°You do?¡± I said aghast.


    ¡°It''s a long story.¡±


    ***


    <h3 class="western">November 14, 2108


    Before discussing the intricacies of the relationship between politics, business, entertainment and super vigilantism, I feel I need to step back and provide some exposition of the uneasy, love-hate relationship between these stakeholders. This love-hate comes from the top.


    President Barry Rodham-Bush made a canny move on the eve of polling day for his first re-election in 2108. On all holochannels, he placed the world¡¯s finest political advertisement¡­ a camera followed a caped superhero striding onto a floodlit stage. As he walked over to a podium, the President¡¯s voice gave a voice-over. ¡°Ever since the Robo-Wars, we have strived to turn the economy around from one based on speculative bets to real value. We¡¯ve done that. It may appear to deliver slower growth but now all of society and our environment is respected. We have all used our own special super powers to do this and we should all be proud of these achievements. But there is still more to do. More team work, more heroism, more spirit.¡± The camera hung on the back of the superhero, but then the hero turned around, it was Barry himself. With a big number one logo emblazoned on his chest. ¡°I want you to elect me to lead the team!¡±


    Wow!


    This advertisement shows the ¡°love¡± but the reaction also shows the ¡°hate.¡± The advert was controversial since it implicitly endorsed vigilantism and side-stepped the issue of mutotronics, the mechanism giving superpowers to the superheroes (and super-villians) worrying many politicians across the political spectrum. Indeed even scientists; It¡¯s not science unless mutotronics can be scrutinised, they declared.


    The broadcast was quickly suppressed but it has lingered long in the memory of the electorate. And it worked. The President¡¯s popularity in the polls which had been dropping dramatically before this stunt, revived his fortunes. He won by a landslide and, reversing previous constitutional convention, has been in-post ever since.


    ***


    <h3 class="western">Tuesday, September 24, 2117


    Terri was messaged by Max as she sat in the Emotional Release class Jenny had arranged. She was sitting cross-legged on a pillow with twenty other students practising cry-therapy holding a pillow to her face. She heard her headset bleep, saw the message metadata in her contact lens display and walked from the room under the gaze from her disapproving teacher who pointed to the wall sign: ¡°All electronics to be switched off.¡± Terri held up her hand as an apology and sneaked out trying not to disturb the blubbering and pillow hugging around her.


    Max had left a message inviting Terri to an art exhibition. ¡°I''m sure it is something you''d like,¡± he wrote.


    Terri met with Max using her Rendezvous app. He was wearing another business-like formal suit again. Did this guy ever relax?


    ¡°You''ll like this, I think,¡± said Max earnestly, briefly holding Terri''s gaze for almost a second.


    ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°You mentioned that you are studying Twentieth Century Media?¡±


    ¡°Did I say that to you?¡±


    ¡°I remember it distinctly, so you must have,¡± said Max leading Terri inside the exhibition hall.


    ¡°So this is a display of Twentieth Century Art?¡±


    ¡°No, this is a display of Twentieth-Second Century art based on Twentieth Century Memes, but, what I think you''ll find amusing, they''ve used the styling of Twentieth Century Art. What they called Modern Art at the time, and what we now call the Pastiche Movement.¡±


    ¡°Oh a pastiche of Pastiche memes. How droll!¡± said Terri hardly able to contain her delight.


    They wandered to the domed hall to view the first exhibits; two animated displays.


    The first was a scrolling display of a young female tennis player, a woman named Fiona Walker, plodding gawkily away from camera. Every third step she would cheekily scratch her backside, lifting her skirt to reveal a panty-less bottom. An audio track repeated, ¡°I have an itch.¡±


    Terri studied the image for a few seconds, ¡°No, this doesn¡¯t speak to me. I presume this is just a copy of something.¡±


    Max shrugged. ¡°Good artists copy, great artists steal. I believe this is animation based on what was just a static image in the nineteen hundreds. Maybe it is a comment on the haves and have-nots.¡±


    Terri shrugged.


    The second animated display showed a woman with a turquoise face, a Chinese gown, jet-black hair and startling red lips. The image slowly morphed to the same woman with golden-brown skin then to silvery fair skin then shiny metallic skin.


    Terri turned to Max. ¡°Oh, I get this one,¡± she said with a smile. ¡°This is a play on a popular Twentieth Century painting by Tretchikoff, reflecting the changes of attitudes to cultural differences between Asians, blacks, whites and robots. Yeah, good one.¡±


    ¡°I always think,¡± said Max hesitantly, ¡°that the criteria for good art needs to reflect three things: head, heart and hand. Intellectually challenging, engendering a powerful emotional response and technically exquisite handiwork.¡±


    Terri beamed at Max and held his arm. ¡°That''s what I say! That''s uncanny. That''s my criteria too. So are you really into art as well as science.¡±


    ¡°Oh, yes. Art and Science, at their highest levels do overlap. You cannot have an appreciation for one without the other,¡± said Max looking at her hand that was touching him.


    Terri released his arm. ¡°Sorry,¡± she said, embarrassed by the physical contact.


    ¡°Oh not at all, Terri.¡± Max said uncertainly. ¡°I liked it. I probably liked it too much.¡±


    Terri smiled and rocked her hips in a shy, girlie twist.


    They shuffled on through the exhibition.


    Max stammered to restart the conversation. ¡°Science, in its highest form, is the discovery of natural secrets within life, the universe and everything.¡±


    ¡°And art is attempting to show and propagate those secrets, like, to a wider public,¡± suggested Terri.


    ¡°To show, yes, but also to encode. One way of looking at art is that it is a symbology for humans to read, whether it is a painting, a sculpture or a performance. All art by its very nature, is also encoded. Therefore art is also deception.¡±


    ¡°Sure, art is subjective, science is objective,¡± mused Terri.


    Max replied, ¡°Science is not as objective as you might believe. Yes, sure it is looking for answers but it is art that expresses it while also disguising the truth. It is a virtuous circle of a secret, discovering the secret and encoding the secret again. Art and science, entwined in a dance.¡±


    ¡°Wow. I''ve never looked at it like that before. Is that what you do? Discover secrets?¡±


    ¡°At Mad-Sci-Soc, we are not only unlocking secrets but trying to see if we can use them too.¡±


    ¡°Use them?¡±


    ¡°If they can be used.¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡±


    Max huffed and puffed a little. ¡°Like building a Water-Powered Car, for instance,¡± said Max red-faced.


    ***


    <h3 class="western">Wednesday, January 23, 2123


    ¡°What''s this?¡± I asked, looking at a low-rise, egg-shaped vehicle on the side of the road.


    ¡°Water-powered? Are you having a haliburton on me?¡±


    ¡°Absolutely not. Water is all you need.¡±


    ¡°Isn''t water a uh, a bit wet to be a fuel?¡±


    ¡°Not so. What are the elements inside water?¡± Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    ¡°Fluoride?¡± I suggested.


    ¡°No. Hydrogen and Oxygen. H-2-0! Split the elements and there are two powerful elements to fuel your gas turbine. The only waste is pure water. Oh and the oxygen. We don''t store the oxygen.¡±


    ¡°Hydrogen is explosive. Very explosive. It blew up that balloon thing that crashed, the Titanic.¡±


    ¡°That balloon thing was called a Zeppelin.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that. On its maiden flight too. Are you sure we shouldn''t we take a taxi?¡± I said tepidly.


    ¡°This will not be the maiden voyage of my Kittoffery Kart. It''s safe, hasn''t blown up on me and is the quickest way to Antonio''s. Get in and I''ll show you how it works.¡± Conrad lifted the egg-shell casing of the car to reveal two low slung seats and a dashboard that looked as though it had been stuck together from low-cost, home-fabricated panels.


    ¡°Uh. Ok.¡±


    ¡°So you charge a capacitor using solar, for instance,¡± Conrad pointed to a solar panel array on-top of the vehicle.


    ¡°Right.¡±


    ¡°That provides the energy for the electrolysis and gas capture. Once there is enough hydrogen compressed, we press this button.¡± Conrad pressed a button and the car leapt forward and, he shouted over the instant whine generated by the engine. ¡°And reclaim as much of the kinetic energy as we gooooooo!¡±


    ***


    <h3 class="western">Tuesday, September 24, 2117


    ¡°No, really. What do you do?¡± asked Terri earnestly.


    ¡°I¡¯m researching metaphysics and quantum computing. It doesn¡¯t make for great conversation,¡± sighed Max.


    Max and Terri had stopped in front of an exhibit showing Fritz Lang''s Metropolis with the central figure of Maria (who in the 1927 movie was replaced by a robot) transforming from a 1927 Robot, to a sexy, 1990s Hajime Sorayama-style female chrome robot to a 2123 female replicant. A morphing holographic image popped out from a static life-sized image, then walked forward and down imagery steps to reappear again at the centre of the exhibit.


    ¡°A montage of robots, tracing back to the original imagery of such to the modern day,¡± mused Terri. ¡°The repetition though... isn¡¯t that the message here? Robots are just tools. They don''t have freedom to act independently, to do anything different... To like or dislike? Not in a real way.¡±


    ¡°Or to decide good or evil? They have no independent thought,¡± stated Max, looking at Terri without flinching.


    ¡°Is that what you¡¯re trying to do? At Mad-Sci-Soc?¡±


    ¡°Make machines conscious? So that they achieve the singularity, that moment when robots decide for themselves that they do not need man?¡±


    ¡°Is that even possible?¡±


    ¡°What do you think?¡±


    ¡°No, they¡¯re just giant toys. I don''t understand why people are so obsessed with them.¡±


    ¡°You don''t like robots?¡±


    ¡°Not really. They become tiresome after a while. Always being right and nice and bland. Sure they can mimic intelligence and pass a Turing Test, but not one is truly creative. I don''t support Robot Rights, not while animals haven''t any.¡±


    ¡°Cogently argued, Terri,¡± said Max. ¡°Not a single robot is sentient. It was the subject of my thesis. Could a robot really be conscious? No, it can¡¯t. But that is all academic anyhow, it seems many people nowadays prefer the company of replicants and robots.¡±


    ¡°So the singularity is not a possibility?¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m a scientist so I have to answer with a yes and a no. But mainly a no with a tinge of yes.¡±


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s worrying, especially since most people already think robots are alive anyhow?¡±


    ¡°Or wish them to be.¡±


    ¡°My Grandparents think they have real personalities, they don''t realise they¡¯re All-The-Same. They¡¯re all controlled from a single computer for gates-sake.¡±


    ¡°So if they did have real personality they would be interesting? If people could, uh, somehow live inside them?¡±


    ¡°Like surrogates?¡±


    ¡°More than surrogates. Surrogates are just remote controlled robots. Good for clearing up nuclear radiation, deep sea diving, extreme sports and the like, but they are a dead-end technology for someone wanting to extend their useful life.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re useful for injured people,¡± suggested Terri.


    ¡°Sure. With around the clock care for the corpuscular body, but otherwise the problems with surrogates for the living hosts long term are just too numerous: muscle wastage, bed sores, organ failure. No, I meant taking the mind totally inside the body of a replicant.¡±


    ¡°Interesting. Dispose of the human part of the body altogether? We can''t do that, right?¡±


    ¡°No, not yet. Maybe not ever, the human mind is too complicated, too delicate, for that. But I''m working on it.¡±


    ¡°You are?¡±


    ¡°Well, I''m mostly working on an organic computer that may someday be able to store human memories, maybe capture some-one''s complete personality.¡±


    ¡°An organic computer?¡±


    ¡°Yes, organic. Built up from fungus, actually to be specific, mould. You''d be surprised at the parallels between mould and the human brain.¡±


    ¡°No, not surprised at all.¡±


    ¡°But the company I... am with, does lots of research around replicants. I see it as the intersection between humanity and technology,¡± said Max stuttering slightly. ¡°Skin manufacture is its... er, main manufacturing activity. But what I am really interested in... is the mind. The human mind and the science of sentience.¡±


    ¡°You are?¡±


    ¡°Well.... the brain is a person''s sexiest feature,¡± Max said, his face deadpan.


    Terri laughed.


    ¡°Real people, real women, real minds. That''s my thing,¡± said Max seriously.


    Terri laughed again. ¡°With an organic computer as a back-up?¡±


    Max shrugged with the faintest of smiles.


    She switched on her face rec app and looked back at Max. His data returned: ¡°Max Ceillingheit, Age 33. Relationship status: Not in a relationship, Orientation: hetro-80-15-5.¡±


    Terri smiled and whispered into her headset, ¡°Thumbs Up.¡±


    ***


    <h3 class="western">Thursday, January 24, 2123 (Out of sequence interjection)


    I interrupted Terri telling her story about her first date with Max at the Art Museum. ¡°Sentience... er, Conrad mentioned that. I don''t think I understand.¡±


    ¡°Nobody does.¡±


    ¡°He said that too.¡±


    ¡°Well, I guess. Not being asleep? Or sober?¡±


    ¡°It''s your inner voice?¡±


    ¡°I don''t have an inner voice!¡±


    ¡°Well, that figures. Do you talk to yourself, you know, in your mind? Without your mouth moving.¡±


    ¡°Oh that inner voice. I thought you meant voices crazy people have or CIA mind control.¡±


    ¡°Ok, now we''re getting somewhere. Consciousness is the ability to feel and reason. Sentience is just the ability to feel, awareness, without necessarily understanding. You can read gigabytes of text and that''s what it comes down to.¡±


    ¡°You sound like you''ve done it.¡±


    ¡°It''s amazing what I have to do to get to sleep sometimes.¡±


    ¡°I''m sorry, back to your story. You were at the art gallery...¡±


    ***


    <h3 class="western">Tuesday, September 24, 2117 (a few seconds later)


    As Terri turned back biting her lower lip, Max queried, ¡°A problem?¡±


    ¡°No. No. I was just tweeting out a blog about the exhibition,¡± she lied.


    ¡°Are you enjoying yourself?¡± Max asked.


    ¡°Very much so,¡± she said looking around the hall.


    ¡°My club?¡±


    ¡°Mad-Sci-Soc. It''s a real thing, right? Not virtual?¡±


    ¡°Oh right. Yes. We¡¯re not virtualistas. It''s all real world. Come down tonight,¡± said Max, delighted by Terri''s enthusiasm.


    ¡°Tonight?¡± she smiled.


    ¡°We have a Games Night.¡±


    ¡°Games Night?¡± said Terri crestfallen.


    ¡°You''ll enjoy it! There''s real people there, I promise,¡± said Max leading her to the next exhibit, changing the subject before she could reply or change her mind. ¡°This is what I really wanted you to see.¡±


    Max led Terri into an enclosed exhibition space, the air filled with musical beats. On the ceiling was a video projection of clouds and cliffs and rope ladders; on the ladders were people dressed in a variety of twentieth century costumes: soldiers, nurses, bankers, hippies, housewives, workers and students of all sorts and nationalities. The characters were struggling with the rope ladders and some fell off. But there was a man with a jet pack who flew around and helped people stuck on ladders. He flew away and the video loop seamlessly repeated to the sound of swirling twentieth century rock music.


    ¡°This is a meme, isn''t it?¡± said Terri in awe.


    ¡°Of course. Can you guess?¡± teased Max.


    ¡°The answer is in the music, isn''t it? I love this tune,¡± said Terri.


    ¡°Do you know it?¡± asked Max.


    ¡°We''re never going to survive, unless we get a little bit... Crazy,¡± Terri sang. She spun around in awe. ¡°So this meme... it''s... it''s... I''ve got it. It''s in the lyrics. In a Sky Full of People, Only Some Want To Fly, isn''t that Crazy? Crazy!¡± she sang and laughed. ¡°This is my favourite classical song,¡± she beamed.


    ¡°Well done, Terri. You know, this is the unofficial theme song for our club,¡± said Max.


    ¡°Ha! Ha! I get it, the Society for Mad Scientists. You''re all crazy, right?¡±


    ¡°I hadn''t thought of that,¡± said Max. ¡°No, it¡¯s because it contains the first recorded use of the word, fractal, in its lyrics.¡±


    ¡°Fractal?¡±


    ¡°We have some mathematicians in the club too,¡± said Max.


    Although it was an unbearably dorky thing to say, Terri had this overwhelming sense of empathy for her new geeky friend. He was so un-smooth and quirky. He was real. A real unpolished but yet seemingly good natured person. She was filled with bonhomie, so she held out her hand and Max grabbed it with both of his. Max''s face started to crack into a real smile.


    ***


    <h3 class="western">Wednesday, January 23, 2123


    Conrad''s water-powered-powered car came to an abrupt halt. It felt more like a jet powered car with its fast acceleration and braking. Once it came to a stop, all you could hear was the water sloshing around in the fuel tank.


    ¡°Wow,¡± I said. ¡°That''s amazables! And you drove it yourself?¡±


    ¡°Indeed. All the auto-autos avoid me. I just have to watch out for cyclists,¡± smiled Conrad.


    ¡°How come I haven''t heard about this?¡± I enthused.


    ¡°This is secret technology. Not patented and outside of the control of the corporations. Execpt for one component.¡±


    ¡°One?¡±


    ¡°Yes. My greatest triumph over the Ms-Bell corporation,¡± said Conrad proudly. ¡°I was able to make Ms-Bell relinquish a patent on the gas compression pump. I was able to cite prior-art.¡±


    ¡°You was able to win a patent case against Ms-Bell? That must be a first!¡± I said, impressed due to my own experience as a freelance technical researcher. ¡°But water as a fuel, surely this must be the answer to our energy problems?¡±


    ¡°This is the third or fourth time its been invented. The corporations have a history of suppressing the technology. Ms-Bell in particular has a lot to lose if water-power becomes the norm.¡±


    ¡°Does Ms-Bell know about your car?¡±


    ¡°No way!¡± said Conrad emphatically.


    ¡°But how do you keep it a secret? You''re driving around the streets in it.¡±


    ¡°It''s untracked. We use a special government identity code to avoid detection. We drive at night so pedestrians rarely see it and no-one sees anything from auto-taxis and auto-autos. We hide in plain sight.¡±


    ¡°What about collision detection?¡±


    ¡°We''re pinged but not dinged. By that I mean we are linked into Traffic Net to avoid collisions. But our government identity code is obfuscated which means we are not identified by the corporations.¡±


    ¡°Gzoinks,¡± I exclaimed. I had the dawning realisation that Conrad was more than just a mad scientist.


    ***


    <h3 class="western">Tuesday, September 24, 2117


    ¡°Terri, can I introduce you to a select sect of Mad-Sci-Soc. Firstly, Conrad?¡± said Max.


    ¡°Conrad, has anyone ever told you that you look like...¡± said Terri.


    ¡°Captain Kittoffery? Yes, I get that a lot. And strangely enough I''m playing as Captain Kittoffery in the game tonight, I must be typecast.¡± said Conrad charmingly, rising from his chair to shake Terri''s hand.


    ¡°You must be a real fan,¡± mused Terri.


    ¡°Many people have noted that our society is perhaps just a front for a Super Hero Role Playing Game club,¡± said Conrad with an uncomfortable chuckle.


    ¡°As I said, Terri,¡± intervened Max. ¡°We do real research but we play our board games on Tuesday nights. The aim is to manage a team of super heroes fighting bad guys and the like. Let me introduce you to our other player, Karmen.¡±


    Karmen, unlike Conrad and Max, was dressed as her super-hero character. A holo-dress, of course. It was striking; a bronze and black metallic-looking armour outfit with a winged headpiece.


    ¡°Delighted to meet you,¡± came a quiet and uncertain voice in complete contrast to the mighty warrior imagery displayed by her holo-clothes.


    Terri took Karmen''s hand to find that her metallic glove was fabricated and not holographic. Karmen made a delicate handshake since her gloved hand could have undoubtedly crushed frail skin and bone.


    ¡°Karmen is our math and probability expert,¡± explained Max.


    ¡°I like the helmet,¡± said Terri to Karmen.


    ¡°Oh, you-know... it''s to project a bit of menace,¡± said Karmen unconvincingly in a librarianal-type of voice.


    ¡°It works,¡± lied Terri.


    ¡°Only for people sitting close,¡± said Conrad as an aside.


    Karmen pretended not to hear. ¡°And what do you do?¡± she asked in her wobbly voice.


    ¡°Media Studies,¡± replied Terri.


    ¡°Media Studies?¡± queried Karmen uncertainly.


    ¡°Twentieth Century Media Studies,¡± confirmed Terri.


    ¡°Oh,¡± Karmen said after a short pause. ¡°How nice for you. Welcome to our science club,¡± She said with emphasis on science.


    ***


    <h3 class="western">Wednesday, January 23, 2123


    ¡°I can''t believe you''ve just got us in to see Antonio without an appointment, at night, just walking past his henchman. And without resorting to weapons of mass destruction!¡± I whispered to Conrad as we were escorted through Antonio''s Italian Restaurant by one of his bouncers. We had arrived at the nerve centre of Antonio''s gangster empire, a palatial lobby that wouldn''t have looked out of place at a Las Vegas Casino. I wondered whether there has ever been a gangster with good taste in d¨¦cor; say, minimalist design with classic Swedish flat-pack furniture and abstract paintings on the walls. This lobby was the opposite of that, a visual smorgasbord of red, brown and gold with columns, drapes and vulgar paintings.


    ¡°Antonio owns a portfolio of properties. The worst properties in the greatest cities in the world,¡± I said to Conrad as we walked along. ¡°But this place is quite er... different,¡± I added. ¡°It''s been doing very well since the caffeine ban... if you tip the waiter, you know, you can get some of the good stuff, the re-caffeinated variety.¡±


    ¡°We go back a long way,¡± said Conrad enigmatically keeping his eyes on the bouncer''s back.


    ¡°Social? Business?¡± I asked.


    ¡°You know that he''s as unhinged as an open barn door in a tornado?¡± I whispered.


    ¡°You don''t join a club like Mad-Sci-Soc to mix with average joes.¡±


    ***


    <h3 class="western">Tuesday, September 24, 2117


    ¡°I don''t think I''m going to be very good at this game,¡± mused Terri an hour into the game. Terri, Max, Conrad and Karmen were sitting in the clubhouse Imaginarium around a table with multiple holoscreen projections showing cityscapes, cars and a figure depicting Terri''s new superhero character, as well as maps and calendars.


    ¡°No?¡± said Max with disappointment.


    ¡°I don''t understand the rules. They are too complicated,¡± she sighed.


    ¡°Well there are no rules as such. It is whatever you can imagine,¡± stated Conrad.


    ¡°When I tried to blow up the Ms-Bell HQ you told me I couldn''t do it,¡± puffed Terri.


    ¡°It''s not that you can''t. You just have to overcome all the obstacles,¡± said Conrad.


    ¡°But legal issues?¡± said Terri giving her best what-is-that-all-about expression.


    ¡°We sorted out the legal technicalities in the same way the corporations would,¡± stated Max.


    ¡°With high-powered lawyers,¡± added Conrad.


    ¡°And the insurance claims,¡± added Karmen in a near-whisper.


    ¡°But there would still be the collateral damage, lots of innocent people killed,¡± said Conrad returning to Terri''s plan. ¡°Superheroes are trying, not only to bring down the enemy, but also to not hurt innocent people.¡±


    ¡°I suggested blowing it up at night when there wouldn''t be any people inside,¡± Terri said.


    ¡°There''s still security staff to worry about,¡± added Max.


    Terri was amused, ¡°They have human security staff?¡±


    ¡°It''s a job creation scheme for insomniacs.¡±


    ¡°But this is only a game. If Ms-Bell are the bad guys, why can''t I just blow up their building, we can warn the innocents somehow?¡± insisted Terri.


    ¡°Have you considered the preparation? How would we get the bomb in the building? We call this a game but we treat it more like a simulation of real life,¡± said Karmen hesitantly.


    ¡°A simulation?¡± said Terri wide-eyed.


    ¡°Or planning session,¡± Karmen continued and then fell silent when Conrad and Max stared at her with daggers.


    ¡°This isn''t really a game, is it?¡± Terri said knowingly in the pregnant silence.


    There followed another momentary pause before Max blustered, ¡°Of course it''s a game!¡±


    ¡°You don''t use a university-owned supercomputer to download plans of buildings, identify legal problems and make applications to government departments for a game... You''re doing this for real, aren''t you?¡± said Terri.


    ¡°What do you mean, Terri?¡± asked Conrad.


    Terri leaned back. ¡°You really are Captain Kittoffery, aren''t you, Conrad?¡±


    ***

 Part 1 Chapter 4 Super Heroes

    <h2 class="western">Wednesday, January 23, 2123</h2>


    As soon as the bouncer left, I said in a loud whisper. ¡°Mr Kittoffery? Is Kittoffery your surname, Conrad?¡±


    ¡°I knew it. You are Captain Kittoffery!¡± I whispered.


    ¡°Or it''s mistaken identity... or I could have a twin brother,¡± said Conrad quietly.


    ¡°Do you have a twin brother?¡±


    ¡°What sort of secret identity is it when you embed your own surname into your vigilante sobriquet?¡± I stammered with increasing decibels.


    ¡°Shh,¡± soothed Conrad noticing the bouncer''s return. ¡°It''s a long story.¡±


    ***


    <h3 class="western">Tuesday, September 24, 2117.


    Terri felt smug; like she had cracked a code. This was not a game. Could it be that Mad-Sci-Soc was not a science club or a role playing games society but really just a front for a league of super heroes?


    ¡°So, Karmen, are you ever going to appear in public as Princess Improbileon?¡±


    ¡°It is just Improbileon. There is no ''princess'' in the name,¡± said Karmen curtly.


    ¡°Or you, Max, as Majestro?¡± Terri continued.


    ¡°Or, you, Terri, as Cloudera?¡± retorted Max defiantly stepping outside of the demeanor that was attempting to woo her.


    ¡°Well, Max. I was just playing a game. But you three seem to be planning to make your characters a reality. I should have realised as soon as I found out there was no dice, that this wasn''t a real game. That, and the half hour discussion on obtaining government technology licenses,¡± mused Terri.


    Conrad held out his hand to stop the conversation. ¡°You''re right, Terri. You''ve seen through our playful charade. I am Captain Kittoffery...¡±


    ¡°I knew it,¡± said Terri with glee. ¡°So what¡¯s happened to you? And why haven¡¯t I heard about Max and Karmen?¡±


    ¡°I''ve had a few law suits occupying my time,¡± shrugged Conrad.


    ¡°But about to make a come-back,¡± said Karmen, shyly, with a sideways glance at him.


    ¡°Karmen and Max are still developing their super hero personas so they haven''t gone out in public yet. But they will when the time is right,¡± Conrad explained.


    Karmen nodded firmly with her arms crossed.


    Terri''s excited mind was flooded with questions but did not know which one to start with... the question she asked was probably not the best, ¡°So what was with the radioactive pandas?¡±


    ¡°Ah that''s another long story,¡± sighed Conrad.


    ¡°Isn''t it obvious to everyone? This secret identity of yours! It is worse than Superman''s disguise as Clark Kent!¡± spluttered Terri.


    ¡°Other people haven''t seen through us quite so clearly, so top marks to you,¡± said Conrad. ¡°But let''s move on, shall we?¡±


    ¡°This is a big deal. Quite difficult to laugh this away,¡± said Terri.


    ¡°Maybe. What do you want to know? Besides the pandas. That¡¯s for another day.¡±


    ¡°So what are we really doing here?¡± said Terri


    ¡°This really is still a game for us. We''re working out different scenarios, playing the angles, coming up with new stratagems and tactics.¡±


    ¡°In particular,¡± ventured Max. ¡°Seeing what technology we need to invent, build or buy. That''s our only real super-power: technology.¡±


    ¡°But all the best patents and licenses are held by Ms-Bell. We''ve established that. After the self cleaning toilet, is there anything new to invent?¡± mused Terri regaining her composure.


    ¡°As you pointed out, Terri, Ms-Bell are the bad guys,¡± said Max. ¡°Even if unwittingly so. I see the corporation as more of a deranged, psychopathic wildebeest that we have to tame rather than as something inherently evil.¡±


    ¡°Since psychopaths aren''t evil?¡± said Terri sarcastically.


    ¡°Not since we''ve discovered the link with post-toddler bed wetting and criminal brain chemistry. That is why we can''t just blow up all those diligent Ms-Bell corporate executive types. And there are still plenty of things to invent and lots of stuff not locked down by patents and licensing laws. Mad-Sci-Soc''s mission is to find and exploit technology that is out-of-patent or open-source. For the good of everyone not just the corporations. We just need to find the technology or come up with the ideas! That''s why we like new members, like you, to come along with fresh ideas.¡±


    ¡°And you''re saying no-one has ever noticed that you''re playing this superhero game for real?¡± said Terri.


    Conrad said dismissively, ¡°Terri, you''re not the first, but you were one of the quickest.¡±


    Max said earnestly, ¡°So actually becoming Cloudera¡­ does that interest you? You could finish your degree, find a job marketing sugared water? Or do you want something else? To change the world? Do you want to be a superhero, Terri? A real superhero?¡±


    ***


    <h3 class="western">


    We exited Antonio''s and stepped into Conrad''s car. He turned and said to me, ¡°So do you want to change the world, Aaron? Do you want to be a superhero?¡±


    ¡°What can I say? We''re in da disposal business, hash tag. The debris could be anywhere. It could be swimming with da fishes or wearing concrete overshoes by now?¡± Antonio liked to keep his gangster image going even when dealing with something as straight forward as... actual rubbish disposal.


    ¡°So you don''t have any records?¡±


    ¡°Our business don''t like records, capische? We don''t like-a to record what-a we pick up or where-a we put it.¡± said Antonio leaning back with his unfashionable electronic cigar.


    ¡°How do you direct your staff to a particular site?¡± asked Conrad pleasantly.


    ¡°We get on da blower...¡± breezed Antonio.


    ¡°And you get that information from?¡±


    ¡°Someone else on da blower!¡±


    ¡°And how do you know which Robo-truck to send. Don''t you have a record of your assets?¡± persisted Conrad.


    ¡°We-have-assets!¡± replied Antonio as if Conrad was accusing him of being poor.


    ¡°So how do you know whether your assets are available, broken, need maintenance, or are simply laying around costing you money,¡± asked Conrad politely.


    ¡°Sure. What do you want?¡±


    ¡°Some more contracts, perhaps?¡±


    ¡°We have some big stuff coming up. You know all of our engagements make a big mess of the cityscape. You¡¯ll be the first to know,¡± said Conrad.


    ¡°Thanks, big fella.¡± He released Conrad and came towards me, putting his arm around my shoulder.


    ¡°And you! You''re that researcher guy, right?¡±


    ¡°Yes. That''s me,¡± I said zealously.


    ¡°I always remember a face, hash tag,¡± Antonio grinned.


    ¡°And I remember your face. And I know where you live, my friend. You promised me some data, right?¡± said Antonio with a terrifying grin.


    ¡°Caribbean holiday locations? Yes, I''ve found them,¡± I smiled. ¡°Just need to get the info off the legacy-net. It''s not as easy since...¡±


    ¡°Yeah, you do that. My squeeze is chewing my ear off about da... dis dammed vacation.¡±


    ***


    <h3 class="western">Wednesday, January 23, 2123 (a few minutes later).


    Back at the car, (the ¡°Kittoffery Kart¡±) I replied wistfully to Conrad. ¡°I''m no superhero, Captain. I''ve no superpowers. Well, except for the superpower to repel attractive women.¡±


    ¡°Terri is a fine young woman¡­¡± Conrad replied smoothly.


    ¡°My super power seems to have been working on her recently.¡±Stolen novel; please report.


    ¡°Perhaps we can change that. We can give you real mutotonic superpowers, Aaron, with the right carefully-worded, licence application. But it is not superpowers that make a superhero, but heart, integrity... ¡±


    ¡°Apply, yes. You think they¡¯re inherited? No, that would be most unfair, that would be like wealth or royalty! How archaic!¡± said Conrad with some disgust.


    ¡°Well, yes. I assumed that was the case. Either that or a dreadful accident with a radioactive frazzaliser. You know, developing mutations...¡± I stammered.


    ¡°The newscasts like to promote radiation as the cause of the super powers and the arrival of superheroes but radiation is nothing but a poison. Keep taking a rad-free pills otherwise you''ll soon be poorly. Mutotonic is in fact a made-up word. It¡¯s just part of the smoke-screen. You can''t make any assumptions until you''ve understood this crazy world of ours,¡± said Conrad firmly. ¡°The first thing you need to know. There are no real superpowers, mutotonic or otherwise.¡±


    ¡°But...¡± I stuttered. ¡°I''ve read the news, I''ve seen the movies, the mainstream reality shows¡­ It is in wikipedia!¡± This was a shock to me; like finding out that Santa Claus was not real.


    ¡°It''s just technology and science applied in a disguised form. Just like a magician¡¯s trick. There''s nothing supernatural. Even your fridge¡¯s behaviour will turn out to have a perfectly logical explanation. Even if it does seem rather bizarre at the moment.¡±


    ¡°A bit more than bizarre? Not even Disney would dare to imagine an evil fridge.¡±


    ¡°Fortunately the nearest Disneyworld is tens of miles away. We can''t blame Disney for this.¡±


    ¡°But this is incredible. No superheroes? Have I been lied to all my life?¡± I stuttered.


    ¡°You and most of the rest of society. It''s pretty criminal really,¡± sighed Conrad.


    ¡°I knew Superdude was fiction, he said he was an alien; and we all know aliens don''t exist after the UFOs were exposed as a stunt by Hollywood producers to whip-up interest in sci-fi. But BatBuddy, Nerdifier, Spider-Guy?¡±


    ¡°Yes, they''re all just regular joes. The only one coming close to the truth is BatBuddy. At least he never claimed to have anything mutotonic.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but he only went after email scammers! What about the super villains? Torro, The Wit, Dr Invincible, Dweebee?¡±


    ¡°These super villains are all patsies. All employed to drive up the ratings and contracted to fail. Sure, there are some real bad guys too, but generally they are not televisual enough.¡±


    ¡°If by fake you meant he had technological assistance then yes,¡± said Conrad referring to himself in the third person.


    ¡°Captain Kittoffery''s super strength... it was just a gimmick?¡± I asked aghast.


    ¡°A titanium exoskeleton, pneumatic pumps and a bullet-proof vest, hidden by a holo-costume,¡± replied Conrad.


    ¡°And Spider-Guy? How did he climb walls?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Wall climbing equipment has been available for decades. It is amazing what you can do with some disguised zip lines,¡± he said matter-of-factly. ¡°Always had problems getting out of the bath though.¡±


    ¡°Nerdifier. He could go invisible.¡±


    ¡°Holo-costume and some cameras!¡±


    ¡°And his hypnotic influence?¡±


    ¡°A dart gun delivering a powerful suggestibility drug.¡±


    ¡°Super hearing?¡±


    ¡°Electronic snooping.¡±


    ¡°Super vision?¡±


    ¡°Telescopic night vision goggles.¡±


    ¡°And what about Aquaboy and his gills?¡±


    ¡°No gills. He uses a rebreather.¡±


    ¡°Holly cursing, sycophantic, chocolate-covered cow, captain,¡± I sighed. ¡°Is there no magic left?¡±


    ¡°So it''s about the media and the corporations again?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Isn''t everything?¡± shrugged Conrad.


    ¡°Is there no super power you can''t fake?¡± I asked in desperation.


    ¡°Can''t you invent a better jet-pack?¡±


    ¡°I''m organising a crowd-sourced development,¡± he winked.


    ¡°The Su-U, the Super Hero Union,¡± replied Conrad smugly. ¡°I''ll take you there tomorrow. Mad-Sci-Soc has its own chapter and a secret hideout downtown.¡± At this point I had exited the car.


    ***


    <h3 class="western">Wednesday, January 23, 2123


    I bounded into the apartment where Terri was laying on the sofa unwrapping grapes while watching the broadcast 3d images in the center of the room. There was not enough room to reach the sofa and Terri didn''t like it if I walked through the holographic image, so I stayed by the door.


    ¡°Did you find the fridge?¡± she asked not looking away from holographic characters in the fictional drama.


    ¡°No. But you¡¯ll never guess what?¡± I said enthusiastically.


    ¡°No,¡± she replied in a drawn-out tone implying that I had forgotten something.


    ¡°But you¡¯ll never guess what?¡± I repeated to the back of Terri''s head, she was not looking at me.


    ¡°Well... uh, yes. But that''s not what I was going to say. I was going to say that Conrad... is really...¡±


    ¡°...Captain Kittoffery. Yes, I know,¡± said Terri finishing off the sentence, killing my buzz.


    ¡°You knew? Why didn''t you tell me?¡± I said.


    ¡°It''s his secret identity,¡± she said with emphasis on ¡°secret¡±. ¡°I was asked to keep it secret.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Been there, got the t-shirt. Did they give you a hero name?¡± she said twisting around to look at me.


    ¡°You¡¯d better think of one by yourself before they give you something crappy,¡± she suggested and returned back to the broadcast.


    ¡°So... they... you?¡± I asked un-intelligently.


    ¡°No really. What happened?¡±


    ¡°Nothing.¡±


    ¡°You said you were a super hero too?¡± I stammered.


    ¡°It didn''t work out.¡±


    ¡°So you were?¡±


    ¡°I could have been.¡±


    ¡°But it didn''t work out? Come on, you need to tell me more than that,¡± I pleaded.


    ¡°I can give you one more word on the subject.¡±


    ¡°And that is?¡±


    ¡°Max!¡±


    ¡°Oh. Right. You don''t want to talk about it?¡±


    ¡°I don''t want to talk about it,¡± she said through gritted teeth turning up the volume on the broadcast. She added, talking over the sound from the show, her parting piece of advice, ¡°Don''t let them take you out on a mission!¡±


    ***


    <h3 class="western">Thursday, January 24, 2123


    Thursday morning, Terri left for work and I went to meet Conrad as early as I could. It was noon. I could have explained that I was a late riser but that was only part of my excuse. I do my work at night, my ¡°Freelance Technical Research¡± that Terri likes to scoff at.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I said. ¡°I fancy... Captain Disaster!¡±


    ¡°They already have a Captain.¡±


    ¡°They can''t have another?¡±


    ¡°No. No,¡± said Terri gravely. ¡°You have to have a totally original name. But you could be a General or a Major.¡±


    ¡°Major. Ok,¡± And I pretended to go into character, ¡°Stop bad guys! Says who? Says me, Major Disaster! Hmmm! That''s not going to work, is it? General Disaster? No. No better.¡±


    ¡°Like taking candy from a baby,¡± said Terri with a smile. She had set me up.


    ¡°Best keep this to ourselves, Private Disaster,¡± she said sardonically.


    ¡°By the way, do you have any money?¡±


    ¡°You know this is one of the reasons why we are breaking up, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ***